The Hindu Business Line : Simple things in life come easy

“When I am asked to say what it is in life which has affected me, there is one thing to which I can always respond instantly, without effort… That is natural beauty.”

On Link Road in Borivili the lone bottle brush tree near Aura Hotel is blooming with red, hairy flowers. One stands and stares at the tree and its flowers touched by the first beams of an early morning sun.

One refuses to touch the tree or the flowers. It is also the moment for screaming parakeets. Two rose-ringed parakeets (Psittacula krameri) landed on the overhead cable wires in our housing society.

From a distance of about 5 ft, one gazed at the well-marked and distinct pink collars on the two parakeets as they swung steadily on the wires. The two incidents kept one satisfied for days.

The limpid and gentle writer (she refuses to hurt), Shama Futehally, in a short piece on “Things that have affected me” says: “When I am asked to say what it is in life which has affected me, I feel that one answer, in a way, is that everything has. …. Nonetheless, there is one thing to which I can always respond instantly, without effort, and with a sense of receiving easily and gratefully; and which, once experienced, never dims in the memory. That is natural beauty.”

It is not surprising as she is related to Dr Salim Ali. Musing on Salim Ali’s autobiography, The Fall of a Sparrow, the lady mentions, “… Salim was establishing that his interest was in the ecology of the living bi rd and not in cabinet specimens, an interest which was perhaps a little ahead of its time. (I know that at one time he used to urge young naturalists to stop looking for ‘prestige’ species and to give their attention to the habits of the humble House Crow).”

Gita Hariharan has done a neat and valuable job of bringing out the selected essays in book form: Shama Futehally, The Right Words. Some of the essays demand more than one read. This writer has yet not read any review on the columns of Behram Contractor (Busybee), possibly because journalists are not the same as novelists or poets. For this writer, Shama is the first critic to comment on Busybee admitting that, “We may yet have much to learn from this unpretending man who was always on the back page.”

The daily (except Sunday) column of Busybee — Round and About — had a permanent slot in the last page of Evening News of India, Mid-day and Afternoon.

“That column did many things. It turned life in our crazy city into something gentle, humourous, middle-brow – in a word, sane.

“And like all sane things it reminded you that you were not alone – that others, like yourself, were always out when the gas cylinder came and always looking for a taxi on the wrong side of the road…..

“For me personally, however, the most important thing which that column did was to make me realise — long before a Rushdie or a Ghosh had appeared on the scene — that there could be such a thing as a real Indian English writing,” confesses Shama in the essay “Busybee’s Stray Thoughts”. That’s deserving praise for Behram.

She gets a bit expansive referring to a Busybee piece on New Delhi: “It was the day on which Busybee’s ill-assorted imaginary family had returned from a trip to Delhi, and his column spoke of cruising the Delhi streets and of seeing its acres of greenery. Then came this gem of a sentence: “And then there are all these government houses, filled with government families. As far as I was concerned, the language barrier had been broken.” One would favour including Busybee’s writings in English language courses in colleges and in journalism schools.

The collection offers strong evidence of the wide reach and learning of Shama, for any reader to rest his mind on.

The lady will always be recalled when Meera bhajans are sung or talked about; Shama will remain as long as Meera remains in the Indian heart.

Meera got her Lord and I believe Shama got her Meera. For this writer, Meera is a living reference point. Like many it started after hearing M.S. Subbalakshmi’s recordings of Meera bhajans; MS has given her heart and soul to M eera.

When out of sorts, one has managed to stay sane by silently humming a few lines of Meera. Shama’s English translation of Meera bhajans called, In the Dark of the Heart: Songs of Meera, is a book one occasion ally goes back to.

The Bhakti movement in India never allowed for doubts; the pilgrim (male and female), fully and freely, believed in the Lord.

God was as much true as the seeker and when they merged one was not sure who merged with whom – the Lord with the seeker or the seeker with the Lord.

Maybe, there is no Lord or Seeker. A Meera or a Tukaram would have been surprised to learn of the doubts harassed Mother Teresa all her life. A Meera is sometimes deeply disappointed with Giridhari but that does not permit any questions on basics.

Shama dwells a lot on the job of translating works in Indian languages and sets down her measure, ably and humbly: “Between the two poles of word and spirit, I have tried to stay closely with the word, aware that ‘spirit’ can become an uncertain business.”

A sample: “My love,/he is here/inside/He does not leave,/he doesn’t/need to arrive,” says Shama capturing Meera in English.

For this writer, the favourite Meera bhajan will always be: “Mahane chakar rakhan ji/Giridhari Lala chakar rakhan ji (Take me in your employ).” For young writers she has a small sentence of advice: 220;Only learn to live.” Shama did.

P. Devarajan

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