ek mahal ho sapno ka

Ek mahal ho sapno ka ……

“kabar man jai ne su so to faristao ubha karse

Ahin befaam koi pan jagah tari nathi hoti “

- Barkat “befaam” Virani

A house has changed many a psychological forms since times. To us it is an investment opportunity and inadvertently all of us think of our homes as property- an asset class with a marketable value. For our parents it was an aspiration.. a realization of their dreams ,a fruition of their struggles .. a loan from HDFC ( the only housing loan available then ) paid @ 18% interest, the do deewane is sahar main ..ek aabudana thoondte hain “ kind of thrill. For our grandparents the home had no attachable value.. it was a consumable to be used lifelong ;preserved and used with no thoughts entertained about parting from it. But the house .. a home of MY OWN is the single largest dream known to all man.

“chacha .. bahut aachi khabar hain .. hum log ko permanent ghar milne wala hai.. Zhopadpati Navnirman Program hain BMC ka ..court ka order hain ki 1995 se pehle se rehne wale ko ghar diya jaye.. ? Chotu was speaking excitedly. Ali Chacha looked up from his harmonium to the young boy and smiled. The dream of Ali Chacha to own a house was no secret to the residents of the Aman Zopadpatti, Kandivali. In fact it was this dream that had propelled this 76 year old man to work so hard at the Meher band in his sunset period. Chacha played the trumpet at the famous Meher band sharing the joys of complete strangers, forgetting the pain in his legs and an occasional empty stomach. It is said that “blessed are those who have little yet give a lot “. Chacha Ali gave everything he had to give.. his love .. his wisdom .. and occasionally some money to his bastiwalas and was hence loved by all.

Ali Khan had come to Mumbai from Muffazarbad some 40 years ago. He belonged to a family of musicians who had once adorned the courts of the Mughal royalty but were forced to work as laborers to earn their bread in the country they prayed and fought to make independent. His wife had expired years back and no one knew where his sons went. But Ali Khan was married to music ..and he refused to part ways with it despite his music being no longer sufficient to fill his stomach.

“ meri to ek hi tamaana hai ki is seher main mera aapna ek ghar ho ..” “ Insha’Allah Chacha aapko ghar jarur milega” Chotu would say. And the next day Chacha went to the local MLA who was distributing the forms for the scheme earning political mileage ( and Rs.100 for a form of Rs10 ). “Chacha hamare karan aapko flat mil rahe hain, hum sarkar main hai to aapki chaandi hai “ typical words from a typical tobacco rotten mouth. “ chalo yeh form bhar dena aur ek mahine main 7000 rupaiya le aana .. aap ko flat ke kagazat mil jayenge “ …” bhai hamare flat kaise hain ..kidhar hain ? “ ..” chandivali main hain .. aapke pass 7000 hain Chacha nahin to 10000 mere pass se leke jaana aur flat mere naam kar dena …. Aapko to saamne se paisa milega… kya kahte ho Chacha …”

“nahin hargeez nahin .. meri to taamana hain ek ghar aapna ho … “ “ chacha soch lo ! itna aasan nahin ghar rakna ..aapko kya jaroorat hain .. aur aap 700 nahin le kar aaye to gaya samjo ..kuch nahin milega .. “ The old man could have despite his age snapped the bastardly political organism into two but he knew that he could do nothing against these bastards. So he kept quiet and left praying to Allah to forgive those bastards.

Seven thousand was a big amount for a modest man like Chacha. He had a small saving account in a bank where he put some money ( as a habit rather than a necessity ).the amount was 5000 odd. His old mastaar at Meher could lend him a 1000. And in a city like Mumbai it was not difficult to earn 1000 in a month, was it? But it was shradh paksh which meant no more band assignments for the month. But Mumbai had a lot of stations. And he selected his spot near the first class at Borivali station and started playing his harmonium.

“ Chacha aapun ka pehchaan hai Borivali pe .. station master ko roj 200 dene ka aur Pakiyaa Bhai ( the local goon) ko 80 bhada dene ka .. aapko 280 se uupar mila woh profeet .. aapna dost Munna sirf bheekh magta hain to 200 kama leta hain .. aap to sangeetkar hain ..aapko to jyaada milega .. yeh kya bheekh thodi hain Chacha samjaa karo … aap to artist hain artist “

But sadly we know no artists. Accustomed to the pardesi pardesi and tum dileeee kieee dhadikan main “ sung purposefully to attract attention we regard (rather disregard ..) all musicians playing this way as bheekharis. While entertainers playing guitar or the saxophone in European cities are given the respect and applause that an artist deserves the MP3 palyer or cellphone affixed Mumbai treats them with shameful disdain. Chacha found out that Borivali station afforded no respect to the raag malkous or the ballads of Mohammad Rafi ..but yes they were generous in their givings .. full of pity ..pity which was an insult to an artist. And so Borivali was over. But Mumbai hardly disappoints her dwellers. Chacha soon found a job in a karkhana to work as a thread changer on the small loom near Kandivali. A month of eye straining sleepless nights earned him the requisite. And the next time he went to the bastardly politican to sign (he was literate) the papers he held his head high. And the politico threw a worthless menacing look at him ( as they do jab unka popat hota hain ).

6 months passed by in eager anticipation and then the allotment started. People in the basti left with tearful but dreaming eyes one by one. And it was soon Chacha’s turn. Early morning he had offered a prayer on the tomb of pir Haji Ali. His dream was about to be fulfilled. But life had her own evil designs in his sunset days.

The MLA who called himself responsible for the allotment had done him good. His signatures forged.. his flat transferred .. his dream broken. And then started the vicious rounds from the BMC to the MHADA ( the agency responsible for the flats ) to the mantrlaya with despondent pleadings. Months went on to secure a meeting. Money was burned.. passed under the table… and Chacha was pulled into the vortex of the same corrupt systems he had despised ,breaking the principles that had survived 76 years of his not very easy life. And time went on.

“Chacha suna hain MHADA main koi naya aafsar aaya hai.. bahut imaandaar hain. Who humko madat jaroor karenge. “ and then through a series of contacts ( greased of course) they managed to reach the officer Mr.Siddhanth Vasu a young man of 35 who neither showed any bias ( favourable or unfavourable) towards Chaha’s religion.. nor a contempt that we reserve for the zopadpatti walas ( 7000 me saalon ko Mumbai main ghar chaiye .. property ke bhav dekhe hain .. saale ***** ) . He offered no hollow words but said it was his duty and he would look into it.

Diligently , with painstaking researches down the record offices overcoming the creative inertia of a lazy machinery he weaved the case. Taking excuses strictly and threats disdainfully he finally after a period of 8 months secured what rightfully belonged to the old man.

“Chacha .. aapka ghar ka ho gaya .. “ he wanted to delver the news personally to the old man. Early morning he went to the basti with the happy news. He returned from the basti in the evening not so happy. Later that afternoon he had placed the allotment letter on the tomb of Chacha Ali Khan.