City lights

Panshikar's theatre
So fierce was passion of Prabhakar Panshikar—the renowned Marathi actor who died recently in Pune—for theatre that he left home to pursue his dream. A key role in Bhatala Dili Osari, a breezy Marathi comedy on Mumbai's space crunch by playwright-director M G Rangnekar, gave Panshikar his first sip of success. Apart from wearing the grease paint, the young actor also sharpened his business and managerial skills by taking charge of Rangnekar's production house, Natya Niketan.
Panshikar set up Natya Sampada, his own theatre group in 1962.His big-ticket venture, Toh Mee Navhech (That I Am Not), was a captivating tale, based on newspaper reports of a court case, of a rogue named Lakhoba Lokhande in the play, whose multiple marriages translated into a scandal in the 1950s.
With this sensational Acharya Atre hit, Panshikar—and Lakhoba Lokhande—became household names in Maharashtra. When Chhagan Bhujbal quit the Shiv Sena in 1991, Sena chief Bal Thackeray had named him the Lakhoba of Maharashtra politics.
Soon, Panshikar added to his repertoire, portraying a range of roles — an idealist professor in Ashrunchee Zaali Phule, a duty-conscious jailer in Thank You, Mr Glad and a wily Aurangzeb in Ithe Oshalala Mrittyu.
Every actor has his-her share of goof-ups. Panshikar recalls in his memoirs how in one of the shows of Ithe.... He, as Aurangzeb, pulled up his officials and, as an afterthought, gave them a ‘Get Out!' order. "Imagine a Mughal emperor speaking Angrezi! Good, I didn't say ‘I am sorry' to the audience," he later told our correspondent. RIP.
Cops on the run
It's not only when a criminal is in front. There are also times when certain senior people in the police force run for some very personal reasons, like for the Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon. Among the passionate participants from the higher ranks of the uniformed force — which is often criticised for its general lack of fitness — was 47-year-old superintendent of police Sanjay Mohite for whom running is a way of "rediscovering" the simple joys of life. Mohite, who finished the Half Marathon, said his intention was "to complete rather than compete". The 47-year-old, who is principal at Police Training Centre in Marol, also encouraged everyone from his driver to around 30 police recruits, to join in his passion. After all, running "has given me confidence, mental strength and self-belief," says Mohite, who runs for about an hour, two to three times a week. It is not the speed but the philosophy of running, which teaches him to "tackle problems one at a time, and not sprint into them". In the last marathon, in fact, "a 1932-born man on a wheelchair was ahead of me", laughs Mohite, adding that running has altered his world view by helping him appreciate facts of life that are otherwise taken for granted. "After a 42-kilometre run, water tastes sweet and so does banana. Sitting under a tree, too, brings unusual pleasure," he concedes.
Age and its resulting conditions, of course, were hardly deterrents for these hardened men. Among the other cops were 53-year-old senior inspector Pradip Lonandkar and additional commissioner of police A B Dumbare, who is as old as the full marathon is long. Dumbare ran despite suffering from pancrealitis. And Lonandkar warned, "Don't just run after money." Or from thugs.
Masters tune in
Would the Splendor of Masters concert at the Nehru Centre on Saturday have gone ahead were it not for Michael Jackson? It seems like a strange question to ask about a recital featuring classical musicians such as Dutch harpist Gwyneth Wentink and flautist Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia. But perhaps it's not such a stupid suggestion. "There are maybe only three or four harps in India," Wentink reveals. "The one I will be playing in Mumbai was brought here for a Michael Jackson concert 15 years ago and left behind. It was tucked away in storage until now." Being indebted to a pop star for a classical harp may actually have been fitting for this unique recital, which featured contributions from many genres. Wentink plays Western classical music, maestro Chaurasia traditional Indian music. Plus, they were accompanied by jazz pianist Louiz Banks, Gino Banks on drums and Vijay Ghate on the tabla.
You may wonder how these diverse genres can possibly meld together, but Chaurasia reassures that in music, difference is irrelevant. Dressed in white, with the calming aura of a patriarch and a boyish gleam in his eye, he explains, "With music we are all one — it's not Western or jazz or classical — music is music. What is music? What is it to be human? We all feel the same things."
Litpills
Literature Live, our very own Mumbai Litfest, held yet another interesting evening on what the stars can and can't foretell, held under the stars of the Indigo terrace. But here's an anecdote from the recently concluded APJ Kolkata Literary Festival. With no aid from celestial conjunctions, we can foretell that it wouldn't happen anywhere else.
In Kolkata, even the pavement bookstall owner is on daak-naam terms with every yellowing dog-eared volume in his possession. And every other clerk battles with his commuter bus and train, returns to his squalid suburb, and settles down to translate Brecht. So it was hardly surprising that the city's resident intellectuals stimulated and challenged every speaker at the litfest with a passion and knowledge seldom seen elsewhere.
As uniquely, when an eminent participant in a panel discussion fell off the edge of her crowded dais, a Bengali gentleman in the third row pulled out a vial of Arnica from his Paanjaabi pocket, walked up to hand it to the shaken lady, and said in a stage whisper, "Take three pills every three hours."
Head, heart and homeopathy make a hardy breed. Beats celebrity litfest audience's day. Jaipur, are you listening?
(Contributed by Ambarish Mishra, Sharmila Ganesan-Ram, Rachel Rickard Straus and Bachi Karkaria. Illustration by Mahesh Benkar. Compiled by Rucha Biju Chitrodia)