Gearing up !!

Durga Ma in Mumbai

In Tandem

Feel at peace
Didn't know I wasn't
till I arrived at it;
Strange are the ways of the mind and the heart
and all that talk of darkness not known without knowledge of light!!

I guess, harmony is what brings total contentment to me
Harmony, forthrightness, rationalisation of the what's and why's
It does take time and once rationalised,
I seem to have no qualms about taking many steps,
till someone takes their first tentative one and progresses.


I guess, I'm not so egoistically obtuse - after all!!


Let that be today's recognition,
Let that be one more part of the 'self awareness' puzzle
that's threatening to take life-long to become a 'WHOLE';

I'm not complaining,
very truly the journey being far more satisfying than the destination!!

Quest-ing, patient, self-analysing - I continue to BE!!

August Bonanza !!

Let's not give surprise a chance!

Life… catches us by surprise, too often for comfort!

June 13: N messaged me from Bangalore that he’s raising a toast to Manu… and praying for his soul to rest in peace. I messaged ‘Amen’.

Manu passed away peacefully, on June 8. Shock to many, grief to many more, yet perhaps nothing more irreconcilable for his wife.

N got to know on June 9, practically woken up by the news, crying inconsolably, miserable, (silently) shocked.

Manu is N’s friend, one amongst the delicately few you make during your work years, and stay so, even after jumping several jobs, exchanging cities, getting married and living years not seeing each other.

I know N for almost 4 years now, and I’m trying to remember my touch-points with Manu through the years…

Like my first invitation to visit Manish Sea Croft to watch a DVD together and my encounter with the incorrigible ‘Peecha Karo’, that apparently was Manu’s heirloom left behind for N.
{N, let me tell you it was a precarious choice of a movie on a 3rd or a 4th Date, when your agenda would still have been to impress me with your taste(s) in books, movies, hobbies and the likes}

Now it’s a fond memory!

Marriages are once- in-a–lifetime and we strangely wish for all old, new friends to be part of our’s. Many promise to make it, many try to make it, many actually make it.

Manu made it to the wedding & the reception.

And so a faint memory of this wiry, smiling, dark-kurta clad Manu introduced by N. Here’s my friend Manu, the outrageous one…. of the ‘Peecha Karo’ fame.

Since marriage, N would often dial back to the times with Manu, mostly in the context of outrageous fun, regaling tales of camaraderie, boisterous moments & laughter, living the moment in his company, quoting Manu-isms ‘all the best to you and J K Tyres’.

A fond character emerging for me!

About 7-8 months back (last qtr 2006) Manu moved to Mumbai to join the Reliance ADAG corporate mktg. team. Done with his 2 yrs at IIM B, already having authored a book, back in the hardly changed world of corporates & brands, which he seemed to unabashedly dislike.

He made his way to The Nest for dinner one evening, sometime soon. My first real meeting with him, and looking back, easily falling into the slot of immensely likeable, genuine, matter-of –fact people – ‘no wonder N adores him so…’. Lot of reminiscing, regaling, story telling, money-talk, anecdotal recounting of Anil- bhai and Tina- bhabhi, and of course, the tale of ‘Peecha Karo’.

And I wonder and N agrees Manu forever is a true man–of-the-soil.

Days and months pass. We frequently talk about Manu, I often inquire after him and N confers to call him over for meals more often, since he’s living alone in Mumbai.

2007 happens and my ‘break’ commences. Manu agrees to have dinner with us sometime in February. We call the Mohans over too. Manu arrives with a bottle of wine. Sanjay pays a surprise visit hearing Manu’s over (Am sure he’s glad he did so – his last with Manu i reckon!).Some surprising bitching about peers, bosses, corporate- fallacies ensue. I wonder - wow this guy brings out the beast in everyone!

The evening advances and the Mohans arrive. Manu seamlessly blending it into an evening of laughter & many tales told, sitting in the living room corner, on my blue floor cushions, working slowly at his drink, next to the shelf lined with books.

Manu clearly loved the limelight of storytelling.

I remember my hostess’ instinct noticing Manu as the only one enjoying the home made ‘choler –daal’ and rice while the rest of us also savored the ‘varied’ parathas ordered in from khane khaas. Silently acknowledging his inclination for home food being ‘away’ from home and I remember telling myself we should have him over more often.

By now I’m clearly very fond of this genial friend of N’s.

If only we’d known that was to be his last meal with us. And the last meeting.

N, I know this and a lot more bothered you (apart from the loss itself) and you did the right closure in Bangalore! A closure, an acceptance of Manu's physical absence and of never ending love for him for the rest of your life.

I’ve often thought about the series of feelings one goes through when a close one dies. My personal experience when a friend died almost a decade ago taught me a few more. Sharbani died and I was mean to her in my last exchange with her, Sharbani died and I had no clue she was harboring a deadly disease, Sharbani was at her Mom’s and I thought she should visit me and the same does not apply to me, Sharbani died and I was away the whole day caught up in make-believe- corporate busy(ness), Sharbani died and I didn’t know till the dusk of the day when everything about her was ashes. I wasn’t there, I didn’t know, I was proudly oblivious. And my last loving memory of her standing benign & beautiful; at her first floor balcony patiently smiling at my jibe for not visiting me.

It is a lifelong cross of guilt I carry with me, surprisingly finding outlet in tearful confessions during training sessions on ‘ what could I redo if I had a chance…’, to my own chagrin, forever, never excusing myself of the guilt of callousness.

What an expensive way to learn to give to each relationship as if it were the only, the last meeting; to every friendship fully in that moment; to every elder the due sincerity & attention; for I dare not carry another cross, ‘coz the cross that I carry leaves no room for one more.

This life's surprise has left me no option but to say this to her here, on my blog-space 'I love you Sharbani, despite my last jibe of insensitivity'.

Why give it any name !!

I wrote this on the 5th of June, just didn’t manage to give it much shape… still half baked but what the hell…

Why give it a name… it’s life

It’s been a day full of nuances; germinated somewhere in the chats I’ve had since last evening and this morning. Somehow HAD to source out the two-pin to plug in the Bose and blast the Metro soundtrack.

Several thoughts running criss-cross, parallel, contradicting, confirming, affirming; all at the same time. Life, all of a sudden, has offered a unique scale to grade whether I’ve lived a life; fully yet; with its doses of purity, love, hope, hopelessness, despair, optimism, hypocrisy, forgiveness, anger & Déjà vu’s and I’m raring to see how I’ve fared across life’s parameters…Momentary lapses that most of us will find traces of ‘been there’, ‘felt that way’, ‘ah, that feeling’ and resonance

The sequence of the ‘lapses’ follows the sequence of the tracks in the album and not necessarily that of life…

In dino dil mera, Mujhse hai keh raha
Tu khwab saja, Tu Jee Le Zara
Hai tujhe bhi ijazat, karle tu bhi mohabbat…

…Main aapni tanhayi ke vaste ab kuch toh karu.

Jab mile thodi phursat, khudse kar le mohabbat,
Hai tujhe bhi ijazat, karle tu bhi mohabbat…

Some random thoughts occur:
Have I just lived a life or have I loved myself fully, amply, unconditionally, non – judgmentally, unregretful despite the odd decisions that gave momentary pain & pangs of pleasure, cut short.
Get a resounding YES. Am chuffed.

And it creeps up without a single whisper or a tingle to the spine

Chupke se kahin dhime pao se,
Jaane kis tarah kis gharih,

Aage badh gaye hamse rahon mein,
Par tum to abhi the yaheen

Kuch bhi na suna, kabka tha gila
Kaise kah diya…Alvida.

Alvida alvida meri raahein alvida, meri saanse kehti hai alvida
Alvida alvida aab kahna aur kya, jab tu ne keh diya alvida.

It comes back again.
Once again feeling naughty, understood, desired, all at once, all of a sudden…
Irrepressibly…

Dil Khudgarz hai,
Phisla hai yeh,
Phir haath se
Kal uska raha,
Ab hai tera is raat se…
Oh meri jaan

Tu aa gaya yu nazar mein,
Jaise subah dopahar mein
Madhoshi jaisi chhayi
Niyaat neh li angdayi

…Nadaan samjhe kahaa yeh dil mera
Janu na janu na isko kya hua
Meri, bahon ki phir se dhoonde
Yeh panah
Tu hai kahan… Oh meri jaan

And the acknowledgement, which chases till that point… for a nod, a hug

Batein kuch ankahi si, kuch ansuni si, hone lagi
Kabu dil pe raha na, hasti hamari khone lagi
Shayad yahi hai pyaar

Chai Garrammm...

This Saturday’s visit to Tea Centre in town was a celebration. A snacky celebration of memories, in culmination. I’ve visited this place before but this visit with N threw up a special Delhi – nostalgia.

Ushered in by liveried waiters, interiors resplendent in Green and its various shades, water color portraits hung on walls - to be sold, almost every seat taken up - by a curious mix of 20 somethings and all ages. Curious because we did not expect the 20’s generation to be enjoying tea when the Café Coffe Days & Coffee Worlds are winning the opinion polls by huge margins. We’re victims of cliche may be!

The order was placed. Mind you, the only way to be waited upon was to summon attention by ringing the bell at our table. An unexpected craving for something old and familiar tugged at my palette and I made the suggestion to N. Pakoras. We wholeheartedly succumbed and so placed the order for a plateful of Pakoras.

They came. With Daintily flavored Assam tea in a Carafe (they’ve done away with the ceramic pots maybe because of maintenance reasons)and milk in a silver pot. A heaped plateful of Pakoras – Onions, Potatoes, Cauliflower, Spinach, fat green Chilies fully decked in spiced batter to acquire the look and flavor of what we North-Indians have salivated after, for generations. Fresher than fresh and piping hot. Hot enough to delay our eager demolition of the plateful. Memories of several cloudy & rainy evenings in Delhi when a similar fare was served at our homes became a natural companion at our table. Yet another one of those common heart-tuggers that help us bond, time and again.

Taste buds tingled and aroused, we had to top it off – hence a plate of Tikkis was called for. Also followed many-a-discussion on the possibility of replicating the Delhi- Tikkis - doubtful, expectant, encouraged - all-at-once!! They arrived and were different - but fresh and interestingly flavored. The surprising 6-in-a-plate serving made a doggy-pack a natural companion when we exited the place.

Replete and content, to be regaled to friends and to be visited as often as possible!!

Staying Connected

Have been rather busy... with what you'd ask! - cannot translate coherently into anything that makes sense. A jamboree really :

N finally met up with his cousin, he viisted The Nest for dinner. The food (that I served! ) was not much to my liking, am not sure hence if the guest went back much sated!! Was good to listen to some anecdotal teasings & nostalgia between the cousins. And some dark family secrets (as they termed it). Net net - it's proven: it's always fun catching up with cousins, despite lengthy periods of no 'connect' over the width of seas, STD/ ISD lines, hundreds of kms, family functions, family group Ids, birthday wishes and the rest.

The surprise on my Birthday saved more than a few bad hours (N?)... what with Chaya and gang conspiring with my husband to gift me a surprise-gatecrash with cake, love, hugs, et all. Some photo moments will be posted soon. Secret well kept N! and a great one at the dusk of a day when i'd silently wondered ' why has none of them remembered?!' 'Is this all there is to my 'connectedness' with them?' For dinner, the choice of the cuisine and venue was mine and the Mohan's and us polished off a lovely spread at Thai Ban. A day replete with long lost voices, apologies for mistaken birth dates, catching up and incessant wishes from friends who i'd lost 'connect' with, or so I thought. All 'picked up from where we left it'... I think I'm going to be in touch again!

My Mom's birthday was quieter... she said!! But all us kids were connected, i promise!

The book shelf arrived (in parts) and was 'nailed and screwed' up in the corner of our TV room... big, slim, majestic and I love it! Next day spent in meticulosly arranging our long-ignored library according to the genre & geography of authors. One more wish solemnised.

Met the other N... celebrating life!! I had to meet him that day, no matter what! Never seen him so shaken & relieved {oxymoronically}, a 'first' realisation, perhaps, of human vulnerability to disease, destiny and despair; the despair & dread he says he experienced, every moment, while awaiting the biopsy report. Is he going to change( however subtly) hereon... only time will tell. I felt mommy-like again... and was glad to give him my warmest reassuring celebratory hug (my first bear-hug to my mentor). I'm going to be his mentor i think, maybe for a while... only to assure and confirm that it's ok to express & emote, it's natural to feel fear, it's logical to worry and panic and that there are always people who will stay 'connected' with you, however distant, intuitively, instinctively, in your worst times.

This is why we continue to live, hope, pray & believe.

Forbidden Berries

Seductive Simplicities

Britania Co. Ltd., located at Ballard Estate, Mumbai will ring a ‘nostalgic’ bell for many a Mumbaikar, but for yours truly – still not fully initiated into Mumbai’s very best & very basic – it was the very first encounter. I’d not heard of its existence till this day (April 6)

Clearly a day which was more meticulously planned out than many others, we managed to pack in quite a bit, actually a lot – slept in, aggressive cardio at the gym, light breakfast to be compensated later at lunch and departure by the stipulated time.

South Mumbai on holidays continues to be a breeze, though on this ‘Good Friday’ we had to navigate through a bit of traffic en route. Britania is nestled in the heart of the statuesque Ballard Estate, still one of the most influential business districts in the country’s commercial capital. The buildings, said to be designed by George Wittet - the architect for Gateway and the Museum- bear the familiar similarity of high ceilings and big windows, the architectural left- over from the British Raj. And lanes beautifully lined with the green and balminess of tress rooted there for 100 years or more.

Britania, now in its 90s & one of Mumbai’s oldest Irani (Persian) restaurants, is simply puritanical – no nonsense, no frills, perhaps one of the last of a dying breed of Irani establishments once teeming in many a nook and corner of South Mumbai.

‘There is no Love greater than the Love of Eating’ written bold in highlighted font welcomed our attention as we entered and settled into a corner seating of four.

The romance of the place does not hit you at first sight, but slowly softens all your five senses as you absorb it. The names of the partners written boldly in white on a black board, the specialty of the day announced in big bold on another board, the matured efficiency of waiters commanding silent respect from every table because of their meticulous professional waiting upon tables, and so on. And what struck me the most were the 2 old bespectacled Parsee gentlemen (looked like the owners themselves) personally taking orders at tables. Can get anyone guilt-struck about being waited upon by such age & pedigree.

And one of the old gentlemen did exactly that! Hunched with age, thick rimmed glasses on, holding a small pad (made of loose pieces of paper) to take down our order, monotonous expression. I spied his shaky fingers taking down the order in convenient code - 2 Berry Pulaos as BP 2, 2 Chicken Salli Boti as C SB 2, and so on- and I silently wished for the food connoisseurs at our table to be quick & decisive and not make him wait.

Gladly our ordering was swift, considering some parts of the menu had been frozen (and perhaps dreamt about the previous night) right when the plot was hatched. ‘Patraani Machchi’, ‘Salli Boti’ and the famed Berry-pulao were the highlights complimented by magnanimously buttered toasts, fish fries and topped off by caramel custard, chocolate mousse and the famous colored raspberry drinks. Of course the protagonist was the Berry pulao (a version of the Iranian zereshk polow) , an outstanding signature dish, made with succulent spiced boneless mutton (or chicken), fragrant long-grain basmati rice, and tart barberries imported from Iran.

Enchantingly flavored, peppered with succulent pieces of chicken, colorfully spread out in layers it is like a feast for kings.

Do you remember those familiar heart-beats when the exam invigilator stopped at your desk peering from above at your hurried writing, and your fingers froze and the pen slowed down, conscious of time running by but rooted because the teacher might spot some wrongly written answer, earnestly wishing he would take his walking vigil to another desk. I experienced ditto when the Parsee old man stopped at our table & singled me out for having stopped eating. Amply chastised, poor me. Thereafter, I would have food in my plate and my spoon actively servicing my mouth, every time he came near our table. And I must add, the superlative food even made the shamming delectable.

Immensely gratifying and I can anytime shut my eyes and feel the wispy taste of the berries in my mouth. I’d read somewhere about ‘mindful eating’ (as opposed to devouring) that is akin to savoring every morsel that you intake and this place truly revived this experience of eating with all senses on alert, for me. I’m raring for a second visit very soon, the Love of Eating having indeed become my greatest Love, for the moment!

The liberating English

Now they say that about wordsmith(ing), weaving magic with words, or however else one expresses this ‘thrill’ that you feel chancing upon some deft, audacious threading of two words or an expression that shouldn’t have been there (or joined) in the first place. The thrill down the spine is not so much respect for the ‘puritan’ language but for the sheer devilry of the person who maneuvers the language, but does not mutilate it…

Also there’s something magical that is exchanged in that moment between the ‘author of the maneuver’ to the (one-out-of-ten) listener, who understands, smiles & revels in the magic of it.

Honestly, this is the thrill that keeps my reading alive, in figuring out the numerous impudent ways of expressing a single idea, or thought.

Just like the Compulsive Confessor’s http://www.thecompulsiveconfessor.blogspot.com/ manic reaction to a friend’s matter-of-factness, I quote from the blog:

Like, recently? We were chatting about men, more specifically the men in my life, and he said, "Well, you're lovely till you have your first meltdown, so you should avoid that." And I was just so struck by that. My meltdown! How awesome! It had a word then, the drunk calling at three am, the weepy smoke breaks at work, the need to ask why why why don't you feel the same way about me. And such a succint word too.

I too just loved the expression ‘meltdown’ – so summarizing of the state(s) we all have been in, meltdowns after meltdowns till you know the order, the smell, the ‘what’s next’ of it and till they dwindle to a watershed and you revive and pick up the pieces; till the next meltdown hits you.

I have this friend Senjam Rajsekhar who’s recently joined the ranks of us married folks. He stayed with us this New Year’s Eve at this bungalow in Lonavla, that we spent that weekend in. Raj was freshly courting, so he had his girlfriend in toe (the same girl he’s married this month), in fact on his first week of physical time spent together. It was marvelous to watch him in action, amusing resemblance to a squirrel on the ‘brink’, perky, eager and subtly attentive to all her fancies. The closest I could express my amusement is when I remarked 'you look at the ‘Precipice of Happiness’'. Such disjointed words, almost balanced at the two ends of a match-stick, but making absolute sense only in the context that it was born. Am glad Raj got the import of it, no wonder he kept referring to his state as that for the rest of our stay!!

Really the magical alignment of seemingly disjointed words, in a certain context, gives me this sense of the marvelous. If the author is dexterous, fluid and most unexpected, that then is ‘Sone Pe Suhaga’.

I’ll keep adding to this list.

An Economy of Agents & Genders

I visited the RTO yesterday for the momentous ‘cancellation of hypothecation’ of my car … In English, my car’s EMI cycle is complete and the bank has expressed its no objection for the car to become completely mine… blah blah!!.

So I set off, pretty clearly with a bit of trepidation, just like all us private sector types when we are about to visit a Govt. run department that has the power to allow or disallow your candidacy for citizenship or some such critical ‘proof of existence’.

A smattering of rows of buildings, mostly dilapidated, sprawling & unkempt vacant spaces being used for parking vehicles of all sizes. As usual Govt. owned premises being the most privileged and inundated with length(s) of acres. I was hit by the teeming nos., and immediately a wave of helplessness. First, the sea of men - I was the only woman in the visible vicinity (and perhaps the only human with a trace of a deodorant on me!!), amidst the sea of Agents teeming around to push papers for various ‘vehicle-owners’.

Second, the visual chaos of RTO officials spread across building blocks A, B, C, D; accessible to lesser mortals across dusty windows - discernible only by imaginary nos. ‘How am I ever going to get across to anyone?’- was the dominant panic reflex to this sight.

But the day had something else in store for me. I went to approx. 15 different officials, twice or thrice to the same guy in some instances. Each time to my wonderment politely guided, almost pedantically directed to the right window, at times papers voluntarily put in order, rearranged and stapled for processing, average waiting time of maximum 2 mins. at each official’s desk. Every time aided, guided, treated with fair dignity, at times even the several Agents pointing out to the right window, of their own volition.

I was done in little over an hour which, I believe, is a fairly reasonable duration considering I had to access at least 10 different attestations from the Head Clerk to the Section Officer to the Deputy RTO.

Then it hit me!

At a place where the educated vehicle buyers find it commonly convenient to get all papers processed through Agents, a woman’s presence is a thing of the ‘uncommon’. What is more unique is that the woman hasn’t taken recourse to an Agent and hasn’t tried to escape this rigmarole of a visit to the RTO, and hence, I reckon might be a matter of sympathy for all concerned. That’s about my pleasantly surprising experience.

As for the economy bit, I realized this existence of a parallel economy of Agents who’ve come to stay - thriving, efficient, almost professional and businesslike triggered by our more familiar world of vehicle buyers & aspiring car owners (who need their driver’s license) who’re mostly too busy or unwilling to go through this experience, as long as they can pay the odd 100- 200 bucks to the Agent to get it done. For the Agent, it’s a child’s game – being on first-name basis with most of the officials, getting 8 to 10 papers processed at one time across several batches, and all this in a full day’s work. A livelihood for most of them. No wonder there was a huge method despite the visible madness.

No wonder then that Raju kept telling me tales about how (even) he hires an agent every time he needs a renewal of his license, indicating his puzzlement over why someone like me would not do the same. ‘Agent ko sau - dosau rupaiah dedo to karva deta hai’. Not able to overcome his dilemma, he has offered to go pick up the new RC book thinking why a person like me should go back there just to pick it up. And I’ll let him do that, content having done it once, happy in this new awareness and amused that my madness keeps me bumping into new insights and gender awakenings!!

My posting to HT that did not win the 'I Luv Mumbai' contest

Read it...You'll know why it did not get selected amongst the best entries on Feb 14th and only got a box space- highly abridged, mostly sabotaged in essence, and reading ordinary:)


Why I love Mumbai!!

A Delhi-ite originally and I live in Mumbai for more than five years now. The 5+ yrs had commenced with an acute awareness (& arrogance) of the classic Delhi - Mumbai paradox – power v/s money, neta-land v/s bollywood, intellect v/s glitter, butter chicken v/s crabs ‘n shrimps.
Inevitably, the transformation crept in, getting comfortable & yes, growing in love with a city where I’d chosen to live and work. A Mumbai that allowed one anonymity despite living in the busiest co-operative housing societies, the security of stepping out and hailing a cab after midnight without evoking raised eyebrows and attention of neighborhood goons, the pleasure of the alternative train ride if you were running late for a meeting, the inimitable Mumbaikar’s attention & affection for anything that’s Bollywood, the pride with which each impressionable Mumbaikar would narrate how a certain (hot) Bollywood star was once their classmate in college, the unquestioning autorickshaw ride from the smallest to the longest distance, the biggest to the smallest order (fresh chapattis!!) that you can call for at your doorstep after a hard day’s work, the fresh bakeries and the lovely feel of the Christmas season in the quaint Anglo- localities tucked away in corners, the broker's relentless promise of a sea view even if from the far left corner of the bathroom window...
Am I being trite or going overboard? Have some of us faced different (more difficult) situations? Yes to all of the above. But in an appraisal of averages, this is quintessential Mumbai, and that’s why unique, lovable and irreplaceable for so many and thus ‘Maximum’ in so many more ways than Mr. Mehta tabled.
I love you Mumbai, and many of us ex-Delhiites who are now in Mumbai -of choice- have chosen you for these uniques. Keep it up Mumbai and allow me to explore you in my progress to a decade in your waves!!

Nivedita
niveditad@gmail.com
301, The Nest
St. Raque Road
Bandra West
Mumbai 400050

My brother Gautam

We all love him, Gautam. And a lot of us say Gautam is a great guy, happy, maybe not too matured, not too organized. All of it is true, especially his un-preparedness till only 3 days before his marriage day but for the intervention of my dear Jiju & hubby. I thank you all for standing by him in his ‘event’ in life – marriage.

Mind you, he is thankful too (almost grateful) and has gone away on his honeymoon thinking ‘yeh sab nahin hotey to kuch nahin hota … I am lucky to have such a family of cousins, jijus, sisters & friends, etc’. You bet he’s lucky.

Having spent such a variety of emotions towards my brother, I thought I’ll spend a few moments thanking and feeling lucky too.
Ø Thank you, Gautam
Ø Thank you, for the selfless times, almost obsessively,(‘quality time’) that you spent through the week(s), every weekend with Ria & Kris being their doting, loving Mama.
Ø Thank you for finding time to remember that our childhood winter holidays were incomplete without picnics and eat-outs and doing likewise for Ria & Kris (barely 2 weekends before your special day) during theirs.
Ø Thank you, for being there for my young sister and listening to her through her upheavals, patiently, quietly, never judgmental and practically working out ways with her to get on with life.
Ø Thank you, for allowing my sister the comfort of your four-wheels during the some of the coldest days this season, while you unblinkingly traveled on your bike. I saw how ‘smitten with cold’ you would return from work after midnight on the days I was there. I’m not sure if I would have done the same.
Ø Thank you, for intuitively deciding to relinquish ‘your’ space for my young sister and her kids. You need a 'real' brother to be so intuitive and empathetic.
Ø Thank you, for being genuine, generous, and thoughtful in your gestures, expressions and actions to my old father, my tired mother.
Ø Thank you, for being a loving, giving, earnest groom in trying to make your bride’s ‘marriage ceremony wishes’ come alive. I don’t know anyone who can take on so much just to make that happen
Ø Thank You, for a lot many more gestures that are impossible to articulate and only possible to feel.
It’s no wonder that you get so much love, almost unadulterated, from the sweetest to the most askance of cousins, from the genuine to the most weird of relatives, from the wellwisher to the jealous neighbor, from the cynical to the most indulgent of parents, sisters, bros, jijus, nieces & nephews.
We all love you.

Don't stop being Gautam, my brother.

A friend grows up !!

Am guilty of absenteism on this blog, and will return soon as this ill-health routine in Jan 2007 fades out.
While i was away celebrating Gautam's wedding, a few others have been chugging on in this journey of life, exploring, finding others and maybe be themselves... hence substituting my laziness with a posting i received from Steshia...
In her words:
"The experience of my visit to Melghat has left me with awareness to a reality of a forgotten world that has existed and survived besides the only one I have known and taken for granted.
When I was told that I could go for a project visit to a village called Chikaldhara, my reaction was Chikal…..what?
We reached Bandhera station in the early hours of Tuesday morning. My colleague Madhu Neb and I were greeted by two young chirpy ladies in a TATA Sumo. They introduced themselves as Manisha, Community Development Coordinator and Margaret Daniels from PREM (People’s Rural Education Development.) PREM is one of the institutions that CRY partners with to empower the tribal community there through awareness building programmes.
Tired from the journey, we fell asleep on our two and a half hour drive to the hotel where we were put up. Melghat is a scenic beauty of hills, lakes and valleys. What is hidden from us (and many like us) who visit this part of the country is the history that has plagued it for years. After a short nap, Sanjay Ingle- Project owner, PREM and Sanjay Suman (our colleague) who works with PREM and provides the direction and assistance required as a CRY representative met with us and together we proceeded to PREM.
We were taken to a small independent house that showcased the PREM board at the entrance. Inside the room were a group of people squatted on the floor. They all got up to greet us with the phrase ‘Jindabad.’ We sat with them while they each introduced themselves and the villages in Melghat they work with on issues like malnutrition, child marriage, unemployment and displacement among many others.
The group informed us of the genesis of the PREM sanstha. Let me first introduce the place ‘Melghat.’ Melghat comprises two administrative blocks Chikaldhara and Dharani in the Amravati district. The total population is approximately 2, 40,000. Of this, about 90% is tribal population with Korku and Gond as the main tribes. 73% of the total land is covered by various types of forests. The remaining 27% is agriculture adaptable land. This does not make agriculture the primary source of occupation. The population depends upon forest as the primary source of livelihood. In 1974, Melghat was declared a Tiger Reserve Sanctuary. What this translated for the adivasis was that most of the population was displaced from the forests without adequate thought given to their rehabilitation.
In the mid-nineties, Melghat was given center- stage importance when the malnutrition death cases (arising from the displacement) made headlines nationally. All journalists and TV crew rushed to the village to cover the so called ‘news.’ The villages also saw the first ever influx of around 80 NGOs to work for the cause. PREM was born out of the immediate need to help the tribal people. It soon became imperative that what was required was not just tackling of the superficial requirements of food and health care but the unravelling of underlying and deeply embedded root causes of this situation.
PREM undertook the challenging work of understanding the reasons for these unprecedented deaths. They soon began gathering evidence that leaned towards the fact that malnutrition emerged from a consortium of failed government yojanas, corruption, wrongful evictions, and lack of proper rehabilitation facilities.
PREM colleagues shared with us some of the creative ways that they have devised to engage and create awareness about the need of education and healthcare. Within a few moments, the room resounded with songs that the group composed on the evils of child marriage, and the need for regular checkups for pregnant mothers and infants.
To get a real taste of what was shared, a group of us decided to visit one of the worst affected villages of malnutrition deaths.
The reason was not difficult to discover….it began with a long drive in the wilderness, make-believe roads in some places and no roads at all in others, rocky upswing hilly paths to what seemed like nowhere. After around 3 hours, the trip came to a stand still….in the dark. We had reached a place where all I could see was ‘nothing’. It was pitch dark. What was visible though was the beautiful brightly star-lit sky. I got off the van wondering where I was brought. There couldn’t possibly be anything here….well was I wrong! We were told we had come to a 400 people village called ‘Kutida.’ In a distance, I saw a group of people around a small bonfire. We were told that they had gathered there to meet with us. We went and sat with them. After the initial welcomes and introductions our PREM colleagues, who have worked and supported them in their efforts to reclaim their basic rights, engaged and encouraged them to narrate their small but significant successful struggles.
With a little more coaxing, a relatively young man began narrating his stories of daily struggles of survival. In the course of the discussions, it was revealed how a section of this adivasi group had united to beat the unfair and unjust restrictions that have been inflicted on them. The adivasis consider the forests their home. Now, the authorities had evicted them without providing the pre-requisite ecosystem for them to continue living their lives. The stories of heroism that followed left a sense of slow and steady accomplishments that were being won after episodes of harassments and suppression. The heroes in these episodes are these frustrated, yet motivated bunch of men namely Munshi, Shyamlal and Heeralal who feel that one day things will change for the better and hopefully they will live to see it.
One incident narrated by Munshi was as follows. After much perseverance and appeals, a teacher was assigned to teach the children of this village, he conveniently decided to attend the school as and when he felt like. The adivasis realised that this was bringing more harm than good to the children that have been promised a chance at an educated life. They jointly decided to teach him a lesson by locking the school and sealing the entrance. When the teacher came to the school one day and saw it shut, he enquired and questioned their rebellious attitude. He was politely told that they no longer required his services and was told to go. The authorities realised their mistake and allotted another teacher. There are now two teachers that come to the school.
There were other instances where the adivasis dragged the store manager to the authorities as he was consistently cheating them of food supplies as per the public distribution system and boycotting elections.
The stories were told with so much hurt, sadness and frustration that it left me with the feeling of how long will they endure this and more importantly why. Basic needs that we take for granted like food, shelter, education is something that is so alien to them. For them, this is an enduring struggle under which they feel weak, yet determined to fight it through.
The night ended with some tribal dancing to which I did a little leg shaking myself…not very successfully though.
The next day after a quick sight-seeing trip, we visited a village ‘Pastalai.’
It was heartening to see a school in this village that had been re-started with the support of PREM. The sight that caught my attention was a group of enthusiastic children playing next to a small building that made up for a school. Two of the PREM karyakartas initiated some group games to involve the kids. The teacher shared with us that that the school housed around 60 students till the 4th grade. School beyond that was a 30 minute journey to another village. This government school like all others had enforced Marathi as the language of education. They had however, conveniently forgotten the significant detail that the people here do not understand Marathi. Their language of communication is the tribal language of Korku. The first and foremost challenge that lay before any teacher was to gradually transition the children from Korku to understanding Marathi. This, the school teacher did successfully- phonetically. We had a wonderful experience interacting with the children and left with the hope that they all are given the opportunity to complete their education.
We then went back to PREM, discussed what we had seen and what we felt, thanked them for their kindness, hospitality and the unforgettable opportunity to be a part of this experience. On my way back to Mumbai, my mind raced with innumerable thoughts. I feel we take opportunities given to us for granted. Our everyday that encompasses regular water supply for a refreshing bath, a good breakfast, public or private transport that reaches us to a permanent wage earning job, meals, socialising with friends and going back home to a secure family life are just some of the things that we have become accustomed to. Most of these things are not even in the close proximity of many people around us. What strikes me about myself and many others like me is that fact that we have grown to become so indifferent to the less fortunate around us. My visit to Melghat has made me realise that ignorance is not bliss at all. It is selfish on our part to close our eyes to the reality around us and it our duty to be a part of making some/ any difference to those who aren’t given the rights to enjoy what we have. "

A Salute!!

Raju returned to work today. My interaction with him today would easily be the most real conversation that this Man Friday has managed to have with me in the last 2 yrs. A short retrospect – As N says, a proud Marathi Manoos this Raju, in his attitude, his way of life, his demeanor, his Marathi pride that is almost transparent in his responses, in the way he grooms himself, and safe to assume, in his personal life. And this Man lost his (only) 3-year old son less than 15 days back. Tragic would be only an understatement.

Expectedly, (we) I was shaken to hear the news – sad for the man, anger at carelessness for having things (poison) lying around that was easily accessed by his son, disbelief and a nagging, wishful thought maybe this news is not true. But his confirmatory call twelve days later saying he wishes to join back, washed away all tentative possibilities.

Can’t describe the feeling – but something akin to ‘how am I going to face him’, ‘what would I say to this man whose tragedy cannot be supported by mere vocabulary, when he joins work on Mon?’ – nagged at my sub-conscience (I will not be surprised if N felt similarly).

So this morning the bell rang at 8:15 am (Raju’s time). Felt pretty rooted to the chair where I was, sipping my tea, (interestingly, Vanita too did not step out from the kitchen to answer the door as habit – may be similar reflexes!!). N got to the door and handed the car keys.

Cut to 10:30 am and the time for the car to pick me up and take me to the designer at Parel, was drawing near. The familiar irritant “kya kahoongi main usko’ kept nagging at my brain and I placed a call to N to find out how his morning chat with Raju went. N confirmed ‘Raju couldn’t have saved his boy… but he’s fine & strong…’

Raju came and I got into the car. I said, after few minutes of palpable silence ‘Raju! (pause) tumhari biwi sambhal gayi hain…’ Somewhere intuitively I had decided not to make him retell the story’. But I realized that the human being’s best bet to get used to a tragedy of this magnitude was to tell & retell the incident, again and again. So after a brave ‘..woh to roti rahti hai madam…’ came the story, every detail piece by piece, and with a retrospect of how he had spent the earlier day with his son, catering to every whim of his’, savoring every moment, every legitimate and fond wish being granted by a father, a friend till that very last moment. I just let him speak, consumed with a strange feeling, just letting a father tell me, and so hear himself thank God for the preceding 20 odd hours before the tragedy struck, telling himself that he has been a good father, that his son lived a life full of energy & spirit (woh to idhar udhar daudta rehta tha… main to usdin school mein naam daalke aya tha..) that he would spend his holidays devoted to his only child and till the end… did his utmost, notwithstanding the probable hospital bills, notwithstanding moving the child under more specialist care, notwithstanding….

One trait was constant – the pride – not broken in tragedy ‘main theek hoon…’ he even managed to slip that in, a proud father, not at all bitter, reminiscing, recounting, smiling almost constantly and I slowly felt admiration… I cannot confidently use the cliché that he was ‘putting up a brave front’ coz I’m not sure. The very phrase has a hint of the ‘contrived’ in it and I am very sure that this Raju was anything but that today!

Today’s Raju was definitely not a Father mourning the loss of his dear son. In those hours that I listened to him, Raju was a proud Father reveling in the memory of his son’s living & life, finding pride that he’d managed to be a doting father in the few years that his son lived, perhaps thanking God for the last 20 hrs of their ‘connectedness’.

Raju you’ve chosen to be happy with the bits & nuances, and even if it a choice for the moment, it’s real, it’s beautiful and I Salute you for that.

May this be your way of mourning & praying for the little boy of yours, and keeping him alive!!

I've earned my salary for the day!!

So I thought I’ll walk back from the gym today… and I am real glad that my momentary laziness did not overcome the instinct this morning.

Before I tell you why… allow me to tell you about Mumbai this Jan (so far) – the coolest I’ve ever felt in the last 5 years, balmy, nice & crisp sun, the festive month having left behind some tantalizing hues & fragrances – colors & lights on the buildings and fences; busy bakeries; brisk business at the local shops, mobile nurseries on the ‘thelas’ – a veritable havoc of colors in winter chrysanthemums and daisies; roads that never cease being bulldozed through & reconstructed. May be it’s always been like this, may be it’s Bandra that manages to manifest all this far more visibly… or is it just Me caring to stop by, far more patiently, paying my surroundings their due attention, re-learning wonderment and thankfulness for little things, registering that the old system still lives on in parallel and if at all, far more connectedly.

Don’t be amused by the cliché of the parallel old system – what I mean is that the nukkad ke dukaans, the kabaadiwala round the corner, the one of the many ‘fancy furnishings’ that sells just about every item & service to cushion & bolster our lives continue to exist. Nothing, almost nothing has changed. So why is it filling me with wonderment… certainly because people like me have got used to a whole new system termed ‘convenience’ - arty boutique chains that customize expensively or malls that provide ready-mades at one swipe of the plastic.

Let me explain by reviving the story I began with. I was walking back from the gym … I simply felt like…first stop, American Express Drycleaners – I dumped off the jackets & clothes long awaiting their submission for this ritual. For the uninitiated, this is the one Dry - cleaning setup (in the Mum suburbs at least) that ‘proudly’ does not cater to the working-couple lot. Shocked! How could they be if the timings are from 8 am - 12 noon and 5 - 7:30 pm in the evening during week days and Closed on Sundays. Tell me - how many self-respecting working couples will want to be seen there while continuing with their jobs! So their services are left to the older neighborhood Uncles & Aunties, homebodies and now people like me ‘on a break’!! he he..!!

That accomplished I walked on to the banana reriwallah and rewarded myself with a couple of them- at 15% cheaper than Patels and consumed my quota of one banana after weight training. The pleasure of dumping the peel in the ‘kachre ka gaadi’ standing right next to it was also unforeseen but that’s not why I started writing this post.

Chugging along happily, I found what I’d been looking for since a fairly long time in Bandra – the kabaadiwallah. Pardon me for going anecdotal again but this is a fond memory from all those growing up years. My dad, a perfectionist in many ways, used to religiously stack up the daily newspapers in one dumping corner and right before the stack would become higher than ‘a stack 6/7 bricks or so’, in would come the familiar kabaadiwallah on his cycle and after his bit of negotiation with the in-house veteran, pay the money which would be carefully put into some additional kharcha for the house. This tradition continued after I moved to Mumbai. More for the lack of knowing any other way of disposal. But then I met my husband and I was introduced to this whole new system. He has this maid (Vanita, rather the lady of the house), who would unceremoniously stack away the daily reads and one fine day, on return from work, I would find the stack cleaned out. On enquiring my husband gleefully explained ‘Yes she takes care of the kabaadi…’ almost thanking his stars!! ‘What about the money?’ ‘Don’t know… never asked’ and meaning I don’t care!! What stuck me was the sheer difference between these two men in my life (or rather these two generations), the difference almost in ideologies – one methodical and obsessive value for every penny; the other unmethodical… uncaring about any price they pay for it to look ‘in order’. In this case, resultantly a house-maid taking the master for granted.

However, this musing is not about which of the two is better but today I found which of the two I am truly comfortable with. My Dad’s way!! I have been uncomfortable about this practice of Vanita’s and today’s chancing upon the kabadiwallah was a sure endorsement of the way I would want it to be.

So here I was chatting up the shop-owner. You would wonder – educated, English-spoken, visiting card–tottering and true to his promise – ‘Kabhi bhi zaroorat ho phone kar dena’. The boy was at my door to collect the old stacks at 12 noon, on the dot!! Mind you, far more efficient than my Dad’s times, perhaps.

Hey, I made my salary for the day of Rs.97 (minus 2 rupees as tip). And I realised that I’d much rather tip a kabaadiwallah than have my maid audaciously tip herself, at my cost!

I carried on through the narrow winding lanes of Bandra Village to find some more useful answers to some of my recent pre-occupations. ‘Fancy Furnishings’ in the corner being one and they re-defined customer service for me. One of their boys accompanied me to my home with a measuring tape to measure, assess & do the needful. And he’s said he’ll deliver at home before end of day, at my doorstep. Spotlight on you Zeba, Fab India- why do I pay you the premium for all that you don’t offer, why do I continue to patronize you when unlike this guy, I have to follow (up) with you to even receive delivery of an item that I’ve already paid for, why do I get caught in the pseudo-thrill of being able to say ‘I bought it from Fab…or ’.

The answer is simple…because me, like my husband and many others, have become unmethodical, less obsessive for value, more uncaring, less respectful of things we had, and things our parents valued.

The corner shop too is selling 'convenience', but he's no longer in my consideration set for lifestyle decisions.

And a lot of this is because we are not stepping out any more, everyday, day after day, we are passing by life from behind the shaded, soundproof glasses of our Hondas & Toyotas. To and fro our workplaces. Our hatchbacks have graduated to sedans; our salaries have graduated from 5 figures to 6 or 7; our world-view has become limited to aircrafts, reams of newsprint and 24X7 news channels; holiday destinations are no longer popular but off-beat, even New Year celebrations are quaint, quieter, with select few. What is the potential of encountering, relating, connecting?

It came to me how some people I admire would incessantly nag – ‘ know your clients client’, ‘go do market visits’, ‘go to Nehru Place and talk to the channel guys, ‘go talk to the autowallah and the pan beedi shop owner’. Somehow incongruously the commercial ‘Life’s calling you…’ flashes in my mind. The boy dragging himself away from his computer screen looks out of the window to find life… the real life taking place outside, beckoning…!

Like the boy in the ad, I think I’m going to listen to this beckoning…

True Test!!

The 2nd day in the year passed away rather unpleasantly (stomach infection taking center-stage) and I am back again on my feet. The one reason that drove me to blogging today is to put to paper the ‘true test’ and I am going to put myself to in the next 362 days in 2007.

The test will be of my ‘character’- emotions or rather my capability to balance the lack of a professional status, the corresponding monetary independence, and all the trappings that came with it, with ‘the person’ that I am.

Don’t misunderstand me as I am clearly looking forward to it. This is self- inflicted and as I said to my kids (quoting myself) ‘ … come Jan 1st, I am not taking anything for granted…’ and in my mind today, that says it all. I need to presume nothing and will need to tutor myself fast in that direction. It’s a reality that expressions & emotions will now tend to be measured far more critically and subjectively than before – whether by me or by others. And here’s where the sweet challenge of ‘objectivity’ will need to be my measuring tape.

‘What was’ belonged to ‘nivedita the leader’, a nivedita from whom there were tangible expectations of decision-making, problem solving, leading a bunch with an expectation of results. ‘What will be’ will belong to Nivedita the friend, the wife, the daughter, the mentor, a person with an opinion, who is ready to listen, share & care. The latter aspects of my ‘capabilities’ (above) remain constant, but now can only manifest on being sought, far more tentatively, far less presumptuously.

Nivedita I’ll be watching your progress!!

Having ‘put myself on the mat’, it’ll also be a ‘test’ of people who have had a hand in shaping or just allowing me to be the person I am. And my earnest ‘tryst with myself’ will be greatly affected by how these critical few manifest their presence in the next month(s). That will unequivocally either mar or retain my ‘faith in myself’ and all that I’ve believed in.

Whichever way it goes, I promise to enjoy the next 362 days, either with or without all these intangibles!

I’ve loved myself, truly loved my evolution from a daughter, a student, a team player to a team leader, a mentor, a wife – perhaps, being a friend, as a constant through these stages. I have prided myself for my love for ‘the understated’, in being genuinely interested and sincere in all my relationships, in the last 4-5 yrs. of my living. People have commented on my ‘calm’ – questioning & wondering – and the formula (on hindsight) has been simple – 'I've loved myself madly' (hint of narcissism!!) and I have assiduously worked on being a person that I myself would revel in relating to and would admire. Hence, most critical on the other side of 2007, will be to continue feeling this way about ME – the only way is to continue to ‘Love who I am'.

Countdown has begun!!

The New Identity!!

Phew!!
It felt like the end of an era really just now!! No old identities will work anymore - my old salary account, ol' 2020 id, ol' visiting cards, even my old blogspot identity didn't work (couldn't be found) on this 1st day in 2007- pretty symbolic but now the sequel is inevitable!! So here 'meamateur2' is my new identity for my introspections & circumspections, mostly for sating my own hunger for expression and for those who're interested enough to know and read the tidings of this 'idle' mind in this un-pre empted year in my life ... I am embracing it!

So till I deliver on my committment to this journey of sharing & expressing more often and audibly... here's to ME for the courageous, non-inebriated (actually alchohol-free) and most beautiful 'bringing in' of this year (the past three days in Khandala were just divine- Thank you N).

till the next logging in ..