(reproduced from http://the-strawberry-fields.blogspot.com with permission from the author)
" I Told You So"
That's what S.K. Patil and Nehru would have said if they were alive today. They aren't alive, but you can almost hear them banging their heads against a wall in dismay.
First, a bit of history...
Prior to independence, British India was divided into provinces and princely states, each of which had elected legislatures and governors. In 1947, it was granted independence and was divided into India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. The princely states were encouraged to join one of these countries. Bhutan and Hyderabad opted for independence, but Hyderabad was eventually brought under Indian control. Till 1950, there were 27 states
not quite the same as we have now), excluding Jammu and Kashmir which had special status till 1957.
The Indian National Congress had promised that states would be divided on a linguistic basis. Andhra was the first state to be formed where the Telegu-speaking part of the Madras State was merged with Hyderabad. Nehru was vehemently opposed to the linguistic divisions. He said "If you succeed in creating so-called linguistic states now, what will happen ten or twenty years hence? Are you going to stop people from moving from one state to another? This movement will change the linguistic composition of the state." Eventually he had to give in, and the Government set up the States Reorganization Committee in 1953. In 1956 the States Reorganization Act came into place. It recommended the division of India into 14 states and 7 union territories. The Bombay State was to include Saurashtra, Kutch, Marathi-speaking Nagpur district of Madhya Pradesh, and Marathwada part of Hyderabad.
A major controversy surrounded the future of Bombay city. The Gujaratis felt that they had invested so much in the city's development, that it should be handed over to Gujarat. Maharashtra laid claim to it on the basis that there was a majority of Marathi-speakers. However, given the cosmopolitan nature of the city, Nehru proposed that Bombay be a city-state.
The issue was discussed in the Lok Sabha in 1955. S.K. Patil, a Marathi-speaking MP from Bombay, said that his city had a "cosmopolitan population in every respect" and that it had been "built with the labour of everybody". His hopes were for Bombay as a "a miniature India run on international standards", "a melting pot that will evolve a glorious new civilization" and he said it was "an extraordinary coincidence that the population of the city should be exactly one percent of the population of the whole country. This one percent drawn from all parts of the country will set the pace for other states in the practice of secularism and mutual understanding". He asked the Maharashtrians to give up their claim on Bombay, in the spirit of compromise.
N.V. Gadgil, a fellow Congressman, refused to accept Patil's proposition. Gadgil was categorical in his demand for a united Maharashtra (or Samyukta Maharashtra, as the movement was called). He said that if "these sentiments were unheeded, the future of Bombay would be decided on the streets of Bombay".
It was eventually decided that Bombay will be a city-state. This led to widespread protests led by the Samyukta Maharashtra movement, whose leaders included Keshavrao Jedhe, Acharya Atre, Prabodhankar Thackeray (yes, now you know where the genes came from!) and Senapati Bapat. There was rioting on the streets of the city and several demonstrators (~105) were fired at and killed by the police at Flora Fountain. Morarji Desai, the then chief minister of Bombay State was asked to resign (a tradition that continues today), and was replaced by YB Chavan. Eventually the Government had to give in, and in 1960, the state of Maharashtra was formed.
Fast forward to the present. 26/11 has started this debate all over again. The need for a CEO of Bombay, or a directly elected mayor. Our city has been held ransom by the state for long enough, but has anything really changed to allow for an independent state this time around?
An article in The Hindu puts it nicely, even though it was written over 5 years ago:
"To recall the debate between Patil and Gadgil is to remember a time when Indian parliamentarians were both independent-minded and intelligent. Patil's case, for retaining Bombay's cosmopolitan character, was made with logic and eloquence. But Gadgil's case, for the centrality of the city to Maharashtrian identity was compelling as well. Here were politicians from Maharashtra who could argue on the basis of principle and believe in what they said too. Can one say the same for their latter-day epigones?
In some ways, one can still hear the echoes of that old Lok Sabha debate. For, tragically, what was to N.V. Gadgil a matter of legitimate cultural pride, has degenerated, under a different kind of Maharashtrian leadership into an insular parochialism. The battle for Bombay continues. On the one side are those who see it as a truly cosmopolitan city, which can still set the pace for other states in the practice of secularism and mutual understanding". On the other side are the visceral chauvinists of the SS" and MNS.
*Addendum*
By sheer coincidence, I was emailed this link today, which is relevant to what I've written, so I'm adding it here. It's a letter written to the Linguistic Provinces Commission by B.R. Ambedkar in 1948. While his overall conclusion is very different from what I believe to be the solution, his is a very balanced and well-expressed argument, definitely worth reading. He says:
"While accepting the principle of Linguistic Provinces it must provide against the break-up of India's unity. My solution of the problem therefore is that, while accepting the demand for the re-constitution of Provinces on linguistic basis, the constitution should provide that the official language of every Province shall be the same as the official language of the Central Government. It is only on that footing that I am prepared to accept the demand for Linguistic Provinces."
"The idea of having a Linguistic Province has nothing to do with the question of what should be its official language. By a Linguistic Province, I mean a Province which by the social composition of its population is homogeneous and therefore more suited for the realisation of those social ends which a democratic Government must fulfil. In my view, a Linguistic Province has nothing to do with the language of the Province. In the scheme of Linguistic Provinces, language has necessarily to play its part. But its part can be limited to the creation of the Province, i.e., for demarcation of the boundaries of the Province. There is no categorical imperative in the scheme of Linguistic Provinces which compels us to make the language of the Province its official language. Nor is it necessary, for sustaining the cultural unity of the Province, to make the language of the Province its official language. For, the cultural unity of the Province, which already exists, is capable of being sustained by factors other than language such as common historic tradition, community of social customs, etc. To sustain Provincial cultural unity which already exists it does not require the use of the Provincial language for official purposes. Fortunately for the Provincialists there is no fear of a Maharashtrian not remaining a Maharashtrian because he spoke any other language. So also there is no fear of a Tamilian or an Andhra or a Bengali ceasing to be a Tamilian, Andhra or Bengali if he spoke any other language than his own mother-tongue."
"Under no circumstances, we must allow the Linguistic Provinces to make their Provincial languages their official languages."
For those interested in reading more, you should see:
The Samyukta Maharashtra Movement, 1946-1960
The 2003 Hindu Article mentioned above
Nehru Said It All
Nehru and Linguistic States
Merry Christmas everyone!
By,
Sanjana
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Review of 'All Thieves'
Summary : Interesting. Thought-provoking. Witty / cynical / tongue-in-cheek. Definitely worth a watch.
Those who want to know more can read on.
‘All Thieves’ is produced by ‘Motley’, with Denzel Smith, Heeba Shah, Imaad Shah, and Ankur Vikal as the cast. ‘All Thieves’ is not one full-length play, but a collection of seven short stories. Four of these are borrowed from Italo Calvino (‘The Black Sheep’, ‘Making Do’, ‘Good For Nothing’ and ‘Conscience’), and the rest from Haruki Murakami, Mohan Rakesh and Kamtanath.
A wide variety of themes are explored in these stories - love, marriage, people’s reactions to authority, outliers creating disorder where there was order (of a kind), the reason for being part of a war etc. Some of the stories are a wry and cynical look at social phenomena, while some twist an aspect of common happenings and then humourously focus on them. The dialogue is crisp and the denouement swift in most pieces.
Apart from an economy of words, the play also uses props sparsely; mostly minimal furniture, and in one story, a blackboard used well for maximum effect. The background score comprises some really good music, ranging from the song 'Bombshell Baby of Bombay' from an obscure Hindi movie called ‘Ek Phool Chaar Kaante’ to 'Everybody Knows' by Leonard Cohen and lots of jazz / blues.
I could feel my attention wandering during the two Hindi pieces and feel these would have benefited from tighter editing. Other than this, I have no quibbles with the play and thoroughly enjoyed it. The pieces written by Italo Calvino, in particular, were my favourites and I have decided that this is one author/playwright I must read in future.
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
(p.s. Links to two of the songs below :
http://www.musicindiaonline.com/music/compilations/s/album.9035/
http://www.lyricsfreak.com/l/leonard+cohen/everybody+knows_20082809.html)
(p.p.s Link to a review of the play that expresses an opinion different from mine -
http://www.timeoutmumbai.net/theatre/theatre_details.asp?code=182&source=1)
Those who want to know more can read on.
‘All Thieves’ is produced by ‘Motley’, with Denzel Smith, Heeba Shah, Imaad Shah, and Ankur Vikal as the cast. ‘All Thieves’ is not one full-length play, but a collection of seven short stories. Four of these are borrowed from Italo Calvino (‘The Black Sheep’, ‘Making Do’, ‘Good For Nothing’ and ‘Conscience’), and the rest from Haruki Murakami, Mohan Rakesh and Kamtanath.
A wide variety of themes are explored in these stories - love, marriage, people’s reactions to authority, outliers creating disorder where there was order (of a kind), the reason for being part of a war etc. Some of the stories are a wry and cynical look at social phenomena, while some twist an aspect of common happenings and then humourously focus on them. The dialogue is crisp and the denouement swift in most pieces.
Apart from an economy of words, the play also uses props sparsely; mostly minimal furniture, and in one story, a blackboard used well for maximum effect. The background score comprises some really good music, ranging from the song 'Bombshell Baby of Bombay' from an obscure Hindi movie called ‘Ek Phool Chaar Kaante’ to 'Everybody Knows' by Leonard Cohen and lots of jazz / blues.
I could feel my attention wandering during the two Hindi pieces and feel these would have benefited from tighter editing. Other than this, I have no quibbles with the play and thoroughly enjoyed it. The pieces written by Italo Calvino, in particular, were my favourites and I have decided that this is one author/playwright I must read in future.
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
(p.s. Links to two of the songs below :
http://www.musicindiaonline.com/music/compilations/s/album.9035/
http://www.lyricsfreak.com/l/leonard+cohen/everybody+knows_20082809.html)
(p.p.s Link to a review of the play that expresses an opinion different from mine -
http://www.timeoutmumbai.net/theatre/theatre_details.asp?code=182&source=1)
Friday, December 05, 2008
Bombay Blast Aftermath
The last few days have exposed the gaping holes in India’s security. No one had a clue that such large tranches of arms and ammunition were being moved along the coast. The agencies which did suspect it passed on the information to people who could act but who chose not to act. When the terrorists struck, the Mumbai police was clearly out of its depth. It took the NSG ten hours to land in the scene of action. The media became a liability by providing information on what was happening at the three locations. Shivraj Patil in his interview to the media in the middle of Wednesday night sounded as clueless as the media about the reason behind the attacks and the scale of it. People stood around Nariman House cheering commandoes like a Trapeze artist had just finished his show in the circus and a couple of bystanders gawking at the scene in Taj actually got hurt in the crossfire.
The whole thing sounds like an unbelievable novel set in some impoverished nation in the 70s. Not like it happened in one of the world’s rapidly growing economic and nuclear powers. As a citizen of one, I would so love to kick some butt.
Why is our security not better than this?
We are surrounded by an elite crop of neighbours – Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Burma, and China. Pick any one name off this list and you cannot but wonder how we can be lax on security. What are we spending our money on if we don’t know what is going on right beneath our noses? And once hit, why is our response time so bad? While it is understandable that local cops can’t be expected to respond to extraordinary situations like this, why don’t we have specialized cops in all key places? It is not like this is a sudden occurrence. After all Bangalore, Jaipur, Ahmedabad, Assam – all of them were hit just this year. What is our strategy in the face of terror attacks and hostage situations? Do we fumble around before getting our act in place? Why did we have to lose our head of the Anti Terrorism Squad in the line of fire so early on when, with all due respect, he should have been planning strategy?
The fight going in the media about the exact number of terrorists was incredulous. Central sources claimed 15. Mumbai police said 10 landed and 5 went back. I am having a tough time trying to visualize 5 young, determined terrorists training for a year coming to Mumbai’s coast and saying to themselves ‘Oh dear, I don’t feel up to it. I am heading right back to Karachi’. The hatchet was buried when the Police commissioner clarified that the number was indeed ten and all terrorists were accounted for.
What are we doing about our esteemed neighbour, Pakistan, the hotspot of terrorists?
If anyone remembers Dawood Ibrahim (from the 93 Mumbai blasts, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1993_Mumbai_bombings), it is probably from his sightings at social functions in Pakistan. The man will die a natural death before we can even extradite him. Our failure in bringing to task a man wanted in one of India’s most horrific attacks certainly sends out signals that we either don’t care or are incapable. Forget Dawood, the closest we have got to his on-the-ground guy in India, Tiger Memon, is to arrest his family including his younger brother, Yakub Memon, when they finally came back to India.
The universally accepted fact is that if ever a list of best training grounds in the world for an ambitious terrorist were to be made, Pakistan would be right up there in the list.
Does that mean we go to war with Pakistan?
Certainly not. If we did go to war, where would it stop? Unlike a boundary dispute where you know the purpose of aggression, this would just be ‘we will show them’ kind of war with no end in sight. On the other hand, the time has come to gang up with other nations. If Pakistan were to make inroads into Kashmir, it becomes a bilateral boundary dispute. If Pakistan were to train people to create terror situations, it is a global problem. The time is right, with such an outpouring of support from nations across the world, including the big daddy of all, the U.S., to put pressure through cutting them off. Stop dealing with them till they manage to demonstrate that they have put an end to ISI’s training-terrorists activities or managed to get some kind of control over the apparently wild North Western frontier which acts as a freeway in the arms trade.
So what are top honchos doing?
Bickering on TV. Vilas Rao Deshmukh had nothing useful to say and sulked in his interview (http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=hyJ8iIib3A0&feature=channel) outside the Trident on Friday, implying that Narendra Modi should have stayed at home. Then he decided to get some goodwill for son Ritesh by taking Ritesh and Ram Gopal Varma on a guided tour of the Trident (http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=qXqHP3peBUs) (Note to father and son – RGV’s films suck these days. You could have bet on someone else). R.R.Patil displayed his sensitive side by making a remark that sounded like a DDLJ quote on how small things happen in big cities (http://economictimes.indiatimes.com/Small_incidents_like_this_do_happen_RR_Patil/articleshow/3773971.cms). Kerela CM Achuthanathan’s massive ego made him make rude remarks about Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan’s family(http://news.in.msn.com/national/article.aspx?cp-documentid=1712278). Surely, these guys are not for real ?
Do we sack them ?
Oh yes. Deshmukh deserved to go. I don’t believe for one minute that his likely replacements are more competent or less corrupt than he is. What we however need to demonstrate is the minimum standards that we, as the voting public, expect from our leaders. We expect that they understand that it hurts to live in fear of where the next bomb would go off. We are shocked by how easily the sequence of events happened. We are outraged by the general air of cluelessness and silliness. We will put up with a lot and we do put up with a lot. But expecting us to put up with incompetence that threatens our lives, is really pushing us too far. If people in charge of our security cannot deliver, then we would like to see them pay for it.
So what do we do now?
No clue. Really. Taking part in candle vigils does not work for me. I can see it is a great outlet but am not sure if it is much of a solution. Not to mention, I am worried that it may provide an attractive venue for any leftover terrorists who did not take the boat back to Karachi as the Mumbai police claimed. Not being resilient and sitting at home is not an option. I have to pay my rent and feed myself.
I don’t think that voting out a particular party is enough. My only hope is voting out specific politicians who screwed up this time. It is one thing when your party does not come to power. But it hurts at a very personal level if you lose and are faced with the threat of becoming inconsequential within your party.
I am certain that Shivraj Patil (http://sify.com/news/fullstory.php?id=14808590) will bounce back after a while. But in the interim, I am sure the ‘perks’ and the power he will lose on account of not being a cabinet minister for a couple of years will pinch. But if he just lost elections again… Presumably, sneaking in through the back door as a cabinet minister would become a difficult option then. Boy, that would sure keep him awake at nights the way I woke up in fits on Thursday night, very frightened. And when he comes back, hopefully, he will keep it in mind and deliver slightly better so as to not be sacked. And hopefully, other politicians in similar jobs will also sit up and take notice of how ephemeral their posts are when they don’t deliver.
I still have faith that you can use your vote to make your voice audible. Just think about what your minimum standards are.
By Anita B
(reproduced with permission from http://royalvilla.blogspot.com)
The whole thing sounds like an unbelievable novel set in some impoverished nation in the 70s. Not like it happened in one of the world’s rapidly growing economic and nuclear powers. As a citizen of one, I would so love to kick some butt.
Why is our security not better than this?
We are surrounded by an elite crop of neighbours – Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Burma, and China. Pick any one name off this list and you cannot but wonder how we can be lax on security. What are we spending our money on if we don’t know what is going on right beneath our noses? And once hit, why is our response time so bad? While it is understandable that local cops can’t be expected to respond to extraordinary situations like this, why don’t we have specialized cops in all key places? It is not like this is a sudden occurrence. After all Bangalore, Jaipur, Ahmedabad, Assam – all of them were hit just this year. What is our strategy in the face of terror attacks and hostage situations? Do we fumble around before getting our act in place? Why did we have to lose our head of the Anti Terrorism Squad in the line of fire so early on when, with all due respect, he should have been planning strategy?
The fight going in the media about the exact number of terrorists was incredulous. Central sources claimed 15. Mumbai police said 10 landed and 5 went back. I am having a tough time trying to visualize 5 young, determined terrorists training for a year coming to Mumbai’s coast and saying to themselves ‘Oh dear, I don’t feel up to it. I am heading right back to Karachi’. The hatchet was buried when the Police commissioner clarified that the number was indeed ten and all terrorists were accounted for.
What are we doing about our esteemed neighbour, Pakistan, the hotspot of terrorists?
If anyone remembers Dawood Ibrahim (from the 93 Mumbai blasts, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1993_Mumbai_bombings), it is probably from his sightings at social functions in Pakistan. The man will die a natural death before we can even extradite him. Our failure in bringing to task a man wanted in one of India’s most horrific attacks certainly sends out signals that we either don’t care or are incapable. Forget Dawood, the closest we have got to his on-the-ground guy in India, Tiger Memon, is to arrest his family including his younger brother, Yakub Memon, when they finally came back to India.
The universally accepted fact is that if ever a list of best training grounds in the world for an ambitious terrorist were to be made, Pakistan would be right up there in the list.
Does that mean we go to war with Pakistan?
Certainly not. If we did go to war, where would it stop? Unlike a boundary dispute where you know the purpose of aggression, this would just be ‘we will show them’ kind of war with no end in sight. On the other hand, the time has come to gang up with other nations. If Pakistan were to make inroads into Kashmir, it becomes a bilateral boundary dispute. If Pakistan were to train people to create terror situations, it is a global problem. The time is right, with such an outpouring of support from nations across the world, including the big daddy of all, the U.S., to put pressure through cutting them off. Stop dealing with them till they manage to demonstrate that they have put an end to ISI’s training-terrorists activities or managed to get some kind of control over the apparently wild North Western frontier which acts as a freeway in the arms trade.
So what are top honchos doing?
Bickering on TV. Vilas Rao Deshmukh had nothing useful to say and sulked in his interview (http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=hyJ8iIib3A0&feature=channel) outside the Trident on Friday, implying that Narendra Modi should have stayed at home. Then he decided to get some goodwill for son Ritesh by taking Ritesh and Ram Gopal Varma on a guided tour of the Trident (http://in.youtube.com/watch?v=qXqHP3peBUs) (Note to father and son – RGV’s films suck these days. You could have bet on someone else). R.R.Patil displayed his sensitive side by making a remark that sounded like a DDLJ quote on how small things happen in big cities (http://economictimes.indiatimes.com/Small_incidents_like_this_do_happen_RR_Patil/articleshow/3773971.cms). Kerela CM Achuthanathan’s massive ego made him make rude remarks about Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan’s family(http://news.in.msn.com/national/article.aspx?cp-documentid=1712278). Surely, these guys are not for real ?
Do we sack them ?
Oh yes. Deshmukh deserved to go. I don’t believe for one minute that his likely replacements are more competent or less corrupt than he is. What we however need to demonstrate is the minimum standards that we, as the voting public, expect from our leaders. We expect that they understand that it hurts to live in fear of where the next bomb would go off. We are shocked by how easily the sequence of events happened. We are outraged by the general air of cluelessness and silliness. We will put up with a lot and we do put up with a lot. But expecting us to put up with incompetence that threatens our lives, is really pushing us too far. If people in charge of our security cannot deliver, then we would like to see them pay for it.
So what do we do now?
No clue. Really. Taking part in candle vigils does not work for me. I can see it is a great outlet but am not sure if it is much of a solution. Not to mention, I am worried that it may provide an attractive venue for any leftover terrorists who did not take the boat back to Karachi as the Mumbai police claimed. Not being resilient and sitting at home is not an option. I have to pay my rent and feed myself.
I don’t think that voting out a particular party is enough. My only hope is voting out specific politicians who screwed up this time. It is one thing when your party does not come to power. But it hurts at a very personal level if you lose and are faced with the threat of becoming inconsequential within your party.
I am certain that Shivraj Patil (http://sify.com/news/fullstory.php?id=14808590) will bounce back after a while. But in the interim, I am sure the ‘perks’ and the power he will lose on account of not being a cabinet minister for a couple of years will pinch. But if he just lost elections again… Presumably, sneaking in through the back door as a cabinet minister would become a difficult option then. Boy, that would sure keep him awake at nights the way I woke up in fits on Thursday night, very frightened. And when he comes back, hopefully, he will keep it in mind and deliver slightly better so as to not be sacked. And hopefully, other politicians in similar jobs will also sit up and take notice of how ephemeral their posts are when they don’t deliver.
I still have faith that you can use your vote to make your voice audible. Just think about what your minimum standards are.
By Anita B
(reproduced with permission from http://royalvilla.blogspot.com)
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Bombay : History of a City
Back to work now, and while everything I'm doing seems trivial compared to the crisis at hand, here are some fun and some useless facts I've learned about Bombay (back when it was still called that)...
- The physical history of Bombay is a story of land reclamation. The Great Breach (now called Breach Candy) was built to stop the ravaging sea waves from destroying construction in Worli and Mahalaxmi.
- 179.96 lakh (where 1 lakh = 100,000) bottles of Energee Milk bottles of 200ml each were produced and distributed in 1984-85, along with 0.7 lakh bottles of masala milk and 0.96 lakh cups of ice-cream
- Commemorative coins were introduced by the Bombay mint every now and then including "Equality, Development and Peace" in 1975, "Happy Child,Nation's Pride" in 1979 and "Rural Women's Advancement" in 1980.
- Licence fees for squatters and hawkers in 1972 were Rs. 2 for itinerant hawkers, Rs. 10 for hawkers using vehicles drawn by animals and Rs. 15 for stationary handcarts
- A 1975 Economic Times article described the opening ceremony of the first train in Bombay as :
"It was a warm sticky, sultry Saturday (16th April 1853) afternoon with the sun shining rather unkindly. That time there steamed from a little wooden station (that was Bori Bunder, 122 years ago), a little train that heralded the introduction of Railway to India and the East. It was a different Bombay which witnessed momentous scene—a Bombay bereft of its architectural beauties and its industrial horrors, of its hurtling trains and roaring buses—a Bombay which one would have to see to believe.
The day was declared a public holiday. A space around the railway shed was thickly thronged with people of all classes, creeds and colours. Bands played, guns fired from the fort's rampart, when, at the signalled moment, the train with 400 guests comfortably started was set in motion and went majestically along its course to the astonishment and wonder of the assembled thousands.
The whole line densely crowded with spectators from the terminus to the flats beyond Byculla, tier after tier of the houses in the native town were tilled as thickly as they could be by men, women and children. The scene altogether was one of the great beauty and excitement."
- The first tramways from Colaba and VT were opened in 1874. In 1920, two-storey tram cars were introduced that became a popular means of transport, with a restricted speed of 8kmph! The last tram ran from VT to Dadar in 1964.
- The Taj Hotel was inaugurated in 1904 and was a cherished project of Jamshetji Nusserwanji Tata. He is said to have built this hotel after being denied entry to the Watson's Hotel, which was considered one of the best in Bombay at that time.
- In 1870, the number of passengers travelling daily between VT and Dadar was 37, and between VT and Thana, 160!
How many questions can you answer (without googling of course!):
1) The first railway line opened in 1853, between Bombay and which suburb?
2) On the occasion of the Golden Jubilee of Air India on 15 October 1982, JRD Tata piloted an old tiny aircraft called Puss Moth. How old was he?
3) What was the original name of what we now know as B.E.S.T or Bombay Electric Supply and Transport Undertaking?
4) How much were bus fares on the first buses introduced in 1926?
5) How many female beauticians and hairdressers were there in Bombay in 1911?
6) Even though the Taj was built in 1904, it was not the first 5-star hotel in Mumbai. The first one to have this honour was Sea Princess in Juhu. Why?
Answers:
1) Thane
2) 75!
3) Bombay Elecric Supply and Tramways Co. Ltd
4) Ranged from 2 annas to 6 annas depending on the distance
5) 4
6) The Taj did not have a swimming pool :-)
Check out the online version of the Bombay Gazetteer, for the most comprehensive information you'll ever find on this city (unfortunately the process was discontinued after 1986.
Some really nice pictures of "Lost Mumbai" here, though most of you must have seen these already.
Disclaimer: I'm not entirely sure about question #6. I heard it on the radio as part of a quiz, and thought it was interesting. I haven't been able to verify it yet.
By,
Sanjana
(Read more by her at http://visionmumbai.blogspot.com)
- The physical history of Bombay is a story of land reclamation. The Great Breach (now called Breach Candy) was built to stop the ravaging sea waves from destroying construction in Worli and Mahalaxmi.
- 179.96 lakh (where 1 lakh = 100,000) bottles of Energee Milk bottles of 200ml each were produced and distributed in 1984-85, along with 0.7 lakh bottles of masala milk and 0.96 lakh cups of ice-cream
- Commemorative coins were introduced by the Bombay mint every now and then including "Equality, Development and Peace" in 1975, "Happy Child,Nation's Pride" in 1979 and "Rural Women's Advancement" in 1980.
- Licence fees for squatters and hawkers in 1972 were Rs. 2 for itinerant hawkers, Rs. 10 for hawkers using vehicles drawn by animals and Rs. 15 for stationary handcarts
- A 1975 Economic Times article described the opening ceremony of the first train in Bombay as :
"It was a warm sticky, sultry Saturday (16th April 1853) afternoon with the sun shining rather unkindly. That time there steamed from a little wooden station (that was Bori Bunder, 122 years ago), a little train that heralded the introduction of Railway to India and the East. It was a different Bombay which witnessed momentous scene—a Bombay bereft of its architectural beauties and its industrial horrors, of its hurtling trains and roaring buses—a Bombay which one would have to see to believe.
The day was declared a public holiday. A space around the railway shed was thickly thronged with people of all classes, creeds and colours. Bands played, guns fired from the fort's rampart, when, at the signalled moment, the train with 400 guests comfortably started was set in motion and went majestically along its course to the astonishment and wonder of the assembled thousands.
The whole line densely crowded with spectators from the terminus to the flats beyond Byculla, tier after tier of the houses in the native town were tilled as thickly as they could be by men, women and children. The scene altogether was one of the great beauty and excitement."
- The first tramways from Colaba and VT were opened in 1874. In 1920, two-storey tram cars were introduced that became a popular means of transport, with a restricted speed of 8kmph! The last tram ran from VT to Dadar in 1964.
- The Taj Hotel was inaugurated in 1904 and was a cherished project of Jamshetji Nusserwanji Tata. He is said to have built this hotel after being denied entry to the Watson's Hotel, which was considered one of the best in Bombay at that time.
- In 1870, the number of passengers travelling daily between VT and Dadar was 37, and between VT and Thana, 160!
How many questions can you answer (without googling of course!):
1) The first railway line opened in 1853, between Bombay and which suburb?
2) On the occasion of the Golden Jubilee of Air India on 15 October 1982, JRD Tata piloted an old tiny aircraft called Puss Moth. How old was he?
3) What was the original name of what we now know as B.E.S.T or Bombay Electric Supply and Transport Undertaking?
4) How much were bus fares on the first buses introduced in 1926?
5) How many female beauticians and hairdressers were there in Bombay in 1911?
6) Even though the Taj was built in 1904, it was not the first 5-star hotel in Mumbai. The first one to have this honour was Sea Princess in Juhu. Why?
Answers:
1) Thane
2) 75!
3) Bombay Elecric Supply and Tramways Co. Ltd
4) Ranged from 2 annas to 6 annas depending on the distance
5) 4
6) The Taj did not have a swimming pool :-)
Check out the online version of the Bombay Gazetteer, for the most comprehensive information you'll ever find on this city (unfortunately the process was discontinued after 1986.
Some really nice pictures of "Lost Mumbai" here, though most of you must have seen these already.
Disclaimer: I'm not entirely sure about question #6. I heard it on the radio as part of a quiz, and thought it was interesting. I haven't been able to verify it yet.
By,
Sanjana
(Read more by her at http://visionmumbai.blogspot.com)
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
The Stick and the Carrot - Gaurav Jain's Sikkim Trip : Part 6
I woke up on D-Day to the noises made by a Bengali group of trekkers who were getting ready to hit the top. I woke up the rest of the trio and put on as many layers of clothing as possible, to prevent the imminent lash of harsh cold and wind chill. The three of us were concerned about being late already and feared that we would miss daybreak and the first light on the peaks. Sujoy was the last one to appear from his tent, by which time we were raring to go. Each one of us had borne too much hardship to let anything go wrong now.
We embarked upon the trail with N, for a change, without her contacts, walking safely between P and myself. The climb was definitely tough and the three of us had similar thoughts – descending such a steep decline would be an even tougher ask. Only Nandini was voicing the concerns and we were irritated to hear OUR thoughts aloud. What kept us going was the fact that there was no way we could call it quits after days of effort. Meanwhile, the climb did not seem to be leading anywhere yet. We were walking along a ridge and had to overcome two ascents before Dzongri top could even be visible.
An hour into the hike, N was clearly sagging and had started complaining of exhaustion and headache. Over the past two days, altitude had taken a toll on N. Her appetite had drastically reduced and so had her liquid intake, which is crucial for fighting against altitude sickness. My jovial self had by now stopped egging her on but was literally pushing her to the top, my walking stick acting as the cane that hits the cattle to force them to keep moving. Given that she wasn’t as easy-going and placid as a cow, this approach did not work for too long.
That’s when P unleashed the carrot of the ‘carrot and the stick’ methodology. As she sat on the side of the trail, P tactfully drew out a finger of Kit Kat from his daypack and offered it to N. She was more than happy to accept it and the chocolate bar gave her the mental satisfaction and physical energy to continue to the top. Sujoy allayed our fears of being late by suggesting that there was enough time for daybreak. Soon we were at the top and we were well in time. The summit had been achieved. The mission was accomplished. We jumped in joy, rejoiced, clicked hyperactively, huddled and made videos of the view with our voices in the background, before the first light of the sun hit the range.
Right infront of us were Black Peak, Kanchenjunga, Kabru North, South and Dome, Pandim and a host of unnamed peaks, all above 7000 mts, some above 8000 mts. On the left were ranges of mountains partly snow-capped, partly covered with mist and clouds, and on our right was a deep valley with streaks of clouds, all below us. It was a weird view to behold - weird enough to let the Almighty’s name slip out of my lips !
Kanchenjunga fanned off the mist from in front of it to stare at us and soon all the peaks were glistening with the first rays of the sun. By now, we had stopped clicking as we had realized that some things could be captured only by the non-digital wide angles of the eye.
The wind was biting my toes through the two layers of socks and shoes, the cold was freezing the blood in my veins, but we refused to leave until there was not much of the peaks left to be seen (they were slowly getting mist-clad again). Meanwhile OUR tea-boy reappeared like an angel from down below, holding the same kettle and glasses. We rejoiced and drank two glasses of the best hot drink I have ever had. Eventually, the mist started to reappear and Kanchenjunga was behind the cloud cover. It was now attacking the Kabru family and Pandim simultaneously. Heaving a sigh of total satisfaction, we started retreating back to Dzongri and soon discovered the beautiful trail we had taken to hike up, the trail and the surroundings that were not visible at 3 AM. At one instance, we found ourselves walking on a very narrow ridge connecting two hills, while one end of the ridge went down very steeply, with of course, beautiful snow capped mountains in the background. At another descent, we saw a flat stretch of land covered with dwarfed rhododendrons. A recent snowfall had painted the plain with white, as if the trees had literally grown out of white snow.
We reached Dzongri and did our victorious breakfast. N rushed into the tents to put her contacts on while P sped with sheer determination towards a small piece of land covered on all four sides. I simply sat, totally convinced that I was now suffering from pneumonia, figuring how long a person suffering from pneumonia could survive without medical aid.
We rushed down soon after finishing breakfast as we had to reach all the way to Tsokha before the nightfall. The summit having been conquered, there was no stress, no qualms and no negativity. We stopped once in a while to rest and listen to music from P/N’s Sony Ericsson, while I played the judge on the topic of whose phone had better speakers.
Pines started reappearing and pneumonia seemed to be disappearing. Each of us was feeling better with the decrease in altitude. We reached our destination before nightfall and related all the stories to Z and S. Photographs were seen and reseen. Anecdotes were re-narrated. The feeling was that of three musketeers returning home after a long journey. We retreated to our tents after a lively dinner. Tsokha to Yuksom was not going to be easy; our knees and calves had already cracked up.
As expected the next 16 kms weren’t the easiest. Even after reaching Yuksom, the distance from the start of the town to Hotel Tashigang seemed terribly long. Once we reached the hotel, I instinctively lay down flat, flat on the road and the two fellow musketeers followed. The last few clicks were now being clicked. S arrived a little later and Z arrived a little into darkness with Sujoy.
We soon had our relaxed dinner with a few drinks before we raced to the comforts of pillows and mattresses of Tashigang. The journey was over and we were now waiting to break the news of the trip to friends all over.
By,
Gaurav Jain
We embarked upon the trail with N, for a change, without her contacts, walking safely between P and myself. The climb was definitely tough and the three of us had similar thoughts – descending such a steep decline would be an even tougher ask. Only Nandini was voicing the concerns and we were irritated to hear OUR thoughts aloud. What kept us going was the fact that there was no way we could call it quits after days of effort. Meanwhile, the climb did not seem to be leading anywhere yet. We were walking along a ridge and had to overcome two ascents before Dzongri top could even be visible.
An hour into the hike, N was clearly sagging and had started complaining of exhaustion and headache. Over the past two days, altitude had taken a toll on N. Her appetite had drastically reduced and so had her liquid intake, which is crucial for fighting against altitude sickness. My jovial self had by now stopped egging her on but was literally pushing her to the top, my walking stick acting as the cane that hits the cattle to force them to keep moving. Given that she wasn’t as easy-going and placid as a cow, this approach did not work for too long.
That’s when P unleashed the carrot of the ‘carrot and the stick’ methodology. As she sat on the side of the trail, P tactfully drew out a finger of Kit Kat from his daypack and offered it to N. She was more than happy to accept it and the chocolate bar gave her the mental satisfaction and physical energy to continue to the top. Sujoy allayed our fears of being late by suggesting that there was enough time for daybreak. Soon we were at the top and we were well in time. The summit had been achieved. The mission was accomplished. We jumped in joy, rejoiced, clicked hyperactively, huddled and made videos of the view with our voices in the background, before the first light of the sun hit the range.
Right infront of us were Black Peak, Kanchenjunga, Kabru North, South and Dome, Pandim and a host of unnamed peaks, all above 7000 mts, some above 8000 mts. On the left were ranges of mountains partly snow-capped, partly covered with mist and clouds, and on our right was a deep valley with streaks of clouds, all below us. It was a weird view to behold - weird enough to let the Almighty’s name slip out of my lips !
Kanchenjunga fanned off the mist from in front of it to stare at us and soon all the peaks were glistening with the first rays of the sun. By now, we had stopped clicking as we had realized that some things could be captured only by the non-digital wide angles of the eye.
The wind was biting my toes through the two layers of socks and shoes, the cold was freezing the blood in my veins, but we refused to leave until there was not much of the peaks left to be seen (they were slowly getting mist-clad again). Meanwhile OUR tea-boy reappeared like an angel from down below, holding the same kettle and glasses. We rejoiced and drank two glasses of the best hot drink I have ever had. Eventually, the mist started to reappear and Kanchenjunga was behind the cloud cover. It was now attacking the Kabru family and Pandim simultaneously. Heaving a sigh of total satisfaction, we started retreating back to Dzongri and soon discovered the beautiful trail we had taken to hike up, the trail and the surroundings that were not visible at 3 AM. At one instance, we found ourselves walking on a very narrow ridge connecting two hills, while one end of the ridge went down very steeply, with of course, beautiful snow capped mountains in the background. At another descent, we saw a flat stretch of land covered with dwarfed rhododendrons. A recent snowfall had painted the plain with white, as if the trees had literally grown out of white snow.
We reached Dzongri and did our victorious breakfast. N rushed into the tents to put her contacts on while P sped with sheer determination towards a small piece of land covered on all four sides. I simply sat, totally convinced that I was now suffering from pneumonia, figuring how long a person suffering from pneumonia could survive without medical aid.
We rushed down soon after finishing breakfast as we had to reach all the way to Tsokha before the nightfall. The summit having been conquered, there was no stress, no qualms and no negativity. We stopped once in a while to rest and listen to music from P/N’s Sony Ericsson, while I played the judge on the topic of whose phone had better speakers.
Pines started reappearing and pneumonia seemed to be disappearing. Each of us was feeling better with the decrease in altitude. We reached our destination before nightfall and related all the stories to Z and S. Photographs were seen and reseen. Anecdotes were re-narrated. The feeling was that of three musketeers returning home after a long journey. We retreated to our tents after a lively dinner. Tsokha to Yuksom was not going to be easy; our knees and calves had already cracked up.
As expected the next 16 kms weren’t the easiest. Even after reaching Yuksom, the distance from the start of the town to Hotel Tashigang seemed terribly long. Once we reached the hotel, I instinctively lay down flat, flat on the road and the two fellow musketeers followed. The last few clicks were now being clicked. S arrived a little later and Z arrived a little into darkness with Sujoy.
We soon had our relaxed dinner with a few drinks before we raced to the comforts of pillows and mattresses of Tashigang. The journey was over and we were now waiting to break the news of the trip to friends all over.
By,
Gaurav Jain
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
The Sleeping Trinity - Gaurav's Sikkim Trip : Part 5
Next morning we woke to what was the best view till then. On one side were the snow-capped peaks led by beautiful Mt. Pandim, while on the opposite were valleys and ranges of lesser height, barren and brown in general, white occasionally, hinting of a recent snowfall. N and I finished our morning chores as P struggled for it. Nevertheless, we were all ready for the breakfast that was set under the sky amidst a beautiful landscape and a lot of puddle from last night’s rain, about a meter away.
Before setting off for our last camping point, Dzongri (4050 mts), we stretched ourselves, did a small hike on a side trail for a better view of the looming peaks and then embarked upon the tedious main trail. The vegetation was clearly getting stunted. Deodars were giving way to pines, which too, were eventually disappearing, as the snow and ice started to appear on the sides of the muddy trail. The air was getting thinner and the three of us were stopping every ten minutes to catch our breath. The sight of snow and ice near the trail lifted our spirits and we stopped often to click away to glory. By late afternoon, we reached the camping grounds and trekkers’ huts at Dzongri. We had our lunch and set out on a trail into the Dzongri valley and pastures in search of beautiful views.
Tired of waiting for clouds and mist to clear off, we simply lay flat on the slopes and slept under the sky. It was clearly evident that the body was in a confused state of shock, whether it was because of lack of sleep, exhaustion from walking or just high altitude, was not known. After an hour of eagerly lapped up sleep, N woke up with a start, mortally scared of being sun-burnt (and terrified of being unable to present the perfect profile for a snap ? – Ed). We were therefore summarily ordered to get back to the camp.
The next day was going to be the day we reached the summit but the climb was known to be considerably steep. We were supposed to wake up at 3 in the morning and climb up to the top so as to enjoy clear breathtaking views (depending upon the availability of air) of the Kanchenjunga range. We prepared ourselves for the morning, discussed at lengths the layering we were going to employ to beat the coldest time of the day at the Dzongri Top, and then slept for a few hours hoping for a clear day ahead.
By,
Gaurav Jain
Before setting off for our last camping point, Dzongri (4050 mts), we stretched ourselves, did a small hike on a side trail for a better view of the looming peaks and then embarked upon the tedious main trail. The vegetation was clearly getting stunted. Deodars were giving way to pines, which too, were eventually disappearing, as the snow and ice started to appear on the sides of the muddy trail. The air was getting thinner and the three of us were stopping every ten minutes to catch our breath. The sight of snow and ice near the trail lifted our spirits and we stopped often to click away to glory. By late afternoon, we reached the camping grounds and trekkers’ huts at Dzongri. We had our lunch and set out on a trail into the Dzongri valley and pastures in search of beautiful views.
Tired of waiting for clouds and mist to clear off, we simply lay flat on the slopes and slept under the sky. It was clearly evident that the body was in a confused state of shock, whether it was because of lack of sleep, exhaustion from walking or just high altitude, was not known. After an hour of eagerly lapped up sleep, N woke up with a start, mortally scared of being sun-burnt (and terrified of being unable to present the perfect profile for a snap ? – Ed). We were therefore summarily ordered to get back to the camp.
The next day was going to be the day we reached the summit but the climb was known to be considerably steep. We were supposed to wake up at 3 in the morning and climb up to the top so as to enjoy clear breathtaking views (depending upon the availability of air) of the Kanchenjunga range. We prepared ourselves for the morning, discussed at lengths the layering we were going to employ to beat the coldest time of the day at the Dzongri Top, and then slept for a few hours hoping for a clear day ahead.
By,
Gaurav Jain
Monday, November 24, 2008
The Tea Boy - Gaurav's Sikkim Trip : Part 4
The famous and beautiful rhododendrons were beginning to appear. Unlike Yumthang valley, which is famous for rhododendron shrubs, this place had dwarfed rhododendron trees growing under the aegis of taller pines and deodars. The trail was relentless still and a short section of plain land or a descent was enough to lift our spirits. It would inadvertently make P pull out his camera, while N would catch the hint and smoothly get her disheveled locks in place, put on her Gucci sunglasses, clear the non-existent dust from her ever-shining, red and white Tommy Hilfiger pullover and be ready for a pose, even before P could decide a nice spot for a picture. I would simply hop in the picture, and later, return favors by taking P’s picture, the integrating factor of all pictures being The Tilted Head with me or P, somewhere in the background.
Three hours into the day and it looked like me, P and N were all losing steam to the altitude. Exhausted completely, we asked every passerby how far Pethang, our next camping ground was. And then to our delight, we saw a familiar figure. The tea-boy of our group appeared from the woods ahead of us with a kettle, climbing down towards us at brisk pace. Our delight multiplied when we realized that he had not just hot tea but biscuits too and that the camping ground was not more than an hour away. We lapped up the hot drink and thought we were ready for another hour-long battle. The tea-boy, meanwhile, went further down to meet Z, S and Sujoy. Unfortunately, Z’s health couldn’t hold on any longer. She decided to retreat back to Tsokha and wait for us to return victorious. Sachin decided to keep her company like a true old friend.
Reaching Pethang after another hour, we rested happily and waited for lunch to be served. But the irony is, the more you rest, the easier it is to catch cold. Meanwhile, after a long time, the exquisite singer in me had woken up too (talent and modesty, always a winning combination - Ed). Although the cold was had reached deep into our bones, I and P still had the spirits to sing our hearts out loud while Nandini did what she knew the best.
Evening mist approached and we braced ourselves with layers of clothing to keep the Cold monster away. With nightfall, we burrowed into our sleeping bags in the tent and P started his daily ritual of applying Volini at every possible joint in the body. I resorted to a hot water bag which was of great help to my lower back.
It rained for a while at night, or maybe it was a hailstorm, we didn’t bother to venture out of our tents to discover. The bells around the necks of the yaks and horses clanged continuously as they ate their fodder and I slipped into oblivion.
By,
Gaurav Jain
Three hours into the day and it looked like me, P and N were all losing steam to the altitude. Exhausted completely, we asked every passerby how far Pethang, our next camping ground was. And then to our delight, we saw a familiar figure. The tea-boy of our group appeared from the woods ahead of us with a kettle, climbing down towards us at brisk pace. Our delight multiplied when we realized that he had not just hot tea but biscuits too and that the camping ground was not more than an hour away. We lapped up the hot drink and thought we were ready for another hour-long battle. The tea-boy, meanwhile, went further down to meet Z, S and Sujoy. Unfortunately, Z’s health couldn’t hold on any longer. She decided to retreat back to Tsokha and wait for us to return victorious. Sachin decided to keep her company like a true old friend.
Reaching Pethang after another hour, we rested happily and waited for lunch to be served. But the irony is, the more you rest, the easier it is to catch cold. Meanwhile, after a long time, the exquisite singer in me had woken up too (talent and modesty, always a winning combination - Ed). Although the cold was had reached deep into our bones, I and P still had the spirits to sing our hearts out loud while Nandini did what she knew the best.
Evening mist approached and we braced ourselves with layers of clothing to keep the Cold monster away. With nightfall, we burrowed into our sleeping bags in the tent and P started his daily ritual of applying Volini at every possible joint in the body. I resorted to a hot water bag which was of great help to my lower back.
It rained for a while at night, or maybe it was a hailstorm, we didn’t bother to venture out of our tents to discover. The bells around the necks of the yaks and horses clanged continuously as they ate their fodder and I slipped into oblivion.
By,
Gaurav Jain
Saturday, November 22, 2008
The Long Walk - Gaurav's Sikkim Trip : Part 3
Day 1 was literally a slap in the face for all of us. We geared ourselves up with only moderate amount of stuff in our daypack, put on the famous 60 SPF sunscreen and sunglasses and embarked upon the trail. The initial part of the terrain was a friendly mix of ascents and descents. The foliage was thick and many species of birds could be seen and heard. We crossed two temporary rope bridges, stopping occasionally for water or pleasant views of the stream below, before we reached our lunch halt. We applauded ourselves when Sujoy – the Guide told us that our pace was alright and we had completed 8-9 kilometers already.
After a relaxed lunch consisting of poori, sabzi, soup, with some fruits and lemonade, we proceeded towards the third bridge. Sujoy pointed towards Tsokha on a far-away hill. I laughed it off thinking he was trying to freak us out; said, “Tsokha cannot be that far. It has to be Dzongri.” Sujoy looked back at me with a queer smile. Now, I totally know what the smile had meant.
Once we crossed the bridge, we entered the Kanchenjunga National Sanctuary and for the rest of the day we never descended. By now, all of us had started walking at our own paces, stopping once in a while to wipe off the sweat, grab a sip of water or a bite of a chocolate. Soon, I stopped enjoying the vegetation and the birds. I was nearing exhaustion and the walk never seemed to be getting over. My over - enthusiasm was soon doused with tiredness. I just wanted the day to get over; so did S, I think. Both of us were walking faster than we should have, causing exhaustion. N and P, on the other hand paced themselves well. As the day passed by, the weather started to deteriorate. Thick mist and clouds had descended into the valley and it got considerably chilly.
After a long walk that seemed eternal, the first view of a few huts was available. I let my relief and elation get the better of my common sense and sped up to reach the huts; only to realize that Tsokha was still a good 4 kms away and I had just reached Bakhim. My huge grin disappeared with the mist. I removed the day - pack from my back and sat down near the hut. S was visible at a distance. He had a similar relieved smile, I liked to believe, and I made no efforts to warn him of the place not being Tsokha. S soon figured that out and we started laughing hysterically at ourselves the moment he reached. The two of us spent 5 to 10 minutes pointing out each flower and bird visible to us and apportioning trip expenditure to each. “That flower is for the Rs. 500 I spent on new sunscreen”, “That bird is the Rs. 4000 I spent on new shoes,” Etc. All the investment in the brand new trekking shoes, backpacks, sunscreens and raincoats; for this ? We incurred so much expenditure for the sake of exhaustion, fatigue and frustration!
Meanwhile, the porters arrived as well and we had a much - needed cup of tea at the hut before moving on for another relentless 4 kms. Slow and unsteady, I finally did reach Tsokha. I was terribly cold. It was almost dark when I reached and it was windy, chilly and cruel. I went straight into the kitchen and sat as close to the stove as possible, half dead. I asked the calm - looking cook, “Is it just me???” He looked at me, laughed and said, “Nah, everyone goes through the same shit. You will be alright in a while” as he served a cup of hot tea. Meanwhile S arrived too and we had another hot drink before proceeding to the tent, evaluating strategies to brave the cold. P and N soon followed and found us in the tents. Z came in an hour later with Sujoy. She was terribly exhausted too and had serious doubts about her health. We had a silent dinner, contemplating the action plan for the next day. After a brief discussion, we decided to ease our ascent to the top. So, the next day was a shorter, 4-5 km walk to Pethang, not staright to Dzongri. I walked a little after dinner, avoiding the pegs of the tent in the dark, before getting back into the tent. The old back pain that I had, had resurfaced and I was not happy about it.
By,
Gaurav Jain
After a relaxed lunch consisting of poori, sabzi, soup, with some fruits and lemonade, we proceeded towards the third bridge. Sujoy pointed towards Tsokha on a far-away hill. I laughed it off thinking he was trying to freak us out; said, “Tsokha cannot be that far. It has to be Dzongri.” Sujoy looked back at me with a queer smile. Now, I totally know what the smile had meant.
Once we crossed the bridge, we entered the Kanchenjunga National Sanctuary and for the rest of the day we never descended. By now, all of us had started walking at our own paces, stopping once in a while to wipe off the sweat, grab a sip of water or a bite of a chocolate. Soon, I stopped enjoying the vegetation and the birds. I was nearing exhaustion and the walk never seemed to be getting over. My over - enthusiasm was soon doused with tiredness. I just wanted the day to get over; so did S, I think. Both of us were walking faster than we should have, causing exhaustion. N and P, on the other hand paced themselves well. As the day passed by, the weather started to deteriorate. Thick mist and clouds had descended into the valley and it got considerably chilly.
After a long walk that seemed eternal, the first view of a few huts was available. I let my relief and elation get the better of my common sense and sped up to reach the huts; only to realize that Tsokha was still a good 4 kms away and I had just reached Bakhim. My huge grin disappeared with the mist. I removed the day - pack from my back and sat down near the hut. S was visible at a distance. He had a similar relieved smile, I liked to believe, and I made no efforts to warn him of the place not being Tsokha. S soon figured that out and we started laughing hysterically at ourselves the moment he reached. The two of us spent 5 to 10 minutes pointing out each flower and bird visible to us and apportioning trip expenditure to each. “That flower is for the Rs. 500 I spent on new sunscreen”, “That bird is the Rs. 4000 I spent on new shoes,” Etc. All the investment in the brand new trekking shoes, backpacks, sunscreens and raincoats; for this ? We incurred so much expenditure for the sake of exhaustion, fatigue and frustration!
Meanwhile, the porters arrived as well and we had a much - needed cup of tea at the hut before moving on for another relentless 4 kms. Slow and unsteady, I finally did reach Tsokha. I was terribly cold. It was almost dark when I reached and it was windy, chilly and cruel. I went straight into the kitchen and sat as close to the stove as possible, half dead. I asked the calm - looking cook, “Is it just me???” He looked at me, laughed and said, “Nah, everyone goes through the same shit. You will be alright in a while” as he served a cup of hot tea. Meanwhile S arrived too and we had another hot drink before proceeding to the tent, evaluating strategies to brave the cold. P and N soon followed and found us in the tents. Z came in an hour later with Sujoy. She was terribly exhausted too and had serious doubts about her health. We had a silent dinner, contemplating the action plan for the next day. After a brief discussion, we decided to ease our ascent to the top. So, the next day was a shorter, 4-5 km walk to Pethang, not staright to Dzongri. I walked a little after dinner, avoiding the pegs of the tent in the dark, before getting back into the tent. The old back pain that I had, had resurfaced and I was not happy about it.
By,
Gaurav Jain
Friday, November 21, 2008
The Plot and the Star Cast - Gaurav's Sikkim Trip : Part 2
The Classic Dzongri trek - counted amongst one of the top 20 treks in India, begins from a small village called Yuksom. The same has been very lucidly and aptly described here (http://entropymuse.blogspot.com/2008/05/yuksom.html). The trek is of moderate grade and comfortable in terms of facilities available. One important fact about Yuksom worth repeating (Z already mentioned it in her post) is that it doesn’t sell anything less than an ‘L’ sized T-shirt, for the simple reason that the majority of the trekkers are westerners and they happen to have at least L-sized body frames.
From Yuksom, you trek for about 14-15 kms upto Tsokha. Tsokha is the last place of human habitation at about 3050 mts. From Tsokha you can either go upto Dzongri in one day or break the journey at Pethang and continue till Dzongri (approx. 4050 mts). Next day, early in the morning, you climb till Dzongri Top (4269 mts.) to catch stunning 270 degree views of the mountain ranges. This is the high point of the trek and you more or less retrace your steps on your way back.
Our group consisted of 5 of us.
S : A very thoroughly finance guy. Very calculative and very cautious in nature. He was the best-equipped guy in the group – the only guy with a 60 SPF sunscreen. The best laugh I had on this trip was with Sachin alone.
Z: The creator. The mastermind behind this whole trip. A huge nature enthusiast and the only one with a big umbrella – she compensated for inadequate rain gear by purchasing a striped umbrella large enough to shelter a whole circus troop and a few of the animals too !
P : Mr. Reticent and politically correct guy. Our treasurer and a very helpful person. The official shutterbug of the group as well.
N: The official glam element of the group. 3 days in the tortuous cold and thin air and she finally admitted that she did practice the tilty heady poses visible in all her snaps in front of her mirror at home. So while Prashant was busy running on the seaface on Marine Drive, preparing for the trek, Nandini was deciding whether to tilt her head towards the left or the right when the camera was aimed at her. I am glad she did that with all sincerity as the results were really tremendous. She couldn’t breathe at high altitude, she couldn’t eat either but she could pose properly and she never let the glam element be dented in the least. Hats off!
My own meager self : Don’t really require a lot of introduction. Do I?
By,
Gaurav Jain
From Yuksom, you trek for about 14-15 kms upto Tsokha. Tsokha is the last place of human habitation at about 3050 mts. From Tsokha you can either go upto Dzongri in one day or break the journey at Pethang and continue till Dzongri (approx. 4050 mts). Next day, early in the morning, you climb till Dzongri Top (4269 mts.) to catch stunning 270 degree views of the mountain ranges. This is the high point of the trek and you more or less retrace your steps on your way back.
Our group consisted of 5 of us.
S : A very thoroughly finance guy. Very calculative and very cautious in nature. He was the best-equipped guy in the group – the only guy with a 60 SPF sunscreen. The best laugh I had on this trip was with Sachin alone.
Z: The creator. The mastermind behind this whole trip. A huge nature enthusiast and the only one with a big umbrella – she compensated for inadequate rain gear by purchasing a striped umbrella large enough to shelter a whole circus troop and a few of the animals too !
P : Mr. Reticent and politically correct guy. Our treasurer and a very helpful person. The official shutterbug of the group as well.
N: The official glam element of the group. 3 days in the tortuous cold and thin air and she finally admitted that she did practice the tilty heady poses visible in all her snaps in front of her mirror at home. So while Prashant was busy running on the seaface on Marine Drive, preparing for the trek, Nandini was deciding whether to tilt her head towards the left or the right when the camera was aimed at her. I am glad she did that with all sincerity as the results were really tremendous. She couldn’t breathe at high altitude, she couldn’t eat either but she could pose properly and she never let the glam element be dented in the least. Hats off!
My own meager self : Don’t really require a lot of introduction. Do I?
By,
Gaurav Jain
The Start of it All - Gaurav's Sikkim Trip : Part 1
Should I start with January ? My life took a turn towards greener pastures on Jan 16th 2008, when I got admitted to HBS. All worries at work about transfers, promotions and eventual future took an immediate backseat. Work didn’t stop then and there; I was actually starting to perform even better (or maybe the team just got better motivated) and was happier than ever before.
Anyways, as a result of constant poking by M, and spending a few restive days at Karaikal, I decided to take a month off from work. I had accumulated a huge kitty of vacations – I had 90 surplus vacations pending. In other words, ideally, I could sit at home for three months, and eat, doing nothing. It’s a nice feeling.
Meanwhile, M visited her Bombay office on work and the visit paid rich dividends. An idea for a week long vacation was mooted and I simply piggybacked on her plans. Eventually, M had to drop out of the trip for the usual reasons but I was too deep into it to call it quits. I knew none amongst those going on this trip, but I thought to myself, how bad could it be (It turned out to be quite alright actually). After some net research, long discussions and many email exchanges, a trek in Sikkim was decided upon.
Sikkim is an extremely tourist-centric, environment-friendly state. Usage of plastic/polythene is strictly prohibited and people seem to be surprisingly law-abiding and well off in general. The entry point for all treks into the hills and forests is manned by the Forest and Tourism Department. Entry and exit into the forest is logged and the number of polythenes being carried has to be declared, so that the count on return can be matched to ensure no polythenes are discarded on the way. A registered guide is mandatory for the treks. The state shares its border with Tibet in the north and is home to a lot of Tibetan population, as also, a few of the oldest Buddhist monasteries.
Take my word on it; inspite of having worked out in the sun for long hours, having done literal physical labor at work and being generally fit, I found this to be one of the more physically grueling experiences. Cold and altitude can be merciless killers, especially for one who smokes cigarettes. 14,000 ft cannot be as easily trekked as can be thought of or written, definitely not by a first timer like me.
By,
Gaurav Jain
Anyways, as a result of constant poking by M, and spending a few restive days at Karaikal, I decided to take a month off from work. I had accumulated a huge kitty of vacations – I had 90 surplus vacations pending. In other words, ideally, I could sit at home for three months, and eat, doing nothing. It’s a nice feeling.
Meanwhile, M visited her Bombay office on work and the visit paid rich dividends. An idea for a week long vacation was mooted and I simply piggybacked on her plans. Eventually, M had to drop out of the trip for the usual reasons but I was too deep into it to call it quits. I knew none amongst those going on this trip, but I thought to myself, how bad could it be (It turned out to be quite alright actually). After some net research, long discussions and many email exchanges, a trek in Sikkim was decided upon.
Sikkim is an extremely tourist-centric, environment-friendly state. Usage of plastic/polythene is strictly prohibited and people seem to be surprisingly law-abiding and well off in general. The entry point for all treks into the hills and forests is manned by the Forest and Tourism Department. Entry and exit into the forest is logged and the number of polythenes being carried has to be declared, so that the count on return can be matched to ensure no polythenes are discarded on the way. A registered guide is mandatory for the treks. The state shares its border with Tibet in the north and is home to a lot of Tibetan population, as also, a few of the oldest Buddhist monasteries.
Take my word on it; inspite of having worked out in the sun for long hours, having done literal physical labor at work and being generally fit, I found this to be one of the more physically grueling experiences. Cold and altitude can be merciless killers, especially for one who smokes cigarettes. 14,000 ft cannot be as easily trekked as can be thought of or written, definitely not by a first timer like me.
By,
Gaurav Jain
Friday, October 03, 2008
In One of My Moods
Ganpati Bappa Morya, Land ahead, its time to dock. And with flies in my stomach from last night's chicken at the office party, I descend on client land. Trooper (loud tone to general): No hostile reception, welcome with flowers while we are expecting brickbats, tujha aai chi. Courtmartialed am I, dare not, I am a Ghat and Raj will get back at you with a vengeance. Entering, I find people working, much like us, we in black suits and computer look like emaciated MIBs. I may not have the charm of Will Smith but by Dada Kondke's verve, when I spin, I turn Bhel Air's eye's too
Aside: Having learnt the art of building bridges, your truly sought to build one of out paper, Only while spinning the paper, my eyes chanced upon Urvashi, that lady of buxom breasts who spun on the floor as she spun them papers. I spun too and embroiled in paper, a sad state I was. Coy laugh, the bitch, what a setup. So anyways, abandoning all thought of spinning (on the ground or with paper) I continued to remain true to my roots. I am ghat and I am proud of it, WS can spin well so can we just like DK
So the enemy sighted, but what is this he comes in peace. Flummoxed, I hail on radio (damn these old machines always turn on at the right time). General, they come in peace. Courtmartialled am I, so you send another trooper in. Well so be, upon the word of Mata Hari, I shall betray thy fear like she betrayed lusting allies up in War. I tell you, these women, they always come good in my mind, Urvashi and now Mata Hari, what a wonderful day
So I come in peace too, O! erstwhile foe, what have you a marketing problem. You land these troops ala Normandy but you find the front unconquered. '43 it was I landed too, I shall tell you a thing or two of landing, marketing is like war I say and I am THE trooper. Have you heard of Raj of the Thackeray fame, well yours truly leads his Navnirman Sena
Aside: Pay commissions not forthcoming, Troopers turned to other means of income. While Generals lavished on themselves the spoils of war, troopers were left to decay. So why, why not like the IPL and By Yusuf, I am also Pathan ka baccha. Taken to the cause of Ghats (finding it profitable), I fight and rest my wounds on Zhunka Bhakar at eod ( a term originally connoting extinct or disappeared loyal troopers to the cause of the enemy, now meaning end of day!!)
We come in peace too Comrade. By MG (What you don’t know what that means, you sonova bicycle, recognise your father, he who spawned a billion). Strong sperm and what not, his brethren the enterprising Gujaratis
So I decide to be traitor and explain. My trooper comes and he comes with Powerpoint. My comrades from the dark suits sit in a room and Bang, they splash colours on a screen and then draw boxes and then by my smoking guns they come up with some names. By Ganpati, I have sworn, once in a Night Queen, sitting on a damsel's lap, I used to be light those days, I saw the general cooking up the colors, they came from the eye of the nautch girl. Ganpati bappa I said, to which I heard, "The answers in the girls' eyes. Let me draw her consumer portrait". Oh what debauchery. I learnt to enjoy it soon, my class of Ghats we are very corruptible
So there you go, that's Powerpoint in a nutshell, in a nautch girl's eyes it lies. Go my foe, before they release their weaponry, run and find that girl, Draw that portrait and get learn effective landing
And May you win
Ganpati Bappa, Court martialled. By Sivaji, we never were nor ever shall be courted be your pardon, court martialled
With due apologies to G V Desani for use of his Contraro style of writing
By jove apologies over
Anonymous
Aside: Having learnt the art of building bridges, your truly sought to build one of out paper, Only while spinning the paper, my eyes chanced upon Urvashi, that lady of buxom breasts who spun on the floor as she spun them papers. I spun too and embroiled in paper, a sad state I was. Coy laugh, the bitch, what a setup. So anyways, abandoning all thought of spinning (on the ground or with paper) I continued to remain true to my roots. I am ghat and I am proud of it, WS can spin well so can we just like DK
So the enemy sighted, but what is this he comes in peace. Flummoxed, I hail on radio (damn these old machines always turn on at the right time). General, they come in peace. Courtmartialled am I, so you send another trooper in. Well so be, upon the word of Mata Hari, I shall betray thy fear like she betrayed lusting allies up in War. I tell you, these women, they always come good in my mind, Urvashi and now Mata Hari, what a wonderful day
So I come in peace too, O! erstwhile foe, what have you a marketing problem. You land these troops ala Normandy but you find the front unconquered. '43 it was I landed too, I shall tell you a thing or two of landing, marketing is like war I say and I am THE trooper. Have you heard of Raj of the Thackeray fame, well yours truly leads his Navnirman Sena
Aside: Pay commissions not forthcoming, Troopers turned to other means of income. While Generals lavished on themselves the spoils of war, troopers were left to decay. So why, why not like the IPL and By Yusuf, I am also Pathan ka baccha. Taken to the cause of Ghats (finding it profitable), I fight and rest my wounds on Zhunka Bhakar at eod ( a term originally connoting extinct or disappeared loyal troopers to the cause of the enemy, now meaning end of day!!)
We come in peace too Comrade. By MG (What you don’t know what that means, you sonova bicycle, recognise your father, he who spawned a billion). Strong sperm and what not, his brethren the enterprising Gujaratis
So I decide to be traitor and explain. My trooper comes and he comes with Powerpoint. My comrades from the dark suits sit in a room and Bang, they splash colours on a screen and then draw boxes and then by my smoking guns they come up with some names. By Ganpati, I have sworn, once in a Night Queen, sitting on a damsel's lap, I used to be light those days, I saw the general cooking up the colors, they came from the eye of the nautch girl. Ganpati bappa I said, to which I heard, "The answers in the girls' eyes. Let me draw her consumer portrait". Oh what debauchery. I learnt to enjoy it soon, my class of Ghats we are very corruptible
So there you go, that's Powerpoint in a nutshell, in a nautch girl's eyes it lies. Go my foe, before they release their weaponry, run and find that girl, Draw that portrait and get learn effective landing
And May you win
Ganpati Bappa, Court martialled. By Sivaji, we never were nor ever shall be courted be your pardon, court martialled
With due apologies to G V Desani for use of his Contraro style of writing
By jove apologies over
Anonymous
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Dishoom Dishoomm
Hi All,
Thought of making a list of the best phillumi fight sequences. But could not get beyond fifteen, even with help from my friends. Hence this post, an appeal to shore up my ageing and fading memory. The combined list follows, do add a comment with your contributions / corrections :
1) The fight between Jet Li and the warrior called ‘Broken Sword’ in ‘Hero’
2) The fight between Jet Li and the warrior called ‘Sky’ in ‘Hero’
Both these fight sequences have amazing photography, and graceful – almost lyrical fight sequences. Loved the concept of a mental duel and how it was translated on-screen
3) The fight and chase sequence at a construction site at the beginning of ‘Casino Royale’
4) The Rajnikanth fight scene in ‘Sivaji’ in which the gun revolves halfway round a statue and then shoots at the villain – this sequence is remarkable for pushing the boundaries of a farcical fight scene, especially since it occurs in between a song sequence !
5) The sequences in ‘Matrix’ – though we cannot think of any particular one to highlight
6) The ‘Roadies’ bickering on MTV – especially when they are voting out one of their fellow travelers
7) Since we are including telly warfare, how about the saas-bahu wars - the unending saga of quivering eyebrows and flaring nostrils
8) The Fight in ‘Kill Bill’ where She kills 84 people in one sword-fight
9) Fight in Dharmendra starrer ‘Maa’ between the tiger and Dharmendra; If we're going to include tiger fights, why leave out the one in Mr Natwarlal which has the Tiger, Amitabh, and Rekha.
10) If we're going to include animal fights, why not the fight for the cockroach in Mr India?
11) Any fight in ‘Wanted’, but particularly the "training" sequence where this new assassin-to-be is taught how to curve a bullet around any obstacle his target might choose to hide behind (for those who haven't seen it, the answer is "instinct". (For those who are upset I let it out, trust me, you don't want to watch this movie. Although it would make you appreciate the gritty realism of Rajnikanth movies. Plus you get to see Angelina Jolie's butt-double))
12) Amitabh and Vinod Khanna in ‘Amar Akbar Anthony’
13) Amitabh and Ranjeet in ‘Deewar’
14) ‘Goonda’ – fight scene during the climax – most surreal of all fight scenes, staged in a warehouse, where the ceiling has cots hanging from it, each cot has a whore, and each baddie after getting beaten up gets tossed onto one of the cots (actually ‘khatiya’ more than cots)
15) the Ajay Devgan fight at the end of ‘Gangajal’
By,
Zen,
With contributions from Venky, Anita, Rohit, Sachin, Ro, Speck42
Thought of making a list of the best phillumi fight sequences. But could not get beyond fifteen, even with help from my friends. Hence this post, an appeal to shore up my ageing and fading memory. The combined list follows, do add a comment with your contributions / corrections :
1) The fight between Jet Li and the warrior called ‘Broken Sword’ in ‘Hero’
2) The fight between Jet Li and the warrior called ‘Sky’ in ‘Hero’
Both these fight sequences have amazing photography, and graceful – almost lyrical fight sequences. Loved the concept of a mental duel and how it was translated on-screen
3) The fight and chase sequence at a construction site at the beginning of ‘Casino Royale’
4) The Rajnikanth fight scene in ‘Sivaji’ in which the gun revolves halfway round a statue and then shoots at the villain – this sequence is remarkable for pushing the boundaries of a farcical fight scene, especially since it occurs in between a song sequence !
5) The sequences in ‘Matrix’ – though we cannot think of any particular one to highlight
6) The ‘Roadies’ bickering on MTV – especially when they are voting out one of their fellow travelers
7) Since we are including telly warfare, how about the saas-bahu wars - the unending saga of quivering eyebrows and flaring nostrils
8) The Fight in ‘Kill Bill’ where She kills 84 people in one sword-fight
9) Fight in Dharmendra starrer ‘Maa’ between the tiger and Dharmendra; If we're going to include tiger fights, why leave out the one in Mr Natwarlal which has the Tiger, Amitabh, and Rekha.
10) If we're going to include animal fights, why not the fight for the cockroach in Mr India?
11) Any fight in ‘Wanted’, but particularly the "training" sequence where this new assassin-to-be is taught how to curve a bullet around any obstacle his target might choose to hide behind (for those who haven't seen it, the answer is "instinct". (For those who are upset I let it out, trust me, you don't want to watch this movie. Although it would make you appreciate the gritty realism of Rajnikanth movies. Plus you get to see Angelina Jolie's butt-double))
12) Amitabh and Vinod Khanna in ‘Amar Akbar Anthony’
13) Amitabh and Ranjeet in ‘Deewar’
14) ‘Goonda’ – fight scene during the climax – most surreal of all fight scenes, staged in a warehouse, where the ceiling has cots hanging from it, each cot has a whore, and each baddie after getting beaten up gets tossed onto one of the cots (actually ‘khatiya’ more than cots)
15) the Ajay Devgan fight at the end of ‘Gangajal’
By,
Zen,
With contributions from Venky, Anita, Rohit, Sachin, Ro, Speck42
Monday, September 29, 2008
Ticking Away
1:00 Grant Road chalo, station ke peeche. Been raining since the morning and it just doesn’t stop. Bloody Jugnu Sheth, perched up with Leena in Hotel Diamond and wanting to see the papers there. Always mixing business with pleasure. At least I didn’t work when I went to Kennedy Bridge in the evening.
Traffic is slow. Raining and so many cars. Its 100% stock market only, Bloody even Harish bhai bought a Zen the other day. Saaala used to go in Chetak, now bloody AC Zen with Himesh Bhai for company. I don’t invest you see, I take the 8:17 in the morning but first class. Never late. Office by 8:43. Chai at 9:05 and I am set for the day. Safari gets a little crumpled, but Dhanno dhobi is below Eros and I am good to go. Wife bought me a white safari the other day, got blackened. They don’t clean the trains. Its not their fault. Sweeper says he gets 100 rupees a day. I wouldn’t clean my own ass for 100 rupees in a day
Bloody traffic. Money’s running easy and cars are running easier. Today Jugnu called me and I have to break the 15 rupees rule.
1:20 Abey kaat idhar se. Traffic is bad these days. B’bay was great. Grant Road also, even Kennedy was high-class.. Lisa would be there. Good days, milk and bang bang and milk again and then off to Damyanti cinema. I asked for milk and I was told inflation. Bloody fancy word for a pimp. Inflation, bull shit, its all the stock market
1:30 I have only twenty. Where the fuck is the ten, I thought I had. Sharma, bloody bastard, took the money in the morning. Sharma is the kind of fellow you don’t want to meet, ever. Institutional Accounts, Sharma. He fills a row a day. Only a row and not more, somedays when its Diwali or something he does two. Those day’s he’s tired and says he needs to cab it back home. Sharmaji. Fat poncho Sharma.
1:40 Fucking twenty bucks and its only Metro yet. Don’t even have an umbrella. Can’t carry an umbrella you see. Doesn’t suit me, cramps my style. Mornings you have to be careful. Xaviers College is close by and all these girls, they travel too. So many men with dabba and umbrella, bloody ghats, signing up their virility for their wives forever. I refrain. Take a breath, get wet a bit, but stroll with free arms. There’s nothing like watching a man strolling with arms swinging. Sign of perfect masculinity
1:50 I have only twenty bucks. So you’ll anyways be going down this one way drop me.
1:60 Bloody bastard. I’ve seen these types. Another day, another man, another mistake. Must have spent his money on some gambling. Stock market. These tall offices, sullen from outside and fittingly. Men go in and cash registers come out. Some ring, others ring hollow. Picked up this kid once, bright kid, two days later, he didn’t have cash for a bloody cab ride. Same as this fellow
2:00 Thirty fucking bucks, losing ten on this guy. Lost twenty already on that girl near Wilson. Thirty bucks in a day, 1000 in a month, my house rent. Its raining, hard to tell these people to get off in the cab. Potholed and puddled, Mumbai, dirty as if each person just vomited on the road and walked on. Everyone vomits and the streets take it all in and a little is left on top. Then it rains and the city regurgitates. All the vomit comes out. It stinks. Thirty bucks a day, rains are just poor business
2:10 Good cabbie, might have tipped him, luckily I am out of cash. Now for Jugnu and Leena. Maybe I’ll call that Tehelka reporter and do one tamasha. Breaking news tamasha.
Another day another thought,
Make some money but mostly lost
The city burns by day and night
Purse strings forever pulled tight
My money runs out evermore now
Rich yesterday but today poor as a cow
Many more to bid with me
And age leaves me fleetingly
Another day another thought
Make some money but mostly lost
By,
Anonymous
Traffic is slow. Raining and so many cars. Its 100% stock market only, Bloody even Harish bhai bought a Zen the other day. Saaala used to go in Chetak, now bloody AC Zen with Himesh Bhai for company. I don’t invest you see, I take the 8:17 in the morning but first class. Never late. Office by 8:43. Chai at 9:05 and I am set for the day. Safari gets a little crumpled, but Dhanno dhobi is below Eros and I am good to go. Wife bought me a white safari the other day, got blackened. They don’t clean the trains. Its not their fault. Sweeper says he gets 100 rupees a day. I wouldn’t clean my own ass for 100 rupees in a day
Bloody traffic. Money’s running easy and cars are running easier. Today Jugnu called me and I have to break the 15 rupees rule.
1:20 Abey kaat idhar se. Traffic is bad these days. B’bay was great. Grant Road also, even Kennedy was high-class.. Lisa would be there. Good days, milk and bang bang and milk again and then off to Damyanti cinema. I asked for milk and I was told inflation. Bloody fancy word for a pimp. Inflation, bull shit, its all the stock market
1:30 I have only twenty. Where the fuck is the ten, I thought I had. Sharma, bloody bastard, took the money in the morning. Sharma is the kind of fellow you don’t want to meet, ever. Institutional Accounts, Sharma. He fills a row a day. Only a row and not more, somedays when its Diwali or something he does two. Those day’s he’s tired and says he needs to cab it back home. Sharmaji. Fat poncho Sharma.
1:40 Fucking twenty bucks and its only Metro yet. Don’t even have an umbrella. Can’t carry an umbrella you see. Doesn’t suit me, cramps my style. Mornings you have to be careful. Xaviers College is close by and all these girls, they travel too. So many men with dabba and umbrella, bloody ghats, signing up their virility for their wives forever. I refrain. Take a breath, get wet a bit, but stroll with free arms. There’s nothing like watching a man strolling with arms swinging. Sign of perfect masculinity
1:50 I have only twenty bucks. So you’ll anyways be going down this one way drop me.
1:60 Bloody bastard. I’ve seen these types. Another day, another man, another mistake. Must have spent his money on some gambling. Stock market. These tall offices, sullen from outside and fittingly. Men go in and cash registers come out. Some ring, others ring hollow. Picked up this kid once, bright kid, two days later, he didn’t have cash for a bloody cab ride. Same as this fellow
2:00 Thirty fucking bucks, losing ten on this guy. Lost twenty already on that girl near Wilson. Thirty bucks in a day, 1000 in a month, my house rent. Its raining, hard to tell these people to get off in the cab. Potholed and puddled, Mumbai, dirty as if each person just vomited on the road and walked on. Everyone vomits and the streets take it all in and a little is left on top. Then it rains and the city regurgitates. All the vomit comes out. It stinks. Thirty bucks a day, rains are just poor business
2:10 Good cabbie, might have tipped him, luckily I am out of cash. Now for Jugnu and Leena. Maybe I’ll call that Tehelka reporter and do one tamasha. Breaking news tamasha.
Another day another thought,
Make some money but mostly lost
The city burns by day and night
Purse strings forever pulled tight
My money runs out evermore now
Rich yesterday but today poor as a cow
Many more to bid with me
And age leaves me fleetingly
Another day another thought
Make some money but mostly lost
By,
Anonymous
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Me and You
If I were you and you were me
And we met on some sunny street
Would you look at me and say
Lets have some coffee to brighten my day
Or would you be scared stiff and blue
Scared I might say a word or two
But that’s not something I would do
For I am not me but playing you
Tell me how would we be as us
With me as you and you as me
Who would make the greater fuss
You or me or none of us
By,
Anonymous
And we met on some sunny street
Would you look at me and say
Lets have some coffee to brighten my day
Or would you be scared stiff and blue
Scared I might say a word or two
But that’s not something I would do
For I am not me but playing you
Tell me how would we be as us
With me as you and you as me
Who would make the greater fuss
You or me or none of us
By,
Anonymous
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Would you like fries with that painting?
Welcome to the world of home decor ... when our younger one turned two, we finally decided it was time to furnish the house. Nothing fancy, just the usual couches and rugs and tables. The main point being to convert the playroom to its intended purpose, the formal living room and library (really the formal dining room, but what can I say, we're rebels).
First step: Combine the playroom with the family room and computer room.
Second step: Furnish.
Third step: Decorate.
The first step was mostly painless, no fun to be had. Moving toys and play mats is easy peasy.
So there we were, a vast empty living room ... which brings us to the second step, also relatively painless. Having experienced the IKEA quality in grad school, it was time for better furniture ... still Scandinavian, just better, so off to ScanDesign, and that took care of the "this is the fancy place where my butt shall rest" part.
But the decoration ... enough to make me go, "Oyoyoy" (I sometimes pretend I speak Yiddish).
Our decorator (also the grandmother of one of KidA's classmates) helped select the first decorative item ... a big ugly brass bowl with fake fruits and veggies (all with a hanging tag proudly stating that they were made in China). My first thought on spying the bowl was how visiting kids would use the veggies for toys, and maybe our 5-year-old would try to chop them (she is aspiring to be a sous chef). Besides, what's the point of fake fruits and veggies in a bowl? Years ago, cavemen would lure people into their caves with fake fruits and veggies, then they'd club them on the head and eat them. Our instinct still tells us to decorate with fake food, but the point of it is largely forgotten.
For the big empty expanse above the fireplace, a Philip Craig print of artichokes and other vegetables on a deep red background from the local Costco. Here's the thought process: "Hmmm, this painting has the same color in some places as the couch and the rugs, plus the frame would go well with the tables ... let's get this." That print had to be returned after the visiting sister-in-law wrinkled her nose at the very idea of vegetables as home decor. (The brass bowl had already been removed.)
Next up were a pair of anonymous oil paintings, with beautiful texture (important to contrast against the muted texture of the wall). Both paintings were scenes of the beach, again selected for the presence of a small amount of purple in the color scheme, but this time with a gilt-edged frame that matched (in our twisted and demented minds) the oak floors. The painting-shop was not a gallery where we met with the artist, it was the middle of the local Costco warehouse, where they had just finished putting the Philip Craig print back in place. As we stood in line waiting to pay, the juxtaposition of Costco's hothouse bell peppers, the paintings, and size 4 diapers in the shopping cart was what next gave rise to doubts.
Putting the paintings up on the wall did not help matters any. The immediate reaction was, "Gosh, this costs money!" Two days later, the realization dawned that the paintings were not just blah, they make the room look like something from a hotel lobby. We didn't have any passion about the artist or the paintings, they were just some random colored things to fill up the blank wall. No personality, no pizzaz, no masala, nothing!
Who buys these things anyway? In all the time I've shopped at Costco, I've never seen anyone pick these up ... I remember reading about Costco fanatics who would decorate rental properties with Costco furniture and paintings, maybe these are targeted at the hospitality trade, perhaps that's why the association with hotel lobbies was so strong. A Star Wars poster (for me), or a Toy Story poster (for the kids) would have been better, at least someone would've felt like it was cool.
So the paintings are now back at Costco.
A briefly hung mirror is back at the "Real Deals on Home Decor" store - upon reflection, it turned out to be badly distorted. While at the home decor store, the incredible fakeness of the whole experience made me want to scream: faux wood signs about love and forgiveness, plastic clocks that said "Kensington London" in an array of sizes, purporting to be from London's Kensington Station, or something in French (perhaps the name of a French metro station) none that looked authentic, all that sported prominent "Made In China" tags. Ugly garish bowls with warning notes like, "Decorative use only, may poison food!" Of course, all I have to do is cart this stuff home, remove the tag, and people will marvel at how I happened to be at Kensington when they were throwing out the old clocks.
So we're left with a store credit certificate - the store does not do refunds.
Although the wall above the fireplace is now empty and waiting for a better mirror, most other walls within my five-year-old's reach are decorated. Seeing us go through so much pain to decorate the house was too much for her ... plus her friends were visiting for her fifth birthday. She's decorated with her paintings, scrawls, sketches. There's one of the deck, complete with chairs and roof and flowers. There's another of mum and baby. There's one of me waiting at the airport for them to arrive back from India.
A4-sized art by an in-house artist. Almost disposable, all easily replaced, most of it with some meaning ... I like it.
p.s. I should note somewhere that the decorator did a fine job overall, there's a decent mirror on top of the fireplace, some nice lamps (on the tables, not on the fireplace), a wrought-iron fireplace screen (which may really be painted aluminum), and so on.
By,
Speck42 (speck42[at]gmail[dot]com)
First step: Combine the playroom with the family room and computer room.
Second step: Furnish.
Third step: Decorate.
The first step was mostly painless, no fun to be had. Moving toys and play mats is easy peasy.
So there we were, a vast empty living room ... which brings us to the second step, also relatively painless. Having experienced the IKEA quality in grad school, it was time for better furniture ... still Scandinavian, just better, so off to ScanDesign, and that took care of the "this is the fancy place where my butt shall rest" part.
But the decoration ... enough to make me go, "Oyoyoy" (I sometimes pretend I speak Yiddish).
Our decorator (also the grandmother of one of KidA's classmates) helped select the first decorative item ... a big ugly brass bowl with fake fruits and veggies (all with a hanging tag proudly stating that they were made in China). My first thought on spying the bowl was how visiting kids would use the veggies for toys, and maybe our 5-year-old would try to chop them (she is aspiring to be a sous chef). Besides, what's the point of fake fruits and veggies in a bowl? Years ago, cavemen would lure people into their caves with fake fruits and veggies, then they'd club them on the head and eat them. Our instinct still tells us to decorate with fake food, but the point of it is largely forgotten.
For the big empty expanse above the fireplace, a Philip Craig print of artichokes and other vegetables on a deep red background from the local Costco. Here's the thought process: "Hmmm, this painting has the same color in some places as the couch and the rugs, plus the frame would go well with the tables ... let's get this." That print had to be returned after the visiting sister-in-law wrinkled her nose at the very idea of vegetables as home decor. (The brass bowl had already been removed.)
Next up were a pair of anonymous oil paintings, with beautiful texture (important to contrast against the muted texture of the wall). Both paintings were scenes of the beach, again selected for the presence of a small amount of purple in the color scheme, but this time with a gilt-edged frame that matched (in our twisted and demented minds) the oak floors. The painting-shop was not a gallery where we met with the artist, it was the middle of the local Costco warehouse, where they had just finished putting the Philip Craig print back in place. As we stood in line waiting to pay, the juxtaposition of Costco's hothouse bell peppers, the paintings, and size 4 diapers in the shopping cart was what next gave rise to doubts.
Putting the paintings up on the wall did not help matters any. The immediate reaction was, "Gosh, this costs money!" Two days later, the realization dawned that the paintings were not just blah, they make the room look like something from a hotel lobby. We didn't have any passion about the artist or the paintings, they were just some random colored things to fill up the blank wall. No personality, no pizzaz, no masala, nothing!
Who buys these things anyway? In all the time I've shopped at Costco, I've never seen anyone pick these up ... I remember reading about Costco fanatics who would decorate rental properties with Costco furniture and paintings, maybe these are targeted at the hospitality trade, perhaps that's why the association with hotel lobbies was so strong. A Star Wars poster (for me), or a Toy Story poster (for the kids) would have been better, at least someone would've felt like it was cool.
So the paintings are now back at Costco.
A briefly hung mirror is back at the "Real Deals on Home Decor" store - upon reflection, it turned out to be badly distorted. While at the home decor store, the incredible fakeness of the whole experience made me want to scream: faux wood signs about love and forgiveness, plastic clocks that said "Kensington London" in an array of sizes, purporting to be from London's Kensington Station, or something in French (perhaps the name of a French metro station) none that looked authentic, all that sported prominent "Made In China" tags. Ugly garish bowls with warning notes like, "Decorative use only, may poison food!" Of course, all I have to do is cart this stuff home, remove the tag, and people will marvel at how I happened to be at Kensington when they were throwing out the old clocks.
So we're left with a store credit certificate - the store does not do refunds.
Although the wall above the fireplace is now empty and waiting for a better mirror, most other walls within my five-year-old's reach are decorated. Seeing us go through so much pain to decorate the house was too much for her ... plus her friends were visiting for her fifth birthday. She's decorated with her paintings, scrawls, sketches. There's one of the deck, complete with chairs and roof and flowers. There's another of mum and baby. There's one of me waiting at the airport for them to arrive back from India.
A4-sized art by an in-house artist. Almost disposable, all easily replaced, most of it with some meaning ... I like it.
p.s. I should note somewhere that the decorator did a fine job overall, there's a decent mirror on top of the fireplace, some nice lamps (on the tables, not on the fireplace), a wrought-iron fireplace screen (which may really be painted aluminum), and so on.
By,
Speck42 (speck42[at]gmail[dot]com)
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Review of 'Jazz'
The first production by Denzil Smith’s ‘Stagesmith’, ‘Jazz’is a bittersweet peek into the lives of the Goan musicians in Mumbai a few decades ago. Directed by Etienne Coutinho, penned by Ramu Ramanathan and researched by Naresh Fernandes, it is a thoroughly enjoyable play, one that I would recommend to anyone who enjoys witty dialogue, dark humour and good music. I watched it last Sunday and the entire audience loved the play, gave it a standing ovation and just wouldn’t stop clapping !
With a moniker like ‘Jazz’, the play would have fallen flat had it not had really lovely music – the music by Merlin D’Souza left me wanting more. While some reviewers have critiqued the use of popish ‘smooth’ jazz, I felt that this added to the enjoyment of the lay audience (such as myself) and made many of us keen to hear more of such music.
Through the story of a Jazz musician’s life, the play sketches the life of Goan and Anglo-Indian musicians during the 50s-70s, their assimilation into Bombay, life on the fringes of the Hindi film industry and exploitation therein, a hand-to-mouth existence endured for the sake of their music. The musician who is the pivot of the play is not an entirely nice or likeable character – he is a womaniser, uses bad language, doesn’t have too many friends, but he is true to his music, the music that was “Invented by the devil for the torture of the saints.”
The entire story is related – mostly in verse – by this musician to a young boy who comes to him to learn to play the saxophone. The verse is engrossing and has an unusual flavour to it - sardonic, witty, humourous, keeping pace with and matching mood and sound with the music playing in the background.
‘Bugs’ Bhargava Krishna was brilliant in the role of the old down-on-his-luck musician - the raspy voice, the accent, the quivering fingers, the slight limp and most of all, the passion in his voice and his body language when he spoke of music. There was rhythm in his dialogue delivery and in the jerky, not – entirely - smooth movement of his limbs when he spoke of music or delivered lines to the accompaniment of music playing in the background. He portrayed the old musician perfectly; there was energy in his performance - zany, eccentric, excited, manic, doomed, fizzing – like the diwali chakri careening madly in circles until the very last spark has been extinguished.
Rhys D’ Souza, who plays this musician’s student, couldn’t come close in terms of acting, but he was awesome on the saxophone. It was great to hear such good live music integrated into a play. A real treat !
There was minimal use of props on stage – the play was carried on the able shoulders of ‘Bugs’ Bhargava, with support from Rhys D’ Souza. Part of the story was told through pre-recorded video clips projected on screen which had his friends, family and lovers telling their version of his life. I felt some of these clips could have been cut without losing too much from the story - especially the ones with all the women, those with his former cronies added far more.
A nice touch was the weaving of bits of Bombay history into the story - almost as a footnote, a mention of Frances Almeida, the captain of the first Portugese ship to sail into Bombay. Of course, there were lots of references to the clubs popular during the 1950s-1970s, the popular artists who played there etc. The exhibition of posters outside the theatre added to one’s enjoyment by adding context to some of the names and happenings one heard the musician refer to on stage.
Some questions that I pondered over after the play :
Where has Bhargava Krishna been all this time ? I remember seeing him in a play or two, but these are few and far between.
Why have I not listened to more Jazz music ? Anyone reader who has heard a lot of jazz, please guide me to some simple, ‘popish’ jazz artist that I could start listening to before moving on to more intricate, complicated stuff.
Does any of you readers know anyone in the group ‘Stagesmith’ ? I want a list of numbers that made up the background score to this play. Alternately, if anyone knows enough and recognized which tunes were played, please let me know.
Where in Mumbai does one go to listen to Jazz played live ? (Incidentally, there is a chance to do so this weekend, please check this link a friend forwarded to me)
Will end by leaving you with this wry comment on the audience for Jazz music by Billy Collins in the poem ‘The Many Faces of Jazz’.
Zenobia D. Driver
With a moniker like ‘Jazz’, the play would have fallen flat had it not had really lovely music – the music by Merlin D’Souza left me wanting more. While some reviewers have critiqued the use of popish ‘smooth’ jazz, I felt that this added to the enjoyment of the lay audience (such as myself) and made many of us keen to hear more of such music.
Through the story of a Jazz musician’s life, the play sketches the life of Goan and Anglo-Indian musicians during the 50s-70s, their assimilation into Bombay, life on the fringes of the Hindi film industry and exploitation therein, a hand-to-mouth existence endured for the sake of their music. The musician who is the pivot of the play is not an entirely nice or likeable character – he is a womaniser, uses bad language, doesn’t have too many friends, but he is true to his music, the music that was “Invented by the devil for the torture of the saints.”
The entire story is related – mostly in verse – by this musician to a young boy who comes to him to learn to play the saxophone. The verse is engrossing and has an unusual flavour to it - sardonic, witty, humourous, keeping pace with and matching mood and sound with the music playing in the background.
‘Bugs’ Bhargava Krishna was brilliant in the role of the old down-on-his-luck musician - the raspy voice, the accent, the quivering fingers, the slight limp and most of all, the passion in his voice and his body language when he spoke of music. There was rhythm in his dialogue delivery and in the jerky, not – entirely - smooth movement of his limbs when he spoke of music or delivered lines to the accompaniment of music playing in the background. He portrayed the old musician perfectly; there was energy in his performance - zany, eccentric, excited, manic, doomed, fizzing – like the diwali chakri careening madly in circles until the very last spark has been extinguished.
Rhys D’ Souza, who plays this musician’s student, couldn’t come close in terms of acting, but he was awesome on the saxophone. It was great to hear such good live music integrated into a play. A real treat !
There was minimal use of props on stage – the play was carried on the able shoulders of ‘Bugs’ Bhargava, with support from Rhys D’ Souza. Part of the story was told through pre-recorded video clips projected on screen which had his friends, family and lovers telling their version of his life. I felt some of these clips could have been cut without losing too much from the story - especially the ones with all the women, those with his former cronies added far more.
A nice touch was the weaving of bits of Bombay history into the story - almost as a footnote, a mention of Frances Almeida, the captain of the first Portugese ship to sail into Bombay. Of course, there were lots of references to the clubs popular during the 1950s-1970s, the popular artists who played there etc. The exhibition of posters outside the theatre added to one’s enjoyment by adding context to some of the names and happenings one heard the musician refer to on stage.
Some questions that I pondered over after the play :
Where has Bhargava Krishna been all this time ? I remember seeing him in a play or two, but these are few and far between.
Why have I not listened to more Jazz music ? Anyone reader who has heard a lot of jazz, please guide me to some simple, ‘popish’ jazz artist that I could start listening to before moving on to more intricate, complicated stuff.
Does any of you readers know anyone in the group ‘Stagesmith’ ? I want a list of numbers that made up the background score to this play. Alternately, if anyone knows enough and recognized which tunes were played, please let me know.
Where in Mumbai does one go to listen to Jazz played live ? (Incidentally, there is a chance to do so this weekend, please check this link a friend forwarded to me)
Will end by leaving you with this wry comment on the audience for Jazz music by Billy Collins in the poem ‘The Many Faces of Jazz’.
Zenobia D. Driver
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Request to 'Motley'
In the last few weeks, I have watched two plays by the ‘Motley’ group – ‘Ismat Apa Ke Naam’ and ‘Prophet’, which have been a rendition of the author’s work without much change in the language as the author wrote it. Both plays seemed to go down rather well with the audience, which leads me to wonder why the ‘Motley’ group doesn’t do a pure poetry-reading session. I think it would be great to hear Naseeruddin Shah, Benjamin Gilani and Ratna Pathak Shah delivering poems (reciting seems a childish and inappropriate word to use in this context). To make it more interesting, they could select poems based on a theme, wherein each poem could take the thread of a story forward.
For instance, let’s take the theme of love (not the platonic variety), attraction, lust etc and all the myriad emotional hues that surround these.
Imagine Naseer trying to woo Ratna with the poem 'To His Coy Mistress' by Andrew Marvell. Once he ends, the lady could, in a scornful aside to the audience, recite the first verse of 'Bloody Men !' (by Wendy Cope) – ‘Bloody Men are like Bloody Buses / You wait for about a year / And as soon as one approaches your stop / Two or three others appear’. Then she could look down her nose at Naseer and proceed to mock his protestation of love (?) through the words of 'His Coy Mistress to Mr. Marvell' before exiting the stage. After the lady exits the stage, the gentleman could ruefully enact 'The Time I've Lost in Wooing'. No audience would find poetry boring if they saw the duo enact these – they bring the right blend of mischief and elegance to the stage, as anyone who has watched ‘Dear Liar’ can testify.
There could be a couple of disinterested bystanders who could give their sound-bytes on the nature of love once the couple has left the stage. One, mocks the lovers in the words of D. H. Lawrence as detailed in 'True Love at Last'. Another, a hypocritical, sanctimonious type, shown in true colours in the poem 'True Love'.
The latter poem, somehow reminds me of those who protest against Valentine’s Day by taking out morchas, ransacking shops and harassing couples. While I agree that Valentine’s Day is a fraud perpetuated by Hallmark, Archies and other companies, I feel that these louts are a much greater menace to society than lovesick young un’s wandering around with soppy expressions and red roses. In fact, maybe these two poems and a few more that you, generous reader, will bring to my notice, could be better utilized to highlight the hypocrisy of society’s moral police in a separate set. Imagine a store, bells chiming as some couples enter, fluffy red hearts with white frilly lace on the edges (how disgusting they look!) in the windows, heart shaped chocolates, pink flowery greeting cards etc – the typical Archies / Hallmark store in fact. And our two friends, Mr. Superior and Mr. Sanctimonious, leading a morcha outside. ‘True Love At Last’, mocks Mr. Superior. ‘True Love’, rants ‘Mr. Sanctimonious.’ And with what poems shall they be answered ? I know not. It is yours to decide, good (i.e. one who will save me from further effort) reader.
More hues of love. Imagine Irrfan Khan (yes, I know he is not a part of ‘Motley’, but this is a blog, and one can hope) reciting 'My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun', in the same casual, matter-of-fact tone he uses in the Hutch ads. And Benjamin Gilani reciting 'They Say' and 'To My Wife - With A Copy of My Poems'.
And the sad, bitter, cynical poems too. One marvelous one I would select is by Steely Dan - 'Things I miss the most', there could be someone reading it out with the music playing in the background. A poem with a different tone, 'Threnody' by Dorothy Parker. Somewhat similar, 'The Tree of Song' by Sara Teasdale.
p.s. I hope that the outlines I have described above, bare though they are, succeed in motivating you to click on the links and read the poems – they are really interesting ones. Also, if you can think of more poems to add depth and detail to the scenario, do write a comment.
p.p.s. The second theme I can think of is anti-establishmentarianism – think ‘August 1968’ and ‘Epitaph on a Tyrant’ by W.H. Auden. A post on that follows soon.
Awaiting comments,
Zenobia D. Driver
For instance, let’s take the theme of love (not the platonic variety), attraction, lust etc and all the myriad emotional hues that surround these.
Imagine Naseer trying to woo Ratna with the poem 'To His Coy Mistress' by Andrew Marvell. Once he ends, the lady could, in a scornful aside to the audience, recite the first verse of 'Bloody Men !' (by Wendy Cope) – ‘Bloody Men are like Bloody Buses / You wait for about a year / And as soon as one approaches your stop / Two or three others appear’. Then she could look down her nose at Naseer and proceed to mock his protestation of love (?) through the words of 'His Coy Mistress to Mr. Marvell' before exiting the stage. After the lady exits the stage, the gentleman could ruefully enact 'The Time I've Lost in Wooing'. No audience would find poetry boring if they saw the duo enact these – they bring the right blend of mischief and elegance to the stage, as anyone who has watched ‘Dear Liar’ can testify.
There could be a couple of disinterested bystanders who could give their sound-bytes on the nature of love once the couple has left the stage. One, mocks the lovers in the words of D. H. Lawrence as detailed in 'True Love at Last'. Another, a hypocritical, sanctimonious type, shown in true colours in the poem 'True Love'.
The latter poem, somehow reminds me of those who protest against Valentine’s Day by taking out morchas, ransacking shops and harassing couples. While I agree that Valentine’s Day is a fraud perpetuated by Hallmark, Archies and other companies, I feel that these louts are a much greater menace to society than lovesick young un’s wandering around with soppy expressions and red roses. In fact, maybe these two poems and a few more that you, generous reader, will bring to my notice, could be better utilized to highlight the hypocrisy of society’s moral police in a separate set. Imagine a store, bells chiming as some couples enter, fluffy red hearts with white frilly lace on the edges (how disgusting they look!) in the windows, heart shaped chocolates, pink flowery greeting cards etc – the typical Archies / Hallmark store in fact. And our two friends, Mr. Superior and Mr. Sanctimonious, leading a morcha outside. ‘True Love At Last’, mocks Mr. Superior. ‘True Love’, rants ‘Mr. Sanctimonious.’ And with what poems shall they be answered ? I know not. It is yours to decide, good (i.e. one who will save me from further effort) reader.
More hues of love. Imagine Irrfan Khan (yes, I know he is not a part of ‘Motley’, but this is a blog, and one can hope) reciting 'My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun', in the same casual, matter-of-fact tone he uses in the Hutch ads. And Benjamin Gilani reciting 'They Say' and 'To My Wife - With A Copy of My Poems'.
And the sad, bitter, cynical poems too. One marvelous one I would select is by Steely Dan - 'Things I miss the most', there could be someone reading it out with the music playing in the background. A poem with a different tone, 'Threnody' by Dorothy Parker. Somewhat similar, 'The Tree of Song' by Sara Teasdale.
p.s. I hope that the outlines I have described above, bare though they are, succeed in motivating you to click on the links and read the poems – they are really interesting ones. Also, if you can think of more poems to add depth and detail to the scenario, do write a comment.
p.p.s. The second theme I can think of is anti-establishmentarianism – think ‘August 1968’ and ‘Epitaph on a Tyrant’ by W.H. Auden. A post on that follows soon.
Awaiting comments,
Zenobia D. Driver
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Review of 'Prophet'
A faithful reproduction of the book, with Naseeruddin Shah’s enactment making the parable more approachable somehow. The plot device – of a patient in a hospital telling the story to a child in the same hospital – works and resembles the parable in some sections. Mr. Shah’s acting and dialogue delivery were brilliant as usual; am beginning to appreciate that actors put as much thought into how to utter each word - the pitch, enunciation, tone etc – as singers do.
I enjoyed the play more than the book, think I understood more too. However, the play is naught but a reproduction of the book, so if you disliked the book, or if you like plays with action on the stage, you would be better off giving this one a miss.
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
I enjoyed the play more than the book, think I understood more too. However, the play is naught but a reproduction of the book, so if you disliked the book, or if you like plays with action on the stage, you would be better off giving this one a miss.
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Monday, June 23, 2008
Food and Family (in order of importance)
Sometimes I feel that if my family had a coat of arms, it would depict a plate heaped high with food, surrounded by the motto ‘Jamvaa Chaalo Jee’ – the literal meaning of the phrase is a mild ‘let’s go to eat’, but the actual interpretation when used is closer to ‘Let’s Head for the Food, Troop’. Few in our clan can resist tasty food, and all are willing to travel the extra mile for good food, especially of the used-to-be-alive, i.e. non-veg variety.
I have a cousin who seldom wakes up before 9 a.m., even on a working day. Yet this person gets up at 4 a.m. to catch a train at 5:45 a.m., travels four hours sitting in a chair - car when he could be cosily curled up in bed, another hour suffering numerous jolts on bad roads in a rickety auto – all to reach an obscure village called Soranda that is famous for the quality of Parsi food served at it’s Gambhars (community meals where everyone eats as much as they can and pays whatever amount they want to).
This same cousin and his brother are a walking-talking encyclopedia on sources of food in Bombay. From the pao-bhaji at Sardar (Tardeo) to the golas at Girgaum Chowpatty, seekh kababs at Sarvi (Nagpada) to Biriyani in Byculla, Chinese in ‘Legacy of China’ (Saat Bangla) to rajma-chawal at Guru-da-dhaba, Goan Sauasages in New Martins (Colaba) to Shawarma in Picadilly (Colaba), they’ve been there and eaten that. Mention the kind of food you want to eat and the area you are in, and faster than you can check burrp.com or call just-dial, these guys have the answer – and they can suggest different places as per the capacity of your wallet !
I have a cousin who seldom wakes up before 9 a.m., even on a working day. Yet this person gets up at 4 a.m. to catch a train at 5:45 a.m., travels four hours sitting in a chair - car when he could be cosily curled up in bed, another hour suffering numerous jolts on bad roads in a rickety auto – all to reach an obscure village called Soranda that is famous for the quality of Parsi food served at it’s Gambhars (community meals where everyone eats as much as they can and pays whatever amount they want to).
This same cousin and his brother are a walking-talking encyclopedia on sources of food in Bombay. From the pao-bhaji at Sardar (Tardeo) to the golas at Girgaum Chowpatty, seekh kababs at Sarvi (Nagpada) to Biriyani in Byculla, Chinese in ‘Legacy of China’ (Saat Bangla) to rajma-chawal at Guru-da-dhaba, Goan Sauasages in New Martins (Colaba) to Shawarma in Picadilly (Colaba), they’ve been there and eaten that. Mention the kind of food you want to eat and the area you are in, and faster than you can check burrp.com or call just-dial, these guys have the answer – and they can suggest different places as per the capacity of your wallet !
Not only do we all love our ‘bhonu’ (food), those of us who marry, find spouses from families that love food as much, if not more. Which is great for my conscience ! Whenever I consider cutting down on the amount of non-veg I eat, I think of a relative-by-marriage who eats non-veg at every single meal. Often his wife coaxes him to eat some subji and dal to by cooking it with chunks of meat added in. Dinner at their place is often a blissful experience - there will be a dish of fish / chicken, and then there would be subji with meat in it or dal with meat in it. What more could one ask for in a meal ! (Except maybe roti stuffed with kheema.)
A few years ago, I decided to go on a high altitude trek in the Himlayas. I was not trekking too high – only upto 13,500 ft, but given my lack of both physical fitness and trekking experience, my parents were quite worried about my safety – whether I would survive the cold, altitude sickness, be able to walk so much, climb so high etc etc. However this relative was worried about only one thing : “But are you sure you will be able to survive without non-veg for two weeks ?!”
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
Friday, June 20, 2008
Annoy-o-meter
Regular readers of this blog will be aware of the special relationship I share with Aishwarya Rai. Namely, I can't stand her acting. I find her plasticky, annoying and the target of my prayers for being an early victim in any movie having any chance, however minuscule, of killings.
Given that Ash usually just has to make a physical presence in a movie to make her annoying, in Dhoom 2 she managed to take her "my-annoying-self" performance to sterling levels. Five minutes into her appearance, I was wanting to throw something at the screen. Ten minutes later, I was pulling my hair out in frustration. Fifteen minutes later, I hoped Hrithik or Abhishek or even random character on the road #3 would have the good sense to bump her off.
Of course no such thing happened. At the end of the movie, finding myself still sane, I felt like a survivor. I found a new appreciation for the tolerance levels of the entire crew of Dhoom-2. And though I woke up at night in cold sweat with echoes of "Funny guy" and "Sunehri like likes you" in my head for quite a few days afterwards, the frequency of these incidents gradually decreased.
The point I am trying to make is, after watching Ash in Dhoom-2 I thought the absolute zenith of an annoying performance in cinema had been reached. No matter how annoying any other actor was in any movie, beside Ash's spectacular Dhoom-2 performance, they were mere fireflies beside the sun. That Dhoom-2 performance would forever occupy the numero uno position in my Annoying Performances Hall of Fame.
Or so I thought. Then I watched Asin in Dasavatharam. Till she opened her mouth to talk, she looked very pretty. The words "En perumal-a kudu" were the harbinger of doom. High pitched, irritating, murder-inducing, annoying - Asin managed it all and more!
Why on earth could not the character Fletcher who seemed to kill everyone else at first glance not have killed Asin on a priority basis? I think it was his devious plan to try to drive Govindraj to suicide due to unbearable torture by giving him Asin's constant company. Seeing the sheer number of places where Asin could have been bumped off convincingly and yet was still left alive was like being denied candy after being taken all the way to the checkout counter again and again.
By the time the end of the movie rolled around, I was eagerly awaiting it. There did not seem to be any other way out of watching the torture called Asin.
To be fair to Asin, unlike Ash's role in Dhoom-2 which *might* have been saved by a better actress, *anyone* performing Asin's role in Dasavatharam would have been equally horribly annoying. Which is why I have decided to let Ash retain her title of most annoying performer ever. But let me tell you, it is a very very narrow victory.
By,
Archana (http://archana.blogspot.com)
Given that Ash usually just has to make a physical presence in a movie to make her annoying, in Dhoom 2 she managed to take her "my-annoying-self" performance to sterling levels. Five minutes into her appearance, I was wanting to throw something at the screen. Ten minutes later, I was pulling my hair out in frustration. Fifteen minutes later, I hoped Hrithik or Abhishek or even random character on the road #3 would have the good sense to bump her off.
Of course no such thing happened. At the end of the movie, finding myself still sane, I felt like a survivor. I found a new appreciation for the tolerance levels of the entire crew of Dhoom-2. And though I woke up at night in cold sweat with echoes of "Funny guy" and "Sunehri like likes you" in my head for quite a few days afterwards, the frequency of these incidents gradually decreased.
The point I am trying to make is, after watching Ash in Dhoom-2 I thought the absolute zenith of an annoying performance in cinema had been reached. No matter how annoying any other actor was in any movie, beside Ash's spectacular Dhoom-2 performance, they were mere fireflies beside the sun. That Dhoom-2 performance would forever occupy the numero uno position in my Annoying Performances Hall of Fame.
Or so I thought. Then I watched Asin in Dasavatharam. Till she opened her mouth to talk, she looked very pretty. The words "En perumal-a kudu" were the harbinger of doom. High pitched, irritating, murder-inducing, annoying - Asin managed it all and more!
Why on earth could not the character Fletcher who seemed to kill everyone else at first glance not have killed Asin on a priority basis? I think it was his devious plan to try to drive Govindraj to suicide due to unbearable torture by giving him Asin's constant company. Seeing the sheer number of places where Asin could have been bumped off convincingly and yet was still left alive was like being denied candy after being taken all the way to the checkout counter again and again.
By the time the end of the movie rolled around, I was eagerly awaiting it. There did not seem to be any other way out of watching the torture called Asin.
To be fair to Asin, unlike Ash's role in Dhoom-2 which *might* have been saved by a better actress, *anyone* performing Asin's role in Dasavatharam would have been equally horribly annoying. Which is why I have decided to let Ash retain her title of most annoying performer ever. But let me tell you, it is a very very narrow victory.
By,
Archana (http://archana.blogspot.com)
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Dasavatharam – The ten horrors or I want my money back
The problem with being Kamal Hassan is you eventually get consumed by your own ‘thinking man’ image. Kamal Hassan is undoubtedly a good actor. Some of his movies have you crying your heart out, like Mahanadhi. Or laughing your guts out like Michael Madana Kama Rajan. But then, he comes up with these grandiose plans to make an ‘intelligent’ movie and you are crushed by the collapsing reels of his ambition – Guna, Alavandan, Hey Ram. Dasavataram is as ambitious as he gets. And unfortunately, it fails as badly as it can.
I can only think of one reason for this tendency of his to make such bloopers – a mega ego which probably tells him that he is up there in the list of the world’s intellectuals. Sure, he is intelligent. He has some very well thought-out views on a lot of topics. He probably reads much more than ninety percent of the Tamil film industry. Sadly, being a good actor or an intelligent person is not adequate criteria to write a good script or screenplay. Kamal fails to realise this. Like a third year, precocious, graduate student, eagerly grabbing his chance to voice his rapidly forming world views, Kamal throws idea upon idea at the audience, more to impress than to explore. One minute he hints at the dangers of biotechnology. Another minute he is urging us to live in harmony with the environment. The third he questions the existence of God. He talks about untouchables and about historical religious wars between Shaivaites and Vaishanvites. Also in the mire is a reference to Muslims being typecast as terrorists (Oh Boy! is he the one to talk about typecasting. Watch out for a Japanese character called Yuka who is from Hiroshima, is a Kung fu goddess and has a brother who runs something like a Shaolin school) .
It is not just the ideas that swing wildly. It is also the mood of the movie. The first fifteen minutes try to establish a serious tone. Then presumably, the director realises that the audience would probably find the whole thing too intense and the track switches to comedy. You grin uneasily when funny lines follow gruesome killings, wondering what to make of it. The movie can’t quite make up its mind till the end on whether it is supposed to be serious with funny thrown in or the other way around.
If Kamal the scriptwriter has bombed, what about Kamal the actor? After all, the movie is supposed to be a vehicle for his impressive range of emoting. This is probably where the plot could have been structured better. The ten roles that Kamal plays do not seem integral to the plot line. Some of them are totally irrelevant and seem to be there just to showcase Kamal the actor. Why did you need the Grandma or Avatar Singh (dancing with an aged Jayaprada, reminding you that it is not just the movies that are going to the dogs and you may as well take a moment to worry about politics)? The other roles could have been played by other actors. Kamal as George Bush looks as silly as Hrithik Roshan as the queen in Dhoom 2. Kamal as the villain, Christian Fletcher looks strangely out of proportion, with a large android head and a punier body. All that money spent on make-up would have been so much better spent on special effects. The scenes of the sea surging and cars and trees being tossed around look like the work of someone who has just completed the first level of Arena Multimedia’s courses.
The protagonist Govind is a role Kamal can sleepwalk through and he does exactly that. Balram Naidu, the RAW officer is the most impressive of them all, actually bringing a few chuckles. The dalit environmentalist also manages to convince us that it is not Kamal playing the role. Fundamentally though, a lack of clarity in the plot renders most of the characters superfluous and hence lessens your ability to admire the disguises or the voice modulations or even a surprising leap from the usual put-on accent Kamal uses when he speaks English. Govind is supposed to be a scientist, trying to prevent a deadly virus from falling into the wrong hands. Christian Fletcher is supposed to be working for the wrong hands. So, are the characters played by Kamal supposed to be aiding the destruction of the virus? Or are they proof of the fact that there is good and bad everywhere?
With even the characters played by Kamal floundering, there has been little focus on other roles. Leading to some downright annoying ones like that of Asin. Towards the end of the movie, you want to grab the bronze statue she holds for most part of the movie and hit her on the head to get her to shut up. Peripheral characters like Sethu, the greedy head of the biotech firm selling out to foreign hands are laughable. Why does the evil dealmaker run around for 15 minutes lugging a VIP-like suitcase straight from the 80s?
The bottomline is that Kamal, the scriptwriter has bitten off more than he can chew leading to Kamal, the actor getting a raw deal.
By,
Anita B.
http://royalvilla.blogspot.com/2008/06/dasavatharam-ten-horrors-or-i-want-my.html
I can only think of one reason for this tendency of his to make such bloopers – a mega ego which probably tells him that he is up there in the list of the world’s intellectuals. Sure, he is intelligent. He has some very well thought-out views on a lot of topics. He probably reads much more than ninety percent of the Tamil film industry. Sadly, being a good actor or an intelligent person is not adequate criteria to write a good script or screenplay. Kamal fails to realise this. Like a third year, precocious, graduate student, eagerly grabbing his chance to voice his rapidly forming world views, Kamal throws idea upon idea at the audience, more to impress than to explore. One minute he hints at the dangers of biotechnology. Another minute he is urging us to live in harmony with the environment. The third he questions the existence of God. He talks about untouchables and about historical religious wars between Shaivaites and Vaishanvites. Also in the mire is a reference to Muslims being typecast as terrorists (Oh Boy! is he the one to talk about typecasting. Watch out for a Japanese character called Yuka who is from Hiroshima, is a Kung fu goddess and has a brother who runs something like a Shaolin school) .
It is not just the ideas that swing wildly. It is also the mood of the movie. The first fifteen minutes try to establish a serious tone. Then presumably, the director realises that the audience would probably find the whole thing too intense and the track switches to comedy. You grin uneasily when funny lines follow gruesome killings, wondering what to make of it. The movie can’t quite make up its mind till the end on whether it is supposed to be serious with funny thrown in or the other way around.
If Kamal the scriptwriter has bombed, what about Kamal the actor? After all, the movie is supposed to be a vehicle for his impressive range of emoting. This is probably where the plot could have been structured better. The ten roles that Kamal plays do not seem integral to the plot line. Some of them are totally irrelevant and seem to be there just to showcase Kamal the actor. Why did you need the Grandma or Avatar Singh (dancing with an aged Jayaprada, reminding you that it is not just the movies that are going to the dogs and you may as well take a moment to worry about politics)? The other roles could have been played by other actors. Kamal as George Bush looks as silly as Hrithik Roshan as the queen in Dhoom 2. Kamal as the villain, Christian Fletcher looks strangely out of proportion, with a large android head and a punier body. All that money spent on make-up would have been so much better spent on special effects. The scenes of the sea surging and cars and trees being tossed around look like the work of someone who has just completed the first level of Arena Multimedia’s courses.
The protagonist Govind is a role Kamal can sleepwalk through and he does exactly that. Balram Naidu, the RAW officer is the most impressive of them all, actually bringing a few chuckles. The dalit environmentalist also manages to convince us that it is not Kamal playing the role. Fundamentally though, a lack of clarity in the plot renders most of the characters superfluous and hence lessens your ability to admire the disguises or the voice modulations or even a surprising leap from the usual put-on accent Kamal uses when he speaks English. Govind is supposed to be a scientist, trying to prevent a deadly virus from falling into the wrong hands. Christian Fletcher is supposed to be working for the wrong hands. So, are the characters played by Kamal supposed to be aiding the destruction of the virus? Or are they proof of the fact that there is good and bad everywhere?
With even the characters played by Kamal floundering, there has been little focus on other roles. Leading to some downright annoying ones like that of Asin. Towards the end of the movie, you want to grab the bronze statue she holds for most part of the movie and hit her on the head to get her to shut up. Peripheral characters like Sethu, the greedy head of the biotech firm selling out to foreign hands are laughable. Why does the evil dealmaker run around for 15 minutes lugging a VIP-like suitcase straight from the 80s?
The bottomline is that Kamal, the scriptwriter has bitten off more than he can chew leading to Kamal, the actor getting a raw deal.
By,
Anita B.
http://royalvilla.blogspot.com/2008/06/dasavatharam-ten-horrors-or-i-want-my.html
Thursday, June 12, 2008
The Random Self-Help Book
According to news reports that I have read, the best-selling, most widely read category of books is the self-help/self-improvement genre. Hence, I have decided to start writing dribs and drabs, bits and pieces of a self-help book here. Have decided to make it one of those where a page only contains one (supposedly) insightful and profound statement, and the page facing it contains details related to that statement, or some cartoon illustrating it. This serves the dual purpose of making it seem very high-brow and arty (sort of), while allowing me to escape with just 50% of the work.
Below is the first installment of the book, will keep adding to it as I go on. Do feel free to send in your contributions too – as always, maximize collaboration and minimize work is my motto. Also, do let me know if you can think of a good title for the book, all I can think of is the ‘The Random Self-Help Book’, which is honest, but is probably not conducive to sending sales soaring.
Chapter Titled : ‘The Basic Difference Between People’
1) Only one alphabet – cLass vs. cRass
2) Some people are comfortable with silence filling the gaps in conversation, whereas others rush in to fill every gap with chatter
Chapter Titled : ‘Experience Says’
1) If you sit under an apple tree, mangoes will not fall into your hands; seek out a mango orchard for those
2) First confirm whether you possess the right set of keys, then bang the door shut behind you
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
Below is the first installment of the book, will keep adding to it as I go on. Do feel free to send in your contributions too – as always, maximize collaboration and minimize work is my motto. Also, do let me know if you can think of a good title for the book, all I can think of is the ‘The Random Self-Help Book’, which is honest, but is probably not conducive to sending sales soaring.
Chapter Titled : ‘The Basic Difference Between People’
1) Only one alphabet – cLass vs. cRass
2) Some people are comfortable with silence filling the gaps in conversation, whereas others rush in to fill every gap with chatter
Chapter Titled : ‘Experience Says’
1) If you sit under an apple tree, mangoes will not fall into your hands; seek out a mango orchard for those
2) First confirm whether you possess the right set of keys, then bang the door shut behind you
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
Monday, June 09, 2008
Response to 'IPL'
Venky’s post here got Arunabh to comment – at length. I felt his response might get lost as a comment, hence here it is as a post :
I liked this post so much that I had to read it twice. And I totally agree with whatever you have said to the last word. IPL is nothing but one giant corporate monster that is slowly but steadily going to swallow traditional cricket. Expectedly, people thronged the stadiums in large numbers to watch this ultimate cricketing tamasha. The sad part is that a majority of the audience went there to catch a glimpse of the Preity Zintas and Shahrukh Khans rather than watch the 'Cricketing Gods' in action. Not to forget the omnipresent Vijay Mallya with the dumb Katrina Kaif in tow. As if this was not enough, there were the girls from Washington Redskins gyrating to numbers which made no sense to them. And the capacity crowd leered and cheered!
T20 is silly because you are expected to hit a six off every ball. Batters wield the bat like a sledgehammer throwing all cautions to the winds. A bowler can only hope to bowl a containment line. Warne need not produce a "ball of the century" to snare a wicket. If he's lucky enough, the batsman will be caught in the deep. Otherwise, he is unlucky. Guys like Swapnil Asnodkar, who score runs only via edges and nicks, become instantaneous prodigies. While the real batting greats like Dravid and Kallis are subjected to public humiliation by a man who doesn't even know the C of Cricket.
Once in a while, T20 is understandable. Having a T20 spread over more than a month is only going to kill the traditional but thoroughly enjoyable forms of the game viz. test cricket and the one-dayers. But then, T20 rakes in the moolah and in all probability, is here to stay. Meanwhile, the diehard fans should start following 'Golden moments of World Cricket' on Star Cricket.
By,
Arunabh
(http://fitsoffantasy.blogspot.com)
I liked this post so much that I had to read it twice. And I totally agree with whatever you have said to the last word. IPL is nothing but one giant corporate monster that is slowly but steadily going to swallow traditional cricket. Expectedly, people thronged the stadiums in large numbers to watch this ultimate cricketing tamasha. The sad part is that a majority of the audience went there to catch a glimpse of the Preity Zintas and Shahrukh Khans rather than watch the 'Cricketing Gods' in action. Not to forget the omnipresent Vijay Mallya with the dumb Katrina Kaif in tow. As if this was not enough, there were the girls from Washington Redskins gyrating to numbers which made no sense to them. And the capacity crowd leered and cheered!
T20 is silly because you are expected to hit a six off every ball. Batters wield the bat like a sledgehammer throwing all cautions to the winds. A bowler can only hope to bowl a containment line. Warne need not produce a "ball of the century" to snare a wicket. If he's lucky enough, the batsman will be caught in the deep. Otherwise, he is unlucky. Guys like Swapnil Asnodkar, who score runs only via edges and nicks, become instantaneous prodigies. While the real batting greats like Dravid and Kallis are subjected to public humiliation by a man who doesn't even know the C of Cricket.
Once in a while, T20 is understandable. Having a T20 spread over more than a month is only going to kill the traditional but thoroughly enjoyable forms of the game viz. test cricket and the one-dayers. But then, T20 rakes in the moolah and in all probability, is here to stay. Meanwhile, the diehard fans should start following 'Golden moments of World Cricket' on Star Cricket.
By,
Arunabh
(http://fitsoffantasy.blogspot.com)
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