The Microwave Oven called Life
No, this has got nothing to do with baking
I woke up late today, and decided to skip my work for the day (perks of being unemployed; because I think it’s too early to call myself, ‘self-employed,’ so).
Anyway, time just passed by, I didn’t even know how it was 1 in the afternoon already, and what happened around me in all that time. Obviously, nothing out of the ordinary could’ve happened, I would’ve noticed otherwise. (There’s actually a fascinating reason why we keep zoning out. The animal mind is designed in such a way that, after a point of time, it eliminates the conscious perception of its surroundings, including sights, fragrances, repetitive, rhythmic sounds, etc. so that it isn’t overloaded with constant signals and can have enough, uhm .. how do I put it… let’s say RAM, to sense a new stimulus, say a new or a sudden movement in the surroundings, or a new scent, or sound. This helps the prey sense an approaching predator or any other threat and make a run for its life in time. So, the next time you find yourself zoning out, don’t just blame your attention span, blame evolution and the inherent, redundant, survival instincts too.)
Anyway, despite the subtle surprise, I still didn’t really care. I mean the definitions and meanings of the word, ‘productivity’ have changed ever since the pandemic. So, in the evening I was listening to Vividh Bharthi, and texting and scrolling on my phone. What a disrespectful brat should one be to use Vividh Bharthi as white noise! Anyway, for a split second my ears, without much thought, decided to listen to what the women on Saki Saheli were telling. They were talking about proper communication, and how communication must be balanced, without either of the parties dominating the conversation; the irony of it, I was texting 5 messages at a time to a friend who was replying with one.
Anyway, Saki Saheli ended at 4, and at 4 this program called ‘Mujhe Yaad Sab hai Zara Zara’ started. Now, I’ve been listening to the radio everyday while working. Vividh Bharthi is excellent while you’re at work because it doesn’t demand much attention, and, both, the music, and the style and content of the radio announcers is so pleasant and smooth, like butter to your ears. It’s neither noise, nor is it white noise. It is…
Talented artists, (artists, not stars) from the film industry remember and recount their life, career, and the little funny experiences along their way with the Radio host in ‘Mujhe Yaad Sab Hai Zara Zara’. Today, singer and actress Saagarika was sharing a few anecdotes of her own; but my mind was somewhere else.
I was thinking about this one particular sunny September evening, when I was listening to the same show while cycling towards the outskirts of the city called Jawaharnagar for my daily exercise. Raghubir Yadav was the guest. He was so funny and lively, nobody could not listen to the show without paying attention to it. His voice seemed very familiar, but I was struggling to picture his face inside my head. And then I heard the host mention ‘Lagaan’. Now my mind started pacing. I pictured every character in the team; from the woodcutter, to the doctor, to the ‘untouchable’ cripple, to the weird astrologer with the beard; I tried picturing all of them, but he wasn’t any of them. After struggling for a few more minutes, I went, “Ah!”
So Raghubir Yadav plays Boora, the man with all the poultry. The immense feeling of familiarity wouldn’t have mattered much if he hadn’t told the fascinating story of his roots in acting.
So Raghubir Yadav always wanted to be a singer, but his father discouraged and ridiculed him. He had joined a theater as a child, and he left home when he was 15 after failing his exams. He joined the travelling theater companies. He painted all the anecdotes, from the times he was on the road with them with such… life and such joy.
The company apparently had several eccentric characters. Some were grumpy old men, standing on their toes to jump into a quarrel; there were a few women with fatherless children, and few misers, and the usual eccentric lots. Every member of the company was a peculiar character in themselves.
There was a grumpy old man, who just randomly went out fishing everyday, and spent the rest of the time picking fights over petty inconveniences. The petty reasons for the fights still carve a smile on my face as I write this.
Then there was a perfectionist, a person who took his art so seriously and respected it so much, that he’d crib about a single line going wrong for days. So guess what our dear gentleman did every time, he deliberately messed the lines in every show to get to him. And the director always had to make arrangements to make sure that they were never in the same room.
And this one particular incident was so funny; so he’s standing behind the stage for the prompts, and a middle aged woman of the crew calls upon him. He refuses to leave his spot and tries to explain. She is adamant. So he finally leaves his position, and asks her what the matter was, to which she asks, “Shaadi ho gayi tumhari?” (are you married?).
He’s pissed and confused at the same time, and he says that he isn’t. To this she says, “Neither am I. Don’t know if I’ll ever get married.” Handing him a box of snuff, she says , “Yeh lo ab isi se meri maang bhar do.” (fill my maang with this).
Such were the people of the traveling theater companies, unapologetically eccentric, and full of life. The crew didn’t always sleep with a full belly, and life was tough. Summers especially, were brutal. They spent the entire day in the tents, restless from heat, sulking around each other. But he says those were some of his happiest memories, and his voice meant it.
He then got into NSD, and a new chapter began in his life. And in that moment I wondered, where all the grumpy old men, the perfectionists, and the outrageously flirtatious Mausis might’ve ended at.
The rest of the interview was about his career, and his time working with renowned filmmakers like Mira Nair, Ashutosh Gowarikar and Shyam Benegal. He also wrote and sang songs. The entire interview was such a lighthearted delight. Anyway, by the time I came back home, I had forgotten about it completely.
Just a few days later however, this film called Club 60, which featured him along with Farooq Sheikh, Satish Shah and the likes, was airing on the TV. It was about an old man who, after a tragedy, learns to live life again. It was an enjoyable film, save for some cliché elements. Raghubir Yadav obviously played that bindaas friend who adds life to everyone’s years.
This just spiked my curiosity, and I had to google him. His body of work came as a surprise to me. His work ranged from International award winning films, to short films produced by the FTII, to commercial hits like ‘Sui Dhaaga.’ In fact, while shooting Raman Raghav 2.0, Anurag Kashyap studied his performance in a short film on Raman Raghav produced by FTII(directed by Sriram Raghavan the; director of Andhadhun).
And, I had my mind blown when I finally read that he played Chacha Choudhary in the extremely popular, namesake TV serial.
And here I was, scrolling through his filmography on Wikipedia, and it had such less mainstream cinema and commercial hits, and the select few commercial films in his kitty offered him very little role to play. Nonetheless, he did way more justice to each of that role than could be done. And yet, there I was, unable to recognize him, until he talked about his association with a blockbuster film, starring a superstar; as I cycled along the road with the greenest of fields on both the sides.
After spending some time reading about him, I spent that evening pondering about things like success, passion, hard work, luck, fate, recognition, and contentment; and the ‘‘litter-floating-in-the-air’’ nature of life.
Your gifts of talent, your desire to pursue your passion, your ambition and dreams,none of that matters without taking the first step. Whatever happens next, success, failure, hardwork, luck working for you, fame, recognition, or contentment comes way later. You need to step out of the house first, step out of your comfort zone, take a chance.
These lessons, I had already figured out; but you see, life is like a microwave oven that heats and reheats its lessons. For growth, it’s very important to reassess life and its lessons, bitter or sweet, whenever circumstances give way. You’d either be served with the same thoughts, but this time they’re warm and refreshing; or surprisingly you’ll realize that those lessons don’t taste the same anymore.
The old Hindi songs were playing so smoothly, so conducive to the contemplations I was lost in, and I hadn’t even realized when it was 5:30 already, and ‘Sandhya Saritha’ (don’t know when and why they renamed ‘Gaane Suhaane’ to this) had ended, and the Telugu songs that suddenly started playing, brought me back to my senses, like a microwave beep.