Jeewan Ki Bagiya

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

My fondest memory of her remains of him and I quarreling in her room.

"I'm telling you, the colour of the wall should be brick mortar."


My defiance grew stronger each time my team member (also the operator of CAD for a semester end project when people were using pen and paper) insisted on going down his way. 

When I look back at my stint at the film school, I only realize how tactless and brainless I was, to be in situations that I landed myself in. Working in teams is hard, but working in teams with people you can't stand to look at is impossible. I was dealing with four such faces, of which two were my sworn enemies and the other two couldn't feign more boredome. 

Here I was, opted with a Television pilot which I was supposed to direct and lead my team of haters into production with me. There she was, staring at my lack of tact. 

"Please do me a favour and never get married."


I hated her personal attack, even more so since I was standing against the man who was telling me on the colour of my set. 

I had half a mind to tell her, "If he's so smart, why don't you let him Direct this show then? Including the colour of the walls."

I went with, "What's marriage got to do with it?"

"Everything. You'll behave like this with your husband. Not agree with him."

Okay dude, this was crossing a line. My hypothetical husband and I wouldn't fight over the colour of the walls. 

Even if we did, we'd go with my idea. Because I'd have agreed to this marriage. 

I do remember saying my thoughts out loud. 

The absurdity of this situation didn't end here. The man and I continued to fight all the way till the end of our degree. We managed a Pilot, couple of failed proposals and a film that went to a prestigious Indian film festival. Not a lot, but not insignificant. 

What I did lose out on was her affection. She took an offence that I passed working with her for a film project. 

To be honest most of us did. Nobody was keen on doing Television and graduating with a pilot because of the limitations of the means of execution. Live show would mean putting together a Play with no elements falling apart, from set to actors. Broke college students who don't have their lives together can't imagine doing something like that. 

We were no different. Our goal was to graduate with a documentary. We managed a film instead. Not too bad, it could have been television but it wasn't. 

We were thrilled that it wasn't. 


I met her again two months after I graduated. Having kicked three offers and two other jobs that I started, I had decided to stick around in academia. Naturally, that required me to bring forth all the documentation proving I was worth it. 

Which also meant touching base at my Alma Mater, where I was told, she was now the acting Director. 

I was really dying to meet her, to see what homecoming would be like. I'd seen our seniors return to a warm welcome and it always felt great. Now when I think about it, I barely remember going to college but it was etched so fresh. I remember entering the campus to get my certificates attested and a complete wave of uneasiness washed over me. It's something about the place, and my interaction that does it nearly everytime. My peers would have a name for it, "South Delhi Brat". 

I landed up in her room, only to find she's not doing very well and that she's expecting her family from Pakistan to drop by. Instructing the runner from the college, she asked him to bring a young chicken over an aged one. "The meat is chewy. You better rush before they run out of all young chickens to sell."

There's not much to do, except to keep a straight face when a conversation about aged chicken takes place infront of you. Especially when you have work to sort. Amused as I was, I got my documentation sorted, had a conversation about my plans (for which she wasn't terribly excited) and exited. 


I regretted each time I refreshed my screen. She wouldn't accept my friend request. She was active on Facebook enough to write witty comments, wish birthday and point communalism when a friend cracked a truly harmless joke. Always ready to help a student in need with an offer or liasing a contact, she wouldn't budge. 

"Do you think she doesn't know how to add people?"

"I think she doesn't like us. At least since we ditched her for the final product."

I discussed this with a confidant, who like me, tried her best to resend her request every week. 

This went on until one morning a classmate posted on our class' defunct group. 

"Professor Hussaini passed away this morning."


She was all things zany, irrational and still completely in control of the situation. I think what she did try hinting at me all those years ago in her room while discussing the colour of the walls was the same- to not give in to argument so easily, to hold your opinion strong and continue shooting for it. Amongst the things I'll take back from my college, her making us do a shot division to Jeewan Ki Bagiya Mehekegi will be always on top of my list. 

You Might Also Like


Hos in Different Area Codes


Stalker Count