Sometimes ancient traditional values are hidden so deep under the liberal exterior of some men that it's scary. They like to be with so-called modern women, they like to behave like men who believe in man-woman equality but when it comes to the real situation where they need to put into execution the so-called liberal outlook, the truth- the real underlying conservative attitudes come to the fore. I can talk from experience and it scares me to no end.
Well, this and several thoughts started juggling around in my head after I began reading Girls of Riyadh by Rajaa Alsanea. It is the first book I have come across which deals with the personal lives of women in a conservative middle-east country like Saudi Arabia. But the issues that are spoken about are, I guess, only the exagerated versions of what we see in our own country.
After smoking, drinking and sleeping with his girl friend a guy dumps her because he thinks his parents wouldn't be able to deal with a girl as liberal as her. So what were you doing all along....contemplating how to break the news? Didn't you know this for all the years that you were with her, that she was a 21st century girl with modern values? Shouldn't you have peeped into your conservative roots before hurting the girl? A liberal girl too has a heart, you know?
Well, that is my story. But in Girls of Riyadh this man gets legally married to the girl, and the formal wedding ceremony is a few months away. While he wants to go all out into the physical relationship, each time the girl stops him and tells him to draw the line. Since their wedding date gets postponed, the girl decides to placate him by not stopping him this time around. He goes all the way, then. And after that just stops calling her up. And after three weeks sends a divorce notice without a single dailogue with the girl he had sex with. Wasn't it he who wanted to have sex. How can he judge her on this? It's crazy!
I had recently heard of the story of this guy who was the hypocrite of the first order. He was seeing this girl for a long time. But when asked when he was planning to get married to her, he replied that he wouldn't want to get married to a girl as easy as his girl friend was! This guy lives in one of the most liberal city in India- Mumbai, he is educated and stays in suburb like Bandra. Who will be able to figure out or believe that someone like him could be such a hypocrite?
Someone please tell me how to recognise a conservative hypocrite man who disguises as the modern, educated and liberal man of the 21st century! It is one of the most intruiging issues of today's youth.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
A little death
Come take over.
Come make me die.
Bring death upon life.
From every broken heart,
every aching soul,
every failed relationship,
and every lost friend,
comes death, and with it
A little life.
From each destruction
rises a new formation.
So go
deep, deep, deeper.
Reach the deepest spot.
A place from where
I can rise.
Yes, make me come,
make me glow.
For each part of me
I give to you.
Come take me away from myself.
For an orgasm is death—
a zenith.
An exalted state of communion
where we leave ourselves behind.
And die a small death.
So die,
Rise, regenerate, be born.
What’s life without a little death?
Come make me die.
Bring death upon life.
From every broken heart,
every aching soul,
every failed relationship,
and every lost friend,
comes death, and with it
A little life.
From each destruction
rises a new formation.
So go
deep, deep, deeper.
Reach the deepest spot.
A place from where
I can rise.
Yes, make me come,
make me glow.
For each part of me
I give to you.
Come take me away from myself.
For an orgasm is death—
a zenith.
An exalted state of communion
where we leave ourselves behind.
And die a small death.
So die,
Rise, regenerate, be born.
What’s life without a little death?
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Simply put
We all have seen loads of mushy love stories in Hindi films as well as in Hollywood. So what could possibly make yet another light hearted simple romantic film work some magic with the audience? Some of the most-loved movies in the world are films with simple themes and universal expressions. The strongest point of Jab We Met is the simplicity and emotions.
Imtiaz is an intelligent director who knows that, what connects with today's audience are emotions they can identify with. So he keeps it as real as possible. Yes, he puts in bhangra numbers and stretches the second half a little, but what he manages to do is, is to make people fall in love with the film by the time the story approaches it's weak moments. He keeps his characters real in extra-ordinary circumstances and does not go for a dramatic climax. The same elements he used in the not so successful but sweet love story Socha Na Tha.
The strongest point of the film though is the lead pair. Kareena and Shahid look like a dream when they are in the same frame. Their chemistry is amazing- a mix of hot and sweet- and their characters are very strongly etched.
Kareena delivers one of the most memorable performances of her career. She may have big films like the K3Gs and Asoka's to her name, but it is the character of Geet that people will remember her for, in the years to come. At first you think that she's too loud but in a minute or two you begin liking her. She could have easily ended up hamming but her maturity shows as she stops short of it. With dialogues like 'teri maa ki' and 'bachpanse hi mujhe shaadi karne ka bada shauk hai by God', she keeps you in splits. The best thing that Imtiaz did with her is to have her use minimum make-up.
The surprise element of the film though is Shahid Kapoor. There is a whiff of some talent here. A restrained and mature performance keeps you glued even as Kareena takes away all the acolades for her tagda portrayal of a carefree, optimistic Sikh girl.
Imtiaz has done a great job in bringing out the best in these two actors. He has also brought on screen the chemistry that has been missing in their earlier films together. Hopefully we'll get to see them together again. Shahid and Kareena play two believable characters, and do a good job at it. Music is feel good and the use of lesser known actors for other characters actually works in favour of the film.
It's romantic yet not mushy. The story is regular but the exectution is innovative. It's dramatic but not filmi. The situations are extra-ordinary yet believable. Go watch it and feel good about yourself, life, love and everything.
Imtiaz is an intelligent director who knows that, what connects with today's audience are emotions they can identify with. So he keeps it as real as possible. Yes, he puts in bhangra numbers and stretches the second half a little, but what he manages to do is, is to make people fall in love with the film by the time the story approaches it's weak moments. He keeps his characters real in extra-ordinary circumstances and does not go for a dramatic climax. The same elements he used in the not so successful but sweet love story Socha Na Tha.
The strongest point of the film though is the lead pair. Kareena and Shahid look like a dream when they are in the same frame. Their chemistry is amazing- a mix of hot and sweet- and their characters are very strongly etched.
Kareena delivers one of the most memorable performances of her career. She may have big films like the K3Gs and Asoka's to her name, but it is the character of Geet that people will remember her for, in the years to come. At first you think that she's too loud but in a minute or two you begin liking her. She could have easily ended up hamming but her maturity shows as she stops short of it. With dialogues like 'teri maa ki' and 'bachpanse hi mujhe shaadi karne ka bada shauk hai by God', she keeps you in splits. The best thing that Imtiaz did with her is to have her use minimum make-up.
The surprise element of the film though is Shahid Kapoor. There is a whiff of some talent here. A restrained and mature performance keeps you glued even as Kareena takes away all the acolades for her tagda portrayal of a carefree, optimistic Sikh girl.
Imtiaz has done a great job in bringing out the best in these two actors. He has also brought on screen the chemistry that has been missing in their earlier films together. Hopefully we'll get to see them together again. Shahid and Kareena play two believable characters, and do a good job at it. Music is feel good and the use of lesser known actors for other characters actually works in favour of the film.
It's romantic yet not mushy. The story is regular but the exectution is innovative. It's dramatic but not filmi. The situations are extra-ordinary yet believable. Go watch it and feel good about yourself, life, love and everything.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Enough fire in NO SMOKING
It's amazing that except Sarita Tanwar from Mid Day and Indu Mirani from DNA to an extent, none of the critics could criticise the film for what it is. I don't think I should review it then. But I want to share my experiences and impressions as a member of the audience.
Why can't a regular movie goer enjoy Dawid Dhawan's Partner in the same breath as the radical No Smoking? Like my friend said, probably because the audience is not ready to open themselves up to different techniques of cinema. Yes, I understand a large mumber of the audience did not understand the film because they are so used to straight narratives, concrete endings and all answers been given on a platter. But what about the so-called critics?
Have they learnt film appreciation, literary criticism, or even watched and studied World Cinema? I agree that everyone has their own views, but when personal bias, a close minded attitude and arrogance of being a critic creep into your review, I'm sorry that's the end of you as a critic. You CANNOT let your personal bias come in, when you are writing a review. You got to review the film for what it is, not what your opinion about a particular film maker is. Playing politics through your review is sly!
Anyway, I think Anurag has said enough about the reviews on Passionforcinema.com for me to go on and on abou it. Now the film- it is one experience each one of us should go through. The story is open to interpretation because Anurag has refrained from explaining the events. He leaves you to draw your own conclusions. When was the last time a film maker gave that kind of freedom to the member of the audience. Whether it's John waking up in Siberia, or coming out of the tub- what is reality and what is fantasy? The line is blur. Was it a dream? What could have the part about Ayesha Takia going missing mean? Was Paresh Rawal a doc or a con man? Who is on who's side? Think! That's what the film makes you do. It's challening, and you feel mentally stimulated as you witness the going ons.
The influences from graphic novels and the Chaplin-style flashback could have looked gimmicky, but Anurag carries them off with so much style that they end up impressing you. It's great to come out of a movie hall thinking about the movie you just watched. Yes, you come back with more questions than answers but it is one movie that will stay with you for a long long time to come.
Isn't it a fantastic experience to delve into the realms of the subconscious? To cross the boundaries between realism and fantasy? Who said that's not entertaining? Yes, the film is not perfect. But which one is? I know that being a completely out of the box film, it is subject to more harsh criticism than others. Who has been accepted instantly for being different? Anyone who is different is considered abnormal in this society.
The point is that I'm not praising the film only because it is different, but because it is a great attempt at introducing the public to a different way of making a film, telling them that there are different ways a story can be told and that any creative work is what the perceptions and individual impressions it draws from its audience.
It definitely could be a path-breaking film, an example of new age cinema. Something that, years down the line, people might realise was a superior film- a movie well ahead of its time. Though the film has been panned by the critics and has got mixed reactions from the public, I hope that film finds its audience and gets its due in the days to come. Because you can love it or hate it but you cannot ignore it.
Yes, Anurag has critised others work, but in all fairness he has spoken freely of his opinion. He has praised Rang De Basanti as openly as he has criticised Ram Gopal Verma Ki Aag. The man is arrogant but you cannot dismiss his movies- because he is a genius- someone who thinks and makes others thinks. He is self-indulgent in places, and probably tries to prove a point or two about mainstream cinema but I hope he knows that he will have to change the system only by being a part of it.
Also, two people who deserve praise for being a part of this brave movie are producer Vishal Bharadwaj who is a classic director and lyricist filmself. And leading man John Abraham who has added to the film not only with his star value and hotness but also a memorable portrayal of a arrogant man who loses his soul.
In all, a valiant effort brilliantly executed.
Why can't a regular movie goer enjoy Dawid Dhawan's Partner in the same breath as the radical No Smoking? Like my friend said, probably because the audience is not ready to open themselves up to different techniques of cinema. Yes, I understand a large mumber of the audience did not understand the film because they are so used to straight narratives, concrete endings and all answers been given on a platter. But what about the so-called critics?
Have they learnt film appreciation, literary criticism, or even watched and studied World Cinema? I agree that everyone has their own views, but when personal bias, a close minded attitude and arrogance of being a critic creep into your review, I'm sorry that's the end of you as a critic. You CANNOT let your personal bias come in, when you are writing a review. You got to review the film for what it is, not what your opinion about a particular film maker is. Playing politics through your review is sly!
Anyway, I think Anurag has said enough about the reviews on Passionforcinema.com for me to go on and on abou it. Now the film- it is one experience each one of us should go through. The story is open to interpretation because Anurag has refrained from explaining the events. He leaves you to draw your own conclusions. When was the last time a film maker gave that kind of freedom to the member of the audience. Whether it's John waking up in Siberia, or coming out of the tub- what is reality and what is fantasy? The line is blur. Was it a dream? What could have the part about Ayesha Takia going missing mean? Was Paresh Rawal a doc or a con man? Who is on who's side? Think! That's what the film makes you do. It's challening, and you feel mentally stimulated as you witness the going ons.
The influences from graphic novels and the Chaplin-style flashback could have looked gimmicky, but Anurag carries them off with so much style that they end up impressing you. It's great to come out of a movie hall thinking about the movie you just watched. Yes, you come back with more questions than answers but it is one movie that will stay with you for a long long time to come.
Isn't it a fantastic experience to delve into the realms of the subconscious? To cross the boundaries between realism and fantasy? Who said that's not entertaining? Yes, the film is not perfect. But which one is? I know that being a completely out of the box film, it is subject to more harsh criticism than others. Who has been accepted instantly for being different? Anyone who is different is considered abnormal in this society.
The point is that I'm not praising the film only because it is different, but because it is a great attempt at introducing the public to a different way of making a film, telling them that there are different ways a story can be told and that any creative work is what the perceptions and individual impressions it draws from its audience.
It definitely could be a path-breaking film, an example of new age cinema. Something that, years down the line, people might realise was a superior film- a movie well ahead of its time. Though the film has been panned by the critics and has got mixed reactions from the public, I hope that film finds its audience and gets its due in the days to come. Because you can love it or hate it but you cannot ignore it.
Yes, Anurag has critised others work, but in all fairness he has spoken freely of his opinion. He has praised Rang De Basanti as openly as he has criticised Ram Gopal Verma Ki Aag. The man is arrogant but you cannot dismiss his movies- because he is a genius- someone who thinks and makes others thinks. He is self-indulgent in places, and probably tries to prove a point or two about mainstream cinema but I hope he knows that he will have to change the system only by being a part of it.
Also, two people who deserve praise for being a part of this brave movie are producer Vishal Bharadwaj who is a classic director and lyricist filmself. And leading man John Abraham who has added to the film not only with his star value and hotness but also a memorable portrayal of a arrogant man who loses his soul.
In all, a valiant effort brilliantly executed.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
A little fish called Riya
I made a new friend at the swimming sessions at the club yesterday- only that she called me aunty! Well, Riya is the youngest friend I've made. The first thing is wanted to do once we became friends was race. I knew I would loose since the 11-year-old had been swimming at the club for the last three years while I have just begun swimming after probably 3 years or more.
Anyway, I'm a sport. So I agreed to race. We had two races and obviously I lost both.
After that I asked her to be my coach and teach me how to do free style. She was a smart girl and a smart coach. She gave me some important lessons in swimming.
Here are some tips she gave:
Now look at that. Kids these days are really smart. They can put us adults to shame!
And apart from these tips. She told me her whole kahaani. About her school, her house, who has the best memory in her house and that her memory sucks, that she is Jain, an accident she had when she was really young, how she became fat when she was young, how she fell sick when she fell into the water at 2, what her mum scolds her for etc etc. One talkative little girl.
Anyway I'm looking forward to bumping into her at the pool this evening. I hope we do more swimming and less talking now.
Another cute thing she said- "I think I'm a fish. When I'm in the pool I can't spend too much time outside water!"
Anyway, I'm a sport. So I agreed to race. We had two races and obviously I lost both.
After that I asked her to be my coach and teach me how to do free style. She was a smart girl and a smart coach. She gave me some important lessons in swimming.
Here are some tips she gave:
- Don't cough or sneeze under water. It can be dangerous.
- When you swim sideways, you can breathe and then go down again while doing free style.
- If you learn free style, you can easily learn butterfly stroke.
- Do breathing exercises under water. It helps improve your stamina.
- Leave your body to the water. Just relax and swim, you'll feel better.
- That it wasn't important to win a race as tiny as the one at Wellingdon. It was more important to swim well and enjoy it!
Now look at that. Kids these days are really smart. They can put us adults to shame!
And apart from these tips. She told me her whole kahaani. About her school, her house, who has the best memory in her house and that her memory sucks, that she is Jain, an accident she had when she was really young, how she became fat when she was young, how she fell sick when she fell into the water at 2, what her mum scolds her for etc etc. One talkative little girl.
Anyway I'm looking forward to bumping into her at the pool this evening. I hope we do more swimming and less talking now.
Another cute thing she said- "I think I'm a fish. When I'm in the pool I can't spend too much time outside water!"
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Some structure's back
I don't remember the last time I had to wake up so early every day. I think not after school. I used always bunk my morning lectures at college because I didn't want to wake up early. Now, for the first time in my working experience I have to keep to reporting timings! I have to reach office at sharp 9.30 every day.
Frankly it isn't as tough as I thought it would be. After 3-4 days I started reaching on time. So my life has become more structured. I get the evening to do fruits and vegetable shopping, go swimming and watching movies. I am eating healthier since there are no places really to order in food around here. Also I can't take too many food breaks when I'm in office anyway. I'm also partying lesser since I have to wake up at 7.30 next morning. I don't know how long its going to last but I'm enjoying it while it lasts!
And then I get two days off on the weekend which is a blessing. I had never imagined that I'll have a five-day week though always hoped for it. I can go to Pune more often now and my parents are thrilled about it. After trying for years to pursuade me to go down to Pune more often, they have succeeded. Surprisingly, I'm not complaining too much. I'm enjoying the fact that I'm getting to spend more time with myself and with my family.
So we are people who don't really like an organised routine life. But somehow, now that my life has become more organised, I feel this is what I needed. I didn't want it but I needed it. It has come as a blessing in disguise.
News for the day: There surely is a surprise element in Jodhaa Akbar. Like cricket was a part of hidden plot in Lagaan, expect something else this time from director Ashutosh Gowarikar. Whether its as exciting as Lagaan's cricket factor was, is for all of us to find out. Let's wait and watch!
Frankly it isn't as tough as I thought it would be. After 3-4 days I started reaching on time. So my life has become more structured. I get the evening to do fruits and vegetable shopping, go swimming and watching movies. I am eating healthier since there are no places really to order in food around here. Also I can't take too many food breaks when I'm in office anyway. I'm also partying lesser since I have to wake up at 7.30 next morning. I don't know how long its going to last but I'm enjoying it while it lasts!
And then I get two days off on the weekend which is a blessing. I had never imagined that I'll have a five-day week though always hoped for it. I can go to Pune more often now and my parents are thrilled about it. After trying for years to pursuade me to go down to Pune more often, they have succeeded. Surprisingly, I'm not complaining too much. I'm enjoying the fact that I'm getting to spend more time with myself and with my family.
So we are people who don't really like an organised routine life. But somehow, now that my life has become more organised, I feel this is what I needed. I didn't want it but I needed it. It has come as a blessing in disguise.
News for the day: There surely is a surprise element in Jodhaa Akbar. Like cricket was a part of hidden plot in Lagaan, expect something else this time from director Ashutosh Gowarikar. Whether its as exciting as Lagaan's cricket factor was, is for all of us to find out. Let's wait and watch!
Monday, October 15, 2007
Moving on to B-Town
I haven't written anything for a long time now. I mean nothing apart from my stories at work. Life has completely changed since the day I quit DNA. And after a 12-day long break in Pune I feel like DNA was ages ago.
So now I eat, sleep and drink movies. Didn't I do that before? It's anybody's guess.
I'm learning the ropes of writing Bollywood gossip, juicy hot stories, celeb interviews and some other filmi kahaniyan. It reminds me of my Filmfare reading days (I still have loads of them stacked away in the cupboard my tiny old desk). Yes, Sowmya rightfully teases me saying that 'mere bachpan ka sapna poora ho gaya'. I don't remember if I ever dreamt of writing about movies and movie stars, but I do remember that I loved reading about them. (Yes, I was attracted by the glimmer and often dreamt of meeting the movie stars. And even contemplated becoming a journalist so that I could meet my favourite actors. Well, as you grow up, you get over it) Just like the rest in my family. They all love the movies. They couldn't be gladder that I'm interacting with film stars. Yes, you could say the kurkure dailogue here- "kya family hai!"
But I guess most families in India love the movies. Despite the fact that I have to write about movies day-in and day-out, I would admit that it's the reading about films and watching a film that excites me more than writing. But since reading and watching inspires me so much, I manage to write decently and enjoy that process as well.
Most of my friends though are really happy that I have changed gears since now they can bank on me to give them some new gossip every day. I get a low down on a lot of what is happening in tinsel town though from my mom. She always adds one or two things to my already vast knowledge of the who's doing what in the industry. After all she's now a film journalist's mother!
Anyway, I hope to now add a filmi touch to my blog. No..no...don't decide to stop reading my blog (not that too many ppl read it anyway!) . I will only add a filmi touch. Will obviously continue to write about whatever comes to my mind.
So news for the day: Aamir has written the last post on his blog last week. He will shut the blog for lack of time and bandwidth. Bad news for Aamir Khan lovers!
So now I eat, sleep and drink movies. Didn't I do that before? It's anybody's guess.
I'm learning the ropes of writing Bollywood gossip, juicy hot stories, celeb interviews and some other filmi kahaniyan. It reminds me of my Filmfare reading days (I still have loads of them stacked away in the cupboard my tiny old desk). Yes, Sowmya rightfully teases me saying that 'mere bachpan ka sapna poora ho gaya'. I don't remember if I ever dreamt of writing about movies and movie stars, but I do remember that I loved reading about them. (Yes, I was attracted by the glimmer and often dreamt of meeting the movie stars. And even contemplated becoming a journalist so that I could meet my favourite actors. Well, as you grow up, you get over it) Just like the rest in my family. They all love the movies. They couldn't be gladder that I'm interacting with film stars. Yes, you could say the kurkure dailogue here- "kya family hai!"
But I guess most families in India love the movies. Despite the fact that I have to write about movies day-in and day-out, I would admit that it's the reading about films and watching a film that excites me more than writing. But since reading and watching inspires me so much, I manage to write decently and enjoy that process as well.
Most of my friends though are really happy that I have changed gears since now they can bank on me to give them some new gossip every day. I get a low down on a lot of what is happening in tinsel town though from my mom. She always adds one or two things to my already vast knowledge of the who's doing what in the industry. After all she's now a film journalist's mother!
Anyway, I hope to now add a filmi touch to my blog. No..no...don't decide to stop reading my blog (not that too many ppl read it anyway!) . I will only add a filmi touch. Will obviously continue to write about whatever comes to my mind.
So news for the day: Aamir has written the last post on his blog last week. He will shut the blog for lack of time and bandwidth. Bad news for Aamir Khan lovers!
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Food War
I really can't get into the skin of non-vegetarian and experience the agonies of watching a wonderful apartment slip out of my hand because of my food preference (I'm veg!). But this has become so common in Mumbai that people have simply shut out their options or found their way around it. I spoke to some who for the love of the flat, faked to be vegetarians!
Notes from the diary of an under-cover non-vegetarian (living in a vegetarian society):
July 9
8.00 pm: I get separation pangs. It’s been 10 days and I haven’t cooked non-vegetarian food. I stay in Goregaon west but the fear of being caught red-handed makes me drive all the way to Goregaon east to pick up some good old sea-food.
9.00 pm: I want to eat prawns but I can’t. Prawns stink and the whole neighbourhood will know I’m non-vegetarian. So I settle for some crabs. They are a safer proposition.
9.15 pm: I also pick up a packet of incense sticks.
9.45pm: I put the crabs in a black bag. Put the black bag inside another bag and put that bag into another one. I enter my society, a little nervous, like I was committing some crime. But I tried to smile at my neighbours as I passed them. I said to one of them, “Just went vegetable shopping”, even when they hadn’t asked me a thing.
July 10
9.00 am: Before I begin to cook, I open my main door and light the bunch of incense sticks outside the door. My neighbours feel proud that I energise my house with these agarbattis. Obviously, I do it to mislead the folks who pass through the staircase.
10.30am: Phew! I’m done with the cooking but damn, I forgot to keep my big windows open. The smell can’t stay in the house! But it’s not too late to mend the damage. I quickly open the windows.
10.45 am: I’m just laying the table when the door bell rings. But I don’t need to panic. I have trained my maid not to open the door without first checking out through the key-hole. That key-hole is my saviour. She does just that and not to worry, it’s just a courier boy. I collect the package and begin to enjoy my meal.
11.15 am: Ok, there’s some left-over food. I can’t possibly throw that into the dustbin. The CIA agents in my society will smell it and catch hold of me. So I ask my maid to send the food across to my secret non-vegetarian friend in the society.
11.30 am: My super-intelligent maid takes the plate of food covered only with a thin tissue paper. In five minutes I get a call from my friend who yells at me. “We both would have been thrown out of the society if that piece of tissue paper had flown on its way to my home.” I swear never to send the food like that again. I take a spare tiffin from the cabinet and make it my new secret non-vegetarian tiffin.
12pm: A fish-seller passes from outside my gate. I’m almost about to yell to him asking him to deliver some fresh fish. Just then I realise, for him to walk into our society gates would be like crossing the Pakistan border.
July 11
7am: I hear some voices arguing from the ground floor. My next door neighbour had checked the bin and he found some egg shells. They were from the omlette I made last night. The garbage boy knew which house he had got that from but pretended he didn’t. Phew, I survived again.
8pm: We meet in the society hall for a senior citizens birthday. Women start talking about how people should not kill somebody for their food. I object saying it’s a personal choice. The women disagree and stick to their point. I secretly smile to myself. “Ladies, I have been fooling you for the past 10 years!”
Here's what the food politics has done to the people of the city, and made them think if the cosmopiltan Mumbai is just a myth?
Sudha Deshpande, Goregaon
Sudha Deshpande has to sneak in meat through her society gates each time she craves for some non-vegetarian food. She has been living the life of an under-cover non-vegetarian for the past 10 years. “I loved the society and the locality was good. The broker was a vegetarian himself and he refused to sell the flat to me because I was non-vegetarian. So I had to lie and get the apartment directly from the builder,” says Deshpande.
Deshpande is not the only one. Several non-vegetarians have gone through hell finding a flat in certain vegetarian dominated pockets and societies with unwritten rules on vegetarianism even when they had cash in their pockets. Food preference is one of the first things a broker will ask you and will not show you flats that fall into the strictly vegetarian category. “There are owners who have strict instructions not to get any vegetarian clients so I cut off non-vegetarian clients at my level,” says a broker who refuses to be named.
Amar Khamkar, Lalbaug
In 2003, Amar Khamkar, who lived in Parel put up a fight against a housing society which refused to sell a flat to him because he was a non-vegetarian Maharashtrian. “I had the money. I had been living in that area for donkey’s years. They would just lie to me saying the bookings were full or would quote a price three times higher than the original one, making it impossible for me to buy the flat,” he says.
Aditya Pandya, Kandivali
Aditya Pandya, who writes on real estate says that a personal experience while trying to sell his flat in a Kandivali society made him realise how divided the city is over food preference. “Jains and Gujaratis are a majority in the area in Yoginagar where I had my flat. There was a Jain temple attached to the building. When we decided to sell the flat we were sure that we would get a good premium because of the presence of the temple. But there was a non-vegetarian family living on the ground floor, and no one would buy the flat. Non-vegetarians refused to buy it since the majority living there were vegetarians and vegetarians wouldn’t buy it because there was a non-vegetarian living in the building.”
Pandya further explains that several clusters of buildings in Kandivali and many other areas of the city become vegetarian dominated over some time and then a boundary gets drawn automatically. “You cannot define that a particular area or suburb is a vegetarian zone but the number of these vegetarian clusters has definitely increased.”
Marwari Ekta Parishad defends
Food in the city can easily become a political issue, as illustrated by the growing phenomenon of organisations, societies and pockets of the city where vegetarians try to prevent meat from being eaten or sold. Recently the Marwari Ekta Parishad had protested against meat being sold at the new retail chain of the Aditya Birla group. “A Marwari family can’t support slaughter. Should commercial interests get ahead of our culture and tradition,” says Narendrabhai Parmar of Marwari Ekta Parishad.
There have been several instances in the past where majority vegetarian communities have turned food chains and outlets in their area of interest vegetarian. The entire stretch of Marine Drive caters only to herbivores now. Dominoes, Pizza Hut and many other small time restaurants too had to go veggie. Some shut down as they could not run a vegetarian place.
Cosmopolis: Two Tales of a City
The question is whether the vegetarianism has taken over public spaces from being a private choice of food? Paromita Vora’s film Cosmopolis: Two Tales of a City explores just that. It talks about the politics of food, and divisions over class, caste and food, and whether cosmopolitan Mumbai is a myth. “These unsaid differences based on food always existed. But the trouble begins when people begin to control public space. It also turns into land politics,” says Vora. “Like-minded people can definitely come together to build their own society based on their preferences, but by doing this they are being intolerant upon others. You need to be tolerant if you are living in a city like Mumbai. You can’t go around telling people how to run a business or how to mould public spaces.”
Notes from the diary of an under-cover non-vegetarian (living in a vegetarian society):
July 9
8.00 pm: I get separation pangs. It’s been 10 days and I haven’t cooked non-vegetarian food. I stay in Goregaon west but the fear of being caught red-handed makes me drive all the way to Goregaon east to pick up some good old sea-food.
9.00 pm: I want to eat prawns but I can’t. Prawns stink and the whole neighbourhood will know I’m non-vegetarian. So I settle for some crabs. They are a safer proposition.
9.15 pm: I also pick up a packet of incense sticks.
9.45pm: I put the crabs in a black bag. Put the black bag inside another bag and put that bag into another one. I enter my society, a little nervous, like I was committing some crime. But I tried to smile at my neighbours as I passed them. I said to one of them, “Just went vegetable shopping”, even when they hadn’t asked me a thing.
July 10
9.00 am: Before I begin to cook, I open my main door and light the bunch of incense sticks outside the door. My neighbours feel proud that I energise my house with these agarbattis. Obviously, I do it to mislead the folks who pass through the staircase.
10.30am: Phew! I’m done with the cooking but damn, I forgot to keep my big windows open. The smell can’t stay in the house! But it’s not too late to mend the damage. I quickly open the windows.
10.45 am: I’m just laying the table when the door bell rings. But I don’t need to panic. I have trained my maid not to open the door without first checking out through the key-hole. That key-hole is my saviour. She does just that and not to worry, it’s just a courier boy. I collect the package and begin to enjoy my meal.
11.15 am: Ok, there’s some left-over food. I can’t possibly throw that into the dustbin. The CIA agents in my society will smell it and catch hold of me. So I ask my maid to send the food across to my secret non-vegetarian friend in the society.
11.30 am: My super-intelligent maid takes the plate of food covered only with a thin tissue paper. In five minutes I get a call from my friend who yells at me. “We both would have been thrown out of the society if that piece of tissue paper had flown on its way to my home.” I swear never to send the food like that again. I take a spare tiffin from the cabinet and make it my new secret non-vegetarian tiffin.
12pm: A fish-seller passes from outside my gate. I’m almost about to yell to him asking him to deliver some fresh fish. Just then I realise, for him to walk into our society gates would be like crossing the Pakistan border.
July 11
7am: I hear some voices arguing from the ground floor. My next door neighbour had checked the bin and he found some egg shells. They were from the omlette I made last night. The garbage boy knew which house he had got that from but pretended he didn’t. Phew, I survived again.
8pm: We meet in the society hall for a senior citizens birthday. Women start talking about how people should not kill somebody for their food. I object saying it’s a personal choice. The women disagree and stick to their point. I secretly smile to myself. “Ladies, I have been fooling you for the past 10 years!”
Here's what the food politics has done to the people of the city, and made them think if the cosmopiltan Mumbai is just a myth?
Sudha Deshpande, Goregaon
Sudha Deshpande has to sneak in meat through her society gates each time she craves for some non-vegetarian food. She has been living the life of an under-cover non-vegetarian for the past 10 years. “I loved the society and the locality was good. The broker was a vegetarian himself and he refused to sell the flat to me because I was non-vegetarian. So I had to lie and get the apartment directly from the builder,” says Deshpande.
Deshpande is not the only one. Several non-vegetarians have gone through hell finding a flat in certain vegetarian dominated pockets and societies with unwritten rules on vegetarianism even when they had cash in their pockets. Food preference is one of the first things a broker will ask you and will not show you flats that fall into the strictly vegetarian category. “There are owners who have strict instructions not to get any vegetarian clients so I cut off non-vegetarian clients at my level,” says a broker who refuses to be named.
Amar Khamkar, Lalbaug
In 2003, Amar Khamkar, who lived in Parel put up a fight against a housing society which refused to sell a flat to him because he was a non-vegetarian Maharashtrian. “I had the money. I had been living in that area for donkey’s years. They would just lie to me saying the bookings were full or would quote a price three times higher than the original one, making it impossible for me to buy the flat,” he says.
Aditya Pandya, Kandivali
Aditya Pandya, who writes on real estate says that a personal experience while trying to sell his flat in a Kandivali society made him realise how divided the city is over food preference. “Jains and Gujaratis are a majority in the area in Yoginagar where I had my flat. There was a Jain temple attached to the building. When we decided to sell the flat we were sure that we would get a good premium because of the presence of the temple. But there was a non-vegetarian family living on the ground floor, and no one would buy the flat. Non-vegetarians refused to buy it since the majority living there were vegetarians and vegetarians wouldn’t buy it because there was a non-vegetarian living in the building.”
Pandya further explains that several clusters of buildings in Kandivali and many other areas of the city become vegetarian dominated over some time and then a boundary gets drawn automatically. “You cannot define that a particular area or suburb is a vegetarian zone but the number of these vegetarian clusters has definitely increased.”
Marwari Ekta Parishad defends
Food in the city can easily become a political issue, as illustrated by the growing phenomenon of organisations, societies and pockets of the city where vegetarians try to prevent meat from being eaten or sold. Recently the Marwari Ekta Parishad had protested against meat being sold at the new retail chain of the Aditya Birla group. “A Marwari family can’t support slaughter. Should commercial interests get ahead of our culture and tradition,” says Narendrabhai Parmar of Marwari Ekta Parishad.
There have been several instances in the past where majority vegetarian communities have turned food chains and outlets in their area of interest vegetarian. The entire stretch of Marine Drive caters only to herbivores now. Dominoes, Pizza Hut and many other small time restaurants too had to go veggie. Some shut down as they could not run a vegetarian place.
Cosmopolis: Two Tales of a City
The question is whether the vegetarianism has taken over public spaces from being a private choice of food? Paromita Vora’s film Cosmopolis: Two Tales of a City explores just that. It talks about the politics of food, and divisions over class, caste and food, and whether cosmopolitan Mumbai is a myth. “These unsaid differences based on food always existed. But the trouble begins when people begin to control public space. It also turns into land politics,” says Vora. “Like-minded people can definitely come together to build their own society based on their preferences, but by doing this they are being intolerant upon others. You need to be tolerant if you are living in a city like Mumbai. You can’t go around telling people how to run a business or how to mould public spaces.”
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Box
The quaint little dark wooden box had been lying in her closet for years. It had begun to smell like the bark of an old tree preparing for a dry winter, still damp from the spell of the first rains. But Shivani often took it out, wiped it with a clean cloth and placed it amidst her pile of clothes. After her mother’s death, Shivani had sorted out all her belongings. She gave away everything except for her wedding sari, and the little box.
Her mom spoke fondly about how her father, a small time mechanic back then, had gifted this sari from his first salary. And when they eloped and got married, she had nothing else to wear but this brown sari with golden zari work. It was a small Brahmin wedding, conducted in a temple on the outskirts of Pune. They began their wedded life in a friend’s house and her father did odd mechanical jobs to keep the kitchen fires burning.
Her mother often spoke about how the sari was a symbol of the courage that her father’s love had given her. Her father had soon managed to build his own garage. And after Shivani was born, they shifted into a small one-bedroom apartment. Money came but in small spurts. When Shivani had to go to school, her father sold his Bajaj scooter to provide for her fees. But by the time Shivani was 6 years old, he had managed to own a car show room, and slowly but surely the show rooms multiplied in number, making life easier.
Shivani thought of the days when she watched her mother count the money her father gave her. But her most vivid memory of her mother was of her hiding away the wooden box in one of the cabinets atop the ledge, above the cupboard in her bedroom. Shivani often wondered what her mother put in that box. She wondered if the box contains the money that she often counted. But Shivani never got to see what was in it. Somehow her mom always managed to put her things in it when Shivani was away or sleeping. She kept it locked and Shivani could never find the key. Even after her mother’s death, Shivani searched every possible place in the house but the key wasn’t there.
She did not want to break it open. She thought that it would not to be fair to break open this beautiful box of secrets. Then she decided not to open it at all. She was scared that she would find something very disturbing in it. She also thought that her mother never wanted anyone to see what’s in it, so it would not be the right thing to do. She knew that her father never got to see what’s in it either. He died when Shivani was 16. His was a silent death much like her mother’s. Both of them died in their sleep. Her father was asleep when his car crashed into a truck on the Pune-Nasik Highway. And her mother, at the age 37, never woke up after a lovely dinner with Shivani at home.
She smiled whenever she thought about the fact that her parents didn’t have to suffer to death. Now, 24-years-old, Shivani lived alone, worked with a corporate house as a public relations officer.
Tonight, she stared at the beautiful patterns on the box. There were curved lines around the edge and flowers at the centre. There was a golden line running around the end of the lid. It was rectangular in shape and had a tiny little brass lock hanging from it. She suddenly began to feel the urge to burst it open. “I want to know what secrets it holds within,” she thought to herself. Shivani was disturbed. Siddharth had refused to go against his parents. He didn’t have the courage to fight for their relationship. She hadn’t slept the whole night and ended up not going to work in the morning. Her eyes were swollen and her throat was dry. The five-year-old fairy tale was over. She felt like she had come crashing down to the ground after she tried to fly with broken wings. Today she needed to open this box. She felt that all her questions will be answered once this box is opened.
She brought a knife from the kitchen, and prepared to go for it. Then stopped again, took a deep breath and slowly began to dig into the lock. She struggled for five minutes before the lock split open. “Will I find my answers in this box? Does this box contain a secret that I need to know at this point in life?” she thought in the fleeting second before she slowly raised the lid.
And her eyes gleamed in the low light of her bedroom as she glared at what was inside this little wooden box. Her tensed look was replaced by a grin as a mirror shone back at her from inside. And she saw herself more clearly than ever before.
Sometimes the darkest secrets are the simple truths of life.
Her mom spoke fondly about how her father, a small time mechanic back then, had gifted this sari from his first salary. And when they eloped and got married, she had nothing else to wear but this brown sari with golden zari work. It was a small Brahmin wedding, conducted in a temple on the outskirts of Pune. They began their wedded life in a friend’s house and her father did odd mechanical jobs to keep the kitchen fires burning.
Her mother often spoke about how the sari was a symbol of the courage that her father’s love had given her. Her father had soon managed to build his own garage. And after Shivani was born, they shifted into a small one-bedroom apartment. Money came but in small spurts. When Shivani had to go to school, her father sold his Bajaj scooter to provide for her fees. But by the time Shivani was 6 years old, he had managed to own a car show room, and slowly but surely the show rooms multiplied in number, making life easier.
Shivani thought of the days when she watched her mother count the money her father gave her. But her most vivid memory of her mother was of her hiding away the wooden box in one of the cabinets atop the ledge, above the cupboard in her bedroom. Shivani often wondered what her mother put in that box. She wondered if the box contains the money that she often counted. But Shivani never got to see what was in it. Somehow her mom always managed to put her things in it when Shivani was away or sleeping. She kept it locked and Shivani could never find the key. Even after her mother’s death, Shivani searched every possible place in the house but the key wasn’t there.
She did not want to break it open. She thought that it would not to be fair to break open this beautiful box of secrets. Then she decided not to open it at all. She was scared that she would find something very disturbing in it. She also thought that her mother never wanted anyone to see what’s in it, so it would not be the right thing to do. She knew that her father never got to see what’s in it either. He died when Shivani was 16. His was a silent death much like her mother’s. Both of them died in their sleep. Her father was asleep when his car crashed into a truck on the Pune-Nasik Highway. And her mother, at the age 37, never woke up after a lovely dinner with Shivani at home.
She smiled whenever she thought about the fact that her parents didn’t have to suffer to death. Now, 24-years-old, Shivani lived alone, worked with a corporate house as a public relations officer.
Tonight, she stared at the beautiful patterns on the box. There were curved lines around the edge and flowers at the centre. There was a golden line running around the end of the lid. It was rectangular in shape and had a tiny little brass lock hanging from it. She suddenly began to feel the urge to burst it open. “I want to know what secrets it holds within,” she thought to herself. Shivani was disturbed. Siddharth had refused to go against his parents. He didn’t have the courage to fight for their relationship. She hadn’t slept the whole night and ended up not going to work in the morning. Her eyes were swollen and her throat was dry. The five-year-old fairy tale was over. She felt like she had come crashing down to the ground after she tried to fly with broken wings. Today she needed to open this box. She felt that all her questions will be answered once this box is opened.
She brought a knife from the kitchen, and prepared to go for it. Then stopped again, took a deep breath and slowly began to dig into the lock. She struggled for five minutes before the lock split open. “Will I find my answers in this box? Does this box contain a secret that I need to know at this point in life?” she thought in the fleeting second before she slowly raised the lid.
And her eyes gleamed in the low light of her bedroom as she glared at what was inside this little wooden box. Her tensed look was replaced by a grin as a mirror shone back at her from inside. And she saw herself more clearly than ever before.
Sometimes the darkest secrets are the simple truths of life.
Age of Innocence
"What are Mp3 players?" she asks. "Don't mind but I'm pretty ignorant about all this things. I want it to gift it to my mother."
I wasn't surprised that she didn't know. She was over 50 years of age and her mother over 80.
I explained how Mp3 players work. Then came questions about how you can put music on the player, on Mp3 speakers, difference between Ipods and Mp3 players etc etc. Then more followed- computers, WorldSpace and so on. I answered them all.
The development in technology leaves the seniors more helpless than you can ever imagine. Instead of making their life easy, it becomes difficult. It is easier for them to operate their old landline phones, cassette players and refrigerators but makes it difficult to even switch on and switch off CD players, microwave ovens, ipods, laptops and things which have become so common in today's homes. I'm sure they feel like they are reborn into a different time suddenly, or have been transported into a new space. Kids operate gadgets more easily than most. They are born into a gadgetty environment unlike the seniors in today's time.
Anyway, the point is that there is a strange innocence that some people possess. They are not afraid to ask questions. They don't care or even give a thought to the fact that people might make fun of them. These people usually find out about life's realities the hard away, yet that does not discourage them. Derineh, my office colleague fits the description. She is growing old, but her experience hasn't made her cynical. She still has dreams, wants to learn things and asks innocent questions. You feel good about life when you see people like her. You feel everything is not lost and that the age of innocence can never pass.
I wasn't surprised that she didn't know. She was over 50 years of age and her mother over 80.
I explained how Mp3 players work. Then came questions about how you can put music on the player, on Mp3 speakers, difference between Ipods and Mp3 players etc etc. Then more followed- computers, WorldSpace and so on. I answered them all.
The development in technology leaves the seniors more helpless than you can ever imagine. Instead of making their life easy, it becomes difficult. It is easier for them to operate their old landline phones, cassette players and refrigerators but makes it difficult to even switch on and switch off CD players, microwave ovens, ipods, laptops and things which have become so common in today's homes. I'm sure they feel like they are reborn into a different time suddenly, or have been transported into a new space. Kids operate gadgets more easily than most. They are born into a gadgetty environment unlike the seniors in today's time.
Anyway, the point is that there is a strange innocence that some people possess. They are not afraid to ask questions. They don't care or even give a thought to the fact that people might make fun of them. These people usually find out about life's realities the hard away, yet that does not discourage them. Derineh, my office colleague fits the description. She is growing old, but her experience hasn't made her cynical. She still has dreams, wants to learn things and asks innocent questions. You feel good about life when you see people like her. You feel everything is not lost and that the age of innocence can never pass.
Monday, July 30, 2007
A memory is born
Sand slips.
The hourglass stands.
Granules fall—bit by bit,
passing through the alleys
of my mind.
I stare with unblinking eyes
at the ray of sunshine
sketching vertical lines on the wall.
Moving images turn into
a single sepia still.
A memory is born.
The hourglass stands.
Granules fall—bit by bit,
passing through the alleys
of my mind.
I stare with unblinking eyes
at the ray of sunshine
sketching vertical lines on the wall.
Moving images turn into
a single sepia still.
A memory is born.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Of winds and fog
They were alive yesterday.
Gone now, but haven’t left.
Invisible in their presence,
perhaps clouded by fog,
making figures
you once identified.
Of ghosts at war
Or self image,
Rising to kiss the earth.
In tear-shaped remnants of love.
Or is that cloud
The dead thing
We had alive between us?
Or are they fluffy pillows
My head had rested on?
Now, gliding away
In the vague winds.
And the wind still blows
And its caress haunts.
The tide is yet to turn.
The fog is yet to lift.
The mist is yet to dry.
The cloud is yet to pass.
There is a lot of rain left inside.
Gone now, but haven’t left.
Invisible in their presence,
perhaps clouded by fog,
making figures
you once identified.
Of ghosts at war
Or self image,
Rising to kiss the earth.
In tear-shaped remnants of love.
Or is that cloud
The dead thing
We had alive between us?
Or are they fluffy pillows
My head had rested on?
Now, gliding away
In the vague winds.
And the wind still blows
And its caress haunts.
The tide is yet to turn.
The fog is yet to lift.
The mist is yet to dry.
The cloud is yet to pass.
There is a lot of rain left inside.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Searching
Why is there always a fear that if you stop for a while, the world will race ahead of you? If you are not fit enough, you'll not be required. If you are not talented enough, you will not be accepted. If you are not enterprising enough, you won't be popular. If you are not quick
enough, you will lag behind.In this rat race, it has become difficult to do things as and when you want to- on your own terms. If you are down, you got to be able to take your own time to stand upright again and begin to walk. But the mind is restless. It does not want to drag itself on the floor because the of the stiff....unfit body.
There begins a constant battle between the mind and the body then. The body needs time and the mind doesn't want to give it any. The body doesn't know when it will be able to walk back again, hand-in-hand with the mind and the mind is too restless to live in this kind of uncertainty.Then the mind loosing it's patience becomes cold. Cold to it's surroundings. Disillusioned. It begins to look for resons to move on...to live on and the only reason could be life itslef.I have begun to look for motivation to be back in good form. I want to keep my positivity alive. Things will always be fine and situations will always get better. And you live on through moments of dispair, pain and hurt only because you believe that life will be better and with time the pain will subside.
I can see the clouds hovering around the skyline. Peeping from behind the skyscrappers. Bringing hope of a new life. Evoking a sense of refreshment, renewal and rejuvination. Passing on the messege that a new phase of life is about to begin. The hope of rains. Rains that will wash me clean, and make me new again.Rains, whenever they come, evoke nostalgia. I think of the happy times, of my loved ones and of love, of the romantic moments, and fun things. They always take me back in time and remind me that life is beautiful. I fell happy- plain, simple state of joy.
Pain will soon be replaced by joy. It's the hope we live on.
enough, you will lag behind.In this rat race, it has become difficult to do things as and when you want to- on your own terms. If you are down, you got to be able to take your own time to stand upright again and begin to walk. But the mind is restless. It does not want to drag itself on the floor because the of the stiff....unfit body.
There begins a constant battle between the mind and the body then. The body needs time and the mind doesn't want to give it any. The body doesn't know when it will be able to walk back again, hand-in-hand with the mind and the mind is too restless to live in this kind of uncertainty.Then the mind loosing it's patience becomes cold. Cold to it's surroundings. Disillusioned. It begins to look for resons to move on...to live on and the only reason could be life itslef.I have begun to look for motivation to be back in good form. I want to keep my positivity alive. Things will always be fine and situations will always get better. And you live on through moments of dispair, pain and hurt only because you believe that life will be better and with time the pain will subside.
I can see the clouds hovering around the skyline. Peeping from behind the skyscrappers. Bringing hope of a new life. Evoking a sense of refreshment, renewal and rejuvination. Passing on the messege that a new phase of life is about to begin. The hope of rains. Rains that will wash me clean, and make me new again.Rains, whenever they come, evoke nostalgia. I think of the happy times, of my loved ones and of love, of the romantic moments, and fun things. They always take me back in time and remind me that life is beautiful. I fell happy- plain, simple state of joy.
Pain will soon be replaced by joy. It's the hope we live on.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
The smiling moon
“Who took Mamma away?” Reena asked her father. It was the hundredth time she had asked the question. “When Mama was a baby she often saw the crescent moon from her crèche. Her crèche was kept right in front of the window. At night time the moon appeared outside the window and made mamma smile,” said her father.
Reena smiled as she tossed in her bed. It was 10pm and she was sleepy but she wouldn’t sleep without listening to the whole story. “Whenever the moon would get full and disappear mamma wouldn’t sleep. She would keep waiting for the moon to smile. Her parents would then take her out of the crèche and put her to sleep.”
“And then what happened Pappa?” asked Reena. She knew the whole story by heart but she had got used to asking this question exactly at this point of the story. “Then mamma grew up. But she never forgot the smiling moon. Each time she saw the crescent moon she smiled. She wanted to sit on the smile and ride the sky. It had been her childhood dream,” continued her father.
“And then one day the moon came by the window and asked mamma. ‘You want to sit on my back? I’ll take you into the sky’,” said Reena excitedly. “Yes, and mamma couldn't believe her eyes. She touched the moon repeatedly to make sure it was real. The moon said, ‘Come ride me’ and mamma went into the sky with the moon,” said her father.
“And now there she stays on the moon. And I smile everytime I see her on the crescent moon. Am I right dad?”
“Right!” said her father. “Now go off to sleep. You have to go to school tomorrow.”
“Good night papa,” said Reena and covered her face with her favourite quilt. Her father looked at her adoringly and smiled. “Good night dear,” he said and left the room. Reena often heard the story at bed time. She had been hearing the story since she was two, and she continued asking her dad to narrate the story till she was 12.
Now, Reena was a teenager. She still believed that her mamma lived on the moon. She would smile each time she saw the crescent moon because she knew that her mamma was happy wherever she was.
Reena smiled as she tossed in her bed. It was 10pm and she was sleepy but she wouldn’t sleep without listening to the whole story. “Whenever the moon would get full and disappear mamma wouldn’t sleep. She would keep waiting for the moon to smile. Her parents would then take her out of the crèche and put her to sleep.”
“And then what happened Pappa?” asked Reena. She knew the whole story by heart but she had got used to asking this question exactly at this point of the story. “Then mamma grew up. But she never forgot the smiling moon. Each time she saw the crescent moon she smiled. She wanted to sit on the smile and ride the sky. It had been her childhood dream,” continued her father.
“And then one day the moon came by the window and asked mamma. ‘You want to sit on my back? I’ll take you into the sky’,” said Reena excitedly. “Yes, and mamma couldn't believe her eyes. She touched the moon repeatedly to make sure it was real. The moon said, ‘Come ride me’ and mamma went into the sky with the moon,” said her father.
“And now there she stays on the moon. And I smile everytime I see her on the crescent moon. Am I right dad?”
“Right!” said her father. “Now go off to sleep. You have to go to school tomorrow.”
“Good night papa,” said Reena and covered her face with her favourite quilt. Her father looked at her adoringly and smiled. “Good night dear,” he said and left the room. Reena often heard the story at bed time. She had been hearing the story since she was two, and she continued asking her dad to narrate the story till she was 12.
Now, Reena was a teenager. She still believed that her mamma lived on the moon. She would smile each time she saw the crescent moon because she knew that her mamma was happy wherever she was.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Love me tender
In berry scents
and red candles
your hand wraps mine.
Tall twisted glasses
on the table, half filled
with Satori, my favourite red wine.
I, bathed
in creamy liquids,
anxious in the night,
and you wearing cologne.
We shine in black
through the temple light.
An odd couple
caught in a perfect time.
Away from the glare,
in an exotic room
with breath floating
in peach and strawberry air.
Love me tender,
love me sweet.
Elvis echoes my heart.
As you hold me close
and brush my lips
the night's just about to start.
and red candles
your hand wraps mine.
Tall twisted glasses
on the table, half filled
with Satori, my favourite red wine.
I, bathed
in creamy liquids,
anxious in the night,
and you wearing cologne.
We shine in black
through the temple light.
An odd couple
caught in a perfect time.
Away from the glare,
in an exotic room
with breath floating
in peach and strawberry air.
Love me tender,
love me sweet.
Elvis echoes my heart.
As you hold me close
and brush my lips
the night's just about to start.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Beyond you…
Since the split, life has been to say the least ‘eventful’.
Dreams—however small they might be – their fulfillment always makes us happy. The excitement that comes from longing for something is replaced by sheer joy and thrill of seeing it being fulfilled. I don’t know which one’s better though. Once you get what you dreamt about, the fulfillment becomes just a distinct, memory, etched in your mind. But it is all the time that you spent yearning for it to happen that remains with you.
It is only after you that I discovered that there was so much more I wanted from life. So much more I wanted to do, so much more I had to learn about life and myself, so much more I wanted to give myself, so much more I needed to explore, and so many little dreams I had to fulfill. I existed beyond the relationship. I knew it but never realised it. A cloud that wandered about looking for the perfect time to pour on the dry earth, never realizing that it was getting heavier by the day, denser by the moment and the moment to pour down was for the cloud to choose. And it all happened after you. And I began looking at life beyond you.
Friendship
I discovered a new role of an old friendship, the very next day of the split. A friendship I never gave a chance.
Touch
How i keep rediscovering the importance of touch! But this time it meant much more than ever before. A tender and loving hand on you makes a huge difference when you are lost or upset or sad or excited. And there is something about this touch. It makes me feel safe, secure and loved. It tells me that this world is not such a bad place after all. It’s a lovely place to be in. With it i have also discovered why every relationship can't be given a name. Some relationships are too different and too special to be given a tag.
Concert
Five days later, I witnessed the lights, music and a dream. I had been dying to attend a live rock concert and it happened. The Roger Waters concert! Everything was just perfect. Better than how I had imagined it would be.
Solapur
Within 15 days I left for my much needed break. Saw my Nani’s place after two-and-a-half years. I had been yearning to go there, the place I went every summer before I began working.
Bhaiyya chi gadi, our favourite bhelpuri wala near Maidan in Solapur. The place is our family haunt since my nana’s time. My mum and dad and uncles and aunts ate there when they were in school, and I have been eating there since I was a kid. His stuff is nothing close to the chats we get in Delhi or even Mumbai. They are unique. I have no eaten this kind of food anywhere else in world. His chutney bread, kachori, thanda pani puri (which has only onions as ad ons), chutney puri….yummmmmm. I miss bhaiyya chi gadi now! He is Solapur’s shaan I think.
And yes, can’t leave out Sudha Idli Gruha. The idli and wada’s out there are characteristic of the place. Again the taste and the style of cooking are completely different from all the other cities. They keep serving you as much chutney and as much sambhar you want for no extra charge plus they serve you nice home-made kind of butter to top your idli. And a chilli chutney that served with the food is Sudha’s best stuff. And above all else, these places are dirt cheap.
If you ever go to Solapur, which is next to impossible since the place has nothing that would draw you to it unless you have grown up there, you must eat at these two places. You’ll thank me for this.
They fed me like a pig. From chapatti sabzi, shrikhand to chips, dosas and pizzas, they fed me everything they could in a span of three days. I almost died by the time I left Solapur. I felt like a child there; felt protected being around family and my lovely little cousins.
Bangalore
Then I was on the train to Bangalore. A place I visited three years back. Reading Vikram Seth’s collected poems interspersed with listening to some Jim Morrison I reached Bangalore. There is no better way to discover a place than to go around on your own, alone. I got to do that after a long time. The last time I did that was when I had moved to Mumbai the first time.
I walked in to a pub alone, in a new city, sat at the bar and ordered a drink, chatted with the bartenders, making small conversations about newspapers and the deadlines in Bangalore. The feeling was liberating. To be able to claim your private space — as a woman — in a public place is liberating. And I enjoyed every bit of it. I did it in Bangalore which is not as cool as Mumbai is, for girls. You can hardly see any girls in pubs there on weekdays. Yes on weekends of course you can see women come in but almost always in a group with men for company.
I stayed at home watching movies I had been wanting to watch, getting out in the evenings, taking the local transport only on my 4th day in the city. Walking around and getting the essence of the city was so much fun.
Cauvery Art Emporium was my land mark for several days. If I got down from the auto here I could find my way easily. The place has some lovely stuff. Toys, book marks, show pieces, several hand made works and even a Rs 35 lakh worth sandalwood piece of artifact! Yes, it is over priced but you need to find stuff that you wouldn’t mind spending on.
Shobha took to me to India Coffee House for breakfast one day. After coffee and bread jam toast, the waiter got me two instead of one scrambled egg on toast. He urged to finish it and I did. The prices were so low at that place that I could have probably downed another two if I didn’t feel stuffed with what I had eaten. The uniforms resembled the ones worn by cooks during the British Raj.
The pubs
Legends of Rock and Le Rock are what I definitely miss in Mumbai. Spacious places, that play my favourite rock music, with big screens showing videos, cheap drinks and great ambience. I fell in love with them. I shall never forget the huge 600 ml pints served in huge glasses that looked like a tower. Shrav and I went crazy about them. Had great fun at both these places each time I went there.
We had to make a trip to B11. It was a ritual. That was the one time I missed our very own Rahul. The last time I went to Bangalore, Rahul played the perfect DJ at B11. He played all OUR songs. After all it is always great to have your friend as the DJ. But this time there was no Rahul at the DJ console and the place didn’t seem even an iota of what it was when we came there every single day of our five-day trip years ago. But the best part was I remembered every single spot I had seen so long back in Jayanagar. I was proud of myself and felt nostalgic.
Pikos—a Totos kinda place. But nowhere close to it. Yes, it is dingy, smoky, old and rusty but I can’t compare it with my favourite place in Mumbai, can I?
MG Road is a conglomeration of pubs. Loads of small and big pubs spread across and behind this street. Pikos, Guzzlers Inn, Le Rock, Sticks and several others. When I witnessed it myself I understood why the city is called a pub city. The saddest part especially if you are from Mumbai is that the pubs shut at 11.30 and autos charge you 1 ½ meter after as early as 9.30pm. You will have to bargain with Bangalore auto guys. That’s weird. It’s the law and order of Bangalore that needs to get in place not the people who want pubs to be open longer. The city is safer if the city is alive and kicking longer in to the night. I witnessed a really bad drunken driving accident in the few days of my stay. So is the 11.30 deadline of any use? Surely not!
Pondicherry
I travelled to Pondicherry with a guy I met after nine years. Another dream comes true—I go on a road trip to Pondy. The little Tamil Nadu villages, the forts and the pile- of-stones like mountains were what made my trip beautiful.
But apart from that the road was bumpy in parts and it took us nine hours to get there. Our butts were numb, we had to stand and sit down repeatedly to ease them. Legs were stiff. Getting off from the bike and getting on again was a task. When we finally reached, it was 9.30—the city shuts by 10.30— we had no place to stay. The only resort we had pinned our hopes on, ‘The Banyan Resort’, was shut for renovation that week. We somehow reached the Beach Road, it’s the mini Marine Drive, small, clean with little French architecture buildings along the stretch. I managed to spot a hotel and we finally got a room. My face was black with a layer of soot. I looked like a ghost. After a well awaited and well deserved bath, when I sat on the soft bed, I saw heaven!
Pondicherry has two parts, the French square and the Tamil Square. We had decided to explore the French Sqaure since its architecture and food places were something we had been looking forward to. First we stepped into the tourism office. When we entered the air conditioned office, a guy came up to us and asked us to take the seat. We asked for the map and he handed it over to us. He told us the places we should go to and a pamphlet of the hotels to live in. The tourism office’s booklet was too good! Informative and it served us well in the entire trip. We got out of there, walked down the beach road, which is lined up with all possible government offices of Pondy, from the Court to the Vidhan Sabha.
It was lovely walking down the tiny streets except that it was too hot! The sun burnt my skin, literally despite loads of sunscreen. The walk in the heat was followed by a relaxed brunch. We had French cuisine but don’t ask me the names. I don’t know French! The food accompanied by the beer was just right. When we walked out we decided to get into a cycle-rikshaw. The last time I sat in a cycle-rikshaw was incidentally in Pondy with my parents several years ago.
Soon we checked out from this hotel and headed for Auro beach and began hunting a new place to stay. We wanted to live in a shack on the beach but discovered that all of it was taken up by foreigners. Yes, it is here that we realised that this place was a firang magnet. There were firings all over the beach. In our bid to find a place on the beach we entered a firang-packed shack place where auro cookie, auro coffee and everything auro was being sold across the counter at the joint there. Obviously the place was full so we went back to our hunting.
Finally we found a place just behind this auro-hotel. The place had lovely trees with yellow flowers, shacks built ten-feet above the ground and a fantastic balcony. So we stayed in this bamboo house, played in the waves in the evening and took a long walk on the beach. Then we got some beer and sat down on the beach till late in the night. We spoke about a whole lot of things and finally had candle-lit dinner in our balcony. There were no sounds except for the sea waves and moving branches and no lights except for the candle in front of us. I was high and it felt peaceful.
Well, the next day was our last day there. We had our breakfast outside the shack. The little wooden tables and chairs under the shade of the tree were strewn with the yellow flowers bidding us good-bye. It was one of the most peaceful breakfast I’ve ever had. I felt relieved to have come to this place and fulfilled by the discovery of a place so removed from the world I’m so used to living in.
Before leaving for Bangalore we paid a visit to Auro Ville. A half-an-hour drive from the Auro Beach, we encountered several shops owned by foreigners. The coffee shop at Auro Ville looked fantastic, and though we were tired we made the walk to Matrimandir. It’s the golden dome being built at Auro Ville since 1974. The ten-minute walk turned out to be a half-an-hour one, but we were determined to see Matrimandir before setting out for Bangalore.
On our return our goal was set. Two hours to Maghumalai, Krishna Nagar in the next two hours and another two hours to get to Bangalore. Just three breaks this time round. It was a mission and we had to fulfill it. We reached Bangalore in six hours this time!
Dreams—however small they might be – their fulfillment always makes us happy. The excitement that comes from longing for something is replaced by sheer joy and thrill of seeing it being fulfilled. I don’t know which one’s better though. Once you get what you dreamt about, the fulfillment becomes just a distinct, memory, etched in your mind. But it is all the time that you spent yearning for it to happen that remains with you.
It is only after you that I discovered that there was so much more I wanted from life. So much more I wanted to do, so much more I had to learn about life and myself, so much more I wanted to give myself, so much more I needed to explore, and so many little dreams I had to fulfill. I existed beyond the relationship. I knew it but never realised it. A cloud that wandered about looking for the perfect time to pour on the dry earth, never realizing that it was getting heavier by the day, denser by the moment and the moment to pour down was for the cloud to choose. And it all happened after you. And I began looking at life beyond you.
Friendship
I discovered a new role of an old friendship, the very next day of the split. A friendship I never gave a chance.
Touch
How i keep rediscovering the importance of touch! But this time it meant much more than ever before. A tender and loving hand on you makes a huge difference when you are lost or upset or sad or excited. And there is something about this touch. It makes me feel safe, secure and loved. It tells me that this world is not such a bad place after all. It’s a lovely place to be in. With it i have also discovered why every relationship can't be given a name. Some relationships are too different and too special to be given a tag.
Concert
Five days later, I witnessed the lights, music and a dream. I had been dying to attend a live rock concert and it happened. The Roger Waters concert! Everything was just perfect. Better than how I had imagined it would be.
Solapur
Within 15 days I left for my much needed break. Saw my Nani’s place after two-and-a-half years. I had been yearning to go there, the place I went every summer before I began working.
Bhaiyya chi gadi, our favourite bhelpuri wala near Maidan in Solapur. The place is our family haunt since my nana’s time. My mum and dad and uncles and aunts ate there when they were in school, and I have been eating there since I was a kid. His stuff is nothing close to the chats we get in Delhi or even Mumbai. They are unique. I have no eaten this kind of food anywhere else in world. His chutney bread, kachori, thanda pani puri (which has only onions as ad ons), chutney puri….yummmmmm. I miss bhaiyya chi gadi now! He is Solapur’s shaan I think.
And yes, can’t leave out Sudha Idli Gruha. The idli and wada’s out there are characteristic of the place. Again the taste and the style of cooking are completely different from all the other cities. They keep serving you as much chutney and as much sambhar you want for no extra charge plus they serve you nice home-made kind of butter to top your idli. And a chilli chutney that served with the food is Sudha’s best stuff. And above all else, these places are dirt cheap.
If you ever go to Solapur, which is next to impossible since the place has nothing that would draw you to it unless you have grown up there, you must eat at these two places. You’ll thank me for this.
They fed me like a pig. From chapatti sabzi, shrikhand to chips, dosas and pizzas, they fed me everything they could in a span of three days. I almost died by the time I left Solapur. I felt like a child there; felt protected being around family and my lovely little cousins.
Bangalore
Then I was on the train to Bangalore. A place I visited three years back. Reading Vikram Seth’s collected poems interspersed with listening to some Jim Morrison I reached Bangalore. There is no better way to discover a place than to go around on your own, alone. I got to do that after a long time. The last time I did that was when I had moved to Mumbai the first time.
I walked in to a pub alone, in a new city, sat at the bar and ordered a drink, chatted with the bartenders, making small conversations about newspapers and the deadlines in Bangalore. The feeling was liberating. To be able to claim your private space — as a woman — in a public place is liberating. And I enjoyed every bit of it. I did it in Bangalore which is not as cool as Mumbai is, for girls. You can hardly see any girls in pubs there on weekdays. Yes on weekends of course you can see women come in but almost always in a group with men for company.
I stayed at home watching movies I had been wanting to watch, getting out in the evenings, taking the local transport only on my 4th day in the city. Walking around and getting the essence of the city was so much fun.
Cauvery Art Emporium was my land mark for several days. If I got down from the auto here I could find my way easily. The place has some lovely stuff. Toys, book marks, show pieces, several hand made works and even a Rs 35 lakh worth sandalwood piece of artifact! Yes, it is over priced but you need to find stuff that you wouldn’t mind spending on.
Shobha took to me to India Coffee House for breakfast one day. After coffee and bread jam toast, the waiter got me two instead of one scrambled egg on toast. He urged to finish it and I did. The prices were so low at that place that I could have probably downed another two if I didn’t feel stuffed with what I had eaten. The uniforms resembled the ones worn by cooks during the British Raj.
The pubs
Legends of Rock and Le Rock are what I definitely miss in Mumbai. Spacious places, that play my favourite rock music, with big screens showing videos, cheap drinks and great ambience. I fell in love with them. I shall never forget the huge 600 ml pints served in huge glasses that looked like a tower. Shrav and I went crazy about them. Had great fun at both these places each time I went there.
We had to make a trip to B11. It was a ritual. That was the one time I missed our very own Rahul. The last time I went to Bangalore, Rahul played the perfect DJ at B11. He played all OUR songs. After all it is always great to have your friend as the DJ. But this time there was no Rahul at the DJ console and the place didn’t seem even an iota of what it was when we came there every single day of our five-day trip years ago. But the best part was I remembered every single spot I had seen so long back in Jayanagar. I was proud of myself and felt nostalgic.
Pikos—a Totos kinda place. But nowhere close to it. Yes, it is dingy, smoky, old and rusty but I can’t compare it with my favourite place in Mumbai, can I?
MG Road is a conglomeration of pubs. Loads of small and big pubs spread across and behind this street. Pikos, Guzzlers Inn, Le Rock, Sticks and several others. When I witnessed it myself I understood why the city is called a pub city. The saddest part especially if you are from Mumbai is that the pubs shut at 11.30 and autos charge you 1 ½ meter after as early as 9.30pm. You will have to bargain with Bangalore auto guys. That’s weird. It’s the law and order of Bangalore that needs to get in place not the people who want pubs to be open longer. The city is safer if the city is alive and kicking longer in to the night. I witnessed a really bad drunken driving accident in the few days of my stay. So is the 11.30 deadline of any use? Surely not!
Pondicherry
I travelled to Pondicherry with a guy I met after nine years. Another dream comes true—I go on a road trip to Pondy. The little Tamil Nadu villages, the forts and the pile- of-stones like mountains were what made my trip beautiful.
But apart from that the road was bumpy in parts and it took us nine hours to get there. Our butts were numb, we had to stand and sit down repeatedly to ease them. Legs were stiff. Getting off from the bike and getting on again was a task. When we finally reached, it was 9.30—the city shuts by 10.30— we had no place to stay. The only resort we had pinned our hopes on, ‘The Banyan Resort’, was shut for renovation that week. We somehow reached the Beach Road, it’s the mini Marine Drive, small, clean with little French architecture buildings along the stretch. I managed to spot a hotel and we finally got a room. My face was black with a layer of soot. I looked like a ghost. After a well awaited and well deserved bath, when I sat on the soft bed, I saw heaven!
Pondicherry has two parts, the French square and the Tamil Square. We had decided to explore the French Sqaure since its architecture and food places were something we had been looking forward to. First we stepped into the tourism office. When we entered the air conditioned office, a guy came up to us and asked us to take the seat. We asked for the map and he handed it over to us. He told us the places we should go to and a pamphlet of the hotels to live in. The tourism office’s booklet was too good! Informative and it served us well in the entire trip. We got out of there, walked down the beach road, which is lined up with all possible government offices of Pondy, from the Court to the Vidhan Sabha.
It was lovely walking down the tiny streets except that it was too hot! The sun burnt my skin, literally despite loads of sunscreen. The walk in the heat was followed by a relaxed brunch. We had French cuisine but don’t ask me the names. I don’t know French! The food accompanied by the beer was just right. When we walked out we decided to get into a cycle-rikshaw. The last time I sat in a cycle-rikshaw was incidentally in Pondy with my parents several years ago.
Soon we checked out from this hotel and headed for Auro beach and began hunting a new place to stay. We wanted to live in a shack on the beach but discovered that all of it was taken up by foreigners. Yes, it is here that we realised that this place was a firang magnet. There were firings all over the beach. In our bid to find a place on the beach we entered a firang-packed shack place where auro cookie, auro coffee and everything auro was being sold across the counter at the joint there. Obviously the place was full so we went back to our hunting.
Finally we found a place just behind this auro-hotel. The place had lovely trees with yellow flowers, shacks built ten-feet above the ground and a fantastic balcony. So we stayed in this bamboo house, played in the waves in the evening and took a long walk on the beach. Then we got some beer and sat down on the beach till late in the night. We spoke about a whole lot of things and finally had candle-lit dinner in our balcony. There were no sounds except for the sea waves and moving branches and no lights except for the candle in front of us. I was high and it felt peaceful.
Well, the next day was our last day there. We had our breakfast outside the shack. The little wooden tables and chairs under the shade of the tree were strewn with the yellow flowers bidding us good-bye. It was one of the most peaceful breakfast I’ve ever had. I felt relieved to have come to this place and fulfilled by the discovery of a place so removed from the world I’m so used to living in.
Before leaving for Bangalore we paid a visit to Auro Ville. A half-an-hour drive from the Auro Beach, we encountered several shops owned by foreigners. The coffee shop at Auro Ville looked fantastic, and though we were tired we made the walk to Matrimandir. It’s the golden dome being built at Auro Ville since 1974. The ten-minute walk turned out to be a half-an-hour one, but we were determined to see Matrimandir before setting out for Bangalore.
On our return our goal was set. Two hours to Maghumalai, Krishna Nagar in the next two hours and another two hours to get to Bangalore. Just three breaks this time round. It was a mission and we had to fulfill it. We reached Bangalore in six hours this time!
And last but not the least I sat in a flight for the first time, got a window seat and watched the desert of clouds all the way back to Mumbai.
Life has been exciting, after all the tears and shit!
Monday, April 16, 2007
Mahim
I wasn’t aware what this small stretch of Mahim Causeway wraps within itself till I began researching for the Urs festival that takes place at Mahim Durgah every year. It is one of the cities within the city of Mumbai which has somehow got lost in a whirlwind of traffic that dresses it’s roads during peak hours day after day. It has its own little history and culture which is to say the least of significant interest.
Mahim Causeway
A plaque that stands at the Mahim Causeway records the making of the Mahim Causeway. It credits Lady Jeejeebhoy, the main donor. It was built in 1845 to connect the island of Salsette with Mahim. The swampy area between the two islands made travel dangerous and thus a need for a causeway arose. The British East India Company, who governed Bombay at that time refused to fund the project. Finally it was built at a total cost of Rs 1,57,000 donated entirely by Lady Avabai Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy, wife of the first baronet Sir Jamsetjee Jeejeebhoy with a stipulation that no toll would be charged to citizens for its use by the government.
Mahim Creek
A dam built on Mithi River called Mahim Causeway is how environmentalists see the Mahim Causeway. The Mahim creek is a part of Mithi River that originates at Powai and meets the sea at the creek. Mahim bay area, where Mithi River meets Arabian sea, is a nominated bird sanctuary called Salim Ali Bird Sanctuary where migratory birds come for nesting. This part is full of mangroves and this fragile eco system requires considerations from pollution point of view, so that it is not destroyed. According to environmentalists, the depleting mangroves of Mahim creek are one of the main reasons for the floods in Mumbai. Emerald Fields now a student at Massachusetts wrote in his blog about the beauty of the Mahim Creek. “I used to live 20 feet away from sea water in Mahim creek. Five to six years back, it was great, you could hear the sea waves lashing across the stone walls, hear the fishermen’s boats leaving Mahim port at dawn. Tiny lights shifting swiftly in the dark. Suddenly there was an army of trucks all around. They began dumping mud all over to make that new sea link. So, one would see dust instead of boats and listen to noisy machines all the tim. The whole beauty of it died,” says Fields.
Creek water
While many thronged the Mahim Creek to drink the miracle water earlier this year, BMC warned the people that the water is unpotable. The National Institute of Oceanography (NIO) said that the reason for the sweetening of water could be attributed to the large quantities of groundwater draining into the sea because of the rains. The creek water is said to be highly unpotable due to low chlorine levels, dangerous levels of nitrates and alarming pollution levels. According to the report on the Mithi river water submitted to the Maharashtra Pollution Control Board (MPCB) by Klean Environmental Consultants, the citizens dump raw sewage, industrial waste and garbage unchecked. Besides this, illegal activities of washing of oily drums, discharge of hazardous waste are also carried out along the course of this river.
Church
Missionary activity in Bassein, Salsette and Bombay commenced from 1534 onward. The Franciscans were the sole missionaries on the island; they were in charge of St Michael Church, Mahim. The Franciscans, who first arrived in India in 1500, were the first to establish churches in Bassein, Salsette, Bombay, Karanja and Chaul. According to Father Hugh Fonseca, around 40-50,000 devotees visit the church every week. St Michael’s Church is popular for its wednesday Novenas.
Durgah
The dargah of Makhdoom Ali Mahimi, the secular Sufi saint, is popular as the Mahim dargah. Reported to be at least 350 years old, the dargah sharief has five domes, the only dargah in Mumbai to have more than one dome. According to Durgah authorities, around 60,000 poeple turn up every week. During the annual ten day Urs festival celebrated on the 13th day of Shawwal, the Muslim calendar, millions of devotees visit the dargah.
Urs
Over 30 lakh devotees are expected to participate in the 593rd birth anniversary celebrations of Baba Makhdoom Shah at Mahim Durgah this year. Every December, during Urs, lakhs of devotees travel to the the durgah to offer prayers, putting pressure on the existing traffic situation. While hundreds of police officials participate in the celebrations, over 2000 police officials and traffic police are deployed to maintain security and traffic at Mahim Causeway. The highlight of Urs is the procession of around eight thousand which begins at the Mahim Police Station, the site of the saint’s residence. Two policemen from each of the eighty four city police stations represent the police department. A representative of the Mumbai police is the first to offer the chaddar (shawl) at the tomb on the first day of the festival. Legend has it that it was a police constable who gave water to the dying saint from his cap.
Mahim Fair
Most people who visit the Durgah are said to make a stop over at the Mahim mela held during Urs at the Mahim Creek. Different contractors install different joy rides and stalls for the fair. The rides include giant wheels, merry-go-rounds, dog shows, magic shows and the well of death. This year’s festival will attract more than 30 lakh people.
Last man standing
The only Udipi restaurant on the Mahim Causeway stretch, Shri Krishna Restaurant is the last restaurant standing at the junction. A regular outlet for the nearby residents and police personnel deputed at the signal, this is the only Udipi restaurant in the area. While its dosas have been one of the much relished food items, it has witnessed the changes in the traffic situation at this signal for years. Standing right opposite the St Michaels church his restaurant does great business on Wednesdays when people come for the weekly Novena. K Ravi who sits at the cash counter overlooking the signal says that he often watches people desperately trying to cross the road. “I often watch people crossing the road. It takes them ten minutes to do so. I’m used to the constant sound of vehicles but the honking still irritates me,” says Ravi.
Ek cutting
Basant tea and cold drink house has been standing at the junction for the last 40 years. A regular halt for foreigners and taxi drivers traveling to the International airport early morning, Vishenji Shah’s Rs 3 cutting chai is the most popular in the area. “The church goers and the workers in the bamboo market have been my regular clients for the past 30 years,” says Tekchand Shah, Vishneji’s son. Way back in the 1960’s the chai which costs Rs 6 now was sold for 25 paise at the shop. Tekchand remembers how the roads were narrower and there was space for people to walk back then. “The footpath was wider and there was a lot more free space. Even during the 10-day mela at the durgah, there was no chaos,” he recollects.
Mahim fort
How many people know that there stands a fort at the edge the western coast of Mahim with a vantage view of Mahim creek? The Mahim fort which has great historic importance is now in ruins. The Mahim Fort is a relic from the British Raj. This fort is actually a fortress- a part of the larger Bombay Castle. This castle was an important base during the time of the British Empire, but now all that remains are a few ramparts scattered about the city. All one can find are encroachers and hutments in the area. The fort which was once visible from the Mahim Causeway and Bandra Reclamation is barely visible now. The Mahim Fort is a heritage structure and the BMC in its budget proposal for 2005-2006 had intended to pay special attention to Mahim Fort but nothing has been done yet. . Conservationist Sharda Dwivedi says that the Fort is in a very bad state and needs to be restored. “A glorious structure like the Bandra fort is ruins. Encroachments have been allowed to flourish for years now. The authorities don’t care about the heritage structures,” she says.
Mahim Beach
The Mahim beach can hardly be called a beach anymore. Slum dwellers excrete and take a leak freely on the sands, leaving no free space to take a peaceful walk. The beach stinks and the shore is strewn with plastic. One of the worst beaches in the city today, it has been calling for attention from the civic authorities and needs a massive clean up drive to restore this important beach.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Supernova
They make weird patterns;
streamers of light, shining
in different hues.
I can make them twist and turn,
taking shapes I straighten and skew.
I change the shades
with the power of my mind.
Red, yellow and purple;
glowing, they are real.
More real than my body
floating in the clouds,
lying parallel to the ground.
Green mixed with indigo,
blue sprinkled over orange,
and pink garnished
with some yellow filings.
The combinations change
with my moods.
Passion sees deep purple,
elastic tubes of light.
They do a ballet to the music
playing at the core of my brain cells.
The music gets louder
and the strobe lights become sparkles,
elegant and supple,
and begin to sprinkle a burst
of colour across the pallet of my eye.
I’m numb
And the colours alive.
A supernova
born in the boundless confines of mind,
set free through the boundaries
of the sky.
streamers of light, shining
in different hues.
I can make them twist and turn,
taking shapes I straighten and skew.
I change the shades
with the power of my mind.
Red, yellow and purple;
glowing, they are real.
More real than my body
floating in the clouds,
lying parallel to the ground.
Green mixed with indigo,
blue sprinkled over orange,
and pink garnished
with some yellow filings.
The combinations change
with my moods.
Passion sees deep purple,
elastic tubes of light.
They do a ballet to the music
playing at the core of my brain cells.
The music gets louder
and the strobe lights become sparkles,
elegant and supple,
and begin to sprinkle a burst
of colour across the pallet of my eye.
I’m numb
And the colours alive.
A supernova
born in the boundless confines of mind,
set free through the boundaries
of the sky.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Disco blues
We walk hand in hand
Arm in arm.
Talk about Bollywood
And celluloid charm.
And walking down
The footpath
The conversation scatters
To hip and happening places
To discos in the suburbs.
For the night’s at hand
And we need to dance
Hip to hip, cheek to cheek.
And make it at a rocking night
With friends we dig.
As the man standing
On the console
Like a hellish lord releasing
Lost bodies and soul;
Remixes, rehashes, refurbishes
Something that remotely
Sounds like sound.
Interspersed with
Scratches and screeches.
And ding-dangs and yo-yos
And noises and voices
Twisted and wound.
We yell out to each other
Across the dance floor
Revel in the ecstasy
Of the lights heavenly
And the floor paradise.
But it got to feel that way
Since we’re four pegs down.
I wake up in my bed
With a hellish hangover
And walk down the room
Like the dead.
The paradise lingering
In my distant memory
I make a new call
And seek a new arm.
And call up a fellow loser
For the night’s at hand.
Arm in arm.
Talk about Bollywood
And celluloid charm.
And walking down
The footpath
The conversation scatters
To hip and happening places
To discos in the suburbs.
For the night’s at hand
And we need to dance
Hip to hip, cheek to cheek.
And make it at a rocking night
With friends we dig.
As the man standing
On the console
Like a hellish lord releasing
Lost bodies and soul;
Remixes, rehashes, refurbishes
Something that remotely
Sounds like sound.
Interspersed with
Scratches and screeches.
And ding-dangs and yo-yos
And noises and voices
Twisted and wound.
We yell out to each other
Across the dance floor
Revel in the ecstasy
Of the lights heavenly
And the floor paradise.
But it got to feel that way
Since we’re four pegs down.
I wake up in my bed
With a hellish hangover
And walk down the room
Like the dead.
The paradise lingering
In my distant memory
I make a new call
And seek a new arm.
And call up a fellow loser
For the night’s at hand.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Horses
There are horses all around. The flat mountain top rings with the sound of their feet. They gallop, jump fences and run through the woods towards the end of land. They look like mad horses, not reducing their speed as they approach the edge.
Probably they are blind, unable to see that the land ends there. May be the fog of an after-rain evening has blurred their vision. Or have they been given a shot of insane medicine, making them go berserk? There is no time for me to stop them. Still, I yell out their names but they don’t respond. They are approaching the end with great speed. But who am I to stop them anyway?
I am a mere spectator.
And just when they are about to throw their lovely black bodies into the valley, out of nowhere, large white wings appear. Right behind their ears! And they take the flight. Caressing the cool winds with their new found wings, they glide. The sky shines with a crimson light just about to fade. I rub my eyes. Is this a dream? Is this a miracle? I continue to watch. I can’t take my eyes off these beautiful horses flying amongst the clouds. And then suddenly, with a blink of an eye, they are nowhere to be seen. As if the sky swallowed them. I try hard to find them in the clouds spread all over. But there is no sight of those miraculous creatures.
I walk to the edge of the mountain and peep down. And see them writhing in pain.
Probably they are blind, unable to see that the land ends there. May be the fog of an after-rain evening has blurred their vision. Or have they been given a shot of insane medicine, making them go berserk? There is no time for me to stop them. Still, I yell out their names but they don’t respond. They are approaching the end with great speed. But who am I to stop them anyway?
I am a mere spectator.
And just when they are about to throw their lovely black bodies into the valley, out of nowhere, large white wings appear. Right behind their ears! And they take the flight. Caressing the cool winds with their new found wings, they glide. The sky shines with a crimson light just about to fade. I rub my eyes. Is this a dream? Is this a miracle? I continue to watch. I can’t take my eyes off these beautiful horses flying amongst the clouds. And then suddenly, with a blink of an eye, they are nowhere to be seen. As if the sky swallowed them. I try hard to find them in the clouds spread all over. But there is no sight of those miraculous creatures.
I walk to the edge of the mountain and peep down. And see them writhing in pain.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Goodbye
I could have slit my wrists
and let you
flow out of my system.
I could have pierced my eyes
with needles
Where you’re frozen in time.
I could have slashed every inch
of this cadaver
you scribbled your name on.
I could have burst
my brains open
and burn your memories down.
I could have ripped
my heart apart
still waiting for you
to come by.
But all I did was wipe my tears
And say goodbye.
and let you
flow out of my system.
I could have pierced my eyes
with needles
Where you’re frozen in time.
I could have slashed every inch
of this cadaver
you scribbled your name on.
I could have burst
my brains open
and burn your memories down.
I could have ripped
my heart apart
still waiting for you
to come by.
But all I did was wipe my tears
And say goodbye.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Touch
You left without a promise
Without a word of grace.
You left without an echo
Of a love lost in haze.
I held up your pictures
With a desire world apart.
With the music in my ears
I stumbled back to the start.
The music of the first kiss
And the hug of the dawn.
The miles in one hand touch
And the brace of your arm.
The harmony of our spirits,
The symphony in our fingers,
Miming words on our lips
Writing stanzas all new,
As the drops from a melody
Perch on my eyes of dew.
The drum beats of the clasp of hand,
Take me to the highest note,
Make me smell of you.
And I still smell you
Through the black holes
Of years lost in time.
I hear your voice through wires
But forget the way we rhyme.
And then in scorching summer
You grace me with your rain.
You kneel down at my doorstep
And melt away my pain.
I throw myself in your arms
I forget to remember
I’d forgotten how you feel to me.
Then the whole world comes tumbling
In my bosom, in a spree.
My finger tips,
The edge of my forehead,
And the skin under my neck
Witness the magic again.
And a moment before I glide in mirth
You wither away.
You’re gone again but this time
You leave your touch behind.
Without a word of grace.
You left without an echo
Of a love lost in haze.
I held up your pictures
With a desire world apart.
With the music in my ears
I stumbled back to the start.
The music of the first kiss
And the hug of the dawn.
The miles in one hand touch
And the brace of your arm.
The harmony of our spirits,
The symphony in our fingers,
Miming words on our lips
Writing stanzas all new,
As the drops from a melody
Perch on my eyes of dew.
The drum beats of the clasp of hand,
Take me to the highest note,
Make me smell of you.
And I still smell you
Through the black holes
Of years lost in time.
I hear your voice through wires
But forget the way we rhyme.
And then in scorching summer
You grace me with your rain.
You kneel down at my doorstep
And melt away my pain.
I throw myself in your arms
I forget to remember
I’d forgotten how you feel to me.
Then the whole world comes tumbling
In my bosom, in a spree.
My finger tips,
The edge of my forehead,
And the skin under my neck
Witness the magic again.
And a moment before I glide in mirth
You wither away.
You’re gone again but this time
You leave your touch behind.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
I die
I die,
I die to hold you,
I die to say a few meaningful words.
I live,
I live to soak you,
I live to make a meaningful sentence.
I die to hold you,
I die to say a few meaningful words.
I live,
I live to soak you,
I live to make a meaningful sentence.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
A border-village
A villager ran miles
From the shelling
In a border-village up north.
It happened for years
And then he sent off
His family, and he stayed
To look after the farm.
Then one day
There was no where to flee
He quietly lay down in dust
And look who watched him die,
A man from the army.
Others displaced
Found new shelter, made a new living.
Living to go back to the home
On which the morning sun once shone.
Now spiders dwell amongst the ruins
And land mines decorate the backyard.
Hope still leads them on;
Hope to be buried
In the place they were born.
Thousands of camps
Of people in the no man’s land,
No one to lend a hand,
No one to share the burdens
Of an abandoned home,
An abandoned village,
An abandoned life;
Retiring to destiny.
With neighbours burning down to death,
And fathers lying in a pool of blood
Still fresh in the memories
Drowned in the same sand,
Their eyes look to the sky
And wonder why we fight for land.
From the shelling
In a border-village up north.
It happened for years
And then he sent off
His family, and he stayed
To look after the farm.
Then one day
There was no where to flee
He quietly lay down in dust
And look who watched him die,
A man from the army.
Others displaced
Found new shelter, made a new living.
Living to go back to the home
On which the morning sun once shone.
Now spiders dwell amongst the ruins
And land mines decorate the backyard.
Hope still leads them on;
Hope to be buried
In the place they were born.
Thousands of camps
Of people in the no man’s land,
No one to lend a hand,
No one to share the burdens
Of an abandoned home,
An abandoned village,
An abandoned life;
Retiring to destiny.
With neighbours burning down to death,
And fathers lying in a pool of blood
Still fresh in the memories
Drowned in the same sand,
Their eyes look to the sky
And wonder why we fight for land.
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