Mind you, it is all in the mind!

We might be creatures of habit, but more than that, we are all creatures that are didactic, doling out imperatives at the slightest provocation or invitation. Frowning at my words? Well, has a day passed by without you either having uttered or having heard - “Mind your language! Mind it! Mind you, it is not just us, but…” you get the drift now?! Well, don’t mind me saying this, but I cannot let up this golden nah, ‘a million’ dollar opportunity to point out, we surely have double standards and are not fair when it comes to religion. 

Yes! Last year, the Tablighi issue (A Sunni Islamic Missionary gathering),  revolted and repelled us eliciting the staunchest abhorrence and justly so. At the height of an unprecedented pandemic, this gathering turns up in utter violation of all norms set by the police, and their subsequent behaviour, as reported by our media, is all the more deplorable. How then can we justify this latest gathering at Kumbh Mela(Hindu festival held once every 12 years and an annual gathering called Maagh Mela), of nearly a million folks, dunking themselves enmasse at Shahi Snan (Royal Bath, a ritual practiced at this religious gathering, Kumbh Mela) 1,2… maybe 3 happened too, but I have no information about that. Until the international media slammed this absolute disdain for safety and sense, the section which prides itself and hangs on every word from certain bearded bosses, went to the extent of claiming that the almighty himself is ensuring safety, moreover, every devotee gathered at the Kumbh has undergone tests, further, the much-abused river Ganga will wash away Covid et. al Seriously, if this were to be the case, what were we waiting for in this whole year, since last March? People could have been sent up to the river in batches, dunked in and emerged Covid-proof! The quickest vaccine drive ever! So much, that by now, our economy would have been soaring by ‘opening up this market’ for an international snan! It is only thanks to this international outrage, that the PM finally took some moments off his busy campaigning schedule to ‘suggest’ that at least now after the two ritualistic baths are done, the rest of the Kumbh can be symbolic! After nearly 2000 infections have been reported, one of the biggest Covid surges gripping the country, and the lakhs of people who have congregated will now return to their native places and for a change, the Mayor of Mumbai has wisely chided that these returnees will dole out Covid infections “like prasad” (Sacred food made and offered to God and subsequently to the devotees). Things have come to such a pass here, that lesser mortals like me, have to think twice or ten times and give up the will to live and then speak our proverbial mind! Well, mind you, we still are in a democracy, technically. 

If some of you are raising your eyes in skepticism, look around. Since the last 4 months there have been such hectic electoral campaigns and at least 4 states, starting from the southernmost states to those in the eastern part of India, have either just completed or have a few more phases of elections going on. This surely is a sign of our democracy thriving! Our hard working leaders have been giving such massive clarion calls relentlessly abusing, sorry, sharing their manifestos and promises to the voting public. Not content with outshouting and sloganeering, some have broken a leg or two (their own for a change!) in this honourable endeavour. They are berating the Election Commission for curtailing campaigning hours in the wake of rising infections, because each party and its high decibel leaders want the masses thronging at their political rallies. You cannot get Covid at such rallies, you see. You are gathered there for a purpose. Moreover, “practice social distancing and wear the masks please,” this has been standard advice by all these noble leaders, devoutely concerned about the voting multitudes. It is not their responsibility if the thousands that have gathered or been ‘gathered up’ are flouting these basic tenets. As far as they are concerned, they are addressing all the ones, living and ‘even the dead’ and solely for their well-being alone. 

Imagine putting in those long hours in the blazing April heat, enumerating the viles and wrongs of the ‘other party’. It takes a lot of research and excellent narration to pull it off. From poor souls honestly working their lives off in tea estates to beleaguered students wondering about their JEE exams, all are roped in this democratic exercise. Recently, I read in the newspapers that the Supreme Court has set guidelines on the permissible noise levels and use of sound systems. I am wondering if this can be applicable in the context of these high decibel elections too. I am sure that many of you would agree with me, that several leaders, the ones clad in white sarees to the ones with long flowing, newly grown beards, can all be heard by all near and far. If they are speaking in A constituency, by no stretch of imagination, those in all the adjoining constituencies of B, C and D might easily hear them without these voluminous microphones tearing up the ear drums. So, along with curtailing the hours of ‘appeal’ could the EC also withdraw the use of these explosive sound systems too, and at least spare the auditory sense, if not the common sense of our fellow citizens inhabiting the election zones? Or, are they actually immune to this high decibel, adept at drowning out the external cacophony and are able to tune into the melody playing in their heads, I wonder? 

As a child, I often heard this phrase, “it is all in your mind”, “we have the power and ability to control our mind” etc. I saw a clever manifestation of this early this year, not only did he control his mind to adhere and comprehend ‘his truths’ but he exerted impeccable control over the minds of followers as well. Yes! That infamous storming of the Capitol Hill! This former President had ‘won’ the election in his mind, and he wanted to ensure that the rest of the American public collectively be mindful of that sole truth. In his mind, he was very clear that by exhorting his already charged-up supporters to show up in large numbers at the Capitol and by constantly egging them further with “they stole the elections”chant, is surely not incendiary at all. What transpired thereafter was a shock that beheld the world, but more shocking was that Trump did not face the consequences of his actions, whereas the law enforcement, his supporters, violators all of them did. Surely, they were unmindful of another age old wisdom, the rich and the powerful often get away, and they did nothing to control their own minds. 

Now, as you and I, both know that a far more insidious, centuries old pestilence that continues to plague our world, communities, professions and societies is the deep-seated gender bias. It is a mindset that is set on the sense of entitlement, power abuse and sheer cultivated callousness. If you are pretending that this is a third world problem, think again! If you are certain that this is an ailment in the hinterlands, think again! If you think that this is a problem that pervades and is pronounced among the lower sections, gosh, think again! The tragic and chilling assault and death of Sarah Everard in the UK, caused by an officer, to another officer sharing some of the pictures of her remains over whatsapp, what comes to the fore is the impunity with which the perpetrators operate. The most glorious examples of entitled males behaving in the most atrocious manner is ably demonstrated by none other than Donald Trump. His words, actions, interactions with female journalists and even with women in positions of power such as Nancy Pelosi, is far too evident and not just one unfortunate example of such repeated behaviour by many men from all walks of life and from all parts of the world. I had chanced upon a piece of conversation, wherein a very senior editor managing an international publication, brags to his wife that he ‘donates’ to women’s welfare every 8th March so he is a feminist! But, this same man, without wasting a breath warned her that she’d better return home in time as Delhi is unsafe and leave her other female friend behind, so that she can be attacked and can”go to hell”. He felt this was a fair retribution for his wife having walked out on him owing to her love for another female! In fact, last year, during the infamous “Boys Locker Room” case that came to light at the height of Covid, exposed what we all knew - the deep-seated misogyny, rape as a punishment that ought to be meted out to girls and women being openly discussed on a whatsapp group that constituted boys as young as 16 years, all hailing from affluent homes. Like most such high profile cases, the case has naturally been hushed up. But what was personally disturbing to me was a remark from another female friend of mine, an educator at that, who found the vilification of these boys rather objectionable and emphasised that primarily the girl in question, in that case, had ‘provoked’ the boys to speak of assault and the like. This is how deep-seated this mindset of patriarchy is! Well-ensconced among the affluent and the impoverished alike, practiced by the powerful and the powerless alike, condoned by the conservatives and the educated alike. Now, should we continue to endure this as a problem that is only in the mind, in the minds of the overly-sensitive, misguided feminists alone? 

What about the regimes and those political bosses who view criticism of their legislation and governance as sedition? Those that use the law as a weapon to muzzle and stifle dissent? Should we ignore their misdeeds and misgovernance as mere misunderstandings of our mind and delusionary mindset? Well, on a peaceful Sunday afternoon that is all set to usher in the cool evening breeze, sporting sunbirds, bulbuls and eurasian doves in the gardens and in the skies my mind is set on trading my life as a human to being a flighty feather that abounds the skies. No bracing for loud election campaigns, no worrying about delayed EMIs, no shuddering the lockdowns. Because, mind you, all the tumult is in the mind and if you practice mindfulness, perhaps none of these exist. 

- A G K

18 April 2021

Bewitching and Bold

“If music be the food of love, play on…” said the Bard of Avon (Shakespeare) in his Twelfth Night and our Bollywood cinema since its inception has adhered to this dictum, giving us both love and music in ample measure. From the tragic notes of K L Saigal or an S D Burman to the vivacious “Yahoo!” and yodelling from Kishore Kumar, from the Greta Garbosique night club singing picturised on Madhubala in Babuji Deere Chalna… to the Jazz inspired music of the late 60s and 70s to the effervescent cabarets immortalised by Helen, Bollywood has echoed the trends in world music, familiarised it to the common man in India, enabling each one of us to sing and croon and call it our own by adding the unmistakable Indian allure of emotions to it. 

We must doff our proverbial hats to the mainstream Bollywood composers for infusing life and rhythm to rather staid plots of our cinema and thus making it glamorous, glitzy and melodious. Glitz, glamour and bling invariably rings in images of the swerving golden ball hanging from the ceiling accompanied by a plethora of background singers and dancers dressed in the brightest of hues gyrating to the iridescent blue, red and golden lights that is so synonymous with the Disco Music of the 1980s! Would you believe it that this sensational and stylish form was ushered into Indian cinema by a 15 year old?! Apparently, this is the case. Disco music in India owes its debut to the Indian born British music composer, Biddu, who introduced the then Pakistani teenager, Nazia Hassan crooning Aap jaisa koi mere zindagi main aaye to baat ban jaaye… that set the charts on fire with the on screen sensuality of Zeenat Aman and her shimmering evening gown and svelte figure. The rest of India swooned to this sensual song that is at once enticing, fresh and filled with a distinct lilt. Clearly for a sex starved society like ours, the image of the sexy was never this sexy and seductive! 

While disco music made its foray in the mid 70s in the US with John Travolta’s moves and Bee Gees churning out numbers such as Stayin’ Alive and Tragedy, Bollywood caught on to the bandwagon with this inspired innovation in the movie, Qurbani, helmed by Feroze Khan and music for this number lent by Biddu. The movie, to date, enjoys a cult status for eternal numbers like Laila O Laila rendered by Amit Kumar, Babla and a lesser known singer, Kanchan, and it immediately recreates images of Zeenat Aman in a headband, flowing robe with the mike in hand, a red flower on her mane swaying seductively to the furtive expressions of Amjad Khan playing on the drums. The image of a discotheque, the distinct style in music that is at once softer yet peppier and definitely foot-tapping set the stage for disco music in Bollywood of the 1980s. 

One of the best things about us, Indians, is that we are quick to imbibe a new culture and lend it a distinct Indian touch. Also, we can spot trends even before it starts becoming a trend and Bollywood is he finest example of this. The disco numbers from Qurbani quickly paved the way to the singing sensation Asha Bhonsle, with her naturally seductive voice and allure reinforced the genre with Disco Station, Disco… in the 1982 movie, Hathkadi, with the shimmying Reena Roy waltzing into the young hearts of Bollywood cinema. In a cultural tribute to the ethnicity of the north Indian community of Punjabis and Sindhis, she etched the blinginess to its blingiest heights. Draped in a bling woven, shining saree worn like a dhoti, with gold headband, oversized neckpiece all  of which complimented the  brightly lit dance floor, shining series light lit train marching onto the stage letting out the young lovers whose otherwise regular attire is underscored by silver coloured shining belts worn by them as they move to the peppy beats of Disco Station that becomes a motif of rebellion, desire and break away from the norm. Clearly, Bollywood and its fans were bewitched and they clamoured for more!

And more is exactly what they got! In fact, encouraged by the immense popularity of Aaap jaisa koi…Biddu helmed the 1982 musical, Star, featuring Kumar Gaurav in the lead. Despite the movie tanking at the box office, its music rendered by the singing sensation Nazia Hassan with yet another iconic number, Boom Boom… struck a chord with Indians who rooted for the Pakistani brother-sister duo, Nazia and Zoheb Hassan, who sang all the songs in this musical. Few of us know that Biddu actually lifted Giorgio Moroder’s pulsating bass line straight from the Donna Summer hit “I Feel Love”. Actually it would not be amiss to say that Biddu, the Bangalore born Biddu Appaiah, whose career as music producer, singer and song writer lasted over five decades in India and Britain was singularly instrumental in ushering in the disco music to Bollywood. With his international breakthrough in the 1974, Kung Fu Fighting, performed by Charles Douglas becoming a best selling singles with 11 million copies sold worldwide, popularised disco music and his foray into Indian cinema naturally gave us a genre that we still cherish. 

Though disco music steamed up from the streets of New York this decadence embracing, beat-driven music assumed cult status with the1974 George McCrae's “Rock Your

Baby”.The imported cassettes soon cut ice with the likes of bling worshippers like Bappi Lahiri, who is a Demi God in the annals of the 1980s disco music era. His heavy girth, a synth-heavy music, the technicolour outfits and the metallic, blinding lights shone on for years as Bollywood fans gyrated and jived to numbers belted out by legends like Kishore Kumar and Asha Bhonsle. Disco Dancer released in 1982 starring Mithun Chakraborty is  an iconic example of this genre. Not only is it the fourth highest grossing film in the overseas market ($75.85 million) but each number in this musical is unfailingly played at any event or a disco to date. The infamous pelvic thrusts, crystal encrusted ensembles, golden headbands and sweaty stars furtively thumping their foot while strumming their electric guitars in a nightclub amidst their audience that is berserk with ecstasy established a distinctive feel among the filmgoers and music lovers alike. No Indian ear is unfamiliar to I am a Disco Dancer… popularised by Vijay Benedict’s rendition with an angry roar at the end of the song, unheard of ever before!

In fact, unheard of voices, novel sounds and newer concepts of melody is what disco music brought in with it. Bappi Lahiri with his nasal tone or the ever popular, almost masculine voice of Usha Uthup, cannot be imagined of in any other context. It is a lesser known story that the soundtrack from Disco Dancer is hugely lifted from dance floor artists such as the Ottoman and The Buggles, but Lahiri Indianised it in a way that it sounds and feels like our own captivating each Indian to join in as Parvati Khan invitingly urges: Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy Aaja aaja… Likewise, never before did Hindi songs sound as onomatopoeic as Auva Auva Koi Yahan Aha Nache Nache…as Bappi and Usha Uthup celebrate the pinnacle of disco music and entrenched it in Bollywood cinema of the 1980s. 

Even purists such as Lata Mangeshkar joined in the bandwagon to belt out a number such as Disco 82… that competed with the raging hits of the new singing sensation, the saree clad, masculine sounding Usha Uthup crooning Hari Om Hari… or the heavily nasal and inherently melancholic sounding Salma Agha deliver Jhoom Jhoom Jhoom Baba… infusing a pulsating dance and celebration of life into Indian pop music and Bollywood cinema. In eternal testimony to the disco music that paved the way for Indipop, the DJs at the ever popular, New York nightclub, “Bollywood Disco”,  to date weave in morsels of Bollywood disco music for such is the allure of this beat happy, synthesised music it is impossible to resist swaying to a number like Jawani Jaaneman… that featured another Indian diva, Parveen Babi and reaffirmed the singing prowess of Asha Bhonsle. From well known musicians like Kalyanji Anandji to the experimental genius R D Burman, disco music became a norm in each composer’s oeuvre. Although we have now moved on from the disco genre in Bollywood, it just takes one moment to reinforce our love and reaffirm  that we still are Disco Deewane… which was remixed in a recent Karan Johar movie. 

- A G K

Hear to listen…

Wordsworth’s plaintive poem, The Solitary Reaper, often tickles my senses quizzing me on the significance between heard and the unheard, between hearing and listening: “…I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending;— I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore, Long after it was heard no more.” The persona cannot hear at the outset, but having seen the "Reaper" stops to listen and then can hear the plaintive number she was singing long after he has moved away from the solitary reaper! What a transition from listening to hearing, both seem equally pertinent, unlike in our rushed, mundane and muddled world, where plethora of noises and voices clamouring for attention are heard for sure but we do not listen.

Ever wondered what is the first thing we do as soon as we wake up in the morning? I mean the truly first thing, soon as we open our eyes, this rather underrated sensory organ wakes up simultaneously with our sense of sight…hopefully you guessed it right! Yes, our ability to hear or listen. Not sure about you listening to the voices in your head(!!) but I wake up to the chirruping of birds, despite living in Bombay and regardless of the time I choose to wake up, moody Mondays to serene Sundays… Now, why am I harping on this auditory sense thus? Well, in the all encompassing world of social media where each one of us is crying ourselves hoarse to be heard, or for having been misheard or misquoted and the like, one can truly not over emphasise the importance of hearing and then of course, listening. 

Let me exemplify my deliberations through an example. I recently was witness to this iconic piece of conversation between my friend and another person on the other end of the line. Now, my dearest friend here is not merely sensible but is extremely particular about her word choice and rarely slips up on that. Seated in the same room, right before her I listened to this: Pehle body kaat lo. Phir jo bachega use se dekhna jitney length banti hain… (translates to First cut up the body, then check what is left and measure the length) Can you guess my first reaction?! Absolutely! A momentary chill  down my spine was soon overcome by peals of laughter rendering her too incapable of continuing with the conversation… Once we were over our girlish giggles, I could not help but wonder what if this instruction was to be overheard by an eavesdropper or by just any of our colleagues who happened to be outside her cabin! The thought triggered another set of uncontrollable giggles at the myriad possibilities and fancies it lends itself to. What if the person who overheard the conversation is inherently paranoid or is an adversary of hers… it surely would not stop at being humorous then. This naturally made me wonder if we actually listen or merely hear but listen to what we wish to. 

If the recent case associated with the ubiquitous onions is anything to go by, my point is suitably proven. During the parliament session, our erudite finance minister, Ms Nirmala Seetharaman was asked what she is doing or proposes to do to stunt the skyrocketing price of the onions. Your shock is as good as mine when we heard her brahminical response, discounting that she does not consume much onion or garlic! She heard the question that we all did for sure, the spiralling price of the onions that  has shot up so high as if to discover the debris of the tragic Chandrayaan, but she chose to listen to only the consumption part of the question, ignoring the member of the opposition ending his question with "the common man is so hard hit by this price rise as onions are consumed by all and is a vital kitchen ingredient." Her baffling brahminical response was however centered on her culinary preferences, which surely was not the point, purpose or even the concern of any of us at all! Her confessional reply that she hails from a family which does not consume onion and garlic is so oblique! Does that mean that the rest of India needs to emulate this essentially brahminical preference and practice?! Despite being a brahmin myself, I am an avid consumer of onions and of garlic too where necessary... should I and all of us alter our culinary preferences as the prices cannot be helped?! Given this response and that too in the Parliament, I am beginning to wonder if as a race, we adhere to this selective listening to protect ourselves and our interests. 

Let us consider the volatility we are seeing in our nation since the last two months in particular. Since December, ever since our benevolent PM and his Man Friday, Shah, have decided to practice a selective Atithi Devobhava of sorts, I mean, refugees are not entirely guests and like all of you am concerned about their claim on our already fast-depleting resources. After all, the lion’s share goes to the venerable public servants and their extended families, who so rightfully deserve this for all the service they afford to mankind! Then there are these gazillion reservations, all caste-based, which apparently help the downtrodden and the marginalised, but having come across several of these beneficiaries in offices and Universities alike, who are neither downtrodden nor impoverished but upon the slightest provocation can pin you down to the ground below and ensure your impoverishment! Probably, that is the reason they are entitled and deserving of the said reservations. Thereafter, are the well-heeled, we own the world along with our Guccis, Hermes and Hummers type, who swoop down on Management seats and all other paid-for seats, blinding the onlookers with the luminescence piercing from their Rolex. Surprisingly, there still is a small amount, a slender part of resources, provisions and seats for us, the hapless general merit category ones, doubly disadvantaged by our brahmin antecedents, as we are paying dearly for a supposed discrimination that our lacking in vision forefathers practiced in the days of yore. Oh, so returning to the refugees, do you see why it is such a huge problem and how hugely it impacts India! So, maybe it is a wise idea to stem the constant influx of refugees from east, west, south and all other directions that they are pouring in from. But, is the CAA and CAB way the only way to do it or heaven forbid and safeguard me hereafter, the right way?! Shah explains on Day 1 that this law will impact only refugees, a few days later explains that none is persecuted, it apparently assures citizenship and dignity to the hapless refugees! Now, is that what we want…? More people from other nations laying claim to our resources?! Possibly, when I hear the dissenting voices from the north east, this appears to be the exact reason behind their opposition. They are apparently afraid that their indigenous populace will be infiltrated, will suffer and be sullied by the influx and citizenship to these now stateless Rohingyas from Myanmar. The northeast is burning with rage and disapproval and this is what I hear the opposition is about there. But, who is listening?! Not the powers that be, not Delhi for sure. 

Our venerable PM says he is listening to the grievances of the northeast, assures they will be safe and their citizenship will be protected and that they should not be roused up by rumours. But they are not crying over Delhi revoking their citizenship! Listening to the strong objections and protests, Modi thunders that Congress is needlessly instigating and misleading youth, misleading northeast and that Bharat with be united, Pakistan and its foul plans can never win and break the nation! Ahem… I hear this just as you heard it, but do not see the connection as to why Pakistan, although they have an objection and opinion about everything Indian, is taking precedence in this talk about CAA/CAB. The northeast protests are actually… hold on! One section of Media and Newspapers are screaming, assault, brutality, violation of rights of University students as police use force browbeat AMU and Jamia students. All of us quickly move to listen to the goings on here, clearly now torn asunder on communal lines. I mean, is there a reason students of ‘these universities’ are protesting against the CAA/ CAB?! I heard a resounding yes! But several of our wise leaders are pontificating that the new law is not persecution but protection and this agitation is tantamount to sedition and the result of a frustrated Congress-led instigation! Wow! Besides the internal rhyme here, there is little that is or can be admirable. Before you and I can wrap our heads around this, before we can even express sympathy at the entry of police force on apparently a women’s hostel and the damage caused to the libraries here, we wake up to massive protests and demonstrations at the political hotbed, JNU in Delhi! Shah and his deputies are crying themselves hoarse that law and order is the need of the hour, youth are not be in power and that the government will not cower over these misled protests by them. The new decade is greeted with unprecedented mayhem in JNU, a planned attack unleashed on students and Professors alike within a University campus by a masked mob carrying rods and sticks within the hallowed portals of the highest seat of learning while the Police force wait outside, possibly meditating on intervention after the destruction! 

Intelligentsia protests, expresses solidarity with students as you and I have unequivocally. Some sensible stars from Bollywood too trickle in support besides the scientists from IISC, Bangalore, to the state ministers from Kerala, Punjab and Bengal. Our man of many words, Tharoor holds fiery speeches, for you and me to listen to the provisions governing refugees, but the Sarkar at Delhi can only hear dissent against their idea of democracy. In all this obfuscation, I barely see anyone offering a clarification on CAB and its cousin NRC. Too many voices, at times sane, at times as befuddled, as you and I wonder akin to the hapless animals in Orwell's allegory, looking from side to side at the pigs drinking and dining, walking on their hind legs and hobnobbing with the very humans they overthrew! It is upto you to decipher, who is what here, for any explanation from me will only lead to consternation, for we hear everything but usually listen to what we want to. Once again, I am reminded of my dear friend who often rebukes me for selective listening, which she says often leads to needless spats between us. I wonder if our collective conscience will ever be rid of this selective malice. When the world and its mortals fail to provide solace, we often seek intervention from divinity. So, just like that girl who drove past me the other day even as I gawked bemused, her palms firmly clasped together reverentially in prayer, looking up to an unseen God and bent down touching her forehead to the presiding Ganesha on her dashboard, I too am praying hard that that gap between hearing and listening is bridged forthwith. 

A G K

15 January, 2020                                   

Clean Up!

Each year, each season brings with it changes, inevitable as we all agree and believe me, many times it invariably is also a huge relief. Imagine if there was no change, in the season or weather in Bombay for instance, and you are having to weather the unending heat of October without respite, each day, each moment for the rest of our lives, “Until…” as Chandler in FRIENDS, so effortlessly puts it, “Until the sweet release of death”! Change is welcome, and ought to be more welcomed by you and me, as disquieting as it may be. Do I see you nod more vigorously now? How else can one understand and empathise with a disgruntled commoner in our country, who opted for a theatrics-oriented, high octane Modiji in lieu of an extremely reticent, soporific yet scholarly Manmohanji. Likewise, in popular culture too, the collective conscience in India gravitates towards a logic-defying, non-acting blockbusters from an ageing Khan with swagger and  special effects, in lieu of a masterful adaptation of Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Haider. Multiplexes charging several hundreds are enabling the Khan brigade to amass hundreds of crores in a matter of days where content has become a non entity.

I am not certain of your high standards, but mine clearly are a notch above the average multitudes. Like our ‘secular and sensitive PM’, I am all for a “Sweeping Change”, across the board. Perhaps movies, read Bollywood, is a good place to begin this clean up! By clean up, I am not referring to cleaned up chests of the 6 Pack Brigade, or the cleaning up of needless bits of clothing on the leading ladies that seems to be a prerequisite in the run towards box office hits. That clean up sadly is here to stay, as long as its proponents continue to hold on to their skimpy clothing by sheer force of will and without batting an eyelid emphasise that it is “the demand of the script”! Certainly, where storyline and acting is an alien concept, titillation and negation of sense ought to be welcomed, else we may end up having about 10 releases a year or perhaps less. 

Therefore, clean up on pop culture is not on my radar for sure. Instead, I am advocating a clean-up for lesser mortals like you and I who are in imminent danger of succumbing to the humble mosquito. Now is the time to be more regular with your ablutions, shower every morning, noon and night, preferably three times a day and if you manage to get bitten by a mosquito, shower again, you might have infected both, the mosquito and the maid, who handed you the coffee as you tottered into your house. If the friendly (Snehal) Mumbai Mayor’s words of wisdom are anything to go by, one member in my housing complex contracting the dreaded Dengue, would actually spell the death knell for the rest of the inhabitants, considering that it is a contagion! Sorry, you cannot frown at my ignorance and smirk at my paranoia. Reread my statement, my source is the Mayor herself! Not only has she affirmed that Dengue is a dreaded contagion, she is personally ensuring our safety too, sending in armed squads, sorry, squads from the civic body armed with probably HIT or a government version of this spray. So, that knock you hear on the door might just be these foot soldiers, arriving in time, to rid you of the infection. For she has urged that while it is contagious, it is not fatal, as the disease has managed to kill fewer people this year. So, she has wisely redefined fatality too. Fatal diseases are those that kill large multitudes! You and I may have heard the word epidemic, but let us heed to the suggestions and wisdom expounded by our Mayor. In other words, the best a mosquito can do is de stress you, provide you with an opportunity to enjoy the services of the neighbourhood hospital that could double up as Spa, depending on your willingness and ability to foot the charges. Since it is clearly not life threatening, those infected could jauntily trot across to a medical facility of their choice, and be cleaned up of the infection! 

Since we are in the clean up mode, would you also kindly clean up that desktop of yours, for then, that exotic or erotic, depending on your mood, preference and time of day, the screen saver is visible to you! I surely would want to know when was the last time you actually accessed that untitled folder and how are you going to use that three year old presentation at a later date?! If you are squinting and pausing for an answer, then clean-up should be the topmost on your to do list. Please include this too, again on the sticky note of your desktop! Once you are done with this, that poor smartphone with an ever expanding memory, that we have completely come to lack, could be attacked with equal gusto!

You guessed it, the next item on my list is clearly that overcrowded, filled to capacity wardrobe. Even at the risk of sounding sexist, mind you I am a proud feminist, most of us are guilty of this bulging wardrobe and storing in clothes and shoes that we ‘hope’ to either ‘fit into’ or will get a chance to wear ‘for that special occasion’ which to date has never come up! As they say, “charity begins at home,” what better way than to actually discard these clothes, accessories and footwear that we have not touched in the last five years at least. It is all the more vital for those of us living in a space starved Bombay, our clothes and stressed out mind will thank us for giving us some free space! Follow up this exercise with a similar clean-up, let us term it a sequel clean-up in our workplaces starting with our cabins or cubicles too… the dusty folders, magazines, files, books, pictures, stationary and plants have accrued far more dust than you and I can even begin to acknowledge or comprehend. Clearing these up might actually help us discover our missing wallets, pens, keys and all those reasons that cause respiratory infections and frequent sniffles. 

Actually, this where your best friend/ wife/ niece/ assistant with OCD would be most resourceful. Not only will they be gainfully employed, but trust me, you could be rid of not one, several heart bleeds. Now, having overcome such infection, you can then return to work in your best attire, make-up et al… Do you wonder why? Why would you not for once flip through the news paper! Right from Mr. Modi to the next door Trivedi, everybody nowadays is fondling a broom, sorry, holding onto a broom!! No, it is not merely for a photo-opportunity to be placed on Page 3 you cynics, they’re on a Clean-Up drive, our PM’s current pet project! What the BMC and the umpteen other civic functionaries across the length and breadth of India that are employed with your and my money (if you are paying taxes that is) have not managed to do in decades, since the dispatch of the Angrez from our proud nation, You and I, with the help of Media and a morning’s initiative can miraculously clean up Mumbai, Bangalore or your respective resident city! Is this not miraculous and an empowering citizens’ movement that is enough to put a smile across Modiji’s face and be the envy of nations like Singapore?! And all this in a matter of one day’s initiative only! One Sunday morning volunteering for a beach clean-up, alongside the celebrities and politicians, one weekday morning’s clean-up by one sweep of a roadside, it is just one single effort and a lifetime of cleanliness ensured! Our PM has exhorted that it is part of “good governance and being the Change”. So, carry along a broom that would match your suit, salwar or dress for we need to be well turned out and suitable coordinated as it will be featured in the media. For all you know, our innovative and hard at work designers based in Mumbai, Sabyasaachi, AND or a Manish Malhotra might have already put up the designer versions in their latest collections to help the clean-up commoners! This could be a good opportunity to clean-up those idly lying funds in your account or the credit balance on your cards too. By choosing a PM that is forever in an activist mode and urging the citizens to do all the work, we have surely cleaned up wisdom, facts and understandings from History and other sources. 

So, let us now embark on this clean-up initiative that is a precursor to other more such empowering ventures such as building temples of our beloved Gods and Goddesses. Not only will we be gainfully employed but it will stop us from indulging in meaningless musings about Indian economy, price inflation and other such protracted things which is beyond the grasp of us, commoners. We have chosen our beloved PM to take care of these complex things, which he will explain and expound to us in his next “man ki baat”. Till then, let us say cheese and clean-up!

Jai Sri Ram! Sorry, I meant, Jai Hind!

- A G K 

November, 2014

Demonising Dissent

Rabindranath Tagore, the Nobel laureate of India, emphasised on “Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high… into that land of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.” Lofty and liberating indeed and certainly aspirational for each one of us, impelling us to live with dignity, self respect and free speech. These eternal words were constantly reinforced in me both, by my mother and my grandfather since my childhood, and to date I continue to risk my life trying to abide by this belief. Wait, did you read risk? Yes, I did write risk! If you are one of the lesser mortals who has ever tried to live your life on these lines and are a working professional in a corporate set up these words are bound to kindle your deepest hurt and revive the old spirit that will abandon you tomorrow morning soon after your punch in time!

It is precisely for this reason that the ongoing strike by the Uber and Ola drivers elicits my admiration regardless of the extreme inconvenience it has put me through. At least these chaps can remain united, can chalk up their demands, put it forth before their bosses and not be issued letters of warning or disciplinary mails! In other words, they can speak their mind and express dissent unmindful of the consequences. Now, all of us working professionals are very aware of what such a strike or demonstration from us could mean… even considering one such is inconceivable in sectors like education, we even have the Orwellian “thought control” or ‘seeds’ who can report a dissent even before it is expressed. 

Besides the obvious, there are fundamental reasons why at least educators need to inculcate the value of dissent in the succeeding generations and actively participate in expressing such, wouldn’t you think? Well, your nodding of your head, sideways or vertical, depends on what rung of the management you are placed in. Considering the lingo in the IB (International Baccalaureate) World Schools, it would be an enthusiastic affirmative nod as a young teacher brimming with ideals, slightly guarded, if you have already clocked in a couple of years, a cynical sneer if you are a Head of Department, Coordinator and the like and a downright sideways shake of the head if you are a Head of Secondary, Principal or anything remotely close to that! You would probably be reaching out to typing out a letter of dismissal if you are a trustee or Director of the institution!! 

Now, why dissent or worse still how can there be any scope for dissent in an education sector you ask? Well, that is precisely the matter. The sheer ignorance of such a vital need in itself is at the core of my argument. I am not talking of dissent to teaching classes, or in marking or stopping valuation as has become the norm with many University and College peers, am sure they have their good and valid reasons too. I am talking of a basic right to freedom of free speech, the need to express one’s honest opinion without fear or favour, the necessity of calling a spade a spade without having to bother about the proverbial political correctness. Wherein an educator is actually free to tell a set of errant students off for their deplorable behaviour or even express objection firmly to a particularly parvenue and patronising set of parents, unrealistic of their own wards, wherein one can walk up to one’s higher up or a head (most times, headless and heedless actually), and tell them off for the non productive, mundane paperwork or fillers that are grandiosely termed professional development sessions. If you are one such free spirit you would empathise with the dilemma of having to constantly silence that honest, inner voice, which begs to defy and state facts not meekly nod at nonsense that is repeated and echoed by your rather sycophantic colleagues who feign interest. Now, if this head is an expat, then heaven forbid! For each word, syllable and grunt is and ought to be the gospel and nothing short of it. With much respect to all my honourable and truly intelligent and amiable expat friends, many such ‘imports’ are pompous dolts that have trapeze into this sector or worse still to our nation to ‘experience India’. Imagine having to listen to the rants of such soulful masters in post independent India, wherein they wax eloquent about R K Narayan or a Ramanujan and stop there with a smug assumption that the rest of the Indian multitudes need to be schooled in everything from education to enunciation, from learning to teaching… as they drone on in a sonorous tone that barring themselves hardly anyone else cares to listen to. In fact, one such head, in the recent past had actually asked me, an English teacher with over a decade of experience in teaching, if I knew the meaning of “road rage” as though he had invented the term personally. This, while I was offering him a lift in my car! That is the smugness and sense of entitlement am speaking of. After a momentary, “Do I dare and do I dare…” (Eliot’s words from Lovesong of Alfred J Prufrock), not only did I demonstrate that but explained the varieties, forms, and the extent to which road rage permeates various Indian cities, for I was adequately enraged by this patronising!

Now, imagine when such entitled, myopic, luminescent (read expats that are Euro Centric/American) folks take it upon themselves to teach us how to teach, talk and interact with one another, with our students and with our parent community….do you see my point? They fail to comprehend our students’ need and expectations to be disciplined by elders, misread our firmness and giving a reality check to our unrealistic and far too demanding parents who treat schools like investment where they expect returns or the paisa vasool (extract money’s worth) regardless of their son or daughter’s academic calibre, or the teachers’ need for having a say in their subject of expertise or within their departments. Unlike us, who have an innate understanding of how to deal with the slackness of  a student or when to actually send out a kid to the school nurse (not for a paper cut!) or when to reprimand an indolent learner who has taken it upon himself or herself to disrupt a class, all of these simple things that can be dealt with on the spot would elicit a staff, department or a meeting with the school counsellor or worse still with the parents, as it all boils down to being nurturing! Nurturing what you wonder? Well, you are still normal then and my hearty congratulations to you on that! Do remember this feeling once you become a parent or if you are one already, try to hold on to this common sense for that is precisely what is being sacrificed at the altar and routinely at that!

Speaking of common sense, my mom always opined that it is so uncommon to find common sense and I could not agree with her more. Especially in this education sector and going by my conversations with people from various walks of life, generally among those in positions of power. There seems to be an inexplicable lacunae in what organisations actually seek, especially those in the business of education. Yes, for most IB schools are run by businessmen who consider institutions offering International Curriculum is a ‘safe investment’. I wonder what propels these monied sections into assuming that the colour of the skin determines merit and calibre, besides the obvious colonial cringe of course. Now, in no way am I a racist. But, if some of our (thinking, speaking and common sense oriented academics) collective experiences are taken into account there seems to be a pattern to this. Not only are these heads hailing from a certain race/ ethnic community, more often even the Indian heads, are those that are pompous, self serving paper pushers who are eager to kill the spirit of inquiry and innovation and sacrifice them at the altar of rules and handbooks that make little or no sense in practice. 

From organising the highly advertised CAS (a core component in International Baccalaureate Diploma Programme; Creativity, Action and Service) trips or leadership camps to facilitating the staff professional development, the ineptitude, pomposity, a wilful self deception and a desire to foster sycophancy is blatantly demonstrated on such forums. How else could one explain a three hour all-staff session on sharing, editing and creating google docs, slides and website? Or a more fancy term such as design thinking, apparently the brainchild of a Harvard professor which his Indian franchisees were merely peddling, wherein the focus is to list out the 63 ways (someone has actually worked out the number!) in which a student can be distracted or demonstrate disinterest and the best ways to cater to that student, albeit nurturing him or her! This indeed was a session wherein the charade continued for over three hours without the workshop leader being able to explain the purpose or a viable outcome of such an exercise! Worse still, I believe that the Principal of this institution actually sent out an all-staff mail hailing the success of this workshop and the value add that it was! Well, if you are one of those who raise an eyebrow at this, just wait for the piece de resistance, a minor section of staff who chose to strongly express displeasure at this deplorable waste of time were actually ‘warned’ for contempt and ‘motivated’ dissent! This, towards a community and from a community that is in charge of shaping formative minds, wherein imparting critical and creative thinking is an expectation, wherein texts such as 1984, Animal Farm or A Doll’s House, are taught and discussed with much passion, wherein gender stereotypes, bias and propaganda, along with parochial mindset of the society is openly questioned. If, like me, you too can spot the irony, then join the club of inspired dissenters. If you are among the rule enforcing, compliance preferring pontiffs who demonise dissent, kindly apply for the post of a head for your qualification and merit stands corroborated. 

Life’s ironies never fail to stupefy, for often, idealism and inspiration like the yearning for freedom or liberation stems from a lot that is subject to oppression and deprivation, seldom has a leader, head or the oppressor shown a proclivity for self reflection. It is precisely for this reason, that a group of women routinely fighting for a dignified workspace in the Malayalam film industry or the cabbies fighting for what they believe is their right finds resonance in me and a faint hope that just some day in the distant future educators too express dissent with conviction. Maybe in a distant future, those in charge of shaping young minds remain true to their own beliefs and opt to speak their mind without fear, for then alone can a land, country or a world hold its head high for fostering fearless freedom and confidence in lieu of political correctness and a habitual deference to mediocrity. 

- A G K 

Making sense of ‘Modi’fication

Jane Austen, describing Emma, spells out her flaws to be, “The real evils indeed of Emma's situation were the power of having rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too well of herself…The danger, however, was at present so unperceived, that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her…”

Well, this ought to be rather interesting, as centuries later, these same attributes, please note the word here is attributes and not flaws (lest I be arrested for sedition!), are shared by our venerable, noble PM, a 66 year old man with a 56 inch chest! Now, whether the PM has actually measured his chest personally, had it measured by his trusted aides or whether it is a metaphorical reference to his feats as a leader of the masses, only the PM will be able to throw light upon, perhaps at the next rock concert. Lesser mortals such as myself should suffice to bow down or cower in obeisance, else my nationality, nationalism and credentials as a Hindu might be called into serious scrutiny. He can never be accused of being lenient with the tardy dissenters, and as his venerable self had expounded in one of the televised interviews, one cannot feel sorry for a puppy being run over while heading towards the larger good and welfare of the citizenry as a whole. Now, these words might be chilling in a democratic set up, a leader of the masses, a visionary implying nonchalance on the collateral damage. But, the fault dear reader, “lies in our stars”, our starry eyed, myopic outlook towards our celebrities and leaders. Starved for role models, decisive leadership and clear articulation of policies, we wilfully and foolishly based our choice with an intent to stave off another idiot and mommy’s boy, from ruling the roost. The mandate was against the centuries old Congress, specialising in scams and policy paralysis, headed by a mumbling old gentleman. In our enthusiasm to root them out, we voted a man who belaboured on his physical prowess (56 inches chest), vociferously vilified a Gandhi legacy and blurred the lines of history and mythology, while promoting himself as a mythic figure that would save this nation of 6 billion people with the claim, nah, proclamation of “achche din”. Now, dear reader please note that he never specified whom the achche din would embrace. Now, in hindsight, if this resonates with the recent folly of US which has thrown up a Trump card, we can at least take solace that the phrase, ignorant masses, is no longer a euphemistic response to Indians alone. Phew! we did manage it finally, our thinking matches that of the US and of the UK, our former masters! Can we now exult in unison for thinking like the White Man?!

Sorry, I digress, it is an affront in these days of the Saffron to take pride in anything that is non Indian, instead, let me suffice to say that impulse and hate is also a Make (and Made) in India, and we now need to copyright that forthwith. Speaking of copyright, I wonder if this effort would result in any monetary benefits, i.e. if there is a payment in the pipeline for this admission?! I would certainly insist on the payment being made through paytm, or through a card, no cash for me post November 8th. Neither am I a dissenter, an anti-national nor one with black money to entertain illegal cash transactions that my leader is taking such pains to root out. We are expressing our solidarity by routinely taking off from work to engage in productive activities like lining up before the ATM centres and at the Banks to either trade in the illegal tender, or withdraw the odd note to tease a fruit and vegetable vendor with, or to simply admire the colour and texture of the new notes, a cheerful futschia pink and green ones! What our venerable PM has not yet pointed out is that while the pink ones promote his  beti bachaon abhiyan, the green ones show reverence to the hard working, kisans, routinely committing suicide. Wouldn't their families be thrilled that their deaths have not gone unacknowledged, each time a naagrik uses the 500 rupee note or each farmer family that is compensated will and should recall this noble vision of our Pradhan Mantri! It is a different matter that the 500 rupee ones are in short supply and the 2000 rupee ones celebrating the girl child is omnipresent. Maybe this is the reason the pink notes are frowned upon in keeping with the bhartiya sabhyata towards the womenfolk. Nevertheless, we must desist from complaining as this is a “short term pain for long term gains”, both the PM and the finance minster have repeatedly promised this. 

Despite such astute counsel and persistent reminders over the radio, the PM’s Man ki baat is not easy to comprehend, let alone follow. The pseudo Hindus in the Opposition parties, intellectuals and artists have often tried to malign his goodwill with insidious remarks and adjectives branding him an autocrat, and a megalomaniac with scant respect for the parliamentary process. But the ardent followers shall not be induced to self doubt by these lesser mortals, because we know that these are the people who are “crying for their lost money”. Long queues outside the banks, a sudden crash in the GDP and in the growth index, and cynical dismissals issued by the ilk of Shashi Tharoor and Raghuram Rajan, are only defectors and anti nationals who are sullying the honour of a leader who has left his home and hearth “to serve the nation”. How many rallies, concerts or radio interviews can the PM possibly address? Have they not considered that even Bollywood celebrities like the Khans are completely on board with this move? Have they not been watching the government endorsed adverts suggesting cashless economy and paying through mobile phones? Have they not learnt that the coffers of our banks is brimming over with the deposited amount by its citizenry?

It surely is a wilful, malicious propaganda that deliberates on the deaths caused by demonetisation, as if the Sun had no role to play, in the heat induced strokes? It again is mindless rigidity that does not heed to the ‘modi”fying practices of a visionary. Instead of lamely complaining about inability to access one’s own money, isn’t it the need of the hour to watch the incessant beaming of our PM’s visit to the US, UK, and other countries, where he is accorded unprecedented reception? We need to take cues from our successful brethren, the Adanis, Ambanis and their ilk, who do not waste their time and energy in opposing a great leader. This is one of the reasons why they feature on the Forbes List, unlike the general populace, sweating it out on the streets. It is true that ill informed minions need to be properly guided by a party devoted to ‘creating’ history than merely accepting what is believed to be history.

Therefore, the answers, dear reader are fairly simple, and more significantly, practical. With adequate thought channelling (not thought control!) made possible by our PM’s active endorsement of Yoga, a sound adherence to being a Hindu and understanding that all this money is maaya (no pun on mayawati!) and a devotion to the nation first manifesto by singing out the national anthem routinely and chanting Jai Hind, one can easily tide over such temporary “inconveniences”. I, for one, have already made this part of my morning routine by having our Pradhan Mantriji cooing into my ears his gentle notes of Bhaiyon aur behno to begin my day that is marked by practising Yoga, even as I listen to and sing the National Anthem in gusto, followed by opting to wear the saffron salwar or the khadi suit and heading out to work with the Vandemataram playing on my car stereo. Add to this the fact, that like my PM, I too am a Singleton albeit with no past history of child marriages, as I hail from the South and such glorious tradition is shunned by my irreverent ancestors. However, considering my gender, I shall desist from revealing whether my chest size is 56, 36 or… 

Jai Hind!

A G K

19 December, 2016

Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam

The famous Italian astronomer, Galileo, observed that “the tickle is not in the feather”, and ever since I have often wondered and wilfully submitted myself to the Hindu belief in “maaya" as a  state of existence. Trying to comprehend this world and its multitudes, if anything, is turning out to be a daunting task and learning more is only impeding the process.

This was just another humid evening in my rather quiet apartment at Oshiwara, wherein I was yet again bemused by the Japanese ring to an otherwise Bombayish neighbourhood until my reverie was snapped tersely by the sudden belting of a Salman Khan number from yet another famous potboiler. It reminded me that the festive season was just round the bend, literally so.

Like a cat that moves around chasing its own tail ever confounded by its possible shape, size and perhaps agility, I too have often chased the extensive pantheon of Gods that is available to people of my blessed ilk (aka Brahmins). The months of August- September every year unfailingly tickles my senses at the thought of my Elephant deity doing a Hrithik or a Katrina to the catchy numbers from Bollywood such as this present one… I mean, just imagine the scene unfolding before you! It surely is a welcome change from the sedate and structured chants that we have been repeating for ages now and most of the time to no avail. Probably, the heavens above, like the lesser mortals below, are also in need of entertainment and this celestial epiphany has been rightly recognised by our political class and their junkies as they have routinely regaled every God and Goddess with the choicest item numbers possible and more recently, thanks to the new gyan dispensed by the folks from Shiv Sena and MNS, the deities are twisting and twirling to the Marathi numbers, which is now (in Bombay) the lingua franca of the Gods too!

Religion in India evokes such lofty sentiments from its believers. Even a harmless gentleman like my dad snarls in disapproval at ‘a particular community’ or people from ‘a particular faith.’ From bans on books to movies, morchas on the street about offence to religious sentiments, to conversions for convenience, religion, like the time honoured survivor, the cockroach, seems to be flitting, favouring and fancying all the sentiments it unleashes in mankind. This unleashed sentiment is splendidly enchased upon by our ever enterprising business community. Do you happen to recall when is Dhanteras? I never manage to, until a certain Tanishq or even an international jewellery venture like Caratlane, kindly remind me of it. I am sure they remind many such multitudes, for during one of my visits to the local jewellery store with my mom, this otherwise quiet and laid-back store in Mysore, turned out to be an adventure akin to one experiences at the Kumbh Mela! If you ever wanted to know the wealth quotient of Indians or are yet unaware of our collective obsession towards the yellow metal, just drop by to a jewellers’ on Dhanteras or to one of the wedding ceremonies! The bride’s smile may or may not matter, as long as the arm bands, kamar bandhs (waist bands, not waste!), nose rings and the multiple neckpieces are all exclaiming splendour and eliciting the appropriate nods from all the maamis. Probably, this is their calling post menopause! Evaluating the worth of a girl, her family, and of the gold being sported… Anyhow, she is supposedly a manifestation of the Goddess Lakshmi and one dare not cock a snook there, at least I shall desist. Imagine my plight if this deity is put off while I continue to live on in Bombay! I might see myself jostling for space and water in a rundown chawl and sport the saffron flag as an amulet of safety.

Now, that possibly could be the reason why our festivals are routinely celebrated ‘by a particular section of the society’ that is patronised by all our khadi babus… From Ganeshotsav to Holi, these are chaps who are perennially in a mood for revelry and gyrate unabashedly to the DJ music, the blinding lights, sighing traffic and the despondent gods waiting to return to their quieter heavenly abodes! Plebs from my ilk prefer to go on holidays to faraway destinations such as Pondicherry or the Andamans to escape this cultural onslaught. Gone are the days of homemade delicacies like my father’s paalpayasam, murukku or my mom’s kadubu and ellu. That is passé as chocolate modaks, also available in white chocolate, exquisite cream based confectioneries made from low fat milk and soya based wafers are boxed and hampered away to unsuspecting souls like me. If one has to savour a traditional meal, places like the Banana Leaf (in Versova, Bombay) make the “Onam Saadiyam” available for a price that numbs my appetite for the next couple of weeks. 

I guess one must make peace with the changing times, just as I have done with most of our students devotedly celebrating the Halloween, with barely any understanding of what the damn thing is all about! This is the other side of our festivities. Our present generation that hails from the section that boasts of disposable income, have disposed off their comprehension of meaning and significance of our festivals. Dussehra is reduced to garba and dandia with a Phalguni Phatak or a Bollywood number egging you on to move in some kind of rhythm. Diwali has become ‘contentious’ with people split wide apart on whether to burst crackers or not to, but lighting up every nook of their apartments with series lights (or fairy lights as I gather), wherein the electricity consumption be damned! The famously infamous kumbh mela, a chance to witness the ashen faced, pot smoking nearly nude Naga Sadhus, has redefined marketing strategies as we are escorted to AC Tents with all amenities including satellite TV that would cost one (read 6 digit)a month’s salary! The less that is said of the Holi and Iftar parties held in Bombay the better, for one’s social standing is dependent on which of these ‘celebrity parties’ does one get invited to and on which corner of the page 3 is one displayed.

It appears to me that divinity and festivity is now the domain of the celebrity marked by frivolity with little or no heed to proclivity to traditions or sentiments that initiated these festivities. Like me, even poor Ganesha must be pondering over his depiction that is sometimes in blue, at times bronzed, or sporting a snake around his neck and arrow akin to Cupid’s ensconced in his forearm. Just like all things Indian, this must be the cocktail samosa made easier to consume and encompassing the confluence and influence of cultures around the world. 

A G K

Rode Rude Road

“Two roads diverged in a wood and I took the one less travelled by, 

And that has made all the difference…”

These immortal lines penned by Robert Frost acquires an all new dimension and line of thought when placed in the context of Bombay traffic, especially the roads sluicing across Andheri! While Frost’s road diverged into two, ours, with persistent and dedicated efforts by the BMC lends itself to multiple paths all at once. So much so that I commonly joke that Andherians would be entirely at home on the Moon as we are so well-versed in traversing across craters… or should I say we should be over the moon as we experience living on the moon regularly!

On one such regular day, a rather regular morning, me rushing out at 07.35 and hoping to reach my work place by 08.00 at least. It is at times like these I truly thank my parents for all the religious knowledge they have imparted, this access to all the chants and hymns at my disposal helps me tide through my journey with minimal swearing and manageable stress. Like most urbanites of my ilk, in the race to live decently in this city of dreams, I often dream of a morning that is clear of traffic and a morning where I can sail past green lights all through! Imagine this wish actually being granted! This particular morning, there was a definite risk of this miracle unfurling. Instead of the usual bustle created by the garbage truck parked right outside the exit gate of my building, a measured calm and quietude greeted me en route to a journey that is ideally 15 mins long but only takes 35 minutes owing to the well thought out development plans literally chalked out all over the blessed Link Road by our benevolent BMC! Working tirelessly acquires a complete new meaning in their case. Soon after a road is finally tarred and laid out (miracles do happen, told you so!) their doppelgänger takes over and that team diligently goes about digging it up for hidden treasures and more… even the footpaths are upturned and everyone, pedestrians, stray dogs and cattle (Maybe am politically incorrect, but the last time I checked, they were still called that, stray dogs and cattle), so then strays, the suicidal two wheelers, the cockroach-like, hydra-headed autorikshaws, the hawkers, beggars, street food vendors, watchmen, bus men and even the policemen who set up surprise nakabandis, lounge around in these public enclosures (popularly aka the roadside) when they are not jaywalking on the streets! Not only does it take divine intervention accompanied by chants, but also great reflexes, undaunted courage and sheer nonchalance of the driver to reach me to my destination and unfailingly so each morning. Britain prides itself on multiculturalism, they just need to take one look at our roads during peak hour traffic to truly appreciate it for co existence of multiple entities! 

In fact, in cities like Bombay (I resolutely will and shall continue to refer to it so), we measure distance in terms of the time it takes to commit from point A to B, which invariably also depends on the mode of transport, time of travel and the mood of the driver needless to say. Clean roads, boulevards, peace reigning around a tree lined street with a cobbled pavement is actually a luxury that select locations like JVPD, select streets in Matunga, BKC, Worli, SoBo and the Malabar Hills can display. But, even the address to live in, be it the exclusive Kemps Corner or the Altamount Road, is not exempt from the traffic chaos that punctuates a Bombayites routine.  Ironically, these host the most clogged up roads enabling their elite inhabitants quality time in their Jags, Rovers, or Bentleys. A couple of my friends from these lofty locales tell me that their business and pleasure is often “on the move”, perhaps why their “me” time is reserved for Sundays, perhaps why this is also the day of the week when the city too, like its denizens, yawns lazily in the morning and exults in its long winding stretches. This is exactly why I do not rest on Sundays, but rather revel in the quietude of the mornings and head out to far corners like the BKC, Cuffe Parade or the Nariman Point, just because I can see the speedometer hit 80 and 100. This is that day wherein every road gives me the same pleasure that the sea link affords, sans the ever increasing toll. Yes, in the times we live in, happiness and joy is ensured from novel quarter but only upto lunchtime, sorry, brunch time, after that it is all Bombay traffic again. The mayhem of Mohammad Ali road is also witnessed on Peddar road, the honking at the red signal on Juhu Tara Road is repeated while queuing up outside Phoenix Mills too.

Frenzy actually acquires a new meaning on the streets of Bombay. The hawkers at traffic signals selling anything from sunshades and flowerpots to books on nirvana never fail to win my appreciation for their sense of perfect timing. I truly wish this timing rather comic timing was seen in more bollywood cinema especially in the ones that claim to be comedies but one cannot have everything you see. Precisely why a poor Celerio, a gleaming customised Mercedes S Class and a Porsche jolt to an abrupt halt at the ever merry jaywalkers and their patented great “hand" trick that always manages to bring all the mighty ones to a grinding halt. They are the real show stoppers for me, not the emaciated ones picked up by Manish Malhotra at his fashion shows, who would barely manage to stop a wailing child, let alone a multi-tyred truck. Then of course we have our favourite, the popular and nearly indispensable, ever ubiquitous Uber and Ola, scurrying down the roads at breakneck speeds which only they can manage or only their drivers and their variable moods can churn out. So powerful is this brood that courses with ease on the roads and or the pavement like adjoining space, that a couple of weeks ago I actually had to take leave from work and express my solidarity with them since they were on strike demanding fairness (not of their faces). So successful was their strike, that according to sources, many offices and workplaces recorded deplorable attendance or lateness as our merry friends from Uber and Ola battled it out with their companies. In the end, if they can be termed that, this brood of proletariates won the battle and swooped in back onto the roads after nearly a week, much to our collective joy. If progress, co habitation and equality is your need, you only need to be on our Bombay roads, for it is a collage of dented and painted luxury sedans, the ageing WagonRs, the rare cyclist and the withered, really old frail beggar, roads here are everyone’s domain. Not to mention, thanks to the spiralling cost of housing here, families living off the roads unmindful of the filth they generate and the traffic and pollution they endure is a norm that you will soon get accustomed to, maybe in a week’s time. There is no dearth of entertainment either, it is any existentialist’s nightmare from the lane-cutting rickshaw drivers to the mighty, trundling dumpster trucks, to a health freak jogging away unmindful of the marauding BEST buses, risk-taking and trapezing is a conditioned behaviour on our colourful roads, with never a dull moment or wondering of where life is headed off to. 

Add to this, the clarion call for progress and “Make in India” slogan issued by our ‘progressive PM’, our already crammed roads are diverted, cut, divided and god alone knows how this has been possible, even widened to accommodate the Metro Work and their heavy duty machinery! The sheer size of some of this machinery keeps my sense of wonder wondering, so awestruck am I by these machines that their noise levels appear to be melodious and rhythmic bass. In fact, I believe that FM Stations are starting new programmes and employing more RJs to cater to the ever increasing road time spent by the average Bombayite. Along with listening to Kishore Kumar’s soulful rendering of “In umr se lambi sadko ko manzil pe pohonch the dekha nahin…” my friends and I have a new topic to discuss now, the levels of completion of the metro work and the amount of traffic disruptions at our respective locales, as we patiently wait in our cars en route to meeting up one another possibly on the same day. Returning to this particular morning’s silence, as I contemplated the reasons behind this deafening tranquility that reigned  firmed up in the belief that it is not so much the destination as the journey that matters even if it is halt, stop proceed one at 30 kms per hour by that back road which is supposedly less crowded, it occurred to me that it was my cherished day of the week, my precious Sunday morning “and that has made all the difference!”

A G K