pain/ physical/ emotional/ fear/ something else

A hospital once again. I am at least a couple of hours before time and have little to do kill time, but observe people and their curios habits. And often intrude their private spaces in an environment where privacy is almost a no-word and public is the apparent private.

A middle aged South Indian couple, woman being the patient, fill in the space in front of me,. Conversations struggle between them as they attempt to eat dosa with sambhar/ chutney. Two women on my either side - one constantly peeling fruits while the other one deeply engrossed into an old issue of Readers' Digest (reading an article on '13 ways to lose weight').

The space

Conversations here are few and far in-between, but the place has a constant chatter intermixed with the traffic noise outside. I wonder if hospitals should at all be like this, even those meant for the poor. But the place is homely in its own way, an extremely silent place for treatment may be too condescending for some of the people here. Certainly, noise can't be comfortable for the patient.

With even more free time in hand, I wonder if hospitals have any color, I can see almost all colors but the tone is overwhelmingly neutral. Even the South Indian aunty eating dosa looks muted in her red-yellow-golden ensemble. 'Too fast to live, Too young to die', reads one of the black T-shirt running around. T-shirts are uncommon though, pant-shirt win over the jeans-tees outside.

Dosa finally over, the aunty lies down on uncle's lap and starts crying (pain/ physical/ emotional/ fear/ something else), while uncle plays with her cheeks, the way do with toddlers; curiously this puts her to sleep soon. I look at them and wonder if they are in love. How many of us actually grow old with the one we love? All relationships I see around are broken, most are simple compromises while a few lucky ones survive with mutual affection.

Its time now to stop taking notes, my young partner for today's investigations is walking towards me with a bright smile. Smiles will have to wait, hospital waits for us.

naam, name...

Odissa is now Odisha and Oriya is Odia (cabinet approved, pending Parliament approval).

Last 10 years have been eventful with politicians insisting that its important to go back to the roots and change names to original ones. Maybe this all was spurred by Bombay being renamed to Mumbai, followed to Madras (to Chennai) and Calcutta (to Kolkota). Bangalore also joined these big cities and rechristened itself Bengaluru.

One of the cities which can soon join the above could be Ahmedabad. It could very well be called Karnavati in future.

Renaming doesn't just end at cities, but extends to crosses, roads, buildings. Hence VT (Victoria Terminus) becomes CST (Chhtrapati Shivaji Terminus), Connaught Place turns to Rajiv Chowk and so on. The fact there was no Railways when Shivaji ruled and no Rajiv when Lutyens designed the Connaught Place is, of course, immaterial.

I do give the impression that I am against renaming these relics of the past. But that's not the concern, the concern is who decides whats right in these cases. Somehow I feel, despite the fact that politicians are elected democratically, they are not exactly the best people to decide on name changes. And what if some people want the name to be changed, while some are against it. The obvious answer would be to let the elected representatives decide...

Mumbai mein sab kuch milta hai!

In Mumbai you get everything...

I am on tour for a few days and had an absolutely hilarious experience while looking for lunch this Friday. Around Ghatkopar, we saw this decent looking place called 'Asiad Restaurant' and as we were desperate for lunch, decided to go inside and hog. I had Harsh with me, an office colleague from IDEA.

The really well drseed durban took a couple of seconds extra to open the door, which was a little odd. However, hungry Harsh rushed inside immediately, and I was given a not so subtle hint of what to expect by the durban - sir, its a girls bar (with a rather sly smile).

It was dark inside, I mean really really dark with red lights on the tables. Harsh was still rushing, when I could make out many many girls/ women/ aunties staring at us from the back tables. I stopped short while Harsh still rushed on, looking forward to a feisty meal in almost absolute darkness. I called out to him and tried telling him in English that there is something odd about the place. However, Harsh was almost unstoppable. Finally I said, "Harsh its a Girls' Bar and maybe we should look for another place to eat".

The waiter immediately cornered me and said in a hushed tone, "Sir, gents service bhi mil jayegi".

The End.

Mumbai Meri Jaan (again)!

Am reading O Jerusalem! right now and there is something that connected inside me when I heard about the Mumbai blasts. The news right in the morning completely spoiled my day. I kept thinking about it, random thoughts and now I cant even remember any of those...

Poor Mumbai...there is so much the city has to bear. It certainly is an amazing place to have lived through so much. I always loved the Taj Hotel...anyway am quite sure they will reconstruct it immediately after this. But what about the 100+ dead? How can anybody rebuild their lives?

By the way even BJP managed to say something sensible today. Thank God for that...

Shobha De with Karan Thapar & others

Lots of blogs have this interview, I pick the following because it kind of represents what's in my mind as well, especially the last line. The question of identity for us Indians...what are we first - a Maharashtrian, a Tamilian, a Gujarati, a Behari or an Indian first. Perhaps most of us take the India for granted (maybe including me), and so we keep getting into this debate. But I guess a debate is way healthier than what we otherwise see. And perhaps this is the only way forward...

http://ibnlive.in.com/news/devils-advocate-shobhaa-de-on-mumbai-vs-bombay/76806-3-single.html

Karan Thapar: Isn’t that cutting the very roots of cosmopolitanism, the broad-mindedness that Mumbai represents?

Shobhaa De: It’s happening across the board, not just Mumbai but we like to make Mumbai a prime example of this ghettoisation of our minds. It’s a question of identity, a question of stepped-up regionalism. It’s happening everywhere but Mumbai seems to attract a lot of media attention on the account of this. It’s happening because the question of identity, deep down, is what is troubling all of us as Indians.

Another interesting article by Rajdeep Sardesai in Hindustan Times:

http://www.hindustantimes.com/StoryPage/Print.aspx?Id=60cfd3cb-8223-415c-8418-91945ce8232e

Mumbai Meri Jaan!

I studied ‘Unity in Diversity’ as one of the key factors which makes India such a special and unique country. And it’s only now that I realize what a sham it was. Where is this damn unity? Aha…maybe in Mumbai. It was always the epitome of Cosmopolitism, not Delhi, not Calcutta and certainly not Chennai. And I guess it was another sham, a pretense and the mask is now coming off finally. Thank God for that. We live with so many masks around that it’s nice to see at least someplace which is without one. So what if I don’t agree with what I see behind the mask and it breaks my heart and shakes my faith in our Indian Union itself. At least the cat is out of the bag, at least there is some truth there. I saw a TV show last night and almost every Marathi (right from a student to an aged housewife) agreed with Raj of MNS fame. Most denounced the means (violence, for instance), but almost everyone again attributed it an expression of pent up feelings (which to many justified it all). It sounded so much like the Ahmedabad violence rhetoric or the Delhi Sikh riots when Rajiv made his rather infamous statement. Oh why just the audience, even one of my classmates once said that there is some merit in what Raj says. And maybe there is, considering the fact that so many support it. Of course, in a Democracy, majority wins! 

One interesting statement from the show - ‘Those who stay in Mumbai should learn and speak in Marathi’. Why the hell? Why should anyone be forced to learn language? And to show what? I have never lived in my home state and I don’t even know what language is my mother tongue. Is it Hindi that I learned in School or is it Kumaoni, which is just a dialect but vastly different from Hindi. I’ve lived in Gujarat for many years and my Gujarati is, at best, pathetic. Does that mean that tomorrow I may just be branded unwelcome in the state? What the hell happened to India? Wasn’t I a part of this ‘great’ country and had right to move around freely and seek jobs anywhere and live anywhere? Why do I have to now prove my love and affection and respect for a Maharashtra, or a Gujarat apart from showing it for India as well. Cant I just be an Indian? What the hell happened to the so-called concept of ‘Unity in Diversity’? What if I don’t want to learn Marathi or celebrate their festivals or talk to my Marathi neighbours? What if I talk only in Hindi and celebrate only my North-Indian festivals? I feel rather scared that I may end up getting beaten up somewhere in our dear old Mumbai if I do this. 

As the saying goes, ‘Little knowledge is a dangerous thing’. Maybe I am also one of those who know little and try to talk big. I have so many friends from Maharashtra and I love them all, but it has nothing to do with the fact that they are Marathis. I just don’t care who they are, they are good people and that’s all that matters. They can even be from Germany or Jamaica. Who cares? I think many people do, and to me that’s scary and very unfortunate.

Few more thoughts on this by others:

http://besigns.blogspot.com/

http://shadowsandstone.blogspot.com/

Sona Mona

The lights were about to go out...and then they did and the play got over.

We came out and decided to go for dinner at some weird place called 'Gaylord' (wonder why the girls with me were so interested in this weird sounding lord). Anyway that is when I saw my return train ticket...and hola hola I had missed my train while watching the extremely 'worthwhile' play!!! I was quite ok with that, but Tripti decided the moment was just right to start hyperventilating and she did that with the skills of a born professional (albeit a new-born one). And to give us company in the car there was Sumedha and Sona Mona (Sona Mona is basically just one person but her dual personality demands the use of dual names).

Sona Mona is Varun's sister and they both hail from the Nawabi city of Lucknow. I have very fond memories of Lucknow, especially Umrao Theatre! Anyway coming back to the point (?), we were discussing Sona Mona and her passions in life. Well...maybe I am not the right person to discuss them deeply as she didn't open up to me much (no pun intended)! It was only when we reached close to her place, she could ask me if I worked somewhere (basically she just wanted to confirm her suspicions that I am an unemployed 'young' man ready to pounce on her) and that I looked like a Designer (I think she also wanted to say that I talk like a designer because I used Bra panties and Dragons making out in my paintings...anyway; also a rather polite way of saying that something was terribly wrong with me & my hair). But I think the bra added the much needed zing to the otherwise boring conversations about...well I don't really remember what! And the dragon was just to emphasize that Dragons also need bras...oops...sorry...that Dragons also make out once in a while (when they are not busy smoking up).

Her hurried exit from our car and quick hug to Sumedha was rather symbolic to me. I waited for the moment when she would look back and give me one of those looks...the ones that could kill...but it never happened. I almost strained my neck from the window but Lord Krishna stopped my misadventure mid-way as it was Janamashtmi and roads were full of pious people shouting and screaming over matkis hanging over their heads.

The evening ended rather amicably at the airport where I caught the last flight to Ahmedabad. The dosas and idlis before that provided the much needed food for our rather empty stomachs.

I will miss not talking much with Sona Mona.