city of joy – vellagiri

Well…confession…it wasn’t like we were only participating in the Pujo activities; we did go out and have fun apart from the festivities too. One important thing to remember is that during Pujo the entire state of West Bengal comes to a standstill. From Sashtami onwards it is government holiday till Dashami (and in most cases it extends till Lakshmi Puja). So all museums, art galleries, emporiums, art & craft villages etc. were shut. Due to want of better things to do, SK & I did what we wouldn’t imagine doing in Bombay ever. From pandal hopping to mall hopping. In SK’s own words, “we visited more malls in Calcutta than we ever did in Bombay”. At one of these malls we even saw a Bangla rock band playing (and man, they were good). Not only this we also met up with Ant R’s friend, who took us to VP (Vivekanand Park) where I had my first brush with puchkas (pani puri with potato filling instead of the usual ragda) and papri chaat (sev puri). Needless to say, like all other places VP too was choc-a-bloc with families grabbing quick bites amidst pandal hopping.

Apart from malls we also visited couple of pubs like I-Bar (where I danced to my heart’s content) and Afraa (a lounge bar where we won free beers and chewing gums for participating in an on-the-spot contest). Surprisingly both of them had minimal crowd (could be due to Pujo) but what was jaw dropping was that we saw families coming to these pubs to dine…imagine grandparents, husband, wife and toddlers…wow. Now that’s a sight one doesn’t get to see in Bombay. And I found it very warm and comforting. I mean we don’t really need to be uptight about sartorial preferences, do we? Can women who are comfortable in a saree (salwar kameez is still accepted) not crave a drink? Do we need to scrutinise them like they were from outer space? No…it’s a democratic country and as long as certain club rules are maintained, anyone should have the freedom to dress comfortably.

In between the Pujo frenzy, I was slated to meet a friend of mine who was coming down all the way from Jamshedpur. Now I have known RB for about 9 months but the funniest fact was that this was to be our first meeting. How? Well it just so happens that we are SMS friends.Yeah, the world is moving at a rapid pace…from pen pals to phone pals to chat friends to Orkut/Facebook friends, we have now progressed to SMS friends. What this means is that we text more than we speak. Don’t ask me why? Not all actions have justifiable responses. In my defense I can say that after a long time I have found someone who can match my wit and intellect. Its a pleasure talking to him and I can’t seem to have enough of his repartees. How did I make an SMS friend? Well, it started with a wrong number or rather a case of mistaken identity that led to a few war of words initially only to end up as friends. And no I am not sharing any more juicy tidbits .

So RB came down to Calcutta and met us at Adi Dhakeshwari (a well known saree shop with an amazing collection of sarees right from cotton to silk to kanthawork, etc.) since SK was shopping for sarees for her family (which my friends was quite a trying experience for Ant R and me as SK almost did not like any saree shown to her while we who were sort of saree connoisseurs couldn’t resist most of them). After some co-ordination (me being geographically challenged and his driver being a non-Bong), RB managed to located the shop. From 4th floor, I went all the way to the ground floor to greet him. And I will let you in on just one tidbit…I was freakin nervous. My legs felt heavy, there were huuugggeee butterflies in my tummy and my pulse rate was quickening. In hindsight it was very crazy the way I felt…but at that time I just felt like a giggly gaggly teenager. RB was near the lift while I had taken the stairs (just to buy some time and steady myself before I could meet him). I almost missed him as I entered the main store and realising that someone was at the lift, I came back. The first thought that crossed my mind was, “he’s so tall”. And when we greeted each other I felt like a dwarf (no actually pygmy is more like it). For sometime I really couldn’t believe that we had actually met (since this was on cards since a really long time and wasn’t materialising at all) and it took me a while to get my bearings back .

From here we went for lunch to 6 Ballygunge Place (6BP) for an authentic Bong cuisine (which aunty was anyway serving us everyday at home). But no…we wanted to experience old world charm and quaint eating places. And 6BP was a challenge for us. You see the last time we went there for lunch we had to wait for an hour before being told that since we hadn’t booked a table 15-20days in advance it was unlikely that there would be a vacant table for us. Even Mainland China was overcrowded and guess what we finally had lunch at a Barista…taaa daaa….Chewing on insipid quiches and sandwiches, washing them down with iced teas and evesdropping on a group of socialites discussing scandalous details of their friends was certainly not our idea of old world charm.

So anyway we lunched at 6BP (which by the way is really a nice warm place…an old house converted into an eating joint. It had wood panelled libraries with Bengali literature books, bamboo blinds and was done up in warm shades of ochre) and from there proceeded to a lounge bar called Starstruck (coz when out of Jamshedpur, RB only sticks to a liquid diet comprising beer and whiskey). So here we were at Starstruck having a drink bang in the middle of afternoon. The bar was nice, spacious but sadly empty (translate: no eye candy ). From here we went to Swabhumi (that houses stalls selling ethnic handicraft, jewelry, apparels and other artefacts). It was refreshing to see a guy accompany 3 gurls for shopping and that too patiently. RB sure gets full marks on that front . Not only that he was also good company and thankfully there was never an awkward moment where we looked at each one’s faces wondering how to keep the conversation going. It flowed as smoothly and was as varied as the whiskey and beer. 

After meandering in Swabhumi, we headed to…you guessed it right another pub (time for RB’s liquid diet you see). So off we went to Afraa for a drink (this time sitting in their open air section). It was beautiful as it gave a panoramic view of the skyline and everytime vehicles would blink their lights it would reflect on the partial glass ceiling (giving an impression of a dozens planes flying one behind the other). RB exclaimed that this was just the kind of place he would like to introduce in Jamshedpur (though he wasn’t sure if his patrons would pay up for the experience). Amen to that.

Soon it was time for us to head our ways…we to Ant R’s bari and RB to the station to catch a train. Before parting we peeked into a stationery horse driven tram called ‘The Kolkata Store’. The store had lovely knick knacks and artefacts in terracotta, dokara (an alloy of copper, bronze and other metals) to name a few. I picked up a set of 3 turtles in terracotta for a colleague (who was big on amphibians), a terracotta piggy bank (for my little cousin brother) and a Maa Durga in ’shola’ on a cane scoop (for my Bong colleague). The best part was that though they looked expensive, the prices were not at all exorbitant (ekdum paisa vasool). Happy and content, I bid adieu to RB (glad that after months of anticipation we had finally met).

It was a day well spent and will be etched in my memory for a long time to come.

PS: today is RB’s birthday…so here’s wishing him a very Happy Birthday.

city of joy – belur math & dakshineshwari temple

On one of the days, we made a trip to Belur Math, that has the shrines of Ramakrishna Paramahamsa, his wife Maa Sarada and his disciple Swami Vivekandand. Belur Math is also known as ‘Ramakrishna Mission’. It is said that Ramakrishna was the only human (amongst Hindus) to have seen God. Apparently Goddess Kali would appear in his dreams and converse with him. However most of us know of him because of his disciple, Swami Vivekanand who had given the welcome speech at The World Parliament of Religions, Chicago on September 11, 1893. You can read more about the speech here: http://hinduism.about.com/od/vivekananda/a/vivekananda_speeches.htm

Well Belur Math is really beautiful and embodies everything that Ramakrishna Paramahansa followed. Located on the banks of the river Hooghly, the shrine is a pristine white structure with serenity and calm surrounding the sanctum sanctorum. Large banyan trees provide shelter to the weary devotees while the cool river breeze gently fans the heat away. However it was slightly humid due to the heat coupled with unexpected showers and the ground was hot to the bare feet.

On the opposite side of the river is the Dakshineshwar Temple that can be reached via a boat. The boat ride was an absolute joy and thrill for both SK & I as it was one of the check list on our ‘old world charm’ to-do list. It seemed like a scene straight out of a Satyajit Roy, Bimal Roy of Shakti Samanta film with the central portion of the boat covered by an arch shaped tarpaulin to keep the sun and rains away. However SK & I wanted to rough it out and we sat on the hull watching the banks disappear from sight as the boat made way to the temple. Never mind the fact that after a while the sun shone mercilessly on us with SK going red in the face and me getting royally tanned. Still we stayed put imagining the scores of Sharmila Tagore and Rajesh Kanna scenes filmed on such boats. We sailed under bridges that gave us some respite from the harsh rays of the sun, saw localites going about their chores for the day like bathing, washing clothes and even spreading their nets to catch fish. The water sadly was muddy brown and I wondered if anybody used it for drinking. My thoughts were soon confirmed when as we reached the temple banks, I saw some people filling water bottles with the waters of Hooghly (also known as Ganga). Anybody could have said that the water was impure and unfit for driniking. But superstitious a lot as we are, we choose to ignore these glaring facts in the name of religion.

The temple was a pretty red & white structure with lots of Shiv Mandirs ensconsed in its compound. The ground being terribly hot we just visited 2 temples and ran back to the stalls where we had to keep our footwear. Our Gods are kind and surely they won’t mind if we took some shotcuts this way .

We took a boat ride back to Belur Math and this time wisely sat near the arch so as to slip under it should it get hot. Thankfully it was cloudy and we got to enjoy our ride. Embarking on the banks, we visited the hordes of stalls selling conch shells (a must have in every Bengali household. It is mostly kept near the idols and is blown everyday as part of the religious ritual. Also during marriages, Bengali women blow the conch shell in a bid to keep away evil eye). The conch shells come in different shapes and sizes and blowing them takes quite an effort but the music from it is very melodious and can be heard from a distance. Apart from conch shells, there were stalls selling, items used for religious purposes like lamps, bells along with the symbols of matrimony for a bengali women like the white and red bangles also known as shankha-poila. Along with this the married women also wear a bangle made of iron which is called ‘lohu’. One is never supposed to remove it from her wrist as long as her husband is alive and the iron is supposed to touch the wrist at all times.

Also there were stalls selling eatables and other refreshments. We tasted the famed ‘jhal muri’ (which in Bombay is ‘bhel puri)…jhal means ’spicy’ and muri means ‘kurmura’ or ‘puffed rice’. As soon as we exited the gates, it began drizzling which soon turned into a torrential downpour forcing us to take refuge under the eatery stalls and any other place that had a tarpauling covering. Finally we managed to find Ant R’s driver (who has a knack of disappearing when most wanted) and sped away home before we got cuaght in the deluge.

city of joy – auspicious days

The most auspicious days for Bengalis during Dassera are the 6th (Sashtami), 7th (Saptami), 8th (Ashtami), 9th (Nabami) and 10th (Dashami). Of these Ashtami is the most important day. Ant R’s father enlightened us about its importance. Legend has it that before Lord Ram went to Lanka to fight the demon king Ravan and rescue Sita, he conducted a ’sandhi puja’ offering a havan (holy fire) to Ma Durga. One of the most critical ingredients of this havan was the offering of 108 blue lotuses. So Laxman, Hanuman and their army of simians gathered 108 blue lotuses with great difficulty. However when Lord Ram counted there were only 107 lotuses. So the entire lot had to be discarded and they had to go through the entire rigmarole again. Yet again the count showed one less. This went on for some time till Lord Ram realised that there was some divine meaning to this trick and appealed to Ma Durga that in order to complete the count he would offer one of his eyes to her (as he was also called ‘kamala nayana’ or ‘lotus eyed’). Satisfied with the offering, Ma Durga accepted the 108 blue lotuses and blessed Lord Ram with victory. And the rest as they say is mythology…

On Ashtami most girls wear a saree and deck up in their finery. Aunty lent me her Bonkai Oriya Silk sari (which I draped in typical Bengali style complete with a cotton jhola and keychain) and Ant R wore a black & red batik print sari while SK who hates draping saris stuck to a loose silk black and white salwar kameez. At the risk of sounding pompous, I will say that all of us looked pretty in our Indian wear; a far cry from the usual denims we lounge around in. The cotton jhola (bag) that I carried had the message ’save the tigers’ with saffron and bottle green stripes on an off white background. Seeing this Ant R’s dad remarked “Mamta Bannerjee will be very happy to see you”. I thought it was because of the tiger message till he clarified that these were similar to the colours of Trinamool Congress .

Aunty for some reason felt very happy to see us and since I kinda matched her in size (am not really thin you see), announced that she had adopted me for a day:-). Not only this she went on to add that she had titles for us to introduce to prospective grooms. Since I was the most traditionally dressed, I was titled ‘ready to serve’ (it conjured an image of me on a serving tray like a stuffed turkey taken to be carved), SK was ‘easy to handle’ (a title by which both Ant R & I disagreed…SK is anything but easy to handle and her bark is worse than her bite) and lastly Ant R was ‘handle with care’ (due to her petite frame and sharp tongue).  

The entire group trooped to the Sovabazar Rajbati (or Purani Bari as it is popularly known) where Durga Puja was first celebrated in October 1757 (2 months after the battle of Plassey). Since then the Puja has been held here every year with descendents of the family coming down only for the festival. The bari which surrounds a garden area on 4 sides is in ruins with the back portion having almost caved in. Only a small part is habitable which is where the Durga Puja is held. The casts used to make the idols are the same as those used in 1757 resulting in the idols looking the same till date. 

On Dashami (the last day of Durga Puja, which is also the time for immersion), we accompanied aunty to a nearby pandal for Sindoor Khela (celebrated or rather played by married women only). In this, the women first apply sindoor (vermillion powder symbolising matrimony) to all the statues, stuff Sandesh (a traditional milk based Bengali sweet) into their mouths and wipe their faces with betel leaves. This is symbolic of wiping Ma Durga’s tears as she is supposedly headed to her in-law’s place from her maternal home.

The immersion process too is very different as compared to our Ganesh visarjan. The entire set of idols are first tied to a wooden or bamboo frame which is then tied between 2 boats that go deep into the river and gradually drift apart thereby slowly immersing the idols in the water. Since the idols are made of clay, they quickly dissolve in water unlike Ganesh idols that are washed ashore often dismembered and in pitiable conditions. The frames are retained to be recycled and reused fo Laxmi Puja or Kali Puja and in many cases even till the next Durga Puja. Those pandals that have terracota work sell the murals, panels etc. to devotees who install these in their homes.

With this the 10days of Durga Puja come to an end and the simplicity of the festival truly strikes a harmonious balance between nature & devotion.

city of joy – pujo frenzy (pandal hopping)

When we stepped out for pandal hopping it was somewhere around 5.30pm in the evening but one look outside and it felt like it was 8pm (Bombay time). Surprised we asked Ant R who reminded us that we were in the East where the Sun rose and set early. We realised this when it was broad daylight at about 6am the next morning similar to Bombay’s 10am.

Anyway we set out and were left spellbound at the sight of the festive decorations. Every nook and corner had set up pandals (aking to our Ganesh Chaturthi mandals) with the entire celestial family comprising Maa Durga (on her vehicle, the tiger), Godesses Laskshmi (wealth) and Saraswati (learning), Lord Ganesha (with a shy banana tree as his consort), Lord Kartikeya (on his vehicle, the peacock) and Mahishasur (the demon killed by Maa Durga in the form of Goddess Kali). The pandals were beautiful, each better than the other and depicting the festival in its own way. Some had terracota work on them, some had illustrations from mythology yet others depicted rustic life. But the most noteworthy feature of these pandals was its eco-friendliness. From clay, grass, hay to cane, bamboo, jute and vegetable colours, these pandals were and epitome of environment friendliness. No POP (plaster of the paris), no artificial colours, no OTT (over the top) decorations (standard trademarks of our Ganesh mandals), the pandals were elegance personified in a humble way. All the extravaganza of our Ganesh Chaturthi notwithstanding, the decorations of Durga Puja are a treat for sore eyes. Couple this with soulful Rabindra Sangeet playing in the background (unlike our remixed Bollywood Bhajans) and you truly feel closer to divinity.

As I mentioned earlier, pandal hopping is a big activity during Pujo. Families throng the pandals in droves…almost seems like they have set out to achieve a target of covering ’x’ number of pandals. Debargha’s 50-60 pandals was probably an understatement. Some take their cars and check out pandals from out, some halt at every pandals for darshan, most go in the evenings as it is pleasant and yet other like Ant R & here friends set out at night from 11pm onwards till about 2am or so. Since there is no 10pm deadline unlike Bombay, the pandals are open all night. However SK & I managed a measly 5-6 pandals and cheated on the rest by clicking snaps from the confines of our car. However to make the number more respectable, SK decided to keep a track of all the pandals we passed on our way. Trust a Bombayite to use shortcuts .

Majority of these pandals serve food to the devotees. This food is known as ‘bhog’ (offering) and consists of the staple maach bhaat and tarkari (barring Ashtami or the 8th day which is strictly vegetarian, Bengalis have non-veg food all days during Pujo).

Pujo is indeed West Bengal in all its glory with streets lit up in fancy lanterns and people in their fineries. It is difficult to not be cuaght in the Pujo fever.

city of joy – enroute to Ant R’s bari

From Dumdum, we proceeded to Ant R’s bari (bari means home in bengali) at Tollygunge, South Calcutta. The whole city seemed to have come to a standstill as we could hardly see any crowd on the streets save an odd traffic jam resulting from the lack of traffic signals (yeah strange but true…Cal doesn’t have very many traffic signals). Passing through Salt Lake (the new business destination of Calcutta akin to Bombay’s Bandra-Kurla Complex), we saw the Golf Park and the Royal Calcutta Turf Club (RCTC) both rightly labelled the ‘lungs’ of the city due to its lush greenery. But what caught our eye were 2 distinct things unseen in Bombay – vast open spaces replete with water bodies and clean roads). Yeas you read that right. Calcutta is clean. In my 10 days I have travelled quite the length and breadth of Calcutta from the new city to the old but everywhere I found the roads clean. Well not spic and span but keeping Bombay as the yardstick, it is much cleaner. And relatively free of potholes. Also no unnecessary digging. For this my thumbs up goes to KMC (Kolkata Municipal Corporation). As Ant R said, “am glad you found it clean, at least it justifies my paying taxes”. Wish Bombayites could say that.

As I mentioned before Calcutta has an abundance of individual houses - row houses and bungalows as against buildings and residential complexes (the newer parts of the city are however going the concrete structure way). One thing that struck us as curious was the lack of a garden area between the houses and the main gates. Now in Bombay even the most cloistered buildings, row houses, bungalows have an open space from the main entrance to the structure. This was evidently not so here. The entrance almost immediately led to the doors of the house as though the owners / builders were particular about conserving space. Be it individual houses or buildings, there was no concept of a parking area (barring the new constructions). Some homes did have a garage, but most hardly had space to move about forget manouvering a vehicle. And since most lanes were narrow it was surprising how & where people parked their vehicles. SK & I concluded that perhaps they had no vehicles of their own and hence need not bother.

After travelling about an hour or so, we reached Ant R’s home (which is located in a maze of narrow lanes and bylanes). Hat’s off to her…with my sense of direction I would have needed a GPS to locate my own home . Ant R’s mother received us and we saw aunty after almost 14 years. Aunty wa sthe same even after all these years…pretty as most Bengali women. What surprised us though was her vivcaity and chirpiness. Now when we met aunty (for the first and last time), we were in Std. X way back in 1995. at that time aunty came across as someone very strict and after all these years to see a different avtaar of hers was mind boggling. SK & I exchanges numerous quizzical glances and concluded that probably we hadn’t gotten to know her better then and hence the misconception.

Anyway after a scrumtious Bengali lunch of fried karela, tarkari (dry vegetable dish), dal and maach bhaat (fish & rice) and a short nap later, we set out for ‘the’ Pujo activity – Pandal Hopping.

city of joy – airborne to calcutta

SK & I checked in at the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport at Bombay where we bumped into a colleague of mine, Debargha, also headed to Calcutta by the same flight. He gave us some insight into the fervour of ‘Pujo’ (as Bengalis call it) and said that ‘pandal hopping’ formed a major porting of the festive revelry. When asked how many pandals did he see on an average, he stunned us by casually mentioning at least 50-60 pandals. Wow…both SK and I looked at each other…we haven’t visited that many Ganesh mandals in our lifetime.

We boarded the flight and as the preparation for take off began, SK started to feel a sense of claustrophobia resulting from an acute fear of flying. She started perspiring profusely, heart palpitating, palms sweaty and fingers cold. Shutting her eyes she tried to push the fear in the abyss of her mind hoping that the 2.5hour ordeal would end soon.

Meanwhile I was enjoying every minute of it. Peeping out of the window, I saw the plane rising high till the famous landmark of Bombay, our ’slums’ were just a speck of blue & black tarpaulin. Bombay looks every bit the commercial capital of the nation even from top. Tall skyscrapers dotting the coastline, the arabian Sea a wide expanse giving the island city a mjestic feel. Up and away we flew above the clouds and through them…the clouds looking like balls of cotton disintegrating and changing every moment. The sky itself was a hue of varying shades of blue from light to azzure covered with the yellow golden rays from the sun. It seemed that one could find heaven if only one looked closely amidst the clouds. 

Slowly the plane started its downward descent and the aerial view of West Bengal was breath taking. Paddy fields alternating between dark and light green lay in horizontal and vertical patterns with the irrigation canals running through them. It looked as though someone had deliberately placed these grassy mats this way. As we crossed water bodies, gushing rivers and lush fields, I spotted the yellow ambassador taxis (or ‘ambys’ as they are popularly known).

Calcutta has a quaint feel to it even from up above. Unlike Bombay, you don’t see skyscrapers but individual houses in various shades of white, blue, pink yellow. Temples in saffron, open fields, small ponds as against the gigantic Arabian Sea. Felt like the city had fought commercialisation in a bid to retain its sanity.

Down and down we went, till we reached the Netaji Subash Chandra Bose International Airport at Dumdum. Ant R was waiting for us outside. We stepped out of the airport on to the ‘city of joy’. Everything felt just right. I knew this trip would be cherishable for me for more reasons than one.

break toh banta hai – City of Joy

Disclaimer: All the characters in my ‘City of Joy’ series will have only initials to keep them anonymous as SK has threatened to murder me should her name appear anywhere …

After slogging my butt out and reports pinning my hypertension on 9 out of 10, my boss Ashish suggested that I go on a break. well, I thought, sometime or the other I had to take a break, so why not now. So as usual confused me sat scratching my head wondering where to go. My recent past experiences at planning a break were a complete washout – couldn’t go to Greece (because as my travel agent said, “you are single, young, with no loans on your head, never travelled abroad before and hence could be a potential threat” ). Also out went Dubai, Egypt and Sri Lanka (folks couldn’t understand why SL of all places). Was suggested to visit South East Asia, get a couple of visas on my passport and be eligible for my ‘big’ trip.

While discussing my plight with my friend, Ant R, she  suggested I visit Calcutta. ”Come during Durga Pooja”, she said, “and you’ll kill two birds with one stone…watch the famed Pujo and also destress”. Sounded like a perfect recipe for recreation & rejuvenation. I agreed pronto and the date was set to September 24. Since Ant R was a school friend (we studied together from Std. VIII to X), I decided to ask 2 other friends from our group – PS & SK. PS is suffering from severe backache and has been advised to refrain from travelling; SK (surprise surprise) readily agreed. Her immediate ‘yes’ shocked me as I had mentally prepared myself for much persuasion and cajoling.

Well to cut a long story short,  SK & I left for Calcutta on Sept 24 morning looking forward to having some fun in the ‘City of Joy’.

no easy task

This Sunday my governess decided to take an off. JLT (just like that). So obviously mommy dearest hoped that her children will help her in house work. Bro quickly buried his nose inside his thick accountancy books under the pretext of studying for his forthcoming CA exams (me thinks its Complete Aaram). So yours truly was left to do ‘household chores’.

Washing utensils was the easiest task. What took its toll on me were the sweeping and swabbing. It was nothing but sheer hell. Bending on your knees trying to get the dust out of nooks and cranies. The broom seemed heavy to hold albeit to me it resembled a hockey stick that I couldn’t for the life of mine manoeuvre. All this under the watchful gaze of mom who could spot dust in places I couldn’t. And they say eyesight fails with age . To top it all you have a cheeky younger bro who in a very sadistic straght faced manner tells you that sweeping is good for your abs. At least this way you’ll get some exercise. Imagine the results…do it daily and soon you’ll have a swelte figure. Grrrrrrr…I am happy being healthy and lazy.

With great heaving and hoing and standing under the fan to cool off, I managed to sweep our 2 BHK flat (wow am I glad it’s not bigger than this). Then there was the swabbing where I cheated. I mopped partly standing and leisurely pushing the mop from one end to the other. My funda being if the floor is wet it means its mopped. Why take so much of trouble? After all this I plonked myself under the fan making a great show of all the back breaking, sweat trickling work I had done.

But this entire  rigmarole got me thinking about my mother, governess and all the women for whom this is not a one off choice but a daily chore. Cook, clean, wash, wipe the routine doesn’t change ever. The place may vary from parent’s home to in-laws’ home (and in some pathetic cases even children’s homes). But the nature of the job doesn’t. Be it the mistress of the house or the maid…it’s hard work all the same. Standing in the sweltering kitchen, slaving over the gas all day all this while catering to numerous requests from family members, taking care of children, etc. etc. Phew..that’s some task… And still we look down upon home makers with a disdain that wants to put them to shame for being at home and not being career women. For not contributing financially…for choosing the home and hearth over a plum job. 

So hat’s off to all the home makers. For doing what they do, day in and day out. For giving us spic n span homes, hot meals, washed and ironed clothes. And most importantly for giving us a home we look forward to coming back to every day. Thanks ladies. Thanks mom and Ratna Aunty.

the hills are alive…

This exercise was called Free Style – in the sense that we had to write anything and everything that came to our mind. The idea is that when you begin to write, the pen should not be lifted off the paper or the finger off the keyboard. So if for example I was writing – my name is Aanchal and (suppose I get stuck and don’t know what to write next, I must keep writing ‘and’ till my thoughts clear). So it would be – my name is Aanchal and and and and and and I work at 3. It needen’t make sense, you are excused if you don’t follow grammar, spellings, sentence constructions, etc. The only condition is to let your thoughts flow freely be they structured or chaotic, meaningful or nonsense. This exercise is supposed to help one get rid of the writer’s block as well as allow all the thoughts that are in your sub conscious to come out. It is said that the philosophers and seers of yore indulged in this exercise as a result they were able to come up with stuff that would otherwise not have occured to them had they consciously thought of them.

We were asked to think of a beginning and then write continuously for one minute without lifting the pen off the paper. So here it is…

The hills are alive with the sound of music. Music from the nearby factory sirens informing workers that it is 9am. Music from the nearby fields as the tractors move through them. Music from the bullocks ploughing the fields as the bells round their necks softly tinkle. Music from the road as vehicles blow their horns, as the wheels sctrach the asaphalt or an occasional rash driver screeches in a hurry. Music from a bunch of picnicers who have come to the hillside for a weekend getaway. Music from a stero blasting from a nearby resort playing the latest chartbusters. Music from the kitchens of pots and pans and tempers flying. Wow so much of music to enjoy. But is this how it was meant to be?

And then it was time’s up .

traffic snarl

I know this is coming in piece meal basis and many of you may have lost the thread to it but am determined to complete the entire set. So here’s continuing the articles from my writer’s workshop. This particular exercise was divided into 2 parts – in the first part we were asked to write all the words that came to our mind when we thought of a ‘volcano’. In the second part we had to use those words (or as many of those) to describe a traffic jam scene. So here goes…the underlined words are some from my volcanic list…

I was riding down the Western Express highway and found a serpentine queue of vehicles. Drat…a traffic jam. I will surely be late for my date. Remembered good ole Murphy and his law, “whenever you are in a tearing hurry, you’ll meet with a traffic jam”. Since I had no option but to wait, I stepped out of the rick to assess the situation. And what do I see?

There was thick smoke billowing in the air. A mob of angry onlookers had gathered. The embers were still red and once in a spurt there was an orange yelllow flame that leapt out. The mob was turning aggressive and the cops couldn’t contain the raging protests that were erupting. Soon they would go on a destruction spree devastating public life. The root cause of this trouble was a dead body charred and roasted beyond recognition. The burnt body was still hot to touch, but I could feel the mob’s blood bubbling. Once it crossed boiling point it would uproot public property. With no intention of being caught in a warring situation, I told the rickshaw driver to take a U-turn and go the other way.

lower the decibel…please

I am a proud Indian…I love the tradition, the culture, the festivities and the general bonhomie that surrounds it…what I dislike is the cacophony that accompanies it…no major Indian festival (apart from Eid and Christmas) is celebrated quietly…they are almost always loud and noisy…deafening to say the least…

Which reminds me that the Maharashtra government had in the past enforced a 10pm deadline on playing music in open air as it very rightly causes disturbance to those who reach home after a dogged day at work and have to go through the grind the next thereby trying to snatch a few hours of sleep…I remember a furore that took place over the Dandiya celebrations since people wanted it extended beyond 10pm…so why is it that Diwali, Ganesh Chaturthi, Dahi Handi are allowed to go way past the deadline…

During Diwali, crackers are burst from the wee hours of morning till past midnight…and it has a pattern (at least from what I have observed since my childhood)…all the less noisy firecrackers like sparklers, chakris, paoos, colourful rockets etc. are burnt in the evenings…but once you decide to hit the sack there come the biggies…sutlis, tajmahal, laxmi, and the most irritating of them all lavangi…all these are called ‘bombs’…and they go on throughout the night…one after the other…the lavangi especially is the one I detest the most…goes of in short spans and at quick intervals…you can’t enjoy watching the television, listening to some music or speaking on the phone in peace…all this in the name of enjoyment and tradition….

During Ganpati and Dahi Handi, you have loudspeakers blaring filmy music till late night…and the creative music companies come up with devotional lyrics set to the tunes of bollywood songs…so you have Ganesh aartis on the tunes of “beedi jalaile”, “kajra re” or “babuji zara dheere chalo”…try singing these lines to the tune of Kajra Re: “deva re deva re tu bhaktancha bappa re” or ” sukhakarta tu vighnaharta…dustancha kari nash re nash re” to the tunes of “beedi jalaile” or “kanhaiya kahe pakde kalai…ja jake tod de yeh haandi…oh tooti tooti tooti tooti haandi tooti” to the tunes of “babuji zara dheere chalo”…totally uncalled for…and not at all devotional…

At the risk of sounding like a spoilsport, I would like to remind these people that while its all right to bring your enthusiasm in the open, it is also important to preserve the thought behind the festival. After all Lokmanya Tilak started the sarvajanik ganesh utsav with a very noble thought…however I increasingly find that the thought notwithstanding, these revelries have now taken on a hooliganistic attitude. During Holi you can barely travel safely without a stray water baloon or handful of colour making you its target…ditto with other festivals where you find the organisers merrily drunk near the religious pandals at the end of the day…I have personally witnessed a squabble between some drunk members of a sarvajanik mitra mandal over discrepancy in the collection box…imagine all this before the visarjan and under Lord’s eys…

And not to forget the vargani or chanda or donation one is supposed to dole out…during festivals you tend to lose track of how many neighbourhood mandals come for donation and nothing less than Rs. 101/-. And after all this, if you can’t enjoy a few hours of much needed sleep without your ears listening to dhinchik dhinchik and dhadam dhoodoom…then please forgive me, I don’t look forward to these festivals. We shouldn’t forget that while its fun for some its agony for others. Spare a thought for the sick and /or old, babies, pregnant mothers, school going children and others…I know what’s posion to some is nectar for others…but we can celebrate festivals with gusto and in the right spirit…only if we try…

yawn…time to hit the bed…i hope the dandiya dhols don’t begin…till such time can we have some silence please…

jet…set…going…

Now they had it…now they didn’t. Their jobs that is. I am talking of the 1900 odd staff at Jet Airways who received an early Diwali surprise – Pinkslips.

  

 

It’s indeed unfair the way the 1900 odd staff at Jet Airways was unceremoniously sacked and then reinstated. Mr. Naresh Goyal apparently had a change of heart…spent 2 sleepless nights…ya rite. Like we are fools here to believe it. Why on earth would he wait for 2 nights? Why didn’t he revoke the decision the moment he came to know about it? And he really thinks we believe him when he says this decision was taken in his absence since he does not involve himself in day-to-day operations? Is sacking 1900 employees a day-to-day affair for Jet? What kind of a company is it where such a big decision is taken without informing the Chairman?

 

Understandable that these are difficult times. Everyone is cost cutting, retrenching, etc. But there is a more humane way to do it. One should never forget that one could be in the same situation that one puts others in. Bible says, “do unto others as you would have them done unto you”. Did the management not spare a single thought towards these youngsters, their families? How cruel? I will definitely try and boycott Jet Airways going forward. I rather fly in a Spice or Go airlines where I pay for my water than fly Jet that makes its employees pay for my water.

 

Also though MNS was involved and threatened to not allow Jet airplanes to land or take off from Maharashtra, the truth is that the decision was not revoked because of MNS but because of pressure from the Aviation Minister, Praful Patel who asked Naresh Goyal to reinstate the retrenched employees or pay up the oil dues (almost 800 crores). So Raj Thackeray stop grinning like a Cheshire cat and forget your dreams of making an MNS union. Making hay while the sun shines doesn’t apply everywhere.

swaraj mazha janma sidha adhikar

That was a slogan coined by the fiery freedom fighter Lokmanya Bal Gangadhar Tilak to oust the then ‘outsiders’ i.e. British. That was one face of swaraj and today we have another (swa)raj. Difference one fought to create unity…the other fights to divide.  

 

So we are once again saddled with the insider-outsider war. Accusations are flying left, right and centre over who’s snatching whose job. And who is at the centre of it all…not Raj Thackeray…the common man or rather as popularised by Naseeruddin Shah in ‘A Wednesday’ - a stupid common man. 

 

Much has been said about the MNS attacks on innocent candidates seeking to appear for railway exams. What was their fault – that the Government of India allowed them to seek jobs anywhere in the country or that companies refused to set foot on their lawless soils thus forcing them to leave their cocoons and look elsewhere or that till date none of the politicians have bothered to sit across the table, present their cases to the Government and decide or demarcate issues such as migration of labour, channelising of tax money, etc. What was the fault of the poor marathi manoos who was also caught in MNS ire and ended up injured or having their vehicles etc. damaged? Will Raj pay for restoration of Thane, Kalyan and Dombivili? Will he pay for the damaged buses, private vehicles, broken display windows of shops? Will he cover up for the loss of earning faced by shopkeepers and daily wage earners who had to stay put at home? Will Lalu Prasad Yadav bear the cost of the burnt trains in Bihar from his own pocket?

 

These I know are rhetorics. It’s me and lakhs like me who will pay for this. We who will slog and pay taxes that will go towards undoing this damage. And what will the perpetrators get in return…bail, western loos in jail, home cooked food in jail, SUVs, Z security, convoy and the list goes on…    

 

In all this news what caught my attention was an article that said that Raj had through his lawyer Akhilesh Choubey moved Jharkhand High Court seeking a stay on a non-bailable arrest warrant issued by a court in Jamshedpur for, allegedly, making derogatory remarks about Bihar residents. What is so attention grabbing…the name of Raj’s lawyer. Akhilesh Choubey…very North Indian sounding…definitely not a Chavan…so did Raj take the help of an outsider to defend him?

 

Well…what can one say, “as you sow so shall you reap”…”what goes around comes around”…till then wait n watch.

fashion ka hai yeh jalwa

Last night I saw Fashion. I was quite impressed by it considering that Madhur Bhandarkar has a penchant of unearthing the truth and presenting it before his audience. However I was a little disappointed with the treatment of the subject. Coz though the name was Fashion the focus seemed more on the models or rather their way of life and not on the industry as a whole. By this what I mean is, I would have liked to see more of the behind the scenes where fashion designers exploit darzis and karigars (selling a garment for Rs. 20,000/- of which merely a pittance goes to the craftsmen), plagiarism from both local and international designers (which is a big thing going on under the name of inspiration), how do designers get ’inspired’, maybe touch upon the lives of the unskilled labour who like the models are the real pillars of the fashion industry…

The film focussed completely on stereotypes (which I felt was not not Madhur). Be it the gay designers (cmon not all designers are gay and even if they are not all of them are effeminate), the coke snorting models, the business tycoon with his trophy wife could perhaps have been treated differently. Alsowhoever told him that a showstopper walks in the beginning of the show. I may be no fashionista but hello show stopper means one who ends the show…so much for research. Also in some scenes there were direct references to Gia (a film based on the supermodel Gia who struggles to rise to fame and eventually struggles to maintain it thereby sniffing out her life in the end) and Devil Wears Prada (where Meghna breezes in late for a dinner with her boyfriend and friends and nonchalantly blames the fashion industry).

What I liked was the portrayal of anguish, loneliness, the transformation from a small town wide-eyed girl to a catty supermodel unable to handle fame. The scenes that I felt stood out were the ones where Kangana flings the finger bowl on her boyfriend and where she openly mocks Kittu Gidwani for lecturing her non-stop. However I still didn’t figure out exactly what made Meghna sleep with Abhijit. I mean there was no such hint on his part either subtly or openly. And which woman in her right mind wouldn’t use a contraceptive if you’re sleeping with a married man…hello ever heard of a condom or a Pill 72…

Of the performances, I think Kangana wins hands down. The woman is way too good…almost Hollywood material…I could see Gia in her (portrayed superbly by Angelina Jolie). The other person who I thought shone in a small role was Chitrashi Rawat as Shomu the small time model co-ordinator. Her brisque style was very reminiscent of these model co-ordinators who arrange for small ads, etc. Mugdha Godse as Janet showed that models could act too…she supported the film very well with her quiet demeanour. Arjan Bajwa as the struggling boyfriend fit the bill showing the side of this industry where compromise is the keyword. Priyanka Chopra is a seasoned actor by now and throughtout the film I could see a faint innocence in her eyes be it beginning her career, stomping on grapes with Arbaaz, breaking the news of her pregnancy to him, smoking her first cigarette or even returning back to family and friends.

The one message that comes out loud and clear is that success if not handled well will eventually lead to your downfall and that when after every hardship, you reach the top, you realise that it is very lonely up there.

All in all an ok film…a tad too long…I had expected something more hard hitting after seeing Page 3, Chandani Bar and Traffic Signal (I stopped buying strawberries off the road)…

much ado about nothing

While Raj maybe busy diving the country with his scathing remarks and lofty views about insiders and outsiders, there is one gentleman who definitely believes in making hay while the sun shines. I am talking of KRK. Well its not a typo…i didn’t mean it to be SRK…it is very much KRK…Kamal Rashid Khan…if you are still scratching your heads let me elucidate. KRK is none other than the dashing leading actor cum director of the most debatable movie of 2008 – Deshdrohi.

Did I hear a bell ring? Yes that’s true. Neither Om Shanti Om nor Taare Zameen Par or Fashion or Dostana for that matter garnered so much of publicity as Deshdrohi did. What would otherwise have been relegated to the cans as a B grade flick has become front page news. And KRK well he must be feeling like SRK. Imagine on any other occasion he along with Gracy Singh, Hrishitaa Bhatt and Kim Sharma would have passed unnoticed had it not been for the timing. Drat…how is it that some people get it right? No PR, no marketing, ekdum low budget..bada dhamaka. What more does a film need?

Not just aam janta, KRK has managed to schedule special screenings for cabinet of ministers, Governor and others as well. Well done KRK…you have gone down in history as the man who struck when the iron was hot…oops what’s with me and idioms….it’s the KRK effect I guess

So long people…if any of you catches this movie please feel free to drop in a review. And thank you Raj for giving us such a lactating issue that everyone wants to milk it dry…moooooooooooooooo…

business as usual

Another attack on Bombay. Media says this time the route taken was sea. So after land and air, terrorists have now entered Bombay through its famed waterways. The same route used by the Portuguese and the British years ago.

They apparently entered Bombay via Gateway of India using rubberised boats as noiselessly as a feline approaches its prey. The Taj Mahal and Trident hotels were the unfortunate targets along with 8 other places (including 2 hospitals) and the guests and hundreds of innocents who lost their lives the victims. 10-12 places targeted, over 900 injured and 80 dead. Break down of law and order…top cops dead…loss of lives and innocence.

When will this stop? What are the terrorists even trying to prove by attacking Bombay? That they are stronger than our security. That we are fallible. Fine we agree…you guys are the best masterminds ever born. Why then would you join the negative forces? Why not use your brains and help your respective countries develop? Don’t you realise that these attacks will only damage the infrastructure not the spirit? Bombayites are more worried due to inflation and recession and pinkslips than terrorist attacks. Honestly we couldn’t care less if tomorrow a bomb was planted in our backyard. But tell a Bombayite to let go of the 8.17am VT local and the poor person gets a panic attack.  

How long will we have to put up with this? There has to be a stop to all this. So many people losing lives for no fault of theirs. The holy books talk of karma…what goes around comes around. Is anyone paying heed to it? Have we thrown all caution to the winds?

“Take my flesh, Take my bones

Let my bullet ridden body mix with the dirt

Yet after all this, I will still have one immortal thing with me – My Spirit

You can’t take that away from me.”

This is the motto of Bombay…the spirit of its citizens. We do not fear blasts and we will not cower nor will we run away. The more we are terrorised the more defiant we will get.

Well in this entire milieu, US President elect Barack Obama apparent sent a message condemning the attacks as did UK PM Gordon Brown. So all those who were speculating Obama’s views on India can rest assured…a blast got us the coveted attention.

Meanwhile to all you planning the next phase of attacks…well…bring it on…we are up for any challenge…coz in Bombay, come rain or shine, bullet or bombs…it’s business as usual.

the show must go on…

Finally after combating the terrorists for almost 60 hours, Bombay has been sanitised and peace has been restored back to the city. The kudos for this only goes to the Army, NSG and Bombay Police who put themselves in the line of fire and very strategically went about their work while ensuring minimum damage to the hostages. Still not everyone was lucky to get out alive. And those who lived to tell the tale will surely recall it till they go the grave.

While all of this was happening, there was a flurry of SMSes going back and forth. Some of which I present here:

“Forgiving a terrorist is left to God. But fixing their appointment with God is our Responsibility. Jai Hind”

“There is a poor scared little chooha running all over Bombay, looking for shelter after terrorist attacks. If you find him, please return him to the citizens of the city. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass if you are not a Maharashtrian. His name is Raj Thackeray”

“Where is Raj Thackeray? Tell him that 200 NSG Commandos from Delhi (all North Indians) are being sent to fight the terrorists. So that he can sleep peacefully”

“We need not worry about those who have come by boat, but we must worry about those who have come through vote” – the Patriot

“What a shame and disgrace to every citizen of India that the elite NSG Force was transported into ordinary BEST buses, whereas our cricketers are transported into the state of the art luxury buses. These jawans lay their lives to protect every Indian and these cricketers get paid even if they lose a match. We worship these cricketers and forget the martyrdom of these brave jawans. The jawans should be paid the salary of the cricketers and vice versa”

How true all of these messages ring? While watching or reading the news, I came across many stories where the cops took the bullets to save the lives of the citizens. Did those cops not have families? Did their children not lose a parent? Did their wives not become widows? Why is it then that the people in uniform who take a pledge of keeping duty before self, get such a shoddy treatment? One look at the police quarters and you are bound to turn your eyes in apathy? The traffic policeman who stands at signals come rain or shine most often than not doesn’t have a protective gear. Imaging standing in scorching heat or lashing rains or even biting cold. How many of us have the courage to do it? The havaldar (who we also call pandu), checking drunken driving late at night, doing bandobast during our numerous festivals or new year’s eve, controlling unwanted agitation called upon by our good-for-nothing politicians or sometimes answering the call of duty without a wink of sleep. Does he not feel like spending time with his family? Imagine not being able to be part of your child’s growing up years or holding your partner’s hand when he/she needs you the most or even spending time with your ageing parents? They who protect everyone often are not around to protect their own families.

Iqbal Kaskar (or Dawood Ibrahim as we know him) was the son of a policeman. Why then did he get into the underworld? Such intelligence, such strategic mind wasted in doing harm when the same potential could have been tapped for better things.

But alas these are mere thoughts which is echoing in most minds. Its time for us to stand up and do something about it. Why berate the system when the power liest with us. One finger is all it takes to make a difference. Our vote counts. The black ink on the index finger is not a stain but a reminder that we have done our duty towards ourselves and country in a small way. True they are all bastards out there…but until you and me don’t get in the fray, this is the least we can do.

As the film song goes, “ae dil hai mushkil jeena yahan, zara hatke, zara bachke, yeh hai bombay meri jaan”. We are the commercial capital of the country. We are the face of modern India to the world. We cannot die…we cannot stop…the show must go on.

Jai Hind…Jai Maharashtra…

PS: A fresh SMS with a call for action…I feel we must all support “to the courageous people of Bombay, Maharashtra and India…let’s start something guys. A non co-operation movement. Something to show we are not taking this lying down. Something to tell the leaders and politicians that we want our safety. Let it be started by corporates. A nameless, leaderless movement. Let’s show them how many we are and how angry tired and frustrated we are. Let’s all come together at Gateway of India this Wednesday, Dec 3, 08 at 6pm. Let’s ask for what’s our right. Right to live fearlessly. Let’s devote on evening of our lives to it. It’s worth it. Together we can and we will”.

Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return

Last Friday a family friend of ours passed away. God took him away at a very young age of 32years. He left behind a wife, 2 young daughters (both below 4yrs of age), grieving parents, sister, shocked relatives & friends and loads of memories. Memories that bring a smile to my face along with a tear to my eyes. I had practically grown up with him and his sister and as such have a reservoir of 29 years of memories. Memories of the summer vacations when I would wait for his mother, his sister and him to come to Bombay from Delhi. Memories of us having fun till late in the night. Memories of the card and board games we played…why he was the one who taught us to play rummy and mendicote (card games) with a blind joker. Memories of us calling him Tinnu Anand (a Bollywood character actor) because of his crooked teeth, of his asthma pump (from which he would inhale regularly). Memories of looking up to him as a style icon – the way he dressed, walked, talked. His Delhi accent. Memories of opening my eyes first thing in the morning and seeking out bhaiyya and didi, of one pepsicola shared between the 3 of us, of the trips to Fashion Street, of the chaat that we devoured at Manasarovar (a fast food joint), of his love for perfumes and watches. When I first visited Delhi, I remember riding pillion with him on the scooter to throw garbage. I agreed to hold the garbage in my hand just so I could ride with him. Memories of him keeping the dogs (Julie & Johnny) away from me, of him calling me by my pet name (which he did till date). 

Then somewhere they got busy with their engineering and dental studies and their trips to Bombay reduced (almost came to a halt). Gone were those days of merry making and laughter. But the memories still lingered. Last April I had gone for my friend’s wedding to Meerut. On my way back I stopped at his house. For the first time I met his wife and daughters and I never felt the time lapse between us. He took me to his sister’s home where I met her husband and son. Again instant connection. Bhaiyya and Jiju dropped me to the airport where I almost missed my flight. His daughters got so attached to me in just 2 days that the elder one refused to see me off hoping that I would stay. After that he kept enquiring about my next trip to Delhi and I would tell him that if I do I will stay at my friend’s home. “Why? Will our house eat you up?” he would ask. To which I would say “no bhaiyya but since I will be visiting Delhi after her marriage for the first time she’ll want me to stay with her. I promise to drop in on you guys”. “Nothing doing”, he would say “whenever you come to Delhi you’ll stay with us”. And the banter continued. If only I knew it were to end before my friend’s first anniversary. I would have gone down again if only to meet them. 

They say, “Memories behave in a strange way. They leave you alone when you are in a crowd and crowd around you when you are alone”. It couldn’t be more true. All of Friday night till today I have got nothing but memories visiting me. I don’t want them. Let them go. If they can’t bring my bhaiyya back they have no right to pay me a visit. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. I hate these voices in my head. Someone tell them to stop speaking. 

Why did this happen to him of all the people? What should one answer when his daughters ask, “where’s papa?” Questions that will remain unanswered. But I am optimistic. Someday when I die and go to heaven (hopefully) I will seek out God and ask him why he did what he did…hold him accountable for the void he created in our lives by Bhaiyya’s sudden exit.

I remember a poem by Javed Akhtar from his Tarkash collection:

“jaate jaate wo mujhe achchhi nishaani de gaya
umr bhar dohraoonga aisi kahaani de gaya
uss se main kuch paa sakoon aisi kahan ummeed thi
gham bhi shaayad woh baraaye meharbaani de gaya
sab hawaaen le gaya mere samander ki koi
aur mujhko ek kashti baadbaani de gaya
khair main pyaasa raha, par usne itna to kiya
mere palkon ki kataron ko woh paani de gaya”

Good bye bhaiyya. May your soul rest in eternal peace. We will miss you.

mood swing

I am not referring to PMS. Last evening I saw 2 movies back-back. ‘Confessions of a Shopaholic’ and ‘Firaaq’. 2 totally opposite movies…completely different in moods, treatment, story, setting. One was set in upmarket New York while the other in Gujarat – some parts of it in a Muslim ghetto and some in a supposedly urbane locality.

While Confessions…was a sweet, fairy tale, bubble gum, candy floss film with a happy ending, Firaaq was a cathartic experience for me. This was a fairy tale too only the fairies were substitued with sorcerers and evil magicians who raped Cinderella in broad daylight and later in the cozy confines of their homes discussed whether they had fun doing “it”. They who called other’s wives ‘rasmalai’ and bashed their own women in the confines of their home. A fairy tale where names like Snow White and Peter Pan were substituted with Munira, Mohsin, Samir Arshad Sheikh and Anuradha Desai-Sheikh.

Firaaq certainly sent a chill down my spine. Every scene that implied an onslaught but showed none gave me goosepimples. Maybe because I was anticipating action…a slice of the chopper, a bullet fired, a house torched. But all I saw was the camera moving in various angles showing nothing yet revealing a lot. Eyes filled with dread, pupils dilating, nostrils flaring, lips quivering, hearts palpitating, palms sweating, throats parched…was it the characters in the movie or was it me on the other side of the screen? Me who was safely ensconsed in an AC theatre yesterday or in a protective coccoon in my home in a predominantly Hindu neighbourhood way back in 1993. Suddenly the lines separating us blurred. I was no longer a Hindu sympathetically watching a Muslim massacre by the saffron brigade. It was me in there. Panicking, shuddering, wondering am I prepared to face any such situation should it ever befall me?

The answer is No. I don’t know how I will handle this situation. Today I talk about human civilisation losing all its values, morals and principles. Will I be able to react as fearlessly should the tables ever turn on me? Maybe…maybe not…

Hat’s off to Nandita Das for making an honest fiction. A very in your face tale of Narendra Modi’s saffron brigade and the Godhra carnage. The director makes no bones about the facts, minces no words and uncovers all masks. 

Truth is bitter and it sure as hell hurts.

thou shalt write

Hello after a long hiatus, I am back. Apologies for being such a lazy bum and thank you for giving me such flak for not updating my blog. Well it sure has worked. So here it is…

Last weekend I had been to Khandala for an overnight writer’s workshop. It was the most amazing break I had ever taken. Over a period of 2 days all we did was write. Write on mundane topics, write musing memories, write nonsense, make rhyme, coin our own phrases and the works. But it was liberating. Everytime I wrote I felt a nerve in me relax. I didn’t think of work at all. To top it all since it was Khandala, the climate was superb. We sat outdoors amidst the deep valleys, waterfalls that formed a small pool at the bottom of the valley and breeze that threatened to sweep us away. It indeed was serene, the perfect setting to open your mind and let your thoughts flow unhindered.

And flow they did. Brevity not being my strong point, my short stories were about 5 pages long . Thank God, I’m not a journalist…would never be able to crunch my articles . The feedback given to me was, “you write well but you must learn to control your thoughts as they tend to get too long”.

Patricia Chandrashekhar (a freelance journalist and visiting faculty at Mass Media Colleges) had organised this workshop. An amazing woman, a complete bundle of energy, she was instrumental in getting the best out of us. Even those who were not into the habit of reading or writing managed to come up with whacky stuff. The workshop itself had a motley crew of people from ages 16 to 60yrs. From college students, journalists, media professionals, businessmen to government employees (we had 3 of them – one a civil engineer with Konkan Railways, one an Asst. Commisioner with Income Tax and one with Indian Oil). But out there we were all budding writers.

Well thanks to this workshop, I have a reservoir of articles, so I don’t have to tax my grey cells for the next few days .

If you are interested in being part of this workshop or the writer’s club (that meets twice a month on sundays at colaba), write in to pat.writestuff@gmail.com or call Patricia on 9821986924.

ad mad world

Continuing my writing workshop experiences, I will be posting the articles / short stories that I churned on the spot (a feat I never imagined I could pull off). The articles will be preceded by a short note on that particular exercise for those who want to know the details. Thanks AD for this idea.

Ok, this exercise was related to the advertising world. We had to take any brand (existing or fictional). pair it up with the tag line of another brand and come up with the body copy. Here’s presenting 2 of my ideas…Ad, Vincy, Jayesh, Tilak please don’t gun for my life if it hurts your creative sensibilities …

Product: Kamasutra Condoms

Tag line: Just Do It (originally belonging to Nike)

Body Copy: Day or Night. Hide & Seek or Catch-me-if-you-Can. Handcuffs or Scarves. On top or Down under. On the kitchen platform or the dining table. Against the wall or Between the sheets. Chocolate or strawberry. Ice cubes or Champagne. Dotted or Ribbed.

Whatever your fantasy…Just Do It…Kamasutra Condoms.   

Product: Mother’s Recipe Pickles

Tag line: Finger lickin good (originally belonging to KFC)

Body Copy: Mother’s Recipe pickles. Selected by a mother’s loving hands, tempered by a mother’s love and pickled with a mother’s patience. Every bottle of Mother’s Recipe pickles is guaranteed to take you back in time. To the kitchen where you stealthily brought down the jars while your mother was asleep. The tangy, sweet, sour, spicy taste on your tongue, the smell of home ground spices and the soft succulent pieces of mago, lime, karvanda or carrot. Ummm…we’re sure your mouth is salivating (at least mine was while writing it:-)) and your finger automatically finds its way to your mouth. And so today even after all these years when nostalgia strikes you and you crave for a bite of your mother’s love, you reach out to Mother’s Recipe pickles.

Available in cut or whole magoes, lime (sweet n sour), karvanda, carrot and amla. Need we mention that it’s finger lickin good.

citric affair

Thank you all for your comments to the earlier post. For the next exercise, Pat passed around an orange and asked us to feel it, smell it, observe the inside of the peel and finally each of us got a piece to eat.  The exercise was to describe an orange using our 5 senses – touch, sight, sound, taste, smell. so here goes my version…

When I saw the orange, its lime green colour with a hint of yellow and orange captivated me. A small round object with thick dimpled skin…coarse at some places, smooth at others, the texture of the orange felt like a stress buster in my hands. No sooner did I bring it near my nose than it unleashed a dominant citric fragrance that set my taste buds salivating. The rind was fresh and juicy, a very good clue as to how the fruit would be. As I popped a piece of orange in my mouth, its tangy flavour burst open within leading to a sweet sour taste. I could distinctly hear my molars grinding the fruit to a pulp while my tongue mingled with the juice. Finally the fibrous pulp slid down my throat leaving a lingering citrus after taste.

Thus ended my brief affair with an orange.

a relaxed summer afternoon

This was an interesting exercise. Here Pat gave us pointers and we had to fill in with our details and then use them in a short story. Details as below (the left hand is what Pat gave us and the right hand is what I chose):

Mood – relaxed, Protagonist – woman, Verb – sitting, Adverb – lazily, Era – present, Setting – book store, Object – square cushion, Adjective – earthy brown self coloured cover, Name of the Protagonist – zoya

Here goes my short story…

It is a warm saturday afternoon with the sun shining bright. Thankfully, passers by did not break into a sweat as there is a pleasant breeze cooling their parched skins. Seeking respite from the sun, Zoya saunters into a bookstore. Her slow gait gives one an impression that she is in no particular hurry. As the blast of the AC cools her flushed cheeks, Zoya manouvers her way to the now familiar ‘Fiction’ section of the bookstore.

She runs her fingers through the tomes lining the shelves and deliberates in her mind as to which book to read. Train to Pakistan by Khuswant Singh (naah…too heavy for a hot noon), Sultry Nights by Shobha De (too trashy), The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini (too tragic for a relaxed afternoon). She picks some books, reads the summary, feels the touch of the crisp pages on the finger tips and smells the fragrance of the printed pages (just like one would a freshly brewed coffee).

No…she wanted a book that would be light reading yet not crass, humourous yet not crude, thin volume yet not the blink and you’ll miss it kinds. As her eager eyes search the oak panelled shelves, a magenta-pink cover catches her eye. Gingerly she brings it out and turns it over to read. Yes…this is it…the perfect book for a relaxed breezy afternoon. She takes The Diary of a Social Butterfly by Moni Mohsin and moves to the couch where she is now sitting, resting her back on the square cushions with self coloured brown covers and tassels at 4 ends. At present, Zoya is not in Bombay, but transported to Islamabad where she is one with the Paki creme-de-la-creme devouring their social life with a smug indulgent smile. She knows she has all the time in the world and wishes for a cappuchino to complete her relaxed ambience.

Zoya, forever the dreamer believes in carpe diem.

so said the bard…

Thank you for all the comments and feedback…it’s very heartening and amusing to know your take on the articles. Continuing from where we left, in this exercise Pat had listed down words that were coined or connected by Shakespeare in the course of his plays and which subsequently became part of the English vocabulary. We had to use as many of those words as possible and weave it into a story. We did this exercise at 9.30pm post dinner by which time I was ready to hit the sack (since I hadn’t slept a wink the night before leaving for Khandala). I barely managed to keep my eyes open and found it a Herculean task to churn out a story that made sense. I have underlined the words selected from the list:

The madcap entered the monumental hall with a swagger looking all majestic. He raved and ranted about the remorseless savagery and torture meted out to him following the scuffle. A mountaineering champion with a lustrous career, today he was a worthless olympian with dwindling fortunes. He has been accused of cold blooded assassination, damaging circumstantial evidence and creating discontent. Branded a bandit, his tranquil world is now lacklustre, lonely and frugal. A hidden blood stained blanket in the luggage on the lower rack reminds him of his compromise with his principles. He looks back at his advertising days with amazement and wonders when alcohol took over him.  

Trivia: We had to count the number of words we used from the list and I must have counted over 5 times but never managed to complete it as I was so sleepy that I would lose track of the numbers in between .

lost in the banyan tree…

Moving on from Bard’s influence, we now come to a very interesting exercise (one that I found slightly challenging). It was to describe a ‘tree’ to a visually impaired person using our senses. For want of any other quick option, I chose the ‘banyan tree’. Here it goes…a banyan tree through my eyes, ears, touch and smell.

This is a banyan tree. How would you identify it? Touch the trunk, it’s huge. Encircle the tree completely once to know it’s girth, all the while placing your hands on it. A trunk is the portion of the tree above the ground like a human trunk i.e. above the waist. Also while circling the tree feel the threads tied round it. Well these are tied by married women praying for a happy and long life. So the banyan tree is also symbolic of wedded bliss. Feel the coarseness of the bark like the human skin. It is smooth in some places and uneven at others. Smell the mud on the bark. the fragrance is similar to the wet soil in the first rains along with a hint of incense sticks (agarbatti), vermillion (kumkum) and flowers.

Next you touch the base of the tree and feel the beginning of the roots. These roots go deep into the earth and the deeper the roots, the sturdier the tree. Feel the roots to know it’s strength. They are like your legs that hold on to your entire body.

Raise your hands now and touch these hanging ropes. Well they are not ropes but hanging roots, another speciality of the banyan tree. Anytime you want to know if a tree is a banyan tree, raise your arms and try to touch any hanging ropes. If you manage to find any, then it is indeed a banyan tree. Feel these roots, they are thick. Tug at it, they are strong. Push it and it requires some effort. This means that they are sturdy and not flimsy enough to sway in the breeze. If ever you are falling fom above and manage to get a hand on them, hold tight and you’ll be safe.

These are the branches. They are also thick and strong and when you run your hand through it’s length, you realise that it’s long. They are like your shoulders that balance your body. Each branch further splits into smaller branches that gives the tree a dense look. Just like your hands and fingers.

Now try to hear the birds chirping. The banyan tree because of its strength and density is home to lots of birds and insects who feel secure and protected. It is not easy to cut down a banyan tree and because of this it is often attributed to a family. Just like a family has all the members who are together and indivisible, so is the banyan tree.

Lastly touch the leaves. They are slightly oval shaped (just like your heart) and coarse as they are dusted with mud. Also when the birds peck with their beaks or insects crawl over it, the smoothness tends to be lost. But some leaves are so smooth, you can slide your fingers on them. Leaves are like hair that cover the topmost part of the tree and also add beauty to it. They are also helpful in bringing us rains.   

So now you know what’s a banyan tree. Here, sit on it’s branch, swing you legs and chill.

death of a legend

Today is indeed a black day in the world of music as the legendary King of Pop, Michael Jackson passed away at the age of 50. Fans of MJ will no doubt mourn the loss of a man with indefatigable energy and talent. A man who made the world dance to his tunes (literally). The twinkle toed singer who introduced the world to Moonwalk. The shy gawky teenager bursting into the world of popularity, paparazzi and crazy fans. 

I have not been a die-hard fan of his (having been introduced to English music pretty late in life).  But whatever songs of his I have heard, I have relished them all. Even today it’s a treat to watch his Thriller, Beat It, They Don’t Really Care About Us, Black or White We are the World, Heal the World videos. But somewhere he too like his predecessors lost the plot and gave in to human follies. By the late 90s, he was embroiled in child abuse cases, was in and out of 2 marriages one with Lisa Marie Presley and the other with a nurse Deborah (with whom he had 2 children), a third child followed (whose mother is still unknown). His fans were subjected to his idiosyncrasies like dangling his children from hotel windows, covering their faces to avoid paparazzi, his numerous rhinoplasties, his sudden change of skin colour (something he blames on a skin disorder) and very lately his alleged conversion to Islam. 

But everything said and done, his fans consider him next to God and for the musical delight that he offered them they are willing to let go of all his follies. In an earlier post I had mentioned about my cousin brother introducing me to MJ’s music. It’s ironical that both exited this world in 2009.

MJ’s death follows close on the footsteps of Sarod maestro Ustad Ali Akbar Khan and Sarrah Fawcett of Charlie’s Angels Fame. 

All we can say is RIP – these mortal souls have left us with immortal memories.

of values and principles…

Last night I went to watch Harry Potter & the Half Blood Prince at Fame Malad. As ususal all the ticket windows had a queue of people. In my line there was a man haggling at the ticket counter with wife and son in tow, behind him there was a woman and then me. For reasons best known to him, the man decided to not buy tickets telling his wife ”we’ll watch it on a CD”. Just when the woman in front of me was paying for her tickets, our man re-appears out of nowhere and demands the counter guy to give him tickets for Ice Age 3 in the rows that he was earlier deliberating. When I pointed out  that he had left the line and that he should join the line at the end, he had the gall to tell me that he needed tickets for his child and that I should act like an adult and allow him to buy his tickets. Well there was a heated argument and war of words and eventually I let him buy his tickets (for a selfish reason that I didn’t want to continue the fight and miss the start) but also made a parting comment about how he was imparting wrong values to his child.

I feel shitty about the fact that i didn’t any more than yelp, that the start of the movie was more important than fighting a wrong doing. But I really wonder at the audacity of people to so openly act this way and not feel a wee bit ashamed. I mean these are the same people who religiously go to temples, churches and places of worship, who observe fasts and other rituals, read their scriptures and then go and flout all the good things the holy books teach us.

How can one be so unabashed, so shameless, so nonchalant? Is it so difficult to co-exist in peace and harmony? To respect another individual, to practice what you preach. What example was he setting for his son? That it is easy to just arm twist your way in any situation. Maybe that’s good for life skills or as a self defence mechanism…but where do you draw the line?

I am disgusted at myself first and then at mankind in general. This world is heading to its end surely. Imagine if for 3 movie tickets that man could pick up a fight, then terrorism sure is justified. There is so much more at stake there…land, oil, minerals, religions. Bigger stakes, bigger platforms, bigger games. Will there ever be an end to it all?