Oh we're attacking the Sri Ram Sene, Yediyurappa and any moralistic political bugger all right but we've forgotten the handsome, yuppy puppy boy next door. He's the one who is part of your fun gang when you start going to pubs after work; he's the one hailing the autos for you at midnight and dropping you home (in these days of easy loans he probably has a car); he's the one going out with you for a late sunday hangover healing breakfast;he's the one who likes you, hasn't quite met anyone like you but won't take you home to mummy. Not even when you are sober. Coz you see, it's alright for him to take his sorry ass to the pub when he's tired after a long day's work but when you do that, you automatically get struck off as ideal wife material from his long-standing mental list. To make the cut you need to go home straight from work (after politely saying NO to all those loose moraled girls who want you to come out and drink), change into cute striped pajamas, eat your chapatis and spend your time watching 'First Ladies' or HBO. On the days you are out with him, you need to ensure you have nothing more incriminating than a Cranberry Breezer. A beer? Certainly not. Ciggies? Look around, I think he's run away already. So why just rant on the Sene in TV debates. Deep down in their hearts, most Indian men (and several women) still believe drinks and decency do not mix.
A very good friend got dumped by her handsome, supposedly cool, liberal boyfriend a while ago. The reason? He didn't really feel she could be the 'family type.' Now that they were talking marriage, he felt she needed to sober down a bit. Not too many long hours at work, not too much after work bonding with the girls, not too much this, not too much that. It's not commitment phobia. It's hypocrisy. Trying to mould someone to your skewed idea of what's moral and what's not, despite the fact that you aren't exactly following them. My friend is sad but thankfully had the guts to walk out of the relationship. So we are off to celebrate. In true 'pub culture' tradition of course.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Clarity, thou art hard to find...
Yes, even after 34 long years. Ok, may be I should make the number of years lesser because I'm sure I didn't try looking for clarity at four or 10 or even 15. At 20, maybe. In fact, I was quite sure I had found it. I was going to be a journalist. At that time, it was an all encompassing word, no shades attached. I had a job I loved and a clear head. This is where I belonged. At least for the time being. Until I found another newspaper or magazine that paid me better. Simple. Full and final.
Well, life, at least the so called professional part of it is not so final after all. Because here I am, 14 years down the line, confused as hell despite knowing where some of the answers are. I know that I do not want a full time job. The answer to that is in my guilt ridden mind and heart on the days I have a long assignment and have to pick A up late from the daycare. I know I want to freelance. But to what extent? Do I take whatever comes my way, work late nights, make my money and be happy? Or do I choose only the kind of stories that I really want to do even if those are few? Do I network and try to revive long lost contacts even if some them are masters in the art of cold shouldering or do I make myself believe that work will find me and sit tight no matter how implausible that may sound? Well I try it all. I take up crap edit jobs that make no sense except bring me a decent enough cheque which I promptly go and spend at the Strand Book Sale on vast amounts of books for myself and the child. I trudge halfway across town to meet a social worker for a story that will pay me lesser than the cab fare. I wonder whether to start a content writing service with a friend. I wonder whether to keep myself free, writing only what actually makes me feel good and not being the hyper when-will-I-be-busy-again kind of cranky person I usually am. And I wonder when will the focus, the clarity finally stop being elusive. Maybe when I do.
Well, life, at least the so called professional part of it is not so final after all. Because here I am, 14 years down the line, confused as hell despite knowing where some of the answers are. I know that I do not want a full time job. The answer to that is in my guilt ridden mind and heart on the days I have a long assignment and have to pick A up late from the daycare. I know I want to freelance. But to what extent? Do I take whatever comes my way, work late nights, make my money and be happy? Or do I choose only the kind of stories that I really want to do even if those are few? Do I network and try to revive long lost contacts even if some them are masters in the art of cold shouldering or do I make myself believe that work will find me and sit tight no matter how implausible that may sound? Well I try it all. I take up crap edit jobs that make no sense except bring me a decent enough cheque which I promptly go and spend at the Strand Book Sale on vast amounts of books for myself and the child. I trudge halfway across town to meet a social worker for a story that will pay me lesser than the cab fare. I wonder whether to start a content writing service with a friend. I wonder whether to keep myself free, writing only what actually makes me feel good and not being the hyper when-will-I-be-busy-again kind of cranky person I usually am. And I wonder when will the focus, the clarity finally stop being elusive. Maybe when I do.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Of Goa, Bombay and other random stuff...
So the entire month of December 2008 was spent travelling. Well almost the entire month if you discount the 3 or 4 days of interim breaks in Bangalore that were spent in visiting dentist, cleaning dirty dishes left by absconding maid, fixing a non absconding one, attending budday parties and doing other such exhausting stuff. We drove to Karwar and Goa and as soon as we crossed the Karnataka border, a friend called to ask where we were. 'Goa,' I said, rolling the windows down to smell the (truck infested) air. 'Again?' She shrieked, 'don't you guys have any imagination?' Our trip to Hampi in between elicited mostly positive responses (That part of Karnataka is a must do, said one 'doer') but when we landed up in Bombay at the end of the year, most people laughed. 'You've actually wasted four precious days to holiday in Bombay!' the husband heard. I'm of course spared as I do not 'work.'
Who wouldn't love exploring new places on a holiday? Especially say a place like Hampi where we climbed several hills and stairs with a child perpetually attached to our backs. Ok joking, he was permanently attached but we loved the place, though it isn't exactly a holiday for a three year old. Going to Goa is like visiting an old friend. You know exactly what to expect. There's fun in that too isn't it? Like lounging on the sunbed the entire morning as your child is babysat by the sand and a few buckets; ordering the same prawn rechado and fish curry at the same shack everyday; going sick hearing your husband say he plans to paraglide, jet ski and do everything Akshay Kumar can since the beginning of the holiday (Yes Rupa, it's a middle aged male disease) and knowing that by the time you get back exhausted thanks to all those Kings and Belos in the afternoon or evening, the bed would be made and the bathroom would be clean :D. As for Bombay....for me that's a happy story forever.
The random stuff
* Why on earth is Ghajini the name of the movie? I mean the villain is hardly iconic...I could have understood Sholay being named after Gabbar Singh but this one is sheer stupid.
* And shirtless Aamir doesn't work for me at all. It's conditioning I guess. After all these years, the only shirtless 40 plus Bollywooder I can still tolerate is Salman Khan.
* Luw Dev Patel of Slumdog Millionaire. Terribly young yes, but that's how they all are these days. Except me :(
Who wouldn't love exploring new places on a holiday? Especially say a place like Hampi where we climbed several hills and stairs with a child perpetually attached to our backs. Ok joking, he was permanently attached but we loved the place, though it isn't exactly a holiday for a three year old. Going to Goa is like visiting an old friend. You know exactly what to expect. There's fun in that too isn't it? Like lounging on the sunbed the entire morning as your child is babysat by the sand and a few buckets; ordering the same prawn rechado and fish curry at the same shack everyday; going sick hearing your husband say he plans to paraglide, jet ski and do everything Akshay Kumar can since the beginning of the holiday (Yes Rupa, it's a middle aged male disease) and knowing that by the time you get back exhausted thanks to all those Kings and Belos in the afternoon or evening, the bed would be made and the bathroom would be clean :D. As for Bombay....for me that's a happy story forever.
The random stuff
* Why on earth is Ghajini the name of the movie? I mean the villain is hardly iconic...I could have understood Sholay being named after Gabbar Singh but this one is sheer stupid.
* And shirtless Aamir doesn't work for me at all. It's conditioning I guess. After all these years, the only shirtless 40 plus Bollywooder I can still tolerate is Salman Khan.
* Luw Dev Patel of Slumdog Millionaire. Terribly young yes, but that's how they all are these days. Except me :(
Sunday, December 28, 2008
On the rocks
It's fascinating to see how the old, the new and the ordinary merge in surreal, boulder strewn Hampi. Fourteenth century balconies serve as drying spot for clothes
The granite columns of a century old bazaar becomes the perfect place to rest a tired bike.
A 14th century gateway stands tall as innumerable cars, autos and cycles pass through it everyday.
The ancient Virupaksha temple still holds wedding ceremonies. In fact, one was on while we visited. The beautiful ghats of Tungabhadra is at once a laundry and a shrine. The Hampi Bazaar that was once thought to have sold precious gems and rich silks is still as fascinating if in a slightly offbeat way with everything from Che Guevara T-shirts (didn't know they were still so popular!), lungi tops, Kutchi bags, musical instruments, Janpath style silver jewelry to Rajasthani handicrafts.
Across the river, in Hampi Island or Virupura Gadde it is a different world altogether. One that moves slowly with makeshift 'lounge bars,' tiny guesthouse with chickens and children running amok, internet cafes offering Skype and broadband and a lot of shaloms in the air. The landscape is mindblowing. More so when you head towards Anegundi. Boulders in browns and rusts, ruins strewn with granite and the sudden vivid green of paddy fields. I plan to go back again (Perhaps with Subs, who has actually worked among the ruins here!) may be to just wander along aimlessly or spend the afternoon lazing at Mango Tree, a very busy restaurant in a banana plantation, with 'seats' under a huge mango tree. Happiness!
The granite columns of a century old bazaar becomes the perfect place to rest a tired bike.
A 14th century gateway stands tall as innumerable cars, autos and cycles pass through it everyday.
The ancient Virupaksha temple still holds wedding ceremonies. In fact, one was on while we visited. The beautiful ghats of Tungabhadra is at once a laundry and a shrine. The Hampi Bazaar that was once thought to have sold precious gems and rich silks is still as fascinating if in a slightly offbeat way with everything from Che Guevara T-shirts (didn't know they were still so popular!), lungi tops, Kutchi bags, musical instruments, Janpath style silver jewelry to Rajasthani handicrafts.
Across the river, in Hampi Island or Virupura Gadde it is a different world altogether. One that moves slowly with makeshift 'lounge bars,' tiny guesthouse with chickens and children running amok, internet cafes offering Skype and broadband and a lot of shaloms in the air. The landscape is mindblowing. More so when you head towards Anegundi. Boulders in browns and rusts, ruins strewn with granite and the sudden vivid green of paddy fields. I plan to go back again (Perhaps with Subs, who has actually worked among the ruins here!) may be to just wander along aimlessly or spend the afternoon lazing at Mango Tree, a very busy restaurant in a banana plantation, with 'seats' under a huge mango tree. Happiness!
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
What makes you sadder...
The fact that our cops wore bulletproof jackets that didn't even meet the required specifications?
The political drama going on all over? That we now have a home minister we identify with finance?
A little boy orphaned the day he turned two...
Or the story of so many families losing love, hope and loved ones.
The political drama going on all over? That we now have a home minister we identify with finance?
A little boy orphaned the day he turned two...
Or the story of so many families losing love, hope and loved ones.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
The morning after the firing started and schools were declared closed in Bombay, a friend told her eight-year-old to stay in bed as there was no football practice and no school either. 'Why, is there a bomb blast?' he asked.
Yesterday's Hindu had a picture of the Taj on its edit page. The standard beautiful tourist pic, with the sea in the foreground and the Taj looming large. My son, who was playing nearby had a glance and asked, 'Mamma, where's the fire?'
What's the world in which our children are growing up?
Yesterday's Hindu had a picture of the Taj on its edit page. The standard beautiful tourist pic, with the sea in the foreground and the Taj looming large. My son, who was playing nearby had a glance and asked, 'Mamma, where's the fire?'
What's the world in which our children are growing up?
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
The third birthday was very happy indeed...
And that's the ear-splitting but much loved 'Budday gift!'
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
One of those Dear God moments...
Dear God,
In my next life, please let me be born as a woman who is putty in a man’s hand…oops…no make that a man who is putty in a woman’s hand. Drat! I got it wrong again! No of course I don’t want to be a man in my next life but a woman who can make a man turn complete jelly in her hands. Yes, I know that sounds gross but that’s not what I meant and anyway you know what I am talking about, don’t you? You see, all my life I have wanted to be one of those women. You know the kind who just have to bat one eyelash (or is it the lid?) and have a line of men ready to climb the Everest or scale the Great Wall of China or basically do impossible things like that. Have no idea if Great Wall climb is improbable but you get the gist again, don’t you God?
I of course don’t want anything so far reaching. Just everyday normal stuff would do. Like dozing off while putting the baby to sleep and not having to worry about rinsing the dishes coz the man would SURELY (and not when he feels like it) do that; like being able to make the man put away his socks EVERYDAY WITHOUT FAIL. Being able to stop the bugger from going to a boys’ night out on the day when I don’t want him to. You see, very simple, homely stuff. Utterly probable.
I also want to be rid of this insane belief that I can take care of myself and turn into a similar version of my neighbor Nita in Delhi. You see, Nita’s husband would drive all the way to DLF in Gurgaon from Rohini in North Delhi, crossing his office at Essex Farms in South Delhi on the way, simply because she had to work so far. He would repeat the process in the evenings. I on the other hand would take the Rs. 25 chartered bus and on certain forgettable occasions, even the deathly Call Centre Sumo. All because the man thought I could take care of myself and so, tragically, did I.
So Dear God, in my next life turn me into a woman who can doze off at 8.30 PM with the sound knowledge that her husband has cleared the kitchen and put the dishes under the sink. Turn me into a woman who only has to say stuff like ‘stay with me baby’ or some such dialogue to make the man forget a night of boy bonding. And grant me the ability to shiver at the thought of taking an auto after dark. Amen.
In my next life, please let me be born as a woman who is putty in a man’s hand…oops…no make that a man who is putty in a woman’s hand. Drat! I got it wrong again! No of course I don’t want to be a man in my next life but a woman who can make a man turn complete jelly in her hands. Yes, I know that sounds gross but that’s not what I meant and anyway you know what I am talking about, don’t you? You see, all my life I have wanted to be one of those women. You know the kind who just have to bat one eyelash (or is it the lid?) and have a line of men ready to climb the Everest or scale the Great Wall of China or basically do impossible things like that. Have no idea if Great Wall climb is improbable but you get the gist again, don’t you God?
I of course don’t want anything so far reaching. Just everyday normal stuff would do. Like dozing off while putting the baby to sleep and not having to worry about rinsing the dishes coz the man would SURELY (and not when he feels like it) do that; like being able to make the man put away his socks EVERYDAY WITHOUT FAIL. Being able to stop the bugger from going to a boys’ night out on the day when I don’t want him to. You see, very simple, homely stuff. Utterly probable.
I also want to be rid of this insane belief that I can take care of myself and turn into a similar version of my neighbor Nita in Delhi. You see, Nita’s husband would drive all the way to DLF in Gurgaon from Rohini in North Delhi, crossing his office at Essex Farms in South Delhi on the way, simply because she had to work so far. He would repeat the process in the evenings. I on the other hand would take the Rs. 25 chartered bus and on certain forgettable occasions, even the deathly Call Centre Sumo. All because the man thought I could take care of myself and so, tragically, did I.
So Dear God, in my next life turn me into a woman who can doze off at 8.30 PM with the sound knowledge that her husband has cleared the kitchen and put the dishes under the sink. Turn me into a woman who only has to say stuff like ‘stay with me baby’ or some such dialogue to make the man forget a night of boy bonding. And grant me the ability to shiver at the thought of taking an auto after dark. Amen.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Ammi's saris
This is from Subs...
I finally picked up the courage to clean out ammi's wardrobe.
It used to be an annual winter ritual -- my time with her, when she'd take out all her saris, old angarkhas, fragile chiffon and tissue dupattas and sun them.
Each one had a story woven in it.
The stunning orange and black tissue dupatta interspersed with silver threads and a silver brocade border, which was specially woven by the Banarsi neighbor at the behest of ammi's dada for her initiation into reading the Quran, when she just about turned 4.
Or the delicate gold sari which her nani left behind as inheritance. Her nani had nobody to support her financially, but the stroy goes that each night as she prayed the "tahajjud" namaz, she'd find 3-4 gold coins under the prayer mat.
The peach gharara with a velvet top and silver gota work on it still retains the nawabi look.
Each sari was hand-woven for ammi's trousseau, the silk is tattered now in some but as I held it against my cheek, I could still remember each story.
I hope this does not end with me.
Subs and I met while working for the girlie mag and have been gossiping ever since. I have only met her mum once, when I went over to Subs' and aunty fed me the best biryani ever. Aunty wouldn't recognize me if I were to visit now, in fact, there are days when she has difficulty recognizing her own daughter. I can't even imagine how difficult it is sometimes for Subs, who bravely battles it all and hasn't lost a bit of that infectious giggle of hers.
I finally picked up the courage to clean out ammi's wardrobe.
It used to be an annual winter ritual -- my time with her, when she'd take out all her saris, old angarkhas, fragile chiffon and tissue dupattas and sun them.
Each one had a story woven in it.
The stunning orange and black tissue dupatta interspersed with silver threads and a silver brocade border, which was specially woven by the Banarsi neighbor at the behest of ammi's dada for her initiation into reading the Quran, when she just about turned 4.
Or the delicate gold sari which her nani left behind as inheritance. Her nani had nobody to support her financially, but the stroy goes that each night as she prayed the "tahajjud" namaz, she'd find 3-4 gold coins under the prayer mat.
The peach gharara with a velvet top and silver gota work on it still retains the nawabi look.
Each sari was hand-woven for ammi's trousseau, the silk is tattered now in some but as I held it against my cheek, I could still remember each story.
I hope this does not end with me.
Subs and I met while working for the girlie mag and have been gossiping ever since. I have only met her mum once, when I went over to Subs' and aunty fed me the best biryani ever. Aunty wouldn't recognize me if I were to visit now, in fact, there are days when she has difficulty recognizing her own daughter. I can't even imagine how difficult it is sometimes for Subs, who bravely battles it all and hasn't lost a bit of that infectious giggle of hers.
Monday, November 03, 2008
At the Diwali party, a perplexed aunt watched some of us move mouths, heads and butts to Peechle Saat Dinon Mein and finally asked:
Ye laundry ka gaana kis film ka hai?
Sigh! I'm going to think of it as The Laundry Song from now on of course.
Ye laundry ka gaana kis film ka hai?
Sigh! I'm going to think of it as The Laundry Song from now on of course.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Random thoughts
Why are cyclones and hurricanes named after women? There is the devastating Katrina, Rita, Helen, Sarika, Veronica, Velma, Xina, Bulbul, Shoba, Neelam, etc. So how do they come up with the names? Do some people in the met bureau sit over coffee and say hmmm...four cyclones predicted...now the wifey is becoming quite a nag as well...
I'm sure there are the Edwards and Amitabhs as well but I don't have much google time. Enlighten me if you know, will you?
Oh and five years years after I started reading her, met the adventure girl. Finalee! :)
I'm sure there are the Edwards and Amitabhs as well but I don't have much google time. Enlighten me if you know, will you?
Oh and five years years after I started reading her, met the adventure girl. Finalee! :)
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Rant
This is Bhadra. It's a set of cottages by Jungle Lodges on the banks of the Bhadra river near Lakkavalli. It's about six hours from Bangalore. During the day, the blue looks picture perfect and at night, you can slather yourself in mosquito repellent cream, sit on the balcony in utter darkness and gaze at the million stars overhead. Yes, you can almost see every star. Quite an amazing feeling.
This is in India? she asked, clearly surprised. Because she feels the best holidays are always had 'abroad' like they do every year. The best locations, best stay and best hospitality. Such thoughts usually bring out the bitch in me but with painting work going on at home and the madness of having people for dinner on top of it, I bit my tongue and stayed quiet. Oh yes, I loved the little bit of Europe I got to see and would love to go to Thailand, Malaysia, Vietnam, Italy, Turkey, Scandanavia, Germany or Scotland. I'd also like to see Hampi, Wayanad, Kerala, Arunachal Pradesh, Meghalaya, Andamans and more of MP and Rajasthan. Yes, yes, I know I'm sounding terribly preachy and Kendriya Vidyalaya type but kya karoon, I'm a bit pissed. It's a leftover from last night as our dinner guest and her husband went on and on about holidays 'abroad' and how everything was just right, where as in India you only got bad rooms and bad service. Their loss, not mine. Hope they continue travelling to Switzeland and the Far East, eat pure Indian food cooked by chef of Sita Tours and buy the tackiest of gifts. There. The fangs are out now. Peace!
Monday, October 13, 2008
I just finished reading...
...Amruta Patil's Kari and absolutely loved it. I'm not too much into graphic novels and simply bought the book because the cover reminded me of someone. And finished it in one go. The illustrations are amazing and there's a lot to like in the book, especially in Kari herself. But what also touched a chord, with me at least, was life in the Bombay flat. Shared by three women and two semi-permanent men. Gossip, food, love, lust, toothpaste, shower gel all shared in a space not meant to be inhabited by more than two. Not the most ideal way to live but one that comes with inevitable nostalgia attached to it when you've moved on to better quarters :)
This one reminded me of the place in Bandra East we eventually got locked out of. Four women, one semi permanent men, an over-loving bai, rotting leftovers in the fridge, occasional mad parties and awkward bonding sessions when four very different girls found themselves alone together on some rare occasions...
It's a Bombay book through and through. For all those who have lived in the city at the start of their careers on a salary that didn't translate into a heady paycheck and company chummery, inhaled the stench of home as the Borivli local rushed towards Bandra station and drowned their triumphs and sorrows in Bombil Fry.
This one reminded me of the place in Bandra East we eventually got locked out of. Four women, one semi permanent men, an over-loving bai, rotting leftovers in the fridge, occasional mad parties and awkward bonding sessions when four very different girls found themselves alone together on some rare occasions...
It's a Bombay book through and through. For all those who have lived in the city at the start of their careers on a salary that didn't translate into a heady paycheck and company chummery, inhaled the stench of home as the Borivli local rushed towards Bandra station and drowned their triumphs and sorrows in Bombil Fry.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
We went to Bangaram Island in Lakshadweep around this time last year. It was one of our best holidays ever and I never wrote about it because a) I was too lazy b) I was supposed to write a travel piece and thought I'll save the words for that.
Being a magazine, they needed high resolution pictures and I only had a 5 megapixel camera (Did I just hear some gasps and shudders there? Wait I'm upgrading!) so the story never got published. So here it is, because a trip like that needs to be recorded forever and word docs can crash, while the internet hopefully will not :)
Bangaram should be caled the barefoot beach – because that’s what you do the moment you reach there. Kick off shoes, slump on the bar stool and try to take it all in. At 128 acres it is probably not much but the splendour of Bangaram Island is enough to leave you gaping. It makes you forget the boat ride from Agatti Island which, less than half an hour back, was challenging you to keep breakfast down with its twists and turns. It’s a natural effect, says a fellow guest and Bangaram regular. Apparently you forget everything, even misplaced baggage and cancelled flights the moment you step on to the ‘reception’ area of Bangaram Island Resort. You take in the nearly-white sand and a sea that’s dotted with every possible shade of turquoise and blue. If this isn’t perfect, what is?
Nestled in its own lagoon and surrounded by the sea and a coral reef, Bangaram Island looks like a teardrop from the plane and is uninhibited except for the resort.
Thankfully, it is simple enough to merge into the spectacular surroundings. Accommodation consists of palm fringed beach huts with verandahs. For larger groups, there are bigger bungalows with a living room. The resort is a very much back to basics one and while they do not expect you to turn up bleary eyed for yoga classes every morning (although these are held), there is no room service, no hot water, no air conditioning and best of all, no television. Phones don’t work unless you have a BSNL connection and I didn’t see a newspaper in the five days I spent there. At 40 miles across the ocean from any sort of civilization, Bangaram Island is truly isolated and they have ensured that you feel it too – in the best way possible.
Your life’s purpose here is simple: Do nothing or do something. If you belong to the do nothing variety, you’ll wake up early and go for a little walk along the beach and slowly make your way to the restaurant hut for tea and breakfast. This will be followed by moving yourself outside to find a lounger under a shade to settle down with a book and gape once more at the impossibly beautiful shades of cobalt and aquamarine surrounding the island. There are kayaks kept ready to use, should you decide to abandon laziness for a while. And then there are hammocks. Enough for you to find a favourite one to lounge on and count the coconuts.
If you are the do something variety, you’ll spend large parts of the morning underwater or at least in its vicinity. Bangaram is a famous diving destination and Lacadives, Prahlad Kakkar’s Kadmat Island based diving school, has a centre here. Beginners go only four metres deep but experienced divers can explore real underwater treasures. The other favourite activity almost everyone tries out is snorkeling. There are people who spend hours doing just that as the waters are crowded with bright, beautiful marine life of every possible colour. Even if you do not know your angelfish from your clownfish, it’s hard to tear yourself away to do anything else. You can bring your own equipment or hire it here at the watersports centre.
Whichever category you fall under, one must-not-miss activity is to go for a walk around the island during low tide, around 4.30 pm or 5.00 pm in the evening. Walking around the entire island at a leisurely pace would take your at least 45 minutes and the highpoint is walking up to the sandbank behind the resort and get that unbeatable feeling of almost walking on water, because that’s how it would look if someone saw you from a distance. This is where the staff goes to fish in the evening and you can have a great time just watching them at work, trying your hand at it, and sharing a joke with everyone. The sandbank and the walk back to the resort is a great place to spot sea birds in action and hermit crabs scurrying back into their holes. The stroll along the sandbank is also the only time your need to wear sandals on barefoot beach.
All that activity (or even the lack of it) can lead to severe hunger pangs and thankfully the variety at both lunch and dinner is not just sufficient, it’s also quite amazing. Meals are served buffet style and are a mixture of local and continental cuisine. Apart from being made into stews and curries, the catch of the day is grilled on an outdoor barbecue and served the way you like it. You can choose to have your meals outside, especially in the evenings when you can have candlelight dinner under the stars. But naturally, the best place to be in the evening is the bar, although it’s open even during the day. It’s right on the beach and the moon reflecting on the still, dark water is quite a heady sight. If the rounded bar stool (my only complaint with the place, honestly) gets too uncomfortable, spread a mat and on the sand and park yourself close enough to get that second beer. Just ensure you are liberally slathered with Odomos as soon as the sun goes down and you’ll be a happy soul. Rooms have mesh screen windows and mosquito repellants and it’s advisable not to leave doors open post sunset to stop the mosquitos from getting in.
Despite the lack of cartoon network or activities for children (unless you count the whiteboard in the library), this is a place that your child is sure to love, if she or he loves water. The monkey spent all his time doing things he cannot do in an apartment. He ran amok, chased the chickens and cats in the island, played football with mini coconuts and filled endless buckets with sand and water.
Bangaram Island Resort is run by the Casino Group. All visitors need a permit to visit the island which is easily arranged by the hoteliers. To get there, take a flight from Cochin to Agatti. Indian Airlines and Kingfisher fly the route and if you are lucky, the legendary Capt. Chaudhary will be your pilot on the 12-seater IA flight, which looks rickety but gives you an amazing flight with Capt. Chaudhary's comments. Go there now!
Being a magazine, they needed high resolution pictures and I only had a 5 megapixel camera (Did I just hear some gasps and shudders there? Wait I'm upgrading!) so the story never got published. So here it is, because a trip like that needs to be recorded forever and word docs can crash, while the internet hopefully will not :)
Bangaram should be caled the barefoot beach – because that’s what you do the moment you reach there. Kick off shoes, slump on the bar stool and try to take it all in. At 128 acres it is probably not much but the splendour of Bangaram Island is enough to leave you gaping. It makes you forget the boat ride from Agatti Island which, less than half an hour back, was challenging you to keep breakfast down with its twists and turns. It’s a natural effect, says a fellow guest and Bangaram regular. Apparently you forget everything, even misplaced baggage and cancelled flights the moment you step on to the ‘reception’ area of Bangaram Island Resort. You take in the nearly-white sand and a sea that’s dotted with every possible shade of turquoise and blue. If this isn’t perfect, what is?
Nestled in its own lagoon and surrounded by the sea and a coral reef, Bangaram Island looks like a teardrop from the plane and is uninhibited except for the resort.
Thankfully, it is simple enough to merge into the spectacular surroundings. Accommodation consists of palm fringed beach huts with verandahs. For larger groups, there are bigger bungalows with a living room. The resort is a very much back to basics one and while they do not expect you to turn up bleary eyed for yoga classes every morning (although these are held), there is no room service, no hot water, no air conditioning and best of all, no television. Phones don’t work unless you have a BSNL connection and I didn’t see a newspaper in the five days I spent there. At 40 miles across the ocean from any sort of civilization, Bangaram Island is truly isolated and they have ensured that you feel it too – in the best way possible.
Your life’s purpose here is simple: Do nothing or do something. If you belong to the do nothing variety, you’ll wake up early and go for a little walk along the beach and slowly make your way to the restaurant hut for tea and breakfast. This will be followed by moving yourself outside to find a lounger under a shade to settle down with a book and gape once more at the impossibly beautiful shades of cobalt and aquamarine surrounding the island. There are kayaks kept ready to use, should you decide to abandon laziness for a while. And then there are hammocks. Enough for you to find a favourite one to lounge on and count the coconuts.
If you are the do something variety, you’ll spend large parts of the morning underwater or at least in its vicinity. Bangaram is a famous diving destination and Lacadives, Prahlad Kakkar’s Kadmat Island based diving school, has a centre here. Beginners go only four metres deep but experienced divers can explore real underwater treasures. The other favourite activity almost everyone tries out is snorkeling. There are people who spend hours doing just that as the waters are crowded with bright, beautiful marine life of every possible colour. Even if you do not know your angelfish from your clownfish, it’s hard to tear yourself away to do anything else. You can bring your own equipment or hire it here at the watersports centre.
Whichever category you fall under, one must-not-miss activity is to go for a walk around the island during low tide, around 4.30 pm or 5.00 pm in the evening. Walking around the entire island at a leisurely pace would take your at least 45 minutes and the highpoint is walking up to the sandbank behind the resort and get that unbeatable feeling of almost walking on water, because that’s how it would look if someone saw you from a distance. This is where the staff goes to fish in the evening and you can have a great time just watching them at work, trying your hand at it, and sharing a joke with everyone. The sandbank and the walk back to the resort is a great place to spot sea birds in action and hermit crabs scurrying back into their holes. The stroll along the sandbank is also the only time your need to wear sandals on barefoot beach.
All that activity (or even the lack of it) can lead to severe hunger pangs and thankfully the variety at both lunch and dinner is not just sufficient, it’s also quite amazing. Meals are served buffet style and are a mixture of local and continental cuisine. Apart from being made into stews and curries, the catch of the day is grilled on an outdoor barbecue and served the way you like it. You can choose to have your meals outside, especially in the evenings when you can have candlelight dinner under the stars. But naturally, the best place to be in the evening is the bar, although it’s open even during the day. It’s right on the beach and the moon reflecting on the still, dark water is quite a heady sight. If the rounded bar stool (my only complaint with the place, honestly) gets too uncomfortable, spread a mat and on the sand and park yourself close enough to get that second beer. Just ensure you are liberally slathered with Odomos as soon as the sun goes down and you’ll be a happy soul. Rooms have mesh screen windows and mosquito repellants and it’s advisable not to leave doors open post sunset to stop the mosquitos from getting in.
Despite the lack of cartoon network or activities for children (unless you count the whiteboard in the library), this is a place that your child is sure to love, if she or he loves water. The monkey spent all his time doing things he cannot do in an apartment. He ran amok, chased the chickens and cats in the island, played football with mini coconuts and filled endless buckets with sand and water.
Bangaram Island Resort is run by the Casino Group. All visitors need a permit to visit the island which is easily arranged by the hoteliers. To get there, take a flight from Cochin to Agatti. Indian Airlines and Kingfisher fly the route and if you are lucky, the legendary Capt. Chaudhary will be your pilot on the 12-seater IA flight, which looks rickety but gives you an amazing flight with Capt. Chaudhary's comments. Go there now!
Friday, September 12, 2008
Diary of a harried mom
Get up late as a result of last night's impromptu dinner at home with friends. Rue fact that no longer wake up late because of hangover but because of non-cooperating body parts despite the lack of alcohol.
Start morning on frenzied note as son's playschool has 'Hygiene' as the in-house dress-up theme. Try cutting shape resembling toothpaste and toothbrush out of chart paper and silently vow to become super organized mum with special drawer+desk for school tasks done five days in advance. Also vow never to have impromptu parties.
Child refuses to wear toothbrush. Tears toothpaste cap.
Reach school. Happily dump child in hands of enthusiastic young teacher (EYT). Who also looks mildly surprised. Must be the bad brush cutout. Watch in utter envy as EYT makes child wear both brush and paste WITHOUT A WHIMPER and shows him off to everyone. Resists urge to do a 'Why Me why me why me' dance on the spot and head home.
Start work. Continue for five minutes.
Answer doorbell. Has 10 minute mime show with presswala who speaks only Telugu. Finally realize he wants last week's balance. Try to remember what balance was and why it isn't paid but cannot. Finally hand over the obscene amount of money demanded. Vow to become organized homemaker with meticulous expense diary keeping skills.
Work for 15 minutes.
Answer doorbell. Maid's sister gleefully informs that didi won't be coming today. Sprints for the lift before being asked to work.
Shut laptop and head to kitchen. Stare blankly at pile of vessels. Spend eternity scrubbing. Also do jhadoo though for an insane moment think of saving that for the child. After all, he's always chasing the maid for the damn thing isn't he?
Leave home to collect child. Get lectured by child's class teacher for not sending cap and school T-shirt, required necessities for field trip. Erm...what field trip? Wasn't it the fancy dress?
Frantically hunt child's bag for clues. The toothbrush is for tomorrow. The field trip was today.
Hide forever.
Start morning on frenzied note as son's playschool has 'Hygiene' as the in-house dress-up theme. Try cutting shape resembling toothpaste and toothbrush out of chart paper and silently vow to become super organized mum with special drawer+desk for school tasks done five days in advance. Also vow never to have impromptu parties.
Child refuses to wear toothbrush. Tears toothpaste cap.
Reach school. Happily dump child in hands of enthusiastic young teacher (EYT). Who also looks mildly surprised. Must be the bad brush cutout. Watch in utter envy as EYT makes child wear both brush and paste WITHOUT A WHIMPER and shows him off to everyone. Resists urge to do a 'Why Me why me why me' dance on the spot and head home.
Start work. Continue for five minutes.
Answer doorbell. Has 10 minute mime show with presswala who speaks only Telugu. Finally realize he wants last week's balance. Try to remember what balance was and why it isn't paid but cannot. Finally hand over the obscene amount of money demanded. Vow to become organized homemaker with meticulous expense diary keeping skills.
Work for 15 minutes.
Answer doorbell. Maid's sister gleefully informs that didi won't be coming today. Sprints for the lift before being asked to work.
Shut laptop and head to kitchen. Stare blankly at pile of vessels. Spend eternity scrubbing. Also do jhadoo though for an insane moment think of saving that for the child. After all, he's always chasing the maid for the damn thing isn't he?
Leave home to collect child. Get lectured by child's class teacher for not sending cap and school T-shirt, required necessities for field trip. Erm...what field trip? Wasn't it the fancy dress?
Frantically hunt child's bag for clues. The toothbrush is for tomorrow. The field trip was today.
Hide forever.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Jai ho...HO HO HO!
Hello darlings!
As you can see from the headline only, have gone slightly batty. Tis a result of this early morning read in the venerable The Hindu by an honored (with Capital H) gentleman called Abhimanyu Singh. You see, Mr Singh didn't like Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na. My friend's older sis didn't like it too. Too college type, she smirked. As for my college type niece, she doesn't like anything without Hrithik Roshan in it. Zimble.
Mr Singh of course doesn't go for such facetious excoozes. Especially after he thought Abbas Tyrewala was a Godard in the making. So what does he do after being sadly mistaken in this assumption? He makes my day and writes a long article in The Hindu on Jaane Tu...being a paean to patriarchy, stereotyping women, etc.
Here's a sample: "Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na" only serves to strengthen the codes of patriarchy that have dominated the representation and subsequent construction of masculine and feminine identity in cinema `. by disturbing the symbolic order of patriarchy in order to motivate audience assent to its restoration'. Here, that can be seen in Jay's initial reluctance to accept the three diktats of manhood prescribed by his father and later fulfilling them.' For the whole piece of cake, go here.
Wondering why nobody told him it was simply a nice, timepass Hindi film?
As you can see from the headline only, have gone slightly batty. Tis a result of this early morning read in the venerable The Hindu by an honored (with Capital H) gentleman called Abhimanyu Singh. You see, Mr Singh didn't like Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na. My friend's older sis didn't like it too. Too college type, she smirked. As for my college type niece, she doesn't like anything without Hrithik Roshan in it. Zimble.
Mr Singh of course doesn't go for such facetious excoozes. Especially after he thought Abbas Tyrewala was a Godard in the making. So what does he do after being sadly mistaken in this assumption? He makes my day and writes a long article in The Hindu on Jaane Tu...being a paean to patriarchy, stereotyping women, etc.
Here's a sample: "Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na" only serves to strengthen the codes of patriarchy that have dominated the representation and subsequent construction of masculine and feminine identity in cinema `. by disturbing the symbolic order of patriarchy in order to motivate audience assent to its restoration'. Here, that can be seen in Jay's initial reluctance to accept the three diktats of manhood prescribed by his father and later fulfilling them.' For the whole piece of cake, go here.
Wondering why nobody told him it was simply a nice, timepass Hindi film?
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Back in touch
Back in '92-95, a gang of girls doing Eng Lit. in Pune's Fergusson College were thick friends. They hung out at Vaishali, discussed Phadke Sir's linguistic skills, rued about the lack of guys in Arts, discussed boyfriends (both existent and non-existent) and sacked out in each other's hostels. At times, over spicy 'anda bun,' they discussed the future and how thankfully none of them were even remotely interested in an MBA (so much to study, huh?). Then college ended and some of the friendships frittered away. They'd never been too strong to begin with and had been merely sustained because of a common class, shared passion for idli vadas with 'separate sambar' and Bikram Saluja driving down FC Road in his Maruti Gypsy. Now suddenly the girls had to decide What To Do in life and slowly they drifted away. One of them moved to Bombay and shamefully forgot old connections in the new flashlights; one got busy with some inspiring developmental journalism in Pune and yet another, the spunkiest of them all, surprised everyone by suddenly agreeing to an arranged marriage and moving to USA. The girl in Bombay and the one off to USA promised to keep in touch. But such things were difficult to do in an age without mobiles and emails and with lots of excuses, especially when one had a new and exciting career in Bombay and another a new and exciting husband with a BMW in USA. Fourteen years later, the girls are back in touch. Well most of them anyway, thanks to those great finders, Facebook, Orkut and yes, in this case, even Linkedin. An yahoo group keeps them bound this time as the conversations flit between husband, number of kids, work or the lack of it. There are surprises too. Some irreverent ones seem incredibly polite and some barely heard voices have grown bindaas. Some mails bring memories, some a smile and each of them a reason to look forward to the inbox every other day.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Was watching the TV report on Bombay High Court's verdict going against Niketa Mehta just now. Don't want to talk about whether it is right or wrong, ethical or unethical, because honestly, I'm not the one facing the dilemma and it is so damn easy to pass judgements when you aren't. And this is a difficult one, isn't it. Here's a couple who are being honest. Very bravely I think.
Yet, when I first heard of the case, I did think that it wasn't right in my 'smug-parent-who's-never-had-to-face-such-a-problem-touchwood' manner.Because 24 months is almost half the pregnancy over.
Then I read this and thought of a special child in A's school. Her mother had once told me how on bleak days, she forces herself to smile by staring foolishly into the mirror. But had she known during the pregnancy would she have aborted? Her daughter may not be able to speak coherent sentences or do a simple puzzle but is the most wonderful, well behaved child I have seen.
I pray to God Mehta's baby is born healthy and leads a good life. I can only imagine how tough getting through the pregnancy must be for her, knowing fully well that her child is going to have serious health problems because let's face it, every parent wants a healthy kid. But there's one thing I've been thinking about. Now that the case is out in the open, being debated in the media and recorded for posterity on the internet, what impact would it have on the baby several years from now?
As parents, surely Mehta and her husband will do everything in their power to shield their child but if the child ever learns of the case to abort, what kind of an impact would that have on its mind?
It's a scary thought.
Yet, when I first heard of the case, I did think that it wasn't right in my 'smug-parent-who's-never-had-to-face-such-a-problem-touchwood' manner.Because 24 months is almost half the pregnancy over.
Then I read this and thought of a special child in A's school. Her mother had once told me how on bleak days, she forces herself to smile by staring foolishly into the mirror. But had she known during the pregnancy would she have aborted? Her daughter may not be able to speak coherent sentences or do a simple puzzle but is the most wonderful, well behaved child I have seen.
I pray to God Mehta's baby is born healthy and leads a good life. I can only imagine how tough getting through the pregnancy must be for her, knowing fully well that her child is going to have serious health problems because let's face it, every parent wants a healthy kid. But there's one thing I've been thinking about. Now that the case is out in the open, being debated in the media and recorded for posterity on the internet, what impact would it have on the baby several years from now?
As parents, surely Mehta and her husband will do everything in their power to shield their child but if the child ever learns of the case to abort, what kind of an impact would that have on its mind?
It's a scary thought.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
The bylanes of North Calcutta...
...can be cramped with kids playing gully cricket, rickshaws and the ocassional speeding Sumo/Maruti Van. They are also crowded, dusty and muddy, especially after a spurt of rain. But when it comes to the houses that inhabit these streets, there are some wonderful gems to be found, making you realize why Calcutta was once named the City of Palaces.
Even now in all their crumbling glory, you can get a peek into the beauty these old buildings once were, like in the now faded stained glass window...
Or in the chipped-off mosaic work above an entrance that has obviously seen better days...
One of my favorites was this carved canopy in an old apartment balcony, like a beautifully worked piece of cloth. There are several other gems like this one, discovered on a walk with Ifte of Calcutta Walks and Akhil Sarkar, an architect whose interest lies in the Calcutta of yore.
The walk was an eye opener. It started near a red bricked mansion that belonged to two rather colorful brothers, nicknamed Chatubabu and Latubabu, and then winded through the bylanes behind it. As one lane merged into another, we left the sound of buses, trucks, taxis and cycle rickshaws far behind. I tried to imagine a lost time of grand mansions with grander owners, a time when Calcutta would've been truly magnificent and also perhaps, a bit of a show off like the wealthy owners of most of these houses were.
It's also a walk that makes you incredibly sad. What would have been protected and marked with blue plaques in Western cities, lies in utter neglect here. Ornate columns are either decaying or have been been whitewashed beyond recognition. Conservation attempts of some mansions are largely off track, with 'experts' chosen at the contractor's convenience.
Still, it's a walk worth every step you take. For thakurdalans (courtyard where Durga Puja was held, and still is) like this...
...old family temples
......and many pillared roaks (seating areas), perfect for addas and afternoon naps.
And also for the old Telebhaja (fried snacks) shop where I had the most amazing malpua in a long, long time.
All this, while crisscrossing the lanes and spotting this and that.
The angel on the arch...
The angel on the arch..and a glimpse of the andarmahal.
The 200 something year old Twin Shiva temples, in a spidery tree embrace, making for great photo op , though marred by the shiny marble platform.
It's a walk that takes in cast iron balconies imported from England by rich merchants, shuttered windows, vanishing mansions, canons from Siraj-Ud-Doula's time used in sewerage and a fifth generation family of engravers and trophy makers working in a tiny office hemmed in by plants and the narrowest of lanes. When I visit, I usually see Calcutta from the inside of a cab or don't see it at all, because I have escaped to the metro, away from the traffic and pollution. This walk, in more ways than one, was an eye-opener.
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