Ajanta-Ellora: Worth the hype!

It's taken me a fair bit of time to even begin to write about this trip. Of course, it was overwhelming and a lot to document at one go, but I realised this was a travelogue, not a user manual.

So Ajanta & Ellora – the two UNESCO classified World Heritage Sites about which more information can be found ALL OVER THE INTERNET had suddenly surfaced on our Maharashtra-trips radar for the simple fact that we indeed wanted to travel, but the beaches were getting too hot to handle and too expensive – not to mention the lack of being able to strip into your bare minimums and saunter around (c’mon pardon my first world problems, will ya’?).
The buses to Aurangabad were surprisingly cheap – however if you are a boy-girl duo travelling anywhere in India, I suggest either book yourself into a very fancy 5 star or carry a fake marriage certificate, if you don’t have a real one. Sorry, but in India, we are fine gaping at even fully clad women but not with another man. No sir.
But as always, the feminist Jhansi ki Raani in me digresses.

We didn't begin too early in the day - by the time we were at Ellora, the clouds were our only protectors!

We divided the trip across two days with Saturday for Ellora and Sunday for Ajanta – or Ajintha, as you will discover on the signboards. Aurangabad itself is like every other city that the Moghuls ever touched. Sturdy grand gates with their elegant pointy arches, with little or no ornamentation, but plenty to awe.


The comparatively easy and planar walk at Ellora; entrance visible in the distance

Silhouette of the monolithic pillar
at the entrance of Ellora's cave #16

But this story still hasn’t begun. We wondered if our Couchsurfing karma had matured enough to pay yet, and tried our luck with Joshua – the journalism student from Kenya studying in Aurangabad. Joshua Boitt couldn’t have done more than he did for us. Not only did he make sure we had a warm place to sleep, but also one that was free from mosquitoes! He let me cook classic Indian fare in his kitchen (on a fancy automatic stove!) and gave us the experience of eating with a warm bunch of friends over some conversation and laughter. His roommate, John too kept us company. In fact, he insisted he cook us something Kenyan too – and made this sooji-halwa kind’a preparation – except it had nothing but water and broken rice – no salt, no sugar, no nothing. Needless to say, to our spice and salt-bomb accustomed tastebuds, it was nothing short of vile. However, they tried and we couldn’t have said on their faces that it sucked. Rao even downed it like a good boy. I reckon I’m a tad less tolerant.
It was then that I realised how contagious the disease of hospitality is. Whether you are a guest of India for a few odd years, or an Indian far away, you just can’t help host like a pro when there’s an Indian somewhere in the whole circuit.

And to top it, Josh made sure we were two well-fed children at breakfast so our travails would not be hindered by oddities such as hunger! He even noticed the chain with the filigree pendant on it that I had on – my grandmother’s, when I told him, he smiled.
Ellora was our first experience of sheer open-mouthed wonder. The very first cave you see there – #16 – is a temple complex carved out of one solo rock. How they cut metres of rock vertically with such geometric precision all those centuries ago is what leaves you staring at the heavens – and to the top most part of the atrium.

The Mahadev temple at Ellora

Cut to precision: Ellora

Very oriental lions at Ellora

And while Ellora is an easier linear walk to the left and a slight climb on the right, it was Ajanta that felt even more worth our while. 3/4 of a horseshoe, the caves have been carved out from a natural ‘U’ shaped hillock of rock along the river Waghora in Maharashtra. The very first climb up is just of feeler of things to come. As you proceed further, there are all sorts of climbs up and down, gradual and steep. And this is where you discover far more intricate forms of the two arts in their resplendent display – sculpture and painting. The vegetable dye paintings have lasted over a couple of centuries, and the sharpness and attention to detail threaten to take your breath away. With much of the depletion of the paintings caused by flash photography, I don’t blame the ASI having banned it. But if you have a great digital SLR that can withstand a moving hand and produce some good photos with prolonged exposure, you will have captured something that peaked over 2000 years ago.


Intricate & uniform

Ellora and Ajanta have also been maintained surprisingly well. I reckon just as the Golconda in Hyderabad or any other place of archaeological heritage under the UN’s straight supervision, this one too has been spent upon. A sense of pride and reflection fills you. We saw a foreigner reading right outside the caves at Ellora under a tree. His sense of calm flummoxed me. At the time, I thought, what a man to come so far and sit here to read. Now I see what he did – a sense of gratitude towards those who built something so strong and beautiful that all this time later, we in our retarded sense of what is precious, can sit and enjoy still.


Cathedral, Ellora

But the trip in itself was a humbling one. Our host Joshua lives on one side of the outskirts of Aurangabad in a fairly newly constructed tenement. From his terrace is visible a huge horseshoe of hills on three sides. On the fourth, where the terrain dips towards the river, you see the Rani ka Maqbara. Apparently a miniature version of the Taj Mahal built by Aurangzeb (possibly in some fit of juvenile competitiveness to his ancestors), this one presents a soothing view to the eyes. By night, when the stars light up the sky, or perhaps when the moon shines on the horizon, I’m sure the Maqbara looks nothing short of charming.



Quirky Aurangabad!

But as is the case with every city with a considerable and prominent Muslim population, Aurangabad also has an aromatic culture of food. We ate our last meal at Sagar – Rao was too sold on the idea of Naan Quaila and it was ordered. The influence of rich Mughal cuisine is high on the dish – but so is the spice of the Maharashtrian interiors belt.


Cathedral with painted frescos, Ajanta

All in all, if you’re in for a new experience with the ancient, do it differently – register with Couchsurfing, book on RedBus, meet a few strangers and load up on the food you get. The memory – that’s how it becomes something of a capsule to last forever!
 

More ceiling frescoes, Ajanta (read last paragraph for preparation method)

Guhagar: 6 things you'll love!

Last weekend was the beginning of Rao & my joint exploration of Maharashtra - we figured we might as well tick off all that's on this immediate travel list instead of day dreaming about utopian distant lands (in terms of time as well as miles). We began with Guhagar. Rao had sung paeans about the place and that had sort of made me a tad skeptical. However, on arrival, I realised he didn't do justice to his description. To have a clean stretch of sand in your backyard and staying at a simple cottage is a regular feature of accommodation at several places along the Konkan coast. But even that is not it.

Getting there

Guhagar is about an hour from Chiplun by the rickety State Transport bus (no private ones, or cabs - sorry). It's about 270 km from Bombay. You can take an overnight sleeper to Chiplun and then the hourly ST bus from there to Guhagar. The care-taker of our cottage (we stayed at Nishigandha, more on that here), Deepak told us he could arrange for a cab so we could drive around and go to Hedvi too. But we decided paying a full grand instead of the unbargained 400 bucks was a steal.

Besides, Konkan's beaches are dissimilar not so much for what's right next to the sea, as the things and places you stumble upon in the villages. That is not to discount the beauty and charm of Hedvi, but as a professor once said to me, 'where you have been twice, you must go a third time.' And so perhaps Rao will make it to Hedvi as well next time, and hopefully I'll be lucky to be his companion again!

Stay Put

Surprisingly, even thought there weren't many tourists to be spotted in Guhagar, there were several guest houses all around town. We later discovered that most foreigners on their way to Goa on New Years' Eve invariably break the journey at Guhagar. This little snippet of information made the plethora of places to stay obvious. All these places are more or less cottages and promise access to a little piece of private beach.

In themselves, they're clean and well ventilated. we had access to a fairly spacious attached bathroom as well. Only, the hot water was a challenge on day 1 because the boiler had burst. But our host actually came in early on Sunday and boiled a full two bucketfulls of water so we could dunk ourselves in fresh, hot and steaming peace!

Painting the Town

Guhagar is a small Mahadev & Laxmi-Narayan-worshiping town. In fact, the cottage where we stayed was right across the road from what seemed like an ancient structure. Gargoyles in animal forms were seen on all the outer roof skirting. However, the compound was large enough to house not only two medium sized temple buildings, but also a badminton court!

Guhagar also has quite a few 'kund's or ponds. The water, as you may imagine, is not clean, but green with algae and out of maintenance. Some of these stepwells are quite apparently meant for washing. I saw once in the marketplace that was all marble!

The narrow lanes make walking around town even at midday quite easy with all the share of shade - of both trees as well as shops and houses. We had to walk about 10 minutes to reach the town centre, and realised it was so much easier getting around here on foot! I even got my long-pending revenue stamps at the post office on the way to one of our lunches.

Houses in Guhagar are just the most charming you might ever come across. They all have sloping roofs with drying little premature coconuts fallen from the coconut trees in their gardens. You'll catch an octgenarian or a couple of women in the neighbourhood gathered in the mornings in the verandahs preparing one or the other food item. The compound walls are all moss ridden and thick - the bricks that give them their form can easily be mistaken for red stone - somehow, the holes in them and their texture gives them the appearance. You can see that the people of Guhagar take good care of their abodes.

The shy Starfish - it was actually as big as the outside outline of the sand
that looks all dug out!

Sea Surprise

The beach is a pristine stretch with hardly a soul around. We spotted a few starfish on the shore - tiny ones and rather dull looking. But then, I guess when you look like that, you hardly need colour!

But that's not the only way to take in the vast exposure of Guhagar to the sea. Drive up to the lighthouse for better views - you'll pass steep slopes and a mesh of mango trees growing wildly on them along the way. You have to cross a bit of the goats in a rickshaw and the valley views are as pretty as they come. And then you suddenly rise to a flat table land. The surprise wears off in a while but the cool breeze even at midday is refreshing. You might spot remnants as well as developments on the Enron project. The facility runs for miles and so does heartache. We end up ruining so much in the name of infrastructure. The steep slopes of the valley are all chockablock with mangos trees. You can only imagine how much they've cleared off to build their factories and smoke emitting power stations. The ones that are now out of commission because the company filed for bankruptcy to save the asses of a few suits.

Gobble-de-Gook

It took me a while to begin this section. Not because I had a hazy memory about it all, but because there's just so much to try out. It's not a tourist town, so you won't find any hip shacks like you would in Goa. The Lagoon comes closest to what one might call a diner. We entered the town and had poha-sheera-chai at the first place we could find, Musale, which later turned out to be run by the same people who ran our guest house. But those who've visited Guhagar swear by Suruchi.

And while this unremarkable-in-appearance place has a community kitchen sort of seating, with everyone in town (from local affluent middle aged businessmen to young Bihari labourers) and the tiller attended by 3 different people depending upon the time of day (the owner in the morning, the caretaker/ waiter/ steward in the noon and the missus in the evening). Suruchi serves classic Maharashtrian fare - thali-pith, misal, vada, bhakhri, puri-shrikhand, sol kadhi (which I have finally come to LOVE) and the standard limited thaali.

Rao had more than his fill of the local sea fare at Annapurna. His Kalamari and prawns even made me salivate! The sol kadhi competed with Suruchi's, however the difference was stark - this was quite apparently made of fresh ingredients while Suruchi's was some sort of a pre-made concoction. The service at both places was unintrusively attentive.

Round and about

Ah! This is my favourite part - the juicy bit of the whole trip. There's the Anjanvel lighthouse about half an hour from the town. A pleasant drive along the river that ultimately meets the sea at Guhagar, you can hire a local auto-rickshaw for about 400 bucks. The chap should be willing to wait and also take you around to the nearby fort.

On your way to the little lighthouse, you encounter hundreds of mango trees that grow on the steep slopes of the hillside. Much like other parts of the Western Ghats, you'll definitely spot the trademark red mud. What you'll also see is a combination of that and yellow and black soil. Something that flummoxed me beyond words. However, a sight that is both overwhelming and hurtful both at once, is Enron's now-dysfunctional plant. Just their cooling towers occupied the length and breadth of a whole table land! The only thought that raced through my mind was... what a waste. Of time, money, resources. Such a compromise and deep impact on the environment this scam made. What was the outcome?

You leave this cry for help behind as the road finally yields you to the coast again - through a little town and then a dust track upwards again to the light house.

I was perhaps singularly unfortunate in not being able to get entry into either the lighthouse or the fort. The lighthouse at Guhagar is open to public only between 3:00 pm and 5:00 pm, which no auto guy chooses to tell you. But we did get to walk right up to one of the many tips of the land mass and take in the mighty ocean in its entirety - its currents, its colours, the fishing boats and the crooked rocky coast.

If you go there later in the evening though, may be after your lighthouse visit, you can walk down to a site that seems to be in the preliminary stages of development as a particularly fine viewing point. Situated just 10 minutes away this viewing point is at the end of a long dust track that is currently being flattened and concretised. You'll find a railing only at the end (they were probably hoping that will prevent a truck from sliding on and tumbling over). The pathway itself if the upper slope of the hill parallel to the road that leads to the lighthouse, and the other side is yet another steep slope that overlooks more of the rocky façade that runs along Guhagar. In short, don't venture there with your kids or even wobbly, accident-prone adults (like me). I imagine that as one of the many tips of land spilling into the Arabian Sea, this would be breath taking - with the water shimmering and the mellow breeze. Actually, it'd make for a swell sunset point!

View from the temple outside the lighthouse

Our information on the Shivaji Fort nearby too was outdated. Apparently it's closed to the public since someone has actually claimed ownership of the property and cordoned it off as a private mango plantation. You can still take in breath taking views of the sea from around both these spots.


So that is Guhagar. With its decent men, hardworking women, coastal weather, views of the hills and some awesome food even for vegetarians this little town really set the tone for our series of sojourns!

5 Steps to Celebdom: Kunal Khemu

So a couple of days ago, this id added me to its gmail chat list. I typically add everyone. Don't ask why - it's like adding everyone who sends me a request on LinkedIn gets accepted. When someone with a name identical to a personality THIS unpopular (no offence to the personality) establishes touch with you, you are sure to treat with some level of doubt.

However, this morning the id pinged.

11:30kunal.khemu1083: Hi, I needed Kanaka's number urgentlykind of in a fix...between shootsme: i think you've got the wrong priyanca here

ONE 

11:31

k.k: oh dear lord.. am so sorry

I guess I got the wrong person

me: i was actualy wondering why you added me in the first place
yupk.k: just saw ur pic..
me: yeano worriesk.k: do me a favor, will u?me: ?k.k: pls don't let my id out to anyone in ur orbitme: okayk.k: privacy sakes.. 

11:32
me: yeawhy would anyone want it?k.k: that's another issue altogether..

Now I'm guessing either the person in question was indeed the person he claimed to be or was just doing this out of some strange sense of having fun in the name of an entity who has little to lose. No offense meant, once again.

I expected the conversation to end there, but...

TWO

k.k: am actually held up here with my 11 yr old nieceand she's so damn naughty
 11:39
if i was in bombayd've baby sat her
have a 3 year old niece myself
k.k: she's playing with the stove.. despite my repeated warnings
11:40
me: just turn it off from the cylinder partand put the lighter in lock-n-key
k.k: i don't know how that's done
just know that its not an electric stove 

11:41
me: if you go to the stoveyou'll see the pipe at the back/side of the stove attached to a red cylinder
about the height of your niece

THREE 

k.k: i guess I'll just punish my niece 

11:42
me: typical

I was beginning to be persuaded that this was indeed the person in question - are film professionals really this stupid? And then, can one really blame the tongues that wagged about him at the time of Tiger Pataudi's memorial lunch in London? The conversation proceeded:

FOUR 

11:43k.k: ok trying your trick (didn't know common sense was a form of trickery now)what does the cylinder do? (doesn't blow up as easily as my head will if you keep up these inane questions)just so that I know how this worksme: there should be a knob at its neck (just like my hands at yours to wring it)just turn it to the opposite sidek.k: what will that do? 

11:44
me: that'll stop the flow of fuel to the stove
it will not catch flamedo you smoke?kunal.khemu1083: yesoccassionallyme: then i'm guessing you have a lighter?

Before I could tell him to test out the burner once he was done turning the knob -

kunal.khemu1083: what fuel is this? 

11:45
me: jesus did you go to school?!it's usually propane or butaneand there's some mercaptan for the smell so leakages can be detectedkunal.khemu1083: i know its some liquid (seriously?)me: cuz the gasses themselves are odorlessand no it's not some liquidit's gas (much like the matter in our hero's head)under a lot of pressure

But here's what took the cake:

FIVE

11:49
kunal.khemu1083: guess i am irritated cause i am nt feeling wellbad stomach ache.. overate..had a lot of beansme: i don't need to knowyour films are a turn off enough
11:50
kunal.khemu1083: u dont know much abt movies, so u shud probably stop judging (argh spelling is such a deal breaker for me)and I am not not even starting on about the technical knowledge of it

Technical knowledge? At this point I was willing to bend backwards laughing because quite apparently this sounded like a wannabe fan, rather than someone who's been used to the popularity (refer the snap in the ToI link above).

I'm still willing to give this id the benefit of the doubt - maybe the real Kunal Khemu should clear his name (even change his email id and skim through a few textbooks, if that's what it takes), because right now, I'm not only judging all of the film fraternity (the kind closely knit or otherwise) for their blatant disregard for any awareness of the world around them or farther still, but also all the secondary aspects associated with such a person - Bombay boy, gossip mills, all his films (Hum Hain Rahi Pyar Ke being an exceptional farcry).

I wish the actor all the best, but Kunal Khemu's Twitter profile makes me just sad for him. And believe the genuineness of the id more and more.

An elegy to Abhiram

This is perhaps not quite a poem, but I surely mean to remember Abhiram Kotha fondly.

It was in early August 2010, that Karthik sent me a snap of his dilapidated car over Whatsapp. The message he sent with it said, ‘this is gonna cost me a few tens of thousands.’ His brother, Abhiram Kotha had met with an accident in the heart of Hyderabad city – late at night. I don’t quite remember if he was driving it or drunk. But it gave me the shivers. Karthik went on to say, ‘if he doesn’t mend his ways, he’s gonna meet with a fate others will be sorry for.’

Late last night, a common friend gave me some news I was too shocked to react to for a while. Abhiram Kotha passed away yesterday, Rishabh mentioned in the passing.

The first thoughts that came to my mind, uncannily, were not that Abhiram may have suddenly fallen ill, but the possibility of a massive accident.

Accident it was indeed. 

Abhiram Kotha was neither violent, nor impulsive. He had aggressively attempted to save my own life once – not through some superficial act of bravado or machismo, but with words, thought and reason. Words were Abhiram’s greatest strength. His articulateness often made me sit back and think. He was pragmatic, thoughtful, charming beyond imagination.

I believe the last couple of years had also seen him successfully progressing in his brand consultancy business. His curiosity, passion and energy could put an infant to shame. I remember just how rich he made our concert outing by simply giving me tiny insights into a movement or style. I believe he was a fabulous violinist himself. Abhiram Kotha sure was a powerhouse.

I believe it is strong personalities such as Abhi that are most missed by loved ones. His family has been even more unfortunate in the last few years. Losing a child however, is unparalleled.

Precious he was. Remembered, he will be.

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.

"Clandestine" - my entry to the GetPublished contest

Clandestine is my first short story, a mellow office romance revolving around Nandini and Manan. Inspired by the true story of two colleagues from my own work place, much of the narrative is fictitious. As the name suggests, it's a coming-of-age tale about how lovebirds at work can succeed if only...

The story defies several myths about such situations - considering we are all increasingly spending more hours at work, struggling to keep our social lives afloat and perhaps squeezing in something more substantial than just flirtatious banter between meetings, presentations, launches, shoots and late nights.

It's an uncluttered third person narrative that highlights unlikely personalities in a high energy advertising agency environment making it - not only in the work space, but also in terms of emotional growth. The starkness of juxtaposition doesn't end there. The lead characters also go against the grain of stereotypes in that being not entirely opposite in nature. However, as in any love story, it is not so much the beginning, middle and end that differ as the sequences that bring about the closeness between the two.

Here's a short excerpt:

Nandini suddenly felt a pang. The bottle of brandy her best friend had left behind had just dregs left now and the cold wasn't helping. 'He can't be that bad,' she thought. 'Would you mind if I joined you for that drink?' she asked. Manan was flummoxed again. He had tried not to threaten Nandini and kept his advances of aid to the minimum. 

Manan and Nandini walked into the only 24-hour bar in town where women could enter without fear or awkwardness. He ordered his usual rum and water and looked towards her. 'Brandy. Neat. Small,' she said and looked at her mobile phone for the time. He sensed her anxiety about waking up in the morning and getting to work on time. 'It's ok,' he tried to help, 'You can take an hour off in the morning if you've left really late.' That smile again. Nandini glanced at him searchingly, as if to decipher if he was telling the truth or mocking her. The thought of him being unsafe company had been pushed out of her cold car window, and stayed back. The smile had grown on her. It comforted her now. She settled onto her bar stool and rested her elbows on the bar table. 

'So how does your first long day at work feel?' It was Nandini's turn to smile. She remembered her earlier thought of work speeding up after work hours. The upward arc brought warmth into Manan's spirits. 'I definitely didn't think it would end with a drink with a colleague,' she caught herself replying. She couldn't believe the first full sentence she strung to this man was flirtatious in nature. This time Manan laughed a hearty laugh. Just then the account director's name flashed on Manan's phone. 

"This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India."

Pondy Hopping II

I discovered an aspect of Pondy I've so far studiously avoided. And a big part of the motivation was the aspect itself - the people! It is only when you stay there long enough that you realise that the people in Pondicherry have an approach to life that is, most importantly about equality and equanimity. Here are some that surfaced in my six days of wantering there on foot, on bicycle, at restaurants and road side coffee shops, boutiques and beaches.



Limited work hours

Something that a close friend who works there once said rang jarringly this time - it's perfect - you work hard all through the week, because there are no distractions. Over the weekend, you are free to laze, or get out of town to escape to the bustle of the as-urban-as-it-gets Chennai/ Bangalore. However, if you're not a corporate bug in Pondy (far more likely unless you're employed with one of the two or three national or international organizations that bear roots there), it is possible to live the old world or even European life in Pondicherry with absolute ease. Business doesn't start before 10 or 11 o'clock in the morning. Everyone shuts for lunch & siesta, and then it's time to shut shop by 5 o'clock. If you're in the restaurant business, last orders must be wrapped up by 11:00 pm. Even in the 5 stars. That brings me to the next point.

Recreation

Pondicherry might seem dry and sleepy to those visiting, but one look at the notices and flyers at the several watering holes and cafes in the French town and Auroville will tell you that's hardly the case. Yoga, dance, theatre, music concerts, it's all there. The town's people have many a ways to keep themselves entertained and in high spirits.

I can't imagine any other town's municipality blocking their most scenic route for a couple of hours in the morning and some more in the evening for its people to stroll and enjoy the sea's roar and breeze. Oh yes, the people treat their daily jaunt like religion in Pondicherry!

Self sufficiency

Watching women on auto-geared two-wheelers is a common site anywhere in India. On a motorbike too, one might spot quite a few of them across most towns in India. With kids, the week's grocery shopping and a work bag - now that was new. Even if this last peculiarity was only a common siting in Auroville, I'd say the foreigners set a blaring example in Pondy and for the rest of us to rely on our strength ability to multitask.

On a less obvious aspect too, people in Pondy seem to be able to do what they like more easily than the rest of us. There seems to be the exposure to do what they want - I haven;t met so many enterprising people in one town - whether it is starting a little curio corner, a restaurant, a toy shop, a bookstore or a bamboo products boutique (that includes possibly the softest fabric I have ever touched!).

Unbiased by gender

My favourite haunt in Pondicherry still remains the coconut vendor opposite the General Post Office and the Governor's Bungalow. That woman exudes not only confidence, but almost terror in many an outsiders' eyes. For me, she has been the ultimate epitome of strength and ferocity - contained in a cheery smile and flowers that match her saree.

I've seen burly women managing cash counters of cycle repair shops, and dainty ones serving three tables at a time in their own cafes. None looking life threatening, all cheery and ready for the world. There is truly nothing a man can do that a woman can't, it seems in Pondy.

The distinction remains

Pondicherry is a paradox. The French town has none or few living there now - the buildings are mostly government property or ancient bungalows owned by Tamilian locals who choose to live in smaller houses for convenience of maintenance and awaiting a mad occupant to revive it while also paying for the rent. Foreigners in general are mostly a feature of Auroville, where Indians are a minority (48% of the members) even if a marginal one.

And yet, the whites vs browns distinction is clear. For even the foreigners who have spent ages here, or born here (second generation and therefore, I'm guessing eligible citizens) either do not choose to serve in government positions or aren't entitled to (not sure which). They stick to their private jobs or occupations or professions while the Indians go about their business in the allies and marketplaces and offices.

Ironically, when just a couple of weeks ago we were hosting a Frenchman here in Pune - my first encounter with the nationality at such close quarters - I realise there is a striking similarity in the obstinate pride of intellect and opinion between the Tams and the French!

Dignity to profession

A quality that makes even the most menial work force in Pondicherry take pride in what they do, is the dignity of labour. Whether it is masons at a construction site, stewards at a restaurant, vendors at the Grand Bazaar's Goubert Market or elsewhere, people truly serve with a smile.

Love for liberty

I've yet to come across more entrepreneurial individuals in another small town as in Pondy. Everyone seems to be an independent professional - either they own a coffee shop (sprouting at the rate of a dime a dozen!) or are designers, architects, consultants, something this or the other. They seem to need little to start and much less to sustain themselves.

Colourful

Clothes and walls seem to be quenchers of Pondicherry's thirst for colour. And it is everywhere. Whether you are eating out or shopping or at work - it seems to almost personify the town. Bright ochre, parrot green, vermilion, lotus pink, cobalt blue, royal purple... You can't miss colour if you're in Pondicherry! And you have little choise but to immerse yourself in it or it would be hard to believe you were ever even there...

Pondy Hopping I

This time the Pondicherry trip series will have loads of meat in a day 1 to 5 form. I'd written a series of mails to 5 of my favourite people - to have them live a bit of the fun we were having. Here's day one, from the time we were on our way...

So we just got done with our first midway stop to Pondicherry from Chennai. The first thing to hit me, was neither the dark nor the deserted highway cafeteria itself. The strong cool humid breeze is what freshened me up instantly. Add to that the sweet filter kaapi.

Uff...

Some old Tamil music plays on the radio, lovely Carnatic lull to it, the ghatam and mridangam adding the finishing touches to the first experience of the East Coast Road - one of India's most premium connecting routes.

Needless to say, I've been adequately roused from my sleepy hangover of the train journey. The highway is well fitted with direction reflectors, milestone signs, freshly painted road markers and dividers. Lined with foliage, punctuated by palm trees, about 20 minutes into this second lap, we witness daybreak - almost an ominous
welcome for us into the sojourn, as if telling us to sit back and take in the magic that is Pondicherry...

Oh! We just crossed Pearl Beach! And now the cab races right beside the sea - barely a couple of metres from the road is the coast running parallel - we're hoping to see the sun rise on our way...

Later that night...

The view from Seaside

Pondicherry is like a place of pilgrimage. It calls out to you... And then nothing can stop you from walking the path. But until then, it's an elusive idea. I lie on my bed at Seaside Guest House, tired from the evening jaunt, listening to the sea. The waters are choppy tonight. No, choppy isn't the word, aggressive, in rage, at war almost. Yes, the ocean sounds as if a battle ground. It collides against the land, pushing, hauling its sword, shouting in true warrior fashion to instill fear in its sworn enemy so half the battle's won.

I began my day with a visit to the Eglise de Notre Dame de la Conception Immaculee Church or the Church of the Capuchins here on Rue Dumas. We rented out bicycles and loitered around town afterwards. for 75/- bucks a day, the mostly circles and random lefts and rights seemed something of one's childhood's happy return. Add to that, the beauty of a well planned town - you'll never hit a dead end, though I reckon if you're drunk you'll definitely get dunked in the drain!

We intend to exchange our cycles for motorized 2 wheelers tomorrow so we can go visit Paradise Beach and Auroville, both about 6-8 km from the guest house. Rao says Paradise Beach truly personifies the name.
Looking forward.

I think we shall also end up doing the jetty the day after or on Thursday. The availability of so much time and so much to do is such a rare occurrence...

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 ;)