The Idea-smithy

In a city that loves designers, it is always good to go back to the philosophy of raste ka maal saste mein! Take a walk down the street with me while I poke into the tinsel of GlamourTown.

Roti (food), kapda (clothing) aur makan (shelter)…so the dictat goes. Roti (and also naan, idli, dosa, pizza, pasta and pita) is available in an appetizing variety while the glitz and glamour of teeny-weeny kapdas dazzle us. But what of makan? Oh well….life is always something short of perfect. For now, we settle for ramming our fresh fruit purchases in with the bling-thing that we call an LBD (Little Bright Dress!)

This is one of the original ‘moll’s that stroked our wallets long before Atria, CrossRoad, R Mall and In Orbit. Set in the heart of a vegetable/fruit market, it always amuses me to see the rasta-Mumbai rub shoulders with wannabe cool.

But then beauty is always a booming business in showtown. Bangles, bracelets, armlets, necklaces, chains, pendants, rings, hoops, studs, navel-rings, lower-lip piercings, clips, bands, scrunchies, hair grips, henna tattoos…

Any teenager in the city will tell you that the coolest stuff is available off the streets. Who wants to fork out all that money for stuff the whole city is wearing when you can pick up one-of-a-kind trinkets at the numerous tables at every street corner? Self-confessed junk jewellery junkie that I am, I’ve often ended up buying clothes to match stuff that I picked off the roadside stalls!

And for the more intellectually inclined, the streets have something for you as well! For those of us who grew up with bookish tastes, this is an ode to those days of splashing preciously saved pocket-money on recycled and reprinted books. The wonderful (or perhaps not..) thing is that everything is a business in this city and every street-hawker, a master salesman. They may not have studied beyond class 5 but they’ll know the ‘latest, ekdum fast-moving’ authors, related genres and books of interest.

And finally, Mumbai even promises you a trip to the moon and back!!! Don’t you believe me?

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Tags: Mumbai, On the streets, Photography, Shopping
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My blog’s god-father tags me to post a photograph taken this year with the instructions that it be,

One photo that you have clicked this year that is special to you. Could be anything…aesthetic, technical or personal. Also, put in a short note why it is special.

So here is the memorable photograph of this year. Quite interestingly, it was probably being short at the same time that I was being tagged. Yes, this was shot yesterday on the beach.

It has been an eventful, difficult year and I’m not sorry to bid it goodbye. On the other hand, among the much betrayal and viciousness I’ve encountered, there have been moments of solace, of rest, of peace. I’ve had things and people I’ve loved ripped away from me and at the end of it, I realise I’m left with the only thing that matters…which no one can steal away from me. I’m at peace with myself.

This is a photograph of a good friend, someone who makes me re-think my XXFactor-attitude of ‘men are such a-holes’. Yesterday while talking about a common friend and her ex-, I asked him,

What is it with men anyway? Why can’t they be more like you? You are so sorted out.

He just smiled in response.

We had a late, leisurely lunch and then strolled down to the beach. There we walked around, talking about nothing in particular. I was thinking of the first time I was at this beach, with my former best friend/love of my life. It is his birthday today and I won’t call him to wish him. In fact I thought of him yesterday at the beach but not remembering his birthday until I saw the reminder on my calendar. I’m at peace with my ghostly memories finally.

I took out the camera I bought earlier this year, dreaming of the wonderful photography that would follow. I didn’t use it, not enough. But it is never too late to start, I guess (and that’s duly noticed I suppose as per Arzan’s comment!). It is a good camera and I’m very proud of it. My first real ‘big buy’ for myself that I bought on my own without anyone else looking over my shoulder.

My companion was walking along slowly near the water, calm and peaceful as always. Even while, being a good friend, I know the inner turmoil that churns inside him. My dear sensitive, serene friend. He was deeply patient as I fussed about with the zoom and the settings until I got an angle I liked. The photographs never turned out the way I wanted. Finally I sighed and just shot without thinking too much. And this is what turned out. The only real memory that I want to carry forward.

I’m very proud of the way this photograph turned out…proud of my camera, proud of my friend and proud of myself for finally capturing what I’ve been seeing inside my head for a long time. This picture stands for the elusive quality that has become most valuable of all..serenity. There is an unposed simplicity in his stance as well as the infinite, boundless promise of hope and potential that the open sea always holds. I can almost feel the sea breeze that is ruffling his hair and hear the subtle wash of waves on sand, rising above the din of voices around me. I particularly like the play of colours in the sky. That perfect twilight moment before the night turns black when the rest of the world looks dark in comparison and the sky holds center-stage. It seems to be asking us to slow down and not get so wrapped up in our little dramas that we lose on the most wonderful experience of all - just being ourselves. Every person is an island…an island of paradise. Why try and conquer another’s piece of land when Paradise itself belongs to you?

It was a memorable evening. And a memorable conversation. A memorable lesson in patience and serenity. A great friend. All worth carrying forward into 2008. Happy new year to all of you!

I tag the following people to pick out their favorite photograph of 2007 and tell me why it is special to them:

Neha Vishwanathan because I’m awestruck by her ability to tell a story from a fragment or a picture.

Akshay Mahajan because his pictures are not just snapshots but entire sagas of their own.

Tags: Beach, Crystal ball, Introspection, Meme, Photography
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I’ve developed a rather late interest in flowers. And why not? With all the frivolous things that we spend on, a little bit of beauty is much appreciated. Why must a gift always be intelligent or useful? How about just alive? Nothing better than a flower then. Here’s an account of my most recent floral jaunt.

I’m not too fond of big, gaudy bouquets with more plastic and foil than plant. In fact I think the experience of being in a flower shop and watching the nosegays being made is the best part of buying flowers.

The flowers you choose say something about you, don’t they? I love white flowers. Nothing quite like white rosebuds for sheer, intimidating class. Lilies are nice too though a little too goody-goody for my taste…I guess that’s because I associate too many religious myths with them. My favorite white flowers are the unpretentious gladiolas that lurk in the background, bringing a sweet, frilly girlishness to the bouquet. On their own, they are surprisingly appealing.

In ‘You’ve Got Mail’, Meg Ryan calls the daisy her favorite flower, describing it as ‘a very friendly flower’. Zarberas must be an Eastern equivalent of daisies. And slightly more dignified than the over-eager sunflowers. I particularly like the orange variety. There is something clean and colourful about this flower that catches my attention in any flower-shop.

The classic roses always grace flower shops but personally I think they are over-rated and over-used. And what fragrance? I don’t think they’re fragrant at all. For fragrance you need the Indian buds that are knotted painstakingly into ‘ambodas’, garlands and gajras. Olfactory sensations are processed by an area right next door to the central repository of memories in the brain. That might be the reason some smells induce an instant flood of memories. And these fragrant wreaths of Indian flowers always take me back to early childhood with my mother and grand-mother spinning flowers plucked fresh off the vines on the balcony.

The first time I bought someone flowers, I asked around for where I should buy. I visited some of the highly recommended places and was first dazzled by the array of flowers….I never thought there could be so many flowers in the world!!! Dimly, as a concept studied in botany in school, yes but put together in one place like that, the effect was quite gorgeous. Each one had a hefty price tag with a snooty florist quoting the botanical name and which obscure part of the world they were supposed to have originated from. I was quite unnerved. Hmm, that was my mistake.

The flower business like everything else has gotten branded and showy. This time, on a whim, I stopped at a little flower stall I spotted on the corner of a road. Not a florist shop. One of those little outfits that do brisk business off a creaky wooden table on crowded roads. All the photographs in this post are from that visit.

And look at the flowers I finally got!

This is Akhilendra who also moonlights as a production assistant in a shooting studio (I was given a proud preview of his identity card). Akhilendra is not a newcomer to Mumbai. But he had a cheerful ebullience that I missed in all the big florist shops that I visited earlier. He didn’t give me the usual spiel of how many weddings and birthdays he caters to daily and how many dozens people order from him. Instead I was given some expert advice on which flowers I might select and what arrangement might look best.

So the flower business is good?

And production work pays well?

People come buy from you when they are very happy, no?

All my questions met with shy nods and always that quick smile.

What do we look for in flowers? Sweetness, pleasantness, freshness….a modest, unassuming, classy gift. And shouldn’t that describe the attitude of the person who touches the flowers just before us? I found what I look for at a crowded street corner vendor’s table.

Tags: Everyday people, Flowers, Mumbai, On the streets, Photography
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Friends used to be people I could talk to. Now I hang the tag of FRIEND on anyone who lets me be silent.

Tags: Friends, Photography
Posted in Idea ore, Mercurial mirror | Comments (4)

Once, during my winter vacations, my grand-mother sent me downstairs to buy some vegetables. I knew nothing about veggies of course but her reassuring face hovered above from the balcony as she said she would point out the fresh ones from the rest. So I skipped down the stairs to catch the vegetable cart. Once I got to the bottom, I realized that he had started wheeling the cart away and was already at the end of the block. As I climbed up again, my grand-mother chided me

Why didn’t you call out for him to stop?

But I did! I kept shouting out ‘Bhajeewala! Bhajeewala!‘ but he didn’t stop!

Oh you silly child! They are called Sabzeewalas!

What? But he is a Bhajeewala, why should I call him anything else?

That’s just to you silly Mumbai people. Look he is back! Go get me some potatoes and onions

So off I went again. I returned in a huff bearing the bulging bags of potatoes and onions.

Your Delhi people don’t know anything! I asked him for ‘Aadha kilo kanda-aadha kilo batata‘ and he looked at me like I was an alien! I had to pick up each vegetable and stand around till he figured I needed bags to carry them up!

My grandmother just smiled and told me that I was looking for aaloo (not batata) and pyaaz (not kaanda). I gave up the argument. How do Delhi-ites ever manage to eat?! I suppose the problem is solved by the new retail habit that my family and friends have acquired.

Big air-conditioned stores that stock multiple varieties of neatly labeled ‘baby potatoes’ and ’shallots’. To be loaded into shiny plastic baskets and dumped into shop-name-bearing bags. With a smart uniformed assistant to ring up the cash register.

But can they match the sheer aesthetics of this?

Wah…muuh mein paani aa gaya! And that’s the same thing in Hindi or Bambaiyya!

Tags: Childhood, Mumbai, On the streets, Photography
Posted in Citywatch, Ideas on the move, Mumbai metblogs, Roving I, Spectator, X-post | Comments (9)

Be it ever so dirty, polluted and crowded, there’s no place like amchi Mumbai!!!!!
Need I say more? If a picture speaks louder than a thousand words, here’s two thousand then!

I forgot that I sometimes detest pink when I saw this…

Tags: Home, Mumbai, Night, On the streets, Photography
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You know what it’s like to wake up in the morning to a blaring alarm and you wonder what sort of perversion in the human mind permitted the invention of such a torturous experience? Till you remember that you set the alarm.

You know what it’s like to bounce out of bed in feigned energy in an attempt to ‘kickstart’ the day and start your yoga to muscles so stiff, they may as well wrap you in plasti-shield and hang you up to display in the butchers’ market?

You know what it’s like to run out of your bath and discover you are 5 minutes late? 5 minutes!! Do you know what 5 minutes look like? I’ll tell you….

5 minutes are the breakfast you would have had in comparative leisure, when you think of the bites of lunch that you will bolt down before a meeting, tea that you will have no time to walk to the vending machine for, the sandwich that the canteen runs out of just before you place your order and dinner that you will nibble at, in what is technically part of tomorrow. 5 minutes.

So last-ditch attempt, you grab a soggy sandwich – your jackpot if you make it to the lottery of a seat on the train.

The autowallah gets to keep the change because you have no time to collect it.

The creep on the bus gets a bonus hard-on squashed up against you since you didn’t have time to wait for a less crowded bus.

And you watch your precious seconds melt away as the senior citizen in the aisle, ambles to the door, patiently sorts through old ticket stubs before handing one over to the TC. And you stop yourself just in time, from thinking the unthinkable.

As you run, you feel your legs start to cramp and remember…that…damn…with your blood pressure, you aren’t supposed to stay hungry OR stressed OR tired. Bully for you, the doctors may as well tell you not to live.

So as you watch the station indicator blink the next train due any minute, telling you that missed yours…and before your eyes, your day collapses like a stack of dominoes even before it has ‘officially’ begun, you wonder…
….why one of those damn bombs didn’t go off in the compartment you were in?
….why you don’t fall off the on-time train and hit your head on the tracks?
….why you don’t get put out of your misery forever?

Do you know what that’s like?

I don’t believe you do. When I read this tomorrow, I will wonder what sort of demented stranger thinks such things. And I’ll be annoyed at the man who steps on my foot in the bus, the girl who barges into the auto that I was actually closer to. I will frown disapprovingly at the evident annoyance in my co-passanger’s face when the old gentleman up ahead climbs down with painfully rheumatic feet. And I will wonder…

Where has all the humanity gone?

Because remembering would mean judgement, remorse, slowing down? Who’s got the time? I’ll probably be running late if I did. Otherwise as well.

Update: This post and its photograph were quoted in Hindustan Times’ Blogosphere section. Unfortunately they didn’t credit it back to this blog but instead linked it to Mumbai Metroblogging where it was cross-posted.

Tags: Busy, Life, Photography, STAR!!, Trains
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Do you see mud and sludge?

I see the footprints of hundreds of busy feet that walked before me.I see history being created….little histories, not major sagas. Just the history of ordinary people living ordinary lives. I see their footprints as erasable and forgettable as them. But not unseen. I saw them, after they had passed. I saw them, I did. I see my own footprints layering over theirs, left behind to be seen perhaps by someone else? Or overlaid by yet more footprints.

We are a city of ordinary people and dirty buildings. No grand monuments or pretty scapes, no great people breathe here (and I’m not talking about Bollywood, Page 3 and the glitterati).

I first blogged under the moniker of ‘Just a statistic’. That I still am. One of the teeming masses in this vast mechanism called Mumbai. So many people enter this city everyday with a dream, hoping to leave a mark behind on the world. Seeing these soon to be washed away imprints on the station floor made me wonder whether anyone here really does. And whether it matters. The real Mumbaikers, the citizens, the salt-of-this-earth is just moving mud on the railway platform. And then we’re gone.

Tags: Mumbai, Photography, Poetry
Posted in Citywatch, Mumbai metblogs, Roving I, Spectator, Waxing eloquent, X-post | Comments (4)

Wet weather, cold drops trickle down the back of my neck. And the roads are slippery.

The nasty wet rain says to me,

Oops, I missed a spot!

in mock-sheepishness.

And so you did!!

I mock-retort back and supress a smile.

There are places even the rain can’t get you!!!!!

~o~o~o~o~o~o~

And I’m basking in all the lovely sunlight that’s we’ve been having the past couple of days and feeling soooo good about it! Not so fast though…the last time we had one of these spells, I did a virtual whoop-dee-doo…and quite immediately the rains were back. So here then, while whooping silently, is a picture to remind me of one more horrendous monsoon survived!

Welcome, welcome back sunshine!

Tags: Humour, Monsoon, Mumbai, Photography
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So this is why we’re having trouble making connections?

Reminds me of that Pepsi/Coca-cola war some time back. What do you think? Was this deliberate?

Tags: Everyday people, Humour, Mumbai, Photography
Posted in Citywatch, Hahaheehee, Mumbai metblogs, Roving I, Spectator, X-post | Comments (9)