Yesterday, I just veered off from the PC at about 7 pm...with tired eyes that pained after the day's work...and still two hours of work left, to open the door when the doorbell rang.
My husband had arrived. Unusual for him to come this early! He was carrying a showbox in one hand, and something else in the other hand.
A minute or two after the casual chat, he pulled out and gave me what was in his other hand, tucked away in a packet. My eyes lit up when I saw what he brought, besides the evening snack of dhoklas and vada pav. A little bunch of roses: a mini-bouquet rather!
He does surprise me with roses once in a while, but this one was special! For, the roses were not wrapped in plastic sheets and tied up with another plastic piece called the ribbon, but wrapped lovingly in a large leaf shaped just like a bouquet. And they were tied up with a piece of cotton thread!
So lovely, yet so meaningful! Imagine if a rose seller could be so thoughtful and innovative in selling his in a leaf rather than plastic! Cost effective. Yet expressive!
Wednesday, 29 April 2009
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
Sigh!
When you watch the brilliance of the sky, those lovely orange and pink hues checker out on the canvas, and that fire ball sink down as the clock strikes 18.48 hours...not in the middle of hills, or even a sillouette of trees, but these protruding towers, in the name of housing. It's how sunsets look when I crane my neck out of my window. For Mumbaikars who cannot find their handful of sky when they look up, this is heaven!
Monday, 27 April 2009
Ingenuity
Is when a 10 year old comes up with a brain wave. Picking up an old edition of Champak, the children's magazine, she comes across this game where a team must rescue passengers from a ship.
Bad luck! We need a set of dice and we do not have any. There is no way one can play the game without it.
The magazine has listed its own innovative way of using its pages blindly. It asked the reader to close her or his eyes and open a page. The page number would be the dice score!
For me, it was rather cumbersome, though I liked the thought behind it. What my niece, the girl in question did, baffled me though.
She coolly picked up a cuboidal eraser that was easy to throw, wrote down numbers on each of its faces and began the game! At times, children show a far better common sense than we adults with our boxed up thinking.
Bad luck! We need a set of dice and we do not have any. There is no way one can play the game without it.
The magazine has listed its own innovative way of using its pages blindly. It asked the reader to close her or his eyes and open a page. The page number would be the dice score!
For me, it was rather cumbersome, though I liked the thought behind it. What my niece, the girl in question did, baffled me though.
She coolly picked up a cuboidal eraser that was easy to throw, wrote down numbers on each of its faces and began the game! At times, children show a far better common sense than we adults with our boxed up thinking.
Whack!
Seen on the pavement of Western Express Highway's Goregaon stretch, and under its Dindoshi flyover: a bunch of cats, each sitting a feet apart and nearly forming an invisible quadrangle, relishing a fish each. A few fish are thrown in the centre.
The spot is hardly a some distance away from where the highway turns into Aarey Road. And this stretch has some anxillary shops supplying shooting material to Film City studios nearby, some of the shelters here are homes too.
All the felines are burly, look fed well and have this `don't mess with me' air about them while licking the fish.
A little dog tries to sneak in for its share, without attacking the cats. And lo! One of those cats actually lifts its leg and hits at the dog thrice. Not wanting to mess up with this bunch further, the mongrel runs away. Maybe flight of fright too!
Reminds you of those videos you watch on Animal Planet , isn't it?
The spot is hardly a some distance away from where the highway turns into Aarey Road. And this stretch has some anxillary shops supplying shooting material to Film City studios nearby, some of the shelters here are homes too.
All the felines are burly, look fed well and have this `don't mess with me' air about them while licking the fish.
A little dog tries to sneak in for its share, without attacking the cats. And lo! One of those cats actually lifts its leg and hits at the dog thrice. Not wanting to mess up with this bunch further, the mongrel runs away. Maybe flight of fright too!
Reminds you of those videos you watch on Animal Planet , isn't it?
Sunday, 26 April 2009
Image politics and the child fleeing Mumbai
A family I have known through my cousin's wife, is shifting base from Mumbai to Bangalore. At first I thought it was due to professional reasons. The family, wife, husband and their daughter, are well-off at Mumbai and he runs a business with great turnovers.
Considering people love to live in Mumbai if they are the `moneyed' type, I was rather curious thought not entirely surprised. The husband, has his company offices at Mumbai and Bangalore, and shuttles between the two cities rather frequently. He spends half a month in one city and the other half in another city, not to forget the trips to his office in the US of A once a while.
The girl, in her mid-schooling years, is mature for her age and has some achievements to her credit. And the wife, is a happy housewife.
What my cousin's wife just revealed has baffled me. The family is shifting base to Bangalore, solely for the daughter's sake. Culture clash.
For once, not language as a direct tool of oppression and isolation, but inflicting of a different culture and something I feel is racism in its own subtle way.
The child misses her father because of his frequent business trips and longs for his physical presence, in a way, the security he provides. What's hurt her tender mind all the more, is that she has no friends.
Apparently, she told her aunt, that her classmates refuse to be friends with her if she wears a bindi. I have heard about the discrimination based on wearing that red mark on the forehead several times. I have also felt that it is not something that needs to be imposed on children, anyone for that matter. But that we as a society have created a sense of isolation for the little child, on the basis of her traditional values!
She mentioned to her aunt, that her classmates were corrupt, that she hardly has friends because she learns Bharatnatyam, the classical Indian dance form and not the Hindi film numbers that they are taught in their dance classes. With a sufficiently southern upbringing, it is understandable that she was conditioned to learn a classical Indian dance form, and she loves it too.
She performs at various functions, places and even wins accolades for them. Sadly, her neighbourhood, her peers and her school teachers refuse to understand this. Obviously, if they had, they would have taught the children to respect the differences.
The trouble: anything classical is looked down upon in this city, unlike in the South, particularly Chennai, where girls are taught classical art forms with ease.
For these reasons and more, her family too is not ease with Mumbai, despite living in a neighbourhood with many South Indians.
The child's plight reminds me of those little remarks I hear from my neighbours' children, who have become conditioned to believe that a pavadai and blouse are clothes that are blasphemous to their peers, and so, are somehow `bad' to be worn. They would rather wear western clothes that will keep them their friends. They would rather sport gadgets that will make them a favourite among their snobbish lot of friends!
For once, I have had to rethink my own views about tradition. I have always believed tradition should not be inflicted, that conventions should not be imposed. The bindi bit for instance - As a teenager, I had picked up a fight with my friends when they removed the sticker bindi from my forehead once. I thought I had lost something big, for I had to answer my mother for it after college hours. Years later, I began to discard it, in protest, or rather because I hated something of the sort being inflicted on me as a person.
Should I rather go back to wearing it with a vengeance now? Considering there is so much politics of imagery dictating our children's thoughts against tradition?
Today, I find myself at the other end of the argument, where what is perceived as `modern' by the society so influenced by `Bollywoodised' TV shows, inundation of films and an misconstrued influences of the West. Somehow we seem to pick up the wrong lessons from the West.
For, most Western TV shows I watch give me the feeling that family values and traditions are not after all taboo in the West, where homemakers are not exactly looked down upon, and where tradition is still something many people hold on to.
I advocate modernism in thought rather fiercely. But racism in the name of modernism? A strict no. We cannot discriminate someone who hails from a region, practises traditional art forms of that region or thinks differently only because we as a city culture, are obsessed with anything film-based.
What causes such scorn against tradition? Is it just imposition, that my generation went through in its growing up years, or is it the mindless aspirational imagery laid out by our media monopolies in the name of entertainment? When serials are nothing but repackaged film storylines, replete with pancake make-up, younger and sexy looking middle-aged mothers and films cannot be complete without that sculpted-body heroines again oozing oomph, how can one expect children not to be influenced by such imagery? Or get affected by it?
Is splashing a serial with fancy work sarees and a film with item numbers going to help our next generation in any way?
And how can one ignore the fact that if you hail from the South and have learnt values differently, you are still an Indian? The little child's hurt shows me that Indianness is being taught lesser and lesser in our schools, while class based discrimination is ground into children's minds rather effortlessly.
Considering people love to live in Mumbai if they are the `moneyed' type, I was rather curious thought not entirely surprised. The husband, has his company offices at Mumbai and Bangalore, and shuttles between the two cities rather frequently. He spends half a month in one city and the other half in another city, not to forget the trips to his office in the US of A once a while.
The girl, in her mid-schooling years, is mature for her age and has some achievements to her credit. And the wife, is a happy housewife.
What my cousin's wife just revealed has baffled me. The family is shifting base to Bangalore, solely for the daughter's sake. Culture clash.
For once, not language as a direct tool of oppression and isolation, but inflicting of a different culture and something I feel is racism in its own subtle way.
The child misses her father because of his frequent business trips and longs for his physical presence, in a way, the security he provides. What's hurt her tender mind all the more, is that she has no friends.
Apparently, she told her aunt, that her classmates refuse to be friends with her if she wears a bindi. I have heard about the discrimination based on wearing that red mark on the forehead several times. I have also felt that it is not something that needs to be imposed on children, anyone for that matter. But that we as a society have created a sense of isolation for the little child, on the basis of her traditional values!
She mentioned to her aunt, that her classmates were corrupt, that she hardly has friends because she learns Bharatnatyam, the classical Indian dance form and not the Hindi film numbers that they are taught in their dance classes. With a sufficiently southern upbringing, it is understandable that she was conditioned to learn a classical Indian dance form, and she loves it too.
She performs at various functions, places and even wins accolades for them. Sadly, her neighbourhood, her peers and her school teachers refuse to understand this. Obviously, if they had, they would have taught the children to respect the differences.
The trouble: anything classical is looked down upon in this city, unlike in the South, particularly Chennai, where girls are taught classical art forms with ease.
For these reasons and more, her family too is not ease with Mumbai, despite living in a neighbourhood with many South Indians.
The child's plight reminds me of those little remarks I hear from my neighbours' children, who have become conditioned to believe that a pavadai and blouse are clothes that are blasphemous to their peers, and so, are somehow `bad' to be worn. They would rather wear western clothes that will keep them their friends. They would rather sport gadgets that will make them a favourite among their snobbish lot of friends!
For once, I have had to rethink my own views about tradition. I have always believed tradition should not be inflicted, that conventions should not be imposed. The bindi bit for instance - As a teenager, I had picked up a fight with my friends when they removed the sticker bindi from my forehead once. I thought I had lost something big, for I had to answer my mother for it after college hours. Years later, I began to discard it, in protest, or rather because I hated something of the sort being inflicted on me as a person.
Should I rather go back to wearing it with a vengeance now? Considering there is so much politics of imagery dictating our children's thoughts against tradition?
Today, I find myself at the other end of the argument, where what is perceived as `modern' by the society so influenced by `Bollywoodised' TV shows, inundation of films and an misconstrued influences of the West. Somehow we seem to pick up the wrong lessons from the West.
For, most Western TV shows I watch give me the feeling that family values and traditions are not after all taboo in the West, where homemakers are not exactly looked down upon, and where tradition is still something many people hold on to.
I advocate modernism in thought rather fiercely. But racism in the name of modernism? A strict no. We cannot discriminate someone who hails from a region, practises traditional art forms of that region or thinks differently only because we as a city culture, are obsessed with anything film-based.
What causes such scorn against tradition? Is it just imposition, that my generation went through in its growing up years, or is it the mindless aspirational imagery laid out by our media monopolies in the name of entertainment? When serials are nothing but repackaged film storylines, replete with pancake make-up, younger and sexy looking middle-aged mothers and films cannot be complete without that sculpted-body heroines again oozing oomph, how can one expect children not to be influenced by such imagery? Or get affected by it?
Is splashing a serial with fancy work sarees and a film with item numbers going to help our next generation in any way?
And how can one ignore the fact that if you hail from the South and have learnt values differently, you are still an Indian? The little child's hurt shows me that Indianness is being taught lesser and lesser in our schools, while class based discrimination is ground into children's minds rather effortlessly.
Friday, 24 April 2009
FIR and the rape victim
A lot is being said and debated about the rape case involving a student of Tata Institute of Social Sciences, who was assaulted by her own peers.
A few things disgust me about the way papers reported the whole episode, and continue to report it.
Firstly, is a newspaper God? If not, why does it play like one? The victim, irrespective of her nationality, gave details of the most horrible thing that could have happened to her, to the police, in due faith. Not just that, she gave the details for the sake of truth, so that she could get justice. For a daily newspaper that found those details sensational, it only proved convenient to publish them - the entire FIR, in graphic detail! It is a First Information Report that is a mandatory document. At the moment, it is a public document on the basis of which crime correspondents write their news reports.
Instead, a newspaper went ahead and published it in its Page Two, with all insensitivity possible.
Has media lost its sensitivity to a rape victim's plight? Why do newspapers have to treat rape victims as sex objects whose story they can repeat and ramble off in graphic detail? So that they can sell a few thousand copies more?
I am sure even right-thinking men did not approve of such mindless display that a newspaper gave the FIR, with not as much as a word of approval from the victim. If the girl's friends turned beasts for a night of their animal fun, the newspaper was no less, in using her suffering for its own pages.
I thought that today's readers, numbed by sensationalism in TV channels and to an extent, papers too, would have been quiet about it. Thank God, for their response. For, the paper, had to publish its stand alongside some letters, the following day. The sad truth is, the paper's three line explanation showed it still feels justified in publishing the report the way it did.
As if to pepper the pscyhological trauma, another paper went ahead and published an anonymous quote from forensic experts, that the victim had consumed drugs on that night. A third newspaper had the audacity to publish a headline where the accused Vinamra Soni asked whe the victim was out with six people that night. And published in graphic detail, the version of the accused in the anticipatory bail application.
So, what was the paper trying to tell me, the reader? That the victim asked for it? That she should not have gone out to that joint or pub with those guys? That she was merely available?
Agreed that the accused should not have been let off hook and that the newspapers published their pictures, but by merely with-holding the victim's name and publishing everything else about her, the media is not doing her a favour.
I will not be surprised, if sometime in future, despite all this hype around the case, the accused get let off the hook. After all, we live in a society where not just aspiring film actresses, but even rape victims, are objects of desire!
A few things disgust me about the way papers reported the whole episode, and continue to report it.
Firstly, is a newspaper God? If not, why does it play like one? The victim, irrespective of her nationality, gave details of the most horrible thing that could have happened to her, to the police, in due faith. Not just that, she gave the details for the sake of truth, so that she could get justice. For a daily newspaper that found those details sensational, it only proved convenient to publish them - the entire FIR, in graphic detail! It is a First Information Report that is a mandatory document. At the moment, it is a public document on the basis of which crime correspondents write their news reports.
Instead, a newspaper went ahead and published it in its Page Two, with all insensitivity possible.
Has media lost its sensitivity to a rape victim's plight? Why do newspapers have to treat rape victims as sex objects whose story they can repeat and ramble off in graphic detail? So that they can sell a few thousand copies more?
I am sure even right-thinking men did not approve of such mindless display that a newspaper gave the FIR, with not as much as a word of approval from the victim. If the girl's friends turned beasts for a night of their animal fun, the newspaper was no less, in using her suffering for its own pages.
I thought that today's readers, numbed by sensationalism in TV channels and to an extent, papers too, would have been quiet about it. Thank God, for their response. For, the paper, had to publish its stand alongside some letters, the following day. The sad truth is, the paper's three line explanation showed it still feels justified in publishing the report the way it did.
As if to pepper the pscyhological trauma, another paper went ahead and published an anonymous quote from forensic experts, that the victim had consumed drugs on that night. A third newspaper had the audacity to publish a headline where the accused Vinamra Soni asked whe the victim was out with six people that night. And published in graphic detail, the version of the accused in the anticipatory bail application.
So, what was the paper trying to tell me, the reader? That the victim asked for it? That she should not have gone out to that joint or pub with those guys? That she was merely available?
Agreed that the accused should not have been let off hook and that the newspapers published their pictures, but by merely with-holding the victim's name and publishing everything else about her, the media is not doing her a favour.
I will not be surprised, if sometime in future, despite all this hype around the case, the accused get let off the hook. After all, we live in a society where not just aspiring film actresses, but even rape victims, are objects of desire!
Wednesday, 22 April 2009
Lonely or alone?
Is when a bird perches itself on top of a tree branch, and searches, and searches...for its ilk. It squeals. It fixes its eyes on the horizon...but no sign of its flock. For a positive thinker, it is just about a living being enjoying its tranquility and some time for ...itself.Found this bird not far from my home, cannot make out if it is a cuckoo or a crow, but surely, it was desperate for its companions when my family and I found it there!
In the background is the stretch of Aarey Colony near my home, and the clearing exactly behind the dried tree is where sets get made and broken, for serials and films. Not too visible in the picture is the road before the clearing, that leads to Film City Studios. The settlements are where some residents of Aarey Colony live. Some of them farm. Others work at the studios. Still others rear livestock.
Tuesday, 21 April 2009
Relief
Is when I hear the tap running after a long dry day! Music to ears.
For the last two weeks, it's been about waiting for that stroke of 6 pm on the clock and keeping the buckets, vessels, just about everything to store that extra drop of water.
All because someone forgot to plug holes in the pipeline that supplies water to these suburbs. Criminal. Wish such crimes went punished severely.
Thankfully, water supply has resumed, if not completely, at least in phases. Am hoping the pipeline actually got repaired.
``This should happen once in a while. We tend to take water for granted otherwise,'' remarked my husband.
My opinion: why should we wait for a scarcity situation to realise that water is precious? Why can the human brain not work a little and think of ways to store it locally...guess these wishes would just go on.
For the last two weeks, it's been about waiting for that stroke of 6 pm on the clock and keeping the buckets, vessels, just about everything to store that extra drop of water.
All because someone forgot to plug holes in the pipeline that supplies water to these suburbs. Criminal. Wish such crimes went punished severely.
Thankfully, water supply has resumed, if not completely, at least in phases. Am hoping the pipeline actually got repaired.
``This should happen once in a while. We tend to take water for granted otherwise,'' remarked my husband.
My opinion: why should we wait for a scarcity situation to realise that water is precious? Why can the human brain not work a little and think of ways to store it locally...guess these wishes would just go on.
Friday, 17 April 2009
Smiles
Is when a man in his thirties, wearing shorts, licks an ice-cream while he walks on a quiet road, post dinner. So child-like and full of relish!
Walking behind him is a foot and a half high toddler, hands clutched behind, chest bloated, and nose up in the air. The little one walks with a gait so bossy that it's a treat to watch him, in contrast with his ice-cream lover dad walk a few steps ahead. The son is watchful of the surroundings, almost like he is guarding his dad, while the dad...is not lifting his eyes from the biscuit-cone!
My cousin, hubby and me were amused watching the two at Pimpri-Chinchwad area in Pune.
Walking behind him is a foot and a half high toddler, hands clutched behind, chest bloated, and nose up in the air. The little one walks with a gait so bossy that it's a treat to watch him, in contrast with his ice-cream lover dad walk a few steps ahead. The son is watchful of the surroundings, almost like he is guarding his dad, while the dad...is not lifting his eyes from the biscuit-cone!
My cousin, hubby and me were amused watching the two at Pimpri-Chinchwad area in Pune.
Wednesday, 15 April 2009
What can be more shameful?
We want Olympic Champions, but we will not honour them. We want sportstars, but cannot make our blind eyes wander beyond cricket. We want sportsmen to put in their best in feats, but also want them to bear the humiliation of begging for sponsorship, not just work at that elusive medal.
We've had our Abhinav Bindra and a handful of others who made it despite apathy. Prem Kadam, a Dadar based powerlifter's story is moving. His mother had to sell what women like her would hold on to for dear life - the mangalsutra , so that he could participate in a powerlifting contest. Who is responsible? His peers? The government so busy in elections that it cannot spare a thought for a sports guy? Or us among the masses who can worship cricketers but treat the others among the sports elite like dirt?
Here is the link from Midday
We've had our Abhinav Bindra and a handful of others who made it despite apathy. Prem Kadam, a Dadar based powerlifter's story is moving. His mother had to sell what women like her would hold on to for dear life - the mangalsutra , so that he could participate in a powerlifting contest. Who is responsible? His peers? The government so busy in elections that it cannot spare a thought for a sports guy? Or us among the masses who can worship cricketers but treat the others among the sports elite like dirt?
Here is the link from Midday
Bizarre
Is when I walk into the rest room during a movie break at one of the supposedly decent multiplexes, and open the toilet door. Above the flush of the otherwise normal toilet seat is an ad. Yeah! An advertisement. As if it is not enough that you are irked by an ad in the toilet, it says `Zapak.com'...Easy Downloads', with an arrow point downward, at the toilet seat. Can these overzealous ad-makers not spare cinema toilets at least!
Am least interested in browsing that website now. My husband thinks differently. `Creative, innovative...' he rattles on. Sigh!
Am least interested in browsing that website now. My husband thinks differently. `Creative, innovative...' he rattles on. Sigh!
Tuesday, 14 April 2009
Dry taps....sigh
This morning, our home taps went dry. Actually they went dry last night. We managed to store some precious water when they started working again.
The colony I live in, is supposed to be the least problematic in terms of water supply. And lo! It hit us too! But I must say, the writing was always on the wall, only, people out here did not read it enough.
For state board built housing colony, one of the easiest things that could have helped solve water troubles out here was - installing rainwater harvesting system, as also solar heating devices. The housing board, for all you know, would've passed the buck to the housing society that would eventually take charge.
And such things are last on the mindscape of a housing society. Membership money is usually spent on community religious events, prayers and on other amenities like play equipment for children, seating area, etc.
My neighbours tell me that the current scarcity trouble it is because of a pipeline burst. If so, it is criminal damage to not just water and resources, but manpower and money too.
If only rainwater harvesting was as important as the 10th standard certificate!
The colony I live in, is supposed to be the least problematic in terms of water supply. And lo! It hit us too! But I must say, the writing was always on the wall, only, people out here did not read it enough.
For state board built housing colony, one of the easiest things that could have helped solve water troubles out here was - installing rainwater harvesting system, as also solar heating devices. The housing board, for all you know, would've passed the buck to the housing society that would eventually take charge.
And such things are last on the mindscape of a housing society. Membership money is usually spent on community religious events, prayers and on other amenities like play equipment for children, seating area, etc.
My neighbours tell me that the current scarcity trouble it is because of a pipeline burst. If so, it is criminal damage to not just water and resources, but manpower and money too.
If only rainwater harvesting was as important as the 10th standard certificate!
Sun of Shiva
Sunsets are always fascinating. If you've managed a shot of this sort from a moving train, sunset can feel divine too. Here is the silhouette of a Lord Shiva idol on the banks of Godavari river, in Rajahmundry, against the lovely backdrop of a setting sun. I like this picture because it happened on a special day - Christmas! Got this picture on the way to Vishakhapatnam...
Monday, 13 April 2009
That holiday feeling...
It's been a while since I posted. Word block for no major reason. Simply that I sit in front of the PC monitor and go blank! Strange that when I am away, blogging ideas race in my head at the speed of Rajdhani Express.
After those dull and monotonous week-days, the weekend was a refreshing break. Not that I got to take away to a hill station, but a quick trip to the nearest city was a blessing in itself.
Excuse: visiting my cousin at Pune. After a whole evening of what to tuck away, trash away, and take along before our Friday morning trip, I slept exhausted. But did not get prepared yet for what was in store the following morning.
For all the speed with which we cleaned up my place, locked and stashed away necessities, closed the windows tight and shut the doors, we did make it on time to catch our bus. Only, the bus, that should have taken about three hours and a half to reach Pune, took over five hours! Imagine boarding a bus at 9 am, hoping to hit the destination by lunch time, dream of a sumptuous lunch by 1 pm...and sleep off in the bus...only to find that you haven't as much as got out of the city by 11.30 am! We did reach Pune, by 2 pm.
Hunger did not put us off as much as the fact that from the place we alighted, his home was a neat 40 minutes away in the reverse direction. We could not have got off en route and made it there though. Nigdi, where he lives, is about 25 kms from Pune city and much off the Mumbai-Pune Expressway.
We did manage to make something and eat, but fell asleep soon, the heat getting to us. In the evening, we managed a Tamil movie, something my Chennai-bred cousin misses badly in that city. Nigdi, unlike the Pune city, in the Pimpri-Chinchwad area, is such a far cry from the dry polluted air of the plateau city!
Superbly laid wide roads, tree laden avenues, hardly any traffic, patches of green sufficiently interspersing housing colonies, and more importantly, no pollution. For us Mumbaikars used to crowds and crowds everywhere, crowds of people, of buildings, of cars, and noise, this was such a welcome break!
The only put-off was scarce public transport options. Even auto-rickshaws are hard to find, depending on the time of the day.
The result: my cousin's two-wheeler came in handy for three of us, for many trips nearby. The last time I ever remember riding `tribles' on a two-wheeler was many years ago, from my daily newspaper office, to a colleague's wedding venue.
Heat did force my husband, cousin and me to stay indoors most part of the day. But when there's nothing else to do, we humans know how to kill time - by chatting up each other! Cooking, chatting, cooking, cleaning, cooking, travelling...
A water-melon meal session, some new dishes exchanged in the kitchen, relishing acquired culinary skills of my bachelor cousin, figuring out how to cook in utensil recession, how to manage yoghurt in the absence of a fridge, and how to make buttermilk out of it when you've nothing to beat it with...
How about a tasty night meal of the dosa at a Tamil family run eat-out! Not the mutated fast-food variety of masala dosa that the cartman near Goregaon railway station dabs grated beets and carrot into with chutney powder, rolls and cuts into so you could finish it in two minutes with a fork. But that regular dosa spread out like paper on your plate, so golden in colour that it melts in your mouth! And cocunut chutney tastes real! Unlike the stale cups of coconut paste one gets in the name of chutney out here in Mumbai! Probably Mumbai has its hide-outs with relishing South-Indian food too! But this one was yummy!
Parts of Pune reminded me of Bangalore's Malleshwaram, Jayanagar and J P Nagar, while some parts of it were a picture straight out of Chennai's suburbs. At other times, I felt I was at South Delhi...GK! Just as I was going on and on about this, my husband called it full-stop. ``Enjoy the city as it is, not as it reminds you!'' Hmmm! Cannot quite agree. Methinks nostalgia has its own value!
The icing on the cake was a trip to town, to meet a schoolmate I had not met up with after year 92', a neat 17 years! For the last few years, we did exchange mails through the class e-group and networking sites, but to meet up with her was so delightful!
In the little time we had, first at a book store and a short while at a restaurant, we managed to catch up with some old times. Only wish I had made it earlier in the day to the city. Did not quite expect a trip to town to be as long as in Mumbai - one and half hours.
Such delays are times when one wishes for a four wheeler, only to rebut it quickly! After all, a four wheeler for two people makes no sense in these times of global warming!
Soon it was Sunday afternoon. Time to start to Mumbai! Terrible! Again, a two-wheeler riding three full-grown adults along the empty roads, even fields and villages (on the brink of getting urbanised)...to the highway. And the bus ride back home!
At times one wishes holidays never end! That holiday feeling...stick on longer please!
After those dull and monotonous week-days, the weekend was a refreshing break. Not that I got to take away to a hill station, but a quick trip to the nearest city was a blessing in itself.
Excuse: visiting my cousin at Pune. After a whole evening of what to tuck away, trash away, and take along before our Friday morning trip, I slept exhausted. But did not get prepared yet for what was in store the following morning.
For all the speed with which we cleaned up my place, locked and stashed away necessities, closed the windows tight and shut the doors, we did make it on time to catch our bus. Only, the bus, that should have taken about three hours and a half to reach Pune, took over five hours! Imagine boarding a bus at 9 am, hoping to hit the destination by lunch time, dream of a sumptuous lunch by 1 pm...and sleep off in the bus...only to find that you haven't as much as got out of the city by 11.30 am! We did reach Pune, by 2 pm.
Hunger did not put us off as much as the fact that from the place we alighted, his home was a neat 40 minutes away in the reverse direction. We could not have got off en route and made it there though. Nigdi, where he lives, is about 25 kms from Pune city and much off the Mumbai-Pune Expressway.
We did manage to make something and eat, but fell asleep soon, the heat getting to us. In the evening, we managed a Tamil movie, something my Chennai-bred cousin misses badly in that city. Nigdi, unlike the Pune city, in the Pimpri-Chinchwad area, is such a far cry from the dry polluted air of the plateau city!
Superbly laid wide roads, tree laden avenues, hardly any traffic, patches of green sufficiently interspersing housing colonies, and more importantly, no pollution. For us Mumbaikars used to crowds and crowds everywhere, crowds of people, of buildings, of cars, and noise, this was such a welcome break!
The only put-off was scarce public transport options. Even auto-rickshaws are hard to find, depending on the time of the day.
The result: my cousin's two-wheeler came in handy for three of us, for many trips nearby. The last time I ever remember riding `tribles' on a two-wheeler was many years ago, from my daily newspaper office, to a colleague's wedding venue.
Heat did force my husband, cousin and me to stay indoors most part of the day. But when there's nothing else to do, we humans know how to kill time - by chatting up each other! Cooking, chatting, cooking, cleaning, cooking, travelling...
A water-melon meal session, some new dishes exchanged in the kitchen, relishing acquired culinary skills of my bachelor cousin, figuring out how to cook in utensil recession, how to manage yoghurt in the absence of a fridge, and how to make buttermilk out of it when you've nothing to beat it with...
How about a tasty night meal of the dosa at a Tamil family run eat-out! Not the mutated fast-food variety of masala dosa that the cartman near Goregaon railway station dabs grated beets and carrot into with chutney powder, rolls and cuts into so you could finish it in two minutes with a fork. But that regular dosa spread out like paper on your plate, so golden in colour that it melts in your mouth! And cocunut chutney tastes real! Unlike the stale cups of coconut paste one gets in the name of chutney out here in Mumbai! Probably Mumbai has its hide-outs with relishing South-Indian food too! But this one was yummy!
Parts of Pune reminded me of Bangalore's Malleshwaram, Jayanagar and J P Nagar, while some parts of it were a picture straight out of Chennai's suburbs. At other times, I felt I was at South Delhi...GK! Just as I was going on and on about this, my husband called it full-stop. ``Enjoy the city as it is, not as it reminds you!'' Hmmm! Cannot quite agree. Methinks nostalgia has its own value!
The icing on the cake was a trip to town, to meet a schoolmate I had not met up with after year 92', a neat 17 years! For the last few years, we did exchange mails through the class e-group and networking sites, but to meet up with her was so delightful!
In the little time we had, first at a book store and a short while at a restaurant, we managed to catch up with some old times. Only wish I had made it earlier in the day to the city. Did not quite expect a trip to town to be as long as in Mumbai - one and half hours.
Such delays are times when one wishes for a four wheeler, only to rebut it quickly! After all, a four wheeler for two people makes no sense in these times of global warming!
Soon it was Sunday afternoon. Time to start to Mumbai! Terrible! Again, a two-wheeler riding three full-grown adults along the empty roads, even fields and villages (on the brink of getting urbanised)...to the highway. And the bus ride back home!
At times one wishes holidays never end! That holiday feeling...stick on longer please!
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