Piya Basanti Re.................

This evening I was editing some music for a music quiz that I am quiz mastering over the weekend. It's all Bollywood music and there are 40 tracks in various sections. As I come to the 40th (and last) song selection, my mind goes back to my favourite song 'Piya Basanti Re'. I search for it on the Internet and lo and behold, there it is!

As the song starts playing, I am instantly transported back mentally to Sharjah. I can visualise the room that I rented in a building in the Abu Shagara area...............from an attractive young woman............

It all started off, innocently enough, with the advent of Ramadan.

My son-in-law is a Muslim and a teetotaller and gets very touchy when one violates the Islamic code. Especially during the religious festivals.

And there I was, a Hindu; a believer of stone idols; a worshipper of snakes and cows and rivers. A heathen, in short. A non believer...................staying with them and behaving in a decidedly un-Islamic fashion most of the time.

For most part of the year he put up with me and I put with up with him. Literally.

Our common bonding was a love of computers. He loved hacking and ripping; I loved learning about hacking and ripping. He became my guru...................but I digress.

This particular Ramadan, a solemn faced son-in-law informed me that I wouldn't be allowed to drink alcohol during the holy month.

I nodded in agreement. I felt quite guilty violating his code of conduct. I told him in measured tones that I would seek an alternate accommodation. Nearby. That way everyone would be happy. He nodded in agreement.

Sharjah is a very Islamic Emirate. Neighbouring Dubai may turn a blind eye to drinking but not Sharjah. No Siree! They dole out punishments to offenders that are very Islamic and very harsh by Dubai standards. I was therefore looking for a 'liberal' household where I could rent a bedroom; a household where no questions would be asked and none given if one had a drink in the evening. Or two.

My quest ultimately led me to a very suspicious looking land lady of Indian origin. She was tall (must have been at least 5'8" in her stockings" and good looking with amazingly large breasts. She was in her early thirties. She had two delightful young kids; her husband was conspicuously absent (he was in New Zealand and had gone there as an immigrant and she would be joining him soon) and, best of all, she seemed nervous that I would react the smell of her cooking pork ("It stinks" she confided in me). I nervously asked her in return if booze was allowed in the household to which she cheerfully replied that I could drink as long as I invited her for one every now and then. She never joined me for a drink and I never smelled the cooking of her pork, but that is a different matter all together.

The room that I rented was pretty large. It must have been all of 15 feet long and 10 feet wide. It looked out to a mosque, which was about 300 yards away, and had a nice balcony that I shared with the adjoining bedroom. There were no tall structures in the vicinity and so, from the fourth floor, I had a pretty good view of everything going on in the neighbourhood.

This was the first time that I was living on my own - I had so far been living with my daughter. I bought a bed and a computer and a lovely little 3-in-one on which I could play CDs, play tapes as well as listen to the radio.

My landlady kept to herself and I likewise. We were each very busy in our own affairs.

With the 3-in-one came a need for music. I started buying CDs of Indian music and often spent the evenings and weekends listening to music.

That's when I came upon this song "Piya Basanti Re".

To my mind the song appears to be sung by two anguished parents asking their wayward daughter, who has apparently run away from home, to return. The song strikes a very painful chord within me because my daughter too ran away from home. She returned, a married woman, and a convert to Islam.

I listened to the song very often. The father's shattered voice appealing for the daughter to return broke my heart over and over again.

This evening, many years later, I happened to hear the song as I was sitting editing sound files for my forthcoming quiz. In a flash I was back in Sharjah. The feeling of deja vu was overwhelming.

Piya basanti re
kaahe sataaye aaja

I saw my erstwhile landlady standing in front of me. Something was cooking. It smelt suspiciously like pork...........