Yippeee! I finished reading my book

So what?! You may say. It's been quite a project for me. Because it was not about reading just one book. It was about reading an entire series - a set of six books. And for each book after the first two that were gifted, I would cajole people around me to buy it for me. Once it was a cousin who bought a volume. At all other times, it was my husband who would eventually order it online for me.

Not an easy thing, spending on books, in these times of recession. The roller coaster ride of waiting, searching, pushing and finally reading the series is over.

The books in question: Ponniyin Selvan, translated version of the Tamil historical novel by the same name, penned by Kalki R Krishnamurthy.

Based on the events around the time of Raja Raja Chola of the Chola dynasty, it is an interesting read - for its plot, the description of those Tamil Nadu landscapes and rivers many centuries ago, and the book's ability to keep the reader glued.

A lot is lost in translation. I wish I could read Tamil. And the translated version, probably done some decades ago, has its share of flaws, spelling mistakes (unforgivable in a book), words that may sound out of place for a particular paragraph, etc.

If you are the kind with a feel for history and urge to know the politics of those centuries, it is a read worth it.

When I first saw a friend hooked to it and finishing a volume in one go, I wondered what it had to attract a reader.

Yesterday, the last volume and the sixth book arrived by courier at 8 pm. I read through a few hours at night. By this afternoon, I was done with the book. 

A lot of questions about the characters remain. Like, if Nandini, the plotter from the Pandya side within the Chozha palace really had a Pandyan father or her father was Sundara Chozhar. What happened to her after she vanished from the novel and under what circumstances did she die?

Questions pertain to other characters too.  I may re-read a few pages to grasp some incidents better. Still, nothing has been as satisfying as finishing the entire series of six books - a first for me (reading a series).  

Unsafe Silicon City

It was not as if Bangalore was always safe for women. Crimes against women have been particularly high ever since big money began to flow in. 

No city has been safe for that matter. In my initial months at a newspaper in Hyderabad, I was returning home late after work, when a couple of bike-borne guys followed me. As I reached home, they stopped the auto-rickshaw I was travelling in and started shouting filthy abuses at me. I stood my ground. 

They had a problem with my travelling so late. They asked the auto-driver to follow their bike instead. When I ordered him not to comply and moved to my flat complex instead, they got all the more angry. It sent me shivers. But I was angry with this attitude of men in particular. Nothing happened after that. But I eventually quit the newspaper that refused to drop me home late night. 

My rendezvous with unsafe travel at night continued after I returned to Bangalore too, much to my family's dismay. I felt unsafe, even with army men around. From my office in a by-lane of Infantry Road, I would have to walk either on to Infantry Road or Cubbon Road to hire an autorickshaw. I passed by the Army land gate opposite Parade Ground one evening after 8 pm, when I heard a bird call from there.

As if those men in vehicles passing by repeatedly in the hope of a `pick-up' was not enough, now a bird call from behind the Army gate! I got so furious that I walked back and right up to the man manning the gate, and said, ``I know this is not so safe a time or place...but how dare you do that?'' The man was obviously taken aback and panicked. ``I didn't do anything,'' he pleaded, rather defensively. Obviously he was afraid of facing the wrath from his seniors.

I can recall any number of other incidents that made me feel unsafe. The rape and murder of Pratibha Srikanthmurthy by her own cabbie was another case. In the meeting that followed, we heard some utter chauvinistic remarks passed by BPO bosses too, about the way girls dress to work. Everyone screamed, ``More security for call centre women''. It amused me further.

On every night I waited for my bus at Mayo Hall bus stand, I would find other girls too, some after an evening shift at hotels, others from offices nearby, still others from the clothes showrooms they worked at. ``As if we are not women!'' I muttered to myself. 

It prompted me to ask the Police Commissioner about security to other women on the roads at night too. Some empty promises made. And quickly forgotten.

The trouble with the macho male mindset is this: that any woman on the streets after dark, is `available', is `loose in character' and `needs to be taught a lesson'. When politics and the insider of city versus outsider in the city hooliganism gets mixed up, women are the easiest baits. I have reason to cry in exasperation: Who gave them that right? 

So even if you have gone through a hard day's work, made those umpteen calls for a story that your Delhi office is waiting for and is unaware of your situation too, be prepared to see that police van move near the bus-stand suspiciously, its people wondering if you are a prostitute.

If you as much as walk near Cubbon Road at night with shopping bags in hand or clutching your office files, do not think it will deter those `sexual favour' seekers who will stalk you. 

One late evening, my luck with auto-rickshaws that would drop me home ran out, and I walked across to the signal at the Parade Ground, Kamaraj Road-Brigade Road intersection when a two-wheeler slowed down by me and stopped at a distance ahead. I was all prepared to give the concerned guy a punch, breathing hard and angry. He removed his helmet, and I heaved a sigh of relief. My colleague in profession from Times of India, who was headed home. 

The next thing: this colleague, obviously concerned about my safety, suggested I do not walk that road again. ``Ask me what I go through. I am experienced at it,'' I said, bitterly. Did I have a choice? Wish the government officially marked those safe and unsafe roads. He played Good Samaritan that day and dropped me to the nearest bus stop. Not all days are lucky. Things did go better on that front after my fiance came into my life. He would insist on picking me up from work and dropping me home. My work suffered as a result, making me feel tense about carrying it home. But safety assured. 

The latest I get to hear, is that in the ugly aftermath of the Mangalore episode, hooligans are making merry by attacking women. And the Bangalore cops in many ways are complicit with many of them. Whichever political group they belong to, a shocker of a news story in The Hindu says it all. Even sitting thousands of miles away in Mumbai, I feel the jitters.

I can imagine what working women out there must be feeling. The issue is not religion. It is about the willingness to commit crimes in the name of religion. No religion preaches violence. No goon - political or apolitical, understands it. 

Happy news from across the building!

From the windows of my fourth floor home, I always get a clear view of the fifth floor home in the neighbouring building. Over the last few months, a young girl and her husband have made it their home.

In typical Mumbai fashion, we watch happenings around their home, rather nonchalantly at times. And at times out of concern. Probably they do too! And go about their lives anyways.

A few months back, my husband noticed the girl probably in her twenties, crying away on the phone at their hall window. The next day, there was a flurry of relatives at her place. And she has not been alone ever since. At times when I am working at my kitchen, I feel happy for the girl relaxing on her bamboo swing in their living room. Her elders, probably her mother and grandma, help out in the kitchen.

`Pregnancy brings with it such delights!' I would think, and get on with my work. Between that family and mine, there is no interaction across the windows. A certain familiarity exists. And we do get concerned if we see some disturbance out there. Probably they do too. But it stays at that.

Two days back, I saw this young girl crying, walking around between the hall, kitchen and a bedroom, while a young man (probably a cousin or friend) was trying to console her, cut jokes and make things light for her. An elderly lady seated on the living room swing, would look in the direction of the kitchen and bedroom, and get back to watching TV. Not sure if she was worried or confident.

My guess: She's into labour. Her mother opened the cupboard in their bedroom and was stuffing some clothes into a bag. My own ill health and my husband falling sick in the meanwhile, kept me crouched with my room curtains closed for nearly two days after that.

This evening while I was arranging things in my bedroom, my husband ran in happily. ``You know that girl has given birth to a baby! She's holding it, and there are so many people around her,'' he said.

Wow! So she was indeed into labour the other day. And she's back so soon! ``Her delivery must have been normal! No wonder she is up and walking about,'' said my husband.The two of us reason to feel joy, although that family remains a distant canvas, a dais with a set of characters that we watch, in most ways. Through the evening today, their living room's door has been open all the time. And friends and relatives around. Flashes of camera keep the new mom busy!

Without being there for a minute, without knowing them beyond their appearances, without exchanging words with them, we know, and can feel that joy out there!

There were times in these past few months when watching her brought stupid thoughts in my head. ``If everything goes right with her and she has a baby easily, it could be a sign of good tidings for me too, despite the health issues I am going through.'' And I would pat my head for thinking so foolish!

Sometimes, happiness and happy news can flow in from across a neighbouring block, from complete strangers and with a sheer personal happy moment in their lives! In an odd sort of way, the girl and her baby have brought me...hope.

Kicks

A kick here. A kick there. Forward kick. Backward ho. So how does one react when one spots a bunch of kids in their baggy white uniforms kick away! Self defence. A necessity for kids, especially girls!

Karate classes are the ideal thing for children who need to concentrate, defend themselves and boost their self-confidence. But wait. I was not pleased in the least when I saw this bunch of kids with their master, practising their basics. Wondering why?

They were doing it late evening. Between 8.30 pm and 9 pm. No. That was not the problem. In Mumbai, any hour is an earthly hour. My problem...was that they were practising on the road, in the middle of it...where buses, cars, three-wheelers and two-wheelers zoom in and out. So what if it had less traffic? And located at that terminal hill-top point? Agreed Mumbai has less space too. But to get them to practise along a road divider!

They were being taught self-defence. If a bus or car rammed into them...which defense mechanism would come to their rescue? 

Smiles

A crowded local train in Mumbai. Despite it being a Sunday. In the women's coach, a mother is seated with her baby daughter, a little black bindi of Kajal on her forehead, cute little ear-rings. Smiling away. In walks another mother clad in her traditional black robes, with her baby son sporting kohled eyes and watching everyone curiously.

She sits on a seat across the other baby. The first baby is so delighted to see another of her size and looks, she gets restless to walk across and touch the new passenger. She smiles. Jumps in excitement and pushes herself even if her mother is worried about alighting at the next stop.

No religion that can corrupt this purest form of love! Only wish goons in the name of religion learnt this.

Love sans Sena

Despite the Senas wreaking havoc on Valentines Day, a day I would otherwise have ignored, but decided to support with all heart this time, love happened! It happened at Bandra, in the homes of families, at restaurants, on the ramparts of buildings and even on the branches of trees!

Yeah! Tree-branches. A parrot and its mate kissed petted each other profusely, perched on a tall tree, not far from where Sena scared card shops stocked cards without the word Valentine.

My friends Mahanty and her husband Ramakrishna said that while the parrots frequent that tree every day, watching them fondle each other on the tree across their fifth floor balcony was a treat. They missed clicking pictures of the oh-so-much-in-love birds at Anushakti Nagar.

The green patch, meant for residents - families of Bhabha Atomic Research Centre employees, is a perfect example of humans in harmony with nature. On Sunday, just a day after the D-day V-day that sparked smoke, fire and fear, the sight of a parrot from Mahanty's home's balcony was such an excitement! It was the first time ever that I was watching a parrot - a free bird, perched on the tree and fearlessly happy. A parrot not confined in a cage. A parrot not programmed to pick up fortune-telling cards.

I called out to Mahanty who was inside so I could show off the green bird, to my husband's casual remark, ``They watch it every day. And must be bored with it.'' Mahanty who came by mentioned parrots bit.

By then, the parrot that captivated us so much even if for a few minutes flapped its wings. And flew away. Love sans limits. Sans Sena. No hair-pulling sadist of a cop for these free beings either. Just life as usual. Much like the pigeon love tales that play out across my window every day.

Every day is a love-day if you choose!

A play dream comes true

When a dream come true, it feels so un-dramatic that you pinch yourself to see if it is real.

It could be as simple as watchng a play. Yet when you get a chance to watch it after many missed attempts, it comes as sheer joy.

For starters, a long ride from Goregaon to Matunga's Karnataka Sangha (made me feel home) courtesy friends, and some uncertainty about tickets only led to some anticipation about the show. Am not a theatre-aware person although I have watched plays in Bangalore. 

Karnataka Sangha and Prithvi Theatre have partnered to take theatre further through monthly shows at the premises. Antigone, the play directed by Satyadev Dubey, was staged yesterday, Friday the 13th.

As for the venue Karnataka Sangha, its acoustics are not great, but Karnataka Sangha's auditorium is a well-built one despite propping up in the crowded streets of the southerner-dominated suburb. Pictures of Bendre, Kuvempu, Masti Venkatesh Iyengar and other Kannada writers on the wall near the hall's entrance were such a relief from Bollywood image onslaught that I felt subjected to all these months! 

Streets adjoining this road reminded me of Chennai in character.

An hour on, the show begins. Poor audio quality and my own bad ears made me miss out on a lot in the story. Some people made the problem insignificant though. Naseeruddin Shah and Ratna Pathak Shah mainly. And the supporting star-cast. It took me this play to understand the how of what I would hear in plenty from theatre lovers in Bangalore, that Naseeruddin Shah is an institution. 

When he makes an entry, he can take over the entire stage by his mere presence. Ratna Pathak Shah is no less either. Her portrayal of an individual against authority - Antigone against King Cleon, outdid Naseeruddin Shah's power-packed acting in many instances.

Antigone in many ways is relevant to current day politics as much as it belonged to Greek era of yore. Who among the two could be right? Antigone, the stubborn citizen who wishes to give a decent burial to one of her brothers decreed as a traitor, or Cleon who you think is ruthless for a start, but justifies his actions so convincingly that you the viewer become confused?

Their long conversation provokes many thoughts you would otherwise not have paid heed to. When Antigone's death by hanging leaves her husband-to-be Haemon to commit suicide and his mother who dies too, you have reason to empathise with Cleon, the dictator who flexed his will wrongfully, but with conviction.

When the star-cast takes the last bow after the play's tragic end, a new-Mumbaikar like me had reason to wonder if it was indeed a dream just flitting by.

Dreams do come true. And this one inspires me to watch more plays. 

Of condoms, chaddis and the love war

I was barely six when I wore a saree. I loved watching my mother, neighbours and relatives draped themselves with that long piece of cloth, that it fascinated me then, almost liberating. I did not know its significance, symbolism, or the religiousness associated with it. 

When a neighbour came by to our one room-kitchen home then, I cajoled her into tying the cloth up for me. A one-foot something draped in a five meter swathe is amusing enough no doubt. I can imagine how I looked then, in that half hour fancy. 

Over the years that followed, schooling placed its demands every now and then. A saree for a dance, for a play, or simply for an all-faith prayer...I loved wearing it in spite of the inconvenience.

And every time, it was neighbours who would help me wear it perfect. My love for the five meter wonder has never diminished, although I do not wear it now as often as I did in my early years. It is sensuous. It is Indian. It in a way symbolises love. It captivates.

I always wondered how though, a piece of cloth that does not completely cover the woman's body, that falls on her to make her look all the more sexy, would assume the significance of a culture protector. 

Among feminist thinking women in Bangalore, I have seen how a big bindi takes the shape of assertion - affirming their feminine identity. Cotton handloom sarees, that some male colleagues would love to poke fun at as the NGO brand, have also been so integral to women's voicing out in this part of India. Yet, men would love to use the same fabric, to inflict repression.

Why should a saree-wearing woman spell good character and a woman who does not wear it, become bad? And in what sense? It amuses me no end, that the self-styled `Ram Army' man Pramod Mutalik decides to send saree and bangles to Nisha Susan, the scribe, in return for chaddis. 

Solace: At least, there is some non-violence in his quote there. That he decides to suspend Valentine Day attacks in Bangalore and continue them elsewhere is not heartening though. Karnataka, has long been a communal hatred spewing laboratory. It is only now that incidents such as those in Mangalore have faced flak. 

My question is, how long will he and his likes keep quiet? And what is this weird use of sarees for? It is non-violent no doubt, but to tell a woman that she is `good' if she wears a saree and not if she wears any other clothes! To tell a woman what to wear and what not to!

I love sarees and so do many other Indian women! Nisha Susan who I spoke to a minute ago, says he can send the sarees and she will accept it. ``We congratulate him for changing his strategy,'' says the woman who on an impulse set up the Facebook community that has taken the nation by storm.

Nisha's Pink Chaddi phenomenon is almost Munnabhai like, yet an absolutely non-filmy brainwave that proved a hit. Munnabhai films used Jadoo ki Jhappi and flowers to counter insensitivity and corruption. In Rang de Basanti and the spurt of protests that followed and opened up cases like Jessica Lal's, it was about candles and candle-light vigils.

Through the current wave of protests,  Pink underwear - a nonsensical and imaginative symbol has in a way filled that void after the filmy cascade of non-violent reactions that only died out after the next big film hit their mindscreens. Interestingly, it did spark off violence by the Hindu bigots, but brought about condom and saree return effects. 

The condom brigade says it does not believe in violent reactions and prefers to send condoms to the chaddi campaigners. Nothing more hilarious than such public arguments, for the average Indian who is for once, able to voice his or her mind with some leaning towards entertainment. 

As for sarees and bangles, I guess the right wing groups are highly mistaken about the yardstick to measure women's virtue. A saree makes no woman a goddess overnight, nor does a pair of trousers make her any less in goodness of character. 

Nor do they attain any moral high ground by forcing marriages on unmarried couples on V-Day. In fact, they would go a step ahead in furthering the cause of love - in their war against love. 

What needs to be watched at the moment, is how long the campaign will sustain. Can it move beyond V-Day? Nisha Susan says her group plans to keep the discussion boards alive, and much after Valentines Day. She speaks of a 70 year old woman who wanted send over pink underwear, and a student from Amritsar who said he collected undergarments from his friends to send over. Signs that the public at large has been looking for an outlet to vent its ire.

Pink chaddis have, strangely, channelised that anger.

Define defamation Mr Mutalik!

Reacting to the Pink chaddi campaign that shot to popularity overnight, Pramod Mutalik, the self-styled `custodian' of Hindu culture said sending undergarments would defame the women who sent them only. And finally opened up for ideological debate.

So barging into a pub and beating up women in full view of cameras is Hindu culture?! Rather than protect women, ordering them around on what to do and what not to, is Hindu culture?!

Mr Mutalik, you don't need a Valentines Day really to up your political mileage. Just get back to your scriptures and legends to learn what love is. Look at the eternal love story of Radha and Krishna which defied all moral boundaries. We....huh...Hindus...worship them. Learn the eternal love of Rati and Manmatha. Or still better, try and pour over some bliss with the ethereal love of Shiva and Parvathi. Parvathi - Goddess Shakti who even Shiva fears at times.

Why are you so afraid of Valentines Day Mr Mutalik? After all, it is about love? Love that Hindu culture talks about. Love that stems from tolerance and acceptance! 

You think women gifting you undergarments will defame them. Should they gift you bangles instead? You said you would give sarees for undergarments received. Wow! Much to your consternation, we Indian women actually love sarees though we do not wear them everyday! 

You want an ideological debate now. But would any amount of ideological debating stop you from acting exactly the way Taliban does in Afghanistan? You want to protect Hindu culture. Do you know? Hindu culture eulogises Goddess Shakti. It is said that every woman in this country is an embodiment of Shakti. Who are you to moralise and insult the woman then? You've named your `army' after Lord Rama. He was said to be a great ruler. What an example you set to rule? By getting girls hit in full public view?

I don't frequent pubs Mr Mutalik. I have no major love for Valentines Day either. I love my family, my friends and will express it on whichever day of the year. By your logic, there should be no new year celebrations, no Christmas, no dates in the year, no years and no love at all. 

With your hate culture invading my life, I would rather begin frequenting pubs. What an inspiration!

With those like you around Mr Mutalik, we women should rather hide in wells and dungeons. Beg your pardon, but I do not feel safe with you and those like you around. If you really care for Hindu culture, make it safe, by not hitting our ilk and condemning other religions.

Oh Yeah?!

A discount sale on books is always eye-candy for me, a perennial book-lover. 

Upto 80 per cent discount! Clearance Sale! So how does one react to an ad of this sort? 

Wow! If not 80 per cent, may be I could get lucky with 50 per cent at the least! So after a movie at the multiplex, I marched straight into this bookstore nearby.

Interesting! Those titles I loved to grab! The Japanese Wife, White Tiger, Three Mistakes of my Life...no sign of discount on them. Discounts were available only on books I had no reason to pick up. On books that really mattered, the MRP was just the same - not a penny less. To clarify matters, I grabbed a book I liked from the shelf and asked the cash counter guy, what the discount on that particular book was.

``Discounts are only for our book club members, ma'm. Others do not get discounts!'' he snapped, rather non-chalantly. Oh Yeah! So the bookstore chain succeeded...in conning a gullible book-lover like me to go to the store, gape at the books and feel like a beggar who depended on discounts to buy them. Of course, it fooled us book-store regulars and made us look foolish enough, to be so audacious as to do a walk-in! Lesson: Discount sale ads are con-bills meant to entice you. 

Sigh! Give me Bangalore's Premier Book Store and Select Book House any day. With some reservations, I wouldn't mind even Blossoms. 

It's my beach too!

Not review, but my take, By Chance

We all watch movies. Excellent movies. Poorly made ones. Those that make you sit through and love them. Those that make you want to rush out of the theatre after the first half hour or so.

Last week, my friends, my husband and I, caught up with Slumdog Millionaire and Luck By Chance. About Slumdog Millionaire, enough has been said, debated and dominated TV ever since its Golden Globe awards day. I have my views about the movie. But would rather reserve it for later.

Luck By Chance, a movie closer home, literally speaking, is worth a few paras though. Am writing this in spite of poor box office ratings for the movie. I live in Goregaon, adjacent to Film City in Hindi film heartland and even gaze at the green acres of this studio space spread over the Aarey Colony area, from the almost-dead end of my road. 

Subhash Ghai's Whistling Woods - the acting school, sheds that are studios, a set being made or another being removed while farmers are working away in fields nearby, or the sky-scrapers not far off from there, looking odd with their bizarre match-box like appearance. I do wonder about the anonymous lives led by the unit men behind glitz and have visited a set once too.

Having lived in Mumbai for the last one year and more, I have felt the pulse of this city, its obsession with Hindi films, glamour and glitz, like never before.

Much before I set foot in Mumbai, films like Page 3 and Corporate that came closer to the realness of Mumbai stayed with me. Luck By Chance that leaves you with its larger message without being preachy, that prompts us mortals to look within, is a movie that gets me feel closer home more now than any other movie does. 

It is a movie dealing with Hindi movie industry as its backdrop. True we had a cinematic colour-palette in the name of Om Shanti Om not long back. True we also had a Nagesh Kukkunoor spoof Bollywood Calling that poked fun at the industry years ago. It touched its bit about the frustrations of a junior artiste in a saleable sort of way.

Luck By Chance is more true to the subject it deals with, than many other films I watched over the last few years. 

It is also true to its characters. The last time I watched some good characters was in Jab We Met. The bubbly Geet and her dejected co-traveller. Despite that movie slowing down to a fault in its second half, these characters have stayed in our minds for long.

I liked the small-town con-couple characters in Bunty Aur Babli too, many moons ago.

With Luck by Chance, an effort has been made to bring out the real characters that so make up Mumbai's different suburbs and their Bollywood way of life. Some amazing one-liners, a seemless script, good acting by the ensemble cast - to top it, the effort to bring forth a deglamourised side of the industry.

Such aspects have been covered by other films too. But what went in this film's favour was its restrained approach. Its protagonists had their roles, yes. A sound story would go beyond the main leads and also explore characters that fit the story otherwise. Which other film has projected that awkwardness where a scantily clad heroine is asked by her mother, to touch the producer's feet? Or where better still, to find studio flats that the strugglers live in? 

A star dumping his producer mentor, a wannabe hero dumping his heroine, a producer breaking his protege's trust by denying her a role in his film after making her wait for three years or more, the unsaid yet not understated hierarchy among even producer-wives (veterans and new-comers), corporates with little understanding of cinema trying to `reform' it with jargon.

Watch the scene where Konkana Sen aka Sona Mishra  speaks volumes without a word when her producer has just ditched her and she knows not how to express it. 

Or when she rejects her lover's apology. Watch out also, for that scene where a car develops snag, and Hrithik Roshan playing Zafar Khan, the superstar, closes his car-window to stay off kids from a nearby slum. He gets playful with his hands on the glass too...that's the distance between the artificial lives our stars lead, and the realness of the poverty and struggle outside. 

The astrology-obsessed Romy Rolly played by Rishi Kapoor who decides to pay a measly Rs 50,000 to his new hero as his lucky number is 5. His animated wife Minty played by Juhi Chawla. Watch out, for the film magazine covers designed on-screen, and the characters saying out their rehearsed lines -`We are just friends'...

Or when Dimple Kapadia's character Neena Walia projects her insecurities about a flatterer Vikram (Farhan Akhtar) who is just getting cozy with her daughter, and utters her mind about Hindi film industry that `should not' be called Bollywood instead.  

I liked the scene when Shah Rukh Khan puts Vikram Jaisingh in place with his advice - universal at that. To stand by people who have been with you, when you were nothing.

Few films leave a good after-taste for long after you leave the theatre. Fewer still, need some patience on your part to enjoy their subtelities. Some films are about you. Some about people around you. Or your city.

Luck By Chance is a mix of all these. It may not have the hype of Ghajini or Chandi Chowk to China to back it. But it's a good film - one of the few that manage to do justice to an ensemble cast.