Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Today? Tomorrow? Or Right Now?
Dear Friend,
It’s been four long years since I have known you. It was by accident that I got to know about you but then in my drunken state I cherished every bit of your company.
If you recall, the first time I felt your presence it was a cold December night at a party in New Delhi. I had gulped down a lot of Vodka for the first time. I was happy and laughing. I danced without being my usual shy or coy self. It was then that you came next to me and whispered into my ears, “Try me!”
Without the slightest reluctance I did. I tried you and boy…did that feel good! You took away my sorrows in those few minutes. All those painful memories of a broken home and a fractured family melted away effortlessly. My head felt lighter and my heart relieved.
A few minutes later, I searched for you again. I knew I wanted more of you. Somewhere in the bottom of my heart I felt guilty because they said it’s not right, it’s not good and it’s not safe. My friends insisted I sit down because I was too drunk or I will be ashamed of my doings the next morning. But I was only greedier than ever, almost turning into a savage. I raised my voice and the alcohol made it easy for me to do that. Just after I cussed at my friends and used it as a weapon so they give in – you appeared in front of me again. Ohhh…the sight of you! I clutched you and told myself I will never let you go.
We became friends then on. You accompanied me everywhere and shared not just my physical space but became a part of me. You became me. Those who knew me started defining me in terms of my volatile relationship with you. Few gave me nicknames and others gave me warnings. They believed that my relationship with you could prove fatal…that you could even kill me. But how was I to explain that there were many other things killing me and my hopes, dreams and desires. Abandoned relationships, unresolved conflicts and unanswered emails. You couldn’t have been so dangerous, I believed, for I had grown immune to all forms of intoxication with my life often oscillating between utopia and destitution.
I was told you were making me weak but I insisted that you gave me strength instead. That you were not blurring my vision and ability to see things as they are but those images - blurred and contorted- made it easier for me to move ahead with confidence because I wasn’t sure how big is the challenge or how deep the problem. Your masked presence helped me walk gracefully towards the colossal challenges that await me - in office, at home or social gatherings.
I still haven’t been able to comprehend my relationship with you. I have fought for you with my loved ones and had arguments that often turned bitter. I have hidden my love for you from the woman who gave birth to me and who continues to nourish me. There were days where I didn’t have money for food but I still spent whatever little I had just to meet you and experience sensations that I cannot express in mere words and (in public space!). I treasured your company because you were always listening when I spoke. You were quiet and you stayed with me while I thought or wandered aimlessly in my thoughts. There were times when you sat silently while I laughed and fought with my gang and there were times when you hid in the darkness of my room next to an open window.
My most beautiful moments were when we traveled together to places unheard and unseen. Amidst mountains, waterfalls and coffee estates. In Highways, Dhabhas, trucks and trains. When we sat together staring at a sky embroidered with thousands of stars. Moments when you and I were overwhelmed and left speechless at the power of nature and the simplicity of a village life.
I have some great memories of the time I spent with you in the city too. You were there, don’t you remember? When I would get drunk and walk the empty quiet streets of this city at mid night fearing a traffic cop or a Dear Uncle spotting me with you in that almost sublime state. I find it funny when I think of places where people looked at me with disgust because I held you close to me. We have also danced and rejoiced under the influence of stuff they call forbidden. Remember? Those days when we would board a crowded bus or enter the house hoping we wouldn’t stink and our secrets wouldn’t be revealed to the outside world.
We met in defined areas and sometimes we broke rules when we created magic together in places where posters screamed out loud informing us that it is a ‘No Smoking Zone!’ Sigh! I love the way you come neatly packed with a date and a maximum retail price. Kings - Thirty Four Rupees only. I can buy your company in just Thirty Four rupees. I chuckle within at the thought of it.
But now they say I have to leave you if I want to climb big mountains and reach higher. If I need to travel far and understand the world outside and within. They say I need to be stronger. They say I have become a slave and will grow helpless soon. This nexus that connects me to you needs to be broken. Your presence in my life, in my room, in my cupboards must be cleaned, wiped and perfumed. It must be brought to an end.
I will have to move on, leaving you behind. Today? Tomorrow? Or right now?
It’s been four long years since I have known you. It was by accident that I got to know about you but then in my drunken state I cherished every bit of your company.
If you recall, the first time I felt your presence it was a cold December night at a party in New Delhi. I had gulped down a lot of Vodka for the first time. I was happy and laughing. I danced without being my usual shy or coy self. It was then that you came next to me and whispered into my ears, “Try me!”
Without the slightest reluctance I did. I tried you and boy…did that feel good! You took away my sorrows in those few minutes. All those painful memories of a broken home and a fractured family melted away effortlessly. My head felt lighter and my heart relieved.
A few minutes later, I searched for you again. I knew I wanted more of you. Somewhere in the bottom of my heart I felt guilty because they said it’s not right, it’s not good and it’s not safe. My friends insisted I sit down because I was too drunk or I will be ashamed of my doings the next morning. But I was only greedier than ever, almost turning into a savage. I raised my voice and the alcohol made it easy for me to do that. Just after I cussed at my friends and used it as a weapon so they give in – you appeared in front of me again. Ohhh…the sight of you! I clutched you and told myself I will never let you go.
We became friends then on. You accompanied me everywhere and shared not just my physical space but became a part of me. You became me. Those who knew me started defining me in terms of my volatile relationship with you. Few gave me nicknames and others gave me warnings. They believed that my relationship with you could prove fatal…that you could even kill me. But how was I to explain that there were many other things killing me and my hopes, dreams and desires. Abandoned relationships, unresolved conflicts and unanswered emails. You couldn’t have been so dangerous, I believed, for I had grown immune to all forms of intoxication with my life often oscillating between utopia and destitution.
I was told you were making me weak but I insisted that you gave me strength instead. That you were not blurring my vision and ability to see things as they are but those images - blurred and contorted- made it easier for me to move ahead with confidence because I wasn’t sure how big is the challenge or how deep the problem. Your masked presence helped me walk gracefully towards the colossal challenges that await me - in office, at home or social gatherings.
I still haven’t been able to comprehend my relationship with you. I have fought for you with my loved ones and had arguments that often turned bitter. I have hidden my love for you from the woman who gave birth to me and who continues to nourish me. There were days where I didn’t have money for food but I still spent whatever little I had just to meet you and experience sensations that I cannot express in mere words and (in public space!). I treasured your company because you were always listening when I spoke. You were quiet and you stayed with me while I thought or wandered aimlessly in my thoughts. There were times when you sat silently while I laughed and fought with my gang and there were times when you hid in the darkness of my room next to an open window.
My most beautiful moments were when we traveled together to places unheard and unseen. Amidst mountains, waterfalls and coffee estates. In Highways, Dhabhas, trucks and trains. When we sat together staring at a sky embroidered with thousands of stars. Moments when you and I were overwhelmed and left speechless at the power of nature and the simplicity of a village life.
I have some great memories of the time I spent with you in the city too. You were there, don’t you remember? When I would get drunk and walk the empty quiet streets of this city at mid night fearing a traffic cop or a Dear Uncle spotting me with you in that almost sublime state. I find it funny when I think of places where people looked at me with disgust because I held you close to me. We have also danced and rejoiced under the influence of stuff they call forbidden. Remember? Those days when we would board a crowded bus or enter the house hoping we wouldn’t stink and our secrets wouldn’t be revealed to the outside world.
We met in defined areas and sometimes we broke rules when we created magic together in places where posters screamed out loud informing us that it is a ‘No Smoking Zone!’ Sigh! I love the way you come neatly packed with a date and a maximum retail price. Kings - Thirty Four Rupees only. I can buy your company in just Thirty Four rupees. I chuckle within at the thought of it.
But now they say I have to leave you if I want to climb big mountains and reach higher. If I need to travel far and understand the world outside and within. They say I need to be stronger. They say I have become a slave and will grow helpless soon. This nexus that connects me to you needs to be broken. Your presence in my life, in my room, in my cupboards must be cleaned, wiped and perfumed. It must be brought to an end.
I will have to move on, leaving you behind. Today? Tomorrow? Or right now?
Only Superheroes fight once in 16 years!!!
As a child, I loved Charles Dickens for the fantastic storyteller he was. I turned page after page and sat reading his books for hours. Farhan as a director entertains me too – I have never been disappointed by any of his movies except the way Preiti Zinta’s role was crafted in the movie Lakshaya. I have never complained of wasting my not-so-precious three hours nor have I ever regretted the money that my dear friends spent on buying me a ticket. Hehehe!
Before I get into any sort of character or plot analysis let me tell you why I enjoyed this movie. Firstly, the debutante director’s ability to play around creatively with various themes and different characters is something I liked. Like a magician she weaves a wonderful story that is entertaining and touching at the same time. Farhan Akhtar’s ability to EXPERIMENT – (something Mr. Karan Johar will never understand) is the reason why I give a standing ovation to this young director. Secondly, this movie has many moments that will make you smile and making someone smile is even tougher than cracking a side splitting joke. Here are some of the best moments of this movie…and I will try doing that without revealing the story.
Amisha Patel, who plays Pinky from New Delhi, definitely stands out in this movie, that too in the presence of the biggies like Boman Irani, Shabana Aazmi and KK Menon. She stands out not just because of her loud Pink costumes but because they have beautifully captured the ‘Delhiness’ in Amisha and presented it so subtly. Amisha can not act but this was one role where she didn’t have to. I think that’s why she didn’t hurt my eyes at all.
In one scene Irani made me laugh real hard (where they go for a boat ride in Goa searching for dolphins and Irani hopes they will atleast see a pomfret) and another scene he made me smile where he is snatching the cigarette pack from his daughter. The scene where Boman narrates the story about where he saw Shabana, his wife, the first time is also well done.
KK Menon – a brilliant actor and a guy who can look great inspite of the flaws (or because of them!!). Menon delivers another memorable role and does a great job as an insecure husband, a conservative Bengali who insists that his wife wears a Sari all the time (and later pays a price for it...ahem!). The guy who sets himself free after drinking some Cola that had something potent mixed in it. Whatever was mixed in the Cola, it was definitely potent…potent enough to make Partho shed all his inhibitions and dance, fly and kiss his wife in public.
I like the scene where Partho’s beautiful Bengali wife is para sailing clad in a Sari and leaves the men on the beach woo-hooing. This scence has a strong message. It will be unfortunate if Farhan’s audience fails to read between the lines and absorbs the message he is trying to deliver without making it obvious. Post this ‘catastrophe on the beach’ scene, Partho’s wife appears more confident and aware of her sexuality. While Partho was set free by the unknown tablets mixed in Cola, his wife needed a parachute ride in Goa to set her free lending her the strength to wear a skirt again and confess her interest in Martial arts but not Rabindra Sangeeth.
The role of the two men – married but in a dilemma regarding their sexual orientation is the only part which disappointed me. It was pathetically predictable- that’s all I can say!
There are a lot of read-between-the–lines. I felt that there is also an undercurrent of issues related to identity and gender politics through out the movie.
Ok…those who have seen this movie are most likely to point out at the role of Minnisa Lamba and Bobby Deol. Why did they turn into superheroes – like batman and batwoman, at the end of the story? A review I read earlier describes their role as one that “borders on the ridiculous, but which is nevertheless funny in a mindless way”. Through out the whole movie, the rest of the couples keep wondering how Lamb and Deol remain so happy, so content and so similar. How can they always smile and kiss each other? How can they always be ‘in love’? We get the answer- Because they are not real!!! They are either a figment of our imagination or they are certainly not human beings. The idea of ‘perfect marriage’ or a ‘perfect couple’ is clearly being mocked and dissolved here and like the characters themselves say ‘only superheroes fight once in 16 years’ – becomes the moral of the story, if you insist on one!
This isn’t the best movie I have seen in the recent times but I like its attempt to flirt with the concept of magic realism. This movie only reminds us that Hindi cinema is open to experimentation unlike some idiots who make and re-make stories about happy, good looking families living in castles and spending their time singing and dancing for no reason.
I suggest that you don’t walk into the theatre with too many expectations. It is a perfect popcorn-movie, one that you can watch on one of those I-will-bunk-work-and-hide-in-a-movie-theatre-today moods.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Beyond Surfaces!
She wriggled on her bed for a long time. Twisting and turning and sighing. It was a Sunday and there was a lot of time to sigh away. The table fan made a humming noise and that kept her in a trance like state. It made just enough noise to overpower all other noises – Rocky’s bark, Iyer uncle’s scooty being kick started, Zuber's weird choice of Hindi songs, the vegetable and fish vendors screaming away to glory. This table fan sat comfortably on a wooden stool borrowed from the landlord. It was the only form of luxury in her house and it made its presence felt as soon as you switched it on.
When she had rolled all over the small wooden bed and there was no more space to be discovered or explored, she opened her eyes and saw the fan staring at her, telling her it had worked for the whole night and now needs to retire. She sat there still and numb after an overdose of sleep and made a things-to-do-list in her mind.
Check – Lunch at Ambli Aunty’s house
Check – Buy Kaju Katli from Kanti sweets before going to Ambli Aunty’s house
Check – Wash clothes…or maybe not!
Check – Have a nice hot water bath
Check – Attend the salsa class
She stepped out of her bed, walked into the kitchen to get some tea and lit a cigarette. The house looked clean and the rest will be shoved under the carpet anyways. The fan, the mute spectator, continued to hum and now sounded tired while she sat there puffing and wondering where to start her day from. Once the cigarette was stubbed, she switched off the fan and switched on the television. From one noise to another. This noise was her only companion in that empty house and somewhere she did not want to feel this emptiness. This noise gave her comfort, some kind of assurance.
She picked up her mobile and saw there were no phone calls or messages. Nobody had thought of her since last evening – not her friends, not her parents and not even her boss or clients! Something sank within her and she moved from one room to another indolently, crushed under the weight of something she was not able to recognize.
Once she washed and cleaned the physical and the material. She stepped out in the mild afternoon sun in search of the nearest Kanti Sweets store. She found one a kilometer away in the middle of a crowded market place. The shop was brimming with many sweet toothed people. She patiently waited for her turn and stared blankly at the ceiling hoping someone will soon ask her what she needs.
A man shorter than her, wearing a faded old white shirt, a tired look on his face and holding a worn out black bag in his right hand stood besides her. She noticed his presence…anyone would have. He did not blend in with the rest of the crowd – the English speaking, well dressed Bangalore middle class. He looked out of place. All the while he kept his head low as if something has been gnawing at him for long and it was getting excruciatingly painful for him to stand amidst all those people with ‘refined’ demeanor and IT pay packages. He was of a small stature but appeared even smaller in that over crowded Mithai shop.
A young man standing at the counter, asked him what he wants. He pointed out to something green and covered in coconut. The young man at the counter paused for a while and asked, “Are you sure? That’s 380 Rs a kilo.”
She turned around to see what this man will have to say. Will he get angry or will he just put a gun on the guy’s head and ask him to pack a kilo of the fucking green thing covered in coconut without asking him too many questions? He needs to return home and share this with his family because he got promoted or got a better job or got his first pay after months of unemployment. His clothes or shoe or bag can not reflect his buying power and he is certainly not a usual customer for Kanthi sweets. But he doesn’t need these questions.
Instead of erupting like a volcano, he just reached into the pocket of his faded shirt and took out a crisp 500Rs note. His wrinkled forehead and weathered skin had a long story to tell but it was clear he was in no mood for story telling. He just frowned and confirmed his desire to have a kilo of those sweets.
Once the 500Rs. note was handed over, the sweets were packed, weighed and billed. She exchanged a quick glance with this man wanting him to know that she didn’t like what just happened. But he quickly grabbed his packet, lowered his eyes and walked out… embarrassed, dismayed and disheartened.
“How may I help you madam?” , she heard the same voice again…the voice that asked the poorly dressed guy what he wants, in a manner so curt that he should have been drowned in one of those hot boiling cauldrons in the kitchen.
She looked at him, smiled and said half kilo of Kaju katli please. The voice returned asking her if that will be all.
She thought yes that will be all. Even though she is dressed in a Levi’s jeans and a Benetton t-shirt, that will be all.
So what if she earns 20 grants a month and haunts most of the pubs in the city. That will be all.
She has got better things to do like spend her money on booze and books, take care of her own needs and wants. She can’t just go spending on people related to her mother or friends who have always stood by her. That really will be all!!!
The Mithai was neatly packed and handed over. She took out the money from her bag and handed it over. ‘Thank you!’ the voice returned. She said nothing and she didn’t smile either.
She was tired of having to smile when she didn’t mean it at all.
When she had rolled all over the small wooden bed and there was no more space to be discovered or explored, she opened her eyes and saw the fan staring at her, telling her it had worked for the whole night and now needs to retire. She sat there still and numb after an overdose of sleep and made a things-to-do-list in her mind.
Check – Lunch at Ambli Aunty’s house
Check – Buy Kaju Katli from Kanti sweets before going to Ambli Aunty’s house
Check – Wash clothes…or maybe not!
Check – Have a nice hot water bath
Check – Attend the salsa class
She stepped out of her bed, walked into the kitchen to get some tea and lit a cigarette. The house looked clean and the rest will be shoved under the carpet anyways. The fan, the mute spectator, continued to hum and now sounded tired while she sat there puffing and wondering where to start her day from. Once the cigarette was stubbed, she switched off the fan and switched on the television. From one noise to another. This noise was her only companion in that empty house and somewhere she did not want to feel this emptiness. This noise gave her comfort, some kind of assurance.
She picked up her mobile and saw there were no phone calls or messages. Nobody had thought of her since last evening – not her friends, not her parents and not even her boss or clients! Something sank within her and she moved from one room to another indolently, crushed under the weight of something she was not able to recognize.
Once she washed and cleaned the physical and the material. She stepped out in the mild afternoon sun in search of the nearest Kanti Sweets store. She found one a kilometer away in the middle of a crowded market place. The shop was brimming with many sweet toothed people. She patiently waited for her turn and stared blankly at the ceiling hoping someone will soon ask her what she needs.
A man shorter than her, wearing a faded old white shirt, a tired look on his face and holding a worn out black bag in his right hand stood besides her. She noticed his presence…anyone would have. He did not blend in with the rest of the crowd – the English speaking, well dressed Bangalore middle class. He looked out of place. All the while he kept his head low as if something has been gnawing at him for long and it was getting excruciatingly painful for him to stand amidst all those people with ‘refined’ demeanor and IT pay packages. He was of a small stature but appeared even smaller in that over crowded Mithai shop.
A young man standing at the counter, asked him what he wants. He pointed out to something green and covered in coconut. The young man at the counter paused for a while and asked, “Are you sure? That’s 380 Rs a kilo.”
She turned around to see what this man will have to say. Will he get angry or will he just put a gun on the guy’s head and ask him to pack a kilo of the fucking green thing covered in coconut without asking him too many questions? He needs to return home and share this with his family because he got promoted or got a better job or got his first pay after months of unemployment. His clothes or shoe or bag can not reflect his buying power and he is certainly not a usual customer for Kanthi sweets. But he doesn’t need these questions.
Instead of erupting like a volcano, he just reached into the pocket of his faded shirt and took out a crisp 500Rs note. His wrinkled forehead and weathered skin had a long story to tell but it was clear he was in no mood for story telling. He just frowned and confirmed his desire to have a kilo of those sweets.
Once the 500Rs. note was handed over, the sweets were packed, weighed and billed. She exchanged a quick glance with this man wanting him to know that she didn’t like what just happened. But he quickly grabbed his packet, lowered his eyes and walked out… embarrassed, dismayed and disheartened.
“How may I help you madam?” , she heard the same voice again…the voice that asked the poorly dressed guy what he wants, in a manner so curt that he should have been drowned in one of those hot boiling cauldrons in the kitchen.
She looked at him, smiled and said half kilo of Kaju katli please. The voice returned asking her if that will be all.
She thought yes that will be all. Even though she is dressed in a Levi’s jeans and a Benetton t-shirt, that will be all.
So what if she earns 20 grants a month and haunts most of the pubs in the city. That will be all.
She has got better things to do like spend her money on booze and books, take care of her own needs and wants. She can’t just go spending on people related to her mother or friends who have always stood by her. That really will be all!!!
The Mithai was neatly packed and handed over. She took out the money from her bag and handed it over. ‘Thank you!’ the voice returned. She said nothing and she didn’t smile either.
She was tired of having to smile when she didn’t mean it at all.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Friday, February 09, 2007
Bangalore Brewery! (Feb 2006)
Decanter 1
Its is not just women who have to worry about self defence and dangers lurking in the dark waiting to pounce and savage their bodies, violate their space and leave them bleeding for a lifetime, with their lives shattered irrevocably.
A 65 year old elephant named, Kanthi, in BR Hills in Karantaka was targeted by a wild bull elephant in heat two months ago. She was left bleeding and badly injured in the middle of a forest when her Mahout found her again and brought her back to the village. The forest department has spent over Rs. 2 lakh on her treatment and special food. She will hopefully recover just in time to deliver her baby.
Wonder what Kanthi thinks and has to say about the entire incident. Does she think being an elephant is better than being a woman? Atleast she had a Mahout who rescued her from the mouth of death, a forest department that generously showered her with love, food and medical aid. And, of course, her fellow pachyderms did not ostracize her or subject her to public ignominy.
Decanter 2
I have always been proud of this city, Bangalore, not just for all the things it’s had brought to my life but for its ability to constantly break walls and replace them with ideas. The Rotary Cubbon Park Braille centre is now ready to help the visually challenged read Bagvat Gita.
I think that was a beautiful thought. But unfortunately this world is full of nincompoops like me who have the eyes, the vision and the money but haven’t read the Bhagvad Gita yet!!!
Decanter 3
Goodbye Mr. Sheldon!
I have never read any of Sheldon’s works largely because the rest of the world was reading him. I couldn’t be caught following the herd, can I?
During my college days, when I was trying to familiarize myself with works of Amitav Ghosh and Saadat Hassan Manto, I was coerced by a dear friend into reading Sheldon. My literary life was at its rudimentary best back then (err…it still is I think!). So I made a genuine attempt to read ‘Tell me your dreams’ but only after overpowering my prejudice and challenging my usual juvenile myself. But after 50 pages or so, I kept the book under my bed, turned to the other side and mummified myself in my warm blanket and went into deep sleep.
That was the first and last time I came close to reading any of the works by Sheldon. He is gone but it didn’t really bother me. (If you are thinking why should it bother me…he isn’t my neighbour anyways). I mean I was sad when they blew up Rajiv Gandhi…and a part of me also said ‘No way!’ when Amrish Puri was declared dead – instances when a public figure and his death becomes a matter of concern and a reason for disappointment. I guess I cherished their role – one, a young politician with a vision and the other, a famous replica of Satan named Mogambo, someone who left me amused and giggling as I sat watching Mr. India for the 52nd time during my summer vacations in school.
Sheldon’s death did not cause any such cathartic moment at all. I did not feel bad neither did it shock me when the 89 year old Master-of-cliffhanging-plots died. That morning, the “breaking news” on TV only left me saying – ‘Oh, Sheldon’s dead!’ and then I went into the kitchen to make some scrambled eggs for breakfast.
Maybe the reason behind my aloofness is that Sheldon did not contribute anything to my growing years or whatever little intelligence I claim to have. He never entertained or amused me. I could never relate to his works and neither do I intend to find out anything about his works in the near future.
But I am sure many of my friends who have read all his books , would have spent substantial amount of time poring over all the articles dedicated to him in many newspapers and magazines.
Good Bye, Mr. Sheldon! May your soul rest in peace.
Decanter4
Poetry has never been my cup of tea. But a few days back I read these lines and it left me speechless for a little while. When I got out of the trance-like moment, I read it again and again. Each time I read it, the words and the meaning emerging out of them struck me harder.
I think these lines are beautiful and say so much in just 6 little lines.
“This border that now decrees
One shared past with two histories
This border that now decides
The sky between us as two skies
This border born of blood spilt free
Makes you my friend, my enemy”.
Decanter 4
Rural tourism
Read this link. I think it’s a great story and a very well written one. But somewhere it raises several questions.
While trying to prove how incredible our India is, we might end up constructing five star resorts and spa clinics in the middle of a quite, self sufficient village…yes in the process we will bring good things from the ‘civilized world’ like roads, electricity, medicines Our villages will be less isolated and might help us create equal opportunities for all. But then those self-sufficient, happy, hard working people might start craving for ‘More’ – a better TV, more credits, mobile phones, bank balance!
How do we define the word ‘development’? And can we really do that by not snatching away the innocence and serenity that our villages have kept themselves wrapped in for hundred’s of years now?
Decanter 5
Mathadu Mathadu Mallige
A film set in a small village in Karantaka about the economic changes led by the multinational culture and how it is beginning to affect a village has been in news for sometime. Filmmaker, Nagathihalli Chandrashekhar has received threats so that he backs down and stops making this movie for it will bring a lot of things out in the light.
Decanter 6
Gloria Steinem
This 72 year old was in India to attend the South Asian Women’s writer’s Colloquium in Delhi. In an article in Hindu, towards the end of her interview when asked what would she like to do for the remainder years, she says, “Writing much more. Going deeper instead of wider, learning all that I can about original cultures, dancing more and living to at least 100!”
I like that…
Decanter 7
In troubled waters
So last time we fought ostensibly over Saddam’s hanging and this time we are fighting over a river. God! We humans can get so innovative when it comes to giving a reason for the Rasta Rokos, protest marches, stopping trains and retching at the likes of Girish Karnad for having an opinion.
Yes, you might want to say what do I know about being a farmer. I do not belong to Tanjavoore, Mysore and Pondycherry. What do I know about being a farmer and having all my crops die because I do not have enough water?...yeah, I guess you are right and people have the right to express their disappointment in a verdict that came out after 14 long years.
Will we let Cauvery flow peacefully - gushing with joy, reveling in its freedom and its ability to nourish the surrounding inhabitants. I will sit back and enjoy my holiday on Feb 12 and watch Kumaraswamy, Siddiramiah, Eswarappa and the general public take the centre stage. Let us see how the two contending states resolve this issue.
In pictures.
Its is not just women who have to worry about self defence and dangers lurking in the dark waiting to pounce and savage their bodies, violate their space and leave them bleeding for a lifetime, with their lives shattered irrevocably.
A 65 year old elephant named, Kanthi, in BR Hills in Karantaka was targeted by a wild bull elephant in heat two months ago. She was left bleeding and badly injured in the middle of a forest when her Mahout found her again and brought her back to the village. The forest department has spent over Rs. 2 lakh on her treatment and special food. She will hopefully recover just in time to deliver her baby.
Wonder what Kanthi thinks and has to say about the entire incident. Does she think being an elephant is better than being a woman? Atleast she had a Mahout who rescued her from the mouth of death, a forest department that generously showered her with love, food and medical aid. And, of course, her fellow pachyderms did not ostracize her or subject her to public ignominy.
Decanter 2
I have always been proud of this city, Bangalore, not just for all the things it’s had brought to my life but for its ability to constantly break walls and replace them with ideas. The Rotary Cubbon Park Braille centre is now ready to help the visually challenged read Bagvat Gita.
I think that was a beautiful thought. But unfortunately this world is full of nincompoops like me who have the eyes, the vision and the money but haven’t read the Bhagvad Gita yet!!!
Decanter 3
Goodbye Mr. Sheldon!
I have never read any of Sheldon’s works largely because the rest of the world was reading him. I couldn’t be caught following the herd, can I?
During my college days, when I was trying to familiarize myself with works of Amitav Ghosh and Saadat Hassan Manto, I was coerced by a dear friend into reading Sheldon. My literary life was at its rudimentary best back then (err…it still is I think!). So I made a genuine attempt to read ‘Tell me your dreams’ but only after overpowering my prejudice and challenging my usual juvenile myself. But after 50 pages or so, I kept the book under my bed, turned to the other side and mummified myself in my warm blanket and went into deep sleep.
That was the first and last time I came close to reading any of the works by Sheldon. He is gone but it didn’t really bother me. (If you are thinking why should it bother me…he isn’t my neighbour anyways). I mean I was sad when they blew up Rajiv Gandhi…and a part of me also said ‘No way!’ when Amrish Puri was declared dead – instances when a public figure and his death becomes a matter of concern and a reason for disappointment. I guess I cherished their role – one, a young politician with a vision and the other, a famous replica of Satan named Mogambo, someone who left me amused and giggling as I sat watching Mr. India for the 52nd time during my summer vacations in school.
Sheldon’s death did not cause any such cathartic moment at all. I did not feel bad neither did it shock me when the 89 year old Master-of-cliffhanging-plots died. That morning, the “breaking news” on TV only left me saying – ‘Oh, Sheldon’s dead!’ and then I went into the kitchen to make some scrambled eggs for breakfast.
Maybe the reason behind my aloofness is that Sheldon did not contribute anything to my growing years or whatever little intelligence I claim to have. He never entertained or amused me. I could never relate to his works and neither do I intend to find out anything about his works in the near future.
But I am sure many of my friends who have read all his books , would have spent substantial amount of time poring over all the articles dedicated to him in many newspapers and magazines.
Good Bye, Mr. Sheldon! May your soul rest in peace.
Decanter4
Poetry has never been my cup of tea. But a few days back I read these lines and it left me speechless for a little while. When I got out of the trance-like moment, I read it again and again. Each time I read it, the words and the meaning emerging out of them struck me harder.
I think these lines are beautiful and say so much in just 6 little lines.
“This border that now decrees
One shared past with two histories
This border that now decides
The sky between us as two skies
This border born of blood spilt free
Makes you my friend, my enemy”.
Decanter 4
Rural tourism
Read this link. I think it’s a great story and a very well written one. But somewhere it raises several questions.
While trying to prove how incredible our India is, we might end up constructing five star resorts and spa clinics in the middle of a quite, self sufficient village…yes in the process we will bring good things from the ‘civilized world’ like roads, electricity, medicines Our villages will be less isolated and might help us create equal opportunities for all. But then those self-sufficient, happy, hard working people might start craving for ‘More’ – a better TV, more credits, mobile phones, bank balance!
How do we define the word ‘development’? And can we really do that by not snatching away the innocence and serenity that our villages have kept themselves wrapped in for hundred’s of years now?
Decanter 5
Mathadu Mathadu Mallige
A film set in a small village in Karantaka about the economic changes led by the multinational culture and how it is beginning to affect a village has been in news for sometime. Filmmaker, Nagathihalli Chandrashekhar has received threats so that he backs down and stops making this movie for it will bring a lot of things out in the light.
Decanter 6
Gloria Steinem
This 72 year old was in India to attend the South Asian Women’s writer’s Colloquium in Delhi. In an article in Hindu, towards the end of her interview when asked what would she like to do for the remainder years, she says, “Writing much more. Going deeper instead of wider, learning all that I can about original cultures, dancing more and living to at least 100!”
I like that…
Decanter 7
In troubled waters
So last time we fought ostensibly over Saddam’s hanging and this time we are fighting over a river. God! We humans can get so innovative when it comes to giving a reason for the Rasta Rokos, protest marches, stopping trains and retching at the likes of Girish Karnad for having an opinion.
Yes, you might want to say what do I know about being a farmer. I do not belong to Tanjavoore, Mysore and Pondycherry. What do I know about being a farmer and having all my crops die because I do not have enough water?...yeah, I guess you are right and people have the right to express their disappointment in a verdict that came out after 14 long years.
Will we let Cauvery flow peacefully - gushing with joy, reveling in its freedom and its ability to nourish the surrounding inhabitants. I will sit back and enjoy my holiday on Feb 12 and watch Kumaraswamy, Siddiramiah, Eswarappa and the general public take the centre stage. Let us see how the two contending states resolve this issue.
In pictures.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
From Outer Space!
Yes thats me...deep in my thoughts, romancing the snow-capped mountains! No I wasnt lost... This is when I found myself...again!
From Kunzum La (the pass at 4335 mts) to Chandartal Lake (at 4270mts), a 19Km trek
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Coffee Please!
This weekend I escaped the din of the city once again and ran right into the serene midst of a village called Aldhur in Chikamaglore. The journey from Bangalore to Chikamaglore in a ‘Rajhamsa’ Bus is pleasant but a bumpy drive if you have the backseats. These long six hours will honor you with a landscape that will ensure some serious opportunities for mouth gaping.
I love window seats. It’s like sitting really close to your TV set to watch your favorite program and ensuring that you do not miss out any of the scenes, dialogues or the facial expressions of your favorite character. You get to savor each and every tiny detail without anybody’s hairy head blocking your view. I had hoped to finish ‘The Hungry Tide’ by Mr. Gosh during this journey but I was so awe-struck with the picturesque scenes moving outside the bus that it lay right there on my lap waiting to be read.
My roomie is a Kurghie… (Or a Coorgie) and that affords her an estate life. Her house is situated right in the middle of this coffee estate with all kinds of flowers, vegetables, spices and coffee being grown in it. This was my second trip to Chikamaglore. The last I visited this place was three years back when I spent my New Years drinking Jack Daniels because their dog Bruno spilt and licked all the wine from the bottle I carelessly left in the garden.
While my rommie slept throughout most of the journey I sat staring at all things passing by. Once you exit Bangalore City, you will be welcomed by many tiny huts with chimneys, lots of cattle grazing aimlessly, women chit-chatting near water pumps, (their collection of plastic ‘Matkas’ would have given photographer Steve McCurry a reason to smile), tall and strong trees, sugarcane and paddy fields, and the bright sunlight bathing the entire region and lending it a beautiful golden color. At this point I really wanted to know if we can travel back in time because if we could, then I would, without any reluctance, devour a small role in a ‘Malgudi Days’ kind of life.
We passed a few small towns like Mandya and Hassan and before midnight struck, Shash and I were in the dining hall savoring piping hot Akki Roti with egg curry. Mouth watering, eh? Then we got into this hefty looking ancient bed and her mom threw a dozen blankets on us. The chilly weather, a great bed and an over - satisfied stomach were enough reasons for me to fall asleep faster than I could imagine. (Oh yeah…I have a confession to make here...I snored so loudly that I woke myself up. Ahem!!)
An estate life has its pros and cons. On one hand you are your own boss, you live closer to nature, you work hard, eat well and spend your evenings sitting by the fire place drinking wine or whisky. Then you get to keep a lot of dogs and enjoy the moon light without any billboards or streetlights blocking it. However on the other hand, You need to work hard
…no wait…REALLY HARD!, wake up early morning, run after the workers, keep your accounts, run around in the hot sun watering, plucking, cutting and trimming.
In these three my roomie and I lost a few kilos as we were forced to wake up early in the morning, eat some really nutritious food and then we volunteered to pluck some coffee cherries with other workers, Of course, this volunteering lasted only for a little more than 30 minutes because the sun got us a little dizzy, tired and hungry.
So we walked back and were about to jump back into our beds when I heard uncle screaming at us, “City potatoes! Get out of there!” So we crawled out of our room and I poured myself some ginger and honey wine and seated myself on Uncle’s rocking chair. (You have know idea what that felt like!)
I spent my evenings walking around the estate, trying to make friends with Bruno – an over sized Dobber Man and Sweetie- a year old German shepherd who is also a mother of four pups, (I named one of them Fluffy...Hehe!), reading Hungry Tide, accompanying Uncle to the Pulper machine or the Huller.
Those three days went by and I returned to the city half-heartedly. Sigh! I surely can’t become a part of Malgudi days. But yes, I can certainly afford to work hard and reward myself a farm life.
So after 40 years of my life, I shall blog from my Estate…not fettered by time or the lack of it!
I love window seats. It’s like sitting really close to your TV set to watch your favorite program and ensuring that you do not miss out any of the scenes, dialogues or the facial expressions of your favorite character. You get to savor each and every tiny detail without anybody’s hairy head blocking your view. I had hoped to finish ‘The Hungry Tide’ by Mr. Gosh during this journey but I was so awe-struck with the picturesque scenes moving outside the bus that it lay right there on my lap waiting to be read.
My roomie is a Kurghie… (Or a Coorgie) and that affords her an estate life. Her house is situated right in the middle of this coffee estate with all kinds of flowers, vegetables, spices and coffee being grown in it. This was my second trip to Chikamaglore. The last I visited this place was three years back when I spent my New Years drinking Jack Daniels because their dog Bruno spilt and licked all the wine from the bottle I carelessly left in the garden.
While my rommie slept throughout most of the journey I sat staring at all things passing by. Once you exit Bangalore City, you will be welcomed by many tiny huts with chimneys, lots of cattle grazing aimlessly, women chit-chatting near water pumps, (their collection of plastic ‘Matkas’ would have given photographer Steve McCurry a reason to smile), tall and strong trees, sugarcane and paddy fields, and the bright sunlight bathing the entire region and lending it a beautiful golden color. At this point I really wanted to know if we can travel back in time because if we could, then I would, without any reluctance, devour a small role in a ‘Malgudi Days’ kind of life.
We passed a few small towns like Mandya and Hassan and before midnight struck, Shash and I were in the dining hall savoring piping hot Akki Roti with egg curry. Mouth watering, eh? Then we got into this hefty looking ancient bed and her mom threw a dozen blankets on us. The chilly weather, a great bed and an over - satisfied stomach were enough reasons for me to fall asleep faster than I could imagine. (Oh yeah…I have a confession to make here...I snored so loudly that I woke myself up. Ahem!!)
An estate life has its pros and cons. On one hand you are your own boss, you live closer to nature, you work hard, eat well and spend your evenings sitting by the fire place drinking wine or whisky. Then you get to keep a lot of dogs and enjoy the moon light without any billboards or streetlights blocking it. However on the other hand, You need to work hard
…no wait…REALLY HARD!, wake up early morning, run after the workers, keep your accounts, run around in the hot sun watering, plucking, cutting and trimming.In these three my roomie and I lost a few kilos as we were forced to wake up early in the morning, eat some really nutritious food and then we volunteered to pluck some coffee cherries with other workers, Of course, this volunteering lasted only for a little more than 30 minutes because the sun got us a little dizzy, tired and hungry.
So we walked back and were about to jump back into our beds when I heard uncle screaming at us, “City potatoes! Get out of there!” So we crawled out of our room and I poured myself some ginger and honey wine and seated myself on Uncle’s rocking chair. (You have know idea what that felt like!)
I spent my evenings walking around the estate, trying to make friends with Bruno – an over sized Dobber Man and Sweetie- a year old German shepherd who is also a mother of four pups, (I named one of them Fluffy...Hehe!), reading Hungry Tide, accompanying Uncle to the Pulper machine or the Huller.
Those three days went by and I returned to the city half-heartedly. Sigh! I surely can’t become a part of Malgudi days. But yes, I can certainly afford to work hard and reward myself a farm life.
So after 40 years of my life, I shall blog from my Estate…not fettered by time or the lack of it!
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