B for Britannia, Bawa, Bombay...

Britannia used to be one Parsi Cafè (not that Bombay has many more of them left now, barring my other favourite - Jimmy Boy) I used to frequent in my college and journalism days. I have vivid memories of heated and impassioned discussions with my Editor on the copy and the features that needed to be filed for the week ahead, over my raspberry soda, chicken dhansak and paatrani maach (exactly in that order too!). Infact my very first feature on  ‘Being Parsi from Cusrow Baug’ also got finalised and to a large extent drafted over detailed discussions at the dining tables there! 

Meherwan uncle - the affable and endearingly likeable owner - as I’d fondly call him, would watch patiently from the sidelines and offer us  his perspective as he’d discern the goings-on of “city happenings” in his quintessential sagacious bawa style, whenever it was that we went there - which was quite often!

At Britannia, we never had to formally order our food; food just the way we liked it - extra kebab and a few additional dashes of ginger-garlic in the Beri pulao, an additional generous spoonful of burnt caramel over the custard - just landed on our table and in the course-order we liked it (dessert first!) under the hawk-eyed supervision of Meherwan uncle.

It came as a shock to recieve a whatsapp update from a friend late last night that he had passed away. May his soul RIP.  His passing away, to my mind, is also a symbolic passing away of all things “Bombay” to me. Nostalgia is never quite going to be what it used to be anymore!

Khoda hafiz Meherwan uncle. To good times wherever you be...

Updating a YouTube video of him and the Cafè he ‘lived’ and loved, that went on to become a veritable landmark of food connoisseurs in Bombay.

Lights, Lens, Action!

From subtly influencing to convincingly coercing me to explore a whole new dimension of myself,  these two are chiefly responsible for getting me to awaken to the world of documentary film-making. And boy, what an incredible experience it has turned out to be!

 Conducting lectures is one thing, but in the process becoming a student yourself over workshops, real-time dialogue and immersive reflection over some amazing (world) documentary films with students and some of the leading documentary film-makers from across the world, is quite something else altogether. 

The fact that the stage for this act was set in picturesque #Naukuchital, nestled in the foothills of the Himalayas in Kumaon, made it even more surreal. 

Film-making is truely a wonderfully liberating experience - a one that changes how you view and experience yourself within and, therefore the world around you.

And now, I go back home in ways I know I’ll never quite be the same again.

Aatma Namaste!

Strand-ed for life!

A part of me will die with the closing of this iconic book store, in a way that I will never be able to really express in the how and the why. When something that you grew up with is taken away or fades out into the silvery fog of a forever dawn, life as you knew it is never quite the same again.

The StrandBookStall has always been more than just a book-stall for me, as it has for the so many other book lovers of this city. A sanctuary of serendipitous finds - books as well as people - in the crowded by-lanes of P.M. road, VT, South Bombay, the place afforded avid readers a platform for engaging interactions with other bibliophiles and animated conversations with the ever gracious and smiling late owner, Padmashree T.N. Shanbhag as he’d make gentle probes on your thoughts about societal issues and the dying reading habit with the current generation. Blessed with an elephantine memory, he would recollect names and faces and even remember what you picked up on your last visit there. Just that experience made visiting Strand even more endearing and homely.

The place had a special appeal to it – the books - a mix of bestsellers and rare titles were always available at discounted rates. Customers like me were drawn to the diverse book collection, carefully curated by Shanbhag uncle.

That tantalising smell of books - both fresh and mellowing with age, the raw feel of those crisp yellow-brown pages in the gaps between your fingers in the dated section, in the corner on the upper level mezzanine, the enveloping musty air of erudition as you discussed and exchanged notes on reading-lists with other book lovers and, the ever smiling Shanbhag uncle from across his desk as he bid you bye and encouraged you to come back soon - all that I will miss and, miss terribly at that!

The end of an era it is as I find myself Strand-ed for life!

Good bye Strand. 🖐🏻😪

Strand Book Stall 15-C, Dhannur Building, Sir P.M. Road, Borabazar Precinct, Fort, Bombay.

1948-2018

Idly-ing time...

Town never ceases to surprise me everytime I visit. It's the one ever beautiful part of Bombay that has been relatively untouched and unscathed by the fugly hands of that deaf and blind ogre called 'Development'.    

Bombay can grow and expand in as many directions as it wishes to but, the 'feeling' that is 'Bombay' can only be experienced as you visit and soak in the ambience of South Bombay. From Renaissance to Gothic architecture to cobblestoned pathways that meander into streets throwing up happy unexpected surprises, this part of the city is a treat to the senses.

Imagine my glee therefore - after all these years of having studied and colleged here - at finding a quaint Mangalorean eatery, I never knew existed in 'Swagath Refreshments' on Gunbow St., Fort! The best ullandu dosai and rasam vadai evah! 😋
   Never the one to particularly speak highly of the sambhar and coconut chutney dished out by these Udupi's, I must confess Swagath's aromatic piping hot drumstick-pumpkin sambhar and tangy coconut chutney garnished with the udad dal, red-chilly and mustard had me greedily hungering  for more. It only helped that the friendly waiters happily indulged me. 😄
  The impeccably prepared degree coffee ☕️ too reminded me of the ones served back at Murugan Idli, Madras. Burp!

It takes a lot for me to say this BUT say it I will - this place is EVEN better than my all time favourite - Matunga's Madras Cafè. Try it...you'll come back for more. I sure am!

Rained Out!

The deluge caused by torrential rains, in Mumbai last evening, brought out how trying times provide opportunities to bring out latent leadership traits in people. Yesterday was all about 'what happens when opportunity creates shared purpose'!

When people are propelled by a collective sense of purpose - as they were yesterday - there's no telling what can be achieved.

I believe a collective sense of purpose works on the upside when coupled with empathy. It creates a bond so strong that few obstacles, if any at all, can withstand the force.

That downpour last evening  ended up eroding years of societal and religious divides in a matter of minutes as people came together from all walks of life to ensure that this 'maximum city' functioned as it should - efficiently! And all because they believed in the identity of 'The Mumbaikar'. It gave them a sense of purpose, a comforting hope. Who you were didn't matter as much as what you did, to address the crisis. And being recognised for what you did wasn't as important as was making a difference in how you did it. That's Leadership at its core. Period. And Mumbai, my lovely, just see how you showed it to all who cared to see! ☺️

So many nameless faces,
...as many helping hands,
recognition that barely mattered
And none of it was planned!

Madras rasa 🎶

Happy Madras Day people! 

If you are from Madras or have spent any period of quality time in this singara city, you would have definitely felt a strong love for it (I have and, I love it!). That is because Madras is more than just a city. It has a distinct personality. A unique persona that is almost impossible to replicate! 

It's where: 

# music sings in taalam to the raagam of math, 

# where the 'traditional' weaves seamlessly into the silky folds of the 'modern', 

# where, the inseparable combination of vadamanga pickle and thayair-sadham tease and tingle the tongue as they satiate hunger in delight like no other culinary feat can

# where coffee is as intoxicating as the 'tanni', 

# where paying obeisance at the 'kovil' is as revered as it is with paying it at the temple of knowledge

Madras - a decoction like no other, where time brews at its own lingering pace to the pressure of frothy change!

Pic location: Kapaleshwar kovil, Mylapore, Madras.

Of Karma and a Taxi Ride...

I lost my wallet last evening; left it in a cab plying from Dadar to Bandra, on my way to an official dinner. Unfortunately I realised only a lot later on my way back home as my fingers fumbled searching for it, rummaging through my backpack, to tender change for the return bus ride. It was then that it struck me I'd left it on the rear seat of the cab in my hurry to disembark, worrying I was late for the event, after paying the cabbie. Sadly, it was now, too late! Piecing together all the loose change I had one me - and I somehow always end up having plenty of that - I paid my bus fare and, began e-transferring money from the accounts in which I had my lost cards attached, to the one for which I don't carry my card at all - a back-up, I picked up from a friend a long time ago. God, it works!

 The next task that lay ahead of me was the most arduous - that of calling up customer service, winding my route through a series of instructions across befuddling menu options (hate them!) and hot-listing my cards. And strangely much as I tried - and I tried for half an hour relentlessly - I couldn't just get through! So much for timely customer service eh! The only comfort I had was of having successfully e-transferred my money. But then I still had my Driver's licence and claim bills that amounted to quite some, in there. Funnily around the same time I also began to experience a feeling that my wallet was going to find its way back to me somehow. I dismissed that as a foolish thought though.

 Cut to this morning when I receive a call from Gayasuddin who told me how he came back last night to Bandra after realising I had left my wallet in his cab, waited for about half an hour and then left unhappily with a burden in his heart. Guddu (as he's popularly called) went back home to Ghatkopar and deconstructed the contents of my wallet to match my Driver's licence with details on my visiting card, which carries my hand phone number and, called this morning to say he'd drop by to return it in the afternoon. And he did just that, refusing to take a penny, despite my politely egging, and then forcing him to. Instead he suggested we have a chai together, for which I happily obliged. And there over that cup of cutting-chai with the afternoon sun blazing right over us, I learnt about a man who lost so much without so much as letting any of those experiences embitter him. I learnt (from what he told me) about the sanctity of keeping karmic law and, about holding on to values no matter what 'cause they are the only sturdy oars you have in life to help you sail tormenting, sometimes tempting waters.

It's strange isn't it...how life throws up opportunities to learn and unlearn all the time? I grabbed this one to make a friend. And that qualified me to have also received an invite to his wedding in Pratapgarh, UP later in the year. A heartfelt relief, a big smile and some gup-shup later we decided to stay connected and reach out occasionally, over a cuppa' or, two maybe, along the route we ply. And so, here's giving it up for you Guddu, my new friend in this city that's home to us both.

 On my way home from the tea stall I pass by a signage that reads 'We're past the ides of March, it's time to party! I'm smiling

Once Obama'time in Bombay...

South Bombay has never looked as spruced up and beautifully botoxed as it does right now. Like a readying bride awaiting her grom's arrival, the south of the city has been ornamentally decked with freshly relaid roads, fashionable street furniture, bright well-lit promenades, side walks, groomed to display pruned and manicured bylanes, public gardens,  lawns and, richly draped in green hues across the wide open brown spaces in keeping with the prevailing fashionable flavour of environmental chutzpah and chic!

The groom's arrived. Obama's here! Band, baaja, baraat et al. Aurr mehmaan-nawaazi ka kya kehna...uff, it'd put any blue blooded Punjabi shaadi to shame! Dekho to jaano paaji. This is the land of 'Atithi Devo Bhavo' after all!

All it takes is one visit from the President of the United States to jumpstart our bureaucracy, administration and babudom into the thick of electrifying action. Action, with startling results and, in minimal turn around times, mind you! It's so unbelievable, that I'm still lost figuring whether I'm more surprised by the quantum of work that got done over the past month in the run up to the Prez's arrival or,  impressed by the sheer outcome of the results achieved. Either ways, the one fact that coherently emerges from all of this 'abracadabra' of turntail transformation  - and we've known this all along now - is, that we definitely have the resources to execute action in our quest for desired results. What we lack is the willingness and the discipline to sustain the needed momentum in the face of routine.

And so, while many may crib about the inconveniences that the city's been put up to due to the US Prez's visit, seen as ill-timed given that it coincides with Diwali, one of India's biggest festivals, thereby putting paid to may a festive celebration in the city, I silently smile...watching my city, looking lovelier by the minute, blush with pride as she's painstakingly bedecked in bridal finery awaiting her big moment in time.

The groom's arrived. Obama's here...band, baaja, baraat et al! May his tribe increase!

Auroville

...had one of the most perfect get-away weeks ever. It left me experiencing so much that I'm lost wondering where to begin. But all good times must be chronicled and so let me begin.

There's something about that place...a mysterious something that uplifts the senses and anchors the soul. It is barely striking, if at all, at first glance. On the surface it appears rather incomprehensible, leaving you wondering what all the fuss is about now really. And then, before long, the experiment that is Auroville unfolds. Auroville is not just one location. It is actually an entire area. I went there looking for an Ashram, I came back experiencing what it was to live in an evolving civilisation, also called by many as the 'Laboratory of Evolution'.

My stay there was hosted by Elumalai (Elu), my host, and member of the Auroville fraternity. He warmly welcomed me into his home and his family. The home was modest, but earthy and tastefully designed (by Elu and his wife), incorporating local influences of the land, spacious and sprawled over an acreage or two of dense greenery. The air was rife with a scent of wetted soil, very akin to the scent of earth after it has been freshly bathed by the first rains. The foliage had just been watered.

Before long I realised that all homes within the Auroville precincts were designed and constructed likewise; living spaces here are defined by the objective of imbimbing and nurturing eco-environmental sustainability! Psst...evolving civilisation, didn't I mention that one before. ;) The architecture across the breadth of this township is refreshingly welcoming and breath taking...be it the homes, activity centres, community spaces, youth hostels and eateries. Lovely!

Having settled down a bit, it was then time to move around and explore the place. Armed with my guest pass, courtsey Elu, I was all rearing to go. Time was a constraint and much had to been seen and accomplished within defined bounds.

I began with the Visitor's Centre, a complex of buildings specially designed to answer to the needs of casual day visitors and more interested guests alike. They played me, as they did other guests, a brief video on the the ideology* and making of Auroville.

After a brief peek-a-boo at the photo exhibition centre and the Seagull bookshop at the VC, I ventured into Boutique d'Auroville, the centre for arts and crafts and all other things Aurovillian; good place I'd reckon to pick up some 'arty' stuff, but a tad expensive for the uninitiated.

Along my way, there were many, many interesting stores hidden behind small non-descript signs, just off the road, selling various items like - clothes, crafts, jewellery, 100% natural soaps made from vegetable oils, hammocks, natural and soft washing detergents, lampshades, organic food, organic oils and a whole lot more. These are spread all across Auroville county. I couldn't help stopping by a few to check them out...did lose some time and quite some money in the bargain, but what the heck? I was her to partake of the experience anyways!

A tip that might help, don't let the lack of a jazzy storefront fool you into believing that going in isn't worth it. You're definitely missing something if you do.

Back on track now - and it's difficult maintaining one in Auroville - a kilometer and a half's walk through the idyllic expanse took me to Matrimandir, 'Temple of the Mother', the epicentre of Auroville...a sight to behold! Matrimandir emerges as a large golden sphere rising from the womb of the earth, symbolising the birth of a new consciousness seeking to manifest. The meditation centre is housed within this awesome edifice. However, one needs to book in advance to venture within and partake of the sessions held there, which I'm told is an 'outta-the-world' experience. That's on my list of to-do's whilst on my next trip here for sure!

Now for some food, growled my stomach, after so many visual treats, but nothing on its palette to chew and eat. 

Auroville is a treat for the food lover. Roma's kitchen, The Beach Cafe, Pour Tous café, the Solar kitchen and the Auro Bakery are names you don't want to, and can't easily forget for the spreads they dole out. Some great food in store for the hungry here ranging from fresh bakes to pastas, pizzas, organic foods, salads, soups, South and North Indian cuisine. The Auro Bakery deserves a special mention here for its oven fresh breads, tarts, croissants and biscuits. Trying out the homemade ice-cream and solar cooled nimbu sherbet at the shaded area kiosk - ensconced within a bamboo groove - is also highly recommended.

Next stop, Pondicherry, (New Hamlet, in Tamil)

Pondicherry was quite a hurried stopover, given the limited time I had at hand. But the place is truely worth a dekkho. The entire town is divided into two sections, the French Quarter ('Ville Blanche' or 'White Town') and the Indian Quarter ('Ville Noire' or 'Black Town'), with grid patterns and neat sectors across perpendicular streets.

Besides the usual list of places to see or explore there, I particularly liked Le Cafe - a French Cafe on the Promenade - the road along the beach. Now this is must see, must do! A beautiful place with some yummy treats on the menu and some off it too - the breathtaking view of the sea, with its restless waves lashing against the rockbed for one.

Walking down The Promenade made for another memorable treat. The police band, looking grand in their khaki uniforms and red caps, was playing at the Gandhi Statue alongside the beach. The band played some patriotic numbers that blended well with the mood that was setting in around sundown.

It had begun to drizzle by now, and the place slowly began emptying out. It left me feeling that I had the promenade all to myself now! Walking down The Promenade with droplets of rain trickling off my face, in the incandescence of the light emitted from stately lamp posts, teasingly rising into the sky along the dividers, , against the backdrop of old French villas on the one side and the sea on the other...was phantasmagoric!

An apt end to the eventful evening.

And that concluded my brief vacation in Auroville/ Pondi, as I readied to drive back to Chennai (another one of my top 3 favourite cities) for the remainder of my stay, before returning to Bombay. It's barely been a day since my return, and I'm already making plans for my next visit to Auroville. Elu, you'll hear from me soon!

* The purpose of Auroville is to realise human unity – in diversity. Today Auroville is recognised as the first and only internationally endorsed ongoing experiment in human unity and transformation of consciousness, also concerned with - and practically researching into - sustainable living and the future cultural, environmental, social and spiritual needs of mankind.

Madras Moorings

Loyola...Coffee Shop...TVS Champ...Fresh & Honest...Choolaimedu...Juniors...Mc Rennet...Nungambakkam...Kuttys...Rohan...Sterling Road...Qwicky's...Deepa...HotChips...Crescent...Prem Kumar Padmanabhan...Juice Shop...Petrol Bunk...Star Xerox...Sangeetha...Haddows Road...Elu...Chetpet...MCR...Pavithra...College Road...MCC...WCC...Hyderabadi Biriyani...Gallopping Gooseberries...Jojo...Fruitshop at Gream's Road...Lalit Kala Academi

...Ambassador Pallava...Alsa Mall...Egg Rolls...Vijay...Taj Connemara...Spencer's...Vishal...Higginbotthams...

...M.G. Road...Khadar Nawaz Khan Road...Manju...Casa Piccola...Preeti...Barista...Swati...Ispani Centre...Landmark...St. Teresa's Church...Karun...Rangis...Kumarakom...Onam...Gemini Flyover...The Park...Leather Bar...Rajiv...Thousand Lights...Abu...Satyam...Gopalpuram...The Amethyst...Bharat...Stella Maris...Indira...Gangotri...TTK Road...Lifestyle...Pradha...Harish...Abhiramapuram...

...Cathedral Road...M.A. Jacob...Savera...Ramesh...Zara's...Natasha...Sparks...Secretariat...Queen Mary's...Marina Beach...Soondal...Salted Chilly Maanga Slices...St. Thomas Cathedral...Lighthouse...Dom...Radhika...Mylapore...Sruthi...

...Mallar Hospital...Adayar...Besant Nagar...Raghu...St. John's...Ravi...Elliot's Beach...Parthasarathi Kovil...Vailankanni Church...Karl...

...ECR...Paramesh...Pondy...Priyan...OMR...Tidel Park...Ani...Mahab's...Fisherman's Cove...Urvi...

...Mahalingapuram...Valluvarkottam...Rajiv Bhoj...West Mambalam...North Usman Road...South Bhog Road...T Ngr...Nandny...Gopal Street...Nalli...Vineetha...Murugan Idli...GG...Pondy Bazaar...Residency Towers...G.N. Chetty Road...Jhansi...Bikes & Barrels...Beer...Teynampet...Sun TV...Satyam Office...Cenotaph Road...Dhaba Express...ICICI Bank...Alwarpet...Sashankh...The Rain Tree...Raji...Nandanam...Anu George...Saidapet...Saviour Praveen...Pizza Express...Guindy...Santhom...Kathipaara Junction...Thirusulam...Meenambakkam Airport...

...Ashok Nagar...Kodambakkam...Anna Arch...Anna Nagar...Anjali...Chocolate Cookies...Veg Rolls...Pacchiappa's College...Vandy Ma'am...Butter Chicken...George Uncle...

Cho Ramaswamy...Saarang... IIT-M...Nandny's Appa...Karthikai Deepam...Kolkattai...Filter Kapi...Vadai...Kuccheris...Silks...Mallipoo...Sivagami Pettachi Auditorium...Evam...Sudha Raghunath...SBB...Violin...Mridanga...Applause.

M-A-D-R-A-S... ...missing it!

Calcutta: The City of Joy...contd

More on Kolkata...

Preeti sent this across to me, knowing fully well how much of a Calcutta hangover I am still nursing, almost a month since I visited the place. Looks like I'm not the only guy to come away enamoured of the city.

A nice piece this, succulent with the flavours of all things warmly Kolkata. :) and apt sequel to my take on Calcutta in the piece on 'Oh Calcutta!'

Vir Sanghvi on Calcutta...

Most modern Indian cities strive to rise above ethnicity. Tell anybody who lives in Bombay that he lives in a Maharashtrian city and (unless of course, you are speaking to Bal Thackeray) he will take immediate offence. We are cosmopolitan, he will say indigenously. Tell a Delhiwalla that his is a Punjabi city (which, in many ways, it is) and he will respond with much self-righteous nonsense about being the nation's capital, about the international composition of the city's elite etc. And tell a Bangalorean that he lives in a Kannadiga city and you'll get lots of techno-gaff about the internet revolution and about how Bangalore is even more cosmopolitan than Bombay.

But, the only way to understand what Calcutta is about is recognize that the city is essentially Bengali. What's more, no Bengali minds you saying that. Rather, he is proud of the fact. Calcutta's strengths and weaknesses mirror those of the Bengali character. It has the drawbacks: the sudden passions, the cheerful chaos, the utter contempt for mere commerce, the fiery response to the smallest provocation. And it has the strengths (actually, I think of the drawbacks as strengths in their own way). Calcutta embodies the Bengali love of culture; the triumph of intellectualism over greed; the complete transparency of all emotions, the disdain with which hypocrisy and insincerity are treated; the warmth of genuine humanity; and the supremacy of emotion over all other aspects of human existence.

That's why Calcutta is not for everyone. You want your cities clean and green; stick to Delhi. You want your cities, rich and impersonal; go to Bombay. You want them high-tech and full of draught beer; Bangalore's your place. But if you want a city with a soul: come to Calcutta.

When I look back on the years I've spent in Calcutta - and I come back so many times each year that I often feel I've never been away - I don't remember the things that people remember about cities. When I think of London, I think of the vast open spaces of Hyde Park. When I think of New York, I think of the frenzy of Times Square. When I think of Tokyo, I think of the bright lights of Shinjiku. And when I think of Paris, I think of the Champs Elysee. But when I think of Calcutta, I never think of any one place. I don't focus on the greenery of the maidan, the beauty of the Victoria Memorial, the bustle of Burra Bazar or the splendour of the new Howrah 'Bridge'. I think of people. Because, finally, a city is more than bricks and mortars, street lights and tarred roads. A city is the sum of its people. And who can ever forget - or replicate - the people of Calcutta?

When I first came to live here, I was told that the city would grow on me. What nobody told me was that the city would change my life. It was in Calcutta that I learnt about true warmth; about simple human decency; about love and friendship; about emotions and caring; about truth and honesty. I learnt other things too. Coming from Bombay as I did, it was a revelation to live in a city where people judged each other on the things that really mattered; where they recognized that being rich did not make you a better person - in fact, it might have the opposite effect. I learnt also that if life is about more than just money, it is about the things that other cities ignore; about culture, about ideas, about art, and about passion. In Bombay, a man with a relatively low income will salt some of it away for the day when he gets a stock market tip. In Calcutta, a man with exactly the same income will not know the difference between a debenture and a dividend. But he will spend his money on the things that matter. Each morning, he will read at least two newspapers and develop sharply etched views on the state of the world. Each evening, there will be fresh (ideally, fresh-water or river) fish on his table. His children will be encouraged to learn to dance or sing. His family will appreciate the power of poetry. And for him, religion and culture will be in inextricably bound together.

Ah religion! Tell outsiders about the importance of Puja in Calcutta and they'll scoff. Don't be silly, they'll say. Puja is a religious festival. And Bengal has voted for the CPM since 1977. How can godless Bengal be so hung up on a religions festival? I never know how to explain them that to a Bengali, religion consists of much more than shouting Jai Shri Ram or pulling down somebody's mosque. It has little to do with meaningless ritual or sinister political activity.

The essence of Puja is that all the passions of Bengal converge: emotion, culture, the love of life, the warmth of being together, the joy of celebration, the pride in artistic ex-pression and yes, the cult of the goddess. It may be about religion. But is about much more than just worship. In which other part of India would small, not particularly well-off localities, vie with each other to produce the best pandals? Where else could puja pandals go beyond religion to draw inspiration from everything else? In the years I lived in Calcutta, the pandals featured Amitabh Bachchan, Princes Diana and even Saddam Hussain! Where else would children cry with the sheer emotional power of Dashimi, upset that the Goddess had left their homes? Where else would the whole city gooseflesh when the dhakis first begin to beat their drums? Which other Indian festival - in any part of the country - is so much about food, about going from one roadside stall to another, following your nose as it trails the smells of cooking? To understand Puja, you must understand Calcutta. And to understand Calcutta, you must understand the Bengali. It's not easy.

Certainly, you can't do it till you come and live here, till you let Calcutta suffuse your being, invade your bloodstream and steal your soul. But once you have, you'll love Calcutta forever. Wherever you go, a bit of Calcutta will go with you. I know, because it's happened to me. And every Puja, I am overcome by the magic of Bengal. It's a feeling that'll never go away.

Sanghvi is the editor of The Hindustan Times

Ohh Calcutta!

I'm in Kolkata at the moment (been here a week now on work) and boy, I'm in love with this city! It simply just grows on you from the very word 'go'. Now, I know why they call it the 'City of Joy'; everything, simply everything about this place is so 'sweet and happy,' right from the food (yummilicious!!!), the big lovely smiles that stare you in your face right out of every roadside hoarding, the Bengali language, the foot-tapping and ear-catching music scene (even the cabbies have great taste in music here...have you ever heard of a cabbie listen to jazz...!!!; mine does and ohh boy he knew so much!), the amazingly-affordable standard of living and but of-course the beautiful soft-spoken and genteel people or Bhodro-log (colloquial term - for the classes)...man, I'm in love all over again! Only this time, it's with a newly discovered city :-)

Talking of cities, you know what, I have a theory about them...


I have always believed that there is an irresistible magnetic lure about cities with a coastline or by a waterfront. And this makes them addictive.

I believe that such cities and the people therein have a quintessential character to them. And that, I believe has something to do with the element water. Acting like an oxidising agent, water it seems breathes life, energy and a sense of purposeful restlessness into the city it surrounds or is contained in. The flow is almost contagious in that you're instantaneously propelled into it as you pulsate to its beats. And before you can even say 'splash', you're gently bathed by the shower of its all embracing claim over your identity.


Then - and this is where the beautiful assimilation process begins - insidiously yet magically you find yourself woven into the cultural fabric of that city as you become an inseparable part of the breathing mosaic of its life.

...now just you think...Ganesh Chathurthi, the Kala-ghoda cultural fest and the Banaganga music festival in Mumbai, the Kali puja and jazz festival in Kolkata, the kuttcheri season in Chennai, the Karachi music and arts festival...all these are great cities (and the many more, I haven't yet visited) are characterised by a distinct identity and culture; and diverse as they may be, besides being geographically spread out, the one thing in common to them all is their proximity to water.
Some winding flow of thought that, now ain't it... ;-)

Incidentally, this post also goes out to my pal Sutirtha Sen and his lovely family who hosted my stay in Kolkatta and made it so memorable for me. In my week long stay at their home, I've been served rich dollops of the experience that is Kolkatta in myriad portion sizes that came my way in the course of my long animated discussions over breakfast and dinner with his folks about issues that ranged from politics and local culture to football (Mohun Bhagan rules o'er Sao Paulo anyday) and the weather to pretty Bengali women (hmmm, is it the fish they eat?) and finding me a one such for a bride! I for one am not complaining...'cause aamhake Kolkata (and all that it has to offer) khoob bhalo lage.

Moorings of a Time 'Left' Behind...

Went shopping to town last Saturday, for khadi wear - kurtas to be precise. In Mumbai if it's khadi, it's got to be good ole' Khadi Bhandaar, (KB), D.N. Rd, Fort. Thankfully, the place hasn't change one wee bit since I visited it last year.

For all the hustle and bustle synonomous of life in this mega metro and the seductive sheen of its avant-garde trappings, KB continues stubbornly unaffected and untouched by the transient whims of time. Here at KB, you are now besieged by a time-warp.

The thick air inside the shop is still heavily laden with the scent an all-engulfing languorous charm, courtsey the socialist mettle of a (once) pre-liberalized economy. The dusty window panes, musty wooden paraphernalia and an asynchronous drone of an array of huge four-blade - weather beaten - ceiling fans suspended from an ashen coloured ceiling, made me acutely aware of the anomaly in time I was witness to. The dull passing of every formidable minute in time spent here was not wasted on me, for sure.

Not for this place, are clichés like: 'Customer is King', 'customised service' or 'customer delight.' All these hold good outside; once inside these are passé - and I for once am not complaining! And mighty good reason for that there is too.

In a world where 'Clothes maketh a man', beauty truely lies in the eyes of the beholder. It is of little wonder then that even simplicity today comes at a price and with a designer label. Chic and ethnic no longer stand for rustic mix-n-match of contrasting apparel - that you once put together at your sole discretion. Today, alas, they stand for the approval of fashionistas of the likes of the Satya Paul's and Rina Dhaka's of this country - and I say this with due respect to their talents and those of their kinsmen.

It's a democratic world after all, governed largely by a capitalistic society! And so everyone's got to make money while the sun shines. However, to keep the sun shining bright Marketeers have to do all they possibly can to extend this period of daytime for as long as possible. Enter concepts like "Branding," "Positioning," "Customer Satisfaction" and the like.


But then, to quote economist Milton Friedman, there's no such thing as a free lunch in a capitalistic society; everyone's got to ultimately foot his portion of the bill. However invariably the buck stops at the customer - and I'm fine with it if he can afford it for the 'tailor-made' luxuries he is bestowed with in name of enhancing his (otherwise incomplete) shopping experience. Every consumer is treated the same way, and the phrase ‘mass customisation’ is then abused till kingdom come.

Not for me, however, the razzmatazz of all this marketing gimmickery - at least when it comes my purchase of the humble homespun khadi kurta.

As I side-track here a little, I cannot but help but mirror FE columnist Suhel Seth's sentiments (http://www.financialexpress.com/fe_full_story.php?content_id=91274) as he lashes out at the inept and fuddy-duddy logic at work in operationalising the 'permission marketing' concept which modern day marketeers have so blatantly violated, much to the chagrin of a growing base of harried customers.

To be honest, I've had it with overtly patronizing salespersons and the 'all-your-needs-addressed' brands they promote making you believe they know you inside-out - sometimes better than you know yourself - and non-challantly breathe down your neck with the all-knowing alacrity of your bum-chum langoti buddy! And it would help recollect whilst at it that, they're not doing you a favour, doing it as they are in your time and on your account.

Customised service aside, I'd rather partake of handsome bargains for moderate prices at a no-frills, humble KB outlet that doesn't pretend to know all by offering you the all and sundry equivalent of a Kotler text on Services Marketing. And in the process, as a welcome a change, revisit - if only for a few minutes - the 'take-it-or-leave-it' socialist charm that stubbornly refuses to peel off at these places, even in these competitive times. Coming from someone who has grown up in thriving capitalist times, some irony that now, ain't it!

If fluidity is the plasma of time, then ideology is the plasma of my life!

Of Prefacing Interludes...

It's been quite a while since my last blog entry. But then back home on a vacation in good ole' Mumbai, I resigned myself to taking a sabbatical before I hit the blogging scene again. And what a lazy sabbatical this has been!

Life back home in Mumbai is pretty chilled-out. The day begins at 9:00 am and ends at 2:00 pm for me; what I do in these waking hours is anyone’s guess! I have all the time I could possibly need at my disposal. The trouble is – I just don’t know what to do with all of it!

Everyone is so busy with their working lives that it gives me a complex doing nothing. I shudder at the thought of answering that one irritating question posed of me - for the hundred and first time now – ‘How do pass your time beta?’ And it doesn’t matter if the neighbourhood auntyji's (and there are hajaar of them, inquisitive one’s around) who poses it is as much faced with much the same quandary as I am.

Gosh, I’m serious...these guys truly seem to have made a 24*7 profession out of asking this question to unwary and unarmoured souls like yours truly who are out on a brief vacation at home. Whatever happened to the good ole' 'relaxation' and 'unwind' elements synonymous with vacation time???

Grrrr…one of these days I’m going to spend my time knocking on all the doors in this vicinity and smirkingly haunt each and everyone of them with the same question. That way, maybe we could compare notes and all!

Holy cow. Look at poor me! The fact that I’m actually taking time off to pen this sad story of my life should give you a fair idea of how of how velaa I am!

Schmoozing Secundrabad...

Just got back from Secundrabad, AP; had a good 4 days of loads of activity and fun. The Satyam office called and invited me over for a 4-day conference on HR to Secundrabad, all expenses paid – but of course!

Imagining it to be another one of those corporate gyan sessions, I set out for Secundrabad expecting no more than 4 days of relentless Corporate gupshup. Boy, was I wrong or was I wrrronggg!

Man, going by the way my non-descript vacation has been shaping up, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to state that those four days have, by far, been the best part of my vacation. I met and interacted with a congregation of around 250 odd HR people from across the ranks at Satyam.

We were put at the Le Meredian resorts, by the poolside in rooms that came fitted with their own steam showers and musical bath tubs! As for food, OHH MY GOD, there was the choicest of it to suite your taste and your palette - Chinese, Continental, Thai, Mexican, South Indian and Moughlai. Food, food everywhere and only one tummy to stomach it all :-( Some food riot that was!

On a more serious note, we were also put through mammoth sessions of corporate confabulations on understanding the business model, sources of revenue streams, profit models, strategy, growth and competition etc. All this, through the morning interspersed with a more than generous two hour break for lunch that befitted a King, around noon.

Post-lunch, the focus of the sessions would revolve around understanding the ever-changing role of HR as the aligning force with each of the above mentioned spheres. Amidst failed efforts at keeping my eyes open, and a zillion regrets for having gorged myself with food to face, I realised one thing loud and clear: it’s heartening to learn that there is more to HR than just Recruiting and RAPM! Sitting through all those sessions - and it does'nt require rocket science logic to fathom this one - I now know how much I don’t know about the subject that is HR, passionate and reasonably well-read as I am on it.


Meanwhile, evenings in Secundrabad were lovely! The weather'd be simply delightful as it settled down cool after the arid heat of the morning sun; the plains for you. After the regimented rigours of some amazing out-bound training programs and telly games that were more a test of mental grit than physical effort, it was time to party.

We kicked-up our heels, swerving our hips as we loosened our bodies, to the grind of sensuous Salsa, guided as we were by supple and limbered dancers who went great lengths to defy all elastic limits in the course of their dance workshop held amidst the lusciously landscaped gardens of Hi-Tech city against the backdrop of a moonlit stage.

Indeed, the whole experience was cloaked by a halo of phantasmagoric aura as rhythm flirtatiously courted rhyme in the throes of it passionate serenades!


Cocktail sessions would begin at 9:00 pm with drinks flowing down parched throats like water, with (well-deserved; I'm always hungry, can't help it) dinner finally being served around 11:30-12:00 at mid-nite. Dinner, everyday, was accompanied by a dress code – ethnic, bohemian, mask and formal for the final day.

My stay also presented me with the opportunity to meet and interact with the other HR-management trainees (MT’s) who'd come there as well. And I dare say, we pretty much got along like a house on fire - all of us!

And now…for the climax of it all!. At the end of my paid holiday (what else could I call it, but that!) all of us MT’s were allocated our respective profiles at designated locations. And I've been posted in Chennai now, as Mgmt Trainee, HR-SAP, at the Chamiers Rd office, Teynampet. Competency-fit is the reason they attributed for the sudden shift. Guess 2 years spent in Chennai have taken their toll on not just my genetic DNA, but on my competencies and skill-sets as well!!! :-)

However I'll be training in Hyderabad for the entire month of June before I move to Chennai later.

That's that then, at least for now. So long...

Mumbai Madlam...

I’ve been missing Mumbai a lot lately. It’s one city like no other, with a pulse that beats to a rhythm of its own.

Infact I love the place so much that I could exhaust reams of paper on it and yet have more to tell if only you had the patience to listen. So maddened was a friend of mine by this Mumbai mania that he thought he’d fox me into asking me to limit myself to one word that described the city best. And so…what's the one adjective that describes Mumbai best?

Onomatopoeic, I'd say bang on, without so much as batting an eyelid!

Right from the minute you've pronounced it - Mooombaaai, sound in every conceivable form is as much a part of the Mumbai experience as is 'aaloo' to 'tikki'. You just can't divorce one from the other - till death does them apart! Sound logic that, ain't it...

For a species blessed to be proudly christened a Mumbaikarr, the day begins with a jolt outta the early morning blue with the jarring 'darwaaze kii ghantii' shrieking for immediate attention lest the impatient 'doodhwalla' pasteurising in ire decides to supply you with milk that’s richly bathed to a texture that'd defy the theory of the anomalous behaviour of water. Talk of 'gayii bhaez paanii mein', the phrase takes-on a whole new meaning out here.

You've barely attended the door and sleepily trudged to bed, when triiiiiiiing goes the doorbell again, damn...and this time it's the paper man. To hell with him, you say, but then you're rudely awakened realising that failure to answer the door would mean your neighbours naughty kids eagerly feeding your paper to their dog. Back to the door you go yet again...

Finally, some treasured moments of sleep. But now, it's the turn of the morning alarm. An alarming churn of events these!

At eight you set out for work and as you move down the staircase you're acutely made aware of verbal duels concerning a burnt breakfast or whose turn it is to drop the kids to school today, to the maid next door proclaiming in lament and choicest of language to who-so-ever cares to give her a listening ear, her being underpaid and overworked by the pugnacious Punjabi family who've just moved in. Then there is the collective 'phatkarr' rhythm of clothes being stone washed (washing machines are passé, handwashed rules in Mumbai) that makes you feel that you’re almost living off 'dhobi ghaat' even though you may actually be right in the heart of Colaba. Phew...making it to the ground floor was never more of a relief...

Playing 'dodge-em' and screaming your lungs hoarse, lest they run you over because they didn't see you and can only hear you, you manage winding your way through the honking traffic to finally reach the railway station - Mumbai's ubiquitous lifeline. Aah, you say, finally for some respite! But how wrong you were. Within the confines of the railway station, it's an auditory symphony of rising decibels for one and all. From the shoe shine boy to the newspaper stall vendor, the irate stock broker on his flashy mobile to a vociferous bunch of college going teens, to even the railway announcer (and never mind if the announcement of a trains arrival comes minutes after its delayed departure) it's cacophony all the way and Mumbai after all. ‘Yahaan sab kucch chaltaa hai’ remember.

And if you thought Sivamani was the best percussionist around, then you haven't obviously heard the 'bhajan mandalii's' on the Mumbai locals who could put an Altaf Raja to shame with their modern day renditions of the 'santvanii'. Listening to them, even a Kaaphirr would be forced to remark, indeed, the God's must be crazy!

You’ve reached work in one piece all safe and sound. Sound, did I say, well, here at work you are constantly subjected to the drone of a staccato tabbing across keyboards as your fellow colleagues lap it all from sites varying from 'playboy.com' to 'cricinfo.com' depending on the sport they're up for playing. And then of course there’s that decoding of footsteps to be kept track of, of your boss whose sole raison d'etre in life - and you're convinced of it - is to come down on you depending upon his moods as he romps past your cubicle in anger, swishes by in haste or sways to a chested swagger in happiness as you impatiently drum your desk impatiently in a dilemma to have an audience with him over that long overdue promotion of yours.

You know it's time to leave office as you hear whispers tsunami into loud chatter amidst bags thumped on work desks and computers lullabying the same old shutdown jingle.

On your way from office, retracing your path home, you are left to defend yourself from the by now maddening pandemonium of rush hour traffic at its audible best.

Finally, home at last...and horror of horrors...your wife's returned from her 'maikaa' having cut her trip short to give you a surprise. Surprised, you definitely are as you bellow disguised niceties at her knowing it's just a matter of minutes before the next quarrel erupts over plans for dinner...mujhe merii biwi se bacchao!

That's Mumbai for you at its disquietituous best, described in one word – dare I say so!!!