A wedding in family

It's close to two years since I tied the knot.

In a few days, a cousin I am fond of will do himself the honour. For all my opinionated struggle against too much ritual during those hectic days, I find myself advising this cousin to calm down, get more flexible, and become more sensitive to his future wife!

It was sheer team work by family, extended family, friends and relatives that saw me through that nightmare. Yet, when I look at my wedding snaps, it feels dream-like. What's heartening is that such teamwork has returned to see through the next happy family event too, despite distances, ego tussles, and everything in between.

The problem of books!

Am I hoarding books? Have been tempted to ask this question to myself after facing some tough comments on the books I own.

I really really love books. Just that I do not end up reading most of what I buy. It's moving time and I have not the heart to give a single book away. Some are gifts. Some are author autographed preciouses. Some I hold on to dear life for life's lessons. When the question of having to part with them comes, I cringe, argue, put my foot down and stick to transporting them, whatever the cost.

They are what I turn to in times of depression. They are my friends. Just being around them soothes my creative senses. Have been tempted to google about it though, and it threw up some interesting results.

A piece in Bellaonline talks of doing away with book clutter.

Another one talks of how not to hoard books. Ouch.

After months of waiting for a bookshelf at home, I became the proud owner of one. For a short one month. And realised it was time to give it away. Couldn't spend a fortune transporting it, could I?

We've been busy selling away things we cannot move. As I sleep on the floor at night surrounded by bundled books, am dreaming of my own new home library, chic home office and a cozy armchair already. In another city. Only wish I face no more questions like, `why so many books?'

Suspended animation

Am not sure even if these two words describe the state I am in. Am a woman. Married. Am I a housewife? Noooo. I work from home. For peanuts. In between my umpteen races between the kitchen and computer, computer and door, door and phone...

I work endlessly. I write away. And wonder why I am not earning a salary. At times I envy my neighbours. Housewives, who religiously make efforts to fit into roles assigned to them by their families, friends of families, stereotypes and the like.

Yet, an hour into conversation with a neighbour, I find reality hitting hard at me. For a non-believer of discrimination on the basis of caste, she insists that caste should exist, that a mistake by someone in a lower caste is more punishable than if committed by someone of a higher caste. When I retorted that day, that all are equal in the eyes of God, she didn't know what to reply. Playfully, this friend just hit me and left the place. She said arguing with me was difficult.

I returned to my PC, shocked at what she and her peers would have been taught by their parents in her village. Of those prejudices that get instilled so early in one's life that despite technological progress, and celebration of the Indian economic growth story, they gnaw at us on all sides.

I am a journalist. Without a job at the moment. Waiting to get called after many applications. At times I celebrate my unemployment. At times I cry over it. At other times, I reason it out, rationalise, and make peace with it. I think of the numerous things I get to do now, because of this luxurious tag. Yet, I know I am not meant to be home-stuck. And not out there in the city. The city called Mumbai. The city busy remembering four digits - 2,6, 1, 1. Read 26/11.

Am I a Mumbaikar? Yes I am.

Will I ever belong to another city. I want to. I doubt if I will. For, Mumbai has become so much a part of me that falling in love with any other city just as easily will be difficult.

Yet, I am not in Mumbai now. I am to move out. And find myself in another empty apartment, another home to make before I set out looking for jobs. Another city. Another people. Thank God it is still, an Indian city I will move into.

So here I am. I don't belong to a city (reality bites). I don't belong to a job. I am in between homes. Juggling roles. Hanging in the air. Is it bliss? Am I being naive?

Not sure. But there's a parachute I am clinging on to - hope.

Godsend!

You are rushing between guests, greeting people, rushing around with arrangements for a housewarming ceremony.

Something's bothering you. Your left eye waters non-stop. A dust particle got stuck in the eye the previous evening and causes it pain so bad it embarrasses you in front of the guests. No amount of washing your eye has helped. When talking to your guests, you have to pat that irritable eye with the hanky and it makes them think you are crying. Why today? Why this when your father-in-law's dream home is seeing those meaningful prayers and umpteen friends have dropped by?

Just when you decide enough is enough and get set to rush to the nearest eye doc, a member of your extended family walks up to you to check what's wrong. She, is an opthalmologist! And thinks its conjunctivitis. You explain. She rushes you to the nearest faucet, inverts your eyelid with such expertise that you don't mind more pain! And gets you to wash the particle out. Washing is more painful. But in a minute, you've returned from hell!

She quickly jots down an eye-drop prescription. God does work miracles!

Flying high

How exactly does one explain a river of blue-grey cotton balls meandering over a greyer landscape?

Am soaring high in sky. Above the grey landscape below, and above the spectacle of grey cotton clouds fluffing up like a river heading seaward. Ahead and a little beneath the horizon is an ocean of cotton balls.

Above this horizon, a distinct line between grey cotton  and picturesque pale-pink and pink-gold flanked by pale sky blue, sums up for twilight. That pre-dawn spectacle is such a rare treat? However often one flies, getting to watch sun rays play magic is a treat in itself.

The colours change dramatically as the sun shows up, its golden pink tinged rays hitting fluffy clouds to sihouette them with golden white. It is as if these clouds are sun-bathing.

My eyes are drooly from lack of sleep at night. I have woken up at 3.30 am, done a mad rush to the airport with my husband, said those hurried `byes' and got into the plane even before darkness dimmed. All I want now is sleep, while the sun rays hit reluctant eyes.

Nature's visual gift outside of my plane window tempts me on however, to stay awake and lose myself to it. Guess the lack of sleep and wait at the crowded security lounge, waiting in a long queue at the airport Coffee Day to pay 70 bucks for a cup of coffee, and finally drag myself into the plane...it was all worth it!

Pic Courtesy: Photography Blogger
Pic: Days Between by Oblivious Dude

Ten things I like about Mumbai

As the weeks roll by and I come to terms with my departure from this city slowly, I look out of the window into that distant horizon, those umpteen buildings, the winter fog that throws a white veil over them, and recall what exactly makes my heart ache at the mere thought of leaving Mumbai. Ten things I like and love about this city:

• Vada Pav - you're not a Mumbaikar if you have set foot here and never had the Indian burger that comes for as less as Rs 4. The closest it got to a burger was at Jumbo Vada Pav joint that I relished, near Malad station. Jumbo joints are of course spread all over Mumbai.
  
• Salad Carts at Bandra, Sandwich vendors by the roadside at every other suburb - no other city can boast of such quick snacks that cost less, to fill their hungry tummies
• Local trains - need I say more? For all the trouble in veering through those crowds, fighting to board that Ladies bogie, walking the length and breadth of the platform in the hope of a less crowded coach, and the accidents I hear of every other day. I love. Sorry, I adore the local train network here, just as I love the bus feeder system too
  
• Autorickshaws - don't be surprised. They are rickety. You jump when they ride over potholes. They could kill you with their reckless speed too. But guess what, I can hop off on the Western Express Highway at 4.30 am and be sure I can find a guy who will drop me home safe. Not an extra penny. I've lost count of how many times I used autorickshaws for commute here, but can recall hardly once or twice when I fought with the rickshaw guys. At Bangalore, I'd have to flag down a 100 rickshaws before getting one at night. Chennai, forget it. Delhi....don't ask me.
• My suburb - Yeah. I love my suburb Goregaon. It's the greenest den in the concrete jungle out here. It's a place that made me get overwhelmed at first with the city, then hate, and finally love the city. It made me move from calling Mumbai, the Godforsaken, to My Mumbai.
  
• Marine Drive - that necklace of lights with the distinct promenade...one place in the mad city where you don't need to pay to perch yourself for hours! The most memorable moment here was when I walked nearly the entire stretch from Nariman Point to Girgaum Chowpatty beach (that spans two stations on from Churchgate) and felt `Freedom'.
• Crawford Market - It's true Mumbai is an expensive place. A trip to Crawford Market will defy that notion. It reminds me of City Market and Chickpet in Bangalore. The golden rule: Don't step into the fancy looking shops on those streets. Stick to smaller shops, the pavement stores, and bargain hard. Some of my best buys have been from Crawford.
• Colaba Causeway, Fashion Street, Elko Market - Colaba Causeway and Fashion Street, the two reasons you won't mind a long journey to town, and Elko Market, the shopper's heaven for clothes at Bandra besides the overdone Linking Road and Hill Road (Elko is on Hill Road though). Colaba Causeway is a visual treat with its old world feel and new world clothes, Fashion Street is where you get tired shopping for Western Casuals. Elko, my recent discovery is where I want to keep returning to.
• Chembur to Vashi ride - for Navi Mumbai residents who must travel to Churchgate, it's hell - the sheer distance of the commute. But that ride on the bridge over Thane Creek, with sea stretching out on either sides while you approach land, is bliss. It's lovely.
• Safety - I feel safe in Mumbai.Promise. Am saying this in spite of that nagging fear at times on the local train platform or on a local train (terror threat?!) or Raj Thackeray's goons. It's a city with an active underworld. That doesn't matter to me as much as, when I don't have to pray non-stop on my auto-ride from the Goregaon station to home. I can go to any goddamn part in the heart of the city and hop into a taxi at 10 pm without fear. I can return to Goregaon station at 12.30 am and not have the least doubt about flagging an autorickshaw. Try that in Bangalore or Chennai. Autorickshaw drivers will demand the moon out of you and still make you feel they did you a divine favour by ferrying you home at that `devil's hour'. That's besides your doubt if you'll reach home at all.
  

I've lots more about Mumbai on my platter. But these things kind of sum it up. 

Ten days to go

...and the date 26/11 will return to haunt the city, the state and everyone possible. Mighty are the monuments of courage. I salute, those who lost their lives, limbs, loved ones, irrespective of where they died - at the Taj, Oberoi, CST, Cama Hospital, or Nariman House. Or the streets those beasts stalked for that matter.

Yet, these three silhouettes stand tall as one glares at them from sea, bruised but undaunted. Life, goes on.

Children's Day gift!

Children and their parents, especially those of tenants, have been called over by the housing society I live in today.

It's not to celebrate Children's Day.

Last week, some children in their mischief collected some dry trash and set fire to it, unfortunately close to the car park. The cars did not catch fire, as they were a safe distance away, but the walls near the fire went black.

So, the society heads chose November 14, Children's Day, to give the children their peace of mind! They decided that all children need to be reprimanded for what some of them did.

It's India

It's India. And not far from Mumbai. It's at Gharapuri, aka Elephanta Caves' island, east of Gateway and a 45 minute journey by ferry. This toy train, saves you some sweat by riding you for about a kilometre.

If you're a Mumbaikar, it's  `train instinct' that works as soon as it halts. You make that mad rush into it with the crowd.

Brainwaves of Desperation

Water scarcity drives me mad. Specially after three decades of existence with fairly less water trouble, and some years of absolutely no water problems.

This morning I got desperate. The taps ran dry as usual. But there was cooking left to do, some utensils needed a wash, my hair needed some shampooing...sigh. So what should I do? End up starving another morning? Or order food from the local food joint?


Hunger does get to you at times. I may not be able to reuse water that I just washed down on veggies, but I can use it to soak some utensils, or still better, use it to flush the toilet!

A worn out night gown I ripped apart, washed it, dried it. And filtered the water I had just washed vegetables with. This water I managed to use for little things like dipping my hands to rid of something sticky. To cook my favourite dish with gherkins, I steamed them in a small cooker instead of boiling the pieces directly.


To chop the pieces I am in the habit of using the cutting tray, a bowl to keep aside unwanted ends, and another to transfer chopped pieces into. I did away with the tray and devised another method to cut them. The chopped pieces of gherkin I transferred into a party paper plate, the unwanted ends went to a newspaper that partly replaced my cutting board.


After steaming the gherkins in saline water, I moved them to the pan for a quick fry, but did not throw away the water. The used water came in handy to make myself a yummy tomato onion soup, in the same cooker, with no nutrients lost. My method of cooking brown rice was rather fuel consuming though, and took up more water, but I guess there must be ways to work around that trouble.


The whole exercise was rather time consuming. And when water poured down from taps in my building, I was asleep too, and missed storing it. But then, I am learning quick. And a hunch says I may end up writing how-to survival pieces in water scarcity times!


I did not shampoo my hair today. Guess it gets reserved for the morning when taps will run water! My brainwaves in desperation did remind me a thing or two though - of those science projects at school which spoke of something basic - water filtering with sand and charcoal.

A google search has brought about some interesting results. Did you know that the water purifier industry will always tell you that home-made water filters are not good enough? Obviously it would! Hits their pockets doesn't it!


Here are some links:  

Homemade Charcoal Water Filter 

How to make water filter at home

Life around the faucet

It is hard to believe that while outside of my window, winds lash, rain pours incessantly, my taps are dry.

Strange game of hide and seek this. For a colony that enjoyed 24 hour water supply, home bound like me keep their ears in the direction of faucets even while working, to hear that sweet music of water from the tap.

I am not sure what the reason behind this is: regulation of water supply of plain housing society internal politics, or genuine short supply of water in Mumbai's lakes. For some reason, I go into a frenzy when I have to wake up early every morning after a late night's work schedule, only to find the tap went dry long before.

A couple of days back, the supply was turned off at 8 am instead of 10 am. This morning I woke up at 7.30 and rushed to open the tap, only to realise the supply had stopped five minutes prior. True that I store water too, but that's not a relief still.

Is this a sign of things to come? Hard to imagine.

Meera for Sale

Meera for Rs 600! Wow! It is as recent as now.

Prices on Chinese make Indian Gods have come down a great deal! Am saying this because last year, when I asked for the price of a Meera figurine, the shop-keeper near Sai Baba shrine replied with some sarcasm.

`Yeh to bahut sasta hai...', and expected me to ask how much.

`Kitna?'

`Barah Sau (Rs 1,200).'

He knew I would not buy it. No one probably bought that piece for a few months now.

And when I saw the Rs 600 label, I yelped for joy inside.

Hey, I've grown up dreaming of owning a Meera idol all my life. I am hankering after symbols here...worldly temptation. To me she is the ultimate symbol of selfless devotion, and love that has no labels. More than that, she represents strength unlimited. She questioned overdone stereotypes inflicted on women from ages. And came out trumps.

But then, those years, I heard of the price ranging between Rs 20 and Rs 40. And knew that when I got a job, I'd buy it with my own money. Even if it is a decade on, it cannot rise to such absurd amounts! I know I am hankering after symbols here...worldly temptation.

For years I did not find these statuettes in markets that I frequented in Bangalore, and even during those shopping adventures at other cities.

And when it came to the market shelves, I ran out of money to splurge on my fancies. Reality sunk in slowly over last few years, that these stunning come-back idols were not Indian, but made in China. They looked lovely yes, but I somehow still believe that if the symbol is Indian, I would rather not support an imported product to satiate my love for owning her image.

Retailers who'll stock only Chinese idols even if you ask for Indian makes, have learnt enough by now, that a chunk of their customers will not buy Chinese make idols.

So they will swear and lie to you on face, that the idols are Indian make. The shop-keeper who showcased Meera among the umpteen other Indian Gods said the same thing - Indian make.

Look close into the picture as I did. Meera's features here give away. She reminds me of Chinese heroines.

Move time: Lock Stock and a Barrel full of memories

Many months passed since the apartment I live in became a home. Eons have zipped by, since I stopped fearing this cluster of umpteen cities and began loving it.

Just when it was about time that I brought in things from my parents' home, and came to terms with the idea of settling down, it's time to move.

How exactly does one bade goodbye to a city that becomes home, where you've lived a lifetime in two years and yet cannot get enough of it?

How does one think of setting home in another city when most of what you loved about life came on a platter in this city?

I love Mumbai. When I set foot here first time, I got fascinated by its sheer magnitude. The next time on, I feared it, hated it, and hated it all the more when I had to collapse after a train trip to Churchgate.

Today I look forward to going to Churchgate. By train. By habit. Terror threats or no threats, I love climbing those Goregaon station stairs that once scared me outright.

It will be a few weeks before I wind up. I guess however many posts I write over the next few weeks, it will hardly do justice to what I have felt and lived over the last two years. Yeah two years. They vanished. And many things got not done in the city - difficult for my `been there done that' cravings.

Guess I will make up for some lost time now. At the moment, am letting the thought of moving out, sink in.

Abandon

Is when you rush to embrace the ocean.
Is when you run without having to answer for your strut.

Pic Courtesy: Subhransu Das
Location: Aksa Beach, Madh Island

Papers are Passѐ

My doorbell rang. I wondered who it could be at that late morning hour. Was it a neighbour?

`Kaun hai?' I yelled from my hall. And managed to decipher only the word`....hai' from a man behind the door. I opened the door anyways to find the courier guy. For a change, he looked more like a company executive, not a starved employee who struggled to ride in hot sun.

I picked the envelope from him. The norm, is that courier guys instantly hand out stapled log sheets that I fight against signing. I don't like mentioning my mobile number on those precarious papers either. In style, this courier personnel flashed a palm top and asked me to sign in with the stylus! For a second, it made me the customer look small with its maze like feel.

`Yeh to modern ho gaya ji!'

`Haan madam, abhi yehi dete hai,' he said, almost apologetic.

I took the stylus and tried pressing it against the touchscreen. Not all of the strokes would show.
He hit `clear' and let me sign again. Better this time.

`Press karna madam.'

Technology does not necessarily mean convenience. This time I asked him to make do with my signature that looked 90 per cent complete. So he requested me to write in my mobile number with that signature.

Personal safety trick you may say. But I avoid listing my number. My husband's number turned saviour.

`Kitne ka hai?' My curiosity would not let me shut my mouth up.

`Ek Laakh ka hai madam!' He said this with the look of that huge burden of responsibility in safeguarding it.

His company did not mind paying it. The gait was different. Polished compared to other courier deliverers.

As I shut the door, my thoughts swung from - will my signature be misused, to why a company would allow such expensive gadgetry to be used by these employees.

If something were go wrong with the machine, they would be made to compensate. Was it just about style? Or clever ideas to get signatures and mobile numbers? Maybe courier delivery merely got techno-savvy.

Divine and the devout

Signs of devotion. Signs of eternal joy. Signs of thirst, as God watches coy.

Pic Courtesy: Radhika M

TV War: Ceasefire

`When I get to earn lots of money,' I began.

Hubby D knew it was one of my potshots aimed at him. I continued undaunted, `I'll buy another TV.'

His non-stop jibes over the months at my preference for Balika Vadhu over IPL, or a reality show over action movies have moved me up the wall.

Our dislike for each other's perception of entertainment is mutual.

He hates daily soaps. I cringe when he watches WWE.

I watch reality shows even if I don't like them. He prefers cricket anyday.

Among films, I love romantic English movies, while nothing less than an action flick would satiate his appetite.

I don't react much to these daily fights until it is about his switching to some vulgar comedy from Tamil cinema. Believe me, I have nothing personal against those comedians or the language. I laugh at some of the forced jokes too. But as a viewer I find a lot that is demeaning in these jokes. Am stunned too, that they tend to get away with some of the worst statements they can make about women. To my surprise, I find women in my extended family and elsewhere too, enjoy these jokes. When I think of children growing up on such toilet humour, I want to hide away.

Not sure if I am being an escapist. Over the last few weeks, it is less TV and more internet at times I should be spending time with my husband. Home TV wars are a norm more than dismissable domestic incidents.

They are intra-family assertion of power - over what the person perceives as entertainment, depending on that person being male, female, elderly, child, etc. Home TV wars are a symbol of dominance over the remote. Women win these wars at times. Men get to control it in the name of cricket, most times.

I have begun to perceive TV, cricket and crass Tamil Comedy as the `other' of late. Dinner time, I gulp down morsels rather than look up at the TV, not out of any major grudge, but tired with those things I don't perceive as entertainment. In any case, I no longer enjoy watching Balika Vadhu. Reality shows tend to bore me too. Serials tend to drag on so much I would be happier watching them once a week - only to catch up with story progress. Or have I simply given up?

Can peace be made about over the years? Time will tell in my house. But if I have the money...

My other blogs

Blogging of late has been an exciting creative experience. Those little thrills range between going over hundreds of blogspot templates, trying out those things that remained a mystery for me in wordpress, and trying out new templates, to actually starting new blogs.

I have started two new blogs after a lot of pondering over. And they are linked on the right of this page - Cerebral Toothbrush, and Insights.

Three reasons:
this blog has made me break barriers, yet is a limiting experience for certain pieces I would want to write.

this blog is more personal in nature and although the other two blogs are my personal perspectives too, they will be different from this.

niche is the buzzword in any sphere of life today - blogging included. the two other blogs help me grow as a writer and help you enjoy my pieces too, in a different direction.

Readers who have kept me going, please give me your feedback on the two other blogs. My blog Cerebral Toothbrush is only a layout for now. It will grow soon. That's my word.

Night Lights

It's how beautiful my suburb Goregaon looks on a festive night. Stretching across, down the hill into Malad, these concrete buildings give a reason to smile at night. At the horizon, is the sea. I, am on cloud nine.

Pic Courtesy: Subhransu Das