Entropy Muse

K's list for Goa

2011-12-06T02:27:00.000-08:00

Headed to Goa with no plan in mind
except to get away from the daily grind,
smsed K for advice on places to visit -
for Goa, K equals the ‘Lonely Planet’.

Anjuna beach first :
‘Curlie’s’ for chill-out, snacky food and breakfast,
‘Orange Bloom’ for breakfast more;
‘Infantaria’ on Baga-Calangute road for desserts galore
- you will love it
(quite prophetic,
loved their mixed fruit pancake
and the chocolate cheesecake).

Moving on to Baga beach :
‘Britto’s’ and ‘St. Anthony’s’,
‘O Cocero’ – where Charles Sobhraj was caught, you know,
(Ah, to soak in some local glamour before we go.)

For traditional Goan food
(spicy, non-veg and good);
‘Inferno’ for dinner at Candolim
‘Viva Panjim’ in – where else – Panjim !

In South Goa, ‘Martin’s’ for lunch,
And Varca beach has shacks in a bunch.

Now if it’s food for the soul you seek -
No, magic mushroom is not what I mean ( ! )
Its music I’m referring to;
For Jazz and Blues -
‘Stonehouse’ at Candolim –
(We found it awesome
And went there twice)
And Calanguate has ‘Take 5’;

For dancing, ‘Cavala’ at Baga is good, though
best Thursday nights, or ‘Mambo’;
‘Titos’ is over-rated.

Oh, and find out about ‘Sunburn’ it’s in Candolim.

- Adapted from K's sms by Zen

Girl and Boy

2011-11-19T00:05:00.000-08:00

There was once was a boy
Who needed a toy
So he got himself a girl
But the girl was a witch
With a hypnotic twitch
And she made the Boy plain twirl

So he twirled and he twirled
Till his life was in a whirl
And couldn't tell his west from his east
But the girl was a beast
And she didn't care in the least
As she saw her toy boy unfurl

By,
Anonymous

Rockstar - Reflections, not a review

2011-11-15T00:04:00.001-08:00

Chances are as you walk out of the theatre you may want to go sit in a quiet place.
As you think of the movie later, you will find several flaws in the script – but when watching it you sort of overlook it because this is Imitiaz’s best; amongst Rehman’s finest, (special mention for Irshad Kamil’s lyrics) and Ranbir, well, he is magic. He makes you burst out laughing, takes you along on his spiritual sojourn, encompasses you in the warmth of his hug (a brilliant touch), puts you in a trance when he’s on the dance floor and finally makes you feel his tragic helplessness…. And leaves you with the nagging question: why is it that only when the quantity of life is limited, that we gain awareness and courage to add quality to it?

Imtiaz Ali has a recurring theme in all his movies –unacknowledged love followed by separation, and then realization and a difficult unity…Rockstar has been the best so far, he has acting talent of a different league, he has some great dialogues, some heart wrenching moments …clever cinematographic technique– especially in the rock concert shots.
This movie is more about love and its accompaniments than the recipients of love …Maybe that’s why you can forgive the fact that the characters are sketchy especially the female character. Nargis has limited acting ability and a mouth that is more distracting than attractive. Shammi Kapoor is fabulous and is the only other actor who deserves mention. The movie has its heart in the right place and music that moves you like you had forgotten music could.

Warning: Savor the movie – it’s like eating a gourmet dish – let the flavors roll onto your tongue, let the taste travel to your brain (or will that be heart?) and relish it. You can feel the taste much after the meal is over. If you’re a fast food lover it may seem like much ado about nothing, slow and painful.

By,

Soma.

Emotions : Part 3 – Contentment

2011-09-14T08:28:00.000-07:00

Sitting on top of a hill in the monsoon season, lush green below, blue-grey sky above. Looking at rain escaping the clouds and rushing down towards the earth, inhaling lungfuls of the fresh wet earth smell.
By,
Zen

Emotions : Part 2 – Despair

2011-08-25T00:14:00.000-07:00

Same road, a hospital at the end of it. Observed just outside the hospital’s gate :

A young guy – 15-20 years old. Thin, not too tall. A face that started out being a rectangle, when the jaw bones suddenly dissented and decided to be sharp and angular instead. Mop of curly hair. Dressed shabbily – frayed jeans, faded top.

In the grip of some strong emotion which has been tightly reined in and suppressed – the effort is visible from the way he has clenched his jaw tight and from the muscles flickering in his cheek and temple.

He has a matchbox in one hand. He takes out one match at a time, strikes it against the matchbox, intently watches the flame flare and burn down, and tosses the match away just before it would have started to burn his fingers. Does not actually move his shoulder in the throwing gesture, just bends his arm at the elbow. Continues to do this with several matchsticks, does not look up from the matchbox and matchstick, as if it’s important to concentrate on every minute detail of this repetitive task. This simple task must be done to perfection. Each time.

Kchrikkkkk – flare – hold – stare
The only thing holding his sanity together.

By,
Zenobia Driver

Emotions : Happiness ! or Optimism.

2011-08-06T22:37:00.000-07:00

A broad road fringed with tall trees, the pavement littered with branches that the BMC has chopped off prior to the monsoon. Some of the trees have creepers with big pink flowers growing on them, these give out a characteristic strong fragrance that defines this stretch of road during the flowering season. At a certain time every morning, the fragrance is obscured by the stink from the garbage collecting truck, it has an open top and dirty green maws from which streams of garbage hang and sway like so much spittle as it comes trundling down the road.

On most days, the garbage collecting men perch inside the truck’s cabin or on top of the body, in faded uniforms, shoulders slumped, faces downcast, hating their work and their fate. But today is different.

One of the garbage collectors is a young man, tall, dark and hefty, round-faced, with curly hair. His attire hints at his attitude - he wears a dark brown shirt with a mustard print, the first few buttons open – ishtyle hai bhai ! Around his neck he has a locket on a black string, from his hip pocket hangs a dark blue scarf.

This young man chooses to ride the garbage truck with attitude, like he’s at a rodeo, or shooting stunts for a film. He jumps on to the side of the truck as it starts off, and hangs there whistling a happy tune, chest thrown out, head flung back casually, scarf fluttering gaily in the wind, as if he has not a care in the world.

The tale we read in school was true – Aadmi khushi khoj lega ! (A man will find happiness)

Sounds familiar ?

2011-07-30T08:18:00.000-07:00

One of my objectives while planning a vacation in Dehradun was to visit Mussourie, be at the Cambridge bookshop on Saturday evening when Mr. Ruskin Bond is reported to visit, and get one of my books autographed by him. Unfortunately, we ended up being in Mussourie on Friday, and even though we optimistically trotted off to the Cambridge bookshop, Mr. Bond wasn’t there. Shaken, but not stirred, we bought a Ruskin Bond book each at the shop, I picked up one titled ‘Rain in the Mountains’.

A passage from this is reproduced below, it reminded me of one of my bird-watching friends, she must be related to Sir E in some way.

Someone asked Sir E if he could shoot a bird on his land at Ramgarh. The man wanted the bird for dissection in a biology lab. Sir E refused.
“It’s in the interests of science,” protested the man. “Do you think a bird is better than a human ?”
“Infinitely,” said Sir E. “Infinitely better.”

Does the sentiment sound familiar to you too ? :-)

By,
Zenobia Driver

About the Mountains

2011-07-28T03:12:00.000-07:00

An extract from ‘Snow Leopard’ by Peter Matthiessen :
The secret of the mountains is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself : the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no “meaning”, they are “meaning”; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.

The best part of armchair discussions

2011-07-23T23:14:00.000-07:00

A holiday at ‘Ivy Cottage’ on the outskirts of Dehradun; a quaint cottage with a beautiful garden full of flowering plants and trees, surrounded by hills, clouds scudding above.

Picture a group of five people with broad grins basking in pleasant sunshine - we are sitting around a breakfast table laden with empty plates and used cutlery, replete after a mammoth breakfast of eggs, sausages, toast, butter, jam, juice, fruit, gobi parathas and french fries. If you have sharp eyes or a strong imagination, you can see a shimmer of lazy contentment hovering around us and slowly expanding.

What do we select as an apt topic for conversation, sprawled out in our chairs, rendered nearly immobile by the amount of food we have gobbled – we discuss true stories of incredible hardship and adventure. ‘Into Thin Air’ by Jon Krakauer’ and ‘The Climb’ by Anatoly Boukreev – both accounts of an expedition to Mount Everest that ended in disaster; ‘Touching the void’ by Joe Simpson – another soul-stirring story of an expedition to the peak Siula Grande in the Peruvian Andes, and how Simpson survived in spite of numerous injuries; ‘Endurance : Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage’ by Alfred Lansing – about a trans-Antartic expedition by sea in which the ship sank, but the entire crew survived in hostile conditions for almost two years before finally journeying to safety.

At some point in our discussion, a few expressions turned sheepish and some of us lost a degree of animation as the contrast between our current condition and the stories we were discussing sank in. But then, as M pointed out, to admire something one doesn’t have to be experiencing it, neither to have experienced it oneself in the past. In fact, one’s admiration of those facing adverse circumstances is enhanced with the distance from the same.

Think of eating samosas at a nice cosy place, say Samovar (Jehangir Art Gallery, Mumbai), while reading one of these books; biting into the crispy part at the end and hearing it crackle just as you read about the crackle of ice on the Khumbu icefall (after Base Camp, Everest); imagining the cold at Everest’s feet while safely savouring the heat and crackle of a crisp samosa – the best of both worlds, wot ?

(Links to info about the books here :
Into Thin Air
The Climb
Touching the Void
Endurance : Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage )

By,
Zenobia Driver

Yoga, but not Yogi

2011-07-16T23:39:00.000-07:00

I started yoga almost two years ago. A teacher would come home twice a week for an hour-long lesson. And that was the beginning of my journey. I started with hatha yoga – which is basically using one’s body and doing simple exercises or asanas. My teacher though, was catering to the modern power yoga students that Mumbai is brimming with, rather than focusing on traditional asanas. “Power yoga helps lose weight you know”. I was not in particularly good physical shape, exercise for me had been an evening walk couple of times a week, so she had me tired. She had a predilection for repetitions and insisted on counting – so I was programmed to do 8 counts of this, 16 counts of that, and I would be huffing and puffing away. Simply put, I was a lazy lump of lard.

Yes, having the teacher forced me to do my classes as she would show up at home at the preset times. But, my teacher was an illustrious Gujarati businesswoman as well, running businesses from India and abroad and this kept her away at points of time from taking my classes. I too, had some travelling to do or at times running late at work (yes one class day was an evening class on a weekday!) and this kept us away at times from each other and our biweekly classes.

Working within these constraints, the guru-shisya team did make some progress and I proudly reported to those who cared to listen that I had succeeded to do the Utthita Padmasana. A posture that involves sitting in Padmasana, and then elevating yourself off the floor with the support of your two palms. It made me feel surreal, as though I had transcended into another world, I had crossed some standard of yogic practice.
My teacher – I told you she was into power, pop stuff- asked me to moon walk one morning. Moon walk – why, I asked myself, that’s what MJ made famous and me no aspiring MJ. I soon realized it was a simple knee and ankle bending exercise, nothing as glamorous as it sounded. And so the classes carried on and I crossed some new milestones like learning the Surya Namaskar in the midst of other frantic ‘post modern yoga’ (term patented by me) practice.

Then, at some point a few months ago, I discovered the Yoga Studio whilst browsing the Sunday Midday. Set in chimbai village in bandra, I went to take the one odd class there, hoping to discover something more. The studio is hip – wooden floors, healthy salads served in kansha bowls and the ambience nice to lounge around. The teachers are ‘very bandra’ – wearing harem pants and with well-chiseled model like bodies. What I learned in these one off classes – was how to add grace to the yoga asana. “Like dance, enjoy the pose, move your arm with grace almost like you are performing, though for yourself…and listen to what your body says. If it feels like doing something today, do it, if not perhaps it will oblige you another day.” Grace and enjoying the beauty of the pose – was the aha I got from this yoga class.
To my delight, pretty soon I figured I was actually beyond basic in yoga – so apart from being ‘bandra- priced’, these classes weren’t stretching me enough either. It could also do with the fact, that now I was doing yoga a little more seriously than before.

A month later, inspired, I gate crashed into the Iyengar Yoga institute, the mecca of yoga. I had been trying to get admission here for more than two years. Every time I went I was made greeted by an elderly semi-toothless man who asked me to record my contact details in a book, (much like those we used in school) that ran into pages – with names of wait listed students. Finally, mind made up that I had to join; I arrived during the evening class hours, with yoga clothes packed into my jhola and requested to speak to the teacher.

She was considerate and flattered too I think, that I had been visiting the place for 2 years now, and allowed me to join the class from that very evening.
I was looking for advanced, boy, I got advanced. Or super advanced. Iyengar yoga as a philosophy is hatha yoga but with the aid of props, teaching one how to hold a pose to perfection. ’Hold’ and ‘perfection’ being the key operative words. So the teacher screams instructions like – “expand your shoulders, open up your thoracic area, put your arms by the rib cage, turn your buttocks in and your pelvic region outward to face the ceiling” … and as you try following one instruction, the earlier one inevitably slips and you try to balance it all furiously recalling your bio classes from school, only to hear her thundering “ and why are YOU,YOU,holding your breath, continue to breathe normally…” Give me a break I want to say, but I am so immersed in holding in my buttock and out my pelvic region, that speaking is totally out of question.

And when I think the worst is over, and it is time for Savasana – ah, the relaxation posture where you lie on your back and relax all your muscles; she bellows “ all of you, now hold the two ropes and walk up the wall and then invert yourselves into sheerasana…” and at this point I am sitting with my mouth open (it is my third class so I am excused from this attempt), as 30 adults hold the ropes and really start walking up the wall only to invert themselves and stay like that for close to ten minutes. Wow!

It will take me this lifetime to inch toward becoming a yogini, but as you can see, it has been an interesting journey thus far, from moon walking not quite MJ style, sprinkled with the grace of dancing, to walking up the walls super hero style…
As for you, next time you’re headed to PVR, ditch the superhero flick, hop over to the Iyengar class instead and watch the real superheroes in action; and who knows, you may start the journey of a superhero yogi yourself!

By,
Soma Ghosh

Book Review - Palace of Illusions

2011-07-07T03:50:00.000-07:00

Author Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni.

Same old Mahabharata, refreshing new perspective.

Story told from the enigmatic Draupadi’s perspective. Gripping, read it from cover to cover and then some parts again, especially the last chapter. Have read this author before and didn’t like her all that much, therefore was pleasantly surprised.
Will share some facets of her character that are not commonly known
• The author deals with the relationships that defined her – that with her father, brother and Dhai ma in her childhood, mother in law, five husbands and with Karna in her adult life, the latter for whom she harbored a secret attraction from when she saw him first.
• Draupadi was perhaps never a little girl even when she was one– always strong willed, longing to see the world, sitting in on her brother’s lessons on war to understand what life out there was about.
• We know the incidents that led to the great war – from her bastra haran in Duryodhan’s court where none of her husbands protected her to the twelve year banbash and the supposed fight for the Pandavas rights. What the author dwells upon is her mental anguish at the war Kurukshetra especially since she felt it was her pride, arrogance and desire for revenge that caused war, widowing many and leaving many helpless.
• We also know that the blind Dhritarashtra could see vicariously through his charioteer what was happening at war. But we don’t know that Draupadi had been granted the same vision too and she saw all the misdeeds committed on the battlefield by her husbands including the killing of Karna .
• Nor did we know that she was a not great mother, choosing a life of adventure with her husbands in banbash over being at home with the womenfolk to bring up her children.
• And it depicts her relationship with Krishna, the constant strength in her life. Her playmate as a child, her confidante when she needed one and her protector when she was being humiliated.. Her consort in her darkest of hours standing by her in her when everyone else failed her. Spouting wisdom when she needed it like – “a situation was only as bad as you thought it to be”.. Yet he teased her, never revealed his divinity to her and gave her convoluted answers when she asked probing questions about her predicament.

Why this book is worth a read –the writing is racy, a page-turner. It unravels Draupadi as a real woman – attractive, ambitious, independent minded, strong willed and real limitations like stubbornness and an ego that supposedly led to her downfall. As a woman she fought hard to play the game by her rules, to do what the men in her life did, yet she never quite got equal status.
I was left startled how ancient yet modern the story of Draupadi is. You feel like you know her.

By,
Soma

First Rains

2011-06-29T06:40:00.000-07:00

I was sitting at marine drive before sunset one evening in early June and starting listening in to a dad- daughter conversation amongst the all the other banter of hawkers, lovers and Gujju families.
The young lady it seemed, worked in Mumbai, and now that her dad had come to visit, she was proudly showing off Mumbai; drawing a contrast to Kolkata (her hometown), whenever she could. Her dad glancing nervously at the dark sky kept proclaiming that it was time to leave. Young lady kept negotiating with dad saying few minutes longer would do no harm.
It was the evening Mumbai would get its first rains.
Amidst the chatter, I sat dangling my feet, allowing the blackening sky and cool breeze from the darkening water to envelop me. Ah a pleasant change from the concrete skyline coming to consume you. Dad finally called the shots, “it’s getting dark my dear, we must go now”..with that our young lady reluctantly gives in. With them, I get up too… thankful for my short tryst with nature marine drive ishtyle. Minutes later, the rains come swooping down.
Mumbai is a ruthless city, but can be tender too. In the monsoon, you can let your scattered thoughts go – the sea absorbs them unto itself, giving you a relief, albeit a temporary one.

By,
Soma

Movie review - Anurag Kashyap’s 'shaitan'

2011-06-24T04:55:00.000-07:00

This movie was about the youth of today. Stuff I don’t much care about, having safely passed the age perhaps has something to do with it. It reminded me of youth reality programs that show up annoyingly on music channels.
'Shaitan' had a strong realism to it, a story woven around a gang of friends stuck in a difficult situation they get themselves into, and how they deal with it.
I liked the techniques used – attached-to-protagonist camera shots like that we have seen before in Kashyap’s DevD; high speed camera shots increasing the drama manifold; the manner in which the conversation is shot when two people meet for the first time at a party sitting on a swing; the beautiful Khoya Khoya Chand song playing in the background in the most gruesome scenes; well done.
Frightening was the reality of how childhood traumas shape who you really are and somehow never let you go, however hard you run from them. Frightening also, how immaterial human life has become today, a life where nothing matters, much except saving your skin, covering your ass. Violence, murder, stealing, rape nothing counts for anything, all is cool. The only ethic the youth in 'Shaitan' follow is to stick to a friendship code they set... at least try to.
The performances were quite competent, all known faces, from tv, theatre or earlier offbeat movies. Ok for a dekho, I asked myself did I need to go to the movies to see this? Maybe I did, to show me that the worst was not over, yet…
By,
Anonymous

Waiting for the Rains

2011-05-30T22:18:00.000-07:00

(an old post by Suchi that is apt to read today)

It is 42 C. That is about 108 F. Dry heat. The kind that attacks your skin and sucks out every little bit of moisture from the depth of your bones. People go back and forth in their preference for the kind of heat – - dry or humid. Madras and Bombay, the temperature is in the late 30s, but humidity so high that breathing is difficult. Stringing one’s thoughts together, in either kind of heat, is a challenge.

Summers are a reminder: Of the frailty of the body. Of dependence on electricity and water. Of the longing for the rains. Even the word ‘monsoon’ has such a lovely feeling to it. It rolls off the tongue, with the languorous ‘soon’ at its end, a whispered promise. The bringer of life to farmers; their fortunes dependant on the vagrancies of winds and clouds. But it is also the city-dweller who eagerly checks the sky for changes, waiting day after day for the unrelenting heat to be washed out.

6.30am in a doctor’s waiting room. “It is pouring in Hyderabad.” “And Bangalore is cold – - remember what cold is?” Such is the conversation these days. Somebody remarks about photographs in the local newspaper of the rains in the Andaman and Nicobar islands. “How do you know those photos are of this year? Could be old photos. Media playing with our minds to prevent water riots” says a critical lady. Just then clouds cover the sun, and a calm is restored.

There is a deep sense of anticipation. A collective holding of breath. Close examination of the clouds. Soon, soon, the monsoons will be here. No wonder so much music and poetry was written for this Indian season.

By,
Suchitra Shenoy
(read more posts by Suchi here)

Birder Bladder and other tidbits

2011-04-06T09:04:00.000-07:00

Being one of those that have a few birding – fanatic friends, I am able to relate how this species is physiologically and attitudinally different from the regular couch potato homo sapiens. Note : the following changes have been observed only in fanatic birders, not in the armchair or amateur variety.

1. Birder bladder : XXL size, can continue for long intervals of time without needing to use the amenities

2. Birder vision (a) : can visit forests, deserts, mangroves, rivers etc and notice only the birds, nothing else. Not a beautiful sunrise or sunset, not a picturesque boat-ride through the backwaters, only the birds.
Birders can even venture enthusiastically into grassy areas where bunches of men are going for their morning job, and unabashedly focus binocs and cameras wherever a bird flutters. I was on one such trip recently, and while I was a bit embarrassed, neither the birders not the men were; the presence of a bunch of women did not even deter a guy who was in the middle of an open field !

Birder vision (b) : Crop everything out of photos except the bird - leaves, flowers, trees, all extraneous.

3. Lifer over Life :
(Lifer : A first-ever sighting of a bird species by an observer – courtesy Wikipedia)

Only one idea at birding time – have camera, will click. Even when it goes against basic survival instincts !

While on a bird-watching walk inside a sanctuary in East India, we saw a tribe of wild elephants grazing not far from us. Our guide requested us to walk in single-file in absolute silence; the forest guards were visibly frightened, one of them tried to load his antique gun but could not, adding to our fear. So there we were, walking quietly, not even taking deep breaths; when the trigger-happy camera-club could take it no more and nonchalantly focused their weapons and…..Whirrrr clickkk clickety-click whirrrrr. And continued even as one massive elephant swiveled his head, fixed his beady eyes on us and started moving forward !!

4. Aversion to bright colours – only black, grey, brown and dull green allowed while bird-watching. Large part of my time preparing for each birding trip is spent in finding clothes of the aforementioned colours in my wardrobe; my argument that birds sit on trees with bright flowers and therefore will be attracted to bright colours falls on deaf ears.

5. Birder G.K. – whether the Grimett is better than the Salim Ali and why

6. Birder GK useful to non-birders - Hanging out with birders helps you win in games like name-place-animal-thing. Who else would think of a ‘zitting cisticola’, 'yuhina', ‘temminck's tragopan’ etc ?

By,
Zen

Wildlife Ahoy

2011-02-25T06:45:00.000-08:00

Who says you have to go to a nature reserve for an encounter with interesting wildlife? Sitting right here, in a city of about 4 million people, we have encountered the following:

1) Some months back, a family of mongoose, who would trot across the top edge of the gate, in decreasing order of size. As though aware of what a show they put on, they didn’t look sideways at their audience, or down at the ground. “Just passing through”, they seemed to say.

2) A cat gave birth to her kittens on our living room chair (I wrote about that experience earlier). They have moved out, but every once in awhile, the cat returns, almost as though to check that we are behaving as we should be

3) Three to four different kinds of birds hop onto the window sill of our dining room every day and complain vociferously if an over-ripe banana has not been placed for their royal consumption

And today, reporting live, I bring you two eye witness reports:

4) A one-inch frog (it is the monsoon after all) that hopped its way across the bathroom floor. Reaching the bathroom door, it had nowhere to go. Pausing to consider his next move, he spotted a thin crack between the door and the wall. Not worrying about size and fit, he turned around, pushed his butt in, and slowly eased himself into the crack. Since then, there have been no sightings. Stay posted though, we might have breaking news, any moment now…

5) A small cute looking mouse: She leapt off the shoe-rack this morning and vanished by diving into some old newspapers under the staircase. ‘Ah well’ we thought. It turns out, however, that this mouse has a good sense of theatrics. Having received shrieks (of what she probably took as appreciation), she has taken to repeating her feat – - crouching unseen on the shoe-rack and leaping off when an innocent human is trying to reach for their chappals.

So the next time you want to spend big bucks on a safari, save your cash… just come and stay with us instead.

By,
Suchitra Shenoy
(read more by Suchitra at http://dosomethingbeautifulthebook.wordpress.com

This and That

2011-02-20T00:10:00.000-08:00

This week’s post consists of interesting things I read / saw / heard and wanted to share. Am just adding brief notes to pique your curiosity so that you click on the links given. So, without further ado:

1. A part of this article by Neelesh Mishra in the Mint Lounge yesterday. The article is about Vishal Bharadwaj and his journey to success makes for interesting reading anyway, but the anecdote reproduced below really grabbed my attention.

‘You could say that where Bhardwaj is today is the result of a journey he began hesitantly with a script in his hands, pitching it to Shabana Azmi a few weeks after the 11 September terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center in 2001, asking the veteran actor to play the role of a witch. Azmi’s response wasn’t quite on expected lines. “Why are you doing this to yourself? If this film fails, then your career as a music director is also dead,” Bhardwaj quotes Azmi as having said at the meeting that became a turning point in his career.

If he was thrown off balance, it didn’t show.

Bhardwaj asked Azmi to imagine a man on the 90th floor of one of the towers of the World Trade Center, who has just come in to work and has switched on his laptop. He sits back and begins sipping a cup of coffee when, outside the window, he sees an aeroplane coming right at him. “Poof! It’s all over in the next second! We don’t know what’s going to happen in the next minute. We have to live our dreams as much as we can.”

Azmi agreed to act in his debut film Makdee.’

Dream On !

2. This article titled ‘Thank God for Politics’ by Shekhar Gupta in the Indian Express yesterday defended Dr. Manmohan Singh and his recent press conference. Being a big fan of the good Dr., I had to include it in this post. I really liked the way Shekhar Gupta defended Dr. Singh’s speaking style :

‘His style is like that of a professor caught in the complex detail of a problem rather than that of an expansive Atal Bihari Vajpayee. And his method and moods? I have often said that even at the best of times Dr Singh seems to come across as Rahul Dravid batting at 39 for 3. He is not given to flourishes of any kind whatsoever………………
can you deny that Dr Manmohan Singh is honest, capable, well-intentioned, wise and, most importantly, re-electable? So what if you do not exactly find him to be a rock star in front of the camera. That was never promised to you in the first place. But one thing you can be sure of. Whatever his countenance and style, like the dour but indispensable cricketer we compared him with, he is at his best at 39 for 3, which is how the scoreline looks for UPA 2 right now. You can trust him when he says he isn’t going anywhere midway through this innings, and you can also be sure his party will now cut all the clutter and confusion and work with him rather than at cross-purposes.’

3. As some of you may have figured, am a big fan of weekend newspaper reading. And I recently found out that the Hindu is now available on the same day in Mumbai. So now Sunday morning newspaper sessions can be spun out longer with the Hindu too. (Surprising that the paper has such stiff and turgid prose on a weekday but is thoroughly readable on Sundays.)

4. Watched Raell Padamsee’s production of the evergreen ‘Sound of Music’ at NCPA yesterday and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Delna Mody as Maria ably held the play together; Marianne D Cruz Aiman as Mother Superior was sensational in the song ‘Climb Every Mountain’; Dalip Tahil as Captain Von Trapp was a total surprise – he looked dapper and handsome and quite unlike the villain of so many Bollywood films of the 80s and 90s, and he sang really well too. Where have these people been hiding and why don’t we have more musicals being staged in Mumbai ?

Suggest you give this play a dekko if you liked watching the movie as a child, or if you have a young child at home.

p.s.I couldn’t find any clips from Raell Padamsee’s version of this production, but just for kicks, here’s a video of an unusual performance of Do-Re-Mi, for a commercial by Belgian brand VTM in 2009.

By,
Zen

Review of 'Dhobi Ghat'

2011-02-08T00:29:00.001-08:00

If you are an immigrant to the city and have lived in Mumbai for a while, it may bring back many memories of places visited in your early days in the city when you were enthusiastically trying to discover and lap up everything Mumbai. Watching this movie will make you want to go back and revisit some of the places again and go to those that you may have not been to as yet, to rekindle your love story with Mumbai (perhaps with camera in tow). The essence of this movie is aptly captured by Arun (played by Aamir) when he raises a toast to Mumbai calling it his muse, his whore and his beloved.
I thought some key aspects of the character of Mumbai were missed, but I suppose it can be overlooked as the director’s license, focusing on parts that make her complex tale more vivid. Apart from this, there were some inconsistencies in the characters; the relationship between the wealthy investment banker on sabbatical and the dhobi that seemed incredulous in parts (but that was the foundation of the script) and finally, the last fifteen minutes that could have been more sharply edited. Put these few flaws aside, and you have a fine directorial debut.
I liked very much the sensibility with which Kiran told her story; the gentle pace of taking the tale forward – not jarring, loud and in your face (you never felt rushed though it was a 90 minute film) and the rawness with which parts of old Mumbai were shown, including a fabulous scene during Ramzan at Mohammed Ali Road. The cinematography by Tushar Kanti Ray was superb, and theme music by Gustavo Santaolalla was haunting, (Kiran has always been a music lover, pity the album is not available for sale), and the characters pretty well etched and enacted.
About the characters; Munna (played by the talented Prateik) was well nuanced as the young dhobi with dreams of joining Bollywood. His character had a unique mix of awkwardness and ambition, evident in his interactions with Shai (Monica Dogra). As for Shai, she looked reasonably hot and befriended her dhobi with a nonchalance that honestly made me uncomfortable.
Shai’s love interest Arun, was the reclusive painter with a charming smile, spoke precious little and had an excruciatingly shy nature. Angst ridden Arun had to keep shifting house when his lease lapsed, and in one such apartment, he chanced upon some video diaries left behind by the earlier tenant that proceeded in a surprisingly real way to give renewed meaning to his life of solitude. The tapes contained diary-like narratives of a young Muslim bride Yasmin (Kriti Malhotra) that she meant to send to her brother back in U.P, as she discovered the city and her newly wed husband. Arun found happiness in this companionship and some nice moments followed as he started defining himself in relation to her, with an intimacy that he shuns from the other women in his life.
The story telling goes back and forth - covering the four characters and a silent old lady who is Arun’s neighbour (metaphor for Mumbai? ), and suddenly you find you are deeply involved with the multiple relationships woven within the backdrop of the city you love and despair at, simultaneously…
Regarding the cast- this movie converted me to an Aamir (as Arun) fan, met rather high expectations I had of Prateik, thought Monica Dogra was competent enough, but the greatest kudos must go to Kriti Malhotra in her portrayal of Yasmin. She used her eyes, smile and voice to express her story with a rare innocence and touching authenticity that stays with you after you have walked out of the theatre.
Kiran’s movie shows some of the clichés of life in Mumbai (disparity in wealth and living conditions, how both women are in search for enduring love, though their societal positions are so different) though not in a clichéd way. At the end, it is about the greatest cliché of all – dreams.
Dreams that people have in this city, few that get realized, many that don’t; and those seemingly futile ones, that one can’t stop pursuing because those maybe all that one has defined their life by.

By,
Soma.

Mindful Musical musings of 2010

2011-02-02T23:54:00.000-08:00

I had a slow start to 2010 and I used the time to make a number of resolutions – conscientiously as I do every year. Like many, I seldom keep any beyond the first weeks, but I kept one resolution in 2010, that was to enjoy my music again.
From when I can remember, I have loved listening to music…it has been my companion from my school days and then in college and thereafter. In fact when I was an obnoxious teenager I would listen to music on my walkman turning up the volume so high that I could block out what was happening outside. Music had been my peace, my escape, my love.
In the last few years, in the busi-ness of life, I had forgotten the glorious happiness that music used to give to me. It took me a number of years and a few life interventions to realize what this lost companionship had cost me.
Don’t get me wrong, it is not that during the last few years I have not been listening to music…of course I have, there are some favorites that I heard from time to time, I listened mindlessly to radio countdowns and of course the latest hindi music albums that caught my fancy either through the count downs or through flipping channels on tv. It’s just that I had stopped being mindful in listening to music.
2010 was different, hence I want to share my top music musings for the year (has nothing to do with releases in 2010), many that I will carry through with me into 2011 and perhaps longer. There were many that I had to cut down to keep to the top few but this was also the fun of writing this list – so many that I had to sacrifice when they were jostling for a top ten slot.

1. ‘Forever Young’ by Bob Dylan
Reassuring
I am surprised it took me so long to really discover Dylan and Forever Young. It is a strong contender for my song of the year. It was my chicken soup for the soul song for 2010 – listening to Dylan’s raspy voice singing (saying) “May your hands always be busy, may your feet always be swift….May you have a strong foundation, when the winds of change shift” never fails to give some old fashioned inspiration….And poetry this, “may your heart always be joyful, may your song always be sung, and may you stay forever young”…
On searching I found a book devoted to an illustrated version of this song…a perfect gift for young impressionable minds. As for me, am planning to get my hands on the Dylan documentary now to understand better the person behind the song.

2. ‘Here we go again’ by Ray Charles and Norah Jones
Unwind
What an unusual combination of folk in a duet, ‘genius loves company’ indeed. Bluesy, slow and meant for an evening when you want to switch off the lights, switch the lamp on and have a glass of cabernet for company.

3.‘Uff teri ada’ from Karthik calling Karthik.
Joi de verve
“jogi nach le...rang rach de…lehra ke balkha ke tu duniya bhulake naach”
Javed Akhtar wrote pretty lyrics for this song and Shankar Ehsaan n Loy lent stunning music. I wanted to turn up the volume and dance all night. The on screen visualization of this song also added to the feeling … My highly perceptive driver turned up the volume when this song played on radio and that’s when I realized I had been spending too much time in the company of my driver!

4 & 5, Undiscovered genres – ghazal and Hindustani vocal.
I pride myself on being someone with clear likes and dislikes and the two things in music that I was sure I didn’t like were ghazals and Hindustani vocal music.
I read somewhere that circumstances just reveal yourself to you…and my revelation was that I loved ‘Aaj jane ki zid na karo’ by Farida Khanum. You may have heard this song in the background if you have watched ‘Monsoon Wedding’, but listening to the full version is altogether something else. I heard this song, and then I heard it again, and again to realize that I had fallen in love with a ghazal! Gawd! The sheer power of Farida Khanum’s voice capturing emotion like no other and minimalist accompaniments makes for an incomparable listening experience. Later in the year, someone sang this song at a friend’s house and ironically everyone left immediately after the song was sung.

Hindustani vocal by Ustad Rashid Khan. I heard Ustad Rashid Khan by chance. I have been in awe of Ustad Amjaad Ali Khan from class XI, in spite of this I have never had the chance to listen to the man live and this year I got my chance…but to listen to him play in the second half I had to sit through a vocal performance by Ustad Rashid Khan.I was not a vocal person (have heard some greats including Pandit Bhimshen Joshi, god rest his soul.. Kishori Amonkar and Ajay Chakraborty in the past and and an opera that I fell asleep in:-) . Anyhow ). So I braced myself deciding to deal with this before the real thing…and I was astounded.
I guess what I realized in 2010 was that I can’t discount any genre of music as not my type…

6. ‘Ragas Bhairav and Charukeshi’ by Ustad Amjaad Ali Khan
Divine
Ustad Amjaad Ali Khan is in a league that few maestros reach. The first thing that struck me was how distinguished he looked live on stage, (salt and pepper hair, sharp features, smile and gentle husky voice) adding to his 6th generation Bangash lineage. As he played ragas Bhairav and Charukeshi , the magic he made with the sarod elevated the musical experience to near divinity . If there is sadhana in music, it was this. Coupled with Ustad Rashid Khan’s performance in the first half; this made it my most outstanding concert of 2010.

7. ‘Goldberg Variations’ by J.S. Bach. played by Simone Dinnerstein.
Sublime
He is the greatest of them all, yet in the past years I have spent many more hours listening to Mozart, Tchaikovsky and Beethoven. In 2010 I started to comprehend the matchless combination of musical engineering and profound expressivity that Bach possesses. Whenever I listen to this CD, I feel uplifted and ready to start on all my projects! I hear that ‘Godel, Escher, Bach’ is a fascinating book that explores the similarities between the works of the logician, artist and structured composer.

8. ‘Ale’ from Golmaal 3 – music by Pritam and sung by Neeraj Shridhar and Antara Mitra.
Anthem
This, I like to call my anthem for 2010. The most non serious song in my list and perhaps the most surprising entrant on my list, what I found endearing about this song to me was the lyrics that kept me company in some nights I had to spend traveling, transiting and stranded in various airports and locations in December on a NYC – Mumbai (flight) journey that lasted 6 days
“Duniya ki baatein waatein chhod ke, Gummo ki baahon ko marod ke
Khushi khadi hai jis mod pe, We got to go that way, we got to go that way”
If only I figured how to live this more often – ok am trying.

9. ‘Saajnaa’ sung by Mika and Chinmayi, from the movie Lamhaa
Deeper than love
The song of 2011 for me. Lyrics by Sayeed Quadri, music by Mithoon and sung soulfully by Mika and Chinmayi in the most beautiful way possible. Melancholy and optimism (is it only me who finds optimism in this song) fill every note at the same time …It’s not fair to pick any particular lines, they are all so lovely, but if I must, I pick “Haan tera saaya toh main hoon, par sang tere naa reh sakoon, haan is safar me toh main hoon, par sang tere naa ruk sakoon….. ”. It’s a song that someone described as ‘an excellent song’ and it is! This song gives me goose bumps each time I hear it.

10. Finally, a song by Tagore
Wisdom
The lyrics go ,“Tomay natun kore pabo bole, harai bare bare (2)
Oh amar bhalobashar dhan”

and in English
“In order to discover you (experience you) in a new way, I keep losing you again and again, my love.”
It is said that Tagore’s songs can be interpreted to be sung to God, or to your love …upon reflection, my hiatus with music (love) enabled me to discover and experience music in a new, more mindful way again. And perhaps discover a bit of myself in the process as well.

By
Soma

(1 ‘Mindfulness’, a concept found often in the context of Buddhism and in the domain of meditation , refers to being completely in touch with and aware of the present moment, as well as taking a non-evaluative and non-judgmental approach to your inner experience)

Stay for the Jokes !

2011-01-26T00:09:00.000-08:00

It is the monsoon and through some momentary impetuousness I have made the brave decision to get out to break the Sunday fast. Not having the courage to drive myself in the deluge that is Bombay during these months, I decide to cab it. The daughter and I bundle ourselves and our dripping umbrellas into a rickety black-and-yellow, much past its youth, and I wonder whether it has learned how to swim. The cabbie is incongruously cheerful and the prattle pours out from him quite in tune with the pattering on his roof. He rolls the passenger window down to turn the meter to 'start' and puts pedal to the floor. Not that the effect can be perceived, mind you - back when this car was built, Rajesh Khanna was the new kid on the Bollywood block, and 30 kmph made you dizzy. So let's just say that we are away at speeds moderately higher than a brisk walk. We are about to venture climbing up the flyover that will take us to Matunga and delicious vada sambhar when an SUV, horn blazing, flies past us. I hear the full Doppler effect as the monster car comes from afar, catches up, and soon goes past. Right at the point of going past though, it steps right into a large puddle of rainwater. Before I could scream in surprise at the effect, the water is being sprayed - through the still open passenger side window, and all over my 'casual but chic' sunday clothes. I am drenched in stinking rain water from a puddle. And as I start yelling at the SUV, I realize it is a government vehicle, as I read the inscription on its back - Jan Kalyan Vahini - Namaste. (Public Good Vehicle - greetings!).

You are never too far from a good laugh here in India. Most of it is at the expense of unintentional comedians roaming our streets every day.

Just this other day, I am at an airport with a senior banker who has kindly offered to take me to the lounge based on his gold card, or some such. I am happy for the partial quiet and peace the lounge offers, so take him up on it pronto. My benefactor, after making sure I am comfortably 'lounging' away, makes a beeline to the coffee machine. He looks bemused at the many options on the machine and finally, decisively presses 'cappuccino'. The machine sputters for a few moments, pours out the drink and is done. My benefactor looks at his cup, grunts, and starts scanning around for an attendant. "What is this" he scolds the confused employee - "is this all you give in the name of a coffee? Why don't you guys get your machine fixed?" - And promptly sends the man looking for 'some real coffee'.

My favorite laughs are on signboards. Take the library I went to the other day, for instance. This is one of those places that rents out books 'two at a time for two weeks'. The books look like they were printed the weekend after Gutenberg got done with his thing. A musty smell is everywhere, and the odd yellowing page is fluttering away in the dead breeze of the fan. A borrower, probably not a regular, is looking at the section on 'English literature and poetry'. He doesn't look the type, so the snob in me is instantly on guard. Aha, I tell myself, unintentional comedy alert! Our friend looks at Tolstoy, Dickens and Faulkner, and finally decides on a James Hadley Chase. Funny enough, but the setup has more potential. So wait for it, I tell myself. 'Bhai sahab ...' he begins loudly as he addresses the librarian. 'Yeh kitaab kitne ...'. 'Shhhh!' goes the librarian, rolling his eyes at the uncouth customers he has to deal with. 'Shhhhh!', and points to a board hanging on one of the bookshelves. 'PLEASE MAKE SILENCE'. Ka-Chinnnnggggg!

Then there are signs that truly intend to be funny. But somehow their writers seem to have gone just a little offbeat with their message. Take this one for instance. Driving down Bandra, my favorite Bombay suburb, the other day, I notice a firm that is engaged in the unfortunate but quite necessary services of post mortem arrangements. 'XYZ', the board proudly proclaims, and for those who were fortunate enough not to have had a past acquaintance with them, it boldly states what it offers - 'FUNEREAL SERVICES!' (Yes, no typo there. And the exclamation mark is decidedly not mine.) Now, the owner probably bought too large a board, and saw that there was still a lot of space that he could fill out. Why waste good real estate, I say. Let us just convert these into advertisement billboards for our funny slogans. But how can you write a funny slogan to attract people to a 'funereal' services company, you ask. See, that is why you weren't hired for this job. Here is how - "GRAVE PROBLEMS - NOW RESURRECTED!"

I was at a furniture shop yesterday. We looked at some piece, the guy gave us a price, we ignored him, gave him a completely made-up price from the top of our head, and told him about three other competitors who were ready to give us the product for said made-up price. He is more than happy to jump into the conversation, and gives us five reasons why this product is just not comparable to anything else on the market. "That teak is only for termites sir! This here is top quality material. I made it myself, with my own hands." We go good-naturedly back and forth for a half hour before it is time for us to leave. "I will let you know" says my wife to him, as she gathers her stuff. We are on our way out when I notice this gem right behind the"own hands" guy - "Customer is a KING" the sign grandly, if somewhat ungrammatically, states. "And a KING never bargains!"

Incredible !ndia - Come for the casket, stay for the jokes.

By,
J
(J blogs at http://brickandrope.blogspot.com)

Catching up with an old friend - reply

2011-01-22T02:34:00.000-08:00

I like the untidiness
The newspapers look well read,
The books lying where I saw them last
Maybe the familiarity makes me feel comfortable
I’m growing old you know

Remember, I’m a coffee drinker
Though I rather like the tea you make
Or the fact that you make it with the mint leaves
Can you make it black?
I’ve given up milk these days – it’s an experiment…
(In exactly what I’m not sure anymore)

Let me share with you my favorite songs
Many from the past, they will come back to you,
Some are new,
I will let the lyrics do the talking
To tell you how the time has been since we last met
Where life has made me go and made of me
Might do better than the words I will speak…

Tell me , how it has been
I want to know a little more about your story
Before I leave, who knows when
We will have this afternoon to share again
The two of us with this cup of mint tea,
In this sunlit untidy living room of yours.

By,
Soma

Catching up with an old friend

2011-01-14T08:22:00.000-08:00

Welcome in,
Ignore the untidiness -
I haven’t changed much, you see.

Make space
Toss newspapers aside -
Always room for you here, somewhere.

Do you like tea ?
Or filter coffee ?
Some memories have faded with time, and age.

Listen to music
And slowly unwind,
Let’s not catch up with each other’s lives, not yet.

A remark
Or two, stray details,
Meandering conversation, so content.

By,
Zen

Requiem

2011-01-11T02:38:00.000-08:00

Read this article by Salman Taseer's daughter yesterday. Thought it worth sharing.

Regards,
Zenobia

Review of ‘The King’s Speech’

2011-01-10T00:13:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, on a snowy and confusing day, I watched ‘The King’s Speech’. It did me a lot of good.

Directed by Tom Hooper and having Colin Firth cast as George VI, it is a personal story of the current Queen Elizabeth’s father. Actually, one aspect of her father, his speech challenge and how he finally overcomes it with the assistance of his wife - played by Helena Bonham Carter, who helps him to find a speech therapist.

As an aside, the movie reminded me of- in the most obvious way, ‘The Queen’ which was enacted superbly by Helen Mirren. Anyhow, that is quite another topic.

Getting back to ‘The King’s Speech’, let’s get the story out of the way. The film starts with a scene where The Duke has been asked to give a speech on behalf of his father - he is standing in front of a large congregation of people and unable to even start. Tears well up in his wife’s eyes and that is the end of this scene, it effectively tells you what ‘the conflict’ in the story is going to be all about.

The broad framework of the story is about King George V who wants one of his sons to take over the throne; the younger brother, Duke of York (Bertie) is the preferred option, but has a stammer and this comes in the way of making a speech – which is the key form of communication with the people. From his childhood he has had the stammer and his father and brother have always made fun of this. Now he is sure he cannot change, more so when his father is pressuring him; even though his wife – a confident and pushy Elizabeth (enacted with panache by Helena Bonham Carter) - keeps fixing appointments with a multitude of therapists whom she seeks out from time to time. One even makes him do crazy things like putting marbles in his mouth and read, needless to say nothing works.

Nothing seems to work, that is, until she finds this therapist from Australia named Lionel Logue (played by Geoffrey Rush) and convinces her husband to meet with him. He is someone who works on his own terms in his own office on his own principles with his very own methods. He refuses to bend the rules even for the Duke of York (which is what Colin Firth is for most part of the film). Geoffrey Rush has his own value system including keeping the confidence that the Duke is his patient from everyone, including his own wife.

When teacher and student meet there is initially a clash of words, the Duke not being treated in the way he is used to, Logue not agreeing to bend his rules. A number of witty and humorous exchanges follow (the dialogues are very English as is the wit!) and finally the Duke stomps out, irritated and giving up yet again. Only this time he has been given an LP that recorded him reading from a book while having on headphones playing loud western classical music.

Obviously this record appears subsequently when the Duke is having a frustrating quiet moment to himself, and he is astounded to hear himself speak almost without a single stammer or pause that usually intersperse his speeches.

This takes him back after some deliberations and days, to train with Dr. L. This now forms the most interesting part of the movie – as L systematically treats him in a holistic manner, peeling the layers off to find the story behind the stammer. Most problems in life that are treated turn out to be only symptoms till someone peels the layers off and finds what lies within. I learned for example that no child is ever born with a stammer, it develops sometime in childhood and is usually linked - as in this case too – with certain other life issues.

Over time, Dr. L and Bertie realise that from being therapist and student, they are becoming friends. However, sometime later, they have a bitter debate that ends with Bertie marching out of L’s life saying this is treason. Meanwhile, events in the land have moved on. After King George V’s death, David becomes King and then has to abdicate as he must marry his twice divorced American love; he makes a speech to that effect relinquishing the throne to his younger brother Bertie, who chooses to be called King George VI to maintain continuity with his father’s times. You can then see Bertie getting overwhelmed with the responsibilities and state of things as they are, in a moment of weakness he is even seen to break down crying in front of his wife one day. Quite a thing for the English royalty I say!

It takes a while for the new King and L to find each other and apologize (both do) and then all is well. It is 1939, Bertie must now deliver a speech about going to war and inspire patriotism and unity amongst people …and now comes the crux of the movie. This speech is to be on live radio with no scope of editing or cutting. And all L’s training sessions will be now put to the test. The King is awfully nervous and in the last one hour whilst rehearsing with L in the room, he just can’t seem to get it right, his stammer comes in the way and he needs all the help.

To me the essence of the film and the relationship they share (that far exceeds therapist and student) happens in the dialogue moments before the King is to deliver his important speech. L says “Have faith in your own voice and know that a friend is listening”.

It is a feel good essence, takes you back to a space you once knew where people cared beyond the surface level to go within and understand the core, where people had a knowledge beyond the superficial, where they applied common sense and not text book medical theory and most of all when people had the time, will and ability to be good people.

And this is the moment that might bring a tear to the corner of your eye as it did to mine…isn’t that what we all crave, when we feel a little rocked, a little confused, someone who can remind us to have faith in our own voice and the reassurance that a friend is listening.

Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush have chemistry that on screen romantic couples can seldom boast of, Helena Bonham Carter does a fine job too. The dialogues are well written, the direction obviously great. This movie has a soul that makes you feel warm on a cold evening.

Watch it – for the outstanding performances, well written dialogues and for friendship’s sake.

By Soma

Windy Days - Panchgani Trip, Part 2

2010-10-09T04:09:00.000-07:00

Panchgani’s claim to fame and the spot-to-visit for most visitors is a geographic feature called ‘table-top’ by the locals. It’s a hilly plateau – you can see from the photograph (taken from a point halfway up the hill) that it looks almost as if a gigantic hand had lopped off the peaks of a whole range of hills. One end of table-top is accessible by road and most visitors drive up.

We walked up by road and it was not too long either – we walked through the crowded market, past the Sahakari bank, an abandoned house and St. John’s church.

The Sahakari Bank is quite an unassuming building, the compound wall has a small official-looking board with the name of the bank, and above it and to the left, a wind-vane anchoring a line of laundry drying in the wind, ‘nothing official about it!’, as the tag-line goes; I suppose someone from the staff must be staying on the first floor and utilising the wind-vane as a convenient clothes-horse.

As we continued ambling down the road, we turned left, left the crowded market behind and noticed a picturesque abandoned house, the decay evident in the rags on the roof and the windows without panes in sharp contrast to the lush greenery right outside. We also passed an old bungalow with a moss-covered ancient red brick chimney and a shiny Tata Sky dish poking out of the roof; an increasingly common juxtaposition in small towns.

Further down the road, St. John’s church had stained glass windows, but a strict watchman shooed away visitors and disallowed photography, I don’t think anyone other than the Lord knew his motives.

However, when approached from this end, Table-top itself was mucky, crowded and uninspiring. Tongawallahs clustered around asking if we wanted a tonga ride, there were stalls selling food, and stalls with the usual fairground games such as air-rifle shooting, throwing a ring etc. It is only after we walked past the clutter of stalls and people that the actual vista of table-top opened up - a stretch of thick grass-carpeted land a few km long, offering nice views of Panchgani town, the surrounding hills, the river below etc.

We also discovered an alternate route to Table-top that is only used by the locals. It’s a 10 minute clamber up the side of the hill. Early one morning, fortified with hot tea and biscuits, three of us climbed up. Though the local who told us about the short-cut warned us about the wind on top, we underestimated it. At the end of the path was a small waterfall that welcomed us to table-top with a nice visual, the strong wind makes some of the spray flip backwards over the top of the hill instead of falling straight down. As it is the highest point in the area, the wind here is quite strong and actually buffets you as you walk, to the extent that it is dangerous to venture too close to the edge and a railing has been installed. The wind was so strong that when R took out her harmonica, some notes could be heard from it if she just held it out, she didn’t even need to play it !

Large ponds had formed in depressions in the undulating ground due to heavy rain, these were interspersed with patches of grass with small white flowers. There were small blue birds with bright white underparts and a chestnut head that kept swooping over and around us – I later found out that these were wire-tailed swallows. Against a background of green grass and grey mist, their intense blue-and – white colouring and flitting around added some liveliness. The weather, the expanse of green and the barn swallows reminded us of the English moors as described in Enid Blyton’s books.

The best experience, of course, was to be on table-top as the mist and clouds rolled in additional to announce heavy rain. On a normal day, mists swirl in and out, but the entire army of clouds advancing towards you and the advance guard of the swirling mist is something that can actually arouse a slight feeling of dread. The clouds are dark, dense and ponderous; they seem to be at eye-level or just a bit above, and since this is the highest point in the area, there is nothing but miles of sky all around and much of it rushing towards you, almost like a tsunami of cloud. You’re transfixed and your feet are rooted to the ground with a mixture of wonder and terror, and an awareness of one’s own powerlessness when compared with nature.

An Eye for Interesting Stuff

2010-09-24T07:15:00.000-07:00

At the outset, let me admit that I am an Indian Express loyalist and have been one for years. Amongst the English language newspapers, they are one of the few that have resisted the temptation of transforming into a blingy-n-bright tabloid, and actually deliver a daily dose of credible news. They still stick to their superior investigative journalism, and occasionally re-open a decades old cover-up that all other newspapers seem to have forgotten about. To add to this, they have a local news and cultural events section that reports happenings other than page 3 parties. I think all this more than makes up for the occasional grammatical error and the poor print quality that sometimes leaves me with grey smudges on my fingers.

Last weekend, the Express gave me yet another reason to remain loyal – they expanded the Sunday supplement, the ‘Eye’, into a magazine. And a magazine that is perfect for a Sunday morning read –a well-balanced eclectic mix of topics, something that you won’t just skim through in a hurry to get to more interesting parts of your day, but will want to savour fully as you read from beginning to end of each article.

Consider last weekend’s articles. There were a few unusual travel write-ups, one where Bharath Moro tracked small bars in small towns from Koraput to Firozpur to Managuru (where the hell is that ?!!); another about two young American Muslims that travelled across America during Ramzan and break their roza every evening in a different mosque in a different city, another by Venita Coelho – a local’s look at the madness that is the tourist season in Goa. There were also a few articles on technology, a few on different industries, and then some current events / general knowledge stuff, politics - an interview of L.K.Advani (though his vintage is not exactly ‘current’), and economics - a blow-by-blow behind-the-scenes account of how India avoided a crisis in 2008, the key players, their actions and reactions. Also a very interesting article on the Salvis, one of the last families keeping alive the art of weaving Patan Patola saris .

A great read with a hot cup of tea / coffee by your side. Buy the Indian Express folks, at least every Sunday.

By,
Zen

R's Reality Check Moment

2010-09-17T00:33:00.000-07:00

Here's the link to the post I had written a few weeks ago.

This is what a lady from Madhubani told R recently :
"After a lot of effort things have changed for the better. Now no children below the age of 6 are being married off in our area."

As the title of the original post said, 'The Times they are a-changing, but not fast enough'.

A 'Dabangg' Review

2010-09-11T09:07:00.000-07:00

Watched ‘Dabangg’ in a late-night show a raucous sell-out crowd. Salman has reinvented himself as Rajni, going by the nature of the movie, the mannerisms with sunglasses, the humanly impossible action scenes and the wild adulation he receives from the audience. I haven’t heard so much hooting, clapping and whistling from a multiplex crowd ever. The movie is full of senseless violence, but keeps a light undertone throughout. For a change, Salman doesn’t ham and contort his face when doing humourous scenes. Dimple in a role as Salman’s Mum does a notable job. Sonakshi and Sonu Sood are pretty decent too. All in all, paisa vasool stuff especially if you are a Salman fan.

By,
Sachin

Panchgani trip - 1

2010-09-05T20:59:00.001-07:00

A bunch of us set off for Panchgani one rain-drenched morning a few weeks ago. The five hour drive from Bombay, though a bit long, was not tedious at all – the view provided sufficient distraction, and there were friends and a music system for further amusement. It was the kind of journey that made one want to break out into ‘suhaanaa safar aur yeh mausam haseen’ (assuming one was one of the same vintage as yours truly, of course); intermittent downpours caused by the heavy grey monsoon clouds thudding across the sky, hills nearby covered with a canopy of green, hills in the distance wearing wreaths of vapour on their crowns.

We had been lucky enough to get rooms at a highly recommended place called ‘Il Palazzo’, fewer people must travel to Panchgani during the monsoon season. We caused some consternation in the kitchen when we arrived – I had omitted to mention that two of our group were vegetarians, the lunch that the hotel had prepared had mostly non-veg items. They quickly managed to rustle up enough for a meal for two vegetarians though. (Note : For non-vegetarians, meals here are like being transported to paradise –mutton, chicken and fish – all in one meal and all delicious. The amount you hog makes you feel quite guilty, though not guilty enough to skip dessert.) Lunch was served in a small porch-like area just outside our rooms, which gave us the satisfaction of looking out at the tall trees in the garden swaying in the rain and added an exciting picnic – like feeling to the meal. Like pythons that need to rest after a heavy meal, we all collapsed into bed after lunch, only to emerge in the evening at the sound of the tinkle of tea-things being laid for those in neighbouring rooms.

After tea, two of us set out for a small stroll. We stayed off the main road and walked along small streets set with cute cottages. We passed a charming and modest temple, all white with a reddish-orange border like a Bengali sari. We meandered up and down roads at random, seeing where they lead to. By the time we decided to return, it had darkened a bit and we could see a fine mist descending down the hill onto the road. A breeze that had simultaneously sprung up in the opposite direction seemed to push the mist back. The long white fingers of the mist retreated, regrouped and then rushed downhill again. Fascinated, we watched the wind and the mist sparring to establish dominion over this part of the road. The mist was victorious eventually and we decided to hurry back to our hotel before it got dark.

Around this time, we heard the evening call of a masjid, the silence it made its way through and the deep baritone of the person calling to the faithful in an unhurried rhythmic cadence made it a very peaceful sound, one we hadn’t heard in a long time in the din of the metropolis we live in.

As it got darker, the walk was loaded with the faintly-remembered atmosphere of hill-stations visited during childhood. Trees loomed over us on both sides of the road, not fully visible due to the mist, just a darker shadow against the grey misty night; street-lamps were a circle of yellow light diffusing through the halo of fog around them; the light filtering out through chinks in window-curtains all but reminding us to scurry home quickly lest we get lost and Mummy is unable to find us ever again.

The walk reassured us that the decision to come to Panchgani had not been wrong and this was a great place for a short weekend away from Mumbai – easily accessible, yet not too crowded, and really green, with just the right amount of activity for a peaceful indulgent escape. We resolved to fully explore the place the next day.

By,
Zen

The Taxman Cometh !

2010-09-04T01:53:00.000-07:00

Read this in Bill Bryson's 'The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid' recently :

In Washington, DC, gunman John A. Kendrick testified that he was offered $ 2,500 to murder Michael Lee, but declined the job because 'when I got done paying taxes out of that, what would I have left?'
- Time Magazine, 7 January 1953

parappapaaraa I'm Lovin' it !
- Zen

The Times They Are a-chaging - Part 2

2010-08-31T06:55:00.000-07:00

Wanted to introduce Ro's blog here, specifically her Rakshabandhan post. Relevant paragraphs of her post reproduced below for those that are too lazy to visit her blog themselves :

Yesterday was Rakshabandhan. The festival is all about brothers and sisters, so this was the first year that Ayaan could legitimately participate, having a baby sister and all.

All these years, I have never thought twice about the way the festival is traditionally celebrated - the sisters tie rakhis on their brothers, the brothers vow to protect the sisters and the sisters in turn pray for the well-being of their brothers. I simply followed the ritual and tied rakhis on all my brothers and cousin brothers.

But having my own daughter made me stop and think about the inherent chauvinism in the whole process and how that somehow made the whole festival something of an anachronism. In the days in which the festival of Rakshabandhan came to be, women were truly the weaker sex and therefore the presence and protection of the male members of their families (fathers, brothers and husbands) was not something that could be taken lightly.

But centuries on, much has changed, especially in the socio-economic strata that my children and I inhabit. I find it hard to imagine that Tarana will be the weaker sibling, in dire need of her brother's protection. I think they will both go through challenging times and I hope they will retain the love in their hearts that will help to provide help, support, encouragement, protection or whatever else is the need of the hour to each other.

So like many of my friends and acquaintances, I have decided to tweak and update the ritual to make it more contemporary. In our house, rakhi will be about celebrating the sibling bond and both Ayaan and Tarana will tie a rakhi on each other, with everything else that that entails.

Three cheers for Ro ! and Equality !
:-)
Zen

The Times they are a-changing – but not fast enough

2010-08-28T06:29:00.000-07:00

Part of the title of this post is explained by the two real-life episodes described below:

First there’s R bai, a feisty lady that works as a maid in Mumbai. This lady’s daughter is getting married soon; to a man she fell in love with. R bai says that she doesn’t really care which rituals are conducted during the marriage ceremony, she doesn’t even care whether the couple undergoes the saat pheras or not, what she is insisting on is that the marriage be registered in court. She feels that rituals do not put any pressure on the guy to actually take care of her precious daughter; and that the lack of a document that can stand up in court implies that they have no recourse to legal action if he ever deserts her or ill-treats her. Three cheers for R bai for thinking of legal action against an errant son-in-law and not echoing the ‘beti shaadi ke baad paraayi hoti hai’ sentiment!

Another heartening story is one of a kabaadiwaala in Delhi, let’s call him K. For some time, when illiterate K goes house-to-house buying old newspapers and magazines for reselling, he has been requesting housewives on his paper-route to point out to him articles about travel and give those magazines to him free. Why ? Because his daughter was attending classes for some travel – and – tourism related training and needed material for her assignments and project submissions. Apparently, K had decided years ago that he would educate both his children, not just the son as many of his friends did; he was determined to ensure that his daughter would be able to stand on her own two feet and never be forced to stay trapped in an unhappy or abusive marriage due to being financially dependent on her husband.

Earlier this year, K’s ambitions were fulfilled, his daughter completed her course and got a government job.

Kudos to this kabaadiwaala for having the guts and the vision for seeing a different future for his daughter, and for having the determination to make it happen, it couldn’t have been an easy journey. And, of course, hats off to the young lady for the hard work she must have put in to get this far.

And just when I begin to exult in how much the status of women in this country has improved, I read stories like the one below in the newspaper :

Mumbai : A 28-year-old housewife has filed a case against her in-laws and neighbours for allegedly stripping and molesting her a fortnight ago. Byculla police said the incident happened on August 17. Senior Inspector Tukaram Godge said the complainant, a resident of Sankalp Siddhi chawl in Byculla, was reportedly beaten up by her mother-in-law for breaking a kitchen utensil. “The women in the neighbourhood allegedly tore her clothes and stripped her while men molested her.”

Desh Mera !

By,
Zen

Atmosphere

2010-08-20T22:09:00.001-07:00

I like watching old Hindi movies of the Basu Bhattacharjee or Hrishikesh Mukherjee variety – think ‘Baaton Baaton Mein’, ‘Chhotisi Baat’, ‘Chupke Chupke’,‘Chashme Buddoor’, ‘Golmaal’ etc, often featuring actors such as Uptal Dutt, Om Prakash, Farooque Shaikh, Deepti Naval, Amol Palekar. Movies shot through with warmth, gentle humour and good music; the love story at the centre mellow, not melodramatic.

When I watch these at home in Mumbai, I sometimes find my enjoyment disrupted by a sense of impatience at the slow pace at which events unfold in these movies; a fall-out of the frenetic pace of the work-week in Mumbai, the urge to get things done quickly carries over into the weekend.

Recently I spent a few lazy days with friends at Panchgani, a hill station a few hours away from Mumbai. We went for walks, looked at the rain pouring down from the safety of the porch, admired tall trees in the garden, read books, chatted and basically indulged in aimless meandering activity. Even time spent carefully watching leaves fall in the wind seemed worthwhile, noting how larger leaves turn and spin multiple times in the eddies of wind on their way down, much like boats caught in a whirlpool must spin, I imagine.

One friend had brought along her small music-system. After breakfast and lunch, while others dozed away the heavy meals, we sat out on the porch and listened to music. Listening to ‘raindrops keep falling on my head’ while you’re watching the rain and listening to the wind ruffle leaves on the trees adds so much to the enjoyment of the song; ditto for ‘tiluk kumod’ with the background accompaniment of heavy rain. Or the Byrds singing ‘turn turn turn’ – a song about the cycle of the seasons makes so much sense and strikes a really true note when you’re amid tall trees that have seen many seasons change and weathered it all majestically.

I realised how much the atmosphere had seeped into me when I watched ‘Dulhan wahi jo piya man bhaaye’ for a bit on TV. The pace seemed just right, none of the dialogues seemed too verbose, though some of the emotions expressed were undeniably old-fashioned. Part of the reason might have been that at points in the movie where my attention flagged, the sounds I heard were not busy city sounds – traffic, hawkers, bhangaarwalas crying ‘papaarr’ – that reminded me of my task-list and time flying by, but unchanging unvarying sounds like the wind, rain, crickets chirping, etc, that had been and would continue to be around for millennia.

(Note : ‘Atmosphere’ does not seem to seep into guys thick skulls as much – they watched an action movie called ‘Kick-Ass’ at Panchgani and then 'Remember the Titans'.)

By,
Zen

Navroz Mubarak

2010-08-18T21:45:00.000-07:00

To All our Parsi clan,
who carry eccentricity with elan;
Enjoy the New Year with chicken legs,
Parsi pegs,
good cheer,
a glass of beer,
majha masti
and tandarosti.

Happy New Year Everyone !

(p.s. the verse above is not original, but copied from an sms. - Zen)

Holidays. And Books.

2010-08-08T23:26:00.000-07:00

A holiday without books – sacrilege ! Part of the excitement of packing for a holiday lies in calling ahead and finding out which books are available at the relative or friend’s house or hotel you are going to stay at, then selecting which books to carry with yourself, factoring in how much free time you will have, what sort of mood you will be in, maybe even where you will sit and read – in a hammock, in an easy chair, curled up near the fireplace, on a bench with a view of the hills and trees etc.

At least one book that I read during a vacation (apart from a guidebook) matches the place that I am travelling to; the atmosphere of the place helps me get so much more involved in the events in the book. I like to carry a book about mountains or mountaineering when in the hills; for instance, ‘Into Thin Air’ by Jon Krakauer (though not advisable while on a high-altitude trek, it’s about a climbing tragedy on Mount Everest), or ‘Nandadevi’ by Bill Aitken or ‘Silk Road on Wheels’ by Akhil Bakshi. When trekking through forests, I revisit chapters about Mirkwood or about the Ents from the ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy. If visiting Buddhist monasteries in Sikkim, Ladakh etc, a book on Buddhism does very well – the autobiography of the Dalai Lama, something by Pico Iyer etc.

It’s always nice to have one thriller or suspense novel at hand too – an Agatha Christie, a Perry Mason. And a light, humourous novel in case the murder mystery gets too scary – P.G.Wodehouse and Terry Pratchett are old favourites; some fibre for the brain to chew on – Amitava Ghosh maybe, nothing too heavy though, no Kafka, no tome on microeconomics, not for me. A collection of poems by various poets is also nice to dip into every now and then.

For one person to lug so many books around is a bit much, even after combining categories by selecting an author such as Bill Bryson (travel writing and humour). Hence I have learnt that choosing travel companions with care is very important. Choose them not for the quality of their conversation, or their enthusiasm levels, or good humour when faced with a ticketing ba**s-up, or the grace with which they lose to you at taboo/scrabble/pictionary etc; choose travel companions for the books they read and you cannot but enjoy the vacation.

By,
Zen

Review of 'I Hate Luv Storys'

2010-07-05T06:53:00.000-07:00

With many reviews panning it mercilessly, I thought this above-average-and-entertaining movie deserved some support. It makes for quite an agreeable watch, and has much in its favour.

One, I like the name of the movie, and the chorus on the title track is peppy and catchy.

Two, the hero looks really good; Imran, stay with the stubble and the muscles.

Three, it is very amusing if you have watched several films of the Karan Johar or Aditya Chopra variety before. What makes this one fun is that this movie is a Karan Johar production skewering earlier Karan Johar movies, sending up everything from ‘DDLJ’ to ‘Kuchh Kuchh Hota Hai’ to ‘Kal Ho Na Ho’. My friend and I collapsed into giggles everytime we spotted a famous scene from a hit SRK movie parodied, or when an actor strutting about in a song with the sweater casually flung around his neck leaned back a bit and flung his arms out in an oh-so-famous pose. At apt moments in the movie, we could hear the soundtrack from one of the mushy movies in the background and the effect was hilarious, underscoring some romantic-and-ridiculous phillumi circumstance or happening.

The basic plot is simple, hackneyed really; as the hero’s best friend expresses it during the movie - Simran falls in love with Jai, Jai rejects her, then Jai falls in love with Simran and Simran rejects him. In order to drag this out for two hours, the two character’s attitudes towards love are poles apart; Simran is the romantic who views the world and her place in it through rose-tinted spectacles, Soppy Simran inhabits a world of pink teddy bears, proudly carries the white flower that her boyfriend gives her everyday to work, and smiles sweetly at big red hearts with shiny red confetti on them. Jai is the cool and cynical guy who pooh-poohs romance, prefers short-lived liaisons, and barfs at romantic scenes in the movies he works on (oh yes ! both work for a Bollywood production house).

One interesting scene has the director of romantic films, Vir, getting exasperated with the cynical Jai and explaining that even he realises that the romances he creates are rubbish, but dammit, doesn’t the audience just love ‘em ! (Yes, Karan, we heard you address your detractors loud and clear.)

Unfortunately the romance between the lead pair in this movie is slightly thanda, but I was too busy ogling at Imran Khan to mind. The second half, when Imran undergoes a change of heart and gets all soppy is not as much fun as the first, except for portions where earlier romantic films are parodied. Imran’s acting was patchy towards the end - the worst scene of the movie was undoubtedly Imran’s phone call to his Mum.

Basically, think of this movie like candyfloss, if you want either a healthy meal or the masala of a dum biriyani, you’re going to find it disappointing; nevertheless it is attractive and tasty if you’re in the mood for it.

By,
Zenobia

The Random Self Help Book – The Basic Difference Between People (3)

2010-06-30T06:18:00.000-07:00

These guys at The Oatmeal are so much better than my efforts at this (see here and here). Almost make me feel like giving up blogging.

Almost, but not quite.

:-)
Zen.

Quote

2010-06-22T23:26:00.000-07:00

Read the quote below in a book called 'Known Turf' by Annie Zaidi; will post a book review in a few days, for now, am reproducing the quote :

'Whoever the homeland may belong to, it is not merely a piece of geography. It is also not just history. Nor is it the rivers of the region, or the mountains. It is all those things that keep getting absorbed in your very being whether you want it or not.
- Krishna Sobti (writing about the creative process in 'Muse India)'

The Monsoon is Here

2010-06-15T22:41:00.000-07:00

After tip-toeing meekly into Mumbai a few days ago, the Monsoon announced its arrival in its inimitable style with a furious downpour this morning. Strong winds, heavy rain, overcast sky, grey sea, water slapping the sea-front and throwing spray right over, water on the roads, cabs stalling, traffic jams, umbrellas turning inside out, wet clothes, colds, coughs, sniffles – Monsoon Mayhem 2010 begins now folks !

Notwithstanding the dirt, grime, delays and sundry inconveniences, there are those who love the Monsoon, this post is for them, a Hurrah to the start of the rainy season. Grab a cup of hot coffee or tea, biscuits to dip (or hot pakodas / samosas if you are lucky), put on headphones, stare earnestly at a word doc/ excel file /ppt and play these songs at full volume in the background.

This song first - to welcome in the monsoon, ‘Consider Yourself’ from the movie ‘Oliver Twist’. While it’s not a song about the rain, it does welcome someone with the lines below :
Consider Yourself....at home
Consider yourself.....One of the family
I’ve taken to you
So strong
It’ clear
We’re
Going to get along

And then this classic, ‘Singing in the rain’ from the movie ‘ Singing in the Rain’ starring Gene Kelly. And if you need to wake yourself up, here’s ‘Good Morning’ a perky song from the same movie.

Incidentally, has anyone noticed how the ‘beauty X brains = constant’ equation can be modified to ‘beauty X (sum of all talents) = constant’, and then it holds in every kind of situation. For instance, the best dancers such as Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire aren’t anywhere near as good-looking as Cary Grant or Gregory Peck, who aren’t really known for their dancing skills.

Just have to listen to ‘Raindrops keep falling on my head’ this morning.

This one is not really a song about the rain, but deserves to be listed as it one of Bollywood’s most famous songs sung in the rain – ‘Pyar hua Ikraar hua’ from ‘Shri 420’

‘Dekho zara dekho barsaat ki jhadi’ – a really cute song from ‘Yeh Dillagi, features the effervescent Kajol and Akshay Kumar

And to end with, a funky lively song in Marathi, ‘Dhaga la Lagli Kala’, warning – if you understand Marathi, you might not want to listen to this as it has some improper connotations. I don’t understand sufficient Marathi to get the double entendres and hence totally enjoy the song – yet more proof of the fact that ignorance is bliss !

From Anita – My absolute favourite rain song is this relatively unknown number that goes 'Sawan barse tarse dil' from ‘Dahek’. The song also has nice visuals of a rain drenched city and a happy Sonali Bendre skipping all over the place.Thanks for the contribution, Anita, had forgotten all about this song.

By,
Zen

The Random Self-Help Book: ‘Experience Says’

2010-06-12T23:41:00.000-07:00

Zen wisdom for getting on in the corporate world :

1) ‘Check the source of the coo,
Before you end up handling loads of poo’
(Pigeons’ cooing sound nice from a distance, but let them get in, they poo on the floor and you have to clean it up)

2) Check the harness and the ropes before you rapell down a cliff

3) Better to check if you left the gas on before you are kilometers away

4) From ‘Making Money’ by Terry Pratchett :
“....Oh yes, mystic stuff doesn’t hurt, people’ll believe in any damn thing if it sounds old and mysterious. Doth not a penny to a widow outshine the unconquered sun ?”
“What does that mean?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” said Moist, “I just made it up.”

Compiled By,
Zen (who else ?)

A song and a dance about Money

2010-06-05T20:13:00.000-07:00

I watched a well choreographed version of the song ‘Money Makes the World Go Round’ at Shiamak Davar’s ‘Summer Funk’ show recently. Was motivated enough to search for the original song on youtube; and then to search for more songs on the same topic. In case you think of any more, drop a comment and I will add it to this post.
Zen.

1. To start with, of course, ‘Money makes the world go round’ from ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’, sung by Alan Cummings. Great song, I prefer this version to the Liza Minelli and Joel Gray version from ‘Cabaret’.

2. 'Money' by Pink Floyd, a Classic ! Sure you all know this song.
Here’s the link to the video, and this link also gives the lyrics.

3. ‘Mujhe mil jo jaaye thoda paisa’ – great song from a band called ‘Agosh’; did they have any other hits, they seemed to have vanished after this one.

Don’t miss the tongue-in-cheek allusions to the corporate world in this song; from ‘The Paisa Group – we change lives’ to the allusion to rich and successful actors in shampoo ads, the anti-pimple ad etc. The at-times-kooky subtitles running across the top of the screen add to the fun.

4. After ‘mujhe mil jo jaaye thoda paisa’, a similar refrain in English ‘If I was a rich man’ from the movie ‘Fiddler on the Roof’. An old favourite since childhood, it has lovely music; and I love the delicious detail in the imagined life the poor man could have had had he been rich, for instance, the wife developing a ‘proper’ (?!) double chin or building a staircase going nowhere ‘just for show’.

Right at the outset, he conversationally poses this question to God (or maybe fate), “so what would have been so terrible if I had a small fortune ?”

And then this is restated in the end of the song as :
“Lord, who made the Lion and the Lamb
You decreed I should be what I am
Would it spoil some vast eternal plan
If I were a wealthy man ?”
Lovely !

5. ‘Teri Dhoom Har Kahin’ – a really old song from an old Dev Anand movie called ‘Kala Bazar’. The film is essentially about an honest man (Dev Anand) who enters the black marketing business because he cannot make money through honest means. Sung by Kishore Kumar, the lyrics proclaim ‘teri dhoom har kahin, tujhsa yaar koi nahin, humko tho pyaare, tu sabse pyaaraa’.

Don’t you just love the irony in the stanza which goes ‘Daulat ka mazhab chalaake.....Hum ek mandir banaake....Poojengey tujhko bithaake’, especially the chanting after each line !

6. ‘Sabse Bada Rupaiyya’ from 'Bluffmaster' – cool Abhishek, catchy tune, enjoyable song.

An ‘inspired’ song, the original was sung by Rafisaab with the lyrics ‘Baap bhala na bhaiyya, Sabse Bhala Rupaiyya’; a later adaptation, sung by Mehmood in a song with Vinod Mehra and Moushumi Chatterji, is clearly recognisable as the ‘Bluffmaster song.

7. ‘Money money money’ by ABBA
This link also has the lyrics in the info section, and here is the video of the song from the movie ‘Mamma Mia! The Movie’.

8. ‘Money for Nothing’ – Dire Straits

9. ‘Paisa paisa’ from the recent movie ‘De Dana Dan’ – not a song I like very much, but in small doses it is quite funny.

10. A famous hit rap song in the 90s by Wu Tang Clan, ‘
Cash Rules Everything Around Me – C.R.E.A.M’ . Can’t say I like the song much, but it fits the theme of this post

Re-Discovering India #1 : The Monsoon

2010-05-31T21:44:00.000-07:00

A friend who is returning to India after many years in the U.S recently posted this on his blog 'Brick and Rope'. I enjoyed the post so much that I am copying it here, with his permission, of course (Thanks, J).

Re-Discovering India #1 : The Monsoon

"Re-Discovering India": Facts about India that I either - (a) never knew, (b) never appreciated, or (c) once knew and appreciated, but have since forgotten - the distinction between the three flavors being mostly semantic. Contemplating my eager homecoming, I find myself getting re-acquainted with these old friends.
*************************************************************************************

In two days, I will pack my bags, and get on the interminably long Air India flight from New York, Mumbai bound. At about the same time, some hundreds of billions of molecules of air and water currently residing above the Indian Ocean will decide, all at once, with dramatic suddenness and unremitting decisiveness, that they too like the warm lanes of Mumbai and heartland India better than their cold, wet, oceanic hosts. Without so much as an Expedia search, they will set off on their long journey, these fickle winds, to keep their annual appointment with the subcontinent. The first of these guests will arrive in Kerala around the 1st of June - dark, rumbling, and gloriously, ominously wet. The monsoon will be here.

It was only a few days ago that I realized my arrival in Mumbai is going to coincide with that of the monsoon. Seven years of scrupulously avoided rains had dulled my memory of them, but those faint echoes from the past were enough to cause some flutters in the present. My first concern was for my daughter, the sheltered child who has only seen rain in sputtering, playful moods. Even the 'thunder storms' the local weather channel warned of occasionally would be no more than a few hours of pouring rain accompanied by the periodic clap of thunder, the fitful lightning, and then a glorious rainbow. An inconvenience, sure. A dampener of picnic plans. But not something to fear. Not an angry, malevolent God.

I try to prepare her for what lies ahead. I tell her about the rain, the unceasing wetness. "But appa", she says with the touching certitude of a child, "if it rains, I can wear my raincoat when I go out to play!" No my darling, you can not. No raincoat can stand up to the fury of the monsoon. Ask the many dispirited Duckbacks of my childhood. Each met a monsoon, and didn't have the pleasure of meeting another.

[Quick primer on the monsoon for those who, like me, only remember enough from high school science to mumble random keywords when the topic comes up: Super hot summers in the sub-continent and the Thar desert cause air over central and northern India to become considerably hot, and hence create low pressure. Cooler - and hence high pressure - air from over the Indian Ocean rushes in to fill the low pressure area, carrying a load of moisture with it. The winds are blocked by the Himalayas, rise up because of it, cooling as they rise. Water precipitates, it rains - the southwest monsoon. Now, why all this gets initiated suddenly on June 1 every year is beyond me, but there you have it.

Around September, the sun has moved south, the subcontinent and northern lands get cooler, the Indian Ocean air is still hot, the winds rapidly get into reverse gear and go right back. On the way, they pick up some moisture from the Bay of Bengal, and dump it over some of the southern cities like Chennai (which gets, I understand, about 70% of its precipitation from this retreating, or northeast monsoon). End of science class.]

So, how wet is the monsoon? Here is a comparison that surprised me perhaps more than it should have. First, take a look at the average rainfall received every month in temperate Washington DC.

Data from Weather.com

Steady as she goes, right? 2.5 to 3.5 inches of rain every month, all through the year, for an average annual rainfall of 35-40 inches.

Now compare this with Mumbai's average rainfall, with the same scale on the y-axis:

Data from weather.com

See the difference in the skyline? It is dry as a bone for eight months of the year. But between June and September, it pours like like no four-year old girl in Washington DC has seen. Average annual rainfall: 85-95 inches.

As I was saying, the monsoons are monstrously wet. When I see clogged roads and overwhelmed sewage systems in Mumbai come July, I will try and remember this chart. The poor city is receiving, in one soggy quarter, more than twice the rain that relatively wet Washington DC receives the entire year! Give the poor sewers a break, will you - future, frustrated me?

The monsoon hits the Kerala coast with dramatic suddenness and punctuality, on or around June 1 every year. This year, the Indian Meteorological Department, with their customary bravado, have stuck their neck out and made the bold prediction that the onset of the monsoon over Kerala would occur 'around May 31'. Whew! That was hard work, wasn't it folks? You can now sit back and start your sophisticated calculations for next year thank you very much.

The scenes in Kerala around this time are stunning, to state the obvious - nature resplendently blooming. As I have been looking this up over the last few days, I have found nature pictures whose sublime beauty defies mere verbal descriptions. Look at this photo blog for some spectacular examples. Interesting fact about the New India of course, is that entrepreneurs, bless their hearts, have found ways to make honest money around this spectacle of nature. NatureNest is one of the companies that offers Kerala tour packages tailored for what they call "monsoon tourism". Alappuzha, Kochi, Kumarakom, Thekkadi ...: 'watch the swaying paddy fields', 'backwater cruise on Punnamada Kayal', 'bamboo rafting in Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary' ... mouthwatering promises of natural beauty in God's own country. Note to self: sights of India I would like to see - add to list.

So, where was I? Ah, yes, Mr. Monsoon: Mumbai. June. You, me, four year old daughter. No raincoats, no umbrellas. Just mano a mano. Date?

By,
J

Swarathma

2010-05-30T07:03:00.000-07:00

I heard a band called ‘Swarathma’ a few weeks ago and really liked their act. Note, I said their act, which is much more than just their music, for these guys are entertainers and have to be watched on-stage. Part of the experience of listening to ‘Swarathma’ consists of their music, which is an eclectic mix of rock, Indian folk music, Carnatic and jazz. Their on-stage attire (as you can see in this poster) is as varied as the sources of their style of music and adds to the ‘rock mela’ effect of their sound; ditto for Vasu’s on-stage antics and dances such as the prance in the ghodi costume.

The sarcastic commentary on contemporary social and political issues ensures that one listens carefully to the lyrics song after song, especially to guitarist Jishnu’s introductions and interjections, delivered in an absolutely brilliant dehati accent.

p.s. Links to some of their songs below :
‘Topiwale’ – about politics and politicians; 'Yeshu Allah Krishna' - about religion and ‘devotional athyachaar’ (wish I had thought of this phrase);'Ee Bhoomi' - here and here; and
‘Jaane kahan hai mujhe’

Information from Wikipedia for those who want to know more about the band :

Swarathma is a Bangalore (India) based Indian Folk/fusion band. The current line up features Vasu Dixit (vocals and rhythm guitar), Pavan Kumar KJ (percussion and backing vocals), Montry Manuel (drums), Varun (lead guitar), Sanjeev Nayak (violin) and Jishnu Dasgupta (bass guitar and backing vocals).

The first break for Swarathma came when they won Radio City Live 2006, an SMS based contest for Bangalore's best band, conducted by the FM radio station Radio City on September 31, 2006[4]. The fresh original sound of the band won them the contest coupled with the fact that they played a song "Ee Bhoomi" (This Earth) in Kannada, the local language of Bangalore

They released their debut album on Virgin Records on January 5, 2009, supporting it with a nationwide tour. They were featured on the Soundpad compilation of Indian music that released in May 2009, in support of which they toured the UK along with three other Indian band.

In Anticipation

2010-05-22T20:18:00.000-07:00

(waiting for the rains)

Monsoon is the best time for trekking in the Sahayadris. Though the rain makes the downhill route slippery and a bit tricky to negotiate, it is more than made up by the rain – drenched hills shrouded in mist, the clouds and the numerous small waterfalls and streams that spring up all over.

I went with Odati on two perfect monsoon treks last year – to Manikgad and Surgad. Both were short hikes and just right for a relaxed Sunday – a 3.5 hr amble uphill at Manikgad and a 2.5 hr walk at Surgad. The only patch of slightly difficult terrain was the the last patch at Surgad which is steep and slippery and requires concentration. While the rain evaded us at Manikgad, in Surgad we got caught in a downpour that was full ‘paisa-vasool’ and thoroughly enjoyed it. Both treks had lush greenery and long wavy grass rippling in the breeze.

Both places we had a local guide in addition to the Odati team; apart from showing us the way, they added to overall entertainment levels with their eccentric personalities. I have a sneaky suspicion, though, that these villagers might have a similar reason for agreeing to guide us – not for the money, but to observe these wimpy weird townfolk and have funny stories to tell their families over dinner.

The Maamaa at Manikgad was strong ‘n silent and quite a disciplinarian. On the way up the final portion, whenever we halted to catch our breath, he would stop ahead of us, look down at us and make clicking noises with his teeth to hurry us up – the kind villagers make to hurry along cattle in the fields ! Like all such maamaa’s I have seen, the fact that we were paying him made no difference to his bindaas attitude and behaviour. As we had oodles of time to enjoy the view from the peak, we intended to snooze for about an hour after eating lunch but he would have none of it. He woke us up in 20-30 minutes and herded us down, saying that he was worried it would soon rain heavily and we would be stuck there. As he had earlier confidently predicted a dry morning when we thought dark clouds heralded rain, we decided he might be right this time too and clambered down the hill lickety-split.

The Maamaa at Surgad had even more impressive weather prediction skills. A lean, stringy weather-beaten guy over 70 monsoons old, he would predict when it would rain down to the last half hour (maybe the MET office should hire him!) and his reading of the clouds was right more often than not. He was as much of a disciplinarian as the Manikgad Maamaa, but his style was to shame you into hurrying, rather than to herd you. Halfway up the hill, when we stopped for 5-10 minutes at a nice meadow, he proudly told us that he could ascend and descend the hill in less than an hour, which was less than the time it had taken us to reach the halfway point; you can bet we walked faster after that.

All these Monsoon maamaa’s interpret suggestions of alternative routes as mutiny and tend to mulishly insist that you take exactly the path they prefer – maybe it comes from a lifetime of being the undisputed head of the family and getting unquestioning obedience. Our Surgad maamaa had the same attitude towards dissent, except that he was also an expert at psychological warfare. When he didn’t want to climb right to the very peak, rather than argument and obstinacy, he used the tell-tales-of-townsfolk-who-would-not-listen-and-suffered-painful-accidents solution. Quite a storyteller, he relished multiple retellings of the tale of women from Mumbai getting stuck at the peak during a downpour, almost falling all the way down while descending and finally having to be lowered down on ropes. He was quite effective too, we convinced ourselves that the hills, the fort walls and the stone relics scattered around were sufficient adventure and there couldn’t be anything better to see at the peak.

By,
Zenobia

Lost in Translation - II

2010-05-10T05:25:00.000-07:00

More gems from the wonderful book we dipped into two weeks ago . This time, in order to provide some variation, will first give the translated version and then the original English – in future, spare some sympathy for hapless foreigners interacting with Indians using guides such as this one.

Easy stuff first – words and short phrases :

“Bunny-aan”
A banian or a vest, not a request concerning a playmate.
“Iddar deck-o” (Did I hear someone say, “Aye Aye Cap’n” ? )
“Idhar dekho” or “Look here”
“Chore doe”
“Leave it”
“Doe-pahar kay kah-nay kay pie-lay aow.”
Come before lunch.

Somehow, the placid ‘ao’ is always transformed into an anguished ‘aow’ in this book.
“Challay Jaow”
Go away.
“Idder aow.”
“Come here.”
“Mutt jaow.”
“Don’t go.”
“Ya chahn-dee chum-kaow.”
“Polish this silver”
“Sum-jaow.”
“Explain”
“Wakt per aow.” (my favourite, implies regular disciplining. Maybe for unsatisfactory explanations.)
“Come in time”
“Gun-tea budge-aow” (!!)
“Ring the bell”

And what might be the explanation for the poor translations :
“Maiyn bill-cool teak na-heehn hoohn.”
“I am not too well.

Amen.

Complied and laboriously typed out by,
Zen.
p.s. Venky, thanks a ton for lending me the book.

I'm Lovin it !

2010-05-04T06:11:00.000-07:00

Five reasons for loving the book :

1. The title : ‘Zenobia – the curious book of business’
2. The description : ‘A book of triumph over Yes-Men, Cynics, Hedgers, and other Corporate Killjoys’
3. The question marks scattered topsy- turvy all over the cover
4. The stance the heroine adopts as she gazes at the question marks, and what it implies about her no-nonsense attitude
5. Her glorious red shoes and red-striped socks, on her first day at a new job !

While I relish the title of the book, in all honesty I must let you know that the Zenobia in the title is a once-mighty corporation bedevilled by paralysing hierarchies, grossly inadequate communications, distrust and over-reliance on stultifying rules.

Into this mess steps Moira, a young lady responding to a help-wanted ad that directs her to room 133A. Except that nobody knows where the room is, there are no directions or signs either. Her journey through the Zenobian maze is filled with obstacles such as twisted ladders with missing rungs, a tight-rope walk, people that heckle, scorn and discourage her, a room full of power-pointers endlessly revising slides with old data etc.

A reviewer described this book as ‘Harry Potter meets bureaucracy’. While I wouldn’t go that far, I will admit that it’s a rollicking ride !

(I didn’t write this book, but I wish I had).
Zen.
p.s. Rads, thanks for the book.

Lost in Translation

2010-04-25T19:49:00.000-07:00

Ever wondered why the foreigners in Hindi films mangle the few Hindi words that they utter ? It’s because that’s how they are taught to utter them. Consider the gems below from a guidebook titled ‘Hindustani for the tourist – A Phonetic Phrase Book for Everyday Use’. Read the phonetic translations out loud to get the full flavour, do not miss the hyphens ‘which show the division of syllables in a word, where you should have a slight pause in your pronounciation’.

‘Kartik’ becomes ‘Car-tick’ ; ‘Kitne’ becomes ‘Kit-nay’.
‘Sawan’ becomes ‘Sah-won’, almost Japanese !
In a throwback to more polite times, “please” is translated as “meherbani karke” (what happened to ‘kripya’?), phonetically as “mayher-baanee kar-kay”.

In the ‘All About Yourself’ section, amongst sentences to befriend the locals are these two, “I am a bachelor” and “I weigh 82 kilos”, important if you are meeting a lot of good-looking young Indian women. Though they might be a bit confused after you utter these sentences, “ Maiyn Coohn-ara hoohn” and “May-rah wazan bay-ah-see kilo high”.

Consider a few sentences to be exchanged with the Dhobi (‘Doe-Bee’).
“Have these cleaned and pressed.” As we would say in Hindi, “Ye dho kar istri karo”. But this is phonetically translated as, “Ye doe kar isstree karo”.
“This is not clean.”
“Yah saaf nahin hai.”
“Ya saaf na-heenh high.”
“Press these correctly.”
“Ye theek tarah se istri karo.”
“Ye teak tarah se isstree karo,”
Really, ‘teak’ ?!

And which foreigner could survive in India without knowing how to speak to a shoemaker ? Hence the following :
“Can you make a pair of shoes for me ?”
“Tum mere liye joote banaa sakte ho?”
“Toom may-ray lee-eh jootay bun-nah suck-tay ho ?”

Sample the howlers below which translate words correctly but get the meaning in this context absolutely wrong :
“Can you make a pair of heels ?”
“Tum eriyan bana sakte ho?”
“Toom ehri-yahn bun-nah suck-tay ho ?”
Some confusion between a shoemaker and a surgeon here !
“Have you got patent leather?”
“Tumhare paas koi achchha chamra hai?”
“Toom-ha-ray pass ko-ee atch-chah chum-rah high ?”
Only if the shoe-maker moonlights as a pimp !

From questions included in the list of critical inquiries to be made before checking in at a hotel, one knows what the author of this book thinks of foreigners and their habits :
“Can I dine in shorts at lunch?”
“Main nekar pahan kar dopahar ka khana kha sakta hoon”
“Maiyn nicker pahan-ker doe-pahar kah kah-nah kah suck-tah hoon?”
“Where is the bar?”
“Bar kidhar hai?”
“Bar kidder high ?”
“Is there a cabaret?”
“Idhar ‘cabaret’ hai ?”
“Iddar ‘cabaret’ high ?”
“Can I bring ladies to my room?”
“Auraton ko apne kamre mein la sakta hun ?”
“Ow-rut-ohn ko up-nay come-ray mayn lah suck-tah hoohn?”
I know some people describe women as a pain-in-the-ass, but ‘Ow-rut’ !

More of these next week, folks.
Zen.

Getting to Goa

2010-04-16T20:10:00.000-07:00

A great way to begin a vacation in Goa is to travel by the Mandovi Express, a day train that travels along the Konkan Coast from Mumbai to Goa. While it may sound like a waste of a day, I discovered recently that it is actually the perfect bridge between a hectic work-week and a relaxed vacation, there is no way that you can rush around in the train and nothing much to do except savour the moment. The scenic route passes through hills, forests and assorted shrubbery, the clatter of the wheels and vibration of the carriage leaves one in the mood of childhood holidays – full of excitement and anticipation, especially with the added advantage of chilling in a thanda thanda cool cool A.C. compartment. The pantry car sends yummy food one’s way at regular intervals, dig in, for what is a holiday without over-eating ! For breakfast, don’t even bother with the usual bred-aamlit or bred- kutlit options, wait for the piping hot, fragrant medu wada, sabudana wada, methi bhajji and masala dosa to be brought your way.

K...A...N...K...A...V...A....L.....I...........S...T...A...T.....I....O...N

Tiny stations like Bhoke, Adavalli and Kankavali pass by. Against a backdrop of verdant greenery, a single narrow platform bordered with a fence painted a demure white but often draped with bright and boisterous bougainvillea flowers. A small white board with ‘Welcome’ written on it in red letters greets all who disembark. You realise how hot it is outside when you notice people using the taps placed at regular intervals on the platform. A young banana vendor, after he has worn himself out walking up and down the length of the train in the hot afternoon sun, sets his basket down by the tap and gulps down mouthfuls of water before splashing some on his face. The rivulets of sweat running down his face are replaced by large streams of water.

The train goes through a lot of tunnels – the route passes through difficult hilly terrain and is testimony to the engineering and organisation ability of E. Shreedharan, who is also known for building the Delhi Metro. This article from 1996 documents the difficulties faced in building this railway, while this and thiscelebrate its completion and the awarding of a Padma Vibhushan to E. Shreedharan.

On one section of hillside, I notice a wire mesh pushing back the rock walls – like a security barricade pushing back hordes of groupies when a film-star walks by. Well, why not, the Mandovi Express is no less than a star amongst other trains ! Suddenly this poem by Robert Frost pops into my head; how strong this wire mesh must be to hold back an entire hill full of boulders from smashing on to us !

Our train clatters past a patch with some barren fields bathed in the mellow four p.m. sun. The fields have clearly demarcated mud boundaries and resemble a patchwork quilt in shades of mud-brown and grass-green; except for one small plot which has a host of sunflowers nodding their yellow and brown heads sagely.

A few fields away my eye is drawn to a shiny undamaged auto, with no signs of human habitation or a road visible, wonder how it got there. The yellow and brown of the auto matches the sunflowers - quite a quirky tableau.

It makes me wonder about pretty-but-ruthless mutant sunflowers that start their campaign for world domination by stealing autos for travelling in; resolve to look out of the window and investigate the next time I hear an auto bleating ‘praap praap’ at night. Then resolve not to eat so much chicken biriyani for lunch – all the oxygen seems to have rushed to my stomach, starving my brain of vital oxygen needed to fuel logic and reasoning.

Two hours later, I alight at Karmali station in Goa, which recently won an award from the Union Tourism Ministry as ‘the most tourist friendly station’ (see this article and this one) . Set in the middle of verdant greenery, it has a natural lake on one side of the platform. On the side of the platform opposite the lake is the Station building which is low, long and has a tiled roof with a structure like the bell tower of a cathedral in the centre.

K...A...R...M...A....L.....I...........S...T...A...T.....I....O...N

One platform has regular street lamps on it, the other has lamps in old-fashioned quaint shapes. The lake has a lot of ducks and other water birds; when I alight in the evening, they are quacking and cheeping away – a good omen for a birding trip.

It totally convinced me that my last minute decision to dash down to Goa and join friends on a bird-watching trip was the right one.

By,
Zen

p.s. This blog has a very nice account of a train journey through Goa

London Symphony Orchestra Experience

2010-04-13T23:12:00.001-07:00

11th April 2010
Enigma Indeed !

Last weekend, the London Symphony Orchestra was in Mumbai after almost half a century. I was most excited as I walked up the stairs in NCPA, It was always a treat to watch a music concert at the main auditorium. The acoustics are amongst the best here and there is something grand about the place that makes me feel special and important! The only thing that did not quite live up to expectations that evening was the cold coffee and chicken sandwiches. Don’t know why, it just didn’t taste all that fabulous!

The conductor was Sir Colin Davis and the orchestra was playing Edward Elgar and Hector Berlioz. Have watched a few shows here before – sometimes Chamber music, at times the Philharmonic Orchestra and this time it was the Symphony Orchestra. In case you’re curious to understand the difference between the three, Philharmonic and Symphony differ in scale (much larger, usually musicians in excess of fifty) from the Chamber music. The difference between Philharmonic and Symphony is interesting, the names don’t signify any difference in the makeup of the orchestra or the way they are governed, but to distinguish the different groups playing within a city, so for example the London Philharmonic and London Symphony Orchestra.

As I traveled the one hour from home to NCPA, I was pondering over who they would play (yep, I didn’t know), was guessing between Bach, Beethoven and Schubert. After buying the brochure for a princely sum of hundred rupees at the entrance I impatiently flipped to the concert details and found Edward Elgar and Hector Berlioz were the two composers being played that night. Nice, had not heard much of Elgar and never heard Berlioz before and certainly never at a live concert.

Sir Colin Davis was the Orchestra Conductor. (he is the president of the LSO as well). When I was young I thought the conductor had an easy job just standing and waving a matchstick like structure in the air. My respect grew with experience and knowledge about all the preparation that goes into getting the orchestra to sound like it does. Easy test that I still do every time I attend a concert like this is to shut my eyes and listen for a while. It is absurd how a hundred people can be orchestrated to sound like a single strain of music when your eyes are shut and all you’re doing is listening intently. Worth trying out.

Having seats in the front of the auditorium does make a difference! Of course the acoustics and therefore sound quality differs based on where one sits but what really made a difference to the experience was being able to see the interchange between the conductor and his ensemble in the few moments that he turned to each side. There would be an instant connect with a smile, mutual encouragement I surmised (that reminded me of the way musicians connect in a jugalbandhi in an eastern classical concert) . The difference was he was controlling the subtle elements of music like the tempo and dynamics of the music with a flourish of his arm. As Sir Colin Davis’ baton meted out artistic directions to about seventy talented musicians, Edward Elgar’s ‘Enigma’ was coming alive!

British, Elgar was a product of the Victorian era, an unquestionably skilled composer and whilst Elgar’s compositions have not traveled as wide as other composers, ‘Enigma’ was undoubtedly the composer’s breakthrough masterpiece.

The story about Enigma goes like this. Post returning home one evening, after giving violin lessons, Elgar sat down at the piano and, to unwind, began improvising. Alice, his wife commented favorably on the tune that emerged and Elgar responded by playing it in ways that suggested how some of their friends might play it. Out of that spontaneous exchange was born the Enigma Variations, the work that analyzes the personalities of his family and friends. What improvisation !

In all, fourteen people (including his wife, an old flame, himself and a dog) are featured in the Variations. No wonder it is referred to as an orchestral suite at times. In Elgar’s words “it expressed when written (1898) my sense of the loneliness of the artist… and to me it still embodies that sense.”

As if to reflect his words I found the music elusive and subtle, at times perplexing and always riveting. It starts with the melancholic and self doubting feel that reflected the artist’s mood but as the journey continues you can hear the ambition come through as the triumph of the artist’s soul builds up in the final rendition named ‘Edu’ (name that his wife fondly called him by). Amongst the composers I have heard (am no authority), the intensity and loudness of the music was different and showed the intensity of the composer. What is also true is that the loneliness never leaves the music and you can hear it as the Orchestra plays on from one Variation to the next.

The concept I found charming, about the core of the artist’s soul that cannot be reached. At the same time, the warmth and friendliness of some of the themes reflecting the close personal relationships and exchanges he shared with his friends and fellow musicians, at times discussing Beethoven (‘Nimrod’, one of the nicest Variations) or about his pensive, romantic viola player friend in ‘Ysobel’ or ‘Romanza’ that is the memory of a love lost and still yearned for.

I so enjoyed myself, surrendering to the Variations. Letting myself flow along with the mood and feel of every composition, it was somewhat like a roller coaster ride. Over a hundred years after, he carried me along the journey, (and I’m sure many in the audience including my neighbor who was in a trance like condition furiously playing notes in the air) of his varying moods. Best of all, I caught myself smiling quietly many times, that to me is the power of what brilliant music can do! And of course Edward Elgar’s Enigma was no less!

By,
soma ghosh.

Grocery Shopping Abroad

2010-04-09T20:49:00.000-07:00

When I travel to a new place on holiday, I often like to fancy that I’m staying there as opposed to just travelling through. The thing that helps me to get into living-there fantasy is to walk down to a grocery shop near where I stay and buy groceries. Behind the wheels of a shopping cart, I can pretend I’m a local, i.e. anyone from here, i.e. anyone in the know to buy sensibly and not get fleeced like the ignorant tourists.

The important thing is that the buying must be for something I will need to use immediately and not just shopping-for-back-home. Usually it’s for things that go into or along with a sandwich – bread, cheese, maybe a bit of meat or some local fruit. Of course, there is nothing like buying cleaning material – nothing that quite as well cements the fact that you are putting down some roots, however small. But, well, if I’m staying at a hotel it’s quite unlikely that I will need to get those.

It isn’t that I don’t like to eat at restaurants, not at all. I usually plan my holidays around where and what we will eat. It’s this fact that dictates that I often need to eat one meal light for the sake of my stomach and also my pocket. So having my own stash of groceries in the car or hotel fridge makes helps me feel more settled.

And then there is the sheer joy of grocery shopping. Even under normal circumstances, I love scouting about the racks for my everyday at-home grocery getting. But when abroad, this takes on even more delicious intensity. I am an explorer amongst row after row of less familiar brand names, fruit and dairy products. Thrilling at every discovery of stuff I’ve only ever seen on TV or read about in books. Or even better, finding familiar brands that cost 10 times more back home. I spend wistful minutes in the exotic (but local for there, you see) spice aisle, while putting together earthy pot roasts, hearth warming stews and such in my head. They always turn out fragrantly delicious and my friends and family have tears in their eyes at my nourishing brilliance. Fortunately, I don’t have a kitchen right there or the time when I’m back home, to see these dreams come crashing down to earth. I blink and move on. Onward to the ready-to-eat sections where I can appease my gatherer instincts. Happy minutes at the yoghurt aisle, looking through the different flavours, ditto for the Crisps and Beverages and Instant Soup . Flavours I’ve never imagined, and they must all be tried!

Naturally, every so often, amidst the entire delightful discovery there is also the occasional revolting mistake. But that’s what hotel bins are made for. And then there are times like when we bought a piece of wrapped up durian and left it for over an hour in a parked car! a bad disaster like that could even call for buying cleaning material…and I’m back in my imagined paradise.

There is, of course, the ultimate reward to all my shenanigans at the grocery shop. Later, at some ancient fort miles in the country I can gloat silently at the persecuted tourists who are milling about the only (and expensive) food stall eating fried dangly bits of heaven knows while we dig in to all our lovely food. In truth, this hasn't happened yet, but sooner or later it will and when it does I will be prepared.

By,
Nafisa

Fatitude

2010-04-02T22:09:00.000-07:00

I love to eat. Nowadays, I Eat like a horse
This is telling on my waistline of course.
My brain thinks I’m pregnant and it’s putting up a fight
Its sending signals all over, to boost my appetite.
It’s working on growing the little mite in my tum
That’s no baby, dolt brain, but a cream filled bun.
But the tum is growing I know that much
From all the dimsums, fried jalapenos, chocolate and such.
The shirts are a stretch, I see skin ‘tween the buttons
And the trousers are pretty close, they’re just about shuttin.
The gnawing pangs get worse with the frantic swimming
The universe conspires to keep me more brimming than slimming.

By,
Nafisa

the 20s once more…

2010-03-28T06:37:00.000-07:00

the rush of my twenties is visiting me of late
with its feelings of nervousness, anticipation
and dreaming, at times about nothing at all?
lying in the dark veranda, Bad Company , REM on the 2 in 1, mind furiously wandering
gazing into the night sky
marveling at the Einstein black and white taped onto my book cupboard, then glancing at frida kahlo sitting on the other side,
her suffering expressed with a vibrancy that suffering lends
filled with wonder, anticipation and yearning.
yearning that I didn’t really wish to fulfill
but that gave joy in itself...
thinking what life could be like
the future was unknown, but the present was so secure. So certain.

the rush of my twenties is visiting me of late
am i scared to feel this excitement again?
perhaps, but to feel this yearning again is exquisite
awakening parts of me I had blocked out
parts that I had numbed myself to, as a coping mechanism
to obliterate the grief, loss and guilt that visited me in the last decade.

the rush of my twenties is visiting me of late
feel like I want to write again and might be able to
feel like listening to my cassettes of favorite songs on the outdated 2 in 1
(had forgotten I had ‘favorites’ )
rewinding just the line of the song I wanted to hear again
feel like traveling back to where I belonged
city I lived in, places I frequented, but importantly parts of me I haven’t visited for a while.
parts of me that allow for believing, longing and feeling.

the rush of my twenties is visiting me of late
the twenties of discussing intricate details of my dreams
laughing over silly exchanges and cigarette smoke
wrestling for share of a bottle of Smirnoff, discussing Foucault’s pendulum as an excuse to flirt coquettishly
standing up for what I wanted, voicing what I felt, fighting for an agenda.

the rush of my twenties is visiting me of late
of feeling wanted, angry, excited, emotional all at once.
whiling away hours on philosophizing, dreaming, self expressing
wondering once more what life could be like,
as the rush of my twenties visits me in my thirties
cheers I say!

By,
Anonymous

Kolkata Chapter

2010-03-19T23:16:00.000-07:00

Felt so connected with Kolkata this time. There are times when I feel so close to the city and times when I am so happy to leave. This time was about intimacy and going back to my core :-)

Kolkata and Mumbai could not be more different. I felt it as soon as I stepped out of the aircraft, life was in slow motion. People were walking at a slow pace, talking to each other and looking around and wondering. Sort of imbibing the atmosphere …

People have the time to talk and to listen and to exchange what they are thinking about, which means they have time and some inclination to think…I loved the slow meandering motion and slipped into it blissfully. Understood why I am always running behind others in Mumbai.

People are more aware, just regular people on the street, in the shops or restaurants or cab drivers..they have an interest in what’s happening in the city – IPL for instance and they also are aware of their surroundings and can give directions. I was looking for a biye bari (wedding hall) and actually when I reached the location, the tea seller on the road was able to give me clear directions to get to the address. Have a ten percent hit rate of this in Mumbai.

I walked into a book store at the airport and amongst the first books I saw were marie seton’s book on satyajit ray and no business books and money magazines staring at you. And the hotel movie list had the whole ray collection and amongst the bollywood fare something like devd. Someone had actually applied their minds in making the list instead of having the latest movies . The guy selling coffee at ccd had time to talk and told me what other coffee was available at which part of the airport.

I went for a close school friend’s second wedding, had missed her first and was determined to make it this time. So glad I went…met friends I had not seen for at least a decade. We went back to our old haunts and the coffee and chocolate shortbread at flurys was still on the menu. As we walked around, flurys, oxford bookstore and giggles were all in the same place !!! Went to visit school with a friend, we visited each classroom we studied in and sat at the desk in an empty classroom and got goosebumps, revisited the names and idiosyncrasies of each teacher we had. Everything was exactly the same in school, the wooden desks, the green softboard, classrooms were still non ac (thankfully), staff rooms, the green room, the jungle gym and swings. Outside the school gate there was kwality thelavala, selling orange sticks! How wonderful it is to go back to places which have not changed a bit, how comforting is that.

About the biye bari, there again for all the ceremonies, things were so beautifully slow, so relaxed and chaotic at the same time. And talking in Bengali how marvelous that feels, how utterly marvelous. Sort of reconnecting with my core. Realized what all I was missing out on, opinionated informed mileu of Kolkata were people actually have time to talk, to listen and to absorb. Now I know where the opinionated comes from too :-)

Then I got onto the flight and landed in Mumbai. As soon as we touched down, everyone switched on their blackberries, phones and as started running to the exit before the plane halted. Everyone running, for what purpose some times I wonder. The same people including me who would saunter and pontificate now back to business, the business of making money and somehow running to get to nowhere. Just this once I let it be and took my time till tomorrow when Mumbai will sweep over me and I will be back to the maddening rush. Or can I hold onto a bit of kolkata for a little longer?

I love Mumbai too in many ways and that’s why I live here now but that will be a new chapter. But what I am definitely giving up without realizing is having time for exploration and adda, for meaningful relationships and reconnecting with myself in a leisurely and relaxed way. Like a quotation on a mug in ‘Giggles’ said ‘ the cost of anything will be double what you originally estimated’.

By,
Anonymous

Saanp - Seedi : Snakes and Ladders

2010-03-16T02:40:00.000-07:00

Most of us liked playing snakes and ladders as kids; some still enjoy the game and indulge in it as frequently as possible with their kids, nieces, nephews, friend’s kids etc. For all of you that enjoy the game, here is some cool stuff related to it.

First, some facts about it’s origin; sourced from Wikipedia and this article from the Hindu.

Snakes and Ladders originated in India as a game based on morality called Vaikuntapaali or Paramapada Sopanam (the ladder to salvation) or Moksha Patamu; the earliest known Jain version Gyanbazi dating back to 16th century. The game and reflected the Hinduism consciousness around everyday life. Impressed by the ideals behind the game, a newer version was introduced in Victorian England in 1892, possibly by John Jacques of London. It was eventually introduced in the United States of America by game pioneer Milton Bradley in 1943.

The game was played widely in ancient India by the name of Moksha Patamu. Moksha Patamu was perhaps invented by Hindu spiritual teachers to teach children about the effects of good deeds as opposed to bad deeds. In this game every time a snake swallows a player he reaches the tail, which is death. He replays and goes up a ladder — this is life again.

The game board has 132 squares arranged in a serial order from the left bottom. There are different pictures on each block. They denote a living creature — animals, birds and men and they stand as a symbol. For example, the picture of a rishi (hermit) in block No 30 stands for nishta (concentration). Some squares have human qualities like Ego (Square No. 75), infatuation (Moham No. 97).

The ladders began from squares that represented virtues, such generosity, faith, humility, etc., and the snakes began from squares that represented vices such as lust, anger, murder, theft, etc. The squares of virtue on the original game are Faith (12), Reliability (51), Generosity (57), Knowledge (76), Asceticism (78); the squares of evil are Disobedience (41), Vanity (44), Vulgarity (49), Theft (52), Lying (58), Drunkenness (62), Debt (69), Rage (84), Greed (92), Pride (95), Murder (73) and Lust (99).

The moral of the game was that a person can attain salvation (Moksha) through performing good deeds whereas by doing evil one takes rebirth in lower forms of life (Patamu). The number of ladders was less than the number of snakes as a reminder that treading the path of good is very difficult compared to committing sins.
Once the victor reaches the 132nd square (the last), the right number has to fall to "reach God." Until he does so, he would be limping from one dwarapalak to another. Once he gets the right number to reach the Virat swaroopa, he wins the game!

‘Snakes and Ladders’ is also the title of a collection of Gita Mehta’s essays. In this article, Mehta explains that she chose the title as a metaphor for contemporary India because the unpredictability of whether a player rises quickly up a ladder or plunges into the jaws of a serpent seems like Indian life itself.

''Sometimes in our glacial progress toward liberation from the injustices that make a mockery of political freedoms,'' she writes, ''it seems we Indians have vaulted over the painful stages experienced by other countries, lifted by ladders we had no right to expect. At other times we have been swallowed by the snakes of past nightmares, finding ourselves after half a century of independence back at square one.''

And, to end this post, a passage from from ‘Midnight’s Children’ by Salman Rushdie :

The moment I was old enough to play board games, I fell in love with snakes and ladders. O perfect balance of rewards and penalties ! O seemingly random choices made by tumbling dice ! Clambering up ladders, slithering down snakes, I spent some of the happiest days of my life. When, in my time of trial, my father challenged me to master the game of shatranj, I infuriated him by preferring to invite him, instead, to chance his fortune among the ladders and nibbling snakes.

All games have morals; and the game of Snakes and Ladders captures, as no other activity can hope to do, the eternal truth that for every ladder you climb, a snake is waiting just around the corner; and for every snake, a ladder will compensate. But it’s more than that; no mere carrot-and-stick affair; because implicit in the game is the unchanging twoness of things, the duality of up against down, good against evil; the solid rationality of ladders balances the occult sinuosities of the serpent; in the opposition of staircase and cobra we can see, metaphorically, all conceivable oppositions, Alpha against Omega, father against mother; ......but I found, very early in my life, that the game lacked one crucial dimension, that of ambiguity – because, it is also possible to slither down a ladder and climb to triumph on the venom of a snake....

Information collated by,
Zen

Travelling in India

2010-03-07T19:54:00.001-08:00

Here is where perspiration and body odour are shared through close contact free,
So suffer stench with patience till you reach destination ultimately !

This vehicle in front was a shocking sight to see,
All clinging to support themselves individually.
This type of travel is often termed ‘Latak Savari’.

At every bus stop bodies calmly flow out
Oh, not a whimper not a shout.
The driver's view is restricted cos of legs
Zig- zag driving’s not due to consumed pegs !
Preferential seating is bestowed for women up front,
His changing gear technique, a well acquired stunt.
‘Walk and talk’ scored many an accident inducing fear,
Here driver's braile n lever grab, mastered shift of gear.
On these roads the drive is silky smooth for sure,
Jeeps over-loaded, sharp ghetto body odour to endure !

Out standing performers wait just for the move
Then hop swiftly and on just front toe hold shove.
Seeing is believing, cos it's indeed hard to imagine,
The accurate number the busting crosses margin.

Poem and photos by,
David de Figueiredo

The Random Self-Help Book - Increase Self-Awareness

2010-03-03T21:53:00.000-08:00

1. Never take yourself too seriously
2. Never be afraid to laugh at yourself
3. Be not afraid of posting links such as this and thanking Wilbur Sargunaraj though he does poke fun at the blogger tribe.

By,
Zen

THE Deol is Back !

2010-02-28T19:29:00.000-08:00

After quite a long interval, Abhay Deol will be back on the big screen this week with ‘Road, Movie’, reason enough for all Abhay Deol fans to rejoice. What’s more, two other films of his should get realeased this year too – ‘Basra’ and ‘Aisha’. Happy Days Are Here Again !

This week’s release, ‘Road, Movie’, is directed by Dev Benegal, his earlier films were ‘English August’ and ‘Split Wide Open’; combined with Abhay Deol’s penchant for off-beat movies, Dev Benegal’s direction promises us a really wacky movie. The promos that are airing on TV currently support that premise too - tell me you were not wondering why a weirdly dressed woman was dancing in front of a white screen in the middle of nowhere, with a bright blue truck parked nearby ! Seems like a typical Abhay Deol movie, a story that’s zany, edgy sometimes, and, to be honest, a bit freaked-out too, bolstered by good acting and tight screenplay; hope the film actually lives up to these expectations.

“Road, Movie” revolves around Vishnu (Abhay Deol), a young man desperate to escape a future working as a salesman for his father’s hair oil business – finally an explanation for the random version of the famous ‘Sar jo tera chakraaye’ song and the bottles of oil that we’ve been seeing in TV promos ! An old truck beckons, which Vishnu sees as his ticket to freedom. He offers to drive the antique truck across the desert to the sea, where it has been sold to a local museum. As he sets off across the harsh terrain of desert India, he discovers he’s not merely transporting a battered vehicle but an old touring cinema.

(Alert : If you don’t want to read a star-struck gushing groupie type of post, stop NOW)

If one tried to draw a trend line of the kind of movies Abhay Deol acts in, it would zigzag crazily all over the place – the only pattern is that there isn’t one. From his debut in 2005 with ‘Socha Na Tha’ to ‘Dev D’, he’s played a different character each time and the tone of the movie has been varied too. Unlike a host of other actors, most of his work has been with debutant directors, which might explain the various genres explored, the unusual themes, and a marked absence of performances that seem like the star is sleepwalking through a repeat of the last successful movie.

‘Socha Na Tha’ was a Hrishikesh Mukherjee kind of feel-good movie about a pair of young ones who reject a match arranged by their parents only to become good friends and eventually fall in love. Nothing new about the story but the lead pair made it credible. This was followed by the dark noir tone of ‘Manorama Six Feet Under’, the charming chutzpah of ‘Oye Lucky Lucky Oye’ and the bitter cynicism of ‘Dev D’. ‘Ahista Ahista’, ‘Ek Chaali Ki Last Local’ and a role in multistarrer ‘Honeymoon Travels’ made an appearance in between these.

Apart from the selection of films, Abhay seems quite a maverick in other aspects too. After the shooting of ‘Dev D’, rather than stick around, enjoy the adulation and sign more films, he went off to New York to study welding and metal work. He has also now turned producer with his own company called ‘Forbidden Films’ in order to be able to make the films he likes. Read about this here.

Often described as the Thinking Woman’s Sex Symbol, he is credited with the concept of Dev D. Also, this site claims that including the ‘Sar Jo Tera Chakraaye’ song in ‘Road,Movie’ was Abhay’s idea.

To read more about Abhay Deol, check IMDB and Wikipedia, also this article titled ‘The Deol with a difference’ and this one titled ‘One Life, Different Takes’.

For more information on ‘Road, Movie’, read here and here and here.

Information collated by,
Zen

To Christie, With Love

2010-02-21T22:25:00.001-08:00

My first Agatha Christie was "Mrs McGinty's Dead" when I was 12 years old. I was introduced to the fascinating world of detective stories earlier through Arthur Conan Doyle’s pipe smoking, violin playing and cocaine consuming Holmes. But it took me no time to switch my loyalties over to the egg-shaped head and luxuriant moustache of the Belgian. Of course I completely bought into the idea which Christie propounded of the superiority of psychological detection using “little grey cells” over (what she disparagingly calls) the human hound-dog approach of sniffing out clues like the cigarette ash, fingerprints, witnesses, etc. But a larger part of the fascination lay in the gaiety of her books. Murder can hardly be gay..u say? Nevertheless that is the first word that comes to my mind when I think of the overall impression I have of her books. How does she manage to make all her books so lively with all those deaths and gruesome killers?
Her detectives were not bungling idiots relying upon mere chance to throw up a solution; indeed they were formidable in their own field (Except perhaps Tommy and Tuppence but there Christie steps into a different genre of adventure thrillers rather than the usual detective fiction). Yet at the same time there is always an absurd or comical touch to them. Whether it is Poirot with his vanity and fastidiousness, Miss Marple with her curiosity and love of village gossip or Superintendant Battle with his infuriating English stolidity, all her detectives evoke admiration tempered with a healthy irreverence for they are after all only too human. You are encouraged to not take them too seriously, cast an indulgent eye over their imperfections and you always end up being amazed in every story how those dear darlings are able to piece it all together!

I don’t remember anybody telling me about the strong vein of humour in Christie’s works. I wonder why it is so less spoken of. Many of her characters with their exaggerated traits are almost Wodehousian- no doubt he was one of her favourite authors! The woolly adorable English aristocrat, Lord Caterham, is a spitting image of Lord Emsworth and the profusion of aunts and cousins in her stories is veritably Woosterish. Yes, the resourceful butlers and helmet-pinching young men about town are missing but there are American millionaires, duchesses and poets/writers at least. One must take heart from that. What is remarkable is the way she juxtaposes these characters with a murder or scene of crime. So we have the apple munching Ariadne Olivier with her mismatched socks interviewing murder suspects in one story while an idle young aristocrat (who could well fit into the Drones Club) turns out to be the murderer in another!
And of course add to all this – a dash of romance. Very rarely have I come across any book of hers which does not have a budding romance or two…perhaps with a happy ending in jeopardy because of one of the partners is a suspect or a likely victim. By and large the more beautiful and likeable ladies are preserved till the end of the book in the interest of the love angle; but there are some notable exceptions- for instance, ‘Peril at End House’, ‘Death on the Nile’ or ‘Evil Under the Sun’.

What helps in this overall formula is of course the slightly detached look at death/demise. There is no undue misery or emotional upheaval when there is one. Mourning is quick and perfunctory if at all and quite a few people seem to benefit from the deaths. That I suppose is by design- there wouldn’t be multiple suspects otherwise! Never are the murders done by people whose point of view you genuinely empathise with or want to argue as justified. If at all there is an element of likeability in them or shades of grey in their character, then the writer mercifully lets them take the easier way out through suicide in the end…viz, ‘Murder of Roger Ackroyd’, ‘Death on the Nile’, ‘Murder in Mesopotamia’, etc. (‘Murder on the Orient Express’ being the only book where the murder is left unpunished in the end).

Christie makes murder so natural and devoid of darkness/evil that one can even contemplate the person sitting across the table drinking the morning cup of coffee committing one. I have always been fascinated by this whole idea of how a murder reveals things about the murderer and the victim. So I fantasized about how some of my relatives or friends would murder if they were to go about it (just a tickling academic exercise - before everybody disowns me). How would I murder-hmmm…let me see...:)) In a fit of rage probably…..someone I loved…the crime passionel....the weapon… a firearm (though Christie preferred poison for women) and the place…..beneath a pomegranate tree…..the witnesses…three grey kittens playing nearby with a broken plastic mug. What??? Is that so fantastic? Haven’t you ever thought about murdering someone? Oh come on…murder is gay. Almost festive. Cheers!

By,
Sharmishtha Dasgupta

The Basic Difference Between People (2) - must a painting ‘mean’ or ‘be’

2010-02-14T21:08:00.000-08:00

The random self-help book project we began in 2008 had a chapter on ‘the basic difference between people’. Here’s another entry for the same.

You can divide people into two groups, those who like the type of paintings painted by Monet and those who like ones painted by Salvador Dali.
Here’s an example of a painting by each :

In case you want to know which camp I am in, here’s a clue - ‘Ars Poetica’

:-)
Zen

To see more of Monet’s paintings, follow this link
To see more of Dali’s paintings, follow this link
Read about Monet here,and read about Dali here
Some interesting facts about Dali’s paintings here

Kuchh Kavitaayein

2010-02-11T03:24:00.000-08:00

In this post, I had promised some poetry on a similar theme soon. Here are links to the poems.

Swantrata ka deepak by Gopal singh Nepali. Read this poem out loud, it has a brisk marching pace to it; the third verse is my favourite.

And do you remember this one from your school days - those who studied in CBSE might; Pushp ki abhilasha - makhanlal chaturvedi

Chale Mardane - Bachchan (neither Amitabh nor Abhishek, the really senior Bachchan is the poet)

And three poems where the Hindi is slightly tougher to understand :

This power-packed poem by Ramdhari Singh Dinkar is exhorting Indians to resist the British. It’s been one of my all-time favourites, had memorised the lyrics in school. The site that has the lyrics is missing one verse, but I couldn’t find the lyrics anywhere else.

Himadri Tung Shring Se - Jai Shankar Prasad

Var De – Suryakant Tripathi Nirala

And, before we end, here's a wWebsite from which you can play patriotic and inspirational songs - www.geetganga.org.

Till next week,
Zen and Friends.

Review of ‘Ishqiya’ – Desi Western, Couple of Crooks, Cool Caper

2010-02-01T02:31:00.001-08:00

Finally, the much-awaited ‘Ishqiya’ released this weekend. The promos on TV were promising - a lead trio of NaseeruddinShah, Arshad Warsi and Vidya Balan, ably supported by awesome music from the Bharadwaj-Gulzar music-and-lyrics team, and an interesting story of two thieves on the run.

And did the movie disappoint ? Not at all ! As this poster suggests, ‘Ishqiya’ has colour, character, humour – some ribald though, and crackles with life; it’s a rollicking fun-filled debut film from director Abhishek Chaubey. Expect a fast-paced story, supported by good acting, great music, some bad language, some wit, some chemistry (both physical and sulphurous), and you will get full paisa-vasool entertainment.

A pair of small-time crooks – Khalujaan and Babban (Naseeruddin Shah and Arshad Warsi respectively) are on the run from Mushtaq Bhai with a bag full of cash that they have stolen from him. They shelter for a few days in the house of a genteel widow Krishna (Vidya Balan) in a village near Gorakhpur in UP; as the movie unfolds our heroes find that the widow isn’t as sweet and innocent as she appears to be and has an agenda of her own to fulfil. Rooted against the background of this story, we get some great shots of the rural hinterland, and a few brief glimpses of what caste-wars imply in the UP badlands.

The movie has great music, my favourite being the adorably picturised ‘Dil tho baccha hai ji’. The background score is aptly chosen and adds nuances to the story, whether it is the ring-tone of Jijaji’s cellphone, or the old S.D.Burman songs playing on the radio while Khalujaan tries to romance Krishna, or the more contemporary numbers that underscore Babban’s antics.

Some nitpicking – I doubt there are many widows in villages near Gorakhpur that wear such low-cut almost-backless blouses. And team that up with a pair of high heels ! Honestly ! While Babban and Khaalujaan wear the same shoes throughout the movie, the heroine’s footwear alternates between simple chappals and high heels. Whither continuity ? And realism ?

Furthermore, I felt that Vidya Balan’s performance, while good, was neither as intense nor as shaded as the plot demanded, though that may also have been due to the way the role was written. Compare against Tabu in ‘Maqbool’ or ‘Mahie Gill’ in Paro and you will know what I mean. At times, Vidya was so sweet that she seemed to be channelling ‘Parineeta’ !

While this movie was a great fun (I watched it twice, in two successive shows ! ), both director Abhishek Chaubey and Producer Vishal Bharadwaj need to work on a different theme and tempo for their next movie. They are in danger of getting stuck in the Omkara-Kaminey-Ishqiya genre.

Incidentally, I wonder what the source of inspiration for this movie was ? [Alert : Spoiler follows] ‘Maqbool’ and ‘Omkara’ were adaptations of Shakespearean plays, ‘Kaminey’ was inspired by Guy Ritchie and Tarantino’s caper flicks, what about this one ? A caper flick for sure, one of my friends claimed it reminded him of the basic outline of the ‘Kill Bill’ plot – the bride prefers an honest life, the husband attempts to murder her, she plots her revenge. What do you think ?

Ending with links to more reviews of the movie :
http://www.desipundit.com/baradwajrangan/2010/01/30/review-rann-ishqiya/
http://ibnlive.in.com/news/masand-movie-review-ishqiya-a-delicious-little-film/109408-8.html
http://lifestyle.iloveindia.com/lounge/ishqiya-review-6432.html

Zen.

Ek ? Anek ?

2010-01-25T22:17:00.000-08:00

On the eve of Republic Day, we sat down to try and put together a list of songs that speak of our unity. Maybe our mood is driven by nostalgia for a sense of unity that seems to be evaporating, if ever it totally existed.

The first few on our list are a blast from the past, apologies for the poor picture quality on these:

The first, of course, the ‘Ek Titli, Anek Titliyaan’ broadcast on Doordarshan during the 80s and 90s.

‘Mile Sur Mera Tumhara’ – another regular feature on Doordarshan’s menu in the 90s, and it’s new avatar released today – ‘Phir mile sur mera tumhara’

On those lines, also ‘Baje Sargam’ (Desh Rag) from DD days

The ‘Hamara Bajaj’ ad – Buland Bharat ki Buland Tasveer

Rabbi’s contemporary version of ‘Jinhe Naaz hai Hind pe’ from Guru Dutt’s epic ‘Pyaasa’.

To add to the list of songs, we tweaked the theme to include facets of patriotism too. Though some recent songs crept into the list too, many of these were re-interpretations of old songs or from new movies about our history.

‘Bande mein tha dum’ from ‘Lage Raho Munnabhai’ – I know it sounds blasphemous, but I think it’s quite a good attempt to re-interpret the song and the Mahatma for a younger audience; and The original ‘Vande Mataram’ from ‘Anand Math’

‘Yeh jo desh hai tera’ from ‘Swades’

‘Desh mere desh mere meri jaan hai tu’ from ‘Legend of Bhagat Singh’

‘Sarfaroshi Ki Tammana ab humaare dil mein hai’ from the movies ‘Rang de basanti’ and ‘Legend of Bhagat singh’, the latter being one of the rare instances of Bollywood music doing justice to great original poetry.

‘Ae mere watan ke logon’ – this composition and Lata Mangeshkar’s melodious voice can bring tears to your eyes. This song has a lot of history associated with it; it was composed to commemorate Indian soldiers who died during the Sino-Indian war, check this link for details and for the lyrics.

‘ Jab zero diya mere bharat ne’ from ‘Purab aur Pashchim’, very corny picturisation though; another song from the Manoj Kumar stable – ‘Mere desh ki dharti’ from ‘Upkaar’, though I prefer ‘Jab zero diya...’

That’s all for this post. Stay tuned for some poetry along similar themes next week.
p.s. In case of any errors in this post, do post a comment so I can correct it. Also, do add to the list of songs here if you can think of more.

Jai Hind !

Songs in this post were remembered by,
Zen and friends.

Mannu Bhai motor chali pum-pum-pum

2010-01-21T03:38:00.000-08:00

Wonder how many of you recall this Kishore Kumar song that was popular years ago, the lyrics are as follows :

Mannu Bhai motor chali pum pum pum
Chaupaati jaayengey ne bhelpuri khayengey
Acchhi achhi sooraton se aankhen ladaayengey
Hallaa machaayengey ! Gulla machaayengey !
Bandbaajaa bajegaa dham dham dham !

If Mannu Bhai had been a taxi driver and been reborn in Bombay - ooooppps Mumbai - today, he might have had to change his name to Mahadev Bhau and sing this song in Marathi instead :

Mannu dada motor chalali pum pum pum
Chaupati jauya ani bhelphuri khauya
Chhaan chhaan mulinshi dolyaat dole milauya
Gondhal ghaluya ! Dhamal karuya !
Bandbaaja waje dham dham dham !

While some people may term this move by the Maharashtra State Government misguided, parochial or just plain silly, I think it’s quite a good idea, though not fully thought out. There is one flaw in this policy that could keep it from achieving maximum impact. While it makes Marathi compulsory, it does not make forgetting Hindi equally necessary. There may be taxi drivers that know both Marathi and Hindi, and hence conversation between passenger and taxi driver may yet be conducted in a language other than Marathi.

Lacking funds to implement either a linguistic memory wipe or partial lobotomy for taxi drivers, I suggest the state take recourse in the simple solution of passing a policy that makes it compulsory for passengers in taxis to know and speak in Marathi too. It should not be too difficult to monitor this. The state could invest in a speed-gun like instrument that detects and identifies the source of any non-Marathi language being spoken within a fixed radius. Policemen wielding this - let’s call it the ‘Language Lathi’ - could be stationed at traffic signals, major crossings etc and could dole out hefty fines and / or imprisonment for inadequate Marathi knowledge. (Note : I have stocked up on copies of ‘Learn Marathi in 30 Days’ – contact me once the copies in shops are sold out.)

Once this phase has been implemented, I suggest that in phase 2 the state focus on easy identification and targeting for MOB (Marathi Observation Bureau) purposes. In this phase, it will be made compulsory for every cabbie to display a black-and-white map of India on the taxi’s windshield with only the cabbie’s state-of-origin marked in colour. Every inhabitant of Mumbai should also be forced to carry a small map that declares state-of-origin in a similar fashion - though they can keep it in their wallets and do not need to stick it on their foreheads or chests.

In phase 3 the Grand Plan really comes together. Now, each religion will be assigned a colour and the state-of-origin should be in that colour. So now, we meet anyone and we know all that is important about them. Ah ! Bihar in Green, this person is a Muslim from Bihar. TN in saffron, a Hindu from TN ! Aiga ! Maharashtra in saffron – a mulga from the motherland ! Somebody wake up Mr. Nilekani, these are the important details for the Unique Identification card, all other details are just incidental.

Acknowledgements – Many thanks to Adolf Bhau for showing the way through his experiments with the yellow star (info here and here).
I Remain,
Yours sincerely,
Zenobai

Another Chapter for ‘The Random Self-Help Book’

2010-01-11T01:59:00.000-08:00

Those readers who have forgotten this project can refresh their memories here. The post below is the first entry for a Chapter titled ‘I would rather learn some things through observation than through experience’

I attended a fusion concert last week where I witnessed something interesting. The noted blues harmonica master Corky Siegel was one of those performing. When it was his turn to perform, he ambled on stage, simply dressed, with a water bottle in hand and set it down beside the piano. No one in the audience recognised him and no one clapped. Like me, I guess they mistook him for someone from the artists’ retinue who was ensuring that water was available in case the maestro felt thirsty. Only when he faced the audience, gazed straight at them for a few seconds and then bowed was there some perfunctory applause to welcome him on stage.

But after he played the harmonica, boy, was there some applause ! What an awesome performance ! No one in the audience had any doubts about being privileged to hear a musical genius and they showed their appreciation by clapping loud and long.

Which leads me to the dilemma – which of the following morals do I choose as the learning from this incident :
1) Being modest and self-effacing is all very well, but overdo it and you may be mistaken for a water-carrier. Sometimes a GRAND entry is necessary, ANNOUNCE your arrival in style.
2) It doesn’t matter if people don’t notice your arrival, as long as your performance leaves them spellbound and begging for more

You tell me, which moral would you choose ?

Zen.

What to do in Tawang.....

2010-01-06T22:31:00.000-08:00

...Apart from the usual visit to the monastery and to the Bum La Pass.

Visit the Ani Gompa (monastery for female monks). Unlike the main Tawang monastery whose presence dominates the town and which has bright yellow roofs that are visible from a distance, the Ani Gompa is tucked away discreetly on a hillside away from the town.

Visit Hotel Maa for a meal or a snack – awesome rasmalai and yummy parathas.

Visit the small music shops and ask for their own selection of English / Hindi music. These guys record eclectic mixtures of songs and music styles that make for great listening while travelling. You never know which song is going to play next, the unexpected melodies match the adventure waiting around the next turn.

Drive around aimlessly over the hills just outside town. Notice army presence, also old bunkers scattered on the hills, realize how close and fragile the border is over here. Then visit the war memorial in the centre of town – it commemorates the soldiers that died during the 1962 war with China.

Just walk around town. Notice the contrast between the expanse of the blue sky, the towering white mountains in the distance, and bunches of tiny red and orange flowers growing on the balconies of the houses nearby.

One of the photographs at the exhibition currently at Ravindra Natya Mandir in Mumbai captured exactly this scene and prompted this post. If, like me, you haven’t trekked in a while, an hour spent gazing at the photographs at the exhibition and exchanging memories of treks with friends is well worth it. Of course, it will result in a lot of wasted time the next day while you gaze at other photographs and schedule your next trek etc.

By,
Zen

Merry Christmas Everyone

2009-12-26T06:01:00.000-08:00

To add to the festive spirit, listen to this lively rollicking version of 'Must be Santa'.

Would you ever have guessed that it was a Bob Dylan song if the singer's name hadn't been displayed on the screen ? Or if you hadn't read about it in some paper/mag/website earlier ?

The first time I caught this version of the song on vh1 I loved it – it has an infectious liveliness to it that makes you want to get up and dance immediately, there's the polka tune, the video shows a rambunctious Christmas party going on, there’s Santa bobbing about somewhere and it’s everything you’d think a jolly Christmas song should be. Except that it’s been sung by Bob Dylan – which was so unexpected that I gaped at the TV screen in shock as the credits rolled.

The first thing I thought of was the movie ‘Love Actually’ and the ageing rockstar singing a mushy Christmas song. But then my faith in Dylan (and his cynicism) made me check the lyrics online, hoping that he had changed the lyrics in some manner. But apparently he has not; however, all of Dylan’s royalties from the album benefit Feeding America and other international charities. So I guess that explains the upbeat all-is-well-with-the-world song.

Anyway, since it is the end of the year, and the time to celebrate, go check out the video on youtube, buy the album, and if you discover a twist in the lyrics, let me know. - Zen

p.s. Links for reviews of the song :

http://www.rollingstone.com/rockdaily/index.php/2009/11/16/premiere-bob-dylans-must-be-santa-video-from-christmas-lp/
http://blogs.wsj.com/speakeasy/2009/11/18/bob-dylans-must-be-santa-video-the-hairs-fake-but-the-dancings-real/
http://outtheother.typepad.com/blog/2009/12/xmas-radio-bob-dylan-must-be-santa.html

Always Shielding the Flame

2009-10-20T08:53:00.000-07:00

Marek Edelman, the last surviving leader of the heroic but doomed Warsaw Ghetto Uprising against the Nazis, passed away on October 2nd this year. The irony of the birth anniversary of Mahatma Gandhi, an apostle of peace and non-violence, coinciding with the death anniversary of one who chose the path of violence against an oppressor made me read through an entire article on Mr. Edelman’s life. Having done that, I could not but search for more information on this exceptional person who lived through such a tumultuous period in history.

Have culled out details of his life and his beliefs from various obituaries and am reproducing these below (sources stated at the end of this post), primarily because I find the story of his life inspirational in many ways, also because I believe that ‘those who forget history are condemned to repeat it’.

The Warsaw ghetto had been established in October 1940 to cut off the city’s Jews, with a high wall and wire, from the general population. By April 1942 half a million people lived in this space of four square kilometres, with around 1,500 dying each week from hunger and disease. In those conditions, Mr Edelman said, the most important thing was just to be alive: not to be one of the naked corpses wheeled past on carts, heads bobbing up and down or knocking on the pavement. A “terrible apathy” took hold, in which people no longer saw or believed the random horrors round them. He tried to rouse his people, first by staying up night after night to print mimeograph newspapers, and then by fighting.

In 1942, Hitler put in place his plans for the ‘final solution’ to the Jewish question. From July 1942, the Nazis began deporting 6000 Jews at a time on to trains that took them to the Death Camps at Treblinka etc. By the time the Nazis paused the ghetto clearance, in September 1942, only 60,000 Jews remained inside the ghetto.

The Nazi onslaught to finally liquidate the ghetto began on April 19th 1943. Marek Edelman was deputy commander of 220 untrained “boys” with pistols and home-made explosives. Against them were around 2,000 Nazi soldiers, the pick of the Wehrmacht, with plenty more behind them. Over the next three weeks, the fighting was intense. The Jewish fighters killed dozens of Nazi soldiers but inevitably sustained far greater losses. "After three weeks," Edelman recalled, "most of us were dead.” The Germans proceeded to flush out the few remaining fighters by burning down the Ghetto; Edelman always insisted, "We were beaten by the flames, not the Germans."

He managed to flee to the Aryan side of the city. Once he was there, he immediately joined the ranks of the Polish underground resistance. In 1944, he participated in the Warsaw Uprising, another failed attempt at liberating Poland's capital from German occupation.

Only 280,000 of Poland’s 3.5 million Jews survived the Holocaust and returned at the end of the war. By 1970 that number was down to 20,000 or 30,000, as many fled the communist regime. Edelman’s wife and children left Poland during the Cold War anti-Semitism of the late 1960s, but he stayed. “Warsaw is my city. … Someone has to stay here with all those who died,” said he.

Contrary to others who survived the holocaust, his dream was not of some Zionist homeland, but a socialist Poland in which Jews would have cultural autonomy. He continued to hope for that all his life. He said in 2001, “Warsaw is my city. It is here that I learned Polish,Yiddish and German. It is here that at school, I learned one must always take care of others. It is also here that I was slapped in the face just because I was a Jew.”

Edelman's experiences had left him with a somewhat grim view of society. "Man is evil, by nature man is a beast," he said. "People have to be educated from childhood... that there should be no hatred.”

To me, the nobility of Edelman’s character lies not just in his heroic deeds, but also in the empathy towards those who chose passivity over resistance, a choice totally contrary to his own. After the end of World War II, the 20 days of fighting in the Ghetto were sometimes described as a rare example of active Jewish resistance to the horrors inflicted by the Germans. Though by some accounts, Edelman remained furious with the traditional Jewish leadership for allowing the Ghetto to passively accept their fate, he always refused to make any distinction of character between those in the ghetto who fought and those who boarded the trains to the camps. Both groups, he said, were simply dealing with an inevitable death in the best way they could.

"We knew perfectly well that we had no chance of winning," he recalled. "We fought simply not to allow the Germans alone to pick the time and place of our deaths. We knew we were going to die. Just like all the others who were sent to Treblinka." Indeed, Edelman added, far from going passively, those who went steadfastly to Treblinka had shown the ultimate courage. "Their death was far more heroic. We didn't know when we would take a bullet. They had to deal with certain death, stripped naked in a gas chamber or standing at the edge of a mass grave waiting for a bullet in the back of the head. It is an awesome thing, when one is going so quietly to one's death. It was easier to die fighting than in a gas chamber."

Marek Edelman's political engagement earned him widespread respect in contemporary Poland. In the 1970s, while still pursuing a career in cardiology, he became engaged in the dissident Workers' Defense Committee, which gave birth to the first major pro-democratic movement behind the Iron Curtain - the Solidarity Trade Union.

On 17 April 1998 Edelman was awarded Poland's highest decoration, the Order of the White Eagle. He also received the French Legion of Honour.

Throughout his life, he stated his strong opinions bluntly and did not mince words - certainly not when confronting injustice and hypocrisy. In 1999 he publicly supported NATO strikes in the Balkans, arguing that a policy of pacifist non-intervention only played into the hands of dictators. In August 2002, he spoke up for the Palestinians as he felt that the Jewish self-defense for which he had fought was in danger of crossing the line into oppression. He wrote an open letter to the Palestinian resistance leaders. Though the letter criticized the suicide bombers, its tone infuriated the Israeli government and press.

In April 2009, Edelman joined leading Polish filmmakers and writers in a protest to the government after a former neo-Nazi took over the running of the country’s public television network. “People who publicly support racism and anti-Semitism shouldn’t be allowed to play a role in public life,” he wrote in an open letter to Prime Minister. “Don’t forget that evil can grow bigger.”

Hanna Krall, a chronicler of the Polish Jews' past, recorded Marek Edelman's life story in her world-acclaimed book, 'Shielding the Flame'. The opus' reflects Edelman's afterthought on the nature of his medical profession. "God wants to dim the candle's light, and I have to shield it quick, before he notices," he described his craft as a doctor (he was a noted cardiologist in Poland after the war).

As Jaroslaw Adamowski says in this article, whether struggling against the Nazis in the ruins of the Warsaw Ghetto or curing his patients' illnesses, Marek Edelman would not let the light dim, shielding the flame by all means. It is how he should be remembered.

By,
Zen

Sources of information :
News articles -
1) http://www.economist.com/obituary/displaystory.cfm?story_id=14585545#
2) http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/opinion/chi-perspec1018tyneroct18,0,3396676.story (this article also describes how Marek Edelman and other surviving fighters escaped from the ghetto and out into Poland when the Nazis burnt down the ghetto)
3) http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/obituaries/politics-obituaries/6259900/Marek-Edelman.html# (has some details of when and how preparations for the Warsaw uprising began)
4) http://www.jpost.com/servlet/Satellite?cid=1254827721470&pagename=JPost%2FJPArticle%2FShowFull
5) http://jta.org/news/article/2009/10/07/1008378/remembering-marek-edelman
6) http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601100&sid=a4h2M9HvJ4Kg

websites and blogs -
1) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marek_Edelman
2) http://leninology.blogspot.com/2009/10/marek-edelman.html (this post has a brief history of the Warsaw Ghetto from 1939 to 1943; also interesting as it ends with a brief reference to Tarantino’s latest ‘Inglourious Basterds’)
3) http://www.socialistworker.co.uk/art.php?id=19233
4) http://www.organizedrage.com/2009/10/obituary-marek-edelman-cardiologist.html#
5) http://www.writing.upenn.edu/~afilreis/Holocaust/warsaw-uprising.html - some details on the history of the Jews in Poland after 1939

King of the Road

2009-10-10T23:42:00.000-07:00

I wrote this post some time ago, but was wary of exposing my unpseud yearnings - until I read this article by Shobha Narayan in the Mint Lounge yesterday. Now that she’s come out of the closet, I feel less embarrassed about admitting to my unusual automobile ambitions.

I have always felt that the sturdy ol’ Ambassador was the perfect car for me. I want to be able to drive without worrying about whether I am too close to the next car, the pavement, or the road divider; hence my car has perforce to be one that can take the force of impact and minimize injury to me. Another advantage of an Amby is that every once in a while, I could indulge my evil side by gently nudging aside a shiny new Merc or BMW without caring a whit about what happens to my car. While their owners would worry about the damage to the majestic visage of their car, I could whistle nonchalantly as I drove away - amongst a hundred scratches on an Amby, who minds adding one more ?

But then I read these articles a few months ago about the luxury buses being converted into election raths for political leaders and my humble Amby level aspirations were instantly upgraded. Now I want a converted luxury bus from the JCBL factory in Punjab. Their ability to all but drive over other cars puts even an Ambassador’s sturdiness in the shade. As the green goblin says in this poem by Harold Monro,”Give them me.” How much fun I could have with one of these !

At the wheel of one of the JCBL luxury buses, I would literally be the ‘King of the Road’. No more gently honking at people who don’t give way, now I could pick up the microphone, switch on the election –strength loudspeaker and holler in chaste Bambaiiya, ”abbe oye, tuzhaaa aaiichaaa……” ! I might even have an advance rider on a motorcycle with a siren so that lesser cars could whimper in fear and scurry down side-streets for safety leaving a nice empty road for me to drive down.

During rush hour, I might still get stuck in traffic which would be a tad frustrating, but not for more than a few minutes as I switched on music, picked up a book and lounged on the sofa with a chilled Thums Up from the fridge. Maybe I would even watch a movie on the TV or catch up on the soaps. Occasionally I’d be nice and use the sound system for playing music to the poor plebs outside. On days when I was in a more extroverted mood, I could crank up the hydraulic stage and address the captive audience stuck in assorted cars and cabs through the loudspeaker system – it would beat even a blog for ease of inflicting one’s views on an innocent and unsuspecting public. I’d probably keep a long cattle prod with me too, in case anyone said anything remotely uncomplimentary or honked rudely – bzzzzzt – and they’d be fried.

So Shobha, if you gift me an Ambassador or a JCBL luxury bus this Diwali, I promise to gift you a blue autorickshaw in return. Happy Diwali !

By,
Zenobia D. Driver

Unimportant Musings

2009-09-15T22:06:00.000-07:00

If you were me and I was you
And we met on a summer's hue
I wouldn't know what to say
Probably Parlez vous anglais
And you'd laugh and walk away

I have small errands to run
Only I cant seem to get them done
A car to fix, a bulb to replace
Whom to ask - not a shop to trace

I wake up one morning
Take a train to nowhere
Nowhere comes and goes
Cities in droves
One just like another
All equally unfamiliar

Futile I walk home to the sunset
With not even the light for company
Dinner- Alone but I cook and dress
Some chapatis and a curry
A taste of home and smells from far away
Tomorrow will be another day

I take the train to Nowhere
I get down Somewhere
I could be elsewhere or back at home
It doesn't matter- i am just as alone

There's something to be said for going back home
Back to people and familiarity
Where if I met you and you met me
Our eyes would dance
And I would not miss that chance
To ask for dinner and some fun
And we'd walk a lonely road in the evening sun
Lesser people around
But enough to make a crowd
And you'd see me and I'd see you
And we'd be happy just the two

By,
Anonymous
(Note : Check earlier by poem submitted by anonymous last year - http://entropymuse.blogspot.com/2008/09/me-and-you.html)

You-think-you-know-them-but-you-don’t

2009-08-01T10:36:00.000-07:00

Travel is a great way to get to know better the people-you-think-you-know.

I always knew that Poppy was a determined, go – getter type, but he just zoomed in my estimation – and Soppy’s – the evening we got on the train to Kathgodam. His quick thinking enabled us to escape from a huge traffic jam on the way to the station and we made it to the train with literally seconds to spare. Once on the train, he readily walked up and down multiple times, checking out both the sleeper coach where we had confirmed berths and the AC coach where we had RAC tickets. Once we had decided to travel by 3rd AC, Soppy and I – old and lazy fatalists - plonked ourselves on the one RAC berth we had and tried to settle ourselves as comfortably as we could on one-third of a berth. Poppy, on the other hand, refused to give up this soon. He attached himself to the TT like the little lamb to Mary and trotted obediently behind him for 30 minutes bleating his request for berths every minute until he actually secured three of them ! “It’s the never-say-die, get-it-done-somehow-large-FMCG-sales spirit,” I sagely informed the newly converted Poppy-bhakt Soppy. (Never lose the chance to point out something good about FMCG to a guy from the air-conditioned corridors of finance.)

The same never-say-die, well-stoked-in-large-aggressive-FMCG competitive spirit manifested itself in other ways too. If I broke out into a merry melody during a walk in the hills, Poppy would be sure to correct me and insist that I sing exactly the words the lyricist wrote; he would not accept ‘happiness’ and ‘holiday’ as excuses for sloppy word placement. Let’s not even start on the comments about the quality of my voice, the pitch, the tone etc. What was most galling was that the source of all this nit-picking and feedback was someone who sang sincerely and correctly through his nose and sounded like Himesh Reshammiya !

Then there were the books Poppy carried with him on holiday. These were the kind that most people keep on bookshelves for others to admire and never actually read – think Kafka, Homer, Aristotle, Socrates, macroeconomics, yaaaawn. Not the holiday kind of books for most of us. Definitely not what I would have thought Poppy would like. I mean, this is a guy who drives a car too fast, slurps his coffee and thinks Chiranjeevi is cool !

Poppy would not just read these books, he would emerge shiny eyed after a few hours of reading and try to engage us plebs in intellectual discussions. That stage got over in a day or two and then he started giving us progress reports on how many pages he had read in the last few hours. Our reactions must have lacked a certain something (admiration ? adulation ?) for he then moved on to the next level. He started checking on what we had been doing and announcing a comparative activity progress report to us at regular intervals, “In the last two hours, I have read 150 pages while Soppy has read only 70 pages and Zen has taken 30 blurred snaps.” Score : Poppy – 10, Soppy - 5, Zen - 0. Insanity – 100.
(Do not work more than 3 years in a large aggressive FMCG, gentle reader. You get too used to competing, driving results and filing status reports.)

By,
Zen.

Chasing the Verditer Flycatcher

2009-07-25T07:38:00.000-07:00

(At the outset, a suggestion for readers inclined towards increasing their general knowledge – check out one of these links for background information on and good photographs of the Verditer Flycatcher, this post will not be satisfactory on either count.)

My attempts to get a good photograph of the Verditer Flycatcher (tVF) began at Binsar and continued, albeit unsuccessfully, in Sitla and Mukteswar. These attempts were hampered by two constraints – one, the bird is small and hardly stays in one place for more than a few seconds, and two, my limited photography skills. On the few occasions when I focussed the camera on the bird quickly enough, a combination of my excitement and the stress of clicking quickly lest the bird fly away would result in a shaking hand and a blurred photograph.

Like this snap, for instance - notice the small blue blob in the top left quadrant of the pic ?

And what of my friends-and-fellow-travellers that could have taken good photographs but didn’t, you wonder. One was equally enthusiastic but only marginally better than me at photography, and the second possessed photography skills but not enthusiasm for bird-watching. (In the interests of confidentiality, I was going to refer to them as Pappu and Sadu, but they have objected vociferously to the negative names and shall therefore be known only as Poppy and Soppy in the rest of this post.)

Soppy and I spotted our first VF on the very first morning in Binsar. Our guide Purna had conscientiously cajoled us into the planned bird-watching session rather than the snooze we felt like taking after waking up early to see the sun rise over the mountains. After a short walk and many disappointing non-sightings where the bird that was calling was frustratingly close by but hidden in thick foliage, we saw a flash of blue apparating on a branch nearby. With much excitement, Soppy and I focussed our cameras, but all we got was a blue blur with trees in the background.

It took Soppy a day and over 50 wasted snaps (a slightly better defined blur, as seen here) to get used to focussing the camera quickly, while I only got the hang of it after much practise at Sitla.

Day 3 saw us driving to Sitla. From the garden at Sitla Estate, the mountains covered with snow were visible in the distance. The bungalow and garden themselves were perched on top of a hill whose slopes were covered with orchards and lower reaches with forest. Wind-chimes hanging from a tree in the garden added their notes to the rustle of trees-leaves in the wind. Poppy had spent less than ten minutes here when he complained about being in such a beautiful romantic place with only friends for company, a comment that earned him a well-deserved glare from me, the tireless organiser of the trip.

After lunch, while Soppy and Poppy grabbed a siesta, I ventured out into the garden. I selected a bench under a leafy tree that would shelter me from the intermittent drizzle and settled on it with my book and binocs. That afternoon the drizzle had scrubbed the trees clean, and the recent-rain-wet-mud fresh smell was everywhere. Grey clouds hung low in the sky and the mist was rising up to greet them. It was so beautiful and idyllic that I was reminded of this Persian quote about Kashmir, ’Agar Firdaus bar ruye zamin-ast hamin-asto, hamin-asto, hamin-ast’ (If there is heaven of Earth, it is this, it is this, it is this)

Every so often, I would look up from my book and feast my eyes on the mist weaving smoky white trails on the green hills. I could hear the chirruping and chattering of birds around me and occasionally saw them soaring across the valley or quickly flitting from one tree to another. On one such occasion, a blur of blue caught my eye, and I turned to find a Verditer Flycatcher perched on a branch on a tree nearby. The rainy weather brought out the vibrant blue of its wings and I would have loved to capture it on film, but I didn’t have a camera with me. Once again, I had to be content with gazing at it.

We finally got a snap of this bird on Day6, at Mukteswar. This time, it helpfully perched on an exposed electric wire high up in the sky. Luckily, we had cameras with us. Luckily, P’s camera had both batteries and sufficient memory. Luckily, he managed to focus on it. Unluckily, the camera did not have sufficient zoom.

tVF - One more item on my to-do list for whenever I next visit Kumaon.

Another chase is more successful

Due to the aforementioned lack of photography skills, I was soon relegated to role of bird-spotter-cum-camera-carrier, with Soppy or Poppy essaying the key role of photographer. Not content to play a supporting role, I resolved to improve and spent one rainy day in Sitla taking snaps of birds on a tree near Poppy’s room. The tree had a red flower / fruit that attracted them all – common Himlayan bulbuls in droves, a pair of shy green jackdaws and many others I could not identify.

For every four blurred photos I clicked, one came out clear. I got a lot of clear pictures of the Himalayan bulbuls though. Bulbuls were so common that there was no excitement and no hurry to click, even if 2-3 had flown away, there would still be only 20-30 of them on the tree.

Though normally not very attractive birds, they looked really cute in the rain with ruffled puffed-up feathers.

Suddenly a pair of Red Billed Blue Magpie (RBBM) were there too. The cool demeanour and steady hands I thought I had cultivated over the morning just fell apart. The first few snaps I clicked in an excited hurry were blurred as usual due to my shaking hands.

The pair flew away, but returned in a few minutes. Once I realised that I had enough time, my hand steadied and I took some snaps in which you could actually identify the bird. Though some were a bit random as I clicked at any angle, just so I got a snap, no matter what.

Finally I got some good snaps – notice the RBBM’s magnificent tail in these.

These are some links for information on and snaps of this bird. Please note that ahem ahem my snaps are not too bad. Maybe I will get the Verditer Flycatcher too on my next vacation.

By,
Zen

Kumaon Trip - Basic Info

2009-07-16T19:22:00.000-07:00

Kathgodam station is the railhead for most of Kumaon. The most convenient train to get here is the Ranikhet Express which leaves Delhi at night and arrives at Kathgodam early the next morning; during the return trip it leaves Kathgodam at about 8:30 p.m. and arrives in Delhi early the next morning. Be sure to book tickets well in advance - tickets tend to get over very soon during holiday season.

There is also a train from Nainital, but if you take this train you spend daytime sitting in a train rather than being out on the hills. Also, you end up spending time in Nainital, which is crowded and noisy and not pretty any more.

Digression over with, let me get back to Kathgodam. From Kathgodam station you travel by road to your destination. Booking a taxi in advance is preferable. Don’t miss Bhimtal which is on the route out of Kathgodam and is quite pretty. Naukuchiatal which is a bit further off is apparently very beautiful too, but it was off our route and we never had the time to visit it.

Sitla is about an hour and a half from Kathgodam Station. Vikram Maira’s Sitla Estate is the best place to stay. Vikram has converted an old English Bungalow into a hotel with all modern amenities without losing the quaint charm of the place. The Estate has a lovely garden, orchards on the slopes of the hill and woods at the base which merge into Corbett National Park. Do not miss the bench in Vikram’s orchard that is situated at the perfect spot for a panoramic view of snow-covered peaks.

The garden at Sitla

Nandadevi and her circle of courtiers - viewed from Sitla

Sitla Estate is an oasis of tranquillity; if you’re idea of a holiday is lolling in front of the TV during the day and visiting a crowded pub or disco at night, you will be sorely disappointed. On the other hand, if it’s reading and chatting with friends/family, gazing at the mountains, bird-watching, long walks, and other such activities that appeal to you, this is the perfect place to be. Frequent long walks confer the added benefit of helping you burn off the calories you gain eating the absolutely yummy food whipped up by Vikram.

Mukteswar is about 30 minutes drive from Sitla, you can also walk up along the road in the evening if the mood takes you. The town is tiny and quaint and worth walking through. Near the main post office is a small shop where you can get a cup of chai and some biscuits to give you strength for the walk back.

We drove down to Mukteswar and stayed a day at Camp Purple for a day. The camp was very different from what I had expected, quite a relief on the last day of the holiday. It’s a camp for urban-dwellers who haven’t had much interaction with the outdoors, and want to begin with controlled amounts of exposure. There’s not much roughing-it-out involved here; the tents are pitched on raised cement platforms and have proper beds inside ! There is a separate row of clean bath/loo tents with running water, these facilities are kept surprisingly clean.

The staff is friendly and take good care of you. There are a lot of adventure activities that are organised based on demand. There’s bird-watching and trekking for the wimps (like me), for the more active ones, there’s rapelling, rock-climbing and jumaring conducted by the Camp Purple folks at a place nearby called chauli-ki-jaali.

The KMVN (Kumaon Mandal Vikas Nigam) guesthouse at Binsar is right at the peak of Mt. Binsar, in the middle of Binsar sanctuary. It is the best place to stay in at Binsar as it has the best location. Have also heard good reviews of a resort called ‘Kalmatia Sangam’ from some friends of mine, though it is undoubtedly a swankier place than KMVN, it is outside the Binsar sanctuary and lower down the slope than KMVN. KMVN is fairly functional and basic - the rooms are large, comfortable and clean, food is simple, tasty and available in plenty, and the staff is nice. Cold water is available through the day and one bucket of hot water is given in the morning. At night, one bulb in the room is powered by solar power, but only till 9:30 p.m., so carrying a torch along to Binsar is advisable.

Sunrise at Binsar

Sunrise at Binsar - lighter patch on peak of mountain grows bigger

Here comes the sun

Sleeping early is advisable in Binsar as you must wake up early, sit on the terrace and watch the sun rise over the peaks of the Himalayas. Use all your willpower to stir yourself out of bed at 5:30 a.m.; braving sleep, the bitter cold and the biting wind is well worth it. The view is amazing, from the left the peaks of Trishul, then Nandadevi and Nandakot to the right and finally the five peaks of Panchuli or the ‘kitchen of the Gods’, over which the sun rises. As a reward for braving the cold, KMVN staff bring out hot tea at 6 a.m.

The Binsar sanctuary is quite beautiful, there are various tracks through the forest for hiking enthusiasts. You can hire a guide for the day, we were lucky enough to get Purna who was a veritable fount of information about the flora and fauna of the area.
If you want a long walk, you can walk from Binsar to Jageshwar and Dandeshwar temples. Alternately, you can hire a car and driver there or travel by bus from Almora. For some other temples worth visiting check this link.

Kausani and Munsiyari are other great places to visit – I heard about these from fellow travellers during my Kumaon trip. Have added these to my must-visit list, partly because they are small settlements snuggled right next to the mountains, partly because these are what I call ‘new towns’ and used to be villages not long ago. Apparently Munsiyari was a village till about 1982, there was no electricity there and no roads either – people trekked up to it from the nearest bus-stop. Then the UP tourism deptt realised that tourism could be the major source of revenue in the hills and looked for sites to set up KMVN. One was this village. It was only during the 80s that Munsiyari was connected by road and the electric power lines were extended to it. Though some might say that this is not an altogether good thing for the erstwhile village !

By,
Zen

p.s. Contact details of some of the places mentioned in the post above:
Sitla Estate, Vikram Maira – Ph: 05942-286330 or 286030, email i.d. : maira_40@yahoo.co.uk
Camp Purple, Mukteswar – 011-29531036,29531037 (Delhi Office number)
KMVN Binsar – 05962 – 210176, +919412996535; bookings need to be made through Nainital (05942 – 231436,236356, 236209) or Delhi office (011 - 23712246, 23746433, 23746431)
Puran Singh, In Toto Birdwatcher, Binsar - +919411518056, +919410765414.

Addendum

2009-07-12T05:28:00.001-07:00

Groucho Marx once said (or wrote),"I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member."

Zen's addendum : I don't care to worship any religious or spiritual leader who wants to have followers.

Addendum 2 : Especially during their lifetime
(I mean the leader's lifetime, not the followers)

Air Travel

2009-07-03T23:15:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting in my seat as the aircraft is teetering at the edge of the runway. The engine is at high power and its entire body shudders with pent-up energy. It’s straining at its leash like a deliriously slobbering but tied up puppy confronted with his lovely lickable master. And then suddenly, with a roar, it is off bounding up the runway and leaping eagerly into the big blue sky.

It’s not just me, but everyone around has temporarily stopped whatever they were doing and all attention is riveted on experiencing this wonderful growl, the surge and thrust of the engines… on these defining moments of the trip, this transition from earth to sky. you stop, you hear and you FEEL! Thrilll…and we’re off!

Once up in the air the momentum seems to ebb. The five year old in the seat behind remarks “it was going so fast, why has it become so slow now”. The pilot banks and I strain to make out my building in that fuzz of trees and street, I think I may have it but it has gone past too quick. We’re now over the sea and it glitters menacingly, beautifully. I think about the sharks in the water and how deep the part we are over must be.

Sunny day, fluffy clouds….a lovely aroma of warm bread floats through the cabin and now all I can think of is the big hole in my stomach. It’s way past my breakfast time. This is torture. Why does it always take so long for the cart to reach my seat.

Meal gobbled. o look a pat of butter. This is more butter than I should eat in a week. Oh well I guess a little with a bit of bread won’t hurt. Umm ummm umm. Now I’ve eaten the whole thing, it’s gone. There isn’t a crumb left on my tray. Can’t believe how much I can eat these days, I don’t even seem to be able to exercise any quality control any more, i.e., gorge only on things that are totally worth it. I will stuff myself with anything that’s in front of my face. Can’t believe this is the same person who would turn her nose up at most food and take 3 hours to finish lunch.

Now I have to visit the restroom, so I strain around awkwardly, but a trolley blocks the aisle. At least I don’t have to squeeze past fat men with spready thighs to get out. I think fondly of my travel agent for tele-checking me into an aisle seat. I love the aisle seat – easy access to bathroom, easier to control panic bouts of claustrophobia and no strategic battles for at least 1 arm rest.

Ping! The seat belt sign pops on. Ah! We are in for a spot of turbulence. Nothing like a bit of turbulence, it’s like a ride at the amusement park, good bang for your airline ticket price. Especially when the air craft falls through an air pocket and my stomach detaches itself and lurches about inside of me. Of course, theres a thin line between ‘what fun’… and the point when the stomach reaches the base of my throat. This is the point when I wonder if I should worry about this possibly becoming the last few minutes of my life. Am I ok to go yet? What’s done is done, what’s not…well I won’t be around to worry about it. But now I think about my family, will catty be sad...or devastated? What about my parents? O terrible. To see your child go before you. My eyes prickle with tears at the sadness they will feel. And I haven’t made a will. Would Catty know whom to give what. I picture him and my mum picking morosely through my silver jewelery. I run a visual list of my silver earrings through my mind and think about who to leave them to. Zen may like the fish, but so would Namrata. Maybe I should leave the hanging long types for Zen and the traditional ones for Namrata. But Zen likes coloured stones, I can’t remember if I have any. This is very tedious. I realize that the aircraft is coasting peacefully now. A troubling dilemma shelved until further turbulence.

I fall into a deep deep restful sleep. This often happens during the aircraft descent, I think it’s because of pressure or something…or maybe because I’ve been waking up every half hour from 2 a.m. worried that I may oversleep and miss my flight.

I’m rudely awakened during the best part of my sleep by loud announcements to stow the table etc. My lids keep drooping. Now we are going to land, I see the outside whizzing by and the aircraft’s screaming again. Why is the pilot revving the plane, shouldn’t he be slowing it down right about now! We are coming in very fast..too fast!…too fast!…is this my last landing??! I wait for the sickening sounds my tummy’s a tight knot, goodbye Catty I love you. Bang, roar, ROAR ROAR, break, squeal … no not this time…squeal , brake. Damn the pilots of this airline, thudding out of the sky like this. I guess their performance isn’t rated on good landings.

Anyway, Phewww! Aircraft taxies to a halt. Greasy Smart Alec beside me has been yabbering on his phone number one since 5 seconds after touchdown, while his second one rings and flashes. I glare at him to no effect.

Engines off, lights on. The cabin is suddenly crowded by the participants in the off-the-aircraft Olympics. They are jammed and stooped about in uncomfortable positions between seats for about 5 minutes until the ladder hits the plane with a slight tremor. Why they don’t just sit comfortably until the doors are opened, I can never understand. I sit in my seat and feel superior to all of them.

By,
Nafisa

Withdrawal Symptoms

2009-06-28T19:25:00.000-07:00

This year, I misjudged my endurance level and stayed away from the mountains for too long. Not only did I delay indulging in my fix of the snow-covered heights, I even minimised the short weekend treks in the Sahayadris with Odati that usually alleviate the longing. By Feb, I was itching to go back to the mountains. Stuck in traffic jams, every so often I would feel a hollow fist clench in my stomach as I thought of being surrounded by solitude and snow, soaking in the fresh air and silence instead of petrol fumes and the raucous blaring of car horns; every link to Kodak Gallery or Picassa that people sent with their holiday snaps would throw me into fits of jealousy and longing.

These symptoms vanished and were replaced by anticipation once I obtained leave from work and started planning a holiday. As D-Day approached, excitement mounted until I finally took off with friends for a vacation in the hills of Kumaon.

Though I had a great vacation that quenched the mountain withdrawal symptoms (for at least a few months, I hope) I found I had to cope with a new set of symptoms when I returned. My stomach, which since childhood had been able to deal with anything thrown into it and had performed it’s duties without a murmur of discontent under all kinds of conditions, now started acting fussy. It would rumble and grumble throughout the day, even with plain home food – almost as if it was having difficulty acclimatising to the humble low altitude.

To make things worse, I had returned with a humongous appetite – thanks to ten days of walking for hours in the cold and pigging out on yummy food secure in the knowledge that I was burning off all the calories. Now I still had the same voracious appetite, except that the temperamental stomach that ached with hunger would grumble petulantly the minute I actually ate anything! It took me ten days to get my appetite back to normal – ten days in which I ate much more fruit and soya than I wanted to in order to ensure that my supersized appetite did not result in too much weight gain.

To add to the petulant stomach, I had a non-cooperating mind. For a few days, my head felt heavy and woozy and I could not fully focus my thoughts – it felt as if I was wading through an ocean of cotton. A few hours of struggling to work in office and I was totally drained out – one would think I was attempting some major ascent instead of just clearing the mail that had piled up in the last week! I finally returned to normal after using a solution a much-travelled well-wisher shared with me – start thinking about where to go for your next vacation.

Moral of the story – Work is done best in between planning vacations

By,
Zen

All I want Is a Roof Somewhere

2009-06-19T20:31:00.005-07:00

On popular trekking routes, groups of tents huddled together are quite a common sight at points designated as night halts. Amongst my happy memories of sleeping in a tent is one of discovering my favourite mountain orchestra at Tsokha, a small settlement at about 10000 ft on the route to Dzongri in Sikkim (you can read about this trek here, here and here) . Playing to a musical score set by the forbidding mountains, the wind swooshed and whistled aggressively down the peaks onto the meadow where we were camped; this was offset by the reassuring, gentle tinkle of bells tied around the necks of pack-ponies as they grazed.

Tents are striking from an aesthetic viewpoint - whether the peaks are covered with shades of summer brown, monsoon green or winter white, the bright orange- yellow – purple tents add a dash of colour and their compact shape makes for a neat picture. However, the low roof and compact size tend to make them a bit claustrophobic and difficult to move about in, especially for someone with a large build, i.e. yours truly.

I would much rather sleep out in the open in a sleeping bag - weather permitting, of course, with the wind on my face, gazing at the starry sky and giggling my way to sleep as my companions come up with non-zodiac descriptions of the stars. Never to be forgotten is one young gentleman’s description of two unusually bright and prominent stars of a constellation as ‘Aunty Sharma’s (pause here for effect)…………..earrings’ and the reactions it evoked, half the group cackling with glee and the other more – astronomically - inclined half wincing at the sacrilegious intrusion on their discussion.

While tents, sleeping bags and caves such as the one in Harishchandragad are all a welcome change from mundane city life and have an adventurous element to them, it is on the Himalayan treks that one really gets to experience the entire range of shelters possible.

While trekking with Odati from an altitude of 12000 ft to that of 14000 ft in Arunachal Pradesh (read Anusha’s description of the trek here), we stayed in log huts made by the GREF - General Reserve Engineering Force. Like the BRO (Border Roads Organisation), these corps, unnoticed and unsung, are responsible for building much of the basic infrastructure in the border areas. When they work in remote areas for a short span of time, they often build log huts to stay in. Two of these, in Nagajiji and Dhonk chi phoo, were a boon to us - it was raining and snowing intermittently at both places and the charm of such weather fades very soon if you are directly exposed to it. Having a GREF hut implies not just thick wooden logs between the elements and yourself, but also a roof high above your head that allows you to stand up straight, enough room for 6-8 people to spread out their things comfortably and the added bonus of a log fire to warm you up. Truly the answer to the wish for a room somewhere !

‘All I want is a room somewhere
Far away from the cold night air,
Lots of chocolates for me to eat
Lots of coal making lots of heat,
Warm face, warm hands, warm feet,
Aow, wouldn’t it be lovely ? ’
(with apologies to Ms. Eliza Doolittle)

(The GREF hut at Dhonk Chi Phoo)

Each GREF hut has its own unique features that you discover only when you enter. The one we stayed in at Nagajiji was big enough to have contained two Bombay-ishtyle 1BHKs in it. There was a big central fireplace near which we huddled to make the most of the warmth, even stretching our frozen feet out dangerously close to the flames. Around the fireplace were poles on which we tied strings and dried all our wet clothes, thus ending up smelling of wood-smoke for the next few days. The GREF hut in Dhonk chi phoo was as big as the one in Nagajiji but had a wall dividing it into two halves, almost like a planned conservative zenana-mardana divide. The wall even had tiny holes that enabled conversations across it !

In the same mountains but at a lower altitude of 10000 feet, we spent a night at a village called Lubrang near the Bhutan border. After a refreshing walk on a path overhung with rhododendron flowers, we arrived fully satiated and satisfied with the trip, prepared to spend the night in a corner of one of the villager’s houses. We were totally stunned when the village headman, who was our guide, invited us to stay in the village Gompa (Buddhist monastery or place of worship). I initially thought I must have misunderstood him, until one of my companions actually spread out his sleeping bag and went to sleep, right inside the sanctum ! In his defense, I must mention that he was unwell and suffering from fever and a bad cold. (As an aside, consider what a title that would make for a book – ‘I snored at the feet of the Buddha’, a bit blasphemous, but definitely attention grabbing!)

(Pictures of the entrance to the Gompa at Lubrang - don't miss our shoes outside the door and the tea kettle kept nearby, also the amazing prayer wheel to the right)

There was something awe-inspiring about us mere mortals being permitted to close our eyes, not in devotion but in slumber, in the presence of divinity. Never had I imagined I would sleep in such a beautiful place, guarded by a statue of the Buddha, surrounded by walls with beautiful paintings and shelves filled with religious items ! The generosity of the village in offering us such hospitality proved that the clichéd ‘atithi devo bhava’ is still practiced in some areas.

Another trek, another shelter – a home stay at village Tolma (altitude approximately 10,000 feet) in the Garhwal Himalayas. Here we stayed in simple rooms in the villager’s houses, the normalcy of it reassuring after an arduous walk in a snow-storm the previous day. Tolma village is defined by Dronagiri mountain in the foreground. T he immensity of the mountain dominates the horizon as it looms over the village like a majestic-but-moody guardian, and the village huddles gratefully-but-carefully by its foot. The early morning has the mountain at its gentlest as the rays of the sun warm its cold visage and a snow plume languidly wafts off its peak. It was lovely to wake up, step out of the room and see a white snow plume stretched out across the blue sky, especially when I knew I had the option of retiring to the sanctuary of the room and snuggling under thick quilts the minute I felt too cold.

The beauty of Tolma was not limited to Dronagiri’s majesty, or the quilts that protected us from Dronagiri’s largesse of icy cool wind blowing off snowy slopes, it was also in the bucket of warm water each of us got for a bath in the makeshift bathroom, and in the nice clean loo that the villagers had constructed specifically for tourists to use. After five days in the wilderness without the pleasures of even basic plumbing, it was a close run thing between Dronagiri and the amenities when it came to deciding which sight gave one more happiness ! Dronagiri eventually won, but only just; quite a typical reaction towards the end of the trek !

No matter how much I relish the experience, after some days of the harsher, more basic existence, my city-bred spoilt side comes rushing to the fore and demands attention. While I love the mountains, I am also used to many amenities of Life in a Metro and start longing for them. Then it’s only the shelter provided by the grimy building where I reside in my dirty polluted Mumbai that I want. As they say, ‘There’s no place like Home’. Amen.

By Zen
(you can read more posts about trekking at http://odatihobo.blogspot.com)

Evolution of a Facebook User

2009-05-22T02:17:00.000-07:00

Sit out the Facebook revolution for several years.

Listen to friends indicate that you are a dinosaur and may be left off the ship earthlings will use to emigrate to the outer worlds when apocalypse hits.

One fine evening, sign up

Cautiously accept pending invites (and wonder how one can get invites even before one even has a Facebook account. This is so Big Brother)

Start responding to messages.

--------

Realise on one slow day that office gives you access to Facebook.

Start commenting on everyone’s pages.

Invite a few friends

---------

Notice number of friends all your friends have and realize you look like the class loser with a pathetically low score.

Get competitive

Start inviting half of your batch from college and B School

--------

Realise you are getting updates on Dinesh Daswani’s life frequently

Realise you have not exchanged more than two words with Dinesh in your entire 2 years at B-School

Realise you are not interested in Dinesh’s life at all.

Spend time contemplating between de-friending Dinesh, abandoning Facebook and turning to Yoga to remove competitive streak in self.

---------

Figure out tools for seeing updates only of ‘close friends’ and feel like an international diplomat bringing smooth solutions to conflict-torn areas.

Realise this is the kind of meaningless work you were worried Facebook would thrust on you.

Kick yourself for succumbing to peer pressure to get a Facebook account and make a mental note that you don’t want to be on the emigration ship. Esp if it has Dinesh Daswani.
-------------

By,
Anita B
(http://royalvilla.blogspot.com)

Atlas Shrugged ?

2009-03-27T07:52:00.000-07:00

(Editor’s Note : The title is the comment a friend made while forwarding to me the letter sent earlier this week by JakeDesantis, an executive vice-president of AIGs financial products unit, to Edward M.Liddy, the chief executive of A.I.G. The letter, or the link to it, has been forwarded and quoted so many times in the last few days that I have no doubt that you, regular reader, have read it already. Here is the link for the occasional visitor who might not be as well informed.
The post below is an anonymous contributor’s reaction to the issue)

The morality of the payments is not really debatable at all, they're perfectly moral besides being legal. And before anyone tries to lynch me, allow me to explain why. It’s not that difficult .... the top three reasons are

1) They have a contract
2) They have a contract
3) They have a contract

It’s as simple as that, and the rest is just banana republic politics and plain thuggery. For eg ., since all this is related to financial markets, let’s just compare this to the simplest kind of financial instrument .. a forward contract ( as opposed to all those dastardly derivatives that are being blamed for this mess). Let’s say a year back you and I entered into a contract that in one years time, I would buy from you 1 ounce of gold in return for USD 1250 (basically a forward contract) . One year hence, i.e. today, I find that the price of that one ounce in the market is say USD 1000, and so I try to default on my contract with you to push that loss of $250 onto you. Now these are the arguments I would like to give to justify this:-

1) I will default because I can now buy that ounce in the market for $1000, so why should I pay you $1,250 - Go find someone else willing to buy it from you at $1250; Essentially this is what the US government wants to do when they say "Don’t pay them ....let’s see where they can get this kind of money in the current market " .

2) Someone else also made me pay USD 250 extra for a ton of oranges that I bought from them, so I intend to recover it from you. I don’t care if you have never eaten an orange in your life or are allergic to them ....you are all part of this nefarious conspiracy against me. Again, as per the govt's stand, no distinction is necessary between different people performing different functions, working in different markets or even working in different organizations ...go after them all and tax them @ 90%

3) During the course of the year I lost a lot of money in my other dealings in gold, hence I refuse to pay you because you also deal in gold. Like the govt saying that the very people who got us into the mess cannot be paid,without regard to any attempt to distinguish between people, like they're all one big faceless mass.

4) You fooled / tricked / conned me into entering into this contract a year ago ! You should never have done this deal with me! I, a poor innocent have become a victim to your fiendish, devilish intents. That’s right , poor little AIG , this 120,000 strong leading insurance company was "fooled" into entering into employment contracts that guaranteed a certain level of payments irrespective of what happened in the market . Poor folks, looks like they were operating without an HR dept, lawyers, out of some tin shack somewhere and just didn’t understand what they were doing.

5) There's too much poverty in Zimbabwe for me to honor this contract. Aka US Govt ...when people are losing jobs, they should be happy to have a salary and work for free ! We are suddenly all part of a national / world / universal community interested in zen and the art of collective peace !

6) Ok, ok; i shall honour this contract and buy from you at $1250, provided that you deposit $250 in my unmarked swiss account. Aka let them have their bonus, we'll tax it @ 100% ! Sneer Sneer- What’s that - What do you mean where does that tax money go ? Don’t be impertinent.

7) I am bankrupt- get in line with the others to recover your dues! Well, AIG was bankrupt wasn’t it . No wait a minute, we had to save it from bankruptcy under which btw, like any other creditors employees too would have NOT received any of their outstanding bonuses and perhaps not their salary also. However, it was decided to save it and its creditors + employees for the "greater good of the system" ....oops , but now I find I harbour animosities towards a select few, some of those evil millions of bonuses types , and so what the heck, let’s just declare "selective bankruptcy" , sort of like selective memory which will enable me to continue to pay some but not others at the mercy of my whims and fancies . Ain’t life great ! :-)

8) Stop whining - I am doing it because I CAN. And that’s really at the heart of this isn’t it ...I suddenly find myself able to cater to my worst instincts and renege on my word under the guise of taxpayer interests, morality, and other pithy homilies with one finger on a metaphorical trigger. And therefore I shall !

By,
Anonymous.

Prabalgad - In the Sahyadris

2009-03-19T20:58:00.001-07:00

There had been a storm warning declared in Bombay the day we visited Prabalgad two years ago; incessant heavy rain had caused flooding during the preceding days and even more rain was expected. As we left early in the morning, we looked at the grey overcast skies and felt like brave adventurers. “I may be a corporate slave chained to a desk from Monday to Friday, but just take a look at what daring death-defying deeds I attempt over the weekend !” One would think we were climbing Everest without oxygen or crossing the ocean in a coracle from the frissons of excitement running through some of us.

Thankfully, Prabalgad is a great trek and does not disappoint charged-up weekend trekkers. It has lush, green, refreshing vegetation – the number of trees and bushes and their varying shades of deep green somehow seem better than many of the other routes in the Sahayadris. There are hills playing hide-and-seek in the mist and streams to splash across on the route. As bonus points to your enthusiastic spirit, halfway up, there is a nice grassy meadow that makes a natural break-for-lunch spot. It is really picturesque as the center patch is grassy and surrounded by a perimeter of trees that sway gently in even a mild breeze.

The climb is pitched at just the right level of difficulty, it does not feel easy but is not too tough either - even a family with a kid did it. Best of all, the first 15 to 20 minutes walk is over a flat area, which gives sufficient time for all one’s muscles to stretch and limber up in preparation for the climb ahead. Given that it is a bit of a long and strenuous trek , such a beginning is a blessing. I definitely prefer such treks to ones, albeit easier climbs, where you begin climbing right at the start. The Prabalgad way, in the beginning, your enjoyment of the scenery and the surroundings is unhindered by panting or wondering when it will end and why you punish yourself like this on a regular basis. On the contrary, in Prabalgad you are raring to go and fully charged when the long climb begins.

Apart from the thicker, more lush vegetation and the conveniently arranged topography, there is definitely something else that is strange about Prabalgad – it’s the very atmosphere. It’s the only trek where five people among the group ended up with the soles of their shoes ripped off, and it isn’t even one of those treks that have uneven terrain and sharp rocks. It’s the only trek I have been on where we were accompanied by two local villagers who disturbed the peace and quiet with squabbles over the correct route throughout and held a diametrically opposite viewpoint on every twist and turn of the path. Not only was each obstinate about establishing that he, and only he, knew the correct path, they were resolute about ‘guiding’ us and refused to go away.

It is also is the only trek I have been on twice, but not made it to the top even once. The first time in Prabalgad, we got lost, came across a lovely waterfall in the afternoon and called a halt there. Away to one end, there was a kind of broad shelf where one could stand with the water pouring over – a lot of people washed their tiredness away by standing under the waterfall and getting a good back massage. The second time in Prabalgad we had almost reached the top, but the last bit of the path had been washed away due to incessant rain. Both times, however, we thoroughly enjoyed the trek and didn’t regret not completing it.

By,
Zen

Learning To Live With Islam

2009-03-11T08:12:00.000-07:00

(This post is reprinted from this blog, with due permission of course.)

The veil is not the same as the suicide belt. We can better pursue our values if we recognize the local and cultural context, and appreciate that people want to find their own balance between freedom and order, liberty and license.
--- Fareed Zakaria. Learning to Live With Radical Islam. Newsweek: February 28, 2009.

Sharia demands death for the adulteress
I am not an adulteress
I can learn to live with Sharia.

Sharia demands death for the gays
I am not a gay
I can learn to live with Sharia.

Sharia demands death for the blasphemer
I am not a blasphemer
I can learn to live with Sharia.

Sharia demands death for the apostate
I am not a Muslim
I can learn to live with Sharia.

Islam demands Sharia for everyone
I am no one
I learned to live with Islam.

An adaptation of "First they came...", a poem attributed to Pastor Martin Niemöller (1892–1984).
By, The Rational Fool

Comments : One of the reasons I like Desipundit is that it regularly introduces me to posts such as this. Something about the poem grabbed my attention when I read it. The wikipedia entry on Pastor Martin Niemoller and his poem was rivetting too. Am copying below the 1976 version of his poem.
- Zen

First They Came (1976 version)

When the Nazis came for the communists,
I remained silent;
I was not a communist.

When they locked up the social democrats,
I remained silent;
I was not a social democrat.

When they came for the trade unionists,
I did not speak out;
I was not a trade unionist.

When they came for the Jews,
I remained silent;
I was not a Jew.

When they came for me,
there was no one left to speak out.

Obama vs. W - Different or Same ?

2009-03-04T07:26:00.000-08:00

Today, contemplating while being snowed in, I started thinking about everything that Obama is doing in his first few days in office. Be it trying to save the economy by bailing out banks, insurance companies, car manufacturers, etc. OR pushing through a 10 year budget OR embarking upon health care reforms OR taxing the rich to feed the coffers & supposedly help the poor... Why is he rushing to get all this done now? Why not space it out over his first term?

So here is my epiphany, he is trying to push as much as possible right now when the country is in panic mode & looking hopefully to the new leader of the free world to fix it. In these "tough economic times", people are willing to overlook any so called inconveniences for the sake of the light at the end of the tunnel - SAVING THE ECONOMY!

Now here is my question - how is this different from the actions of W (Dubya) in 2001? There was panic in the US & in the name of security & defense against the axis of evil, so many initiatives were pushed through which may have made us a safer nation of people, but have also pushed the limit on constitutional rights or even basic human rights. Did we bat an eyelid? No siree! We were rallying around the Commander-in-Chief to save us from terror on our own soil!

In business this is called, taking a bath. So if nothing else, they have an intelligent set of advisors! But woe to the common man! We are being taken for a ride yet again. All my money (through taxes) are being ploughed into penny stock companies like CITI & AIG!

It is time not only to bat eyelids, but banding together to put an end to this nonsensical vicious spiral that we are being dragged into. If companies are not fit to run, let them sink. Do not try & throw these multi-billion dollar life preservers at them! Their mass is so ginormous & unwieldy & grotesque that drowning is inevitable. Live & let die! Survival of the fittest!!

By,
Alok Gupta

Bombay United - Suggestions Anyone ?

2009-02-05T20:18:00.001-08:00

I feel that despite the large volumes of information available on the internet today, Google searches hold the key to where you end up finding what you're looking for.

I joined an outfit called "Bombay United" recently, in the hope that I can help develop their website http://www.bombayunited.org to be the first stop for all things related to the city's administration. The idea is to not duplicate information that's already out there, but instead organize it under one roof for easy access.

Preliminary ideas include:

About Us - mission, vision, members, you know the drill...
Blogs on Bombay - like BombayAddict, Sonia Faleiro, Mumbai Info, etc and possibly one of our own for members to post
Bombay Info - alphabetically organized e.g. [V]oter Registration, [W]ards, etc - our site will provide (working) links to information that's already been posted, like Jaago Re
Trivia of the Week - to encourage people to keep visiting (though I think this might be a bit ambitious. It may have to be fortnightly!
Important Links - like Traffic Police, MCGM, Maharashtra Govt. websites and also NGOs like AGNI and Karma Yog
Find Your Ward - perhaps the biggest mystery to some of us who don't know which ward and constituency we fall under
Other stuff like a calendar of events (Bombay United and other events), Contact Us, Mailing Lists, Meeting Minutes, etc

It would be really useful if you guys email me suggestions on what else could be included, or which of the above items you think are a waste of time / useless to readers.. All comments are welcome. Also, if you're willing to run the above post on your blog and spread the word, that would be fantastic.

Thanks,
Sanjana
(http://the-strawberry-fields.com)

Bell Bajao !

2009-02-03T05:52:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, Z lived in a flat adjoining one occupied by an ogre and his persecuted family. Z’s days were happy and fun-filled, yet sometimes she had nightmares and was unable to sleep properly. This used to happen on nights when she had heard shouting and shrieking from the ogre’s house as she began to fall asleep - she dreaded the times the ogre lost his temper and she would hear his gruff voice raised in anger. Sometimes she lay awake trying to convince herself that the high-pitched shrieks she heard were screams of frustration or retaliation and not of someone in pain; she tried to wrap herself in a snug cocoon of false conviction so that she did not feel guilty about doing nothing; but reality would insist on unraveling it, bringing along a bitter and feverish feeling in her stomach, a tightening of her face muscles and a grinding of teeth. She felt totally helpless – unable to block it out, unable to figure out what to do to stop it.

Z moved on, changed houses, continued to be happy and enjoy life (this is where you touch wood for luck). But every so often she wondered what would have been the appropriate course of action and about its consequences - alerting the police, alerting an NGO, speaking to the aggressor etc, would an intervention have made the victims’ life better or worse ?

……………………

If, like me, you have been through such a scenario, you will understand why I was thrilled to read this article in the newspaper one day.

Finally, there is an organization that has outlined a simple solution that a concerned individual can adopt in such a situation. It’s ‘Bell Bajao’
, or, ‘Ring the Bell’. (see the ads here, here, here and here)

Bell Bajao, an awareness and intervention campaign to bring domestic violence to an end was launched in August 2008 by Breakthrough, an organization dedicated to gender rights. Created pro bono by Ogilvy and Mather, the TV commercial has been distributed across popular TV channels. It has also been distributed across radio channels, press and the Internet. Video vans will follow with on-ground activation across six districts over 150 days to begin with, building awareness on issues regarding domestic violence and women's vulnerability to HIV/AIDS.

This campaign asks men to take a stand in order to reduce the violence done by other men. It aims at killing the ‘it's not my business’ and ‘it will be of no use’ mentality. It seeks to engage men as direct partners ready to 'ring the bell', and intervene in situations of abuse - a path-breaking venture within the Indian context. Breakthrough sees the involvement of men as important for many reasons. Key amongst those are the fact that men are more likely to listen to other men, and less likely to see domestic violence as permissible if other men in their society look down on it. Also, men are an integral part of the community that supports and interacts with families dealing with violence - they are the majority of judges, police officers, and doctors who work with families in crisis.

My only quibble (and a tiny one) against this campaign is that it does not give concerned women any advice at all. How about a Bell Bajao phase 3 where women ring on the doorbell ? I would like to understand whether the thought of a woman – and an outsider at that - questioning him drive the aggressor to attack the victim with even more force than usual later ? Is there a chance of violence being committed on the woman ringing the door-bell too ? I would really like to know the answer to both these questions – there’s a doorbell in a nearby suburb that’s waiting for me and I want to be aware of the consequences first. (Yes, I am a coward. Don’t bother saying it. )

By,
Zenobia Driver

For those of you that want to read more :

This site gives information about what all constitutes domestic violence, statistics on violence, what to do if you know someone who is being abused, what can the abused do to help herself etc. The statistics on domestic violence are truly shocking – one out of three women in India faces some form of domestic violence at home ! 51% of the 75,000 men surveyed thought that hitting their wives is acceptable, if in-laws were disrespected; with a smaller number thinking that bad cooking/refusing sex were also legitimate reasons.

This is a short primer about the laws on domestic violence in India, and this is an article on the long struggle towards a law against domestic violence.

Go ahead now ! If you’ve read this far, you’ve read enough to be convinced - Take The Bell Bajao Pledge

p.s. Cannot end without mentioning this. Breakthrough is also the organization responsible for the ‘Mann ke Manjeere’ album, a collaborative effort with singer Shubha Mudgal, Prasoon Joshi and Shantanu Moitra. View the song here

When I'm 64

2009-01-18T03:50:00.000-08:00

The Beatles

When i get older losing my hair,
Many years from now.
Will you still be sending me a valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine ?
If i'd been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door,
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When i'm sixty-four.
You'll be older too,
And if you say the word,
I could stay with you.
I could be handy, mending a fuse
When your lights have gone.
You can knit a sweater by the fireside
Sunday mornings go for a ride,
Doing the garden, digging the weeds,
Who could ask for more.
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When i'm sixty-four.
Every summer we can rent a cottage,
In the isle of wight, if it's not too dear,
We shall scrimp and save
Grandchildren on your knee
Vera chuck & dave
Send me a postcard, drop me a line,
Stating point of view
Indicate precisely what you mean to say
Yours sincerely, wasting away
Give me your answer, fill in a form
Mine for evermore
Will you still need me, will you still feed me,
When i'm sixty-four.

Comments : Have loved this song for years - it is just too cute. Thought of posting this the instant Anita posted a poem about turning 30. Yes, have decided that the theme for this month is poems relating to age and ageing.
Zen

Indian of the year 2008 : You Decide

2009-01-18T03:27:00.001-08:00

I'm sure that anyone who has been watching the news channels as much as I have lately will have seen ads urging you to vote for the "Indian of the Year" on NDTV 24x7. Curiosity got the better of me and I finally looked up the nominations. Some of the "reasons for nomination" really puzzled me. Pardon my ignorance but I really think it would've helped if NDTV added a few lines on what the nominees did IN 2008 that would make their nominations relevant.
· Katrina Kaif - "Tornado of Another Kind" - what on earth does that mean?
· Mayawati - "Sab Maya Hai"- maybe it's because she has decided to tone down her 53rd birthday celebrations in light of the 26/11 attacks. However party members refuse to discontinue her cake-cutting tradition.
· Shivraj Chauhan - "BJP's Golden Boy" - last I heard, he became Madhya Pradesh's Chief Minister in 2005 - so why nominate him for Indian of the Year 2008?
· L.K. Advani - "PM in Waiting" - he gets nominated because he's waiting? He's been waiting since 2005, so what makes 2008 special? Maybe we should add Rahul Gandhi to the list. He too has been waiting ever *so* long.
· M.F. Hussain - "Painter in Exile" - nomination for *voluntary* exile? I hear Salman Rushdie is upset at not being nominated for "Writer in Exile".
I would've added the following to the list:
· Shobhaa De - For shedding the "I'm so perfect, I can do no wrong" image and openly admitting to watching Slumdog Millionaire on a pirated DVD. I don't know if adding "Oh Danny Boyle, we love you so" was her attempt to dissuade him from suing.
· Mayor Shubha Raul - For suggesting that we give military training to slum kids so that they can work as security officers for the BMC. Here's an idea - how about we send them to school instead?
· MINT reporters - For telling us exactly what Ramalinga Raju ate, drank, what time he went to sleep and how thick the mattress was in the prison cell. Talk about investigative journalism! I think the nomination might have to be withdrawn on the grounds that we're still unclear whether Raju had any of the "chicken curry, rice and rasam" that the prison serves on Sundays. Seriously guys, how could you leave out this crucial piece of information?
· NDTV reporters - For outlining why British Foreign Secretary David Miliband's visit to Mumbai is very significant "because ONE Britisher was killed in the attacks".
· Priya Dutt - For her naivety in thinking there is any kind of loyalty in politics. · Last but certainly not the least - Ramalinga Raju - but the nomination has to be in the Cinema category. I think he can beat Nasseruddin Shah as "The Actor", what with such a convincing performance over the past 7 years. He sure had everybody fooled.
Now, who are you going to vote for?

By,
Sanjana

"I Told You So"

2008-12-25T23:15:00.000-08:00

(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

Review of 'All Thieves'

2008-12-17T03:38:00.001-08:00

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)

Bombay Blast Aftermath

2008-12-05T21:40:00.000-08:00

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)

Bombay : History of a City

2008-12-04T03:51:00.000-08:00

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 Stick and the Carrot - Gaurav Jain's Sikkim Trip : Part 6

2008-11-26T01:01:00.001-08:00

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

The Sleeping Trinity - Gaurav's Sikkim Trip : Part 5

2008-11-25T05:34:00.001-08:00

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

The Tea Boy - Gaurav's Sikkim Trip : Part 4

2008-11-24T03:40:00.000-08:00

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

The Long Walk - Gaurav's Sikkim Trip : Part 3

2008-11-22T19:40:00.000-08:00

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

The Plot and the Star Cast - Gaurav's Sikkim Trip : Part 2

2008-11-21T23:34:00.001-08:00

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

The Start of it All - Gaurav's Sikkim Trip : Part 1

2008-11-21T03:12:00.003-08:00

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

In One of My Moods

2008-10-03T19:58:00.000-07:00

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

Dishoom Dishoomm

2008-10-02T09:05:00.000-07:00

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

Ticking Away

2008-09-29T07:06:00.000-07:00

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

Me and You

2008-09-23T20:28:00.000-07:00

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

Would you like fries with that painting?

2008-07-20T22:00:00.000-07:00

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)