Non- Conformist - Memories of My Father Balraj Sahni

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Balraj Sahni Marg (road). Perhaps this should conjure up a vision of a grand road, named in honour of a stalwart hero, of a person whose memory lingers on long after he has gone from the world. A simple name on a signpost, which commemorates the contributions of an iconic man, of an individual who deserved every accolade showered on him-this street celebrates the prestige of a simple man who rose to awe-inspiring heights. The street runs in front of the house my father, Balraj Sahni, built in the late '60s. He proudly named his house Ikraam, a word that was synonymous with the character of the man who lived in it-generous and hospitable to all.

I stand in front of the house, and see a great mansion with a beautiful well-tended garden and a huge lawn. There are flowers blooming in neat rows and stately coconut trees swaying gracefully in the sea breeze, the gleaming white walls of the imposing double- storeyed mansion reflecting the bright sunlight; the wide, smooth driveway, the sparkling cars neatly parked in the garages; a plethora of cheeku trees screening the mansion from the neighbouring bungalow. I hear the ringing sound of children's laughter as they play in the lush garden. The ocean breeze carries with it the fragrance of the blossoming flowers, a delicate and sweet scent that tantalizes the senses as it wafts through the air. I feel my father's hand on my shoulder as we both look with awe and a sense of proprietorial at the grand mansion and its grounds. I shut my eyes, revelling in the sensation of oneness with my father, my environment and myself, and my spirit imbibes this in a moment of complete peace.

I am rudely awoken from my reverie and brought back to the present by the shrill honking of cars. Taking a moment to emerge from my trance. I look at the street. Far from being a majestic road, it can hardly be called even as a street. At best it is a small, untidy and dirty lane, full of potholes and littered with garbage. Following the monsoons, there are puddles of murky water on the street, evoking expletives from pedestrians as they manoeuvre their way to avoid getting splashed.

**Contents and Sample Pages**