Amar Singh ji’s wife, Pankaja ji has lost her brother. It is the ‘barahvi’, the 12th day, a prayer special on the departed soul. Pankaja ji comes from an erstwhile principality in Gujarat, Deerd. Her family being the fuedal lords of the region. The ancestors ruling over the space, until of course the cessation of all the principalities to the British during its time of colonialism. And then subsequently in 1971, came the abolition of Privy Purses from all the rulers over the country.

Dared ( pronunc ; da ree d ) , is a small little town tucked away in the dry and rustic region of Gujarat, that surrounds the small little city, a 20 minute helicopter ride from Bhavnagar where we have flown together this early morning by 7 am - Aishwarya and I. Jaya and the Singh family have flown in from Delhi, and our timing is such that we both land from different directions, at the same time.

I had been once before to Dared, when Pankaja ji’s Mother had passed away. And now again today on a not very happy note. Life’s coincidences are such a mystery and such a surprise.

Anxious and starry eyed simple village people surround the make shift helipad built to allow our helicopter to land from Bhavnagar, by the hundreds. They wave and scream and shout, unaware of the circumstances that we are here for. The ancestral home is simple yet has still been maintained in the old world fort like structure, which houses the family.

It is a fort like construction and the workmanship is such that even after years and years of its existence, the palace, if it can be called that, is still quite the same. No effort has been made to restore and repair. But it does not require anything. Its pristine architecture still a marvel and its surroundings still kept the way they were first constructed.

Castle like doors and large gates usher you in to the ‘angan’, the court yard, a favorite of mine. I simply love them, courtyards - the ‘angan’. So much character to it. The sun is bright and getting to be a bit harsh. I like it. We sit within the portals of the ‘angan’. There is an air of silence about. Friends relatives and elders keep pouring in to pay their respects. That typical royal fuedal reverence to the elder, so exclusive to us and their special manner in which they greet, just so respectful and full of grace.

The women get down on their haunches hands folded in the ‘namaskar’, seek their blessings and then go about their respective works, heads covered in the presence of public and the men. Widows wear a black sari with a bright red border running right through it on the edge and are all bunched up in one corner of the house, in one of his rooms. The mood is sombre and sad. After short intervals someone breaks down and the others rush to console her. Death steals one of all inhibition and control. The prayers are on as we hear them in some corner. We are not supposed to be at the ‘pooja’. Mourners keep coming in paying respects to the elders of the family and then after expressing grief, leave. I sit there immersed in the ambience and thoughts for the moment. A large ‘neem’ tree in the middle of the ‘angan’, its width and height symbolizing how long it had been there and how long during its stay there it may have been a mute witness to the many that passed away under it.

‘Neem’, that wonder leaf, that wonder tree, its new leaves medicinal in property and diet. Its branches forming the early tooth brushes, called the ‘datun’, since its branches too were of considerable hygenic assistance, today standing there majestically alone, providing the much needed shade to an ever warming afternoon.

Most of rural and interior India is still so steeped in old customs values and practices. It is a delight to see them being enacted in front of us, even as the generation next sneers at it. And then just as quickly as we reached there, we were on our way back.

More needs to be observed on this but I am now flaking out … which in general colloquial language means … FLAKING OUT !!! I cannot fathom which part of the world I am right now, but if I can get sufficient sleep I probably will.

There may have been speculation and question marks on the Mumbai Mirror episode - many noticing that there was a silence on my part, but I did not not feel it necessary to include all of you in the process - and so I restrained myself. But a unknown message from a fan picks up the spirits -

” Coins always make so much sound ; but the currency notes are always silent. So when the value increases, keep yourself calm and silent.”

There is much here that needs explanation and it would need expanse and more time. Suffice to say for the moment that despite a few personal apologies from management and owners, no public apology has taken place. You cannot abuse me in public and then come and say sorry to me in private !!

So … even though we have great relations with the family in ownership and despite the fact that we have continuously responded to their needs whenever desired, unstintingly -

- the lawyers notice has been delivered to the editor of Mumbai Mirror, seeking on a legal plane retraction and apology -

- and we have informed Filmfare that neither will Aishwarya be performing at the event, for which all preparations had been made and neither shall any of us be attending. Which includes Balki the director of the film, even when Paa has been nominated in five categories for the evening. No coercion, just a voluntary decision of solidarity. Thank you Balki !! Instead he shall be coming over to discuss a few new and exciting ideas for our next film !! Could’nt have chosen a better time !!!

Let me rest now. I shall fill in more by the morn ..

Mornings are good for a clean and reinvigorated mind … they are also good for wishes of a pleasant night !! Ha ha ..

Love

Amitabh Bachchan