SHAH JAHAN NE MOHABBAT KE LIYE TAJ MAHAL BANWAAYA, SUBHASH GHAI NE EK DOST KO TAJ MAHAL DIKHWAAYA

If any one says that he has not seen the Taj Mahal at Agra, he or she must have been unfortunate or was not a lover of love and what love could make a human being do -  Ali Peter John

I too was like the millions of men who craved to see the Taj Mahal and was satisfied to see the memorial of ultimate love in pictures, photographs and films or documentaries with no hope of ever seeing the Taj Mahal.

But like my friend Naseeruddin Shah says, “If you pursue your dream with a passion, the universe will conspire to make your dream come true”

I was in my early 40’s and had just got married and I had still to wait for my dream to see the Taj Mahal.

It was soon after my wedding that I received an unusual invitation from my friend Subhash Ghai who I had known form the time he was finding it difficult to find his place as an actor.

The invitation was from Subhash Ghai and signed by him. I had been to his shootings on different locations in India, but this was a very different kind of location he was taking me, my wife Usha and my little daughter Swati.

I had to read the invitation several times in the canteen of my office to believe what it said and meant.

My friend had said that me and my family would not come anywhere near the place where he was shooting for his film “Pardes” with a song being picturised on Shah Rukh Khan.

He had asked me to make arrangems for my family and me at least for a week and had also said that I would not have to worry about anything once I landed at the Delhi Airport.

I was confused like I never was when receiving an invitation. And when I finally knew that the invitation was genuine and serious that I asked Subhash Ghai if I could bring a young and new journalist called Rajiv Masand  who was training to be a film critic with me and he instantly agreed.

My family which had never gone out with me on any film trip agreed to go with me without any questions because they had known about my close association with Subhash Ghai.

We had reached Delhi Airport and there was a team from Mukta Arts( Subhash Ghai’s company) to receive us and comfortably take us to a five star hotel where within minutes we were given two suites, one for my family and one for the newbie critic.

For that whole day, we were treated like royalty by the stuff of the hotel and the men

from Mukta Arts.

The next morning we were put into a luxury car and driven to Agra and within no time we were standing in front of the dream place I was dying to see, the Taj Mahal.

I more than my wife and daughter kept gazing at the monument for love done up in pure white marble.

It was like a feast, a melaa or a place of pilgrimage as we walked through the most mysterious and marvelous parts of the Taj built hundreds of years ago and still looking so majestical  and mesmerizing.

While coming out of the Taj, I saw hundreds of people from different countries, colours and communities walking to the Taj or out of it.

For those few minutes, I realized how the power of love could unite people. It was customary to get photographed on a stone bench outside the Taj and so my wife, daughter and Rajiv Masand sat on that bench to make our trip to the Taj memorable.

As I walked out of the Taj and reached the road, I could see hundreds of guides telling stories about the love of Shah Jahan for his queen Mumtaz in whose honour he had built the Taj over a period of more than two decades.

There were beggars pestering foreigners or anyone who had fair skin and very dark skin and begging for not just one or two rupees but hundreds of rupees.

There were men, women and children selling plastic and paper pictures of the Taj and Shah Jahan and Mumtaz.

Taj Mahal had turned into a market place and no one was doing anything to stop the desecration of a man’s tribute to his love.

And as I got into the car to leave for Agra, the car took an unexpected turn and we were driven to the historic Fatehpur Sikri where some of the greatest battles were fought.

I was in a fix to decide whether the Taj was a more exotic sight or this huge monument of Fatehpur Sikri.

And while I was out of Fatehpur Sikri, I realized that the Taj Mahal was still haunting me and I also realized how two of the best poets, Shakeel Badayuni and Sahir Ludhianvi had their own very different opinions and feelings about the Taj.

Shakeel had written about the beauty of the Taj and Sahir had written about how the Shahenshah had built the Taj to make fun of the workers who gave up their lives to satisfy the whims of an emperor.

The car we were driving in took us by surprise and led us through a large crowd which was busy watching the shooting of “Pardes” with the young Shah Rukh strumming the guitar and “singing” the now well known song, “Do dil mil rahe hain”.

Ghai’s eyes fell on the car and he reasserted his instructions not to allow me and my family to the shooting.

I had not seen an invitation being followed so strictly. But after all, he was Subhash Ghai, the master who knew why he was doing what he was doing and how to do it to perfection.

It was more than like a dream come true, but for dreams to come true one has to also go through some nightmares.

We were at the departure lounge of the Delhi Airport and there was time for the flight to leave.

I decided to go out for a breather and when I tried to enter again, I was stopped by two strong security guards.

I kept telling them that my tickets were with my wife, but they refused to understand. I was in real trouble and prayed to every god to get me out of this mess.

And before I could despair, I saw my friend T. Subbirami Reddy, a MP from Vishakhapattanam getting out of his car.

I called out to him and he was with me. I told him about the problem I was facing and he just made some human sounds to the security staff and within a second the door which was not going to open for me was thrown open and I could meet my family and take the flight to Bombay in time. All was well at last.

It has been quite a few years now. I am sitting here and trying to recollect those days. My wife has retired and is enjoying the rest she deserves after working hard for more than forty years.

My daughter, Swati Ali is a known writer, filmmaker and head of a creative content company.

And that young man who I felt I was encouraging when he was taking his baby steps in journalism has become “the baap of irresponsible journalism”.

AE ZAMAANA, KAISE KAISE KHEL KHELOGE, AUR HUM INSAANO SE KAISE KAISE KHEL KHILWAAOGE?