A Life Less Extraordinary: My Journey through Politics, Passion, and Purpose by Lav Bhargava is a candid memoir of personal growth, embracing flaws, and finding peace in being oneself. Bhargava reflects on key moments and people that shaped his life, exploring themes like self-acceptance, karmic destiny, and wisdom. Through his roles as a politician, actor, activist, husband, and father, he shares a genuine story of evolution.
Extract from The Book
Earth was closer back then. There were surahis (clay water jugs) and ghadas (clay water pots) full of cool water, and tea that we sipped from kulhads (handleless pottery cups). In our zamindari village of Salemabad, around 50 kilometres from Lucknow, we resided in a mud hut, kothar. While early winters were bearable, the summer months necessitated punkhas (fans). The cloth fans, made by attaching heavy fabric to a sixfoot-long wooden frame or bar and suspended horizontally from the ceiling, were operated manually by local villagers in white muslin saafa or Nehru topi on their heads. This was a decade following the abolition of the zamindari system.
Mother carried a basic mobile pharmacy consisting of essential medicines to tend to the minor ailments of the villagers. As our jeep approached the village, billowing dust, the villagers would gather to seek relief and care.
Only on one later occasion did I visit Salemabad, sometime in 2017–18, to verify some property claims of the family. It was then that I was taken to a spot by Shailesh Chaturvedi, who runs a school in the area and has a famous twin, R. J. Nilesh Chaturvedi, to where the kothar, our mud house, once stood. Memories of playing seven tiles with the village children came rushing back, and the waft of petrichor . . . In my hand, I was holding a ghost kulhad.
During the scorching summer months, before air conditioners became commonplace, our homes had desert coolers and khas ki tatti, grass sheets sprinkled with water, to cool the rooms. At night, we slept under mosquito nets, with table fans at either end of the beds. The beds were arranged in parallel lines in the courtyard, allowing us to enjoy the open sky above. It was a romantic and mysterious sight, lying there beneath the starry night sky. I would spend hours counting and recounting the stars, tracking constellations with an index finger.
(Extracted with due permission from author, publisher)
