New York, NY USA August 12, 2008/ completed on Aug 14, 2008 at 4pm 3:40 pm
August 12, 1917 , Lyallpur now in Pakistan and renamed Faisalabad. 91 years ago. Today. My Mother was born. Teji Kaur Suri, a Sikh.
It is her first birthday today after her passing away on 21st December 2007.
The flower ‘torans’ shall decorate the gates of the houses in Mumbai and Delhi. Her bedroom shall get a fresh bunch of red roses, her favorite, decorated in a vase on a prominent table by her bed. Her little ornate temple in one corner shall be lit, the ‘agarbatti’s’ will be ignited. Downstairs in my Father’s room the sound system will play the Ramayan as it does every morning. My Mother’s room will remain the same. The bed is now empty and on the wall above it, hangs a framed photograph with a garland adorning the face of the most beautiful woman in the world.
We are all in New York in the midst of our Concert tour and having completed 7 venues are getting set for the next on the 15th here at the Nassau Coliseum.
Not being at home and in the vibrations of my departed parents at this moment has detached us emotionally. We are all a little quiet and contemplative – Jaya, Abhishek, Aishwarya, Bhim my nephew who works here – as we come together in my Hotel room.
No one is saying anything. Perhaps there is nothing to say.
I gather everyone around and decide to read in prayer, a few pages from the Ramayan and the Jan Gita, a translation from the original Sanskrit into the meter and language of Tulsidas’s Ramayan, by my Father.
It feels strange.
My reading is hesitant and weak. Not as resonant and strong as when the three of us, my Father and Mother and I used to recite it together in one voice early every morning at home in Delhi in Mumbai and Haridwar and Lakshman Jhoola and…
So many memories..
Now.. two of those voices silent. The sound of their support absent.
My Mother.
The dreamy yet powerful eyes. The perfect oval face. The gentle, tapered, soft hands. The most elegantly attired at any time of day. The trail of her perfume wherever she walked. The ever optimist. The ever protective. The ever fiercely possessive towards her husband and us. The brightness in a dark room. The strength in adversity. The exuberance in celebration. The believer in faith. The anger of a lioness. The stubbornness in the given word. The honor in equality. The giver of life in any situation. The teacher of integrity and morals. The fighter.
Lost today to us and to the world.
I finish the reading and put away the Ramayan and the Gita into the case that accompanies me throughout, glancing inquisitively, perhaps for the millionth time, at the words written on the first page of the Jan Gita; hand written by my Father dedicating the copy to me with his desire that I read it every day, even it were to be a few lines. I have not been obedient to him for some months now. But I shall catch up soon.
Jaya has disappeared to a corner and is delving deeply into a bag in the luggage section. I am a little disturbed by this disinterest on her part. She returns to join us with a bunch of papers in her hand.
They are old letters written by my Father to my Mother on her birthday !
Poems specially designed for the 12th of August. Some, 40-50 years back. Some, after their grandchildren and our children came in. I am touched by Jaya’s thought. We all sit around and read them. The paper fragile and brown with age. Jaya has been digging out all this valued material from Delhi, where my Mother had stored it all.
There are references to times gone by. We smile and laugh at some of the contents. Comments by my Father on an essay I have written and asked him to correct. Its titled ‘Review of my Day’ and its when I was in School in the 50’s. Goodness ! I am doing much the same thing with my blog these days am I not.
My Father has marked me too. Given me 22 out of 50 ! Not even half good ! There are little notes on the side. How the beginning should be, where the middle and the end. The stress on words, the content, the grammar, the spellings.
And the hand writing. Like little pearl drops in ink. Refined, perfectly formed and beautiful.
Jaya wants me to play the Hanuman Chalisa that I have put to music and sung, for Bhim to hear. Every one goes quiet again.
My Mother loved Hanuman ji and loved reciting the Chalisa every day. That, and the Granth Saheb. Hours of the Holiest of the Sikh scripture has been poured into my ears from her melodious voice, an attribute that was recently documented by a Pakistan journalist in her column in one of the main papers in Lahore, she having studied with my Mother in Government College there.
My Mother.
She was a strong and independent lady. Never accepted defeat even under the most trying circumstances. Her own Mother died soon after she was born. Brought up by English nannies around my grandfather’s affluent life style, she never experienced the care and love of a Mother. It is remarkable for her to have been the epitome of one, despite this great vacuum in her own life. She left the comfort of my grandfather’s riches to marry my Father, a lower middle class professor in the Allahabad University and a sensitive poet. He earned Rs 500/- per month. Because her Father was unhappy with her decision to marry, he gave her nothing when she left his home. She wanted nothing either. Packed a small bag of her immediate belongings and left along with Sudama her closest and trusted servant, who refused to not be with her. Sudama had a son, Manwar, a little older than me. We played together and spent time together. Traditionally or should I say under normal circumstances, Manwar should have taken Sudama’s place as he grew older, but my Father opposed this practice. He educated Manwar initially through his own expenses and then encouraged him to go further into higher studies. Manwar, worked hard and became a qualified engineer in the field of aeronautics and ended up with an important job with Indian Airlines. But despite his son’s elevated social status, Sudama remained that loyal and committed servant in the house. Such was his love and his loyalty towards my Mother. When age caught up with him, he left, tears streaming down, unable to do any physical work.
Manwar and he came many years later when we had moved to Mumbai and in Prateeksha, to visit us. Manwar was now a senior and important executive with the Airline, but at Prateeksha both Father and son refused to sit on the couch in the drawing room when my Father directed them towards one. They sat at my parents feet on the floor, refusing to acknowledge their enhanced social position.
Old customs and loyalties had a life of their own. The time of those times was so different. Reverent, respectful. Unlike today’s aggressive, materialistic and at times arrogant demeanor. There was aggression then too, but for different reasons. Aggression to fight for one’s right, one’s principle’s, one’s belief’s. Aggression to fight fear, to not succumb to injustice or inequality.
Beaten up my friends in the neighborhood when I was out playing with them one afternoon in Allahabad, I ran back home bawling into my Mother’s arms. She asked what had happened and on learning my sob story, pushed me out from her lap and asked -
“How many are they ?”
“Four”, I mumbled through my tears.
“And you got beaten up by just four boys ? Get back to them and don’t come back till you have beaten them up !”
It was not the command of her voice, but the strength of her conviction that made me confront my four adversaries again with renewed vigor. I came back home victorious that day, leaving behind a bunch of bewildered and bruised friends. It was the last time that they would ever take me on again. My Mother had made a champion out of me.
She made me many other things too.
She made me aesthetic. To be able to see and appreciate the finer qualities of life. From the clothes we could afford to wear, to the music we heard or the books we read. To respect not just my Father’s stature and his creativity, but the stature and standing of his contemporaries and his elders. The exposure to theatre and museums, to art and things cultural. To personalities of great talent and to forums of great discussion and debate. To the incessant hunger for things novel and new and progressive. To the acknowledgement of good deeds and the concern for charity. To the prevalence of truth and of just beings. To the power of tolerance and the bearing of pain. To the goodness in life and the exuberance of living it. And to films.
Javed Saheb, Javed Akhtar of Salim-Javed, writers of some of the most brilliant scripts in Hindi cinema, Javed Akhtar lyricist, father to Farhan Akhtar a director of eminence from the new generation, once in the late 70’s asked me, somewhat impudently, I thought -
“How are you able to give such a good performance ?”
“Because my aesthetics compel me to appreciate Mr Dilip Kumar, when he performs” I answered.
He looked at me for long with his patent mischievous smile, as is his wont, when he discovers that the person he was talking to has made a point beyond which there can be no further discussion.
I chose; the aesthetics ingrained in me chose, Mr Dilip Kumar as the ultimate performer. There has never been any doubt or debate on the exquisite quality of his work.
An artist will do good if his choice of ‘good’ is exquisite. Exquisite to the rest of the world. Exquisite to the connoisseur.
My Mother.
The lover of nature. Of nurturing flowers and the green grass of a lawn with her own hands. Of excelling in producing the best quality of red roses. Of winning every year, the first prize at the Annual Flower Show at the Alfred Park in Allahabad. Of the smell of the ‘mogra’ and the ‘bela’ in her hair. Of the stemmed ‘nargis’ in her dressing room. Of the baskets of ‘harshringar’ she meticulously collected in the early morning dew. Of the ‘raat ki rani’ she planted in each home we lived in, by the bedroom window. Of watering the flower beds in the murderous summer heat of Uttar Pradesh. Of the smell of the parched earth as it received the first spray of water from her hands.
My Mother.
Of the piping hot cup of tea first thing in the morning. Of the quilted tea pot covers in varied hues, to keep the tea hot. Of the strainer in metal, sitting over her favorite china set. Of espresso coffee in the evenings, when it first got discovered in our land. The excited visits to coffee bars with friends and with her elder son if he had finished his college home work in time – La Boheme, Gaylords, the Oberoi Intercontinental coffee shop, in Delhi. The love of sweets. ‘Boondi ke laddoo’, ‘baysan ke ladoo’ from her visits to the Hanuman Mandir. And chocolate ! What a great love for chocolate ! Suffering acutely in illness, the bars of chocolate I would bring for her from my foreign trips, were the only reason for the smile on her now gaunt face. She would guardedly place them under her pillow, for fear someone would pinch them. In the later years when she was losing her faculties we would often discover, early in the morning, an unfinished piece of the milk bar dribbling out from her mouth. An indicator that she had fallen off to sleep without finishing the portion she may have taken the night before. Teasingly, when we would ask her to give us some of her goodie, she would give us a long distasteful glare and after almost a lifetime, break a small piece and reluctantly hand it over. Immediately after, she would ask us to leave the room.
My Mother.
Who taught me ball room dancing. The waltz. The fox trot. And who would in order to test my learning skills take me to Gaylords in Connaught Place, New Delhi and drag an embarrassed me to the dance floor.
My Mother. First off onto the lawn in Prateeksha as the ‘dhol’ set up its rhythm on Holi, dancing in the spirit of the festival with gay abandon.
My Mother, who taught me how to drive a car in the driveway of our house, when I was still 4 years under age and who told me she would slap me blue if I ever attempted to venture out on the roads without a license.
My Mother who would dump a whole lot of us kids in the car and take us for a drive on 26th January, Republic Day, to see the wonderful lights of Rashtrapati Bhavan, having kept awake with us the previous night in front of a log fire peeling and giving us to eat ‘chillgozas’, ‘moamphali’ ‘kishmish’ ‘kaju’ and ‘akhroat’, because we all had to be up to leave early for the parade at India Gate.
My Mother who would pick up a ‘dholak’ and spoon without reason or event and sing Punjabi ‘tappaas’ combining it with the folk songs of UP being strung up by my Father.
My Mother, with so much laughter and spirit and joie de verve…
My Mother.
Now almost comatose. Weak and gaunt. Just an assembly of twisted bones. Hardly any skin. Lies there in front of me every morning and evening. There is no voice and no sound. Her eyes do not open. She does not respond to any sound. A monitor indicates that she breathes. Injectibles on either hand keep switching, leaving behind harsh dark stains. Nurses at regular intervals lift her and change her lying position. Heightened dementia and Alzheimer’s for years has made her silent and incommunicable. She is unaware that she has lost her husband, my Father. She is unaware that her grandson has got married. She has not been able to see and bless her grand daughter-in-law.
She has been in this state for years and in the Hospital for the past two.
Every morning before reaching the studio I enter the Hospital to be with her. She lies there motionless. Just a body with no connection with the outside world. I keep looking at her and gently whisper the first two lines of the Hanuman Chalisa –
‘Jai hanuman gyan gun sagar, jai kapeesh tihun lok ujagar’ !
This had been our greeting mantra first thing in the morning, the first words she wrote at the top of the letter she sent to me in her later years, the only words she completed in voice when she had lost most of her faculties.
I take a deep breath and leave after discussing with the doctors and nurses her condition and her treatment.
At work there is at times a happy song to enact, an emotional scene to perform, a camaraderie with colleagues and crew to be maintained, interviews with media to be addressed, their continuous text messages on mobile to be given immediate response, well being of family and dear ones to be monitored, television game shows to be kept at optimum. But all along the heart and mind, stuck with my Mother lying inert in that Hospital bed.
After the days’ work is over I return to her in the Hospital, sit by her side and just stare at her face. Then come away.
Every day for two years I do that. The most anxious moments being the night. Some how night brings with it its own fears and apprehensions. And I was right.
On the 21st of December 2007, early at around 3am the phone rang by my bed. It was the call I had been dreading to receive.
Her private nurse in tears – “Please come quickly Sir ! Ma is not looking good, we are shifting her to the ICU !”
It’s a dead moment.
You know what you should do yet you can’t do it. Its like those moments in a dream at times when you are in the midst of an adversity – falling off a cliff, being chased by monsters – you know it’s a dream, you know you can pull out of the situation, yet you find it difficult to do so.
I do not know whether to make calls to near ones or drive or put on clothes or contact the specialists, nothing. I just feel her entire life going past my brain. In the car another call. It’s the Hospital. I am numb. Hurry sir, her heart stopped, they have revived her, but its…
I run into the ICU with Jaya. Equipment, doctors, several of them, nurses rushing about hurriedly with concerned expressions, urgent instructions being passed around..
And there in the middle of all this surround, almost invisible and drowned in pipes and tubes and multiple hands working on her. My Mother. Lifeless. Almost.
Her heart stopped, we tried, she fought back. At 90, she is a tough lady. Ya. I know. She is my Mother.
Abhishek, Shweta, Aishwarya out of town, now catching urgent flights in.
They arrive. I fill them in. A quiet strength creeping in seeing family together. My brother, nieces, cousins now at the bedside. She is normalizing. No she is going again. The commotion of the team of doctors starts again. Her frail delicate body being pummeled to get her heart working again. She fights again. The graph on the monitor moves again. Doctors pumping her chest tire and take turns. We stand behind and hold hands and embrace each other – Jaya, Abhishek, Aishwarya, Shweta, Namrata, Bunty – giving strength to ourselves. Shweta pulls out her little booklet of the Hanuman Chalisa. Starts chanting. Tears swelling up in her eyes. Namrata cries.
I just stare. Stare at my Mother.
She fights again. Heart comes back.
Phone calls coming in frantically. Amar Singhji from Delhi. Upset and annoyed that his flight has got stuck in the morning fog. I should be there with you. Now. What is the point of you calling me your brother if I cannot be with you.
The graph on the monitor showing some regularity. Doctors ask us to wait in a room outside. We all huddle and sit there. Quiet. More people coming in now. Cousins, Aishwarya’s family, other close friends.
I saunter out of the room and walk towards my Mother’s section.
Frantic activity again. We will not be able to keep on like this sir. Be prepared. I am sorry. We can only do this much.
I run back to the room where the others are. She’s going, I pant out.
We are back with her. Doctors laboring. Giving everything they can. Intermittently looking up towards me with defeated expression.
She still fights. Her body bouncing on the bed with the chest- pummeling.
Ok. Stop. Let her be. Let her go now. I am disturbed to see her body being treated like this. She has suffered enough.
The doctors step back. I move forward and stand by her. My hand goes to her forehead. It is cold. Cover her with the blanket I say and remain motionless looking at her.
The monitor beeps inconsistently. And then.. the singular drone..
Straight line. A nurse utters softly.
She has gone.
The most beautiful woman in the world. My Mother. Has left us.
We bring her home to Prateeksha. Jaya and the ladies had left the Hospital earlier to prepare for the rituals. My cousins from my Mother’s elder sister who have come over from Punjab sit by her side as she lies on the floor and recite the Granth Saheb all night. I remain with them, awake and pensive. Next morning we take her to the cremation ground close by. The same spot where we took my Father. She had wanted it this way. We collected the ashes and immersed them at the relevant spots – Sangam, Allahabad where she used to take us for boat rides and early mornings dips in the sacred river, Haridwar, where we had spent many days with her at an ashram in prayer, Varanasi, Chitrakoot, her favorite place of worship. And when all the immersions were over entered Amritsar, the Golden Temple.
As we walked into the sanctum sanctorum, the strains of the Granthi’s singing from the Granth Saheb touched a chord within me.
And for the first time since her passing, I break down.
She had brought me here to Harmandir Saheb when I was in College, reminding and igniting in me my Sikh genes. And everything just came back. The dip in the Holy waters of the Lake surrounding the sanctum. The ‘kada prasad’. The food at the ‘langgar’. Everything. As though it had happened just yesterday.
My Mother.
Her wedding photograph that you see in the blog, now framed and put alongside my Father’s framed photograph in his room in Prateeksha.
All her belongings in her room just as she left them. She hardly had any. Her generosity had prompted her to give away all that she possessed. To people not necessarily of the family. To her nurses, to the driver that took her for her daily drives, to the ‘mithai wala’ she visited for her evening coffee and snacks, to her servants who served her devotedly. To her acquaintances she took an immediate liking to and to hundreds of the poor that she encountered wherever she went. I know who they are. For they come even now to the house. Not to ask, but to give. Give their gratitude to her kindness and compassion.
I visit my Mother’s room every day. I say a prayer at her little temple corner – the Gods all decorated in their finery on one end and the photographs of the Sikh Guru’s on the other.
Every morning before setting out to work I visit her framed photograph, the one you see above, and that of my father. I touch her beautiful face and smile at her. I do not ask for anything.
Simply wish that I could spend my life just one hundredth of the way she spent hers !
My Mother.
Srimati Teji Bachchan.
1917 - 2007
August 20th, 2008 at 11:01 pm
Now ,I am really happy that Jaya got what she deserved- a special moment. Seeing you both together and Jayaji given importance is really wonderful!
She has been your strength and been by your side always-
Your love and acknowledgement must be of highest value to her- I am proud of you NOW.
Take care
Jhanu
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:10 pm
Age is no bar for love
No matter how high the world thinks of you- A wife longs to hear it from her husband, that will make any woman proud and happy at any age.
We, women,in general, wish our husband acknowledge our love thats the greatest gift ever!
Car, bugalow or money alone cannot make our life -its husband’s love that we long for our true happiness.
Wish ou both happiness always.
Jhanu
August 20th, 2008 at 11:14 pm
Dearest Mr. AB,
I just saw your movie “Aebaar” and I loved it. The manner in which you have played the character of a protective father was deeply moving…. especially, the last scene where you drop your daughter to the college and watch her…. and then wipe a tear…. I always love you as an actor and a great human being who touches the hearts and souls of billions.
God Bless-
Carol.
August 20th, 2008 at 11:15 pm
Sorry I meant “Aetbaar.”
August 20th, 2008 at 11:15 pm
Dear Mr Bachchan, A good rebuttal..Keep it up..!
ps: Thanks for sharing such a sweet picture of Jaya Aunty and U. Kool..
August 20th, 2008 at 11:16 pm
I am not in your shoes, I think you are taking this article way too seriously. Although the writer may have twisted your words, I think it is still a positive article and most readers would view it that way. There are far worse things written about celebrities. I think the relationship between the media is that you can’t live with them or without them. As someone once said, all publicity is good publicity (or something to that effect). You are well established and it’s nice that you have your own outlet to clarify matters and give us your own viewpoint. However, lesser known celebrities crave any media attention and tend to feed into the frenzy (Paris Hilton, Britney Spears). Without the media, their careers would die. It’s a tricky relationship.
August 20th, 2008 at 11:17 pm
Dear Sir,
Excellent medium to get out with the true story…an extension of your previous topic…a very recent example of what you were discussing in previous entry!!
We all can see the mutual love and affection in both urs and Jayaji’s eyes and body language…that definitely cannot be staged…with or without props! Keep on the good work along with the love of ur family….we are always with you.
Waiting for your tour to come to Melb,
Till then, take care and love all.
vinit
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:18 pm
Dear Amitji,
Excellent. I loved the way you have responded- If I would have read without your clarification, it certainly sounds what Ms Dubey wanted to portrait- which is totally disgusting and malice on her part- by trying to “edit ” your comments. This is why I like your blog- becos’ general public & especially your fans get more clear picture (even though we would take any new article with pinch of grain & salt anyway!). love.
Ashesh
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:18 pm
This is what I don’t like about media is that twist the words in the way they want to present to the public.
Amitabh ji your love for your wife and kids shows thru your personality so no matter what media says your fans will always know you as a loving husband/dad/grandfather/ and above all as a loving human being.
With love
Subhashni
August 20th, 2008 at 11:22 pm
Dear Sir,
It is really objectionable, for their purpose of job using others name
without permission is realy wrong v r with u sir , please be dont worry.
bhushan mumbai lower parel
August 20th, 2008 at 11:23 pm
Dear Amit Uncle,
When I read Ms. Bharati’s question “Getting sentimental in old age, sir?” I was really surprised and felt so WEIRD and extremely uncomfortable. What did she hope to gain with that kind of taunt or sarcasm or judgment? U have expressed it just the way I would feel about it inside. Whether it was all on purpose, or even something she could not help..maybe because that’s how she feels, I don’t know. It’s upsetting to realize a certain lack of sensitivity and maturity and wisdom there.
With lots of love to you,
Harshi.
August 20th, 2008 at 11:24 pm
Dear Mr. Bachchan,
Whoa! What a “solid” retort to Ms. Dubey! I think this happens with all celebrities, they say something and these irresponsible journalists add their own “masala” and print something else! I think if all celebrities start blogging we will get to read the “real” interviews. What one had said and what these journos have printed! Anyway methinks that the days of these journalists will soon be over. Soon we are going to hear things straight from the horse’s mouth.
Anyway ALL THE BEST TO YOUR UK SHOWS!
With lots of love,
A S Abdul Rahim.
Chennai.
August 20th, 2008 at 11:25 pm
Fantastic!!! What a reply. Got reminded of Vijay, of Deewaar. I too didn’t like the “sentimental” line in the article. That was degrading. Your reply was very apt.
On a different note, enjoyed the scene in Sarkar Raj II were you are in the hospital and son comes over. The look in your eyes. How can you emote like that? Fantastic!!!
August 20th, 2008 at 11:27 pm
Dear Mr Bachan
That was a good response to the article but im only wondering that why shud such an article disturb u so much. Your fans already know who you are and what is your charachter so why the need to respond to such articles? We all know that the media is capable of writing anything they feel provided it gets the attention of the public. But the people who already know you over the years will definitely not change their opinion of you and Jayaji.
I think you should just ignore the likes of Bharti Dubey!! We all know how low these journalists can stoop to accomplish their mission!
August 20th, 2008 at 11:27 pm
When it rains …. it pours..
August 20th, 2008 at 11:29 pm
Amit jee,
Charansparsh !
ShubhDin !
August 20th, 2008 at 11:29 pm
What I find absolutely silly in Bharati Dubey and some other journalists of her genre offlate is that they write entire articles based on blogs. Funnily enough they make it sounds like an actual conducted interview, when the information on the article is nothing more but verbatim blog write-ups. Guess it’s the easiest way to write these days; log on to a celebrity blog, cut-paste and the article is done:)
August 20th, 2008 at 11:30 pm
Great Photo!
August 20th, 2008 at 11:31 pm
Sad. But a fitting reply from you sir
August 20th, 2008 at 11:33 pm
Most respected Bachchan Sir,
i congratulate you for ur views and thaughts which u expressed in the blog. in india it is very easy to comment on people. people use many tricks and plans to demolarise the person…in other countries you can not expect this kind of dirty games…but in india…when a person is successful when you are not capable to stand in front of person who achived success through hard work, determinatation and sincerity people do this always…when u can not challange the person start dirty polytics….but you have not to worry when you are honest…if you believe in god just do your work…and have faith…noone can stop you that is sure…go ahead and ahead in life…god is with you..just do your work and never think about this people for a single time…this is the policy we should follow sir…waiting for your email address and phone no…
yours
k r mehta
ahmedabad
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:34 pm
HaHaHa..Mr Bachchan you gave a terrific reply.
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:34 pm
SIR JI,
LOOKING GREAT WITH JAYA JI.VERY HAPPY TO SEE TOGATHER AND LITTLE
JELOUS,JUST JOKING……………!
MAY GOD BLESS THE OLD COUPLE……LOOK LIKE JUST MARRIED…..AGAIN JOKING………..I AM VERY VERY VERY VERY HAPPY TO SEE YOU BOTH.
LOVE YOU.
RSAHMI M.
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:34 pm
Sir,
Fantastic example of being misquotations..!!…!! Its irritating sometimes to even read such reports…. eg:.. “A” called “B” etc etc…
Kind Regards
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:35 pm
Perfect reply and perfect way of exposing media! Thank God these media stooges didn’t add something like “Abhishek and Aishwarya were feeling awkward because you embraced Jayaji in public”. Stupid media jerks!
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:36 pm
Sir, please change the image on the blog, please put your picture from Deewar or Trishul or from Don, please please please
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:36 pm
India is land of rich culture and people used to respect its value.Today, India media gives different image of modern India, where no respect for senior, no respect for Indian culture, even no respect for nation. I often see that one part of India media oftem try to shade negative on Mr.Bachchan, who is not only suuccessful actor but respected and dignity Indian senior citizenship which comes from good reputed family background and most importantly he is humble and good human being.Who ever you have potiential of fight against these small section of media then please respond and protect Mr.Bachachan from these evil media.Or one can form “Amitabh Bachchan media fan club”internationally and give response to all negative journalist.Because AB is India’s treasure.
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:37 pm
You are a Libran, right? I guess your sense of justice has been terribly provoked by some journalists. But I hope that you do see the humour in the situation. I hope that you derive a lot of fun from your exercise of battling it out with the Indian media.
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:38 pm
Mr Bachchan,
Good Morning!
I actually did read this article on mumbai mirror online yesterday and the points you just expressed were exactly what i was thinking when reading it. It’s great that you are setting the record straight. It’s sad how journalists cannot even write a simple article without manipulating its contexts. Something so personal between you and Jaya aunty can be totally misconstrued by unjust newspapers.
As always its a pleasure to read your blogs every morning and just like the others instead of “working hard” at the office, I sit at my desk ” hardly working” waiting for your next update.
Regards,
Vrnda
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:40 pm
“When you get there, give me a call. If I am still around, we’ll talk !!”
Simply awesome!!
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:41 pm
what a fitting reply !!!
Kudos to you man !!
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:41 pm
Good one !
Amit Naik
San Francisco USA
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:43 pm
Hello Mr. Bachchan,
That was a rubbish story and thank you for rubbishing it. Your take on the ‘between-the-lines’ meaning was pretty accurate.
That being said, I loved the picture-I think it’s one of the best I’ve seen of the both of you. Sometimes, a picture is worth a thousand words:)
Would have loved to see the both of you together on stage at Atlantic City.
Here’s hoping your tour goes from strength to strength,
My best wishes to you always,
Sonan
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:43 pm
Dear Amitji,
You both make such a loving couple.I have seen the movie Abhimaan and have loved each and every sceen.
I am not a movie buff, but i love to watch your movies.I really loved the scene in Kabhi khushi Kabhie Gham, wherein Jaya Aunty is able to sense shahrukh Khan is closeby.It is a poignant scene, which brings tears to our eyes.
Wishing you and your family,
Regards,
yp
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:44 pm
We , the common public, read these kind of stories about you everyday and its true, we believe most of it.Its so refreshing not to hear “no comments” and to finally see someone give a “tit for tat” kind of answer.
If there was someone who was not a fan of “Amitabh the actor”, I m sure “Amitabh the writer” has him/her on bended knees!
Please do not stop writing on this blog ever!!
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:45 pm
Brilliant. You will set these guys straight (hopefully). Keep it up Mr Bachchan.
‘Yesterday’ - it certainly isn’t, and ‘old age’ - age is in the mind. And you are not old if I know anything about mindsets and attitudes!
Hitting the nail on the head!!!!!!!!! Nobody’s sentiments need any 3rd party validation or justification. Not from a journalist. Not from anybody else - unless we give them the authority (implicit + explicit) to comment.
Cheers
Pallavi
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:46 pm
Hello Sir,
Thats a wonderful romantic pic… to tell u the truth height difference is a problem with me and my husband .. he is 6 feet 2 inches and iam 5 feet 2 inches haha..
People knowing us generally gives the example of Amitabh and jaya bachchan..for that matter.
May be Jaya aunty is little taller than me
But what prevails is the love which is the eternity… it stands by in all circumstance good or bad..
Ours is the love marriage .. and our age difference too is of 6 years ,, and one last thing to add we both are Librans …
sorry for boring ,,,
god bless u both and may u be live happily for many more years …
with due respect
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:48 pm
DEAR SIR,
HELLO SIR.HOW ARE YOU?
BEST WISHES AND WARM REGARDS
HIMMAT SINGH GREWAL
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:49 pm
Man - the levels to which they will stoop !
Mr. Bachchan, If I were you - I would probably not have responded to that question on sms. Why even bother - is there a point - unless you do enjoy exposing the shenanigans of these people. It is sad - that at this point - the media continues to question of one its country’s leading men ( and I don’t mean it only in cinematic terms ).
As a young ( can I call myself that at 30?
) man living in USA, your tour inspires pride. I have not attended the shows - my work schedule did not permit me to. However, to conquer foreign shores on the scale that you have , inspires pride. Was it not that spirit that brought europe all its wealth and progress in the middle ages ? Its explorers setting out to discover new lands ?
I am amazed at how much more educated the westerner is about our cinema industry. The day they stop calling it Bollywood would be the day we would have arrived. Because to me, calling it Bollywood is demeaning. Kind of like selling imitation Adidas shoes under the name Adibas. What you just did may be viewed as a pure capitalist exercise by some, but it has definitely helped the process of furthering the expanse and reach of Indian cinema and in turn, India.
Do you honestly think you can have an intellectual discussion with a person who poses a question as silly as that sms can actually grasp the depth of the ideas you explore in your blogs ? There are million more interesting questions that I can come up through the course of a workday to ask a personality who has achieved great heights like you have. And all she could ask was about a ring / garland (I dont even remember what it was and don’t care about reading the entry again to find what it was
) ?
Frankly, my answer would have been three letters - wtf ? pardon the language
Cheers !
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:51 pm
Amitabh Bachchan ko gussa kyon aata hai
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:52 pm
DADA,
I WAS WOKING WITH YOU IN TV ASIA. I KNOW YOU VERY CLOSLY. YOU ARE GEM. WHEN I READ ANY THING WRONG ABOUT YOU, IT”S HEART ME.
KEEP IT LIKE THIS. IF ANY THING I CAN DO FOR YOU? I AM IN CHICAGO. MY PHONE NO IS 732-429-3260.
RAVI KAPOOR
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:55 pm
Dear sir,
i would like to request you to provide the readers with the option to go to the next page or the previous page at the bottom of the page, where you sign off.
It is very convenient.
Thanking you,
Regards,
yp
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:56 pm
Mr. Bachchan,
This I suppose is another act of journalistic talent(obviously missing). Your previous blog of why they act or report articles is mainly due to the gossip and there are readers who buy such magazines. This media craze is all over, anything that Britney Spears or people like her do is all over the news magazines. In India, it is more exaggeratted. The media in India writes more about the unseen and vicious only to win the popularity contest. It is a disgrace that people believe or wonder if that incident could have happened. It is totally a mind game that the media plays with the masses. There was a time, I used to read and even believe some of them, but slowly and surely I had better judgement.They write articles that work for themselves not what works for the artists.So, one does not need fortune cookies to decipher what will happen. Unfortunately, when you are on the public eye, this will only magnify their interest. I do feel bad that everything you do is misconstrued and always seen as an ulterior motive. Hats off to you though, for standing up tall. We love you and your family Mr. Bachchan. Keep it going. Good luck in London and BON VOYAGE.
Sujata.
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:57 pm
Respected Amit Sir,
Realy sir you are a great personality when i am reading your thought i am realy impress you.Sir in print media writer wants a criticsNow bharti dubey is famous for his critics because he is writing for Mr.Amitabh Bachan because Bachan is king of bollywood.You be happy and take care for your health because you act with your puta (Abhishek Ji Son).God bless you sir.Again I have a one request when we have seen you with Rekha ji in screen this picture is super duper hit sir.Please dot it sir.Jaya Mam please give him permission to do this.
We Love Bachan’s whole Family.TakeCare sir.
Thanks & Warm Regard
Neeraj Vashishtha
Rishikesh
Uttarakhand
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:59 pm
I have been an avid reader of your blog and have been keeping up with it since the day you started. Its an admirable feat that you are accomplishing, considering your busy life and needs. I have never written to you before, but I am writing this firstly to thank you, as you really make me feel so very proud by wishing us Parsees for our Navroz, on August 19, 2008. Not many around the world are aware of our community and most especially of our religious celebrations. While reading your blog and scrolling down the list of responses, I have not noticed any Parsee names hence felt proud of your special mention for us, as part of your community.
You are truly admirable and someone who deserves the highest respect. I have been seeing your films since I was a child. Alike others I never knew you indepth, until you opened the doors of closeness with your blogging, for which again I am thankful. I am a lot younger than you, but reading your blog daily has taught me a lot; given me strength, smiles, tears and all the great feelings that one experiences when being in touch with someone like you from a distance. I have learned so much about humanity and felt inspired by your humbleness. I pray for your success and long life. May you forever continue to share more golden nuggets of your life experiences, as you have a treasure trove of them. I pray for your family and loved ones to be safe and happy by your side, giving you all the support and inspiration to do all that you do. I was terribly touched by your words of tribute for your mother recently and earlier about your father. They must be so proud of all they have done for you and for all that you are doing in return. Parents are always special people in ones lives, sometimes one realises it all when it could have been done so earlier. You were lucky and blessed to have been touched by so special people, as your parents. Please continue to write more about your younger days and some about your work, past and present, as they are really brilliant. Through the blog you have made a distant star come close, as it must have been like for those that initially saw the galaxy through the telescope. It is not just seeing you on screen, playing a character, but rather now we learn more on a personal nature and can share too, like I am doing at present. I await for you to make personal responses in your blog to each of the respondent’s enteries, which to me seems awesome! Thank you for all your hardwork, brilliant performances and for simply being you - Amitabh Bachan. I salute you for all that you have offered to someone like me and the world at large. God bless.
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August 20th, 2008 at 11:59 pm
AB sir,
I respect you alot but was it really that rude? I didn’t get any wrong impression about you from this post