PLEASE DO NOT SPIT HERE
-Excuse me? -Yes?
Just a…
Yes?
It's him, right?
Yes.
You're Musafir Ali, right?
They ask me who Ghalib is…
Someone tell them For I know not who I am
I'd recognize your voice anywhere.
In '85, you had a concert at Ravindra Bhavan.
Yes, yes…
I've been a fan ever since.
I have all your albums.
Thank you for the kind words.
Just one autograph, please?
Please.
This crazy heart of mine…
A lovesick rogue
If life permits, we'll meet again.
-Amen! -Amen to that!
Ladies and gentlemen…
On this blessed journey from Bhopal to Delhi…
I, Musafir Ali,
humbly welcome your presence.
I would like to begin this beautiful evening
with a couplet by the great Ahmad Faraz.
-Let's hear it! -Here goes…
Some find their destination A step away from home…
Wonderful! Wonderful!
Some find their destination A step away from home…
For others, like myself All life is spent in journey
Bravo! Bravo!
Sorry… Careful…
It moved suddenly… Please sit.
Hello. Myself Aslam Baig.
Musafir Ali.
-Hello. -Hello.
It feels like I have…
Yes, even I feel like…
-We've met before. -But where?
My cousin's wedding in Gajraula--
At Ravindra Bhavan.
No, I've never been there.
Then where?
Shadaab sir…
Mr. Shadaab…
Shadaab sir, from Bhopal housing board!
No, no, you are mistaken.
-I am sure. -I have no connection with Bhopal.
I came here for a printing press conference.
Brother, no more jokes.
Swear to God, my name is not Shadaab.
Really!
-Really? -Yes.
Anyway, the boundless voyage will defog our memories.
The what?
The boundless voyage.
Meaning, the long journey will jog our memories.
I see…
Now you're speaking Urdu.
Come in.
Pardon me, sir.
It's you, isn't it?
It was a full moon night
They looked at the skies
And spoke of you
From blankets to booze, anything you need, I'm your man.
-Thank you. -For now, tea will do. Milk separate.
-I'll be right back, sir. -Okay.
It was a full moon night…
So it's you! The cassette guy.
My wife is a big fan of yours.
She listens to your songs all day. What was it…
I drank in the toilet…
From the goblet.
-Same thing. -It's not, sir.
Goblet is meant for wine, toilet is for urine.
Either way, it's your voice, right?
Even I pour myself a rum and listen to that one.
I stumble and drink
I fumble…
"I drink to escape the rancor of life…"
"I drink to forget the ink-stained black night."
As long as all roads lead to a drink, I'm happy.
It's my favorite ghazal.
You're not alone, my friend.
Even the maestro Ghulam Ali loves this song.
Wow.
When he heard me live in Delhi,
he came backstage and gave me a warm hug.
And then the maestro himself
took off his ring and gave it to me.
Ghulam Ali, the Pakistani fast bowler, right?
He's got a beautiful outswing.
I don't know about outswing,
but his voice swings in beautifully.
Anyway, glad to meet you.
The wife will be delighted to hear about this.
She'll be green with envy.
Come in.
Keep it here.
INDIAN WRESTLING WEEKLY
This…
-Yes? -What is this?
Chai Noomi Basra.
Chai Noomi?
Arabian tea.
You put a few pieces of dried lime in the tea.
Want to try?
Have some.
Try it.
My mother drank it all the time.
I picked up the habit as well.
Try it?
Try. Don't hesitate.
What're you doing, my friend?
-This is not a coaster. -I'm sorry.
This is the most popular wrestling magazine of India.
Really sorry.
-Seems you're not a wrestling fan. -No, no.
Not at all.
But you love it, obviously.
Ever heard of the name Jenga?
Jenga?
The Hercules of Patparganj…
Lion of Karkardooma, Jenga the Wrestler.
The only wrestling I do is with my tunes.
Physical wrestling I haven't encountered.
Yet…
-That was my name. -I see.
How do they say it in your circles…
-Synonym? -Pseudo… Pseudonym.
Exactly, it was my nickname.
I became Baig later.
The world knew me as Jenga the Wrestler.
I see.
From Delhi to Agra, people spoke of my "Powerslam."
But time, my friend…
is a cold-hearted bitch.
It turns like the tide and takes your life with it.
But don't you dare think
that because it's been ten years, Jenga won't recognize you.
I know your kind very well.
I recognized you instantly.
You stole a piece of my heart.
Robbed me of my destiny.
My destiny, you son of a bitch!
Motherfu…
I'll be right back.
Ladies and gentlemen…
This is the same gentleman…
whose Khusbakht I stole ten years ago.
Oh, precious Khusbakht.
If you're thinking that's the name of his daughter or his wife, you're wrong.
Nor do I have the audacity for such a transgression.
Alas, Khusbakht…
is the name of his watch.
And that watch…
A beauty of a watch.
God forbid, if Baig recalls that incident,
then, no matter.
Just a threat to my life.
But I am not the man I was ten years ago.
Back then, I suffered from an incurable disease.
What was the damn disease called?
Can't remember.
It's like they say…
Who was once the object Of all my thoughts, now I can't recall
The name of that infernal ailment Now I can't recall
Wonderful! Bravo!
-A-6? -Hello.
Myself Aslam Baig.
Raju Shahwani.
Raju, my friend, care for some Chai Noomi Basra?
Chai what?
Noomi Basra.
Arabian tea, my friend.
Hey, this…
You put a few pieces of dried lime in the tea.
Try it.
Have some.
-No? -Thank you.
What do you do?
-I try. -Try what?
Let's put it this way.
I stagger in the desert in search of a mirage called employment.
-You're looking for a job, right? -Yes.
Then why are you in the desert?
Try the city, they're a dime a dozen.
Mr. Baig, the city is a desert, too, isn't it?
I see.
My friend…
-You see this ear? -Yes.
You hold it like this, right?
You can't hold it like this.
You won't find a job.
I'm speaking from experience.
Thank you.
A COLLECTION OF MY POETRY
Let the cloud burst Let the wine flow
After that Whatever punishment may come
INDIAN WRESTLING WEEKLY
-Mr. Baig… -Yes?
What do you do?
-Press. -Press?
Sports journalism. I write about wrestling.
I could tell from your magazine that you're a wrestling fan.
"Fan" is hardly the word, my friend.
It is my obsession.
-Really? -Yes.
Ever heard of the name Jenga?
What?
Hercules of Patparganj,
Lion of Karkardooma, Jenga the Wrestler.
Sir, I'm a man of poetry and music.
I'm not very familiar with wrestlers.
I became Baig later.
The world knew me as Jenga.
-Really? -Yes.
From Delhi to Agra, there was talk of my "Powerslam."
I see.
So how come you switched from wrestling to journalism?
Thanks to the King of the Jungle, Dara Singh.
-Really? -Yes.
I had a match with him.
He entered the ring and I thought there was a skyscraper in front of me.
I looked closely, and saw no doors or windows.
Then I realized it was a human being.
Then?
I took him for a man, but he didn't take me for one.
Meaning?
He probably took me for a lady's skirt.
-Skirt? -Yes.
What are you saying, Mr. Baig?
The way a washerman slams a skirt on a rock.
Well, Dara Singh slammed me in the ring.
That was the sound.
Cracked my spine. And I was a wrestler no more.
But the bug never left.
It doesn't leave, my friend
Once you've tasted it
Yes, something like that.
Wonderful, wonderful.
-Mr. Baig. -Yes?
Time is like a steam iron.
It gradually removes all the creases of grief.
No, no…
Time isn't like an iron.
Time is like a woman.
Beautiful.
They call it Khusbakht.
No less than a beautiful woman.
My God!
The secret is…
It doesn't just tell the time,
it changes it.
I shall keep the secrets
You hide in your eyes
Should I recover I would rather pretend I am in paradise
Although I'm yet asleep My sweet bearer of wine
Undeserving, though, I am This intoxication is no fault of mine
Why the chaos, friends?
With a cracked spine,
Jenga the Wrestler was knocked down by life.
Wine replaced milk as his choice of drink.
And in that difficult time, this Khusbakht…
came into my life.
I said, "My life!"
Control yourself!
Khusbakht turned my time around.
Showed me a new path.
I got into sports journalism.
And then…
life started getting back on track.
Mr. Baig…
If the great Gulzar were here, he would have said…
It tells time but is not a timepiece For it is a piece of my heart
My friend, where…
Some idiot has pulled the brake chain.
It's the outskirts. I'll go check it out.
I'll start packing as well. The station's just two minutes away.
Fine, fine.
What happened?
It's arrived…
Who's arrived?
Station.
You look as if the apocalypse has arrived.
Mr. Baig, you're too much.
Wait!
Aren't you forgetting something?
What?
Did not expect this from you.
No goodbye, no farewell, you're just going to walk away like that?
See you.
-Goodbye. What a strange man. -Goodbye.
Excuse me.
Open your eyes.
Eyeballs left to right.
Good.
Okay.
So you saw the watch and swiped it.
Yes.
Now tell me,
there is a thing called "Fear of God."
Didn't you feel it?
This stealing incident, was this a first,
or have you pulled such heists before?
My friend, take your words out of exile
and speak the truth. You will feel lighter.
Doctor…
once…
Once or twice.
Once or twice?
My friend,
you should never lie to your lover, your priest and your doctor.
If you do, then on the day of reckoning,
the devil will whip your ass until you're frothing at the mouth.
Get it?
What will he do?
Whip my ass.
Whip your…
Ass.
Now spill the truth.
I spent my childhood in Koh-e-Fiza.
Father's financial situation was less than ideal.
I never got any toys.
The first time I laid eyes on my friend's Dancing Monkey,
I was spellbound.
He had many toys.
"One less monkey won't make a difference to him,"
is what I thought.
I had other friends. They had other animals.
The jungle kept growing.
At first, I would feel bad.
But then it became a habit.
Sometimes it occurred to me that this is wrong…
"I'll stop tomorrow."
But the next day, my hands would pick up something again.
As if my own hands were out of my control.
At other times, I felt as if this was my talent,
and therefore it was my right to steal.
My friend, tell me something.
Do you feel shame?
Yes. Very much.
Then consider yourself cured.
This disease has a very difficult name.
Right.
What Rajesh Khanna had in the film Anand, that had a more difficult name.
-This is easier. -What's the name?
This grievous ailment is called… Say it with me.
-Ki-le-pato… -Ke-le-pato…
-Not "Kele," "Ki-le." -Ki-le-pato…
-Ki-le-pato…
-Maa-ni-ya. -Ma-ni-ya.
-Not "Ma-ni-ya," "Maa-ni-ya." -Maa-ni-ya.
-Kilepato-maaniya. -Kilepato-maaniya.
-Say it in full. -"It in full."
The full name, my friend.
-Kilepato-maaniya. -Yes, yes…
This is what you have.
Is there a remedy?
-Absolutely. -Please tell me.
Substitute this ailment with another.
Another ailment?
You have the stealing disease.
If you were to replace this with the disease of music,
you would be cured.
You sing well, don't you?
Once you catch this bug, the other will disappear.
Now, come here.
Yes?
Why do you walk around looking like a priest?
You've got to sing for an audience.
A sharp moustache like Mehdi Hassan. Sharp as a blade!
And you call this a shirt?
Get one of those fancy silk shirts like Ghulam Ali.
With bright colors. And this bloody name… "Raju"?
Sounds like the name of a shrimp seller.
Get an elegant, poetic name. What'll it be?
How's "Musafir"?
Straight to the heart… Musafir.
Musafir Ali.
Please listen to this Urdu couplet.
Why the chaos, friends?
Why the chaos…
Why the chaos, friends?
Bravo! Wonderful!
Why the chaos, friends?
For I have had just a harmless drink
Not a bandit
And neither am I a thief
Why the chaos, friends?
For I have had just a harmless drink
Worthless is the wine
Which is a stranger to the heart
I seek only the wine
Which springs from my own heart
Why is there such a noise?
For I have had just a harmless drink
Excuse me!
Mr. Musafir!
Hello! What's the time?
Mr. Musafir!
What time is it?
What's the time? Hello!
Mr. Musafir?
Time, what's the time?
What time have you got?
9:00.
HMT?
Even I had an HMT.
It broke this morning.
Actually…
I'm unlucky when it comes to watches.
You know…
I used to have a priceless watch.
Khusbakht.
It was stolen.
Ten years ago I was in a train compartment like this one,
and this bastard…
Do you know what "Khusbakht" means?
Lucky.
I see.
You could say that the thief didn't just steal my watch,
he stole my luck with it.
Lost my job.
Articles started getting rejected and…
The wife wanted a child.
But even after several attempts…
It felt like along with the watch,
I lost my manhood as well.
Why did that scoundrel steal my watch?
I still haven't forgotten his face.
His face haunts me night and day.
I swear to God, if I ever see him,
I will tear his jaw with my bare hands.
What happened? Do you have asthma?
Just a second…
Here, drink this.
Put some black cumin in milk and drink it.
It's good for asthma.
Thank you.
-You're okay? -Yes.
The thing is…
I know about your ailment.
You…
You know?
Yes.
And I know the remedy as well.
What?
I'll show you…
What're you looking for?
Dagger!
Dagger?
Goes straight to the heart!
Remedy for every ailment.
I stumble and drink, I fumble and drink…
Cheers!
Mr. Musafir…
this was the quarter-final.
-Now, semifinal. -Sure.
So I was saying
that in my wrestling days,
I used to do a lot of weight training.
So that my arms would be strong.
Chest would be strong.
Human beings,
we take such good care of our bodies.
We try so hard.
But… what about the soul?
If only…
If there were exercises for the soul,
I'd do them, too.
When a man robs another
of his favorite, priceless object,
then doesn't he deserve
to be cursed for his entire life?
Yes, he does.
Does he ever feel bad about it?
He does.
He feels terrible.
Perhaps he is a good man inside,
and his circumstances are bad.
Mr. Musafir, blaming circumstances for our mistakes
is a typical Indian trait.
It's also possible that he caught the stealing disease
in his childhood.
-Disease? -Yes, this is a kind of disease.
Okay, it is!
But there is a thing called conscience. Conscience!
Somewhere in the narrow alleys of his conscience,
he can find a place to cleanse his soul.
What do you call it…
-Atonement. -Yes, can't he do that?
Of course he can, you are absolutely right. But…
What if he is afraid of confessing his sins?
-Then… there is only one remedy. -What?
A beating.
And we wrestlers know how to give a beating.
I am very good at it.
Get him in a headlock. No eye contact…
Fine, have it your way.
You win, I lose.
Okay.
Deliver your beating. Guilty as charged.
Give you a beating for what?
Since you're so very eager to give a beating.
Go on. I must have sinned, too.
-So, go ahead. -I love you!
Take out your frustration. Punish me!
Okay.
Your…
punishment is…
Bottoms up.
Mr. Baig.
As you wish.
One…
Two…
Three.
-Cheers! -Cheers!
Mr. Musafir.
They call it "Khusbakht."
Mr. Musafir?
-Mr. Musafir? -What?
Return Mr. Baig's watch.
What did you say?
Nothing. I said your tea is ready. Please have it.
Delhi arrives in ten minutes.
Mr. Baig?
He's in the washroom.
He's got indigestion.
I stumble and drink, I fumble…
What's going on here?
What?
-That's my bag. -Yes.
What's in your hand?
In my hand? My hand… My fingers.
Take out your hand.
Why?
What're you doing?
This…
Mr. Baig…
I apologize.
Ten years ago,
that lousy, dishonest,
despicable man…
was me.
I stole your Khusbakht from you.
Mr. Baig,
if it was about money, I'd have simply compensated you,
but I stole your good fortune from you.
But I was not born a scoundrel, Mr. Baig.
I caught the stealing disease in my youth…
but now I am free of it.
The doctor had told me the name of this strange disease…
Now I can't remember.
Mr. Baig.
Your sinner stands before you.
As the remedy for this disease,
or as punishment for my sins,
I accept all the beatings you wish to give me.
Go ahead.
Mr. Baig.
Mr. Baig?
Here.
Take it.
It belongs to you.
Forgive me if you can.
-What? -Yes.
Raju!
Raju, my friend!
Mr. Musafir?
Hey, Mr. Musafir!
What's this, Mr. Baig?
Tomorrow at 3:00 p.m., go to Old Delhi.
Qasim Jan lane, Ballimaran street.
Where Ghalib's mansion is?
Don't know about that, but there is a Ghalib snack shop there.
Adjacent is a pawn shop, Rooh Safa.
Give it there. Farewell.
But, Mr. Baig?
Madam, please excuse me.
Wonderful! Amazing!
-It's amazing, isn't it? -Encore.
GHALIB SNACK SHOP
SOUL CLEANSE
Greetings.
Greetings to you as well.
Name?
They call me Musafir.
No, no…
Name of the person you stole this from.
This is stolen, right?
Sure you're at the right place?
-No, nothing like that… -Embarrassed?
First time here?
Look, my friend,
this isn't a shop, it's a bath.
And in a bath…
-Everybody stands naked. -Absolutely right!
So leave your coat of honor outside.
-Jumman! -Yes?
Keep this inside.
So you buy and sell stolen things?
Never!
You think this is a pawn shop?
We don't buy anything. People hand them over on their own.
-On their own? -Please sit.
Thank you.
-There's a disease… -Yes.
Ke…
Which makes a person steal. It has a strange name.
Jumman, what's that disease called? Ke…
-Kleptomania. -Yes!
This…
I have the same disease.
You're not alone. Great men have had this disease.
Who?
William Shakespeare.
Bahadur Shah Zafar.
-And our very own Dada Muni. -Really?
Even if I'm lying, it's not like you're going to go ask them.
They are no more!
One thing still puzzles me.
Why do they return their stolen things here?
Self-respect.
The bite of conscience.
Whatever sins a man may commit, he is, after all, a child of God.
Look at that.
Someone turned in Wajid Ali Shah's chillum.
Someone dropped off Lord Mountbatten's pajamas.
And over there,
Satyajit Ray's stolen short stories, lying right there.
-Satyajit Ray? -Yes, over there!
Now, you tell me.
Whom did you steal the watch from?
Someone…
If you don't give me his name, your soul remains blemished.
Simply washing your hands of it won't suffice.
Baig… Aslam Baig.
-Baig? -Yes.
Jenga the Wrestler?
Right, Jenga the Wrestler.
-Lion of Karkardooma? -Yes, the Lion.
-Hercules of Patparganj? -Yes, Patparganj…
Like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, with a little tilt?
Yes, he's a little askew.
He's a regular client.
He was a good wrestler, but that same disease…
Kele… whatever…
Jumman, get Jenga's stuff.
Look at this.
Look.
This was Dara Singh's medal.
The idiot stole this. Now, tell me.
Who tries to steal a lion's mane?
Dara Singh slammed him on the ground and…
"Kadaak" was the sound.
-Yes. You were there, too? -No, no, I wasn't.
But I know what that sound feels like.
Alas, that's why Jenga had to quit wrestling.
And here, check this out.
See this?
Maestro Ghulam Ali's ring.
He handed it over yesterday.
Yesterday?
Straight from the station?
Ghulam Ali's ring, just imagine!
He's hit the big time.
I've never been in love with stolen things.
Now, you might ask why I returned my Khusbakht to Musafir.
It's because I was never able to give it to Rooh Safa myself.
Yes.
And today, after ten years, when I saw Khusbakht,
I was tempted once again.
-Lamp shade… -Then the thought occurred that…
Musafir is also from the same family, of the same tribe as I am.
Lamp… Rooh Safa.
-Rooh Safa? -Rooh Safa?
And if we all deserve a chance to atone for our sins,
then why not poor Musafir Ali?
Over just a harmless drink
A FEW GHAZALS