I paid deposit for my internet broadband in April 2008. A year and six months later, I am shocked.
The cable TV operator who supplies the net line to us actually responds to my complaints, and a maintenance guy lands up at my door in half an hour!
If the main server supplying bandwidth is down, they actually inform me about it. They even call back to check if the complaint has been addressed! Or if the connection has been set right.
What a difference from those hairsplitting hours and days I lost yelling at them, and lost time on precious work that I could do too!
Is it that my tricks and stunts at getting them to renew my account every month or repair the line paid off? Or reporting non-stop to their bandwidth provider about their callous attitude did the trick?
A hunch tells me it could be a drop in the number of connections. The internet line provider was a monopoly out here till recently. Some friends I know switched to wireless internet because of such bad service.
During the Diwali weekend, this provider spent a fortune on pamphlets advertising his broadband packages. Competition works!
Just in case you wondered why I put up with shoddy service for a whole 18 months, some friends suggested a move to a bigger company's broadband service when they saw me going through torture in the name of broadband internet.
I had a sound reason not to. When we moved in to this home, I called up the big companies for a connection - hoping for that quality stamp on them. Two out of the three I called up said they had no `feasibility' in my colony. With 168 homes in an enclosure and 10 such enclosures on a single road stretch - meaning not less than 50 per cent of them for potential customers, I don't know what they meant by no feasibility.
The third company had only six months and three months package options, which meant I pay lumpsum. I wanted to tell them I was newly married, and had no money left to pay them such huge sums. It would not matter, would it? I would look a fool too. Why would they be concerned about my not having money?
I took heart by deciding not to give them business for as long as I could.
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Friday, 30 October 2009
Birds on my window sill
Indoor moments can be fun at times!
A pigeon waits for that opportune moment when you've left the window partly open, and flies into your room only to head for the slab above, even if it meant pushing the curtain away with its beak.
All your pleas to leave fail to get those mercy looks from the bird. What do you do then? Show gestures, to indicate the way out, Air India Maharaja style. It will not budge.
The next thing, play around with the window shutters a little. This time it knows there is some trouble in waiting. So when you make space for the winged guest to leave, it obliges. And hops to the window sill, perches on the grill ahead, and flies away.
Pigeon mornings in this part of my colony no longer begin at forlorn spaces. These days they flock to the inner walls of the storm water drain near my building. With the water turning to just a trickle after rains, they love its cool in the day, when these buildings shade over the drain.
...
Pigeons in my colony have grown smart over the months. Yesterday afternoon, they perched themselves outside the curtain to check for any noise from this room. In careful movements, they moved to the window sill just behind the curtain. A pigeon partly pushed the curtain to check for perils if any. What this one and its friend were not aware of, is that I was watching their silhouetted shadows clearly from my room.
When the bird tried to move in, all I said is, `No', like a teacher chides her student! Can you believe the pigeon moved back in as many steps? And came by again to check on the noise! I repeated the `No'. Now it gave up. And flew away. Its fellow pigeon waiting flew after it.
A pigeon waits for that opportune moment when you've left the window partly open, and flies into your room only to head for the slab above, even if it meant pushing the curtain away with its beak.
All your pleas to leave fail to get those mercy looks from the bird. What do you do then? Show gestures, to indicate the way out, Air India Maharaja style. It will not budge.
The next thing, play around with the window shutters a little. This time it knows there is some trouble in waiting. So when you make space for the winged guest to leave, it obliges. And hops to the window sill, perches on the grill ahead, and flies away.
Pigeon mornings in this part of my colony no longer begin at forlorn spaces. These days they flock to the inner walls of the storm water drain near my building. With the water turning to just a trickle after rains, they love its cool in the day, when these buildings shade over the drain.
...
Pigeons in my colony have grown smart over the months. Yesterday afternoon, they perched themselves outside the curtain to check for any noise from this room. In careful movements, they moved to the window sill just behind the curtain. A pigeon partly pushed the curtain to check for perils if any. What this one and its friend were not aware of, is that I was watching their silhouetted shadows clearly from my room.
When the bird tried to move in, all I said is, `No', like a teacher chides her student! Can you believe the pigeon moved back in as many steps? And came by again to check on the noise! I repeated the `No'. Now it gave up. And flew away. Its fellow pigeon waiting flew after it.
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
Which language is superior?
In the age of MNS style politics that wreak fear in the name of language, it is with some unease that one reads about `Convent' school teachers punishing children for speaking in their mother tongue.
We know English language gets us that much needed exposure to the world and its politics.
We know too, that in the recent years, it is unthinkable to let our children stay behind in the rat race without the knowledge of English.
We've heard the IT Czars of Bangalore and knowledge advocates of Delhi stress on the language in curriculum many a time.
But punishing children in the name of language! What's the difference between a violent political party bashing up drivers from a particular state or those who speak a particular language, and teachers who beat up children in the name of language at school?
Those in the know will tell you that it was their native knowledge that took them places - on the global map I mean. Where we as Indians should pride ourselves in our local culture, we love to impose an overly Western system in the name of education, and ask our children to become English speaking machines of the future.
For the moment, the incident has grabbed political mileage for the concerned politicians. What happens to the children who suffered humiliation? With the noise dies down, will they still be able to hold their heads up in their classroom?
Will their confusion about what the right language to speak is, clear too? My hunch is, it definitely will not. God save today's children.
We know English language gets us that much needed exposure to the world and its politics.
We know too, that in the recent years, it is unthinkable to let our children stay behind in the rat race without the knowledge of English.
We've heard the IT Czars of Bangalore and knowledge advocates of Delhi stress on the language in curriculum many a time.
But punishing children in the name of language! What's the difference between a violent political party bashing up drivers from a particular state or those who speak a particular language, and teachers who beat up children in the name of language at school?
Those in the know will tell you that it was their native knowledge that took them places - on the global map I mean. Where we as Indians should pride ourselves in our local culture, we love to impose an overly Western system in the name of education, and ask our children to become English speaking machines of the future.
For the moment, the incident has grabbed political mileage for the concerned politicians. What happens to the children who suffered humiliation? With the noise dies down, will they still be able to hold their heads up in their classroom?
Will their confusion about what the right language to speak is, clear too? My hunch is, it definitely will not. God save today's children.
Ambiguity
Is when you wonder if the destination means bliss, or the journey toward it.An aim. The longing. Those perils. And finally...
Sunday, 25 October 2009
A pagoda across the creek
Somewhere on an island across Gorai creek, is the Global Pagoda. This imposing spire invites you from miles away. Be disappointed that hardly any real pictures of it exist on the internet. It is `complete' in construction, but has a long way to become the real finished structure. In the years to come it is sure to become a must-stop tourist spot of Mumbai.Promoters of the Vipassana form of Buddhist meditation have built the structure up. After all, if we have a Lotus temple at Delhi for the Bahai faith, or the Auroville meditation centre, brand names like the Pagoda are so essential! The yet-to-be finished structure is a 20-minute ferry ride away from Marve and Gorai beaches, through the fishing territories on the backwaters of Gorai Creek.
Any Esselworld ferry will take you to the spot. We took the ferry from Marve's coast at Malad. The centre's compound is adjacent to Esselworld entrance. What a contrast - one is about worldly abandon, another about being less worldly. A walk into the inside of the grand pagoda will leave you disappointed if you plan to meditate there, just as its giant dome cools your senses (and your skin) thoroughly after a hot afternoon walk from your ferry alighting point. Your sweat will not go in vain.
Only those who complete the 10-day Vipassana course are eligible to spend time inside the hall.
My gnawing doubt: is any other method of meditation under the giant structure detrimental to its cause? Or is it just a way of promoting their own method of meditation? If so, why call it a global pagoda of world peace? I mean, you need to be more inclusive on that front!
After all, every method to meditation is aimed at a singular purpose - seeking the Supreme.
On a personal front, my friends, hubby and brother accompanied me after me coaxing them into it. I took heart from the lovely ferry views and clean air leading to the giant spire. And of course the berry fruit cart we bought stuff from after the journey.
We had those `will-we make it to the coast?' moments too. On our return trip, the boat was manned by an amateur motorman. Negotiating through those gaps between stationary fishing nets was not easy. And the ferry halted right in the middle.
Instant talk by those in the ferry went back to the recent ferry tragedy at Kerala's Thekkady. My people came on my coaxing them. What if something happened? Its alright if I hit the creek bed, but what about them? God, let me not survive with guilt! Prayer is that ultimate weapon that a human mind resorts to in such no-win-in-sight situations. A prayer went up: save every soul in this ferry, with no damage whatsoever, take us all across safely!
Was I really being unselfish in this situation? I mean, it could have brought out the survivor in me! I marvelled secretly in that brief moment of selflessness. Did a trip to that `monument in the making' do it?
As if by divine design, the motorman's more experienced senior took the steer over after giving him some hard-hitting words I got no clarity of. The ferry moved. And in the direction we had to move in. When we touched shore, it was only natural that sighs of relief went up in our hearts. No wonder that a couple of us dashed for a berry-cart the first thing we saw after getting off, not even bothered about carcasses of fish buried in sand, we may be stamping on our way there.
Of course those berries worked away in our tummies later that day. My friend suffered more. As for me, elation worked its wonders. A trip of this nature could charge one up a great deal, even if the results are not gratifying. On our return home, I had all the energy to make a few cups of green tea nimbu cha for the bunch of us.
That night was about learning from my husband how to make stuffed idlis. Needless to say, our friends enjoyed his idlis!
The next morning, I stared out of my window into the horizon and looked lovingly at the pagoda silhouette on its distant horizon. The first time I noticed it many months back, I thought it was a church.
Thursday, 22 October 2009
The kids are watching!
Colors has managed to bring in those TRPs with the biggest coup in recent months - Big B.
Big Boss 3 has its big share of audience too. For all the two second disclaimer at the start of the programme, Wednesday's episode of Kamal (Kamaal) Khan's bottle-throwing at Rohit Verma was not only ugly. It was sick.
Should such violence be aired in the first place? Trust me I have nothing against people on the show or off it. But why subject our children to such episodes of foul language and nasty behaviour by inmates?
The online newswire is flooded with Kamaal Khan's ouster. Am hoping it is true. For all the parental guidance that the channel speaks of, it would be difficult even for a parent to justify to a child, why the most foul-mouthed guy is still around on the show. If it is voyeuristic aims at TRPs, it needs to be dealt with in a separate post.
Big Boss 3 has its big share of audience too. For all the two second disclaimer at the start of the programme, Wednesday's episode of Kamal (Kamaal) Khan's bottle-throwing at Rohit Verma was not only ugly. It was sick.
Should such violence be aired in the first place? Trust me I have nothing against people on the show or off it. But why subject our children to such episodes of foul language and nasty behaviour by inmates?
The online newswire is flooded with Kamaal Khan's ouster. Am hoping it is true. For all the parental guidance that the channel speaks of, it would be difficult even for a parent to justify to a child, why the most foul-mouthed guy is still around on the show. If it is voyeuristic aims at TRPs, it needs to be dealt with in a separate post.
Wednesday, 21 October 2009
Magic of Lights
Diwali is over. Lights decorating windows are gone too. Cracker noises have thankfully vanished. But something about this Diwali has been so special I could cherish for life.
Tired after a momo dinner, a bunch of us got suddenly energised when the momo expert friend declared at 12 am, half an hour after our sumptuous treat. As if momos were not enough, we had an excuse for a quick pastry voyage. And set out in our suburb. Cafe Coffee Day was closed. And so were the three pastry joints we relied on.
Our friend drove on, past Western Express Highway and into the city. ``Don't worry. He's thought of some place special,'' said S, the friend's wife.
Could it be Marine Drive, or simply some place in Bandra? We went past Mahim Police Chowky when this friend stopped by near a sleeping taxi driver to enquire about Diwali market. Whatever could that be? Cracker shops opened so late?
A kilometer on, the visual treat stunned us. On either sides of road in that near-zero traffic hour were lanterns of all sizes and shapes. They stretched over a mile, lighting up the otherwise throttle-traffic roads with heavenly glow. For a minute or two we gazed in daze at the lovely lights. I must admit those Chinese lanterns were not a welcome sight. The light and colour riot made up for that feeling though.
The market opens only after 9 pm, when the killer traffic eases a little. It's a rare treat to watch families and individual lantern makers quickly work through the glue and kite paper to bend, stick and pattern hanging lanterns. Night is when families venture out to buy lanterns too. A pity we did not carry cash along. We fell for innovative white ball lanterns that could make any room decor dream-like.We were not so lucky about the birthday cake. But this one beat any imagined slurp of honey dripping from the pastry. It made us want to spend the night on pavements.
Of late, the Diwali fad has travelled across the globe and as far as Obama and Gordon Brown, but no White House party can match such local splendour.
Pic Courtesy: Subhransu Das
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
Criminal Offence This: Noise Pollution
After a few minutes of being surrounded by playful children bursting crackers, I ran home. My ears were bursting with pain from that meaningless noise from diwali bombs and rockets. Five more minutes of that noise and my weak ears would have gone deaf.
I am a no-crackers person since teenage. This year, my husband did not buy crackers for his own reasons. My visiting cousin who loves crackers did not insist on buying them too, so we managed a cracker-less Diwali and still enjoyed it. And enjoyed it better too!
But one flight downstairs of our apartment building, and the noise was killing. It is as if there were no norms at all in controlling noise levels. I could hear crackers bursting as late as 12 am.
For the last four days, pigeons on my building and the one across suffered the noise, just as dogs that got confused with the noise on the roads barked away frightened. As for the cats, they were nowhere to be seen around with all the noise.
Parents who may not want to burst crackers too, are indulgent with their children. Children on the other hand love crackers. They feel deprived when their friends get to burst crackers. I remember how colleagues and friends felt generous enough during the festival, and bought crackers for children who could not afford them. Great intention, but a deed that does not benefit either them (except for the temporary pleasure), nor the environment.
The only way one can get them to feel otherwise, is to teach them how their crackers hurt the environment. It's time schools inculcated the no-crackers spirit in them on a massive scale.
The real after effects of this festival I read this morning. A news piece spoke of how birds and animals bore the brunt of human pleasure for noise.
I am still confused as to how human beings can derive pleasure from noise that erupts out of burning some chemicals. Real joy should come through sharing and caring, especially during a festival that means the triumph of good over evil.
Our idea of celebrating the festival lights has gone astray in that respect. Is it not about time that we made noise pollution criminal?
All the noise around global climate change would have no meaning with such blatant violations!
I am a no-crackers person since teenage. This year, my husband did not buy crackers for his own reasons. My visiting cousin who loves crackers did not insist on buying them too, so we managed a cracker-less Diwali and still enjoyed it. And enjoyed it better too!
But one flight downstairs of our apartment building, and the noise was killing. It is as if there were no norms at all in controlling noise levels. I could hear crackers bursting as late as 12 am.
For the last four days, pigeons on my building and the one across suffered the noise, just as dogs that got confused with the noise on the roads barked away frightened. As for the cats, they were nowhere to be seen around with all the noise.
Parents who may not want to burst crackers too, are indulgent with their children. Children on the other hand love crackers. They feel deprived when their friends get to burst crackers. I remember how colleagues and friends felt generous enough during the festival, and bought crackers for children who could not afford them. Great intention, but a deed that does not benefit either them (except for the temporary pleasure), nor the environment.
The only way one can get them to feel otherwise, is to teach them how their crackers hurt the environment. It's time schools inculcated the no-crackers spirit in them on a massive scale.
The real after effects of this festival I read this morning. A news piece spoke of how birds and animals bore the brunt of human pleasure for noise.
I am still confused as to how human beings can derive pleasure from noise that erupts out of burning some chemicals. Real joy should come through sharing and caring, especially during a festival that means the triumph of good over evil.
Our idea of celebrating the festival lights has gone astray in that respect. Is it not about time that we made noise pollution criminal?
All the noise around global climate change would have no meaning with such blatant violations!
Sunday, 18 October 2009
Celebration
Is when your friends surprise you after a hectic day of festivities, giving you the best moment of the day.
Is when you make that rangoli without any chemical-laden colour. It's your first attempt at the turmeric-kumkum pattern and a neighbour gets tempted to decorate her doorstep too.
Is when a neighbour who never spoke to you offers you some mango leaves for the doorstep decor.
Is when in the middle of boring glitz at your neighbourhood mall, you get floored by Rajasthani folk dancers with their energetic beats. And do not want to leave the mall.
Is when a kid walks into your home with diwali delicacies. Is when your maide attempts at dishes get their share of praise.
Is when after the festival, you can lie down on your bed and close your eyes with a smile...those sweet moments flooding your thoughts!
Is when you make that rangoli without any chemical-laden colour. It's your first attempt at the turmeric-kumkum pattern and a neighbour gets tempted to decorate her doorstep too.
Is when a neighbour who never spoke to you offers you some mango leaves for the doorstep decor.
Is when in the middle of boring glitz at your neighbourhood mall, you get floored by Rajasthani folk dancers with their energetic beats. And do not want to leave the mall.
Is when a kid walks into your home with diwali delicacies. Is when your maide attempts at dishes get their share of praise.
Is when after the festival, you can lie down on your bed and close your eyes with a smile...those sweet moments flooding your thoughts!
Wednesday, 14 October 2009
Real Diwali
What is real Diwali? In the last few days my head has been racing with the question.
A refreshing story in Times of India today gave me some food for thought.
Read this.
Diwali should be about respect for life...not just human, but animal and bird too.
A refreshing story in Times of India today gave me some food for thought.
Read this.
Diwali should be about respect for life...not just human, but animal and bird too.
Signs and Symbols
Two pots of Tulsi plant. A carelessly drawn rangoli, muggu, or kolam, in rice flour. A flower to adorn the plants. A lamp in waiting for the evening light. Symbols of piety. Nostalgia for me. Signs of tradition. Signs of home. Science Ancient. Medicine most trustworthy. But symbols and signs alone are they.Pic Courtesy: Radhika M
Who said only celebs are camera savvy?
Sweating after a two kilometres walk, friend S and I squat on the parapet of a shopping centre fountain in its courtyard, while our husbands go about their errands. Some guys are playing snooker a few feet away. A guy is busy selling soft drinks at his three-by-three feet stall. Feeling that cool from the water in that fountain tank is one thing.
Finding something you fall for instantly in that water is another. I snoop around to look for fish in the water. And find a turtle! We rarely find turtles as pets! My friend is as excited. We watch the little one swim around on the tank floor, settle down in one of the dents for a while, look for food and swim away disinterested. When we tap our fingers to draw its attention, it responds lovingly and swims to the surface.
S decides to click a picture of the turtle and focuses her mobile over the moving pool resident. Guess what? The turtle turns to the camera! He swims to the pool surface and sticks out his head to pose for S. After she finishes clicking the shot, he turns around and swims away. One thought only celebs were shutterbug sunflowers!
Finding something you fall for instantly in that water is another. I snoop around to look for fish in the water. And find a turtle! We rarely find turtles as pets! My friend is as excited. We watch the little one swim around on the tank floor, settle down in one of the dents for a while, look for food and swim away disinterested. When we tap our fingers to draw its attention, it responds lovingly and swims to the surface.
S decides to click a picture of the turtle and focuses her mobile over the moving pool resident. Guess what? The turtle turns to the camera! He swims to the pool surface and sticks out his head to pose for S. After she finishes clicking the shot, he turns around and swims away. One thought only celebs were shutterbug sunflowers!
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Diwali Deco
Some windows across in the other building are all decked up with lights.
For the last two days, cartloads of garbage is finding its way out from homes, in huge shopping covers. My studio too has gone through its share of Diwali cleaning. Some housewives have bought fancy lamps in advance. Others have rushed to buy some gold for Dhanteras.
The shopping centre at Gokuldham in my suburb is so bedazzled with lights, that you want to grab those lovely LEDs hanging like grapes from shops. Paper lanterns, crackers and sweets have piled up at shops and are getting sold out too. At the Oberoi mall, a giant LED lantern hangs precariously from the ceiling, over the mall's central court.
Every product in town has the Diwali Dhamaka tag to it! Home-maker friends of mine scour the newspapers, not for news, but ads and exchange offers. It is about that long overdue washing machine, or a tea table, or still better, a bedroom set. TV ads, LCD packages. Clothes. Gold...the list goes on endlessly.
With the market promising to pick up and that eager anticipation of future money in the household, families I know are hoping they buy up goods in advance. Of course, their shopping spree includes a little bit of expenditure on worship paraphernalia too. Goddess Lakshmi needs to be kept happy after all, while we humans convince ourselves that she means the home appliance we are buying up, she means the clothes we wear.
As for me, I love watching those umpteen paper lanterns that light up not just shops, but entire streets and shopping arcades before they find way to some apartment window. I must confess the temptation to buy them up is too hard to resist for me too. But that `eco-friendly' bell rings in my head just in time.
Something about these lamps irritated me when on my mini-shopping spree a few hours back. Chinese style lanterns with prints of Goddess Lakshmi. Agreed lanterns and lamps have undergone enormous design changes over the years. But considering China has swept through even the Indian God idols market, why this craze!
Probably had this God invasion and dumping of Chinese products had not happened, I'd have nurtured a different opinion. Does a Chinese citizen out there lap up anything Indian just as eagerly? Thinking aloud. Opting for those Pipli cloth lanterns from Orissa looks anyday a better idea. We're helping those artisans from our own villages and towns.
Wish I could map the route of these lanterns to check where they exactly came from!
My little deco plan is confined to a floral rangoli with earthern lamps. Made in India. Am assured completely. Can we as humans, step aside for once, from this consumerist mindset hanging over our heads? It's a festival to celebrate good over evil. Can we not keep it that way and hit ourselves less hard?
The more we consume plastic and gold in the name of the festival, the harder we're hitting at our resources. Let's shun that evil in us for a few minutes! And save some power and oil too!
For the last two days, cartloads of garbage is finding its way out from homes, in huge shopping covers. My studio too has gone through its share of Diwali cleaning. Some housewives have bought fancy lamps in advance. Others have rushed to buy some gold for Dhanteras.
The shopping centre at Gokuldham in my suburb is so bedazzled with lights, that you want to grab those lovely LEDs hanging like grapes from shops. Paper lanterns, crackers and sweets have piled up at shops and are getting sold out too. At the Oberoi mall, a giant LED lantern hangs precariously from the ceiling, over the mall's central court.
Every product in town has the Diwali Dhamaka tag to it! Home-maker friends of mine scour the newspapers, not for news, but ads and exchange offers. It is about that long overdue washing machine, or a tea table, or still better, a bedroom set. TV ads, LCD packages. Clothes. Gold...the list goes on endlessly.
With the market promising to pick up and that eager anticipation of future money in the household, families I know are hoping they buy up goods in advance. Of course, their shopping spree includes a little bit of expenditure on worship paraphernalia too. Goddess Lakshmi needs to be kept happy after all, while we humans convince ourselves that she means the home appliance we are buying up, she means the clothes we wear.
As for me, I love watching those umpteen paper lanterns that light up not just shops, but entire streets and shopping arcades before they find way to some apartment window. I must confess the temptation to buy them up is too hard to resist for me too. But that `eco-friendly' bell rings in my head just in time.
Something about these lamps irritated me when on my mini-shopping spree a few hours back. Chinese style lanterns with prints of Goddess Lakshmi. Agreed lanterns and lamps have undergone enormous design changes over the years. But considering China has swept through even the Indian God idols market, why this craze!
Probably had this God invasion and dumping of Chinese products had not happened, I'd have nurtured a different opinion. Does a Chinese citizen out there lap up anything Indian just as eagerly? Thinking aloud. Opting for those Pipli cloth lanterns from Orissa looks anyday a better idea. We're helping those artisans from our own villages and towns.
Wish I could map the route of these lanterns to check where they exactly came from!
My little deco plan is confined to a floral rangoli with earthern lamps. Made in India. Am assured completely. Can we as humans, step aside for once, from this consumerist mindset hanging over our heads? It's a festival to celebrate good over evil. Can we not keep it that way and hit ourselves less hard?
The more we consume plastic and gold in the name of the festival, the harder we're hitting at our resources. Let's shun that evil in us for a few minutes! And save some power and oil too!
Sunday, 11 October 2009
Krishna and PM
Its a relief that the prime minister has done an aerial survey and announced `relief' for the flood-hit in North Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh. Thankfully, politicking has not hampered his announcement. It's not the first time Karnataka has been hit by floods. It definitely means there are ways to look at building a flood relief system to minimise damage too. The number 226 for deaths may be a mere statistic. But for families that have lost them, they are people - breadwinners, loved ones, fathers, mothers, children...Relief announcements in multiples of 10 are a norm too. But is it not about time governments made public flowcharts showing the last paise spent?
This one is a picture of the Krishna river between the Raichur and Krishna stations, clicked in mid-August from my Mumbai-bound train, when monsoon was at prime. For me, Krishna - the name as a station, was a pleasant revelation. It bears the name of my favourite God.
Change in tone on river-linking
For a government that was over-zealous in treating river-linking as panacea to all water woes in the country, Manmohan Singh's mentioning of it being `complex' is a sign of hope too.
It's true floods and drought look beyond human control at face value. It is truer still, that humans messing up with nature and playing God by controlling rivers has a lot to do with floods.
Pic Courtesy: Radhika M
How to get crowds for a book release
Book releases of English language books in India are usually affairs confined to five star hotels, with the right dose of writers, publishers, and book-lovers.
The trend has switched to upmarket bookstores in the recent years, but the audience has still been a limited number. The book release of Chetan Bhagat's latest 2 States at my suburb threw the niche notion to winds. It took place at Oberoi Mall, Goregaon. To rake in enough crowd, the mall placed a prominent ad in the newspapers, announcing the book release, with the name of an actress.
The actress in question for the best-seller writer's book release - Vidya Balan. Glitter. Din. And a huge crowd. Not so much for the book, but Vidya Balan.
``I have never seen this huge an audience for a book release,'' she remarked to the crowd spread over two floors above the atrium where it happened. The actress added, that she related to the book because of her South-Indian connection. When you have your star quotient and are decked up enough for the shutterbugs, and at a mall on the weekend, what else do you expect?
She made a quick exit after the event. Needless to say, the writer spend the next couple of hours autographing copies of his book that sold like hotcakes. The book, is a love story. Its back cover summary is filmy enough for the sales to come in.
In my recent trips to the mall, I had seen a dip in the numbers. Marketing brains surely work overtime to sell more copies! Am wondering how conventional lovers of literature, and writers, would digest such sweeping changes in writing and marketing books.
The trend has switched to upmarket bookstores in the recent years, but the audience has still been a limited number. The book release of Chetan Bhagat's latest 2 States at my suburb threw the niche notion to winds. It took place at Oberoi Mall, Goregaon. To rake in enough crowd, the mall placed a prominent ad in the newspapers, announcing the book release, with the name of an actress.
The actress in question for the best-seller writer's book release - Vidya Balan. Glitter. Din. And a huge crowd. Not so much for the book, but Vidya Balan.
``I have never seen this huge an audience for a book release,'' she remarked to the crowd spread over two floors above the atrium where it happened. The actress added, that she related to the book because of her South-Indian connection. When you have your star quotient and are decked up enough for the shutterbugs, and at a mall on the weekend, what else do you expect?
She made a quick exit after the event. Needless to say, the writer spend the next couple of hours autographing copies of his book that sold like hotcakes. The book, is a love story. Its back cover summary is filmy enough for the sales to come in.
In my recent trips to the mall, I had seen a dip in the numbers. Marketing brains surely work overtime to sell more copies! Am wondering how conventional lovers of literature, and writers, would digest such sweeping changes in writing and marketing books.
`Bill please'
The doorbell rang. I rushed to open it. Bills for the month were paid. So who could it be? Milk, flowers, maid's salary, electricity, cable TV, internet...what could be left?
It was the newspaper vendor, sheepishly giving me a...bill. Relief. My relief was ironic that moment. For I had not paid up for four months. My non-payment had nothing to do with recession.
For some strange reason, the vendor stopped producing bills. Considering this agent has a monopoly on newspaper supply for residents of my colony of about 170 households, and some neighbourhood buildings, his customer base was good.
It's still a mystery - the sudden vanishing of bills. First they moved from a printed bill to a paper-bit with rubber-stamp. The next time, it was a few figures shabbily jotted down on another bit. I asked them each time they came by to collect money. Why this? No answer. I refused to pay. The boy the vendor sent would wear a perplexed look. But have no choice if I did not budge. Last month, I stood my ground again.
``Ask my boss why he's not giving bill,'' the young lad snapped, irritated. I was sure there were others who refused to pay too.
``Give me his number.''
``I don't have it.''
``No bill and no phone number too! Wonderful. Tell him I'll pay all the money up if he brings the bill.''
He left in a huff. My husband was bemused.
``Why not pay him? It's a newspaper bill after all!''
I was adamant. A faint fear did creep in for sometime. Will those guys land at my doorstep and create a scene?
The sight of that blue bill this time brought a secret smile inside me. I payed up instantly.
``You could have done this before too! Bringing the new bill-book,'' I told the vendor.
He gave a guilty smile. And left.
It was the newspaper vendor, sheepishly giving me a...bill. Relief. My relief was ironic that moment. For I had not paid up for four months. My non-payment had nothing to do with recession.
For some strange reason, the vendor stopped producing bills. Considering this agent has a monopoly on newspaper supply for residents of my colony of about 170 households, and some neighbourhood buildings, his customer base was good.
It's still a mystery - the sudden vanishing of bills. First they moved from a printed bill to a paper-bit with rubber-stamp. The next time, it was a few figures shabbily jotted down on another bit. I asked them each time they came by to collect money. Why this? No answer. I refused to pay. The boy the vendor sent would wear a perplexed look. But have no choice if I did not budge. Last month, I stood my ground again.
``Ask my boss why he's not giving bill,'' the young lad snapped, irritated. I was sure there were others who refused to pay too.
``Give me his number.''
``I don't have it.''
``No bill and no phone number too! Wonderful. Tell him I'll pay all the money up if he brings the bill.''
He left in a huff. My husband was bemused.
``Why not pay him? It's a newspaper bill after all!''
I was adamant. A faint fear did creep in for sometime. Will those guys land at my doorstep and create a scene?
The sight of that blue bill this time brought a secret smile inside me. I payed up instantly.
``You could have done this before too! Bringing the new bill-book,'' I told the vendor.
He gave a guilty smile. And left.
Saturday, 10 October 2009
Patchwork Nostalgia
What could be special about a ragged old wall-piece of patchwork? This one is a curio from the eighties. That was when netting plastic wire over glasses to make plastic flower vases, and patchwork pieces were a rage among housewives in my neighbourhood.Over later years, some housewives `graduated' to making bigger Mickey Mouse patchwork designs for homes. This design beat them all. I could not find its replicas anywhere through those changing decor years. My sister and I bid adieu to the piece with a heavy heart, a few weeks back. Not easy to let go of something you've grown up staring at.
Friday, 9 October 2009
Allergic Cold? Rush not to the doc
Rain. Sun. Rain. Clouds. Tricky weather this.
A trip to Bangalore and back. And it's enough to give you that cold and cough you dread. Unlike at Bangalore where working while cursing the weather and using hankies is a done thing, Mumbai's cold and cough bouts drain me out. Living on a hill with passing rain clouds waiting to pour, worsens it.
Hubby and I head to doctor. General Physician. I narrate my cold symptoms obediently. She knows what antibiotics to prescribe already. I tell her anyways. And add for conversation's sake, that Bangalore tends to cause me some wheezing, but not so now that I live in Mumbai.
What does she do? Goes on writing on that prescription slip, scaring me outright. And adds an asthma inhaler prescription. Why on earth an inhaler when my wheezing is history (it vanished two years back), and for mere allergic cough and cold that only need some intervention?
``You have to take it as a precaution. If you don't use it, I may end up not treating you in OPD (as an outpatient),'' she retorts.
``But...'' I shut up. No use arguing with doctors.
Inhalers for Asthma are Schedule H drugs. Side effects of these could range from some psychiatric troubles to bronchospasm. Read about these side effects.
``Doctors are so prescription-happy!'' I tell myself as hubby and I walk out of the physician's room.
``I am not going to use that inhaler if you buy it,'' I declare.
``I won't let you use it even if you want to. Don't worry,'' says he.
Relief. I dread allopaths. Such prescriptions only enhance that dread.
As for my cold, it got cured. Only for a few days. It returned promptly after the next round of 24/7 rains last weekend. I have not gone back to the doctor. Water boiled with cumin seeds and crushed Tulsi (Basil leaves) is doing the job. And better.
A trip to Bangalore and back. And it's enough to give you that cold and cough you dread. Unlike at Bangalore where working while cursing the weather and using hankies is a done thing, Mumbai's cold and cough bouts drain me out. Living on a hill with passing rain clouds waiting to pour, worsens it.
Hubby and I head to doctor. General Physician. I narrate my cold symptoms obediently. She knows what antibiotics to prescribe already. I tell her anyways. And add for conversation's sake, that Bangalore tends to cause me some wheezing, but not so now that I live in Mumbai.
What does she do? Goes on writing on that prescription slip, scaring me outright. And adds an asthma inhaler prescription. Why on earth an inhaler when my wheezing is history (it vanished two years back), and for mere allergic cough and cold that only need some intervention?
``You have to take it as a precaution. If you don't use it, I may end up not treating you in OPD (as an outpatient),'' she retorts.
``But...'' I shut up. No use arguing with doctors.
Inhalers for Asthma are Schedule H drugs. Side effects of these could range from some psychiatric troubles to bronchospasm. Read about these side effects.
``Doctors are so prescription-happy!'' I tell myself as hubby and I walk out of the physician's room.
``I am not going to use that inhaler if you buy it,'' I declare.
``I won't let you use it even if you want to. Don't worry,'' says he.
Relief. I dread allopaths. Such prescriptions only enhance that dread.
As for my cold, it got cured. Only for a few days. It returned promptly after the next round of 24/7 rains last weekend. I have not gone back to the doctor. Water boiled with cumin seeds and crushed Tulsi (Basil leaves) is doing the job. And better.
On the brink
For die-hard Bangaloreans living in Bangalore's once non-descript eastern side know this familar Ulsoor landmark. It is the spot where the road forks on the left before you approach the Ulsoor Police Station. It is a spot remnant of the real Bangalore of yore. It is all but a little temple with flower stalls that mark the place, opposite the Someshwara Temple chariot shelter and flanking the Yellamma temple's backwall (the shops in the backdrop hide the wall). Come festival season, this whole stretch, from the Ulsoor Bus-stand Petrol Bunk would come alive. Garlands, unstrung flowers, Ganesha idols ahead of the Ganesh pooja, puffed rice ahead of Vijayadashami and Ayudha Pooja, coconuts, incense sticks...this stretch was full of them.For the brand royalty kind, there was Sreedevi Hotel with its good food, the coffee grinding shops and the Ulsoor bazaar street.
That was, until this village Halasuru found itself suddenly bull-dozed with burgeoning two-wheeler and four-wheeler population marauding it to make way to MG Road and other central parts of the city. Metro, has turned the stretch into an open grave.
This little temple bears testimony to the immense ruthlessness of humans in the name of infrastructure building. City Czars rarely bother about destroying the original character of cities. Even if it is about razing down what was once the very popular jhatka stand. Over the years the horse-driven tonga stop became a haven All they are bothered about is, raking in the moolah - cash or credit, hype or hoopla. Places like the South of Mumbai have the luxury of some heritage saver groups hitting out at anything that mars the city's aesthetics.
Bangaloreans, are busy making their IT money and buying apartments on loans. Before they find enough time to fight back, probably eons away, ruthless greed would have turned this place to mud.
Wednesday, 7 October 2009
Wake Up Sid: real, refreshing, yet repackaged
Get serious in life! Just how many films have we watched with that overdone theme before! Wake Up Sid does just that.
Sitting there, with husband D and friend S by my side, those visuals took me straight back to Dil Chahta Hai, touted widely way back in 2002 as the coming of age kind. Over the past year, other films in this genre have made their mark too! We've had Luck By Chance, watched Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na and rocked with Rock On. Their stories were not the get-serious message oriented, but their scripts were, and targeted straight at youngsters.
Wake Up Sid more or less fits into the genre. Every scene of the film appeals to you, because you relate to its characters, its dialogues, and its sets. The somewhat closer to life film has its message etched right through, but does not get preachy. It took me straight back to Dil Chahta Hai. Peppy dialogues. Trendy clothes. Real places.
And while one is overloaded with backdrops from different countries for films, this one is refreshing for its closer home feel. Dil Chahta Hai had Goa. Wake Up Sid has Bombay (Mumbai did we hear?). A breathtaking terrace view of the sea and boats, the typical and overdone, yet very likable Marine Drive promenade, those little narrow lanes in the neighbourhood...some outdoors you take home with you.
Renting a studio flat and turning it into a dream nest is something most migrants dream of. When Sid and his friends help Aisha do just that, you wow at it. It could also be something as simple as converting a few slices of bread into a birthday cake, or Sid's mother desperately talking in English with that faint hope that someday she can become his...friend.
That generation gap and familial conflict between parents and youngsters of the current generation is handled by the director with some finesse. Small roles, but notice the pain that comes through when Anupam Kher and Supriya Pathak react to Sid's failing at college.
Or that scene where Sid's pizza bill is paid by someone who hates him at college, only for him to discover how he usurped her merit seat thanks to daddy dear's influence.
Artfully done and crafted with realism, Wake Up Sid is a reflection of today's society, at least part of it if not the whole.
The only issue is that while its plot is predictable, it looks repackaged. It's the script's sensitivity that saves the film. For instance, Sid has to land in a magazine conveniently, just as Aisha has. Branding of products has been done cleverly and taken advantage of. You are not spared those bright colours that make up for a magazine office, despite their giving that real feel to the place.
Wish the complexities and older woman-younger guy came through better. Effort has been made. Many scenes bring through some of them to fore too, primarily through Konkana's brilliance. But what about those self-doubts that plague one's mind during such attraction? And that million dollar question: Will it work?
Nevertheless, its a film worth the money you pay.
Green on my shoe
Jungle delights: A grasshopper on my shoe! Golden moments that make for a trek!Picture Courtesy: C Dhinesh Kumar
Location: Naneghat, off Mumbai
Tuesday, 6 October 2009
My bookshelf dream comes true
On my recent return from a Bangalore trip, D, my husband closed my eyes and brought me to my home studio.
Surprise. A bookshelf I had been craving for and dreaming of since our wedding. Part closed in glass and rest of it completely shut. Neat. It can hold most of my books now. And some of those truckloads of files in the name of story research too. A good second hand deal, D loves it so much that he would not want to resell it anytime in future...even if we shifted out!
This bookshelf strangely brings me some hope! Things we dream of may come true after all! Am inching closer to remove tackiness from my home office, home studio, home study...whatever you call it.
Surprise. A bookshelf I had been craving for and dreaming of since our wedding. Part closed in glass and rest of it completely shut. Neat. It can hold most of my books now. And some of those truckloads of files in the name of story research too. A good second hand deal, D loves it so much that he would not want to resell it anytime in future...even if we shifted out!
This bookshelf strangely brings me some hope! Things we dream of may come true after all! Am inching closer to remove tackiness from my home office, home studio, home study...whatever you call it.
Monday, 5 October 2009
Weekend whizzed by
Two cakes. Two candles. A surprise.
A movie. Some pasta. Yummmm...!
Two hours at the parlour.
A friend comes calling. Another, we head off to meet.
Coffee. Banter. Bombay rain.
A bit of nostalgia. Introspection. Hmmm...
My birthday weekend... just flew by.
A movie. Some pasta. Yummmm...!
Two hours at the parlour.
A friend comes calling. Another, we head off to meet.
Coffee. Banter. Bombay rain.
A bit of nostalgia. Introspection. Hmmm...
My birthday weekend... just flew by.
Friday, 2 October 2009
Bye Allen
Early July: Times of India Bangalore office internship. Metro Desk, said the Resident Editor. And I walked out scared on those neat white tiles, strutted past corporate cubicles spreading away left and right. I had seen this Metro desk chief before! College Fest. A journalism veteran called him cynical for his blunt views on market vs journalism.
A few days on at this reporters' corner: A better dressed and westernised fellow intern found favour with this man over me - the khadi-clad bore. Am I doomed? I wondered. Playing musical chairs to grab reporters' PCs . Stuck to keying in City Scan and events column. Promoted to typing the City Briefs at times!
Come Sunday: a neglect assignment. Which overstressed journo would want to wake up early on a Sunday, rush to Press Club for an outdoor story plant pick -up? But for me, finally there was a story to do! Not typing in Events!
Vipassana meditation camp. That was the story. Ten days of silence at a outside Bangalore on Kanakapura Road! We were there on the final day for some publicity to that `cause'.
Two days later, chief quick scanned my finished story on the PC, his signature wrist holding face style. Will it get past chief at all! Wondered a battered me.
`Who wrote this?' asked Mr Chief, aloud and rather curiously.
`It was me.' I hid back into the borrowed cubicle.
`It's good dear! Was it really you?'
`Yeah. We wrote it!' Co-Byline justice! He knew this story was mine. Thank God! `So you discovered me!' I muttered to myself.
By now in my head, he came to personify all of Bangalore journalism. Flamboyant. That swagger stood out. He was all over the place, and at all times of the day! As if he lived at the TOI office! And how he wore his heart up his sleeve! Colleagues calming him down when he yelled and shouted expletives or fought his seniors for his team! How he teased that sub-editor with her `flying nest -like' hair so openly she gave him a smirk and escaped into those back desks! Or pushed interns all over the city to write on and do stories without fear!
My `downmarket' dress sense obviously kept this celebrity scribe off! Vipassana meditation story won him over. `It's good!' came singing into my years thrice over the next hour! And it got published the following Sunday. I got a couple of bylines more, but this one gave me that `arrived' feel so much! He sure had that eye for quality!
A bunch of us interns went out for coffee and lunch with him at eateries outside S & B towers. Arguments over issues, his being called names by rivals, those marketing strategies of Times he loyally defended, or his arguing against my joining dream college - Asian College! I differed with him a great deal on women turning glamour dolls to sell newspapers. Or about why he was being so sexist. But I was glad it did not invite vengeance. He seemed to take it all rather playfully. He was not idealist material. A fun-lover who egged you with pep-talk, he was no doubt.
Through years that followed, I've heard many adjectives and anecdotes around this popular boss. From his well-wishers and detractors alike. Flamboyant - the must word. Amusing. `Colour' - a convenient label by a fellow political correspondent. Colour meant he and his stories were colourful!
I was not surprised either, that during his tough times and publication changes later, he did not recognise me when he walked into Express Library on some reference work. Reporters rarely remember interns. Once he remembered, he chatted away. And hinted at how he felt victimised by the paper he lived for.
Am sure he forgot me and my colleague who saw him off from our Reporter's Desk aisle soon after he left. Something in the way he spoke suggested, he wanted peace.
How does one react when those letters RIP stare out against his name on Facebook? It can't be. He is not old! Is it a prank? Googling confirmed it. Senior Journalist Allen Mendonca Dead. Age 49.
Obits have flown back and forth on blogs last four days. Newspapers reluctantly carried quickie obits too. His wife reportedly sounded out to his detractors that they did not break his spirit. He died peacefully, in sleep. How we die often defines how we've lived!
Bye Allen. You may not have known me. I have not subscribed to you or your style always. A picture pinned on your cubicle wall then sums up my best memory of you though. Ale splashing out of a wine glass and you revelling in it. The now defunct fortnightly Bangalore magazine Family had carried those pics. You loved that picture. Me will remember you best from that picture.
A few days on at this reporters' corner: A better dressed and westernised fellow intern found favour with this man over me - the khadi-clad bore. Am I doomed? I wondered. Playing musical chairs to grab reporters' PCs . Stuck to keying in City Scan and events column. Promoted to typing the City Briefs at times!
Come Sunday: a neglect assignment. Which overstressed journo would want to wake up early on a Sunday, rush to Press Club for an outdoor story plant pick -up? But for me, finally there was a story to do! Not typing in Events!
Vipassana meditation camp. That was the story. Ten days of silence at a outside Bangalore on Kanakapura Road! We were there on the final day for some publicity to that `cause'.
Two days later, chief quick scanned my finished story on the PC, his signature wrist holding face style. Will it get past chief at all! Wondered a battered me.
`Who wrote this?' asked Mr Chief, aloud and rather curiously.
`It was me.' I hid back into the borrowed cubicle.
`It's good dear! Was it really you?'
`Yeah. We wrote it!' Co-Byline justice! He knew this story was mine. Thank God! `So you discovered me!' I muttered to myself.
By now in my head, he came to personify all of Bangalore journalism. Flamboyant. That swagger stood out. He was all over the place, and at all times of the day! As if he lived at the TOI office! And how he wore his heart up his sleeve! Colleagues calming him down when he yelled and shouted expletives or fought his seniors for his team! How he teased that sub-editor with her `flying nest -like' hair so openly she gave him a smirk and escaped into those back desks! Or pushed interns all over the city to write on and do stories without fear!
My `downmarket' dress sense obviously kept this celebrity scribe off! Vipassana meditation story won him over. `It's good!' came singing into my years thrice over the next hour! And it got published the following Sunday. I got a couple of bylines more, but this one gave me that `arrived' feel so much! He sure had that eye for quality!
A bunch of us interns went out for coffee and lunch with him at eateries outside S & B towers. Arguments over issues, his being called names by rivals, those marketing strategies of Times he loyally defended, or his arguing against my joining dream college - Asian College! I differed with him a great deal on women turning glamour dolls to sell newspapers. Or about why he was being so sexist. But I was glad it did not invite vengeance. He seemed to take it all rather playfully. He was not idealist material. A fun-lover who egged you with pep-talk, he was no doubt.
Through years that followed, I've heard many adjectives and anecdotes around this popular boss. From his well-wishers and detractors alike. Flamboyant - the must word. Amusing. `Colour' - a convenient label by a fellow political correspondent. Colour meant he and his stories were colourful!
I was not surprised either, that during his tough times and publication changes later, he did not recognise me when he walked into Express Library on some reference work. Reporters rarely remember interns. Once he remembered, he chatted away. And hinted at how he felt victimised by the paper he lived for.
Am sure he forgot me and my colleague who saw him off from our Reporter's Desk aisle soon after he left. Something in the way he spoke suggested, he wanted peace.
How does one react when those letters RIP stare out against his name on Facebook? It can't be. He is not old! Is it a prank? Googling confirmed it. Senior Journalist Allen Mendonca Dead. Age 49.
Obits have flown back and forth on blogs last four days. Newspapers reluctantly carried quickie obits too. His wife reportedly sounded out to his detractors that they did not break his spirit. He died peacefully, in sleep. How we die often defines how we've lived!
Bye Allen. You may not have known me. I have not subscribed to you or your style always. A picture pinned on your cubicle wall then sums up my best memory of you though. Ale splashing out of a wine glass and you revelling in it. The now defunct fortnightly Bangalore magazine Family had carried those pics. You loved that picture. Me will remember you best from that picture.
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