What the hell are we fighting for?

Of all kinds of writing I do, travelogues are something that I have always enjoyed. I love sharing those small but memorable incidents happened on the journey. I believe they always stay with you, more than the place itself.

One such incident happened while I was on the train from Mumbai to Gorakhpur (my home town). I was traveling with my husband, my sister and sister's husband. There was a couple in our compartment with their two kids. With their language and dialect they pretty much looked North Indians. More than the husband, the wife looked from north because of her sing-song tone. After a while we noticed her speaking in Marathi with her kids. The obvious guess was that she must've picked up the language in all these years she stayed in Mumbai.

After a lot of guessing and assumptions we finally decided to ask her whether she was a Maharashtriyan or a North Indian. Her reply came to us as a surprise. She was a Marathi and had picked up the accent from her husband who was a North Indian. Trust me, her accent, dialect whatever you call it was way better than any UPite or Bihari and the husband had a very Mumbaiya tone.

The whole incident made me think. Does a common man really care about people migrating from one city to other for work? Does aam junta appreciate the mas pooja conducted by Laloo Yadav or beatings of North Indians by MNS? I guess not. This is a country that unites for a Marathi cricketer who plays under a Bihari captain. So I think that the politicians should leave the language and let it be just a tool to communicate.

My best friend's big fat Indian wedding

A trip to Rajasthan always feels like going home (I studied there for 3 years). So when my best friend invited me to her wedding in Jaipur the excitement was natural. Being a Rajput her marriage was expected to be colorful and culturally rich. But what I witnessed was beyond my expectations. It was a real BIG FAT Indian wedding.

Rajasthan has a very colorful culture, probably its their way to make up for the dry weather and barren desert. I have always been in love with the dress they wear, the food they eat, their songs and dance. The best part is that its not just the older generation that follows the traditions. The modern and younger ones too take pride in their culture. It was a treat to watch the young and the old ones dressed up in their traditional Poshak and dancing the very famous Ghumar (I tried a couple of steps myself). The surprise package was the male members of the family performing the same dance.

The wedding, held in the Royal Castle Kanota Hotel was as magnificent as it could get. The hotel had royal rooms with ancient furniture, painted walls and large bathrooms. The decorations added to the beauty. We were taken to the ancient days of Ranas when the groom arrived on an elephant and the bride hit him with rice ball hidden behind her friends.

The whole experience made me realize how far we are from these pleasures. Living in Bombay has made us dry. Even our weddings are planned in a way that we don't have to take an extra leave from work. The fun of singing, dancing, chatting till late night has disappeared. We make queues even while wishing the newly weds or eating. All we want to do is to get over with the function and rush home.

I wish we had more time to celebrate each others' lives.

Mumbai Diaries - Part I (The big hunt)

An article in a newspaper few days ago took me back to my early days in Bombay. I was an outsider (technically I still am) and had no relatives in the city, not in the suburbs at least. Having survived 4 years in hostel (3 in Pilani and 1 in Chandigarh....Mohali actually) I was in no mood of staying in a women's hostel, so staying as a PG was a natural choice...scary but natural. But I had a friend from Mohali for company. So I just had to adjust with the landlady who in this case was a 75 year old lady and stayed alone in a 2 BHK in Andheri and gave out one room for paying guests. Her daughters finalized the deal and we had to shell out 2500/- per month each. In return we got a box for a room, 2 train berths for beds and an Almira. and coz we used her kitchen too, we had to divide the gas bill (it was a pipeline). Her cooking however used more fuel but never mind. At least we had an access to her television (after she slept of course) where we got our daily dose of Sex and The City once she was done with her kyunkis and kahanis. Our room had a small balcony (a 2 by 2 square place) where our landlady kept her tulsi ka paudha. Every morning she used to bang violently on our door (to keep a diya in tulsi).....we finally had to leave the door open in the night.

After a couple of months my friend's sister came to live with us and we graduated from the box to a 1 BHK. the house was bigger, each one of us had a whole; small but whole cupboard for ourselves, there were no beds but we had mattresses and the kitchen had a small dining table. we paid 2500/- per person for all of this. Electricity and gas bills came in separately. All this looked good, too good to be true actually. But it wasn't our happily ever after. Providing so many facilities and owning a house made our landlord and his wife think of themselves as demi gods. Well, that's the attitude every landlord in Bombay has....I guess. So, we had a huge list of rules, dos and donts. No boyfriends, no guys, no loud music, extra charges for a guest, no flushing the sanitary pads in the toilet (no I m not kidding, we were actually told not to do that), no hanging undergarments on the window, reason? you know uncles from neighboring flats watch, it doesn't look good...hah! are you sure auntyji that they watch our lingeries? cos I am not. On top of all of this our landlady barged into our flat whenever she wanted (she had an extra key), no knocking, no ringing the bell.....even while we were inside the flat.

Well, this continued for few months till we finally found a rented flat. the owner lived far away and visited only once a month to collect the rent. We stayed there with complete freedom till my friend/flatmate went back to her hometown. There was a whole new kind of struggle after that but I'll save that for the next time.

Yes...I was there..

Finally....after 29 years of my existence in this world and a wait of almost 15 years I witnessed it. Yes.... I was there, I was a part of that magical moment. Like every other Indian I jumped with joy when Dhoni hit that massive six, like every other Indian I had tears in my eyes when Yuvi, Harbhajan and Sachin couldn't control theirs'. And after that the ear to ear grin just couldn't stop.

The feeling of winning the World Cup was yet to sink in when we decided to go out for a drive. I had no idea what awaited on the roads of Mumbai. It was sheer madness, people came out on the roads, waving tricolors, cheering for team India on top of their voices. People in the cars, people on the cars, there were people all around. Crazy, mad people, crazy with joy. Thats when it struck me that nothing else could do this to our country. No films, no festivals, no religion.... when Cricket takes over the nation becomes one. Strangers hug and high five each other, every difference dissolved, every problem forgotten. So what if we have to go back to the same old boring life the next day, so what if it doesn't bring down the increased prices, so what if it doesn't save us from traveling in buses and trains in scorching heat....If people think its over hyped just because it brings joy to our otherwise joyless lives, so be it.

Thank you team India for giving us something to look forward to when everything else seems crumbling.

Festive Mumbai

Six years in Mumbai and I have developed a kind of love hate relationship with this city. There's a lot that I hate about it, the traffic, pollution, heat, noise, stress and a lot more. Despite all this I love being here during this time, the time when all the noise and traffic seems justified, the time when the roads turn into carnival streets, when there's light and joy everywhere, the time of festivities. Starting from the festival of dahi handi followed by Eid, rakshabandhan, Ganesh Chaturthi, Navratri, Diwali and Christmas. This festive season of the city makes me forget all worries. This is one time when you go out on the streets and feel happy.
My favorite period is the 10 day Ganpati festival. Roaming on the streets and watching the most lovable Lord Ganesha fills me with great happiness. I am sure this happens with a lot of people. You might be stuck in the traffic, fuming but one glimpse of Ganpati calms you down. And when its time to bid farewell you are all ready for the next season. Some people might even shed a tear or two.
I have been bringing Ganpati to my house since past 3 years. But this year I regret not being able to welcome him due to some reasons. So now, when its time to say goodbye i would like to say, "Ganpati, please come to my home next year." PURCHA VARSHI LAUKARYA!

A new phase

Had been away from blogging since a long time. Not that I din't have anything to write about, was just busy trying to put things in order. and now when everything is set and things are turning a lot more positive, I am back.
Started a completely new phase of life. After a lot of pondering over pros and cons of leaving Bombay, better said Mumbai or the city of dreams, finally took the decision of moving to Pune. Dreams could be smaller here but life is better for sure. With no negativity seeping in and no frustration building up the work is turning out to be a lot better. Although the conveniences are a little less than Mumbai like no malls in close proximity and load shedding, life here is still fresh and better.

I hope that things only get better from here.... for now thats all I want to say.

मेरी छोटी सी होली की कविता

कुछ रंग हो, कुछ भंग हो,
और अपनों का संग हो....
अबीर-गुलाल और गुझियों वाली,
आपकी होली रंगारंग हो।

अठन्नी सी ज़िन्दगी .....

आज बहुत दिनों के बाद कुछ लिखने के लिए कलम उठाई तो समझ में नहीं आया कि क्या लिखूं, तो खिड़की पर जाके बैठ गयी। मेरे घर कि खिड़की से ज़िन्दगी के दो पहलू दिखते हैं। एक तरफ ऊंची असमान छूती तीस-पैंतीस मंजिला इमारतें और दूसरी तरफ कचरे के ढेर में फँसी, दूर-दूर तक फैली झोंपड़पट्टी, और इन दोनों के बीच में फँसी मैं और मेरे जैसे लाखों-करोडो लोग, मध्यमवर्गीय लोग। जिन्हें आप कौमन मैन यानि कि आम आदमी भी कह सकते हैं। कौन है ये आम आदमी? ये क्या करता है? क्यूँ करता है? किसके लिए करता है? ये आम आदमी वो प्राणी है जो टैक्स भरता है, कानून का पालन करता है, सरकार पर भरोसा करता है और डरता है, पुलिस से, नेताओं से, गुंडों से। यूँ तो वो ये सब इसलिए करता है, ताकि अपनी ज़िन्दगी शांति से बिता सके पर जब बाढ़ आती है, बम फटते हैं, महंगाई बढती है तो मरता ये ही है। जो बड़े बड़े बंगलों और ऊंची-ऊंची इमारतों में बैठे हैं वो जेबें भरते हैं नेताओं की ताकि नेता खुश रख सकें उन झोपड़ी में रहने वालो को (वोटों के लिए)। आम आदमी देखता है सब कुछ, चीखता है, चिल्लाता है और फिर चुपचाप वापस चला जाता है अपनी ज़िन्दगी में, बसों और ट्रेनों में धक्के खाने, नौकरी करने, टैक्स भरने, रोज़ तिल-तिल मरने और एक दिन एक धमाके के साथ भीड़ में गायब हो जाने के लिए।
गुलज़ार साहब के शब्दों में कहें तो उसकी अठन्नी सी आधी ज़िन्दगी कभी पूरा रुपया नहीं बन पाती।

Don't 'buy' love this V Day

So, its that time of the year when everything from flowers to food (even the air) suddenly turns pink. People in love, running around to find gifts for their partners. People out of love or never been in love, envying people in love. And not to forget, people not able to find love all their lives, thrashing people in love (by now we are so used to it that we don't give a damn).
In the midst of all this there is one more kind of people.... people selling love. Sounds odd?..... no its not. They are all around us, luring us with all kinds of V day special sales, Valentine special strawberry cake for your lover, diamond jewellery for that special someone..... You know, those 'Do you love him/her, tell him/her in style' types. All these marketing gimmicks makes us ask ourselves 'do we love them enough if we don't buy them these expensive gifts'? Come on.... since when love started coming with a price tag. We don't need that expensive platinum ring or lavish dinner in 5 Star to know that we are loved, at the same time they (men) don't need that Tommy Hilfiger wallet or a useless diamond cuff ling to know that they are important to us.
Love is too big a flash in itself to need all this flashy stuff to prove itself. All it needs is a quiet walk, nice talk, a red rose and a pani puri treat. Or if you wanna spend more then maybe a McDonald's burger or a pizza (totally depending on her waistline though).
Well, don't take me wrong. I am not one of those anti V Day ones'. I am pretty romantic myself. It's the whole commercializing thing that agitates me. The time we spend looking out for the gifts, why can't we spend that time with them?

Have a happy, marketing free Valentine's Day....

The lost stardom

So, there i was, about to fall into that deep deep slumber and the phone rang. I picked it up thinking that since it has disturbed me it should be at least worth it, may be its a call from Vividh Bharati for the training schedule.(was expecting a call from them) But it was someone I wouldn't have thought of in my wildest of dreams. A call from, lets call him 'Mr. Filmy'.

Me: Hello.....
Mr.Filmy: Hi, is it Shirin Mehrotra? (with a heavy and totally FAKE US accent)
Me: Yes....
Mr.F: This is Mr. Filmy from so and so media agency. How are you?
Me: I am good (yea rite...thanks for waking me up u lil...!@#$)
Mr.F: Shirin, are you an RJ?
Me: Yes, I am under training with Vividh Bharati. (wow...could it be a job offer for radio jockeying?)Mr.F: Shirin, do you want to mold your career to be an RJ do you wanna be an actor? (aha...sounds like a hot chick,lets show her some starry dreams)
Me: Sorry?
Mr.F: What are your goals in life?
Me: I am an animator and graphics designer.
Mr.F.: Don't you wanna be an actor?(omg,not one to be trapped easily,ill have to try harder...)
(the fake accent kept getting annoying)
Me: NO (what the !@#$ ???)
Mr.F: Why? acting can give you fame and money. (c'mon why arent u falling for this one??i was told chicks would fall head over heels for this)
Me: But that needs struggle,n im very lazy (back off dude...i mean it !!)
Mr.F: Not these days. If you know the current trends of bollywood you can be a star in a very short time. (am i smart or am I smart?)Me: (So here comes the eternal gyan 'Trends of Bollywood') But i am not interested in 'Bollywood and stardom' (even i threw an accent this time)
Mr. F: But why? are you scared of struggle and meeting a lot of people?
Me: (God he's getting on my nerves) I got my own studio to struggle for.
Mr.F: Where are you from? (time to get a little personal ;) )
Me: Bombay
Mr.F: But your name says mehrotra?
Me: ??(Alright alright you nosey sonofa!@#$) I am from North india.(lets see where he goes with this)
Mr.F: which part of north India?
Me: Lucknow
Mr.F: Do you live alone in Bombay? (Potential shikaar)
Me: No, with my husband (haha googly)
Mr.F: Oh, that's good. (wtf)Me: (oh really, is it?) i know
Mr.F: Anyways, I'll email you. If you have that 5% instinct and dream in you of becoming a star give me a call. (still trying hard)Me: Sure

Phone disconnected......
Me: Asshole.....
Mr.F : !@#$%^!@#$^&
What.................? did I miss out on a prospective chance of becoming a star?........... u bet.

The 'S' word

Standing in the midst of The Meenakshi Temple in Madurai, I was wondering, is this the same country I live in? Is this the same India or Bharat or Hindustan? whatever you call it.

The same country where walls of ancient temples are carved with nude Gods and Godesses, where one can see cave paintings depicting humans indulging the sacred act of reproduction i.e SEX. Why has this 3 letter word wrecked such a havoc in this country?


In India where population goes around 1.2 billion, we can't even utter the 'S' word.

Is it the same place where the famous Kamasutra was written? where people so openly worship the Shivalingam (for those who don't know, Shivalingam represents the male and female reproductive organs). So why is it that a filmmaker has to struggle forever to get a kissing scene passed through the censor board? why does a painter gets thrashed for painting nudes?

Do we have any idea where all this hypocrisy leads to? A confused generation. Can't we just accept the fact that people have sex in our country, before marriage or after marriage and then educate the younger generation rather than keeping it under covers and letting them explore it on their own. Be it the right way or wrong way?

Applause

Munnar, a beautiful hill station in Kerela was the second destination of our South India Trip. This place is mostly visited for its lush green Tea Estates, Dams, rivers and of course the most famous Ayurvedic massages (by now if you are thinking that this is going to be a 500 words' essay on Munnar..... then no it's not)

After visiting all the tourist spots, clicking photographs, spending (read wasting) some time and money in the Tata tea museum, our (my husband and me) quest to find something that's hidden and not so famous took us to MUDRA, a small platform for the local Kathakali artists (for those who don't know, Kathakali is one of the most famous and ancient dance forms of Southern India). So, we reached this small (actually very small) theatre. It was a small room with a very small stage and plastic chairs to accomodate hardly 50 people. Tickets for the show were priced around Rs. 200 per head. So, after a short discussion over, whether the small place and plastic chairs were worth the money and BLAH... BLAH.... BLAH.... (won't go into details) Vishesh (my husband) and I decided to go for it while the rest of the group left.

After half an hour of makeup session (which we could actually see), the performance started. I can't describe the whole experience here as you got to see it to experience it. but trust me, it was worth every single penny and even more than that. I was amazed to see how such a small stage and merely 25-30 people in the audience could fill an artist with so much enthusiasm.

No place or stage is bigger than the artist himself. All he/she needs is a few claps and smiling faces.

Just something I scribbled once

Don't wake me up, let it be a dream;
don't wake me up to reality,
let me live in my lovely dream.

Don't block my thoughts,
get out of my way;
let me live my life,
it's each lovely n bright day.

Don't try n show me things,
i have eyes to see;
what comes to you as ugly,
might be beautiful to me.

Stop telling me what i am not,
try n find out what I've got.

Let me scream let me shout,
let the me within me come out.

In God's Own Country - Kerala

Came back from a vacation in Kerela a couple of days back. It felt like I was floating in a dream and was shaken back to the harsh reality.... Mumbai. The mere feeling of being away from the chaos of the city as soon as you step in the God's own land rejuvenates you. So much green, so much peace and so much nature filled me with a new life. The beauty of kerela reflects in people as well. It seems as if they inherit their calmness, sweetness and honesty from their land.

I remember one incident when we booked a houseboat on the day we reached Alleppey. We were offered a price of 12,000 Rs. The next morning when we were loading our luggage and ourselves on the boat, the manager of the Houseboat company asked us for 13,000 Rs. After a brief and a little hot discussion the manager realised that he mistook us with some other client. I guess for him it was the most embarassing moment. He had apology written all over his face and tears in his eyes. He said sorry to almost everyone in the group and send Nariyal pani (coconut water) for each of us. It might not have cost him much but the sheer gesture left a mark on us. By that simple act of his he gave us a piece of his land.

Small incidents make your travel experience worth remembering.... and this is one of them.