Do bheega green is her little kingdom

mumbai: as a child, little santosh would often find herself standing on one leg outside her classroom, punished for not making it on time. but how could she reach school on time, when she had to cross the jhelum everyday? how could she not stop on the bridge and watch, fascinated, the swirling waters of the river as it flowed on to distant lands carrying in its bosom stories untold? "my life, in its myriad forms, was linked inextricably with the jhelum," recalls the silver-haired santosh, as she sits surrounded by books, periodicals, trophies and memories in her old-world juhu bungalow, in a bylane named after her husband, the late actor balraj sahni.the bungalow with its custard-apple blossoms and unruly garden is one of the last green bastions in a suburb that has been swallowed by highrises. "we were co-workers," she says, going back in time to the years when her husband was alive, "and both being students of literature, we shared a creative togetherness. we had similar ideas about life as socially conscious beings, not believing in art for art's sake. we both believed that whatever we did, whether it was writing or acting, it should serve a social purpose." today, her life is inextricably entwined with the trees in her garden. saving them from the ravages of development had, at one time, been a daunting task, requiring the intervention of the then chief minister. "everyday, i tell my tree, 'i have saved you, now you must save me'. i would not have survived without them," she says earnestly. "after my husband's sudden passing away in 1973, i countered my sorrow by gathering together his unpublished writings and with the help of friends i got these published. some of his punjabi writings were translated into hindi, urdu and english. every year on may 1, his birth anniversary, i organise a function in our house on subjects like world peace and national integration." protecting the environment is also the source of most of her creative work. her new book sahitya sangeet rachna yatra commissioned by the punjab sahitya academy, chandigarh, is due for release, and details "my life in music, literature and art". though writing is hardly a lucrative profession, santosh sahni has authored over 50 books in hindi and punjabi for children and adults. delightful songs and plays, set to music by her, recreate for children nature in all its majesty. they recreate a world populated by lively animals and yes, curious, innocent children like those who flock to her house to paint, sing and dance. from sweepers' sons and daughters to students of neighbouring schools, ms sahni gathers them together to stage musicals that remain in their subconscious long after the curtain comes down. "once, many moons ago, i was sitting on the mountainside in simla," recounts the multi-talented author, "a cowherd girl stopped by. i asked her why she wasn't in school and she replied that she couldn't understand her textbooks. so i started singing to her. 'i can understand your song,' she said. that's when i realised how much music appealed to children.." for someone who grew up in the cradle of santiniketan on a diet of tagore's poetry, spreading a love for nature is a very important aspect of life. in her poem parvat ki sair, parvat ke geet, for instance, she takes you on a train journey to simla, describing the stillness of the snowcapped peaks and the bustling stations. what a wonderful way to teach children about flora and fauna, about the origin of rivers and even about the hard labour of those who built the mountain roads. 'pathhar kute/sadak banaye/peet pe bhari/bojh uthaye.' some of her poems have been televised by delhi doordarshan, many broadcast on radio while many are still waiting to be performed. "i am in search of someone, sensitive to nature, to words, who can produce some of my musicals for television," she says. three decades ago, the sahnis had saved a tamarind tree from being cut down. the tree later received an award. yet the compliment ms sahni cherishes most is the one from her friend who said, 'santosh sahni never sermonises'. in the sahni garden, wordsworthian lines spring to mind: the birds around me hopped and played, their thoughts i cannot measure, but the least motion which they made, it seemed a thrill of pleasure.