Water:

It was one of those days when the rain just fell and fell without a stop. Sometimes heavy and sometimes light, subduing the sound of chaos in the city. My time travelling mind took another trip back to the small town in eastern India where I grew up. Monsoon there meant endless days of grey sky and non-stop drizzle. Like a thin wet sheet that covered everything. It drove people to stay home venturing out only when necessary. Something about that weather made you want to feel snug, huddle close to loved ones and listen to their stories over a nice cup of tea.

Some days the rain used to pick up in the evening and pour throughout the night. By daybreak the sky would be overcast and it would drizzle the whole day. During those days of heavy rain we would get constant updates on the rising level of Ganga on the local radio. There would be a queer sense of anticipation and foreboding all around and the stories shifted to that of floods and near disasters. We listened to them spellbound.

I loved those grey wet days. The best part was not that the schools would be shut. The best part was to sit by the window, look at the rain falling outside and feel the gusts of wind blowing droplets all over you. My hyper-imaginative mind would re-create all the stories heard before and I would be totally lost to reality. The best part was sneaking into the garden with an umbrella when my mother was asleep and shake the flowers drooping with water. I would be certain that the flowers were happy to be relieved of their burden.
________________________________________________________

I was looking out the window at the wet railway tracks. When the muted sound of the locals faded in the distance, the sound of the continuous drizzle took over. Right ahead across the railway tracks was a tall building under construction. I could not see any signs of activity or people there. It seemed isolated, abandoned and forgotten under the grey wet sky. A woman with her son in a raincoat and half pants walked past the tracks, the only sign of humanity around. Strangely desolate.

A gust of wind blew the droplets all over me. I turned around to look at the people inside the house. The TV was on and all were talking about one person’s recent visit to Chicago. Somebody exclaimed about the nuisance of the going out on a rainy day like this. I detected irritation in her voice.

I turned my attention back to the outside world. I longed to hear the stories my father used to tell. I longed to go out and shake the water from the flowers and hear their relief.

I still love grey wet days.

Being:

Growing old is Fun! Firstly I have become more un-social….and I am loving it! Earlier there was always this pressure of going out, meeting friends or basically just doing something. Otherwise it felt as if you were wasting your time. Well now…No More!

I look forward to weekends purely with myself tucked away with so many books (there are so many to read and so little time!), old nostalgic music, movies, cups of tea, some good food and that’s it. There’s absolutely no pressure about meeting people or going out. If you can meet friends….just great….if not, I’m happy anyways.

I don’t really care that much about what I wear or how I look. So many times I have gone to Shoppers’ Stop and Baristas in my home pajamas, chappals and hair un-combed. Really! It’s kind of freeing to just be. I took it to another extreme last month when I joined a martial art class. All other students were dolled up…with perfectly fitted exercise clothes and glassy skin. I wore loose tracks which rode up while doing some stretch exercise with legs up. The hair on my legs resembled that of the guy’s next to me. Well….it doesn’t really bother me. I chose to wax when I chose to wax.

The best part I think is the extreme patience that I have developed….partly for others but mostly for myself. If people understand me, Good! If they don’t….who really cares. I am past the age where I need to explain myself to others. I can look sagely and benevolently at the troubled youngsters and tell them..."This is hardly anything; Grow up!"

Just being…is Good.

Homogeneity:

I have often wondered how would one describe Bangalore, who are the people that make Bangalore the city it is. Like Delhi’s identity are the bureaucrats and the rich snobs, Mumbai is the city for dreamers which makes for a crazy eclectic mix, Calcutta is for the intellectuals (pseudo or otherwise) and Pune is for students. I couldn’t pinpoint Bangalore’s societal make-up until a recent visit.

On one hand there’s the expats – they were everywhere…wherever I went. I might sound xenophobic, but I am not sure I liked seeing so many of them there. They tend to spoil the market, like in Bandra here. Everything becomes un-affordable – from rent to vegetables.

The other group which actually makes up for most of Bangalore, are these ‘young couples in their thirties with a kid between the age of 2 to 9 years’. Societies after society apartments are full of them. Mostly a double-income household with a car, the father is mostly in shorts and a t-shirt and the mother is mostly in three-fourths and a top hovering protectively around her child. Most apartments I could peep into had similar looks – dark wood furniture, flat screen TV, a kids’ room full of toys and fabindia curtains – only the colour changed. In other words, a young professionally successful nuclear family.

Looking at them, I got a distinct feeling that success (and money) comes easily to them. That most would not know or understand a life not like theirs….the struggle of Bomayites, the need for cultural difference for the Calcutta folks or even the snobbery of Delhites.

_________________________________________________________

Mumbai looks so dazzling and alive from above even at 2 in the night!

Love unconditional:

I laughed when I read Com. Dilip Donde’s comment about his constant companion ‘Mhadei’ (wonder if it’s an Indian name?). He says “Don’t think I’d be too off the mark if I said I am in love with her!” The first rejoinder that instantly popped in my mind was – man and his love for machines…so typically male!!

But then I remembered with a heavy heart how much I loved my car. It still pains me to think about her and I still feel awfully guilty that I sold her off. I often wonder how she is doing…whether her new owner is treating her well or not. Whenever I go to Delhi, one part of mind keeps a watch on the road hoping to catch a glimpse of her, to know that she’s still there. The other part does not want to see her again…..what if she’s in a bad condition, what if she is not being treated well, a rough hand steering her around and driving over bumpers and potholes. I will never be able to forgive myself then. It would pain me too much.

She was just as temperamental as I was and left me exasperated most of the time with her demands of attention. But I loved her enough to fulfill all her demands and on time. She was simple, without any frills and looked younger than her age and we both shared so many special moments, bad and good together. Whether it was pouring rain and thunderstorm, tyre-deep water, blinding fog, scorching sun, balmy afternoons, or a blue sky with woolly cotton clouds. Whether I was happy, sad, melancholy, angry or just plain bored….she could sense my mood and play along. We would listen to music together driving slowly or just look at the scarlet sunset while I cried my heart out over some long lost memories. I could take my frustrations out after work and she would listen. She never left me stranded in dangerous places neither did I ever leave her unguarded or with strange people.

The last day, I walked with her new owner from the bank to the place where she was parked. Throughout that time, I explained to him all that I used to do for her and what she required. When I finally handed over my keys to the new owner without meeting his eyes, he said “My god….you are really attached to your car.” That did it. I turned away without even glancing back at my car. It was all I could do to stop myself from bawling uncontrollably right there in the middle of CP.

So, it’s not just about the ‘man’ and his machine. There is something indefinably special about the love we have for our machines. Wish we could say the same for all our other relations.

Decoding the future:

It all started off with an argument with A about the motormen going on strike and leaving people stranded. She was livid at the way they just stopped the trains mid track and people had to spend the night on the platform. I, for once sided with the motormen. In a country where mere notice or petitions does not work, what else can you do to make your needs felt? I don’t believe we are a poor nation at all. It’s flush with money as all of us have seen during the IPL fiasco. Plus the fact that (as a colleague once told me), if you put all the monies collected by our politicians since independence in Swiss banks, the country’s debt can be paid 13 times over!

But after I got angry and put the phone down on her, my head started to spin….with thoughts which got morbid by the minute. Exactly where are we heading? Me, others, the society, country as a whole and even Earth? How did we land up in such a terrible mess?
Each of us is living vicariously, for the moment and only for ourselves. Collecting and hoarding mindlessly. There might be 210 friends on your facebook account but how many friends are there with whom you can just sit and not talk at all, or on whose shoulder you can lay your head and cry your heart out without feeling stupid or judged later.

Long time ago, maybe 7-8 years back, a colleague was doing a pranic healing course. She could read auras (yes, I believe in all that) and sense the strength of each chakra in a person. For fun we experimented with other colleagues. Almost everybody’s heart chakra was tiny showing how little we felt through our hearts, how closed we were. At that point, it was fun to see this and we all laughed it off. But now I believe it’s true for everybody including me. We have no heart left.

Maybe we have crossed the point from where we could have righted things and now it’s a steady downhill. Maybe only a big calamity can sweep the plate clean so that a fresh good beginning can take place.

Maybe Mumbai’s chaos is getting to me, maybe I need a break and go to the mountains.

You Know:

You know you are in Delhi – when a person you hear mumbling behind you is passing lewd comments.

You know you are in Mumbai – when a person you hear mumbling behind you (and not talking on a cell phone) is mumbling to himself about his plumbing problem or neighbor problems

You know you are aging – when your (young) colleague tells you that he has seen the ‘Inzamam rushing to the spectators with his bat raised to hit them’ on youtube…while you still remember being aghast when you had seen the incident on TV.

You know something is wrong with the system – when you see a woman police (constable?) in uniform wearing sandal and carrying a purse.

You know you might not be that bad a person – when your friend’s toddler daughter who cries at the mere sight of a stranger gives you a beatific smile and hugs you when you hold her (given the fact that you don’t like kids)

You know you are wanted and loved - when you scold a stray bitch who comes wagging her tail at you but refuses to eat the Parle Gs you force into her mouth because she only eats GoodDay (as told later by the locals there). When you tell her to go away….she meekly sits with her paw on the biscuit, looks at you and then slowly takes a bite of it.

Home Coming:

I have become a monster. Well, my sister, mother and a few close friends will tell you that I was always one. But I now have become the worst type…a cynical, cribbing and nagging type. I can only see the bad part of things. For example,

It’s a good thing that’s there’s a sabzi mandi right outside my building but all that I see especially in the mornings is how bhajiwallahs spit and then lay down the vegetables just next to it. Needless to say, I don’t buy vegetables from there. I walk to another market some 10 minutes away and buy vegetables laid out in carts which are several inches above the ground.

It’s so nice to see the ladies compartment full at 10 in the night. In fact, at certain stations there’s still a mad rush to get in and get a seat. I don’t take the first class at that hour, so a couple of days ago I got in the general ladies compartment while traveling back from Thane. As I hurried to an empty seat, another woman came and sat next to me (kindly adjust variety). I almost choked to death. Both the women sitting on both my sides were stinking of dried sweat. With so much of money flowing in this city, I wonder why people can’t buy even a cheap Rs.50 deo.

Last week, I hailed a taxi. There was a small puddle where it stopped and the driver told me “aage karta hoon, wahan kachra hain”. Considerate! At the next ‘singal’ (as they say), I saw that the driver who was chewing gutkha probably, open his side of the door and spit out. Then he proceeded to gargle some 3-4 times and spit the content out….as if the road was his own private toilet. You might think people who are a bit educated will not do any of the above. But people in my office do similar stuff in the cafeteria area. They will eat and not clean the table, they will wash their plates in the sink and leave it dirty. I keep wondering will they do the same at home.

Ok enough now. It’s a good thing I didn’t get married. I am such a serial nagger.
_______________________________________________________________

It was a short mad dash to Delhi and then to Uttranchal…on work. I can’t forgive my boss for calling me back for an important meeting, cutting my visit by almost a week. But those few days in the vicinity of the mountains and the perfect spring weather of Delhi was such a welcome respite. It was clear, bright and cold with a perfect view of the snow-covered Nanda Devi. For those few days, I was totally free. I was home.

To a Brother:

I have often wondered
If you are there somewhere
If we will ever cross paths
In this life

I have often wondered
That if we do
Will you still be a brother to me
Or just another general acquaintance
Who we meet and forget

I have often wondered
If you know that I remember you
When I am happy
When I am melancholic
And when I am just me

But something tells me
That you know
You have always known

My bit on Avatar:

To come straight to the point, I loved it. Yes, the graphic, visual effects and imagination was great but that’s not the real reason why I liked it. There are 2 reasons. I am sucker for these human-like alien stories (I cried copious tears at Steven Spielberg’s ET even as an adult and loved the TV serial Roswell). I tend to get really carried away into these extraordinarily imaginative worlds and Avatar’s world was far more vivid than the others.

Second and The primary reason (which surprisingly, not many have talked about) is the way they have portrayed Nature and it’s connect with the people there. How true when S Weaver says that everything’s inter-connected in nature and that there’s an exchange of energy that happens between nature and the people there. It’s not just some figment of somebody’s imagination about Pandora and bio-chemical reactions, but true of Earth as well. It’s just that we have stopped believing in it or even recognizing it. I loved the way they showed how the Na’vi people loved and respected nature. If the theatre was empty, I would have bawled openly and loudly when they showed Earthlings blowing up the big tree….I was so engrossed in their story and their pain.

I was planning to give the movie a miss (recession still)….but now am glad I got a chance to see it (thank god for good friends!).

The long road to December:

December is a month when even nature seems to be in a holiday mood. With the sun baking the earth and then the monsoon melodrama, winter is like a balm to the tired soul. I and my friends drove down to the Konkan coast along roads lined with happy shiny trees. The grass had turned yellow but it wasn’t dry yet, the sun was golden and light on the skin and the sky, a bright blue. And then came the azure sea against the white sand. We forgot our past and future. This was it. Joy!

December seems to envelop everybody in a strange happiness. In Delhi it is the excitement of the impending cold. In Bombay, the air turns nippy and the sky shines. Then there are the festivities – of the year coming to an end. And always always a strong hope for the best ever days in the coming year.

In Jan the euphoria slowly fades and a seriousness comes back into everybody’s life. I love December. I love the cold winter month. Wish it could stay longer. It’s going to be another long wait.

Statutory Warning: (This post is highly opinionated)

I have stopped sympathizing with the ‘poor’ – the city ‘poor’ at least. Over the past few months I have been to places and interacted with their lots. Firstly I fail to understand how these people can leave the wide open space of their village to come and live in such filth. Secondly I wonder how they can be satisfied with living in such condition. You give them opportunities but they will not take it until it’s for free. They are happy where they are.

Till 15 years back, you could find many children and parents who did not believe in education. That definitely has changed….now everybody thinks education is a must which ideally sounds good. But given the quality of education that these students get, I think it was better off remaining un-educated. Literacy without real education is worse…actually I think it’s deadly. Especially in a country like ours where the politicians have ludicrous ideologies and people don’t have the capacity to think logically.

Most families of this ‘class’ still have 4 to 5 children. I have seen families who have 9 to 10 children even now. Imagine the population in the times to come.

Now combine all these 3 factors and all that I can see in the future is utter chaos.

I once read an essay by a boy of 14years from a slum community in Mumbai. The topic was simple…what you want to become when you grow up. This boy started in a sweet but predictable manner of earning more money and getting his family out of poverty. He then went on to say how his ‘desh’ was being taken over by outsiders and “mujhe desh ko azaad karna hain.” Initially I had laughed it off but speaking to others it seemed even the parents thought so. And this is just one instance.

The Great Indian Train Journey:

Bombay to Delhi:

Uncle dressed like a politician, Aunty dressed like a politician’s wife – in all white. I look at them apprehensively. After an hour or so I relax.

Well-dressed religious old man who instead of saying hello would greet everybody with ‘radhe radhe’. Was on his way to Mathura for a wedding, he informed me later.

Local ‘chalti-kya-khandala’ type of guy who showed his machismo by chewing guthka constantly. His newly wed bride was also the ‘kareena-kapoor-in-films character’ type with all the adas and jhatkas in place. Snippets of conversation caught…“tumne mujhe itna rulaya…” “akele chorh ke kahan gaye the…”

Dinner time: Religious uncle shares his parathas and acchar with everybody saying ‘Gujrati mirchi hain, bilkul teekhi nahin”.
Post dinner: He tells me the story of his two daughters and then helps me make my bed.

He shook hands with everybody before getting down at Mathura.


Delhi to Bombay:

Gabru jawan from sada Dalhi worked for a small publishing house.
Sweet married boy from ‘New Dalhi’ was from a pharma company. They hit it off in no time.

The first part of the conversation was interesting when Sweet Boy describes the relation between pharma companies and the docs or hospitals.
The second part of the conversation was even more interesting. GJ told this guy that he came to Bombay often and knew the city well. He convinced SB not to stay in an expensive place in Andheri (though his meetings were there) but to stay in a cheaper hotel near VT. Some snippets

GJ: (extremely confidently) Saari locals VT se jaati hain. Andheri adhe ghante mein pahuch jaoge.
SB: Achha? Koi problem toh nahin hoga?
GJ: Main itni baar gaya hoon, mujhe local mein koi problem nahin hua hain.
I cringe.

SB: Bombay mein yeh fast or slow trains kuch hote hain na?
GJ: Nahin, wahan lines hota hain. Ek harbour ki taraf jati hain aur doosri seedhi. Ek aur line hain…woh Marine Lines se Juhu jati hain.
SB: Aur locals mein maine first class bhi dekha hain. Woh kya hain?
GJ: First class mein sitting hota hain. General mein khade hoke jate hain.
SB: Accha, Film City kahan hain?
GJ: Andheri mein. Wahan bahut saare studio hain.
SB: Andheri side mein dekhne ke liye kya hain?
GJ: (coming straight to the point) wahan bahut saaren night clubs hain.
SB: Theek hain, mera kaam ho jaane ke baad main tumhe phone karoonga….(already become thick pals)

Dinner Time: GJ tells SB… 'Aao main tumhe pantry le jata hoon’…obviously hinting to little swigs.

I giggle when I get down at Mumbai Central. Now I’m dying to know what they did in this city.

My Truths and some Observations:

I have a strange dilemma now. I live to travel but I don’t want others to travel. Now-a-days I go to places and don’t tell people about it. Reason? I had gone to Ladakh some 6 years back when there were very few tourists and no Indians. Blown over by its beauty, I recommended it to all my friends and other strangers as well. Now look what has happened. It’s becoming a mini Manali…tourists pouring over in that ecologically fragile zone destroying it slowly. Somewhere I believe it’s my fault. So these days I keep quiet.
________________________________________________________________

I have been in a reflective mode these past few days….wondering as to where we all are headed. If wheel (I personally would add tissue papers and safety pins!) was the best thing that has happened to mankind, then I believe the www is possibly the worst. Too much info and easy access to everything leads to people not valuing anything. I mean, it does make life easier….but we did live happily before that happened, didn’t we. Technology is supposed to get you closer…that’s what all the ads say. But people, friends and families are moving away. All the magical untouched corners of the earth are getting infected with humans. Too many people are demanding too many things. In the end, it’s just you and a super busy life so that you don’t get the time to think how alienated you actually are.
________________________________________________________________

Earlier I used to love aesthetically decorated houses. Now I like houses that are a bit cluttered and filled in. They feel warm, lived in. I get better sleep in these homes than clean sanitized ones. But when I get my own home, it will be neither. I am a minimalist. I don’t buy things because I don’t really need them. Maybe that’s why I like the houses in villages. Clean, white washed, bare minimum and yet so livable. Many people find it difficult to understand given that in these over materialistic times, not wanting seems like a crime.
________________________________________________________________

I don’t know how to deal with rich people. They have a different style of talking, of doing things. They have a confidence which comes only with money. Maybe that’s why we as a nation deal with the westerners like the way we do. Maybe it’s not really about the colour of the skin but about money. I wonder if we were a rich nation, would we still be in so much awe of the white skin as we are now?

Just Another Day: Festivities

The speakers started piling up a week in advance and being tested from different angles. I cringed. It meant 9 days of loud music at prime relaxing time. From day one to day eight the same music played out on these speakers….bad garba-style remixes of old bollywood songs. People would collect slowly in drab dresses and dance about in a circle right in the middle of the road…doing the same steps every day. My extreme annoyance at the chaos did not let me understand the fact that these festivals are the only way for the basti folks to relax, enjoy and shake a leg. I waited feverishly each day with cotton in my ears for the music to stop.

On the ninth day, the music started late and went on till the wee hours of the night….the law giving them concession for a day I think. To my surprise, the whole place erupted in colours and excitement. Little kids were prancing around dressed like little fisherwomen, goddess Kali, Durga and even an angel. Girls, guys, men, women….all had come out in their best attire….bright red, pink, orange sequined saris, sequined tops with jeans, colourful kurtas. Surprisingly, none of them looked like they belonged to a basti. I mentally went through my wardrobe and realized that I do not have a single dress to rival even the drabbest one of theirs.

Suddenly the same drab music sounded full of fun and masti. And all danced with gusto….the girls with colourful dupattas (who won the best group award), the guys in t-shirts, neck-tie and a white glove, two eunuchs in jeans, a muslim guy swaying to the tune of ‘Nagin’, a man in a golden coat and a long black wig (he won the best dressed dancer award), a mother with a baby in her arms, a drunken guy who came dressed in leaves, a woman who held her sari up a little and let her hair flow down her right shoulder seductively and the organizers in yellow kurtas and turbans. Towards the end, the circle broke. The music changed to pub numbers and the whole scene turned into a veritable open-air discotheque. The girls’ group jumped with the tune, a guys’ group did hip-hop and b-boing, one of the eunuchs danced around with a group of guys and throwing her hair about….there was a strange underline of sexuality between them….something which I did not want to think about.

Naturally the girl dressed like goddess Durga won the fancy dress competition. I watched them till the time the music stopped and everybody slowly went back home. I have never seen such a harmless (saying so due to my deeply ingrained Delhi sensibilities) and fun community celebration and loved every moment of this show.

But now all I want is a quiet and peaceful place to heal my extremely painful ears.

Itchy Feet:

The washed air sparkled in the dead of night
A half moon looked at me and whispered
The melancholic wind tossed the whispered words around
And blew it on my face, unaware of my reaction
I felt the moon’s whisper rather than hear it
Somewhere the hibernating senses rustled
It crawled slowly over my skin
And settled deep in every pore

The moon spoke of a word which smelt of Freedom
Of roads that led to forever
Of frosty mountain air and simmering dessert sun
A rain soaked earth and sun-kissed empty sand
Of freshly cut grass and drying chillies
Of red roses against a white wall
A calling magpie high in the sky
A window looking over a vale
Of playful mist whirling about
A golden sun over a rolling meadow
And of a road that never arrived

The distant horizon is luring
And the feet’s begun to itch
For a journey to forever
And a road that becomes the home

Grey Areas:

M’s wife did her higher education from a university in the US. She told me about how the American economy used to promote consumerism by being in debt. ‘Credit worthiness’ is what they called it. One couldn’t get a loan until he (or she) had a good history of his credit card usage. Which meant that one was forced to do all shopping through credit cards….which in turn meant being in debt perpetually.

This just opened up the Pandora’s Box for me. I began my diatribe about how irresponsible the world power was. How it’s senseless ‘I, me & myself’ policies have ruined the world economy, ecology, climate, political ties, destroyed countries and made the whole world such an unsafe place to live in. Their bad points far out weigh the good. Why can’t everybody be more like the European countries…..culturally sound, economically stable, politically neutral and ecologically in a better situation than the rest?

I hate to admit but what M’s wife said made some sense – where else can you get that personal freedom, the basic right to life, the choices as an individual and equality among human beings which lacks in so many ways in other countries. Being a fancy free person myself, I would love to live in a country like that only for this reason.

But then even I can’t justify thinking about oneself without thinking about the rest. I, the individual, my life, my family, my caste, my religion, my state, my community, my country! Sometimes I think there should have been life in other planets, only then we could have risen above these petty issues and said my Earth.

It’s easier to follow bad examples than good and given the state of the world, I think we are way past that line where we could have pulled ourselves back to the good.
_______________________________________________________

In the last couple of months, I have realized that there is so much of goodwill that exists in the society. Everybody wants to do something, even a little, if it helps somebody else or makes the world a better place. And there are so many organizations that have been working diligently for years to make some sort of a change.

But why is it that the deeper I look, the grimmer the situation seems…be it environment, children, education, women, human rights or wildlife. Sometimes I feel that the people we want to help are so used to external support that they don’t want to get out of their situation. Or perhaps we don’t know what ultimately the cause will end up doing. There’s always this….. ‘then what?’ question that remains.

Like education for all children. Once you fulfill it, then what? Are we capable of handling giving all these educated kids a dignified life, a decent job? Chances are lots will be frustrated at the lack of it….so they will go back to doing things to get quick money.

Like community development and infrastructure in the hills. Roads bring people, development brings money. With money comes consumerism, branded clothes, tv, car, tourists. Beautiful locations see mushrooming of grotesque buildings…then there’s pressure on availability of water, pollution and the list goes on.

Seems like a vicious circle to me….with no real time solution for it.
______________________________________________________

Near Mumbai Central, I saw a cat sleeping curled around a dog. At Nariman Point I saw 2 cats and 3 hens feeding from the same dish containing fish and rice.

Why can’t we be more like them?

Lost World:

Aankhon mein jiske koi toh khwab hain
Khush hain wohi jo thoda betaab hain
Zindagi mein koi, aarzoo kijiye
Phir Dekhiye…..

I am happy to find my perspective back….
It’s been a long journey.

Just Another Day: Train

Most of the girls have their ear-phones plugged in, with the wires disappearing inside the purse, and staring blankly ahead perhaps lost in their own thoughts or just the music.

One girl is standing and reading Sidney Sheldon’s Rage of Angels which she had picked up from a library. She’s a college student. I was in school when I had read that. Nice novel….nostalgia floods in remembering those days.

The girl next to me dials a number and starts talking to a Yogesh in the typical fashion which clients uses to screw their vendors. She didn’t care how, but she wanted her work done Now. I remember the number of times I had used that particular tone and shuddered. Poor Yogesh, his week is going to go really bad.

A woman-hawker gets up selling hairclips, rubber-bands and other stuff which she distributes amongst the passengers. The stickers sell like hot cake….most girls pick up the ones with cute little hearts in various designs and colours. Romantic fools! I look up at the second class compartment. The hawkers there had more interesting things to sell. They don't come to our section…..I wonder why.

I find a seat near a girl who’s talking seriously on the phone. I catch snippets of her conversation. “This is the last chance I’m giving you” “Listen, I have told you that I can’t do it”. There goes another love story all the way downhill. It seems to be happening way too often.

I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes. A fast train rushes past….how I love that sound of speed and urgency, the sound of long journeys. Vaguely I sense a girl leaning to take her bag from the overhead rung.

Soon, the movement lulls my senses and I’m lost to the world.

Just Another Day:

The din persists throughout the day, from the crack of dawn till well into the night. People, cars, autos and even trucks….going and coming non-stop like an ever shifting kaleidoscope. The old man drags his basket of bananas to a particular spot right outside the small temple. He insists on giving everybody a plastic bag. Couple of hours later, he’s gone unlike the middle aged woman sitting next to him, selling spices and what appear to be seeds in various containers spread around her.

A man comes with his cart, full of garlic and stands at a vantage point at the corner of a narrow lane. Not much sales today and in a few hours his place is empty….soon taken over by another cart full of colourful plastic toys. Suddenly he’s surrounded by eager mothers in ‘nighties’ rummaging through the cart. A couple of boys are talking and laughing at the ‘Xerox’ centre nearby comfortable in the chaos around.

The clouds suddenly let go and the strong winds make the raindrops fall at a thirty degree angle. The click of the umbrellas opening sound like somebody’s checking his drum-sticks before hitting the drums. Everybody’s umbrella is slanted at the same angle to shield themselves from the oncoming rain.

The day slows down to evening, and the shift in the wind direction unfurls the MNS flag which had wound itself around the flagpole in the daytime. The approaching night envelops everything in its darkness, cloaking all real life details in its mysterious fold. In the distance the twinkling lights of the airport bursts through, shimmering in the cold wetness around. An airplane slowly comes to a halt, its taillight still blinking red. A different world leaps out from that horizon, drawing you like a magnet….to the world of gloss, wealth, distant lands, important meetings and eagerly waiting families.

The lilting sound of a wind-chime floats out from somewhere. You can hear the wind blow. Then all is quiet.

City Traits:

After almost two years, I have finally mastered the art of that imperceptible nod that everybody uses here to say a yes or a no. A quick nod by the autowallah or the taxi driver tells you whether you should get in or not. As a new comer I could barely notice the nod leave alone understand its meaning, asking them twice and staring at their faces to get an audible yes or no. The same nod is used by the people travelling on a local, to indicate whether she/he would be getting off at the next station or not. I smiled to myself the other day, when I caught myself nodding to a fellow passenger without even looking her way.

A year back, while trying desperately to hail a taxi after work, I was given a ride home by a stranger who was also waiting for a cab and who got it before I did. At first I was surprised, then scared and then strangely touched by the gesture. Later noticing around, I realized it was not too big a deal here. Now-a-days, I share my auto with strangers going the same direction and they do the same for me.

The third thing I have mastered, is the art of finding my space in a crowded train compartment without stepping over other people, hitting them with my bag or getting in their way. Nobody tells you these codes of conduct…(of how to stand/sit so that your feet are not sticking out, how to hold your purse so that it doesn’t poke the other person)….you watch the people around you and you just get to know.

And in this entire crowded milieu, what I love to do is to eavesdrop on other people’s phone conversations…..to imagine their lives and match their faces and looks to their voices and their stories.

Life and Living:

Sometimes I wonder where this city is headed to. In the night, with a glittering city-line one can be fooled to believe that it resembles Manhattan. Listen carefully and you can hear the city groan and creak under the strain. I look at all those tall buildings sprouting like mushrooms everywhere, but there is not a single one where we can stay.

I thought we had a decent budget for getting a good house on rent. As it turned out we were almost laughed at by the brokers. Add to it the fact that we are ‘bachelors’ and hence most areas were automatically out of our reach. We were taken to areas where you will never go even in your dream, to buildings besides huge stinking nalas full of mosquitoes and to buildings where all the wires were hanging out ready to kill somebody. We saw apartments where the loo stank, where there was no natural light, where the vibes were so negative that it sent shivers down our spine. And then we were taken to a nice house in a good locality and told in a harsh voice….that its available only if we guarantee that there would be no ‘boys’ coming.

It was humiliating and depressing. Depressing because there are people and families who stay in all these buildings and houses for years….cramped and dirty. Humiliating because the married neighbors feel it’s important to warn the brokers (who in turn will warn us) that we are stepping into a ‘family’ area.

I wonder exactly what is the cost of dignified living in this city…..probably too much. There are many who can afford as one can see from the mushrooming skyscrapers but for the rest of us it’s far too big a compromise.

I Stand Corrected:

C said that the most beautiful view in the world is to see the snow peaks on a full moon day. The range turns absolutely blue and sparkles in the silvery light. I was jealous of C. This was his first visit to the mountains, yet he has seen this fantastic sight. I, on the other hand have been to the Himalayas so many times but never ever seen such a sight. Even on this visit to Kumaon, the summer haze hid the snow range on the full moon day. I still have so much to see and experience.

______________________________________________________


In my last post I said that villagers are so simple and happily ignorant. Here in the villages of Kumaon I saw a different sight. With the help of an organization – Chirag - who have 209 villages under their wing for conservation through community development, they have come a long way. And all the change have been understood, led and implemented by women. Its not that the organization deliberately chose to empower the women……but it’s a big fact that men are less prone to gaining positive knowledge and more prone to resistance and destruction. With proper guidance, the women of the villages are now involved directly into all areas of work….from forestry, rain water harvesting, education, livelihood issues, self help group, micro-financing, agricultural marketing etc.

One woman of the Van Panchyat Committee (Forestry) admitted that if given to the men folks they would cut down all trees for easy money. She and a female member from each house takes turn to guard the forest, plant trees and collect fodder and dry twigs. I looked at the mountain side….it was lush green and vibrant.

I remembered Dan Brown’s DaVinci Code. Our ancestors were right. There’s immense power in the feminine.

And I was grossly wrong in my thinking. Villagers are ignorant but you can change their mindset by giving them right education and guidance. Whereas its just the opposite for city folks. They are educated, yet its so difficult to change their mindset. Tell a villager why it’s unwise to use plastic and they will carry one plastic bag for months. Tell a city folk that it’s unwise to use plastic…and they will insist on taking back 3 plastic bags instead of 1 every time they shop. They are not bothered because they wouldn’t give up their luxurious life or mad rush for money for anything in this world. Even if it means giving up Earth.

And its when we actually reach down to their level and try to understand, we see that in reality its us and not them, who have no clue.

World Apart:

Recently I got a chance to volunteer for an organization dealing with wildlife conservation and community development. One of their ways to gain trust of the villagers is to conduct medical camps in villages inside and outside the forest area. Medical camps in villages within the forest are exciting. Not only you get to experience the forest at close quarters but also see the effects of human life on the ecology directly. I was that way very unlucky. My camps were in villages outside the forest area.

Though I didn’t get to experience the forest, I did get a chance to get close to the villagers. These villages were in prime tourism locality…..and so one would think full of ‘jobs’ potential. But strangely nobody wanted to work in the resorts. They were happy with small amount of work and small amount of money….and loads of free time for themselves. Very few wanted to learn more about the world…..to open their mind. I had infact long believed that they understood nature and respected it more than us. So imagine my surprise when I learnt that they did not even know the difference between a cobra and a rat snake. And because they had all grown up with the forest in their backyards….they were simply not interested to know more.

The scary part of it is the difficulty of educating them about the need for conservation and importance of wildlife. It’s like telling them to protect something which they have abundance of and hence don’t need, and which we outsiders are going all out to destroy by logging and poaching (for our city needs).

The charming part is their satisfaction in small things and small quantities. And their innocence. (No wonder our politicians love them so!). I was caught between wanting to shake them off their inertia and lethargy and tell them about the world beyond, and wanting to let them be. Exactly where can the cut off be….I do not know.
________________________________________________________

Back in town, I went for a night out to one of the most expensive ‘discs’ with my friends. Music boomed, liquor flowed and so did the smell of wealth – perfume, dresses, accessories. As far as I am concerned, music sucked…even if it means it’s played out by a well-known dj and it’s the favourite haunt of the city’s social circle. Hours of trance music and remixes of bad bollywood songs and shimmering disco lights started doing funny things to my mind. I got increasingly claustrophobic. I looked around at the branded clothes, high stilettos, short skirts, swaying arms and perspiring bodies. People really do spend so much money every week….for this? Either I am seriously getting old or the world has really gone drastically wrong.

Parallel:

There is a big park just a stone’s throw away from my apartment. Parks are an anomaly here…and big parks, a miracle. So it’s not a big surprise that it’s always teeming with people, morning noon or night. I am not a morning person when I am in the city…its like waking up to chaos. I like to see the chaos settling down to silence….so I like walking in the night here. Though there are still a lot of people than I would like, I don’t mind them that much. I can easily melt into the ambience, sit alone and not get bothered.

The park is round and surrounded by tall buildings all around. When you look up, you see this tiny patch of space that is the sky. Sometimes I think that’s what a frog would see looking up from the well. Sometimes I feel I am in a toy land – those tiny tall buildings covered by a glass hemisphere type of a toy – somebody shakes it and you get snowflakes.

I have not been able to shake off this surreal toy-land feeling in the past 2 years. I don’t remember seeing stars, or floating clouds or getting caught in a sudden breeze which cools your senses. There are fleeting glimpses of the moon…while traveling on a train; at the seaface the horizons are mostly smoggy to see any clouds. Now I know why most people of this city can’t live anywhere else. It’s this constant warm, fuzzy, un-real feeling that one grew up with. It’s difficult to get rid of when you are so used to it. There’s nothing to make you feel restless – no sparkling moon with the smell of approaching winter, no bright mornings with parrots chirping, no sudden drizzle after a hot muggy day. The only change in this constant exterior happens when the rain lashes down for days…then there is a sudden burst of exhilaration and energy engulfing everybody in its fold. Because that’s the only reality in the year which seeps into you and make you feel real, alive.

They say Bombay grows on you. And I will agree with that completely. Living here is like finding your own snuggly spot in a huge non-interfering joint family. When I ask people where they think I come from, they all say the same. That I am definitely not a Bombaiyya and that they have no clue which city I belong to. I have no ‘ite’ attached to me. I can belong to any and every city.
And that’s how I want it to stay.

The Commi Caper:

It felt like a typical bollywood story. Twins separated at birth. Both looked the same, believed in the same ideologies, ate the same things. The only difference was that while one liked coconut, the other had taken to mustard. And of course, their outlook on women. Also like a typical story, one had become rich, while the other struggles to keep the head above the water.

Just remove a few coconut trees from around the village ponds and add in more bamboo shrubs and the villages of Kerala and Bengal would look the same too.

The stark difference now though is the presence of colour in Kerala and the sheer lack of it in Bengal. Most of the old style houses have been razed and ponds filled up to build the most colourful concrete houses I have ever come across in my life. From deep orange, magenta, bright yellow to 3 shades brighter than parrot green….I was jumping like I found new treasure each time I encountered a new colour. This bright colouring is prevalent everywhere…..from temples, saaris, and ropes, to wall paintings-advertising (which mostly are of jewelers and builders), boats and even butterflies (I saw one gorgeous black and red butterfly in one of the villages)

It might not come across as a big surprise for many people, but I didn’t know how to react to the fact that there are no empty stretches in Kerala. One village seamlessly merges with the next throughout the entire coast. Although in a different place I would have found this claustrophobic, but here the greenery and the hundreds of waterways seemed to cover up everything….giving you an illusion of living in a thick dense tropical forest.

What I loved the most was observing the women there. For a fully literate matriarchal state, the women are surprisingly coy….even the news-reader in a business suit was soft-spoken…almost apologetic. Kochi (with its numerous food-joints misguidingly called ‘barkery’, where they sold anything from sweets to beef chilliy) however was a bit different, I felt. The current young generation was quite open…wore western dresses and sat freely with each other. This, I found only in the city-centre….the moment you entered the residential areas…they were clad in salwar-kurta with properly oiled and braided hair and carrying umbrellas. My friend and I stuck out like sore thumbs….stared up and down so blatantly that after some time we stopped getting bothered. I, in my travelers’ attire of pajama, t-shirt and dupatta came across as a foreigner….so much so that in one local temple a priest refused to give me flowers or a tika on my forehead!

It’s a very strange concoction of a state – very rich and expensive where you cannot shout
at an auto or honk at them ‘cause they are equal and have the same right to the road as you do. Even the maid will refuse to take tea if you serve her in a different cup than yours. Yet despite all this surface equality, there lacks the basic equality between a guy and a girl. Their traditional role, attire and looks are etched strongly in people’s mind….any different and one gets so stared at that its better to look like a homogenous mass than be different. To the point of living a stifled life, I feel. One thing I found quite commendable is the fact that despite so much external influences through tourism, they have managed to retain their traditions aggressively.

I just wish I had come here earlier and discovered niches and pockets which tourism has not taken over yet.

A short story:

The music had lain there for years, forgotten. Now she looked at it trying to remember why she had not listened to it in so many years. She switched it on. The tunes floated inside her brain, engulfing her in its haunting warmth….traversing down every cell in her body. And then it reached her heart.

It felt like she was struck by a hammer. She doubled over; her arms going around herself instinctively….trying to brace herself from the vacuum that was threatening to pull her in. She had thought she had come a long way…choosing to be where she was. She had stopped her search, forgiven, forgotten.

A blankness surrounded her now. And darkness. Tears poured down un-sensed and unchecked. Panic. She looked up at the darkness, reaching out for somebody….something. But there was nobody, nothing.

Only emptiness. The music had stopped

Another short story:

She didn’t know her father, only her mother and her two brothers. They lived in poverty. Her mother was her only connect to the world. So it wasn’t really a mystery that the two brothers left her when their mother died. She was only 12 and all alone.

She survived growing up to be young woman. Though she was plain looking, she could have turned head had she grown up in a richer environment. Now she wore a colourless dirty peasant dress and tied a scarf around her head…roaming around the market place with her empty cart trying to figure out her next meal. People around her were happy, laughing, talking. She felt like a ghost. Nobody noticed her, talked to her.

She grew older….yet without any connect with the world or its people. She never cried at her fate accepting what was given to her. Desolate and empty.

Now she suddenly remembered and felt the desolation and emptiness after all these years. And finally she cried. Cried at her fate and her disconnect with her world or its people.

At last she knew.

A breather:

From the unpredictability of this city and life itself.

A little road trip to a forest, a hill station, to a bit of history and finally to a golden beach.

We had initially planned to go by train but the 26-11 incident changed all that. So we decided to brave a 14hrs drive to Dandeli in the north of Karnataka. And it was this decision that made the trip such a memorable one.

Taking only two breaks – one at Mcdonalds (yuck!) at 8 and another at a tapri chai joint near Ramnagar at 3 in the morning (where we finished all the eggs and bread he had) – we reached Dandeli at 6 when the sky was just getting lighter. Kali Resort, where we stayed was a disappointment for me because it’s at the edge of civilization and the river there smelt of chemicals. Throughout the night we could hear the sound of the huge machineries of the paper mill across the river. One city bred friend thought it was the sound of the river!

Dandeli, a part of a 5000sqkm forest which stretches upto Kerala, is absolutely beautiful….filled in parts with huge bamboo thickets and really tall trees (teaks and rosewood included). Thankfully the state government is aware and follows stringent rules. Apart from tigers and elephants, this area is home to the gorgeous Black Panther and thousands of exotic birds. What I loved about this forest is that it’s filled with fireflies. When the sky turns a dark blue, the bamboo thickets and shrubs come alive with these sparkling glows….thousands of them. It’s such a magical sight!

One day, a horde of some 40 girls and guys came to the resort for a rafting trip. They turned the resort into a mela-ground, shattering everybody’s peace and creating chaos. No respect for nature or the wildlife….just wanting to have Loud Fun. There’s hardly any ecology left…I wonder whether the next generation will ever learn?

The boys in our group had to leave early and since the three of us girls had a few more days of holiday left, we decided to go ahead and explore on our own….(thanks to our plan of taking the car instead of the train). So we moved on to Panhala for a day, took God’s blessing at the Mahalaxmi temple at Kolhapur and zoomed onwards to Ganapatiphule…reaching just as the sun had turned orange in the sky.

We spent one whole blissful day on the golden shell filled beach…lying down as the waves crashed over us, collecting shells and live crabs, making sand castles, skinny dipping and walking on the endless uninhabited beach.

We set off back home just as the sun was setting, splashing the sky with brilliant pink and grey clouds……cursing our need to earn money and making plans for another longer road trip.

Reasons:

It was a gentle day. The train whizzed past. A piece of paper caught the gust and rose high up in the air waltzing to its own tune.

The sun, low on the horizon peeped thorough the palm leaf and turned my living room golden. The leaf swayed with the wind and the sun danced on the wall. A stray ray caught my lashes and the world got speckled with gold dust.

The warmth…. played hide and seek with me. Now here now gone. It’s not mine…..but I want a few drops from it. Like an elixir……revival till another day……

Do I matter?

Something has snapped. Not just in me, but my friends, neighbors, the whole of Mumbai…and perhaps the whole of the country. Everybody knows that this time, it was different…..very very different. Stretched too far, even an elastic loses its resilience…..we are human beings after all. This time, we know that we Never were and we Never will be safe. That our leaders have bled the nation and sold fellow countrymen. That they never cared. That they have betrayed us.

Though this is over, we don’t feel relieved.
We can’t. Not yet.

Maybe:

There’s a crow which lives on the tree just outside my living room window. He knows he’s different. Because I often find him spending time clearing his throat, making strange guttural sounds and then cawing in his own peculiar manner. He sounds like a teenager whose voice is just breaking. He keeps cawing continuously trying to sound normal like the other city crows. I feel bad for him….. ‘cause he sounds desperate in his effort to mingle with the others, sound like them….and not stand out from the homogenous mass. I wish I could tell him that he’s normal because he sounds like the crows in the Himalayas….only that he’s in the wrong place.

I wish I could tell him that I love his voice because he’s different….that it reminds me of my haven…..which now seems some light years away….
________________________________________________________________

More than three decades, and now it seems like a lifetime. A phase where things do not bother me like the way it used to before. Things are far from satisfactory but I feel calm.
There’s still lot to be done, lot to learn and I think I can roughly chalk out my path ahead. But what refuses to let go of me is this feeling since my childhood….this strange vague sense of longing…of searching for something which is perhaps not there. Usually the feeling is suppressed and lost in the daily grind…so much so that I don’t even remember it. It’s only when I sit by the sea looking at the sky turn orange and then purple that it boils over. Everything around me turns unreal and then all I want to do is run and escape….to some real parallel universe…..

Ghayal Nagar:

An apt sign which I saw behind a truck one night. Wounded city. That’s what I would call Bombay now. Infact for that matter, most cities in India now. Wounded time and time again. Survive, rebuild and then get wounded again. Sometimes I wonder, how long till one gives up and lay waste.

I once took a local at 6 in the evening. I looked at the watch and panicked. Wasn’t this the time when the train blasts had happened.

This time in Delhi, I hesitated before going to Lajpat Nagar to shop on a Sunday at 5 in the evening.

This is what life has finally come to….calculating time and place….wondering what is next.

If not this, then it’s a mad rush to accumulate all things material. You have a house, but you want another house. If not in Mumbai, then in Pune. You’ve got an Alto, but its time for a Chevrolet. A budget of Rs 1 crore for a house is no big a deal anymore. When I turned around and exclaimed that it’s an obnoxious amount, people around looked at me strangely. Watches, Clothes, iPhones, ipods, Macs…..you name it and they all have it. And still wish for more. There’s a mad rush all around you. Mad. Mad. Rush.

The more people crave for these, the more they repel me. Why do you exactly need them? And why a house in these congested, claustrophobic cities and fill them up with the latest bar from those expensive furniture malls?

Or is it just a way to keep away from the reality? That they are all wounded. Wounded souls in wounded cities…….And that’s its okay to be.

Into the Wild – 2:

http://sunsettrails.blogspot.com/2007_02_01_archive.html (hyperlink not working)

I saw the movie by Sean Penn a few months back – out of curiosity. Good effort because he did manage to capture almost all details of the book. But can anyone really explain in just an hour and a half exactly what Chris McCandless was all about…..his passion, his beliefs, his soul?

Hence I find it strange when I hear people say that they were affected by the movie. Affected by the story of his life or affected by what he believed in? No one can understand until one has felt even remotely what he yearned for from life – and that is Freedom.

The only thing which I felt came close to Chris McCandless is this song by Eddie Vedder – Society.

It's a mystery to me

We have a greed

With which we have agreed

You think you have to want

Mthan you need

Until you have it all you won't be free

Society, you're a crazy breed

I hope you're not lonely without me
____________________________________________________________

I have completed a year now in Mumbai and I can say with conviction what the others have always said….that the Monsoon is The best season here.

Throughout these months I was worried sick of getting stuck at some forlorn place because of heavy rains and not manage to reach anywhere. Even on the day when a similar event as that of 26th July threatened to occur, I could not help but admire the lashing rain and wind which almost blew the autos off the roads. But I did realize something - fear psychosis that occurs as a result of destruction by nature, is far greater than any other created by man.

Also throughout these months, I did not miss the sun at all. I loved to see the grey sheets of rain in the morning turn white at night. Wind which sprayed the sea onto the city and rain laden gusts which drenched you despite the tightly wrapped wind cheater. Wet floaters, spotting the black layers of cloud rushing towards you and the mad scramble to get the cover down on both side of the auto before it came gushing down. Everything turned clean and misty…even the Powai Lake which looked so surreal when the clouds hid the hideous buildings all around it.

I obviously did not miss any opportunity to step out of the city on the weekends….driving with friends through the Ghats….. sooo green that it hurt my eyes. I have never seen this colour of green anywhere else in all my life. Vibrant, pulsating with life, purely fluorescent. It’s difficult to stare away from the greens so abundant all around and not to stop and run and dance around in the meadows.

After those few escapes out of the city, I’m finding it difficult to do anything city-like. No pubs, no coffee shops, no shopping in malls. No closed spaces. Life is not this.

Just wide open green and grey spaces. And fleeting clouds. That surely is Life.

In search:

It wasn’t my illusion
The Oasis
I saw it, I felt it
I surrendered my weary soul
It showed me the reason
And my Haven

I wanted to touch it
The Oasis
I did touch it
But a blinding mist, so thick
It permeated through my skin
To the very soul
I lost my dreams and my reason
I lost my truth and also my Haven

I lost my path
Ahead or behind
And in losing all, maybe I’ll find
A life that can finally be mine

(Ad) Venturing Out:

Like any other non-Mumbaiyya, I am scared of the locals. For almost a year, I resisted vehemently to any suggestions of trying it out even once. So in the strange way that life operates, I am thrown in a situation where I am forced to travel partially by the locals. And strangely still I am kind of warming up to it.

I have learnt which trains to take in order to avoid that mad rush; how to figure out whether it’s a 12 coach or a 9 coach train and stand according to it; just how fast to run in order to reach the first class compartment on time; and how to stand near the door without inconveniencing the mass of women getting in or getting out.

I know now that when one says ‘empty’ it means that you’ll eventually get a place to sit, when its ‘comfortable’ it means you can stand without being jostled.

Its like an assault to your senses when you enter a station…all you see is a moving sea of faces and bodies. But look around and you pick up stories.

Like the woman sitting in front of me one day. She was talking gently on the phone when my feet accidentally touched her feet. She threw me such a venomous look that it felt like a physical blow. So much stress, so much aggression and so much bitterness….and I’m sure she’s not even aware of it.

Like the two blind girls who came and stood at the correct place meant for them – the compartment for the handicapped. They were confident and happy – talking non-stop. In a place where it’s a daily struggle for everybody, they stood out like an island of happiness.

Like the girl who didn’t know where she was because she was fighting with her boyfriend on the phone. I tried hard not to hear what she was saying but I did hear her say a couple of times – “if you don’t take care of me…you’ll lose me”. She was young and her words made me think how much she has to learn.

I have realized that one has to stay aloof from all these stories that are abound lest you get sucked in its vortex everyday. So I avoid the peak traffic times and I stay miles away from the second class compartment. I love to stand near the door and feel the wind and the raindrops on my face when the ‘fast’ train speeds past the stations.

I don’t want to become a part of that world.
Or maybe I have already become just another story.

Monsoon Limited:

However little I have experienced of it, the monsoons is a completely different way-of-life here. With the heavy pre-monsoon rains, there was a flurry of activity all around. Everybody including me ran to buy the rain essentials – umbrella, wind cheater coz your umbrella would be blown off by the wind and floaters so that you can walk without any worry. There was an easy camaraderie among people….all seemed bonded by one basic element – the rains. What I find amusing is that heavy or light; the rains don’t seem to affect any aspect of life here. The swarms of people walking on the roads everyday never reduce. They walk as fast and purposefully as they walk everyday – completely nonchalant about the sheets of water pouring down all around. The only difference is that the trousers are rolled up and the bags held a little closer under the umbrella. But I added a pair of extra clothes, shoes, biscuits and water bottle in my everyday carry bag.

With the first downpour, I rushed to my favorite place in the city – the sea. I sat under one umbrella with my friend N and watched the grey sea froth and fume. It was a beautiful sight – a raging sea under an ever darkening sky and sheets of falling rain blowing into your face. I love the sea when it’s like this – in its true form. The calm sea always agitates me – it’s like most people around you – a different exterior to give a false sense of well being, alluring you and then pulling you down in its murky depths. The angry sea is the reality – there’s no temptation….only those who can float on its surface can really belong.

Then one day through my bedroom window, the monsoon showed me the actual reality that is our society. I saw couple come out of their house in the rain. They were under one umbrella and trying to stop an auto. The woman clad in a sari was holding the umbrella making sure that the husband (am assuming) didn’t get wet. She was only three-fourth inside while the man was completely under cover with this shirt sleeves and pants rolled up. An auto stopped. The man got in first followed by the woman. I kept wondering – shouldn’t all this be the other way around?

But now the green hills, the wet roads and the misty climes beckon. That would actually be the real monsoon experience.

Hmmm.....

My friend R’s philosophies - contd:

There are some things money can buy; others things are obviously not worth it.

On hindsight, if yesterday is always better than today, are we then headed for a grand catastrophe?

Seen, Read or Heard somewhere:

Life – Dream = Job

There is pleasure sure...
In being mad, which none but madmen know.

Just remember. If this world didn’t suck, we would have all fallen off by now.

Breaks:

I don’t look forward to the future. I am comfortable with the present. But it’s the past that makes me stay grounded. A quick break back to Delhi helped me reign in the directionless thoughts and clear a few cobwebs from my mind. It’s that time of the year when the brilliant orange gulmohars starts fading and the sunny yellow alamtas brighten up the roads. The heat during the day was stifling but the nights and morning saw a spate of thundershowers. A few easy hours spend with friends at places where I had left a thousand memories; a quick shopping trip for friends back here in this city and a couple of days spend with my sister and parents…..all simply took away the fatigue that was slowly seeping in.

I hate the fact though, that it started pouring in the city just a few hours after I left it.
____________________________________________________________

I went with D and a few city-sleekers and first timers for a moonlight beach hike. We started the walk at the dead of the night through a completely empty stretch of beach, tree-lined road and a quaint Portuguese style village. The air was muggy with just a whiff of breeze here and there. But the almost full moon that shone on the water was utterly surreal and illusionary.

When we reached our camping point after 4 hours, everybody in the team immediately went off sleep. I and D went behind some rocks to change and when we came out, we saw the most spectacular sight ever. The silver moon had now turned golden and huge as it lay very low on the horizon. It blinded us with its light and I felt as if I was in a strange planet in a far away galaxy. I looked at the sleeping figures on the beach and wondered how anybody could go off to sleep on such a beautiful night. I stayed awake looking at the stars, the dark clouds rolling in and out, the sky lightening and the stars fading, the lone villager going past in his bullock cart….feeling a strange sense of awe, loneliness, contentment and detachment all jumbled together.

When the first rays of the sun hit the hill behind us, I drifted off to an easy sleep.
____________________________________________________________

This is going to be my first monsoon in this city. I am dreading the four months of no sun shine, fungus, water clogging and stinking taxis. But I am waiting eagerly for those four months of rain, brilliantly green hillsides, wet roads leading to stormy sea sides, sitting by the worli sea-face when the first dark clouds roll in, feel the sea spray on your face when it dashes against the wall at marine drive while getting drenched in the rain.

This will be my first real, actual Indian monsoon. And I am waiting.

Mumbai Chronicles: Contd.

It’s almost nine months now….and I’m finally warming up to Bombay and living on my own. Random people still ask me the same question….which is better, Delhi or Bombay….and I still give them a clichéd answer about traffic and infrastructure and people and all that blah.

Over the months, my reactions to this city have mellowed. I have stopped comparing everything to what it’s like in Delhi. The apartment which seemed tiny when I shifted here now seems luxurious in comparison to flats in the suburbs. I still crib about traffic but now I have found many lanes and by-lanes leading away from the traffic. I know where to go in order to avoid rigged autos or taxis. I know the taxi chart by heart. I can even give directions to a Bombay-wallah. I know shops which sell original perfume at half the price, salons which gives fantastic head massages, cute lingerie stores, melt-in-the-mouth home made ice-cream parlours, markets for buying good yet cheap curtains and bedcovers, yummy muslim food joints. Despite what other people say, I still like Haji ali’s strawberry and cream than the Bachelors’. I know how much time it takes to reach Town at 5 and at 7 in the evening. I have learnt to take a taxi or auto ride home at 1 in the night without sitting on the edge of the seat all the way. I like watching canoodling couples in the back seat of the taxis. I have realized that Bombay gives you lot of personal space while Delhi gives you only physical space. I like the vastness of the sea and the fact that I can sit alone for hours without being bothered. I have found that this city is full of evasive melodious koyals. But mostly I like the attitude of the guys here….who unlike Delhites will not think that you are looking for sex if you touch them when you speak.

But what I yearn for the most is the closeness to the Himalayas. I have stepped out of the city a few times but nowhere have I got the high of the clean fresh air of the mountains. I love the fact that I know the mountains like my own backyard and that most Bombay-wallahs don’t. Somehow I feel that they are immensely unlucky that they have never known the mountains. How else can I explain what it feels like to take a bus in the night and wake up to a crystal clear sky and pine scented air; what it feels like when the cold mountain wind tousles your hair and your skin begs to feel the warm glow of the sun? To look at the millions of stars in the cold night sky and feel the warmth of the silence around you. To go on those long walk with friends without feeling the need to speak or those crazy laughter sessions over a nightcap, that echoes throughout the little town. How can I explain that standing there facing the snow-peaks, you feel alive like you have never felt in the city; that it’s the only place where you can be you.

Delhi will always remain one-up for me in this regard. Bombay still has a long way to go. One day when it makes me pine for the freedom of the sea….then I’ll completely belong.

The Colour of my Love:

I had just finished my 12th Boards and had two months of pure freedom before the results catapulted life into an unknown territory. My father had been posted at the then summer capital and home-town for a year; so my mom and I packed our bags and left my childhood town for good to join him there.

The quarter that my father had got was almost at the outskirts of the town and very few families lived around it. The house overlooked a temple atop a hill in the distance and the roads were broad, lined with trees and empty even during the day. We had a massive kitchen garden with snakes and other crawling creatures living among bushes and a huge lawn with a well tended garden in the front. My father chose the flowers and maintained the garden himself. He had created this big area on the left for a rose garden and had handpicked rose plants from nurseries across the town. He gave me this patch to look after as my job for the summer.

I loved tending to the plants. I used to spend hours in the morning and evening watering, de-weeding, de-bugging, pruning and adding manure to these plants. All of the plants bloomed – in amazing variety – red, pink, yellow, double shades, king sized, creepers, tiny white ones and wild bunches. Except one. I waited for this plant to flower. A week passed yet nothing happened. I was dying to see the colour of this particular one. My father said it’s probably a barren one and wouldn’t flower. He wanted to pluck it out but I just couldn’t let him do that. I started to whisper to the plant, urging it to grow and flower….days passed and then it became my best buddy…I used to tell it everything, what happened in the day, my hopes, my fears of shifting to a new city. Then almost two weeks before the Board results, I detected a tiny bud.

The bud took up most of my time – I was paranoid that it would die. And then the Board results were announced. In the ensuing mayhem and a depressingly average score, I forgot all about it. Just a day before we were to board the trains and head northwards towards a very uncertain future, I dashed to see the rose plant. And what I saw simply took my breath away – one single rose of the loveliest purple shade with an almost bluish hue to it. If I didn’t know that blue roses don’t grow naturally, I would have called it a blue rose!

It stood out amongst a plethora of colours, as if to tell me not to lose hope – that patience and labor of love would throw up miraculous results like this always. I felt alive and happy when we took the train out of my beautiful home-town and childhood life forever.

Philosophies:

I have come to realize just how cathartic cooking can be. When your mind is fucked up and you cannot make any sense out of life, when friends lovingly try to comfort you but don’t exactly understand you...then the best thing to do is cook. The chopping, cleaning, grinding seems to take away all the anger, the anguish and the pain. By the time you finish making that last chapatti, you realize that you are singing along with the music playing on your deck….unmindful of the world.
___________________________________________________

There was a time when nothing I cooked ever came out right. My sister and mom used to poke fun at me whenever I wanted to cook dinner….telling me to start in the morning so that I could finish by dinnertime. Now I am amazed at how fast I can cook – a full course meal in one and a half hours. And to top it all my flatmate often tells me that ‘it tastes amazing’. My mom still refuses to believe me.

I think the real taste of cooking comes out when you cook for others. That’s why Mom’s cooking is always the best.
___________________________________________________

My friend R’s little philosophies…….

………. “Life is good when you don’t have anything. The real fun is in the wanting and waiting. What’s the fun in having everything?”

………. “Life is like a pattern in the sand….just when you think you’ve figured out what it is….the wave washes it away and creates a fresh pattern.”
_____________________________________________________

Graffiti: Eat healthy and Die anyways!

Behind an auto: Dosti pakki, kharcha apna apna

Moments:

I’ve always wanted to cycle down an empty road with the mountains in the distance and along a rolling meadow…perhaps picking wild flowers on the way. When I went with J and a group of fellow enthusiast to cycle in the interiors of villages near Malshej Ghat, I realized that reality was not that easy or romantic. The gently undulating road passing through stretches of yellowed field with the hills in the distant was straight out of my dream. But covering even a stretch of 5kms on a geared-cycle was too much for me. My head spun like a top and my knees buckled. With age and no exercise, some dreams should be left at that…..a dream.

The next day however, I managed to salvage my crushed dream and rode 15kms downhill on the fantastic stretch of Malshej Ghat. The clouds kept rolling in and out and the wind was high…tearing through my hair as I reached a speed of 45km per hour zipping around bends.

I’m waiting for the rains to come and to go there again. Its beautiful at this time….I can only imagine just how breathtaking it would be when it pours and washes everything clean.

_________________________________________________________

The yellowed leaves fluttered down from the tree outside my window. The sun was golden and a lazy breeze carried them far away. I suffered again a bout of nostalgia, remembering my childhood days. Wonder if ever life will give me another chance to be as carefree as I was some three decades ago.

__________________________________________________________

Why doesn’t it feel weird to actually dream of my own death?

The Winter Romance:

I love it when the days are bright and sparklingly sunny; the sky a perfect blue with not a single puff of cloud. And the wind so freezing that it opens every nerve cell in your body. The Earth seems happier, the people brighter, thousands of stars light up the night sky and the moon's light is razor sharp. There’s a strange hope in every heart and a twinkle in every eye… Happiness takes on a different meaning then and you just have to spread your arms wide open and feel the beauty that is life.

I love it when the days are dark, cloudy and wet; when the nights get masked by the silently swirling fog…as if one is traveling through a fairy land. Two sweaters, one overcoat, woolen socks and even a muffler don't dispel the cold one bit. That one cup of hot coffee at a friend's place on a day like that, secures the bond more firmly than hundred cups of coffee on any other day. And coming back home shivering to your family, to be tucked under a blanket with hot chicken soup… the conversations can be nothing other than warm.

My favourite season - Winter. Maybe the universe knew how badly I would miss it this time and gave Mumbai one of its coldest winters and me a lot more hope.

God and I:

The driver of the taxi was an elderly Muslim. I wanted to ask him what he thought of Tata’s Nano but somehow the conversation digressed to religion. He told me of an instance where God saved him from certain death when he was caught by a rioting mob. His faith in his God was unbroken.

His faith reminded me of an incident that happened almost a decade ago. I did not have a car or a mobile phone back then. I had missed the last of the chartered bus to go back home and I decided to take an auto. Someway down, the auto-wallah started acting funny and I was beginning to get scared. There are two routes to home…one which everybody takes and the other was the mostly deserted outer ring road. On this road, there’s a cut which connects to the other busy road. If however you miss this cut, then it’s a very long way through dark empty stretches till home. When the auto took the Ring road I thought that he would take the cut. He however did not take the cut and kept on driving straight…a route which nobody takes. I was beside myself with fear and shouted at him to stop at a bus-stand. It was 8.30 at night and not a single soul at the bus-stand and the autowallah kept insisting on taking me home. I was planning to jump on to the next bus that came but that too was nowhere in sight. Suddenly out the blue a cycle-rickshaw wallah came and asked what was going on. He was an old man – maybe 50 but looked older – and had only one eye. I told him where I wanted to go and he immediately understood. He firmly told the autowallah to take me back and from the right route. The autowallah did not utter a word and meekly agreed. I sat at the edge of the seat till the time I reached home. It was only when I was safely home that something struck me as strange. In Delhi, cycle-rickshaws are allowed only in some areas and never ever on either the Ring roads. So how did that rickshaw get there in the first place and at such an odd hour? Moreover, the rickshaw-wallah was frail and the autowallah burly…if he had decided to hit him; he would have died on the spot. Yet the auto-wallah never uttered a word.

My relationship with God has been in the least turbulent. As a kid I believed in Him earnestly. I used to ask him for small favours like ‘please let my parents buy me some more Amar Chitra Kathas’ and which got granted. Once I asked him for something and I didn’t get it….that day my childish faith was broken. For a long time after that I remained an atheist. During my college years I had started questioning everything about life and death and slowly my faith returned; though I never asked anything from Him for myself. I knew that I would get when my turn came. Almost a year back however I asked him for something out of turn….I really prayed. He took me high up, made me believe that I had everything I had asked for and then just pushed me down. I almost heard Him laugh when I fell and bled. I was very angry and I hated Him for sometime. But I still have my faith in Him….because I know that there is a reason. I just have to wait for Him to tell me one day…why He did what He did.

He always does.

Death of a notion:

Not too long back in the past, there were a group of people called ‘Explorer’. Now you don’t find any. Only ‘Internet Explorer’. Does that mean that there are no more new things to find, no more unheard places to explore?

Has the earth been finally owned?

________________________________________________________

Something broke within me the moment I read about the Juhu New Year incident. I had felt suffocated in Delhi and hence came to this city – for a bit more freedom. This incident seems just the starting point of a spiraling down of the notion. If one does it, everybody else will….its just a matter of time. Evil propagates faster. What scares me here more than anything ever did back in Delhi, is the mob culture which exist just under the surface of the city.

I took an auto home at 1130 last night from Bandra. I kept thinking – what if somebody decides to follow me or just pass comments and everybody else feels like doing the same. Nothing will ever stop them. What is worse is that there will be no scope of escape.

So where will women go when the last bastion of their freedom falls?

High and higher!

Hone hone de nasha, khone khone ko hain kya
Ek saas mein pee ja, zaara zindagi chadha

Hai yeh toh ek jashan, tu thirakne de kadam
Abhi saanson mein hai dam, abhi chalne de sitam


Happy New Year, Folks!

Tales of many cities:

Bangalore: The city was sparkling silver and gold from above when the flight landed at 3 in the morning. It was a hurried visit to the city – a city which reminded me of Delhi, with its bunglows, parks, tree lined roads and even the over-charging auto-wallahs. All my closest friends, childhood friends, friends whom I’ve know for more than 30 years…are now there….so getting a chance to spend my birthday there amongst them was one of the best things that happened this year.

I also So wanted to meet friends there who I haven’t met till date – Manu, GS and Pallavi B. Hopefully sometime very soon.

Delhi: My mom called me up on my birthday to tell me that the fog had cleared up and it was bright and sunny and cold in Delhi…just the way I wanted it to be when I landed there. After all it Was my birthday and Delhi had to welcome me at its winter best. Surprisingly even the Indigo flight was on time.

It’s amazing what a couple of months in a good city can do to you. I found myself being patient and nice to all people around, trusting them a wee-bit more than I used to when I had stayed in the city. The week was a whirlwind of meeting friends and shopping. I went berserk shopping like I’ll never find anything back here in Bombay (which is true…so far I’ve found shopping to be an extremely painful experience here). And zipping through a 40km stretch without stopping (!) even once was so exhilarating that I had almost made my mind to go back there.

Rishikesh: I just had to touch base with the Himalayas. So I almost bulldozed my friend A, S and AB to go to Rishikesh for a day. I was horrified to see so many grotesque high storey building coming up right on the banks of the river. Even the hotel that we stayed at marred the beauty of the surrounding. I felt guilty staying there knowing that I was adding to the destruction. We should have paid more but stayed at an eco-friendly resort. The mindless destruction of nature is so apparent now….it won’t be long before the beauty of the place goes and complete commercialization takes over.

Despite all that, there’s something about Rishikesh that immediately calms your soul. The foothill of the mighty Himalayas and the beautiful Ganga….can bring peace to any troubled mind. Add to that a sparkling moon, a misty morning and some time stolen with some great friends…..the trip was truly refreshing.

Life or Something like that:

God is cheeky. He will make you struggle, test your patience time and again, take you to thousands of crossroads, push you down stiff cliffs, makes you write chapters for which you can find no meaning – but He ultimately gives you what you want.

Sometimes waiting and struggling makes the whole point of getting ‘it’ lose its meaning, sometimes you are dead tired and can manage only a smile at your success where you wanted to be ecstatic. Sometimes you forget what you wanted in the first place.

A friend of mine had once told me – if you know better, act better.

Now if I know that God makes you wait so much, should I just stop wanting so badly? But if you stop dreaming, then you stop living.

Is there any way I can cheat God to give me my life-dues on time? With time slipping away so fast, can I take Him to task at the end and throw a tantrum for not finishing my list? Or will He send me back to struggle over the same list all over again?

Does He do what we do – keep the most precious wish or gift for the end? If that’s so, should we cut down our list so that we get to the best faster? Or should we wish for the end to come faster because your dearest gift will be there?

A journey’s beginning:

I was bone-tired. I had to Get Out. My friend S suggested Kamshet. Lots of people suggested other places. Some said it will be too hot at this time of the year. I said – Let’s just Go!

So after getting up in the wee hours of one Sat morning, four of us hurriedly left the city behind. A flat tire just in the beginning of the journey did not mar anybody’s spirit.
A very bumpy 10km drive inside from Kamshet village led us to M’s cottage overlooking the lake and the dam. 3 happy energetic dogs greeted us at the gate. A rustic cottage, a hammock, cold beer, mellow sun and friends….nobody wanted anything more from life at that point in time.

Another group arrived in due course but we were happy to see that they never ventured out of the ‘campus’. Which meant that the lake was all to our selves and of course M who swam in its cold and quiet waters. We sat by the lake in the morning, evening and night. It was beautiful, serene and absolutely silent…one could hear the wind through the trees and the distant calls of the birds. Each of us took turns to sit or walk by the lake alone – to contemplate or to explore the physical or the beyond. I found peace, A found a snake which looked like a Krait, S found snake-holes and D found flowers and leaves to take pictures of.

What I simply loved was sitting at the lake in the night with a shining moon, a star-laden sky and the lake and hills in the distance all aglow in the pure silver light. It seemed like a different world – so beautiful, secluded and pure. I could have sat there forever.

The short hikes along the road in the fast fading twilight and besides the mist covered lake in the morning simply took away all the tiredness that had seeped in. The air was cold and refreshed and cleaned the cob-webs that had settled deep in the mind. Jim Corbett was my first real trip to the Himalayas. It was the place which stirred my restlessness, made me question myself and opened up a whole new path for me – as clear as the mountain air. Kamshet somehow reminded me of Jim Corbett…the same sense of calm, beauty and a seed of a dream. I wonder now at the path that I see slowly opening – will it be just as refreshing as before?

Good Old City:

I finished work late today and was standing outside my office waiting for a cab to come by. The road was comparatively deserted. One cabbie pulled up but then refused to go where I wanted to go. After saying no, he immediately got out and waved to one other cab for me. Some two more taxis stopped. He made sure that I took the one which was standing there for a long time waiting for a passenger.

I was amazed at this guy’s thoughtfulness. First for me and then for the other cabbie.

I promise I’ll stop shouting at all the auto and taxi-wallahs like the way I do – in my typical Delhi way.

And for the first time in four months I behaved like a Bombay-wallah – I loosened up and asked my taxi guy to switch on the radio. He switched it on.

“Tum bhi chalo, hum bhi chalen…chalti rahe zindagi….”

Yes, so right!

Just:

One junior person in my team listens to ‘re-sung’ versions of old Hindi songs. Kumar Shanu-singing-Kishore Kumar-types. She thinks its original and keeps asking me how I could make out that it’s a ‘fake’!!

The juniors look at me strangely when I tell them that I like old Hindi and English numbers.

Another junior person wants to get rich fast. He keeps repeating ‘I have to earn money fast.’ He’s just 6 months in the industry and earning 3 times more that what I used to get when I was a trainee.

I met a woman a few weeks back; she was wearing a saree that day. The first thing that she said after saying hello was ‘please excuse me for being dressed like a moron but I had a workshop.’

I sometimes wonder what all I’ll get to hear in the next 10 years.
______________________________________________________


I burnt my fingers very badly the other day. The pain was excruciating but it didn’t faze me one bit. Because I knew that this pain will at least end.
______________________________________________________

Review meeting in Goa – it’s an oxymoron. Goa is a place for friends or families or lovers or for just being alone. I don’t understand the funda of taking people from all branches to Goa just to tell them how poorly everybody’s performed. Thankfully I could manage to slip away for sometime during dinner and spend that time walking the beach.

However these walks turned out to be just as claustrophobic – at one end were the office people discussing farcical issues while at the other end were the numerous amorous couples strolling in the dark. I found myself stuck between the falsities of both the world dying to run away yet again.

The trance-like crashing waves and the soft sand held me there.
______________________________________________________

The cheek-by-jowl buildings here block out the sky completely. I don’t think I have seen the moon or even a star in this city’s night sky yet. I miss watching the sparkling moon and the feathery clouds from my balcony in the other city. Sometimes – especially during approaching winter – late in the night when the moon’s high up in the sky and a faint cold wind blew, I could sniff the air and smell the snow-peaks and pine leaves – my dur khaima. My home. My peace.

Colour of Paradise:

I don’t like talking about movies here…because it’s a very personal preference and I don’t like raving or ranting about any. Let each people decide.

But a week ago, I saw an Iranian movie ‘Colour of Paradise’….a story about a blind boy. It’s not the story that I want to talk about. It’s the way the director has understood and captured the beauty of nature. Fresh, real and so beautiful that your heart aches with sheer longing. The wind through the trees, the sound of a bird, the colour of the field full of flowers, the gentle sway of the leaves and the crops, the boy’s hand touching the maize stalk, the silvery moon……so many times, unknowingly tears rolled down my eyes just at those simplest sights. Throughout the duration of the movie, I was spellbound. Nobody can bring nature out like this if he or she is not moved by the beauty around.

Go watch it with your heart.

The Odyssey years:

Most festivals have lost its charm on me. I rather stay at home than participate. Thankfully my parents have let me be…never forcing anything down my throat in the name of tradition or religion. Till the time I was with my parents, going for the Asthami Pushpanjali seemed more like a duty than any other sentiment. However, this Puja I not only wore a new dress but made efforts to go out and give the morning Anjali. Maybe breaking that link with familiarity makes one crave it all the more. The sentiments haven’t changed….I still did it more like a duty but this time I remembered all that my mother used to say and do around this time every year. I remembered all the familiar faces in the crowd, the smell, the euphoria and tried seeking the same sense of space and time here in this still unknown part of life.

It’s true, however much you try otherwise, your roots always hold you firm and gives you your distinct identity.

_________________________________________________________


I was reading in the papers today about the ‘Odyssey years’ - that journey from teenage to adulthood…how people in their 20s are postponing settling down in order to find themselves. Good to know that now they have a term for the travails that I have gone through in the last decade. I now seem to have reached a stage in life which they termed as adulthood – a period of settling down.

But for me the quest seems far from over…..it seems to magnify with each passing years.
There seems to be a certain truth about our parents’ conviction on how to spend your life. Simple living and doing one’s duty. ‘Finding oneself’ can take you around life’s many unwanted corners, not giving any answers and throwing you right in the middle of the maze every time you seem to find a path.

Maybe by that time it will be too late to go back to our parent’s way of living. Maybe in another decade’s time, while I will have reached another milestone in my search, they will give it yet another term and relegate it as yet another phenomenon.

Snippets:

Surprisingly I haven’t seen any cows on the streets here. Weaving through herds, being attacked by bulls, road-blocks by an entire family, lost calves…. were the ways of life in Delhi. A bovine-free road seems like a foreign concept to me. Come to think of it, with so many open fields, trees, parks and weekly vegetable markets, they have a field day there….out here they would probably be run over by the traffic or people.
________________________________________________________


The crows outside our building starts to crow precisely at 1230 at night….without fail everyday.
________________________________________________________


Delhi’s autowallahs always made me mad but like everybody else, I had also submitted to their dishonest ways. But my blood boils and I froth at the mouth when I find dishonest auto or taxi wallahs here who are out to rip your pocket. Perhaps finding an honest city turning dishonest is far worse than knowing that a city is absolutely dishonest to begin with. It hurts to see the city changing so.
________________________________________________________


I got a chance to travel the famous Bombay-Pune Expressway in day-time. I kept waiting for the scene to turn beautiful but it seemed to turn exactly its opposite. Hoarding all along the way, grotesque looking buildings stretching way into the hills – all in the name of luxury living in the lap of nature. In a few years time, there will be no nature, only man made disasters. I shudder at the very thought.
________________________________________________________


First it was the cellphone with ear-plugs. Now it’s the I-pod. Everybody out here seems to be plugged. In the train, while crossing a street, in the car, while working. I am one of those few people who hate to change especially when it comes to technology. But now I have realized its importance – long and arduous traveling. I miss the long drives around Delhi in my car with windows closed, listening to music and getting lost in my own world.

In Delhi, people are in groups mostly. Out here, it’s the rule of the single. With an I-pod plugged in the ears….lost in their own world, part of a crowd yet completely apart, hurrying to work, home or a party…or hurrying through life….trying to find those few moments of peace…through music.

Maybe that’s what defines the Bombay of today.

Stepping Out:

I had to get out of the city, the chaos of everyday life. So despite little sleep the previous night, I headed out to the shayadri with a bunch of people early in the morning. We turned away from the highway and stopped in front of a charming little village. J showed us the formidable looking hill in the distance that we had to climb. Looking around I saw many strangely formed hills shrouded in the morning mist. Anybody would think hundred times before venturing into these jungles and the hills – and looking at them, I finally realised the genius of Shivaji who knew every nook and cranny of these ghats and how he got to rule such a vast territory.

The trek to the top was a moderate one – one hour of climb, then one hour of flat walk through a couple of tribal villages and then again another hour of fairly steep ascent to the top. The trail was through slushy grassland, a few slippery patches of rock, elephant grasses, buzzing insects, snails and caterpillars. I wished for clouds and a little rain but the sun breathed down on us.

At the top we passed through an ancient gateway with a Ganesha on top and a huge water tank where a buffalo lay sprawled right in the centre. Just how did it manage to get there is one of the biggest mysteries I have come across. The view from the top was worth all the effort – the de-formed hills through the haze, patches of absolutely green meadows, a star shaped lake and tiny villages below. I stood gazing at the valley below for a long time, feeling nothing. These were not the snow-peaks which anchor my thoughts or the sea which magnifies them so. I felt strangely cheated despite the beauty around me.

Maybe I will realise this place’s significance once I am able to understand my place here. Till that time, there’s the Sea.