MAYhem

I've maintained even in a previous post, May is a shit month in India.That shit is quick to hit the ceiling - of course, before that, the temperatures soar - and then humidity takes over in preparation of the rains that hit Kerala and the North East by June 1.

My May may not have been a grand departure, but here's a little glimpse of the roller coaster!

So in April this year, my four-year-long chapter in Bombay finally came to an end.

I left two amazing flatmates and a crazy cat behind (who, incidentally seemed to be waiting for me to leave so she would grow significantly in a month!)...

And decided to take a little break before I started my spanking new life in the cliched Rape Capital of India, Gurugram (you can Anglicise the name anytime you like but you can't change Gudgawaan).

My first stop was going to be decidedly Pune, since that's where the boy and a couple of dear friends live. Having lived in Pune before my arrival in Bombay, this seemed like a fitting revisit.

Several evening walks around Koregaon Park's labyrinthine lanes and a lot of indoor time helped me muster some courage to stretch myself some more. I booked myself return train tickets to and from Hyderabad. 

Clearly it had been a very long time since my last visit (2012), because I'd forgotten what bitchass weather was awaiting me. Between the platform and my cab, I spent a baking 10 minutes out in the sun and simultaneously questioned my intelligence and cheered about being able to add a three-digit temperature filter on my Snapchat (for the uninitiated, I'm a big fan and post inanely via bombaychuddies on the ephemeral photo-blogging platform). I had also forgotten how well-versed the locals weren't anymore because Hyderabad was now like any other communally charged city in India. So despite a universal force tying us (a la Uber), I was still hitting my head against an invisible wall with the driver, who managed to arrive after I was legit Baked PUtato.

I did the mandatory trips to my alma mater, EFL University and met both, my prof, and my friend who teaches at the campus and is closing retirement.

Staying with Karthik (that's him in the next picture. I still can't stop laughing at the unintended photobomb) helped because we had some serious catching up to do! It was a strange yet intimate feeling of being with a friend again, who had anchored me. His parents were only warm and caring and adorable. And it tore me to leave. :(

But not before I did the things I had to and wanted to do! I met dear dear friend, photographer and chowkidaar of the online photojournalism magazine, Galli (go cheggit!).

And convinced him to stay on for a play that a bunch of kids from EFL performed in the evening. I had forgotten that this was Hyderabad and on-time meant at least an hour's delay. But the production was surprisingly well put together and the performances were riveting.

Given these are possibly the country's most progressive bunch of humanities post-grads in the making, of course the subject was as sensitive, and handled delicately.

Of course I had to have logistical debacles, but that's my general state of being and Karthik's folks and dog were generously forgiving!

I arrived (with the first sophisticated instalment of suitcases and half a dozen cartons a few days in) in the middle of Gurgaon's April summer onslaught. But Hyderabad had prepared me, or had it

Thankfully, I took a few days to acclimatise to the bhatthi weather again and then start work (by which time it began raining? And dust storms made sure if i was home alone in the evenings, I was positively terrorised).

Soon after was my first real initiation, though. I ended up crashing a pre-wedding party of a friend's friend at a club one night. And that's when I discovered there's a higher chance of encountering better male dancers in this city than women.

Orientation:: So day 2 in #Gurgaon was spent sleeping through the day and partying by night. I suspended my judgement of Bollywood music and decided to just have fun with a bunch of people I was meeting for the first time thanks to a close friend. Turned out it was a gathering for a groom-to-be and I was clearly crashing the party. These people were only welcoming, chivalrous and outstanding fun. Most importantly, this was just the #induction I needed to be ordained into this fearless yet cautious clan of #womenofgurgaon! #gurgaonparty #latergram #instaframe #bollymusic #welcomtogurugram

A post shared by PriyanCa (@bombaychuddies) on Apr 20, 2017 at 8:41pm PDT

And mother nature's bounty is infinite. I had found not only a flatmate, but also a kind, generous, thoughtful and intelligent companion in Swati.

She made sure my first steps in this new city were sure, not uncertain. She has now assumed the role of utmost authority and i try constantly to replenish my respect and adoration for her (apart from filling all the water bottles soon as they're empty and cracking depressing puns with Rahul, her friend seen in the picture above).

There was no question about it. This was to be my summer romance. I mean, what's there not to love in that Laburnum? Or the several tree-lined roads of Lutyen's Delhi? Or the wide pathways to the Parliament and the India Gate? Or the golgappas and samosas in every market. Sigh...

The boy too made a quick visit before getting on the plane for his holiday and we met his spunky ex-colleague from here at the butter chicken haven, Gulati's at Pandara Road.

                     

And very soon after acquaintances emerged from every corner of G-Town! I was amazed at just how happy they were to absorb you into the bunch.

And finally I met this child after an entire decade last week! Aastha and I were roommates along with Tweshaaaa at EFL. She works with special children now and continues to retain that streak of spontaneous madness to this day. Considering she stays right around the corner, I look forward to taking up the offer of a nightover soon!

And of course, this poster in Hauz Khas village outside Elma's reminded me of what I've left behind. 

But warmth and sweetness this fine also gives me the hope that I might just last it!

Origami Meditation

Among the many things you resign to your utopian bucket list, to pick up a hobby and to meditate often feature in our I-don't-have-time-to-smell-the-flowers-or-my-sucky-cappuccino life. Images of either clichéd dance & music classes or dorky philately are conjured in both, the writer as well as the reader's mind. Sorry to break it to you, love, hobbies don't work that way, meditation doesn't come that easy.

I've lately discovered that people in pain, or suffering some kind of catharsis often turn to work, or some kind of physical activity outside of work to keep them distracted. I was in doldrums too, about three years ago, when socialising or any kind of recreation seemed like too much work. So I signed up for a play-reading group that met once in three weeks to a month on a Sunday afternoon. Not enough to keep me from plunging deeper into the murky abyss of negativity and pessimism and a general lack of productivity.

I took to watching tv series on my laptop for a while, but that would only lead to more late nights, a wandering mind, and restlessness. On one such evening when my binge watching session was preceded by Facebook prowling, I stumbled upon Aziz's profile picture on Facebook back then (below).

Posted by Aziz Mansur on Friday, 23 November 2012

Of course, what you see in the picture is a highly complex and skilled piece of tessellation that I might hope to achieve in perhaps the next decade. However, it inspired me to pick up a square piece of paper and start folding. In less than a week, I had a whole shelf dedicated folded paper animals, since those most fascinated me - a yellow elephant shared the corner with a centaur and a pegasus and a cat and a bird and even a turtle...

I later discovered a hole in the wall stationery shop on one of my jaunts out from Bandra station. This was the big break, for now I found paper specifically made for the purpose with vivid prints and textures so the folds would hold and not disintegrate.

The peacock that Mr Gandhi taught me

Soon I felt the need to inject some method into the madness that origami had become for me. since I was already on Meetup, I looked up the forum for contact groups that met regularly nearby, to learn certain folds better and explore the possibility of getting better paper, but alas, in vain. Then I remembered Aziz mentioning Origami Mitra, the group that met in Dadar.

At the end of that wonderful afternoon learning what paper to fold, and being presented with a peacock that Kamlesh Gandhi folded for me, he asked - "how did you know about us?"

A year before that afternoon, I had organized my first storytelling session for Pratham Books in September 2012. To make things more interesting for the kids, I asked Aziz if he'd be willing to conduct a basic origami session. Unfortunately, he was on the road, but recommended Himanshu Agarwal from Origami Mitra, and that really is where my tryst with the craft began. The wonders of turning any monochromatic piece of square (sometimes not even!) paper into (almost) any shape you desire!

The classic swan by Mr Kamlesh Gandhi

In my conversation with Mr. Gandhi, he told me about the origins of Origami Mitra. The entity was founded by the grand daughter of Lokmanya Tilak and a few friends in the late 1980s. Members range retirees, homemakers, and young students alike. A math teacher, regular at the fortnightly OM meetings, gives tangible form to math through origami. A couple of kids and young mothers and craft teachers were part of the motley that day too. Gandhi himself also deals in paper for origami folding among other things.

Apart from these meetings, Origami Mitra conducts marathon day-long sessions and annual exhibitions as well.

Most dismiss the art as a kids thing, but if the scale of international championships and convention events are anything to go by, both, the process as well as resultant models are nothing short of serious business!

My first real attempt was the Yoshizawa Butterfly and then a Fumiaki Kawahata Elephant and a frog. Easy it isn't, but if you're up for a challenge - John Montroll's giraffe that Himanshu and his 12 IIT-B student mates accomplished in 103 moves and 70 creases would be the standard to surpass. There are as many layers of study to the paper-sculpting hobby as to any other that one might take up. The world, largely divided into designers and folders.

My first folds

But how do I classify it as meditation?

Having trained in Hindustani Classical music, the level of precision involved in achieving the perfect final product is high. Not only does it require one to concentrate, but also be nimble handed and patient. I remember a dry throat and aching thumb when I attempted my first bat. Obviously I was jumping the guns, and eventually gave up in absolute frustration. But the multiple fold-imprinted paper occupies centrespace in my closet as a constant reminder that I must keep trying, and strive to get there someday, soon. The list of personality traits necessary to dive deep into the mesmerising realm of origami don't end there. You need at least a basic aptitude for symmetry, if not geometry, and the ability to judge the right kinds of paper - much like an editor's obsession with grammar - the instructor at my Origami Mitra session, Geeta ben threw a fit when she saw my marble paper!

 Origami frog tutorial

Kirigami cards at Temple Street, Hong Kong

The gathering at the Origami Mitra meet up felt more like a disorganised tuition class, chaotic and distracted. And that first visit was already the death knell to any subsequent visits. YouTube has proved a useful platform for learning, exploring the same methods in better detail, and of course discovering new designs and tutors in the comfort and confines of one's own room or office or even a commute. Finding funky craft paper was not a challenge, but I grew ambitious. Now I wanted various kinds of paper that would lend itself to more fluid designs.

Bestie, Twara's demand, a little sunny snail

So I asked a friend in Kuala Lumpur if he was to return any time soon. Not only was he confused trying to look for the right paper, he was also boggled by the sheer variety. He simply gave up. On my recent visit to Hong Kong however, it didn't occur to me to look for some myself, though I did stumble upon a roadside Kirigami card seller at Temple Street.

A photo posted by pu (@bombaychuddies) on Nov 21, 2015 at 4:12am PST

I have since experimented with with quite a few designs and even been to a few exhibitions. But as old Prof. Salat at MSU as well as Prof. Ashok at EFL said, you have to internalise to remember for posterity, to pass on these precious pieces. And so I decided to parse the folds. I practised and practised till I could remember the butterfly, the classic crane and some varieties of boats. however, I leave you here with my little zoo!

So this weekend #diy project finally saw the light of tonight! #birdcage #newspaper #origami #canary

A photo posted by pu (@bombaychuddies) on Jul 20, 2015 at 12:31pm PDT

Inspired by @chinmayajailwala and have been practicing for a few days now #origami #crane #hobby #handmade #paper #craft

A photo posted by pu (@bombaychuddies) on Sep 3, 2015 at 9:50am PDT

The beginning of a laborious #longweekend #origami #boat #joyofgiving #daanutsav2015

A photo posted by pu (@bombaychuddies) on Oct 3, 2015 at 1:11am PDT

House of Light

I was in Navsari a third time this Holi. A few of us with the Pune connection gathered at Veeram's home of his childhood (thank god, his folks haven't sold it off like every other small town Gujarati who either migrates to Amdavad, Bombay or New Jersey).

The three-day stay - as always - was to be a relaxed affair. You take in the house itself - decades of history fitted and carpentered into functional yet artful furniture, fixtures and detailing. Some of the chairs, and now tables, even restored or replicated from old designs for Veeram's love of shapes and endeavour to re-imagine for higher comfort.

Forms new & old: Veeram's abode in Navsari

When I was still in Pune and would visit him at his Kothrud house every weekend for our late-into-the-night musical sessions, he would mention Navsari often. Sometimes he would talk about the peace of the town, sometimes of the beach a short drive away and sometimes just how easy it was to be there. He built up the castle for a whole year in my head. To me, it sounded unreal, surreal almost. His sister would rave on and on about the place. What about it, was still a mystery.

The typical trip encapsulates a drive around town at least once, see the two lakes, eat street grub, keep up so late you hear the first birds chirp in the morning and indulge in the ultimate debauchery of unlimited music and its faithful companions, and sleep till your eyes can shut no more. Yes, the lights in this house seem to never go out. Soft, buttery, warm yellow light fills the house even in the wee hours for the architects work as if putting the world to silence with their thought and infinite obsession with optimal aesthetics to serve every purpose - sometimes small, sometimes unquantifiable.

Going to Navsari also extends to driving 14 km down the narrow state highway to Dandi - the sea-facing town whose beach Mahatma Gandhi honoured with the breaking of the Salt laws. There is a commemorative Gandhi Ashram set up on the highway, which we were dutifully ferried to on our first trip last March.

This time, our visit to the beach went a tad beyond the usual frolicking in the water and cricket on the sand. Before the short trek through the dry loose sand onto the beach, we were led to the Kanai Creek lighthouse. My host had been there too many times already, so gave it a miss. However, this was my first visit to one! Having recently finished PD James' The Lighthouse, I was even more intrigued by the black-and-white tower. The whodunnit revolves around a murder in a revived lighthouse on Combe Island some distance off the Cornish Coast. That combined with my unfulfilled wish of visiting a lighthouse on two previous occasions - in Pondicherry as well as at Guhagar - had fed my curiosity to a tipping point.

The Kanai Creek lighthouse

Unlike both my previous experiences, where for one or the other reason (women unaccompanied by men not allowed; entry post 5 pm prohibited respectively), I couldn't explore this port phenomenon, the little lighthouse of about 5 storeys at Kanai allows legitimate ticketed entry. Of course, the caretaker had run out of ticket stubs, and in all probability, pocketed the income. An odd instruction as we entered the edifice blocked our way up, however – we were asked to remove our footwear at the entrance, like a temple or one of those old cheap Cyber Cafes where keeping the place dust-free was a constant concern. The request remains unexplained since most lighthouses have that last bit of vertical thin-stripped ladder to climb which is safer with a pair of rubber soles under your feet. That last upright phase of the staircase is really an iron ladder that leads to a floor doorway, which in turn opens to a small 2.5 ft archway into a circular balcony around possibly the biggest lamp I’ve ever seen at close quarters!

Perhaps I haven't seen any other big lamps - at close quarters or otherwise. But when my photographer friend Harsha showed me the video of Yenga Pona Raasa from Maryan, I couldn't help notice the sequence whence the female lead, Parvathy stands in the way of the light in the lighthouse gallery.

Female lead, Parvathy in Yenga Pona Raasa from Maryan

Isn't that not-allowed? Shot almost the way I imagined James' Combe Island, Bharatbala brings alive for me a memory and awakens inside a wish to discover more ports and lighthouses along this country's vast coastline. May be some day, I will extend my love of the beach to the things that belong to the coast...

Animal People

Malika assigned a very important duty to me the other day as she was about to leave from work a little earlier than usual. She handed over a little tupperware box with dry cat food and asked me to feed a kitten just a block away on my way to the station. Of course I obliged, but little did I know, that when Malika had warned me this one is loud, she meant menacingly LOUD! The kitten, probably about 2 months old, screamed when she saw me and perhaps smelled the food. Of course, wary as they come, this one hovered around but kept distance enough not to be touched. As soon as I put the food down for her, she stopped showing any sign of recognition at all.

When I gave up my cats in August, I was torn. But I realised very soon after that that relationship went beyond spending time with them. It taught me minute nuances, about how not just every cat, but every animal has a personality of his or her own. How some love eating Gujarati friend snacks, and some insist on sleeping with their legs suspended in the air and the quirks never stop! What also never stops, is their love for those who choose to care for them and love them. And they have myriad ways of reciprocating this affection.

One finds several people within the folds of the extended family, friends' circle, workplace and more, the lack of this very understanding. And then, if you are picky, then you get lucky and a trend begins in your life to come across the most special 'animal people', as I like to call them. People, who transcend the space of mollycoddling their pets as if they are lesser, dumber beings, and learn to be compassionate towards them and respect them as really, superior beings. I have been thinking about all the people with whom my bond has strengthened because of this very love and openness to embrace the world's creatures. This post kind of serves the purpose of acknowledging the presence of these special people in my life as well as documenting their presence to serve a case in point that goodness prevails not just despite all odds, but sometimes simply to defy unfounded biases.

Malika

When I was about to move to Bombay  (Summer 2013), my friend Kshitij expressed the desire to adopt a pet. He had been domiciled here for a while longer. However, despite being an experienced dog person, cats were quite a mystery. I suggested cats, and he didn't mind the idea. I decided to speak to a representative from YODA who had posted a couple of pics. When I hit the dial key post punching the girl's 10-digit number, it turned out I already had Malika's number stored on my phone. It took my Goa holidaying mind a while to figure out how this was so. It turned out Malika and Paroma, another animal person I knew from Pune, knew each other from before! Paroma had in fact given me her number when I was looking to adopt a second kitten myself.

Malika ended up sending me a bevy of some of the cutest kittens ever - grey, ginger, white, combos and black too. And then she sent me a snap of a pair. A grey-and-white and a jet black one. I decided to push the cause further with Kshitij now. Get two, I said. He was already petrified - horror stories about kittens scratching had reached him before my experienced suggestion. I sent him all the photos. Kshitij took more than a couple of days to decide. Much reasoning followed. He was unsure of the black kitten, but the rest, as they say, is history!

They came as Cherry and Berry, they're now Kshitij's regal Amar and Prem!

In the course of those few days of coordinating the adoption, I also discovered that Malika and I were going to be colleagues at my new workplace! I was thrilled. I had at least one other cat aficionado to look forward to! Malika also volunteers with World For All which helps find homes for kitties and pups - both strays, as well as abandoned. Those who perceive these animal welfare volunteers as a particular type would be shocked by the lady's high-fashion diva-like oomph. Clearly, cliches are no more the norm when it comes to recognising from a crowd, just who will turn around and pat and feed a stray.

Nikhil

Another such digression is Nikhil, a software engineer, an avid photographer and a new daddy on the block. A few months back, Nikhil tells me on a phone conversation, 'I spent all last night at a police station.' I froze. His wife was expecting and only his dogs were at home to protect her. He got involved in a brawl with some local goons who had been harassing some street dogs in the locality and preferred to take the legal route, which veered along a meandering and rather messy route.

I have only seen both his Indian mongrels in pictures. And it seems only natural that ever since the arrival of his daughter, the cuteness quotient on his FB timeline has tripled. From volunteering at adoption camps, to caring for stray dogs around his house, to obliging to feed my cats while I was still in Pune - Nikhil is the epitome of compassion when it comes to the four-legged heroes. His affinity with the creatures is infectious. While I worry sometimes about his slightly maverick ways and them affecting his family, obviously, he has trained his guard companions well.

Manjari

The biggest surprise, however, came to me when I moved to my second house here in Bombay. About three weeks into the move, I discovered that my roommate Manjari has two Singaporean turtles! They would mostly bobble about in the aquarium tank, but every once in a while, they'd rise to the rock to sun bathe.

Amy, my roomie's Singaporean Red Eared Turtle

The only other person I knew who had a pet reptile was Jatan, back in Baroda. Somehow, turtles are even more fascinating. You'd think, them with their weird feet would make them rather inept at walking on marble flooring. Then you remember that they swish onto sandy beaches to lay eggs, hibernate. In the past few months of my stay in this house, I've begun to discover several aspects of their personality - familiarity, a little mischief, gay abandon and comfort are as much them as us or conventional cat & dog pets. In fact these days Amy, the female turtle even comes to my room and hangs out with me (not to mention bang her head or shell into practically all surfaces vertical!). It is at times like these when one realises you can gauge the personality of a person by the pet they keep...

My Professor from Baroda

My earliest animal people, however, happened to be closer home. When you're about to enter the gates to this lady's house, you spot a standard pet owner's warning sign with a twist - 'મગર થી સાવધાન' ('Beware of Crocodile'). Of course, there is no such ferocity in their backyard. However, their house was always abuzz with several urban species including a cock-&-hen, a crow, cats and dogs. The cats and dogs continue to be part of the residence. What is most fascinating, though, is the household's constant interaction with monkeys.

Most of the city's colonies of monkeys travel from one side of the perimeter to the other in the morning in search of food and a free terrace or tree top on which to play and rest during the day. they follow more or less the same trajectory back in the evening to return to their safe haven by night. Prof. B's house falls on this trail. Apart from being a regular ER for several of these creatures who hurt themselves, her daughter has even spared a room in the house to rescue and take care of one of their young ones when it went astray. The open space around the house, the trees and the rugged, un-manicured garden all invite you, along with these charming personalities. A Sunday brunch with all three - Prof. B, her husband and daughter and their lovely companions should be an experience for every animal lover - whether a resident of the city or a visitor. If Baroda needed an alternative animal lover's paradise, this family would be its first patrons!


I distinctly remember the day I became an animal person. It started with a cat, really. However, your affinity to animals can never be absolute. It also involves the embrace of the people you love, including family. We used to have a cat that roamed the house like Sphinx. At some point, she was ousted for having bitten me. Soon after, I left home for my MA in Hyderabad, where I met a dog named Sundari (with a loud bark and a lot of bulk, the name was only because she was white - I know, lame, but the poor bitch is stuck with it for life) guarded the women's hostel and Appy, the only woman who truly loved her. I have moved a few cities since, and had cats of my own too.

They say like minded people naturally gravitate towards each other in a new environment. I have begun to judge the hell out of people who do not like animals around them at least at all times. My space is incomplete without them. Even if just my mind space.

Wondering about Wandering

8 good things about that bane called stability

I heard myself say this last evening to a person I have met recently: 'I love Bombay.'
It's strange that it came out so strongly, so spontaneously. Was I trying to impress him? Was I lying? Did I ever hate it in the first place? I wonder now.

For the first time in a while, I've begun to enjoy the convenience that this city practically brims with. e-Commerce flourishes here and commuting is a no-brainer. Domestic help knows what to do from Day 1 and instructions are usually extended only for really individualist needs - a pet or specifics in food, etc. But I still find it hard to digest the fact that I said it. I love Bombay. What kind of love? And wasn't I disenchanted with this place completely even until a couple of months ago? The stench at KalaNagar, the Rats on the railway tracks, the roaches near the sea faces...

Anything even akin to love is quite unimaginable in the present context. Not because I know some different unlikeable version of it, or because of the chain of big and small events that have shaped my very recent past, but because I have indeed met an exquisite crop of natives and non-natives here at the onset of this third stint. And while some have proved to be sour and/ or bitter, more have found a special place in my heart.

Bombay is indeed like New York, isn't it? Lines from Baz Luhrmann's Sunscreen Song come to mind:

Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard
Live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft.
Travel.

The hiccups that ensue moving towns are nothing short of royal pains, especially when you do it at a frequent flier rate. And so, this time I'm in the mood to stay put for just a while, even if, to enjoy what they call stability. Looks like a rather peaceful space to be in and this is how!

1. Paid Leave

Imagine being paid your work pay for 7 whole consecutive days away from your smartphone and laptop and number crunching and deadlines and sheaves of paper and late nights - instead getting a massage on a secluded beach, sipping on a long island iced tea or getting yourself some wholesome family time gorging on your mum's awesome delicacies! I've had the chance only once before, and I blew it by not taking it. Now I'm determined to make use of the mundane perk.

2. Taxes

I did my own taxes this year, and the anxiety and last minute frenzy was far from fun. For a math challenged human being with absolutely no patience for government forms, this was torture personified. Finding an agent at the 11th hour may have been a blessing, but it cost me a stiff fee that worked fairly well as a lesson for life.

3. House Hunt

As a veteran home searcher in Bombay, I may have lived in all kinds of spaces - hostel, PG, rented accommodation, a relative's house, a friend's bachelor pad, and more - but the peace of familiarity and conversation with neighbours, the knowledge of all the provision stores, doctors and salons in the vicinity and being able to walk around without losing your way (very possible when you are me) is beyond compare.

Of course, the task of looking for a place to stay and the irks and pains that accompany - agents, misfits, inappropriate spaces (or the lack thereof), last minute denials - squeeze the life out of you even if for just a few weeks at most.

4. Soaking Local

And by that I don't mean having to be the sponge that must bear the wrath of sweaty co-commuters on local trains. Every place offers its unique flavour in terms of food, people and architecture - India is blessed that way - and getting acquainted beyond your neighbourhood usually takes at least a couple of rounds of the cycle seasons.

5. Weekend Trips

All the three cities I've lived & worked in so far are blessed with fantastic weekend getaway options galore. With a fantastic natural boulder-laden landscape in and around Hyderabad and the ghats as well as beaches around Pune-Mumbai, one should be driving out/ taking off at least once every month if not more frequently. There's so much ground to cover, literally!

6. Phone Number

Changing numbers is such a pain! Letting people know, and then changing the number in all official documents and some forgotten ones complaining on public digital forums about how irresponsible you are as a social animal... no ya.

7. Suitcases...

...and therefore packing and unpacking is possibly one of the biggest and most tiring chores of moving frequently. Instead of a trash-discarding activity, it becomes a matter of how best to pack it all and lug it around. The number of bags begin to feel meagre and stuff just keeps collecting. Often, memories begin to be thrown with what may seem dispensable in the short term.

8. Pets

Anyone who has had them will vouch for just what a source of comfort domesticated animals can be. Whether you have a farm for a few horses or just a little balcony for a guinea pig, and all the beautiful creatures in between, they all require time and love and staying put makes for wonderful time off with creatures other than our own kin.

Of course, there are minor advantages of staying put - the little DIY projects you may take on, hosting Couchsurfers or just old friends on stopovers and catching up or even just a weekly off or holiday with that someone special over a game of chess or scrabble. As a wanderer and pseudo nomad coming of age, I'd say injecting structure into your jaywalking isn't that bad an idea!

This Day, Every Year

So today is the morning of my sixth Last Day at Work of my career. Sounds skewed and suicidal for any rocket scientist’s career, doesn't it? But it's surprisingly emancipating. There have seldom been interesting last days, but this has been by far the jitteriest. I have yet to receive my resignation acknowledgement email and relieving date officially. Yup, beat that. However that's not what's really bothering me.

A lot of movement is in the pipeline. A lot of changes, and a lot of adjustments.

The last time I was taking this decision, I had a choice - I was asked. This time, I've been told. I am not resenting it, I appreciate the break. The fact that I've been presented with ample time to get used to being truly myself. Not having to think of other people - just the cats.

This time alone has freed me of my fears, hesitation, mind sets, judgement, dependencies... Stimulants, decadent food, loud music, jarring yellow lights, other people - I have lost the need for any of these and realised the stark difference between want and need.

This phenomenon has helped me sort out precisely what gets packed and what goes into the bin, to the maid, or just stay back. I wouldn't say I have lost my sense of attachment, but even the stalest of shirts lose their stench after a few days. All that remains is the physical accumulation of dust on them, and then they must be given to the laundry guy.

As for the last day at work, I foresee a lot of boredom, barring some work here and there - just because most people may not want to accept the fact that I am leaving - and some do not know still that I'm leaving. The latter variety is mostly those who I, nor anyone I know around work, speak to. Last days are strange. There is this sense of emptiness. Of everything snapping in just a fraction of a second. Whether there is disapproval from your employer or complete support, the feeling is always that of having fallen short. Of course, in my case I have almost always fallen short. I put myself in the employer's and the spectators' shoes.

I have always been happiest when I've discontinued working with an organization. The opportunity to revive oneself as a person and as a professional presents itself like a clear slate on which to draw a brand new picture. The relief of not having to see the same old faces of course is unparalleled. Isn't there any job that allows one to meet new people and take in a plethora of experiences each day? I reckon it's a rather superficial and flitting attitude towards work - this not wanting to know people – colleagues –under their skins. Then again, I've never much enjoyed socialising with people at work barring one job. And even there, my eventual pickiness got me quite a bit of scorn.

I wish all of these negative thoughts would leave me. For once and for all. It’s not worth thinking so much. Shouldn’t I be putting all this energy into more positive affirmations? Thinking forward; looking towards how best I shall give myself to my new employer. But how do I do that, when that very idea has come under scrutiny? Will I or won’t I? Both parties will surely make me slog before I make any headway.

It is not time. There’s a bigger plan. It is not right. God always answers a prayer. It may not be to your liking, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t for your best. Surrender. Accept His ways. You shall be more at peace. This has been my greatest takeaway from Goa. That too from a tv programme that I chanced upon in the midst of a disinterested weeping session about my predicament!

Pondy Hopping III

On Day 2 in Pondy, I biked through the busy streets of Grand Bazaar early in the morning. The closed Goubert Market in its centre is a maze full of several flavours and colours and textures and noises. The place surely lives up to the name and the ride surprised me with sites I had intended to uncover during the trip. Asking around didn't help on the first day, biking around definitely did! I rode by what I believe is the oldest and prettiest church in Pondicherry. While I could never go back to see it from inside, but perhaps that I'll leave for next time!

The first smells to hit me at the Grand Bazaar in Pondy were the masalas. Mint, coriander, lemons, garlic, ginger... Strong, yet not sneeze-inducing. Gunny bags full of veggies, some I didn't recognise, were being hauled down from the trucks. And since the market hadn't settled yet, there was none of the buying crowd there. Just vendors getting ready for the day.

Going to the Amrakunj or Khanderao or Mangal Bazaar in Baroda was a pain, unlike at the Grand Bazaar. Not only because it was dirty and usually the cows from the nearby village treated it like their go-to hangout, but also perhaps because I did not appreciate the bustle and aromas of a fresh produce gathering. The colours, the flavours, the noises and the sense that vendors and visitors made out of the chaos. As if the neighbourhood market wasn't bad enough, there is a big wholesale market and the other old city retail market. That place was sheer cacophony. Impossible to get in, and beyond comprehension to navigate!

It was the small but extremely well-organised veggies aisle at King's Cirle in Bombay that made me sort of in love with the concept of going to buy fruits and veggies myself. It took little goading, and the friends I made was an unparalleled perk. Of course, the metro also gets some of the best produce in the country, so that was an added attraction. But when I first stepped into Crawford Market, it was as if my perception of a foods market did a complete turnaround, and for good. Everything - I mean EVERYTHING one could ever conceive edible is available there - red meat, poultry, sea food, greens, spices, chocolate of various intensities of darkness, pickles and preserves, jams and jellies, preservatives and food grade chemicals - it was any chef's haven - almost like a mini replica of the Grand Bazaar!

In Hyderabad, I discovered supermarket grocery shopping like the Jubilee Hills and Banjara Hills residents do it. Among the first SPAR stores in the country, this one at Begumpet was a joy to shop at. Not only was it clean and well laid out, there were also none of the intrusive and superfluous staff that gets in your way arranging stuff at peak shopping times and helps in no way when you ask (no wonder people in India can only barely tolerate Big Bazaar/ Food Bazaar and most of the rest are closing down). It was such a truly holistic shopping experience - also the first time I bought alcohol at the grocers. Hypercity there was next in line - far bigger and spacious, though I thought they'd nailed the marketing ethos of making people want to buy more than they needed rather than ticking off their weekly/monthly grocery list.

Pune was a gala surprise at Aundh's fresh produce market, and winters are just the time to enjoy it. The colours and aromas of fresh raw fruit and veggies and herbs and spices is beyond anything that relaxes at the end of a long day at work. To carry as much as you can handle in a trip is like a bull in a china shop. You want it all. You nail it all. And it;s a nice straight walk up one side of the road, so there are no distractions and the vendors are all a friendly, generous lot. Going to the now closer-home Food Bazaar is a slightly detached experience. There are none of the smiles, the banter, the letting go of a buck or two, and the constant feeling that you're being cheated. So I continue to buy at least the veggies and the odd south Indian rice batter from right outside - funnily I never spotted this batter at the Grand Bazaar in Pondy - perhaps because it's too much of a staple.

When I think back about the Goubert Market at Grand Bazaar, the idea to get up and get out early that morning was the best decision ever! Not only was the market fresh, but it was also the only time of day in Pondicherry when the heat wasn't singing and bicycling was sheer delight. I still remember my last long ride across Anand's Agricultural University campus with Sajani. In juxtaposition, while the ride across the campus was all about exploring space Grand Bazaar was about the convenience of occupying minimum space on the road and getting the most in. I could never thank Rao enough about goading me onto one. I had little confidence in my foot-eye coordination - but I discovered that day that it is indeed true - you never forget swimming and you never forget how to bicycle!

The advantage one has with the traffic when one is on a bicycle is brilliant - you don't have to wait for the red lights to turn green, you can ride in the opposite direction, take U-turns where none are allowed, and so much more! Bicycling is the best way to break rules and be proud about your sins. You discover so much on the way!

Some DIY fun!

I enjoy my share of DIY activities - and creating chapbooks - whether a little picture storybook or a collection of memorable quotes and writings from one's favourite writers. Here are two projects I undertook during 2012, that struck a chord and carried a distinct imprint.

Leveled Chapbook - Birthday gift to the boy

This one was a collection of lines from my own poems for him, his favourite books & songs, and quotes in general that ring with him, about things that he and sometimes I are passionate about.

The material: Basic art paper or handmade paper, coloured felt pens, a ruler, glue & pencil. I also had some stamps & stamped flowers handy 

I stamped the top & bottom of the pages to give an elegant customised touch without cluttering the page.

Voila!

Picture Story Book - Secret Santa gift at Work

This one was a quick fix, and one of those ideas that come to you in the grogginess of morning dumps on the pot. Anonymous gifts were asked for and I had nothing ready for the D-day. And the idea of anonymous gifts was mine in the first place!

I made simple Warli art inspired line drawings fused with elements from the comics of my younger years

Again, the material remained more or less the same. Art paper was replaced with a sheaf of newly acquired handmade paper from Pondicherry's Handmade paper factory & centre pinned to hold together

Thankfully, since I'd already sketched on the pot, it was only a matter of tracing or copying the illustrations onto the book with roughly done margins for frame.

Presto!

These illustrations are going onto my bookcase as slightly larger versions painted on a warm ochre yellow soon!

Then there are times when one just doodles to keep the sketching skills oiled!

A little window fun @ work at my previous office - yes it's a cat peeping into a cummode :P

And some wearable DIY!

I thought this was a fabulous DIY jewellery idea. Spotted this folded & glued newsprint at Kasha ki Asha in Pondicherry.

Date a guy who reads

So I realised where the men were given directions to date a woman who's literate, you know, read 'n write 'n god alone knows what else, the women are still rather stupid about it - they are making the same illiterate mistakes! PU comes to the rescue with a broad guide of why the reading man will never make you wanna bang your head on the closest wall!

So it is possible to complain against a guy who reads. He will be the talker on the date so he can never complain that you talk too much. When you thank him for the most trivial things, he will come up with a 'for you, a million times over', from Kite Runner. He will never hurry things up. If anything, a book may become his excuse for lingering longer at your place when you really don't want him to go. It may not even be your book.

He will make the coffee you prepare for him sound like some childlike delight from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He will ask you to tell him a story some night, and disbelieve you. And when you show him the book that the story belonged to, he will read it cover to cover all over again. Whether to verify the contents or to just experience the magic all over again, you will never know.

Date a guy who reads because only a true reader will force a book down your throat and demand it back when you're done, in some way, to let you a bit into a part of his essence. Even if it is sci fi and even if you've never bothered with the genre before, nor will ever again. He will be in full awareness of this fact and yet...

A man who reads will always have a bookshelf in his living room. However rudimentary or unembellished. It may probably be his first piece of furniture. Often, the only one in his house - for a very long time. He may use residual space in it to store knick knacks, but when it begins to constrain, the tidbits go out. May be on another rack or just on the floor, he doesn't care so long as his books are well preserved.

Like you, he will love the smell of yellowed parchment. And your need to sit on the floor, even of a crowded bookstore on a sale day because sometimes book sections do that to you. You may not end up buying any of them and yet he will never hurry you out. He may perhaps state the prelude disclaimer that he shall take longer, but that's what sets the bar for you.

He will also understand your need to buy books especially from the second hand stall or raddiwala beside the veggie market because he knows treasure is not found in obvious places. He will perhaps encourage or at least give you the space to browse through many Dr Seusses for your niece or nephew, either for he knows they should start young, or perhaps because he didn't.

A man with books behind him will chuckle at your most nuances jokes - whether comparing someone to a Wodehousean character or just something from a Scottish folklore. The only curvy women he shall openly lust at for hours will be from his graphic novels or comics. For that matter, the only things he shall explicitly admire will be books. Especially a bargain or an unexpected find. And take it from me, it will make you grin ear to ear.

Most of all though, the image of a man sitting in the morning sun rays beside the window, on a couch, in his night clothes, with a book in his hands makes for not only the most impressive, but the most endearing figure.

It's a small world

The world is shrinking. We all know about the six degrees of separation between us all, but the number of times this coincidence has occurred to me is phenomenal - almost a matter of legend, as if.

When it was Pallaviben's friend in Bombay at Smokin Lee's, I did not pay heed. When it was meeting Rao, I thought we were meant to be. However, today I met a complete stranger - this lady at the Way Down South cash till, whose son I had happened to meet two Decembers ago in Pondicherry.

Only one thread runs through all of these incidents: my innate fidgeting to make contact; talk, converse, know a person on a one-on-one basis, smile and touch a heart.

Very possibly, unlike perhaps the rest of the world, I share just two or three degrees of separation between myself and anyone at all in the world!

Punju Pals

I'm going to come straight to the point, just as a friend recently advised. I've been noticing a lot of Punju or Punjabi presence in my circles lately. And there is a pattern that has emerged: they are all darn warm people and would do anything it takes to help me professionally.

I first met Deepak in Bombay through a friend, at a casual dinner. He was perhaps the only guy on the table who chose to make more than token small talk. A year later, we reconnected and this time, a bond was forged. However, I'm guessing that the fondness had nothing to do with my innate charm (or the complete absence thereof). I had to leave Bombay soon after, but the friendship deepened with Deepak sending work my way. Back then, I cribbed about there being no money in it, but today I'm thanking him for the invaluable experience he gave me in writing corporate film scripts!

My stay in Pune too, has been marked by the presence of some excellent members from the community - both, at work as well as outside. First, Sanjam and later Manish. The first from Pathankot and the latter quite a dapper Delhi boy. Not only have both constantly been around when I needed advice on personal fronts, but when it came time to help, man they were after my life with a whip!

This so called pattern assumed concrete form, though, with Jagpreet Singh Vij, or Bobby, as everyone is expected to call him. [I have yet to understand the Punju fascination for these pseudo nick names - Bobby, Robbie, Bubbly among others - but they somehow seem to personify them with a rather spontaneous ease.]

I had just been given a new script writing assignment (the prior experience for which I am in gratitude to Deepak for). Having received little or no help from my Copy Head or others who had worked on the film, I was pretty much at bay.

That's when Bobby made his grand entry. A few tips here and a little hand-holding there, and I was good to go! Not only did I manage to come up with two original concepts, I was also ready with a rough draft of one script by 2.30 last night.

Sanjam's briefings for every piece of creative copy she extracted out of me were always accurate, concise and simple, without being lucid. Manish's aggressive efforts to find me good openings in Pune were beyond comprehension for me - he hadn't even seen my work!

It wasn't inspiration, it wasn't even spoon-feeding, but all of these people seem to know how to part with just the right amount of wisdom, faith and support to carry one through. And I may not owe my existence to them, but my self-esteem does swell a little when their words and actions convey a high sense of worth they attach to me.

Thanking them on a blog sounds pompous. Then again, it's the least I can do. The overwhelming sense of gratefulness makes me want to promise them a loyalty so blind, they'll probably slap me out of that too!

Yes, that's precisely what I probably adore about them, Without running themselves or others down, Punjus seem to possess this general talent for garnering joint force to produce a certain level of quality. Is it a communal quality of insight or simply my own luck to have bumped into these gems who judge accurately, I do not know, but they seem to have this aura that speaks volumes about their self-confidence, awareness and exposure to the world around. Frankly, I feel rather juvenile in their midst, often.

P.S.: That advice in the first line of this post too came from one of these fab Punjus ;)

Vishrambaug Wada

Where maintenance is forever at Vishram
Laxmi Road, Budhwaar Peth, Pune
Entry: Rs 3 (and a pound of heart burn)
[Built 1803-09; 10 years before the British conquered Pune]

Pune. A history of roughly 400 years. A culture that has absorbed from the fading Mughals, been in loyal servitude of the Maratha rulers, and weathered the peak of British imperialism… but I’m only précising a Wiki page and parroting accounts penned by historians. Stepping on to the other side of the threshold of Vishrambaug Wada, and looking up at the sky from the atrium threatens to erase much of all that background knowledge in an instant. My partner and I try to imprint a preliminary sketch of the sight that we have only seen in several pictures during our individual as well as joint research in preparation for the visit. Our fascination, competitive. Our purposes, different. His was to add a photo document to his portfolio. Mine, another capsule from the city to assign to my memory. Perhaps through the carvings etched in another time, or the wood itself, weathered through the ages.

Asking the guard at the doorway for a sangrahalay does not yield much of a response – no directions nor recognition of the word itself; he does point towards a signboard about 15 feet high. The entrance has two rooms on either side of the door, beyond which is the chowk, typical to old houses around the country. Vishrambaug’s identity, though, lies in the exteriors. Said to be the only surviving Peshwa wada, its meghadambari or curving pavilion at the front entrance is lavishly carved in cypress wood in the kalamdani style. The others were destroyed by fire in the 19^th century for reasons I’m yet to discover. This one too was victim of some minor flames, but was saved and restored in time. The restored motifs are believed to be more akin to the neo-Gothic mould – one finds depictions of a monkey and dragon instead of just the erstwhile intricate flowers and creepers.

The edifice has played several roles, like the recycled others of its grandeur. After the then Peshwa was exiled, Vishrambaug Wada assumed the part of Pune’s first British sponsored educational institution – the Poona Sanskrit College and went onto become the Deccan College. The Pune Municipal Corporation finally deigned to set up a tacky ‘heritage display’ within the premises, on the first floor. The last development is rather recent.

The rooms at the entrance are a handicrafts outlet run by an NGO for women’s empowerment. The rest of the ground floor is some kind of a printing press, devoid of charm or any sense of even monotonous regularity or neatness. A feature that held both our attention is the spiral wrought iron staircase that leads up to the second floor and meets a jammed closed window, overgrown with weed.

This is where you will begin to suffer the full throttle of my lament.

When I mentioned the fires of the 19^th century at the beginning of the write up, I’m sure a disdainful ‘why’ came to your mind, but the present state of Vishrambaug Wada hurt more on our visit recently. The efforts of the powers-that-be to suppress its splendour have borne copious fruit. We climbed up the stairs that led to the permanent display to be welcomed by a polite but fairly bored looking young lady at the ticket counter. Tickets paid for (PMC, I implore you to charge more and please justify the building’s history, if not what is left of it), my partner’s helmet left on the side, we walked on to behold bhwhat made both our jaws drop. We seemed to have disembarked onto another planet. The planet of a primary school local history project abandoned to dilapidate in layers of dust. The ante room of the heritage display at Vishrambaug Wada is created with wood planks from floor to ceiling, vainly camouflaged by lengths of black chart paper, textured with forks to give the feeling of old stone walls.

Yes, please laugh.

The displays conform to the primary school project imagery: low resolution photos blown up and labelled neatly on handwritten notes. Rudimentary hand drawn maps and sketches on more chart paper (yellows, pinks, greens and blues), again labelled in fountain ink, follow. The absurdity does not end there. Dark brown varnish covers ALL of the once-elegant wood carved angles, balustrades, pillars and beams of Vishrambaug Wada. To add to the beholder’s anguish, these cakey fixtures have obviously not been dusted in at least a few months. Now if it was a bachelor’s shack, the present state of affairs would have been acceptable. But we’re talking about a monument, however minor.

To illustrate the sense of the culture, they’ve spread moth-eaten double-bed mattresses and bolsters in the coves, with old style desks for company. These mattresses and bolsters have been wrapped in handloom sheets with cheap orange and brown floral prints. When you peep out into the the market surrounding Vishrambaug Wada, you see identical linen hanging from cabin shop displays. The studied neglect all around amalgamates to corner you into helpless disgust. Much like incestuous rape. Fucked by one’s own kith and kin.

The disrepair gets clearer when I tried to open one of the large low windows (that was me monkeying around) by unlatching the links at the top. Varnish has been so ruthlessly, thoughtlessly and in such haste pasted all over, that removing the links to cover the surface beneath did not occur to them. The pale yellow paint from a previous effort patiently peels away. Furthermore, the musicians’ jharukha in the front (the balcony that you admire from the outside sheltered by the pavilion arc) has been sealed off with the exception of one grilled door open so you can see where they sat. I saw a red plastic bucket and some length of wire eating more dust and rotting more merrily.

Apart from the shocking upkeep, the layout of the display too is quite confusing. You may lose your way! No directions (an elderly solo gentleman asked us how to get out) – somebody’s idea of showing the place to public. Yes, lock away what you can’t have cleaned every day and confuse the visitor to prevent other conceivable damage.

Such action is, (I’m willing to withdraw the opinion if anyone proves otherwise) representative of the attitude of the city’s denizens at large. I speak from not just my visits to the city, but also from observation in my six and a half months of residence in Pune. The city’s façade may portray a certain dispassion. Puneris take this maaz to the next level. They seem to revel in their blind adoration for the status quo; for mediocrity, for what they call balance and outsiders term laziness. Balance or laziness, they have little regard for their architectural legacy. Little wonder then, that their old buildings are either the colleges or left behind in debris and ashes. What remains, is their aggression towards preserving this blindness as if it is the answer to all questions of the universe and their narrow path to salvation.

This aggression manifests itself in many ways: verbal hostility comes first. Masochistic offense and unapologetic defence follow close behind – those are the only remaining elements in their anyway rusty armour.

My disgust though is for this obstinate protectiveness for the long gone. Of which remains only faded memories, guesswork and speculation. This mutual back-patting diplomacy discourages constructive criticism or novelty or both.

Pune’s attempts at the new seem like juvenile gun jumping. Unplanned in its layout, its civic infrastructure is its only saving grace. First it attracts throngs of techies and culture vultures, then it leaves them to forage. Its people endeavour twice as hard as say, a Bong to appear worldly wise. However, like an 11-year-old, Punekars live in the contentment of false, shallow promises without any grasp for posterity. Fancy malls, cafes and chains of bookstores do not a city’s characters make. Where is the human infrastructure to support the service experiences and details for which these brands have stood? Dishevel is ingrained, not studied or striven for in Pune.

My melancholy is for Vishrambaug Wada, but a latent sense of brotherhood between my city of birth (Baroda) and Pune absorbs me more. The former was a key province of the Bombay Presidency; the latter its monsoon capital. Sons of a mother, to use a cliché. The rooted Marathi culture. Cultural capitals of their respective states. Perhaps I should not claim the epithet for Baroda anymore. I have nothing to support it with. But Pune does. And yet its proximity to Bombay, its non-dry status, and heavy cosmopolitan student influx seem to give no momentum to its pace. They continue to start their day at 11:00 am, take their three-hour siesta break from 1:00 pm, return from work at 5:30 pm; their day still ends at 8:30 pm. 11:00 pm is late.

But I stray.

Vishrambaug Wada does not care for frowns – yours or mine. The intricately carved pavilion can eat the dust it is force fed each day. Its age can go live its reclusion in inattention. Its utilised spaces can be spat upon, iron trunks be dragged upon its flooring, and its general state of upkeep can leave as much to desire as it likes.

My reaction to this visit has built upon itself over a period of over a week. I was asked to build my writing upon this criticism even before we visited Vishrambaug Wada, but the dissatisfaction and despair is my own, and runs deep. In hindsight, both, my partner and my own motives for the visit sound not only pompous but a tad misplaced.

Questions surged.

What is the state government doing towards this end? Or the city’s municipal corporation. Is it not the responsibility, at least in part, of the keepers of official administration? Where is this city’s own pride of inheritance, however meagre?

I’m not yet entirely willing to write off Pune. मला हि नगरी आवडली, पण लग्गेच नाही . तरी एक दिवशी ती नक्कीच माझी होइल , तश्य भावनेची मी वाट बघते ...*

*SPECIAL THANKS TO Aditya Kulkarni & Ankur Hande for all the editing help with the last two lines in Marathi :)