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.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, June 29, 2008
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.
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.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, May 05, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
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
___________________________________________________
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
Sunday, February 24, 2008
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?
Thursday, February 07, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, January 06, 2008
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?
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?
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
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!
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!
Sunday, December 30, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
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?
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?
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
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?
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?
Thursday, November 15, 2007
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!
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!
Sunday, November 04, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
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.
________________________________________________________
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.
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