Morning walk delights

My attempts at morning walks over the last decade have been either short-lived or proved futile even before start. Try hard as I might, pulling myself out of the bed in those wee hours proved a headache, so much that even if I woke up for some reason, I would dive right back into the coziness of my blanket.

I would wonder where the zeal to get out of home came from when I had an outstation assignment. I would be out by 6 am, hop into a cab to head for a nearby district and get home late night. Even watching my dad take his morning walk to buy milk did not succeed in dragging me out of the bed.

In the months after marriage, I would be pushed by my husband to hit the road, but I just never did. I depend on my husband for the walks. Everytime he suggested walk, I would goad him to come along and insist, `if you do, I will get inspired'. He never got around to it at daybreak, though we'd take our little walks at night.

I would listen to advice from friends, only wishing I actually did it some day, never gathering enough will. No wonder my health ran right out of the window, leaving me frail. My health troubles recently hit the roof and my frustration peaked so high I thought it was the end.

 

If ever I got up in the middle of my sleep one of these days, I would stand by the window, watch the road, watch the several windows in the building opposite our windows, kitchen routines when lights glowed in the morning dark, and get back to sleep.

One such window gaping session stirred me. Between 5.30 am and 6.15 am, a mother and her daughter get ready, with all their work and school material, moving about with ease at their home. At about quarter past six, they are out of their home, with daybreak still a long way away. I watched them for six days...and realised it was their routine on Saturdays too. Not sure about Sundays though. 

What am I doing? Look at them, living on road, hardly at home, and yet up and awake the next morning! 

When my husband made a weekend trip down to Bangalore over the R-Day break, I thought of giving that morning walk bit a try once more. 

The difference this time: I did not push myself to it. I must admit that over the last many attempts, I lost out because of pushing myself into it. Somewhere between a brisk-walk day and lazy winter morning, I would lose the energy. I decided to explore it this time, not drive myself up the wall. Have done it for a mere six days till now. And earned delights that many times more.

Like the birds having their breakfast which I have written about in my earlier post. Then the huge walker traffic. Like an elderly neighbour on the first floor of my building wing who I never knew before, but who smiles warmly in the morning chill - start to friendship! 

The best of all delights is that beautiful sunrise view when I walk up the road. From where a couple of hills overlook Film City, Aarey Colony, their jungles, sets and fields between. These are winter's best days. Nothing more exciting than to watch cottony mist settle between clusters of trees and permeate the daybreak chill. 

It's the time of the day when milk distributors and newspaper boys are scurrying between buildings to provide those supplies. It is when some housewives are busy in the kitchens, wrapping up lunches and breakfasts for their spouses.

I discovered how late the sun rises in this part of India. So unlike Chennai that gets its daybreak at about 5.30 am and Bangalore that lazily wakes up at about 7 am. As for the walkers, there are those who make sure to touch the end of the road that breaks on top of the hilly slope, to descend into film city. Non-motorable as there is a mound of mud at the sudden descent that has not been flattened on to the road, probably on purpose to avoid traffic.

A Suryanamaskar by an elderly gentleman, some neck exercises by others, a group of women beginning their day with sunrise smiles, office-goers taking a quick look at the view while waiting for their buses...

A couple of days back, I watched a laughter club group have its impromptu morning session and laugh away to glory - probably common to parks in neighbourhoods. But a delight to watch out here.

The other day I veered off my regular walking track and moved further than usual. Another delight: an entrepreneur selling juice - health juices without sugar. Ginger, Tulsi, Pudina, Bittergourd, carrot, beetroot, and some more varieties. 

He arranges them on a wooden plank that he places on his two-wheeler's seat, by an obscure corner. Tied up to the seat's rear handle, is a plastic cover to trash the plastic cups in. Entrepreneurship at its best.  And walkers delight in the mix of juices giving them that content feeling. Only wish he had paper cups instead. 

Some days, I walk for longer. Some days, for sometime lesser. What I only hope is that this new-found enthusiasm of mine is not short-term. I wish this one's for lifetime - this spurt of energy that makes me get up at daybreak even if I have missed a good sleep. I pray these delights last long...for a lifetime.

Am a lot more active than a few days before. So it should work!

When colour kills

Bottle-green saree with fancy sequins for the prospective mom-in-law. Bottle-green saree with a copper-sulphate blue border...again with sequins, for the bride's mother. Another dark green saree for the bride. A parrot-green drape for the bridegroom's aunt. And something similar for a couple of other relatives. As for the men, nothing less than designer sherwanis.

It's not an Ekta Kapoor sitcom. The czarina's TRP driver zing no longer exists. The sadder part of the bit is that she has left behind clones among other Hindi soaps. The costume list above was fo the Sangeet ceremony of Ragini, the venerable coloured sister of her fairer friend Sadhana in Bidaai. The core point of this serial is about exploring racist feelings underlying the Indian society. A sure-shot TRP grosser not so much because of the core issue itself, but the exquisite costume sense of its makers. 

Am tiring of watching Sadhana with her tearful looks and bright coloured sarees. Or the glitter-obsessed saree sense of her sister in-law. Or for that matter, her mom-in-law Vasundhara with loud make-up. Agreed India is all about colour. Agreed housewives are the ones hooked on to Bidaai more than the rest of the family. Should that give channels an excuse to convert each episode into a home-based fashion show? Give us real characters please! 

Togetherness

Is when you feel free to hold your footwear in one hand and clasp your partner's hand with the other... while walking away on the shore. Unmindful of the crowd. Looking at the waves. Under the early evening sun.

My camera-shy guest

Sometimes, guests come in, uninvited, and leave you with the most amusing of moments! Am talking of a few minutes back. In our cage like home at Mumbai (with shutter-windows that have box-grills outside and no balcony), we hardly have guests. It's despite a lovely home, clean fresh air and a close-to-lovely view outside. 

Just a while ago, I had an unusual guest at home. I moved from my PC to my bedroom and found the floor unusually clumsy. Maybe it's that dusty thermocol that dropped down from the slab above, I thought, my mind hitting on ideas to convert that piece into a little shelf. I shut the window-shutters, lest the room gets more fine dust. And lo!

A pigeon flaps its wings violently from above, moving all over the place. For a moment, I was shocked! `Whew! What an entry young lady, or are you a male!' Since the pigeon was at the window and flapping away, I thought it best to open the door of our attached toilet. And did it. Foolish thought...there was no way the pigeon could pull those glass panes out and fly!

``Calm down....calm down...relax!'' I said these words and realised...Oh God! How will it understand! And flash comes the memory: Shah Rukh Khan and Amrish Puri in the pigeon-feeding scene of Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge. I went ``Phurrr...Phurr....'' and it occurred if I made that sound like kids make...pushing air between pout-closed lips, it may work. Cannot quite describe that sound in words. But it worked. The wobbly bird quitely flew over a luggage bag placed on my cup-board. And turned its head away in all directions, calmly.

I seized this chance to open the window. But the bird would not budge. A minute or two later...I still wondered what to do as the bird seemed to love it there! `Maybe I should feed you', I muttered to the pigeon and ran towards the kitchen, before which I grabbed my phone to take a suggestion or two from my husband.

Believe it or not, he said, ``Just click a picture and keep!'' Huh! I went back to the bedroom. By now, a fellow pigeon stood guard at the window-sill for my guest. I picked up my camera lying on my floor-bed and was getting set for the first shot. My guest, instead of posing for the picture, hopped easily to the window-sill, the grill, and flew away. Sigh! A good shot lost! And so unlike our camera-loving celebrities who pose away at the sight of cameras and feel of a few flashes!

I should have just stuck to feeding my guest rather than indulging in souvenir hunt! I still love you my guest, for you are one of the many of your flock who make my day with your mere presence on the building opposite, fluttering away with your friends, fighting, making up, basking in the sun, and performing acrobatics.

On my morning walks that I began in the past few days, I discovered where the birds got their food. Generous amounts of roti crumbs thrown out of kitchen windows between 7 am and 8 am. One side of my flats-colony compound has a high-wall with many holes and hollows. Home for sparrows in the morning. 

After 7 in the morning is when not just sparrows, but pigeons, mynahs and crows throng that side of the compound for their breakfast. Another side of the compound is privy to a couple of pigeons alone! Trust me, in a few minutes, they leave the place as clean as it was before, with every crumb gone. Need a lesson in cleanliness? Just watch them eat!

Businessmen are not Gods

Having lived in Bangalore all my life, its transformation from a sleepy Public Sector Units hub to a noisy Information Technology core did not quite amuse me. While PSUs such as HAL, BEML, NGEF, ITI and the likes created jobs without interfering with the city's cultural essence, the IT lot invaded Bangalore with marked arrogance, pampered by tax-sops and the products of IT and BT boom became messiahs of the city.

Similar is the treatment businessmen received elsewhere in the country, from mere money makers to demi-Gods. I remember the mid-year time in 1999, when businessmen from Hosur Road, that houses Electronics City, taking up shovels on the road to clean up the mess that the road was in. Today it is one of the top class roads. 

In the thick of controversies and hype over crumbling Bangalore infrastructure that IT honchos indulged in, the lot got a State approval for a road on stilts - exclusively for Hosur Road, while the rest of Bangalore cried in agony over hopeless traffic.

Corporate firms that give mediamen hardly any access to information unlike government agencies, get placed on a pedestal. The Ramalinga Raju con-fest that would have gone unnoticed but for recession coupled with US lawsuits glaring in the face, gives reason to introspect.

Bangalore, reflects the mood of India Inc.

We worship our businessmen for creating jobs when we should as much as acknowledge them and leave it there. These businessmen and their businesses claiming to put India on the knowledge map of the world, somehow get interested in scooping off huge chunks of land (logic: what best insurance for a company than land?)?. They more often than not make decisions and do charity that suits their businesses.

In the aftermath of the Satyam gala loot revelations, what is appalling to see is that our businessmen and corporates have still mooted for Narendra Modi as PM!. Modi who one cringes at the thought of having as a leader, leave alone grabbing the top job. Modi whose role in the Gujarat genocide glares over the top on his CV. Modi who in all earnestness should be labelled a fascist. More shocking that even Preity Zinta moots for the chief minister who paints his state with his pictures all over.

We idolise corporates. Media rarely has stories against major firms and people who head them. We want to believe they are people of principles. We love it when they talk big. And what do they do in the bargain? 

They do what suits their businesses the best. They try to garner maximum tax-holidays to up their company profits. They have something backing them - that they create jobs. Will they take blame if they axe jobs too, with similar panache? You decide. Businessmen are not Gods, remember!

Lost in colour

A hot morning. Hordes of devotees visiting the temple. Not the time to rest! She sells colourful toys, cell-phone covers and fancy paper fans. The ardent seller is however lost in the din of the morning sun and the colour flashes.

What did you do this 26/1?

An R-Day holiday is more often than not used by people to plan escapades, do family get-togethers and even party.

During those daily newspaper days, it was just another day for me, with low traffic on roads and my head really with vox-pop assignments for quotes on how the day was celebrated across the city. During the magazine days it was about taking a walk near the Parade Ground in Bangalore much after the R-Day ceremony was over, my office being a minute's walk from there.

After many years, I managed to scramble downstairs at the Society quadrangle this morning, after a neighbour called me over. I did expect a flag-hoisting ceremony, but was not sure about the time, or the dress-code. The flag-pole decked up and even many residents turning up in white by default, tri-colour badges, balloons, festoons and toddlers at their fancy best, it was reason to feel elated. About 30 of us would have gathered at the spot for the flag-hoisting, a small affair compared to grandiose Rajpath parade in Delhi.

A satisfying experience. Look at your national flag being unfurled and sing the national anthem! Wow! What a feeling! Takes you back to school days. Makes you feel a sense of responsibility. Something collectively done, something that tells you that you belong to one country in spite of the many Raj Thackerays going around towns proclaiming there are foreigners of Indian origin in their territory. Something that brought back memories of those horrible 60 hours of 26/11.

With the fire around 26/11 dying down, Mr Raj Thackeray has made a comeback. But need he also to be told that he and we belong to one country? And not several states alone?

I did get back home to watch a few snatches of the R-Day parade. But I must say that the experience closer home was best.

Of awards and gimmicks

Shut up.

The two words that shocked the star-studded arena at Screen Awards 09 were shown repeatedly to garner TRPs in the run up to its telecast. What I write further, is purely from an audience point of view.

Ashutosh Gowarikar pulling up Sajid Khan for his over-the-top mockery in the name of humour. And Sajid reacting by saying, ``No one's father can stop me.'' One cannot expect every member in the audience to enjoy your humour, but to hit back at someone who in all anger, has objected to your unsavoury remarks! 

His humour is good no doubt. Not when he takes the liberty to poke fun at other people's work non-stop. Ditto with Farah. She said in an interview that people should judge the spat after watching the show. And she was right.

More reason to get irritated with her brother's obnoxious sense of entertainment emerged. No one is a saint. But imagine you have sweated yourself out, dreamt your dreams, put up a piece of work on display and even received a verdict for it - be it a piece of art, published print work, or even a film. You go to collect a prize, an award or even a certificate and what do you get? The host poking fun at you, your work and at others. That he or she pokes fun at himself or herself is not a great consolation.

Humour needs humility to begin with. Humility to make people laugh while you have reason to cry. The least Sajid could have done to calm Ashutosh's temper was not to interrupt while he was having his say, and simply accepting the man's remarks at least on the dais. The most irritating of those Sajid moments was when he perched himself on Ramesh Sippy, and went around begging people for money.

For more reason than one, even if I have my own reservations about how Ashutosh Gowariker went about his work with historical inaccuracy in Jodhaa Akbar, I did feel he had reason to feel incensed.

Making fun of Neeraj Pandey's dressing sense! It is rude to say the least, to make fun of someone's dress at a public ceremony, Neeraj Pandey's chewing gum showing his attitude apart. The recipient who came back to the stage for another award threw in a line, that he may have to buy clothes now, looking at Sajid.

As for the performer-director Sajid Khan, he took the liberty to poke fun at most nominees, but when it came to facing the consequences, he was not willing to, in the right spirit. Damage control by Farah was no big deal.

Needless to say, even without saying a word, the applause that the audience gave Ashutosh Gowariker was enough to prove its point, much louder than when Sajid hit back. And the director did walk away with the top honours.  Despite Sajid. 

In the name of Ram!

If those visuals of savage men hitting girls at a Mangalore pub shocked viewers, I would at the least say I was not surprised. As a woman it only makes me feel more unsafe though.

What can one expect from a State with its ruling party's philosophy so rooted in promoting fundamentalist ideology? The latest incident may have shocked the rest of India. But for those living in the coastal belt of Karnataka, it is just one in the series of many such incidents blotting the landscape.

They call themselves Sri Ram Sena and obviously are a fringe group of the larger Sangh Parivar. In the name of Lord Ram/ Rama, they unleash terror that resembles Taliban-style execution. BJP leader Rajnath has condemned it for posterity's sake and said he will hold discussions with the chief minister. Lip service. No clarity on what action they plan. Only 10 of the 40 vandalisers arrested. Mangalore, has witnessed riots before where Muslims have been targetted with no mercy. 

Along with the coastal districts of Karwar and Udupi, the place has seen aggressive saffronisation in the last two decades. Spitting venom at anything non-Hindu and creating discord and violence have been the mainstay of politicians in this region, fuelled by the various religious heads who get BJP its Hindu votes. BJP may declare it has nothing to do with the group. How can one forget that it is thanks to its reign at the helm that they are bold enough to go about with their hooliganism!

I hardly have any faith in the BJP leadership that will at best wait for the outrage to die down and act as if nothing happened.

Most people may not like it. But I as a citizen find their indoctrinated actions identical to Islamic extremism. And the veiled fundamentalism within Christian organisations. We don't need a Taliban in India. Taliban exists here in all corners, and varying forms. And I must say, across religions. 

I also find it very similar to what Raj Thackeray practises now and what Bal Thackeray preached and has been inflicting all these years - albeit in the name of language. They are all branches of the same tree. 

Going by religious logic, they named themselves Sri Ram Sena. It should mean to protect the cause of Lord Rama. Rama was not an activist. He eulogised what it meant to be a good human being - an obedient son, a devoted husband (who nevertheless dumped his wife), a doting brother and a principled leader who ensured the safety of citizens in his government.

On the contrary, groups such as these have decided to make it unsafe for citizens, particularly women. The Mangalore incident probably has threads that run deeper. Secretly, the members (that's too respectful for their horrendous deed!) have only become happy for all the publicity they've garnered. So will they come out in public and say they will kill people just like the Taliban does? Or go ahead, attack people, kill and then say they did not do it?

About a year back, Raj Thackeray's goons began to pick on taxi-drivers out to earn their bread, far lesser than what he enjoys and hit them in the open while his wife watched over from their balcony. Soon his terror was unleashed and he continues to spit venom. 

Five years back, it was the turn of Kannada Rakshana Vedike people who could not tolerate the release of movies in languages other than Kannada. And so vandalised theatres, sent cinema hall owners running for cover, and made watching films the most unsafe thing for a few weeks.

Now these men have picked up women who could not defend themselves, who had to run for cover for `violating Indian values'. And what were these men doing? Protecting Indian values? I think the very essence of Hinduism is tolerance. 

By abusing and molesting women in public, they claim to uphold Indian values? They were doing something most un-Indian! What do they expect women should do in the name of values? Lock themselves up at home? Would they do this to their wives, sisters and mothers too?

In Karnataka, the reigning chief minister Yediyurappa fell at the feet of all and sundry godmen who hold enormous clout in their respective territories (read castes). And appeased them well too, once he got power. I dreaded the day BJP would come to power in Karnataka. And knew they and their fringe groups would unleash terror, only to wash their hands off soon. And sing self-praise of `development'. 

Lord Rama does not need these people to protect his ideals. It is they who misuse his name for their own selfish gains. Those who suffer in the bargain are people braving the streets for their livelihood. 

PS: Wondering aloud: Why are the channels calling them activists? Gives them some legitimacy. Why can they not call them hooligans?

Gandhiji's three monkeys!

Thirst. Hunger. Anticipation? Not sure. The three monkeys surely remind us of Gandhiji's moral preacher monkeys. These three however have no time for a moral science class. They would rather go looking for food and water!

Pic Courtesy: C V Rajesh

Location: Elephanta Caves

Cottage Airport

This is the only available waiting area at the Vishakapatnam Airport. When I first alighted outside this airport, I was amused at its sheer size, resembling a quaint bus terminal in some far-away holiday destination. Smaller than Bangalore's now non-functional HAL Airport. Interesting, considering the city is an important naval base. And there is some holiday traffic too. Notice the picture of Dr B R Ambedkar hung on the wall, and the Security Check entry that opens only about half an hour before departure. A new terminal is getting built and may be thrown open soon. But nothing can beat this cottage like structure for an air travel terminal.

Lessons in slavery

A 19-year old neighbour of mine is just married. Married for over two months. When I met her first, I did not think she was that young. She came home once to exchange a pleasantry. Chatting with her shocked me.

A girl still high on her teenage and raring to go. She wants to study. But her parents from Neyveli thought it finer to pack her off in marriage to a `well-paid' employee of a top infrastructure company.

Her prospective parents-in-law or mother-in-law had promised to let her continue studies soon after marriage. Once married (and for hardly a month), pressure has begun. To conceive. And to place a grandchild in mom-in-law's lap. Her husband, still basking in the warmth of his new found love, has bowed in to his mother's demands. And although he understands the importance of her need for graduation, he prefers to give in to his mother's craving for a grandchild (read grandson). In semi-urban vocabulary, the word grandchild is synonymous with grandson. 

Shocked by this revelation bordering on voyeurism, I lectured her about sticking to her guns and studying further. She did not turn up to meet me for weeks after that.

Another neighbour said she managed to enroll for a degree course by post. Huh! Relief.

A couple of days back, we caught up for a chat at another neighbour's. Every few minutes she would look up the clock. Deadline 8.30 pm. That's when her husband returns from home. She wanted to get back for him. In the banter that followed, she said she had to remove her husband's shoes from his tired feet when he came home!

What do I say? Anger? Irk? Irritation? Amusement! My head reeled when she rattled this off in all innocence (I say this because most wives hide their obedience with a mask of independence, and skillfully).

The truth is, that she was schooled at it. To be a maid, to serve her husband's ego, to pamper his masculinity and be the obedient housekeeper. 

``My father asked me to do all this for him - remove his footwear as soon as he came home, stay home when he arrived, cater to him in every possible way,'' said the girl. That day, she had not removed his footwear, and the husband who got pampered for a couple of months, was only too angry about it. 

At 19, she should have been prancing about at college and having the best time of her life.  Instead, here she is, cooking and cleaning every day, not willing to step out of home without her husband...

My neighbour also hinted that dowry had changed hands in her marriage. Huh! Dowry from her parents to his parents, so that she becomes his maid without a pay.

It's 21st century for God's sake! Our metros may scream economic independence for women, changing attitudes and even men who understand better. But the real India is this - where women are programmed to nurture their slavish attitude, serve their husbands, their parents in law, their children, and probably even grandchildren.

Maternal instinct and Venutian love is very inherent in the woman. Nothing more satisfying for her than her man admiring her beauty, her cooking and her housekeeping. What is not right is this horrible conditioning of her mind, to massage the male ego. Servility and submissiveness are dumped so extensively into the woman's mind, that they take on the shape of emotional dependence. 

And emotional dependence is also the result of emotional abuse -- a term yet to find usage in this part of the world. Tell me which family is free of emotional abuse? And which woman has not given in to it at some point of her life or the other?

Our parents try their best to programme our minds for a married life. Pack off and let go of the daughter. Train her to be a wife. A submissive one at that. But pack her off still. With enough cash and kind. Make her a slave.

When things go wrong in her marriage, think of the society first and her welfare the last...this cycle will not end....not at this rate.  

Temptation

In the confines of their cardboard cartons, they elegantly enhance the colour riot. On a woman's tanned hands, they clink sensuously. Break them, and a single piece can poke the blood out of your skin. Pass by them as they bask in the morning sun on the pavement store, and they are what you call...temptation. Craving for colour. For clank. And some attention. 

Mr Dutt, which era do you belong to?

Actor Sanjay Dutt, nursing political ambitions, trudging the path his beloved wife and the Samajwadi Party politico Amar Singh have carved out for his haven, just made a shocking statement. Sanjay Dutt, whose dark past looms over his head still. Despite Manyata. Despite his grandiose political foray.

That his sister Priya Dutt should no longer use the family name as she does not belong to the Dutt family. Whatever be the state of his mind, unlike his sister who has tried to ward off any family tensions between the siblings, he has decided to damage his father's legacy outright.

I am married. Much before we got married, my husband and I mutually decided that I will keep my maternal name that forms my identity rather than mindlessly change it. Who has the right to change my name just because I am married? Not the society that cares nothing about my safety if I dare walk out of my home at midnight. Not the system that somehow believes a woman should stay indoors to stay away from wolves, rather than reign the wolves in. How should a change in my name make me any more safe from their prying eyes? How does it make my character any more pious? Or any less?

Use this logic Mr Dutt, you have no right to decide your sister's family name. It comes to her with parentage. Her parents. Your parents. You are a sibling ambitious in politics now. Do not drag conservative gender-bashing into the game. 

The President has come, is coming, will come....

Like the billions across the world, I was happy to see Obama at the swearing in ceremony, although bemused by desi channels go wild with the detailing. After all, he is not India's president!

This morning, I read that some roads at Gorai village just got a makeover, because the honorable President of India was coming! Villagers were angry that only roads she would get driven on, got a makeover. 

For all the inspiration I found in Obama's speech about the US of A being a nation of Christians, Muslims, Jews and Hindus, of the need to work at remaking America, this bit of news back home, and not far from where I live, was such a dampener!

True we hate Bush and are relieved he has finally relinquished his post. True we are angry with Israel's leaders for bombarding the Gaza Strip. Living as we do in India, we do not need others who we can hate. Our politicians making up for a motley group do inspire us enough to hate them.

What a difference! The man who's just taken hold of America's top office talks of uniting. And has even extended an olive branch to the Muslim world. And here, our politicians care not for their own fellow Indians, indulging in divisive politics instead!

We Indians! We need a chief minister, a prime minister or a president to visit our backyard so that it can be cleaned! 

What I learnt from what I gained

Being home-bound is not easy if one has been independent. More so if you are the kind who loves work, who thinks anything else that comes in the way of work a disturbance.

But for over the last 13 months, I have been just that - out of work. For a start it was about the need to set up home. Then came the trouble with family obligations. I just about began the job-hunt and revived my blog, when the long pending health problems that were already a bother, began eating into me.

On the negative side, there is a lot I have lost out on. Am penniless, live off my husband. Am out of work and yet my poor health won't let me work instantly. On the positive side, I have gained a great deal. Instead of focussing on the things i lost, let me list out what I did in the last one year that I did not, in several years.

I have watched a whole lot of movies I had missed out on, although at home. While at work I had not quite enjoyed movies for I thought they were an intrusion into worklife.

Being home has helped me become movie-aware like never before. The list just goes on - Mona Lisa Smile, Mansfield Park, The Mystic Masseur, The Householder, The Recruit, Hulk, Jodha Akbar, Emma, Pride and Prejudice (had watched it many times before), When a man loves a woman, 50 first dates, The Guardian, new releases like Race, Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na, Dostana, Rab ne Bana di Jodi...whew! That's quite a number...and just a sample!

Another positive. I made trips to town alone, explored Colaba Causeway, shopped at Crawford Market, and played host to friends who came down to Mumbai.

I have done other things I did not do before too! Watched one of the IPL matches! For me who had never been to a cricket match before, it was a treat. Maybe the real matches are different.

I surprised my dad on  his birthday, thanks to my husband who decided to fly me down for just that.

I also  hopped along for his office picnic that turned out to be a team-building exercise. I have been to malls for not just chilling out, but shopping, window-shopping, movies, books...chatting up with friends...these are things I never did before.

I watched a shoot at Film City - shoot for a horror serial. And was very excited about it for long after the shoot. Making friends among the crew of Hindi serials has opened my eyes further about film-making. Am learning to look at films from the point of view of the cameraman, the director, and the story-teller, rather than being an audience.

I managed to be home-bound and loved doing up my home on a budget too. With and without money. Would not have imagined it before. Getting friends among neighbours was the hardest among all the difficulties in this big mad city.

You can know a person for ages and walk past him or her without as much as a smile. Quite a culture shock that. But once I got them, it has been fun. I would not have imagined settling down to teach a bit of craft to kids. Here I did just that.

My health is usually not in great shape. What does it mean to stay home alone and fall sick, minus the care of your family? I got that experience first hand out here in Mumbai. Time flies. But not when you are ill. You cry alone, you suffer alone, you struggle to take those few steps to the kitchen, and yet when your people call, you don't have the heart to say things are bad. You see your husband do everything he can, and yet feel helpless. Tolerance of pain has something to do with it. Self-motivation has a lot to do with it.

When in a new city, you have no friends to shop with too! Have passed through that phase. But shopping with your spouse can be a pain too. Don't buy this. Don't buy that. You have a bit of that in your stock, so why waste money? This bit about having your spouse around for shopping I need to write in detail at a later date. But then I learned something really big after living with it...patience.

I have read books, devoured them, and yearned for more! Work had not spared much time to read books. Being out of it did. 

Am yet to get back to work. But would rather relish these before I move on. If I do remember many more things I learnt, will type them down again. For, learning in life is never-ending.

Business by the sea

At the lovely RK Beach in Vizag, business is very organised and happens hardly a few feet from where the waves crash. Vendors like these perch themselves at an even distance between each other over the shoreline of about two-three kilometres. And sell the tasty, spicy eatables. It's all perfect for a good stroll. The question...how many beach walkers would care to keep the paper they get these delicacies in? I am afraid few or none among the hundreds who throng the beach every hour. If the beach allows you a good stroll, a lovely sea-view and some fresh air, you have got to respect the place and not throw trash around. Stalls like these only encourage more trash. The logic holds good for any business on the beach...big or small...meaning shacks, restaurants, resorts. Would it not be sensible to make such trash audits?

Quality...whose?

Quality is a matter of choice! On the 7th or 8th of every month, I lose my cool. I scream, I argue, I throw a fit. Because I get pushed beyond limits. And all the trouble for something as simple as paying my internet bill.

How? It begins with the ritual of my calling up to enquire when I must pay the bill. My cable operator has a door-collection system in place. Just that the torture begins with a phone call. `Theek hai ma'm abhi bhej deti hoon!' That's the first reply I would get from the woman who mans the phone. Ask her when exactly, and you can be sure she will assure you, ``in about half an hour''.

An hour on, the guy does not turn up. The cable operator office is about a kilometre and half away and a three minute drive. So I call up again. This time she asks for my user id and I suppress my irritation while spelling the user identity out to her. She promises to send him in the next half an hour. By now my connection has been cut off promptly however, for non-payment of dues. The powerful lot that they are, they will renew it only once their boy gets my cash on hand. Rs 800. Not a penny less.

I wait an hour. The guy has not turned up. So I call back. Am obviously vexed enough by now. This time, another girl picks up and repeats the queries for the user name, my home address and other details. I remind her that it is my third call. My first call was at 10 am. By now, it is 1.10 pm. Sigh! ``Theek hai ma'm bhej deti hoon'' she rattles off again, like a parrot.

I wait. And wait. And wait, trying to keep myself occupied with other household work, putting off work that needs me to venture out. And wait. It's 3 pm. I have lost my cool. I grab the phone and demand to know why the delay. The same reply. I remind her that this is my fourth call. And that I cannot wait any longer. `Half an hour ma'm. The boy is attending another complaint in a neighbouring building. He will come by after that,'' she reassures. I remind her that I had made my call as early as 10 am and cannot be held up this way. I even threaten to walk down to her office and create a scene if he does not turn up on time.

My words have hardly had an effect on the voice I know nothing of, for the guy, the technician, has not turned up still. By 3.30 pm, I feel like hitting them. I scream at the woman. I threaten. I argue. I demand to know if she really understands what delays could do to lives. She raises her voice and says she will definitely send the guy.

I am angered all the more. I ask her for her cable operator boss' number. Obviously she refuses. I tell her obviously her boss prefers to hide instead of assuring us customers of quality. She is irritated by now. And only replies what she has been trained to do, that she will send the guy over.

These trained replies are more annoying than the torture in the name of service that these people provide. I yell at her not to talk in a trained voice. And tell her such delays could at times cost lives too. I ask her why in spite of my insisting so much, the option of online renewal has not been given to us. It has no effect.

She says she will send the guy as soon as possible. Today, I got so angry that I called up my husband to please enquire about Wi-Fi options in our area. The last time I enquired, the big firms said they had no feasibility in this part of the city.

My husband heard me out, called the cable operator office and said something I would dare not to. He said he would cut the cable wires running through the poles in our area and get them out of business soon if they dared repeat this inaction. The collection guy turns up at my doorstep, in 10 minutes. Wow! So politeness does not work!!!

I want to yell more at the guy. But he is a familiar face who has obviously come expecting a thrashing down. I warn him if this repeats he will have to answer for it. He sheepishly nods his head, assures me my connection will be renewed in five minutes. And leaves.

I wait. Five minutes. Ten minutes. And am back at my PC. No trace of connectivity. I call them up again. By now the girl on the other end is scared. She gets it renewed and asks me to restart the system. I have not heard it. I call back again. She asks me to check and revert.

And yeah. My connection is renewed. And the anger has had its effect on my body by now. It is 5 pm. I guess that's about the time people wind up work at their workplaces! If they choose to, the internet connectivity providers can be more action oriented, prompt and punctual. To think of, after all this grind through the day, it is not like the connection will not conk rest of the month.

There are days on which internet connectivity does not work for about five hours at a stretch! 

When this whole hype of broadband connectivity through cable for cost-effective service began, I don't think quality issues or regulatory measures were discussed for these service providers.

As for millions of internet users like me, it is just prayers that the connection does not ditch us when we need it the most! 

Words of pain

Call it by different names...

Vertical sheet of plastic cotton,

It makes life a jail.

They drop like hail-stones,

Lumps of my blood...

Not holding my being tight.

Kill me they do with their easy ways

And burden my being, not make it light.

What is it God?

That makes you suck my life blood out?

Life that wraps my soul somewhere beneath,

Am tired of laying still as the turmoil eats me inside.

I want to live life and shelter it in me

Till it flies out, takes wings.

Pucker not at my veins and vessels

   that so make my body.

Am tired of begging you for good health,

But I beg you again...Let me live!

Let me live to help others live.

Sunset on Godavari

Nothing enchants more than a view of the sunset. The visual treat only doubles when you get a riverview sunset while on train. It's the river Godavari in all its beauty ...Godavari that is so integral to the cultural ethos of Andhra Pradesh. This picture I clicked on Christmas day when I was on the train from West coast to East coast, through the air-conditioned window, which is why there is so much blue to it! For a start, I did not know such a train that touches the two coasts exists, until we made this trip - my husband and I, for thanksgiving. Konark Express moves from Mumbai to Vishakapatnam and then turns up north to reach Bhubaneshwar...one of the longest journeys I have done! We clocked over 30 hours when we got off at Vishakapatnam. Sigh! But if you are an urban worm tired of the greys and browns around you, such journeys are a blessing.

My take on Rab ne...

Long after newsprint has forgotten about it...it's not a review

The new year's first week is on roll. Most of us urbanes are back at work. Thank God the year turned without much event. My friends and acquaintances are either making it a point to catch up with at least one screening of Ghajini. 

Being homebound for the last one year, at least I managed to catch up with a whole lot of movies I missed while at work. On TV, at cinemas...

About Ghajini (Hindi) have not been that keen, because I watched the original which had this surprise element unlike the promos of the Hindi version that killed all surprises. Plus, I am no fan of Tamil cinema or its actors, but I loved Surya's acting in the original adaptation of the English version. That the director decided to change the ending a little may have drawn some Tamil audience. It makes me curious, yet I have not jumped the gun to go and watch it.

Just after its release, I caught up with Rab ne bana di jodi on a Saturday morning.  For all the inevitable outdoing bit about Rab ne bana di jodi and the unthinkable, and even unpardonable filmy goof-up of a wife not recognising her husband in a different frame, I still liked a few things about Aditya Chopra's Punjabi romantic escapade. Am writing this after weeks of audience writing it off. You do not find much use in heading to Yash Chopra banners expecting anything realistic, although Chak De was a step apart. I did expect a make-over story a la Jassi Jaisi Koi Nahin. The serial began well, as a desi version of Ugly Betty. As it progressed, it ended up throwing brands at the viewer's face and killed itself with the make-over succumb.

Here are a few things about Rab ne... that I liked . For a director who made Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge, characters in this seem more real.  I remember watching DDLJ as a college kid. I cringed at the just another masala film feel in spite of the effort at some authenticity. The film does have its stereotypes. But then, I had a reason to smile when he broke a stereotype or two too. He let the heroine take the lead and ride a bullet to get at her tormentor, leaving the hero awestruck.

A little later, it was about scorning the macho stereotype that is so overdone by Hindi cinema. The heroine hits back at the macho while shopping for clothes, looking hero saying women don't like men who are macho. Some realism there! And in a Yashraj film where I would not have raised my brows if there was a sensuous sari-clad heroine dancing away in snow! Wow! I am breathing fresh air in the middle of all the six-pack and eight-pack obsessed politicos of popular imagery.

The fact that a middle class Amritsar denizen working on a salary at a power firm has the magnanimity to love, that such love need not be mocked at, it makes sense. More so in an environment so ridden with brand-conscious icons who sway our masses with their money-making culture. 

That Surinder's heart beat for Taani as loudly as his own louder version of Raj! That the middle-class hero has somewhat found a resurgence in commercial cinema! I liked this film despite its flaws, for the same reasons that I liked Veer Zaara. Veer Zaara  tried its bit to talk of love sans borders, and sans the insane obsession with sexuality that oozes so much in some films. I liked it for the same reason as my getting floored by the more close-to-heart Khosla ka Ghosla.

 

That the house they lived in, was looking more real than in a studio…it was a studio - the audience knows it. 

The only other film that did justice to the middle-class hero this year was Jaane Tu ya Jaane Na. With no six pack abs, no gizmo flaunting hero and some brilliance in its narrative, it was a heart-warmer. What's wrong with being middle-class and why the madness to portray every hero in plush homes? Remember those Amol Palekar flicks! Remember Rajanigandha, Golmal, Chitchor....Remember the flavour these films had before the angry young man's advent!

The climax was a mess-up for an otherwise tolerable movie. But something made me sit up. The parting shot. It made the otherwise bland ending so cool! It's the time people are marching out of the hall. The credit-roll narrative made even those marching out stay back -- to watch the middle-class innocence of Surinder give an account of his Japan honeymoon through snaps.

Anushka is good for a new-comer. The spoiler was that song with the usual Yashraj madness -- colour-coordinated extras, this time children. Am not sure if Amritsar is visible from a hill. The film does make me want to go to Amritsar.

Some cake, some smiles

A customary query that follows a Happy New Year wish on the phone is, `What did you do?' or How did it go? Back home in Bangalore, for the last few years it was about walking across the road to an old neighbour's home to wish. Back in my school and college days, it was unmatched fun when a bunch of us girls and boys would organise Christmas games, races and contests for kids in our block of 16 homes and give away prizes before the clock struck 12. 

By midnight, elders would come out of their homes and wish everyone, smiles on their faces and egos left behind, irrespective of how subtly and how cruelly they fought it out at other times.

Last year, when my hubby and I walked into this rented home, we were lonely. Our new year arrived almost unannounced, as we contented ourselves watching fireworks lighting up the night sky from our window. This time, my friends who called up over the week and I had reason to talk of the smiles and `left-at-home' egos again.

After some cajoling, my neighbour Preeti and her husband organised an impromptu cake-cutting ritual for the kids around at 12. For over a quarter hour that followed, they ran around smearing cake at their family friends, eating some of it and wishing everyone around in the building's courtyard.

I live a life of relative anonymity in this place. But the turn of the year made me move over to complete strangers and wish them, even people who would generally not smile. For a while, it did not matter how I looked, or how well-dressed I was. It just mattered how some cake and some smiles brought about a lot of feel-good. It doesn't need a party to usher the new year in...just some smiles that cost nothing. After all, it is smiles that bring in peace and break walls. Peace that we Indians are suddenly yearning for, like the sane among Pakistanis, Nepalis, Bangladeshis and Sri Lankans...

My night earth, from above

Free-flowing verse has no boundaries. It comes from the heart. The results could range from mixed, to bad. But soulful it is. I find myself itching to write whenever on a flight. Watching the earth from just above the clouds is an experience that never tires one. My co-fliers are usually bored of their journeys. I find myself come alive then though...the following lines I managed to scribble on tissue-paper that comes with flight food, when my husband and I were returning from Visakhapatnam. Here goes:

In night's soothing calm

You look so harmless, ye earth!

They glow in the dark...the stars on you

Clusters of white and gold sequins

And you the black carpet.

Fancy flecks on a bridal drape?

Or a dusky goddess' million nose-rings! 

I feel like a child yearning

 to pluck them from your tree...

I smile, no laugh...no dance in me with glee.

No show could dare rival this splendour

It's not lights that burn from coal, water

                    or fuel nuclear,

T'is stars from the night sky above

                    one sees on your girth.

T'is a bride's decorated eyebrows...

                     one feels as the lights arch over 

                        on your lake waters.

Dark as coal are you

                    And so is the sky yonder.

I bend as the plane curves,

                   into you and away from you

It soars and dives,

Strangely, I have no fear.

Never came across poetry 

                   that gave this spectacle the right ode

Nor a painting that justly 

                    canvassed your grandeur.