Bombay Rocks!!!

Last few days have been quite heavy on Bombay. A downpour lasting all of 24 hours and causing turmoil beyond belief. At 37 inches, on 26July2005, it ranked as the wettest day in the recorded history of the country, beating the earlier record held by the legendary Cherapunji, way back in 1910. But thats not all. There were about 100 lives lost, some under really pathetic circumstances and some under really freaky ones. People uprooted, hutments washed away, lives disrupted and courses changed.

I think I got off relatively easy. Left town at around 10, breezed through the first 10 of the 16 kms distance. And the rest, had to walk considering progress was agonizingly slow. It quite an experience, walking in a sea of people, nameless, faceless, Bandra bound- cracking jokes and laughing. Some time singing. It was not too bad. Bandra was pitch black, and the power lines were not in place till about 48 hours later, but otherwise it was quite ok, compared to what people otherwise had to go through. The next day also managed to get back to work, fruitlessly though. Had to walk again, part of the way, but it was ok. No complaints. But the scene the next day at Bandra was again quite something. Trains had begun running from Bandra, on to far flung places and there you could see people jumping off from buses, tempos, cabs and running in the general direction of the station. Thanked my stars. Cabbies refused to get to Bandra, because, most drivers had spent the night sleeping there. But again, I repeat, it was ok.

But there was something in all the madness- Shukla walking with me at night, and then leaving at day break to look for his wife. The guy walked about 10 kms, through some of the dirtiest parts of town, looking for Shweta and I can imagine how the union must've felt. Streams of messages on news channels, heart warming etc etc. I could feel a certain moistness welling up at some of them. Stories told and re-told. Anand walking from Sion to Powai, leaving his brand new and beloved car with a new driver. It must've broken his heart, but what the heck, home is home... and on a day like that - it is almost heaven. Anuj taking the first available flight back from Delhi, and how everyone started clapping when the pilot finally managed to land. On Tuesday Town was uncharacteristically crowded for a weeknight, bars were brimming, so were hotels, people slept in the lobby of the Taj, and movie halls all over Town hung the house-full sign. There was nothing purposeful to do and Bombayites made the most of the rare opportunity. But at some point of time people had to head home, and leave. What to do...

Phones were down, and that was the most irritating part of the entire thing. I cannot for the life of me figure out why. Insufficient power back-ups I am told. So callous, I must say. The kind of inconvenience it caused to people, and the stress of not being able to stay in touch was just too much. First they get us used to constant connectivity and then they take it all away when it is needed the most. Too bad. Orange was the worst, and I have half a mind to withdraw from their services. Hate it.

Last Saturday I went about trying to buy a Scrabble set. Out of sheer laziness, and that I do not know many sports goods shops, I tried the few malls near my house which I knew had levels selling such things. Shopper's Stop had some thing they called Super Scrabble or some such thing - in a dazzling plasticky box- priced 700 bucks. And when I asked whether they had a regular board, they just looked at me with such disdain- Where's this guy come from!!! That look. I bet the guy at the shop has never ever played a single game of intellect in his life. And barely knows what Scrabble is. Probably only the barcode it goes by. Ridiculous. Which is why I like book shops. Most bookshops, at least the ones I frequent, often have some people at hand who are the regular bibliophiles. When you search for a book, they know where to find it, for they know that the The Diary of Anne Frank is non-fiction. They're people you can connect with.


The thing with this mall culture is that some how small essential low value items, which form the corner stone of our growing up years have gotten lost. Of the things available, nothing ever comes without a glam sham packaging, which in itself would ensure a 2% mark-up. And then the cost of establishment. That's why we need Mom and Pop stores.


I am losing hair. A fast receding hairline is what I would call it. And have noticed something else. That my hair is growing really fast these days. I think as a strand of hair realizes that it days are numbered, it tries to make th most of it. So while my hairline draws back, what remains grows longitudinally at an alarming pcae - about 2 cuts a month.

My aunt (and her husband) are celebrating their 50th marriage anniversary tomorrow. I feel like I am from a different planet altogether.

"Expect nothing. Live frugally on surprise." ~ Alice Walker

Nice weekend. First Tua took time out from her prior engagement with a certain Mr. Potter to dine with me. The time was great- the food not so. I like what I see, I like what I hear.

And today is a good day. Just dealt the first of a kind trade. Happy.

~~ "Don't worry about the world coming to an end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia."~~ Charles Schultz.

Today, I called Ramya. Out of impulse. And was told that she has gone out of town. Her Ammu said, call her on the cell and I asked the number. She couldn't believe that I didn't have her number. Gave it anyway.

I remember the last spoken full sentence face to face- RV you are looking for something. And I am too old, to not know that I am not what you are looking for. And the last word. "Naaley." Tomorrow. Yes, dear, we used to do it too, to ourselves.

Who is it that matters at the middle of the night? Who is it that you want to speak to when you're smashed beyond redemption? When doses of hash sizzlers induce that purple haze, and a catharsis occurs and some eternal truth dawns- something that has eluded you for the last quarter of a century. And then who do you want to talk to? At least, I know.

Went for the mixer last night. It was a different experience. Fun in bits, at least while you were with people who were there for fun. Writers, creatives, journos etc. But then a lot of people (business men, builders, weight trainers, umbrella makers) were actually trying to do business. And I had nothing to offer them. It dawned upon me how difficult it is to do your own thing. Here I am, wake up each morning and walk into this swank office. If the comp doesn't work, just call IT and holler. If the coffee vending machine has run out of your particular concoction, again holler. Just get in do what you do best, make your money and run. Everything else is someone else's problem and your excuse. But would that work, otherwise? Someone tells me, go circulate, promote your bank. And I said, that's not what I am paid for. There are other who should be doing it, and are paid, according to me, way beyond what is required to do so. I felt somewhat bad (not quite the right expression), for some people who have to spend a Friday evening selling their wares to a person like me, who is just there to have a good time.

It is a novel concept. I help you with my contacts and hopefully at some point of time, you pay the favour forward and in due course it finds its way back to me. I could see that happening and so decided to offer my services (in terms of names) to a couple of people who came along. I left early. Very sleepy. Not feeling too Friday. But then Ram called and he, wouldn't take no for an answer. So twice yesterday I succumbed to this.

Just took a small break. Went out to buy the latest Harry Potter. So now I am going to sit and read the same. No sleeping in office today.

You can make out a person is new to room if you see pens lying around on his desk. Well I have a pen stand on my desk, which is usually filled with a clutch of fancy pens (the kinds you get when you sign papers for big deals- not all of them mine), which don't work. Last night, uncharacteristically, I left a pen in it which works. This morning, all the pens that don't work are still there, whereas the one that does is missing. According to Seinnfeld, there must be an alternate world into which pens disappear. Have you ever heard anyone saying- I've found a pen! ? I haven't.

Regular weekend today. But last night had a terrible fight with Atin. But thats ok. We've always fought a lot. But this time his girlfriend was around, and she took serious offence to everything (I wasn't even talking to her) that was happening and stomped away. Women ... I'll tell you- they're crazy. And the worst part is that they don't realize that some times their men need to be ... well, just boys.

I am finally going for that trek tomorrow. Should be good fun. Didn't go for any last year and just a couple the year before. Quite looking forward to it. Last night I went out with Sue. Good fun. It amazing, how we met last month after some 20 years and clicked instantly. I really like the Shack. It never lets you down. Always a good time there.

If missing me is hard to do...you should try missing you.

~ Who else.

A decent day at work. A very good week till date. I realized that I have grown so superstitious, that I take time out to decide which shirts not to wear to work and which train to take. on the way back- usually by road, which route to go by. I guess this business is so much about luck that at some point of time, one does turn superstitious. There is this really cool shirt I have that I haven't worn in the last two months because the last time I did wear it to work, I had this terrible terrible day. Got mothered.

Returned from Cal on Monday and frankly I am nauseated by the "You'll be next" line. Maa can't seem to talk about anything else. Which is why, I spent most of the time away from home, at Some Place Else. Monsoon is quite a menace in Cal. Its boring and frustrating. I like the rains here better. Much better. Actually, I think making it to Cal itself was a master stroke that I can never hope to repeat. Had been out drinking the night before, and in order to impress someone, I gulped two dozen pegs of bacardi in a space of 5 mins. And then went for a party. Woke up at 6.15 for a 6.50 AM flight. Fortunately I had gone off to sleep with my clothes and shoes on. Went to Cal in them. No luggage. The lady at the check-in tells me that the gates closed. There must've been something in my eyes or was it just..., well she let me in. I had to had to go, but the prospect of spending 12k for a full fare flight was too depressing. all through the flight I kept chewing Mentos, to supress the stink of alchol. But that doesn't quite work,does it? Mom kept wrinkling her little nose and Dad had this very "I don't approve this at all look" while I went about telling others of my serendipitous escape.

Angie surprises me often. And very often she surprises me a lot. Like the third time she told me that she had dreamt of me, I had to tell her to stop telling me about it. What to do. There are some things in life that you don't want, right? Some things are left just the way they are. I often say that I can predict women quite well. I am not as convinced anymore. So have changed my stance to one in which I know women at large quite well- but specific women - well that's still a mystery.

I am off for the day. Today I am quite drained. The blasts in London and the choppy markets thereafter, have left me completely drained. Just one more day left in the week, and I think it will be a perfect end. Oops... too early to say such a thing in my line of work.

Abbey's book comes out next week. Quite looking forward to it. Actually haven't read a good book in days. Hope this one is good. There is too much expectation around it. I think after reading this every one would want to go to XL. If people knew what they missed out on... But I guess any parent reading it, might have second thoughts about sending their kids there. I guess every one has good memories of their day's in B-School, but I somehow believe that XLers, more so. I mean I have such varied experiences, and so rich. Like someone was saying the other day- it is not about getting through it, its about being there. Its not about grades, its about the experience. And what an experience. Growing up over two years, as if the last twenty were worth nothing at all. And in my case the last twenty were worth quite a lot in isolation.

Chalo... too late in the evening to sit around and ramble. Got to go home. Actually have to that one pager, but I keep telling mself- I need to do it with a fresh mind.

"Love... is the rug they pull out from under you. Love is Lucy always lifting the football at the last second so that Charlie Brown falls on his ass. Love is something that everytime you believe in it, it goes away. Love is for suckers, and I'm not going to be a sucker ever again."

"Somehow, the conversation mentioned your name. And, someone asked if I knew you. Looking away I thought of all the times we had together; sharing laughter, tears, jokes and tons more. And then, without explanation you were gone. I looked to where they were waiting for an answer, and then said softly, 'Once...I thought I did.'"

~Louise Sybing

Was in Cal over the weekend. And went through those familiar rushes of nostalgia for a city I surprisingly know very little about. Was tempted to write, but frankly had no time. So I decided to post a letter I wrote during my last trip - when I was there for 15 odd days for my sister's wedding. Addressee was RV. Letter edited and republished with appropriate permissions.

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Calcutta,

January 8, 2005

Spent most of the day trying to get lost in the streets of Calcutta. However, after a few attempts, I realized that I was too much a townsfolk to get lost in any city in the world, let alone in one which speaks my mother tongue. The masterstroke of the day must be my fast asleep act- through which I managed to lose most of my extended family. By the time I rolled out of bed, everyone except Dad, had left for various things. True all the cars had gone too, but what the heck- I wouldn’t want to go look for parking in a place like this. Dad insisted that we have lunch together, so we went to Esplanade, to have Biryani at the legendary Aminia restaurant. Some time two years back a colleague of mine, on a visit to Cal had messaged from this very joint stating that he was having Biryani. Today, I returned the favour. With much glee, I might add since the hourly market updates that I receive by text message seemed to indicate a fairly brutal day at work.

Lunch out of the way, I made sure that I was left to myself. Packed off Dad to the hotel and instantly made off to pacing up and down Esplanade. Lit a cigarette, my first of the day, and set about soaking in Calcutta. As nicotine delivers new energy I realize that Esplanade is very crowded at this time of the day, and probably at most. Since bumping in to smelly people is not to my personal taste, I decided to move to better locations. Decided to move to Park Street- which over the last two days, I have realized is much more to my liking. One annoying thing about this city is that traffic is far nosier than anywhere else. This is part because it is disorderly and hence people have to honk more, and the second that most forms of transport- public and private are quite antiquated and hence much noisier. Buses with clanging tinplate bodies, ambassadors dating back to the sixties- honking their crazy analog horns, hand drawn rickshaws, with their smart ringing bells and just a plethora of hugely amplified other city noises. A bit too noisy, a bit too distracting for my liking on a vacation of sorts.
The taxi drive to Park Street is interesting. The cab driver has figured that I am new to the city. May be it is the way I am looking at the mass of people or may be its just that I chose to take the cab from the wrong side of the road. He swerves left after a U-turn and instantly launches into a "See my City" spiel- ending quite sordidly. He stops the car just ahead of the Park Hotel, where a pretty girl is standing on the footpath. He tells me that the woman is soliciting and then without waiting for me to react, starts to broker a deal. Thankfully, I have calculated the exact fare and tender the cash, quite enjoying the conversation between the two. The girl is pretty, and evidently available. But I am in no mood and she goes away swearing at the cabbie, seeing that I have already exited the cab and walked away from the other side.
After a bit of walking up and then down, since I am unable to cross the road right away, I reach the other side. I sit at the Barista, opposite the Park and order my usual- a cup of tea. I seat myself next to the pavement and watch the world go by in the streets of Calcutta. Make a few calls and then my eyes fall on that girl- still standing there. Quite a pretty girl, I must admit. And a very foul mouth to that. Then leave the place and head to Dalhousie. Park Street which had been conveniently one way, till then, suddenly turns the tide and now is going the opposite direction. So I now walk a bit in the general direction of Dalhousie and then take a cab as soon the traffic is aligned with my desired direction. Caught up with Rungta by design (pleasant) and Ajay (by accident- not so much, though very cordial).
Running into Ajay by surprise gave me a glimpse of how it can be working in Calcutta. I had actually stopped by at a restaurant near the main office for a nibble and there I saw him sitting with another person, deeply engrossed in a cricket match, least concerned about the food. I walked across and then he told me that it was his second lunch of the day, just to watch a bit of the match. The guy across the table was the manager of the main branch. He too seemed least perturbed by the fact that any order took forever to execute and that it just happened to be a Monday afternoon. In the midst of the shouting and yelling, the person and Ajay both seemed to lament the fact their employer had yet again started to sack people, which incidentally, did not seem to have any impact on how they chose to spend their Monday afternoon. Suddenly, in a moment of awe inspiration, the person across the table, waved to the waiter and asked for the bill. Ajay said that he’d been out for lunch for the last two hours and well, it was time to head to work. My watch reads 4:15PM.
After this I decided to head back to Park Street. I window-shop for a bit before entering the Oxford bookstore that you are so fond of. The first thing that strikes me is the heady fragrance of incense and damp wood. What would I do if you weren’t around to show the way. Here I notice a very beautiful Bengali lady with a foreigner. She stands in front of a stack of Lonely Planet, obviously deciding on the best one for him. The tourist has long hair and is very unkempt, the lady is very good looking and extremely well dressed. Quite an odd couple. I step out and start to walk down the road. The pretty girl of the morning has now disappeared, hopefully meaningfully. I go back to the Barista across the road and watch the world go by over Darjeeling tea and newspapers. Tia calls. Informs that she is in Calcutta tomorrow. Would like to catch up. I say sure. It is amazing how this girl and I have gotten friendly only after campus, in spite of never having lived in the same city. People read between the lines and some times I do too, but what the heck, life is worth a lot more.
It is getting dark outside and I realize that I am not yet that familiar with the bearings of the road after night falls. So decide to step out and head home. Stop at Musicworld- a largish shop just next to Flurry’s. One thing about Calcutta is that absolutely not one shop attendant tries to come forward to help or question otherwise. Works quite well with me. I want to go into Flurry’s but it is just not the sitting alone kind of place. From the outside, I can make out that even the smallest table seats four. So I decided to just walk by and stop by later when I am with some more people. There is no dearth of people on this trip. I guess the more difficult thing is in losing them.
Later at night I sat down for dinner with my extended family. I realized, and this is some thing I think you should know, that my extended family is really quite rustic. Very vocal about their views, very suburban in their outlook on most things. And very, very stubborn. In their company my Dad, I notice wears a completely different hat. He is almost unrecognizable in their midst- speaking their dialect and is just a little noisier than usual. For a minute the first thought that occurs to me is that if I were to introduce you to this gathering, what would the reactions be like- on both sides. Probably, you would be politely quiet, and they a bit too lost for words. I realize that even I don’t really feel completely at ease here. Then I realized that the possibility was one in a billion and very, very avoidable, to really start thinking about. Another thing about my extended family that strikes me is how my parents go on and on about how we are so close and how I must be really fond of my cousins. Now, much as I appreciate the fact that I have first cousins who I am supposed to be fond of, I also find that the fondness part is not that easy. The two who are constantly around are about ten years younger to me. This is the first time I have seen them in the last twelve years and there is no way that I can see any thing of common interest to us. The two who are not, are out of this place most of the time on their own pursuits. I just can’t see how my parents can expect me to be fond of people of whom I have very bleak, if any recollections. May be they are right, but what really gets my goat is the fact that they keep harping about it from time to time. They keep saying it is so great that we are so close to each other and it makes me sick. Some times I just feel like telling them to shut up but just endure it, thinking that it’s the last time. It is nauseatingly sweet- this whole family drama and I really regret that I am here this early. I just don’t get it- how can my parents expect me-me of all people to feel chummy with someone I haven’t seen and only randomly spoken to in the last twelve years. Sometimes, through one of these ordeals, I just feel like telling everyone "GET REAL- IT’S THE TWENTY FIRST CENTURY- IMMEDIATE FAMILY AS A CONCEPT IS THREATENED- WHY ARE YOU GLOATING ABOUT SOMETHING THAT AT BEST IS A MUSEUM ANTIQUE AND IN ALL LIKELIHOOD DOESN’T EVEN EXIST ANYMORE." I have the choicest words available. I am sure you can imagine all the sarcastic statements just brewing inside me, waiting to explode. Whenever I am in here I am reminded of the wonderful life I have, alone, in Bombay. And I curse myself for inflicting this upon myself.
Otherwise everything is quite okay. Don’t worry- I am behaving myself quite well- as per your instructions. There are things that I disagree with. I mean things which concern the marriage. (The ""You'll be next"s by the dozen!!!) I don’t quite agree with my Dad- and hate Mom for putting me in this situation. But because of all the things that she (and you) has told me prior to my coming here, I decide to shut up and let Dad do things his way. I know there are so many things that I would have done differently. But I think of my Mom (and you) and what she’s told and then think that "What the hell, if I ever get married, I’ll get to do it my way in any case." May be you should be here- you'd be impressed.

Lastly, I read a poem somewhere... it is for you-

When I was young

I saw colour in everything

I grew up one evening

When I discovered that colour on Butterfly's wings

comes off when you rub too hard.

love, j

On some positions, Cowardice asks the question, "Is it safe?" Expediency asks the question, "Is it politic?" And Vanity comes along and asks the question, "Is it popular?" But Conscience asks the question, "Is it right?" And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but one must do it because Conscience tells him it is right.

MLK.
O B L is a taxi driver in Kolkatta nee Calcutta.

Just returned from a trip to Calcutta and am completely convinced of the ways and means of willfully losing oneself in that city. I don't think that Calcutta remains a megapolis anymore. Its just so dull and decaying, especially for someone like me, living in the glitz and glam of Bombay. But then there is just so much that lies beneath, in the underbelly of the city that a trip there remains a most amazing experience.

For instance, the absolute gastronomic delights which the city offers. The best biryani of the world at Aminia and the most delicious sweets at any corner joint. Rolls at Bedouin, or anywhere else. Sweets for 4 cost 39 rupees. Biryani for three costs 99, Chicken roll for 15.
For instance the deep culutral roots- some thing that Delhi doesn't even contend for and something that Bombay still seeks.
For instance being approached by pimps- twice, while your sister stands right next to you, being offered college girls at 1500 rupees, and being scolded by sis for sending out all the wrong signals. Wondering why I didn't read body language books.
For instance being tempted by the above, just to see what is like in this city of lost dreams.
For instance coming across the warmest people in the world. And for confusing warmth with nosiness- as is often our wont
For instance the slow idyllic boat ride on the Hooghly, early morning as a polluted smog crings to the water (water that is, water that was), but makes the sunrise seem like a psychedelic purpley-orange haze- perhaps remnants from the night before
For instance spotting a palatial house by the Hooghly, which having gracefully aged, is now begining to decay
For instance having the temerity to ask its possible price and knowing that it is not entirely unaffordable
For instance realizing that Some place Else... is as good an old English pub as any, and the people noisy in just the right way. And the music... oh the music is brilliant, unblemished and completely mind blowing!
For instance knowing that one doesn't always have to do just the right thing and say just the right words, in a place like this.
For instance being driven around in a taxi cab by a driver who looks like O B L. And who has a sticker just above the rear view mirror, hand written, in Arabic, and reads- Humare liye Allah hi bas hai. Think about- isn't it all that matters?
For instance being able to indulge in such fantasies and feel happy about the fact the world's most wanted man is actually at your beck and call. You can actually make him drive you to the nearest police station, without any one bothering.



And lastly, for realizing that while all this is really nice, unless we do some thing about it, this city will be lost, to time and its ruthless hands- knowing that there is only a fine line which separates the ageing and the decaying- and that its time that someone did something about it.