Ganpati bappa Morya ! Pudhchya Varshi Lavkar yaa !

My first visarjan. My first experience of the true Mumbai madness. Traffic jamming the roads, crowds filling up spaces, colour flying into my eyes, music blaring in my ears, crackers polluting the air and a city dancing with joy. Technically a Hindu festival, this is the most democratic festival in spirit. Every community- caste, religion, region notwithstanding comes together to welcome Mumbai’s reigning deity. The songs typically start with the standard and very catchy “tujhko phir se jalwa dikhana hi hoga agle baras aana hai aana hi hoga” asking Lord Ganesha to return every year. Then the dhol and the rhythm take over and all tunes from O Meri Zohra Jabi to Govinda Ala Re become one as the revelling devotees do the jig with steps that are an endearing combination of marathi lavni and Punjabi bhangra. It’s an all embracing, boundary breaker festival that smashes all social, religious and cultural barriers away. A smiling Ganpati invites one and all to dance for him.

I had never imagined Ganesh, the elephant headed god, the God of wisdom and prosperity, the remover of all obstacles, the non-stop writer of the Mahabharata, the god all sculptors take maximum liberties with, was also a propagator of secular thought. He brings Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs together to celebrate his birthday. What was interesting to find out was that this phenomenon dates back to the freedom struggle where Bal Gangadhar Tilak, who called Ganesh “the god for everybody” used this festival as a tool to promote interaction and unity amongst the people as opposed to the dividing policy of the British. This was meant to bridge the gap between the Brahmins and the non-Brahmins. And till date the festival brings a unifying flavour to the assorted Indian thali.

And on that appetising note, I shall go and gorge on my yummy modak prasad!

SNOW

Endless repetition of an ordinary miracle…

Orhan Pamuk brings the unpredictable and incomprehensible vicissitudes of this chaotic world together in the simple symmetry of a snow flake. Voices from the East and the West collide in a harmonious cacophony. The irreconcilable debates between modernization and tradition, patriotism and betrayal, the community and the individual, are woven together in a beautiful Turkish tapestry by an author who stands both within and without the community he is talking about.

The narrator who is also the writer of the book is reminiscent of unreliable narrators from Conrad or Marquez who put together information collected from a series of equally unreliable sources, bringing into question the sanctity of any chronicle. What is history but a set of points of view that masquerade as facts on the pages of history textbooks. What is forgotten is equally important as that which is remembered. Pamuk brings to fore the necessity to understand the “silence of an empty line”.

The book begins and ends with a journey. The narrator’s friend, Ka comes from Istanbul to Kars, a small town in Turkey and years later, the narrator himself brings the cycle to an end as he travels back to Istanbul with memories, snapshots and incomplete poetry of love gained and lost. The novel at one level is a simple narration of human nature and relationships. Man-woman, father-daughter, siblings, friends, what keeps them together and draws them apart from time to time and how the human heart responds to desires that are not in tune with their times.

At another level, the author brings in the political and religious backdrop that defines the lives of the people in this town. Surrounded by Soviet Georgia, Armenia, and Iran, Kars is at the crossroads of disparate neighbours, civilizations and trade routes that make for difficult individual identity. Ka comes to Kars ostensibly to investigate the series of suicides by girls coerced by the state to give up their head scarf which is a symbol of their religious identity. Really his aim is to unite with Ipek, the woman he believes he is in love with. In the process he meets people who throw up questions about the existence of God, the difference between faith and fear, the overlapping of art and life in theatre and the choice between foolish ideals of the youth and pragmatism that comes with age. The newspaper editor who foretells news that is yet to happen becomes another symbol of the dichotomy between freewill and predestination. Does man only follow the designs of God and State or does he have any say in his ordinary life. Does ordinary life have any value or voice at all.

The book challenges the western reader to read and think beyond the lines. It forces you to re-look at a world that is painted in strong shades of religious and political turmoil, very different from the systematic and ‘civilized’ occident. There are real people breathing beneath the newspaper reports and academic records. Just because something is different doesn’t necessarily mean it is problematic.

Kaminey

Dhan te naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan.......................

Hotneff thy name if Fahid Kapoor. He haf focked everyone with hif immenfe talent. I fat completely fmitten by this man af he fwitchef fo eafily from one role to the other. I have no words that could adequately express what this man did in this film. I only know what he did through this film to me. I suddenly understand what Karan Johar meant when he said, Kuch kuch hota hai, tum nahi samjhoge. Thank you Kareena, for playing Faif!

Now let’s turn our heads towards Priyanka Chopra. That she is hot was clear ages ago. That she can add such strength and spunk to a role is crystal now. No glamour, no fancy outfits, makeup, absolutely no cushion or curtain to conceal or take attention away from bad acting. You are not there to watch her sexy bod or dance moves. It’s for her acting and acting alone. The modern desi image of shakti, the woman who doesn’t need to be taken care of by her knight in shining armour. She brings home science outside the homes. Girl power. Woohoo.

As of Vishal Bhardwaj – no surprises there. Everyone expects the best from him and that’s what he delivers. The film, the story, direction, screenplay, music, soundtrack, characterization, everything commands superlatives. Once again he gives life to unforgettable characters as one can see that no character or function is minor for this multi-talented director. Each person has a defined complex personality that develops with the plot. Guddu, Charlie, Sweety, Bhope, Tashi, Bengali brothers, everyone is there for a reason.

And he doesn’t take his audience to be stupid. He has created a confusing story line of a myriad plots and sub-plots winding in and out of each other’s paths in a deliberately complicated manner. But that’s the fun of it. How well you comprehend the film is not so much a reflection of the film but also of your own mind and how much of it you can use. It’s not a film meant for chitter chatter samosa and popcorn. One scene slipped and you movie’s flipped. So pay attention or you will come out saying “Movie mein hua kya?” because there is no chota fotcut to intelligence.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IF3q0Xxxlo&feature=fvsr

Statutory warning for Facebook

The next time facebook decides to yet again redesign its interface to give its users who just got used to the existing one, a new and improved fb, they should add a warning on the homepage – facebook can be injurious to your mental peace. I’m serious, fb is like tobacco. It’s addictive, it becomes an excuse for work breaks, you think you are going to reduce your usage but every time you stay away for too long you get withdrawal symptoms. It’s the e-age addiction.

I am currently on rehab myself. I’m trying to ‘quit’. The realization came when one day in the market I recognized a friend’s friend’s friend. Thanks to fb minifeeds. I know exactly who went where for a vacation and exactly what they saw, where (read with who) they slept, what they ate and of course how much they drank. So when I saw this particular friend’s friend’s friend, I was tempted to go and ask her, “hey, where did you buy that dress you wore to the beach that day you all got sloshed on all that fenny?” But then on second thoughts, I might just sound creepy in case she refused to recognize my presence from facebook. I didn’t really want the dress anyway. On third and fourth thoughts, I don’t even want to recognize people on the road. I know the world is shrinking and boundaries are breaking and it’s one big happy global village and all that but really, I do still like good old privacy.

Of course it has its advantages in the way that it can reunite long lost friends and acquaintances. But all was fine in paradise till it was limited to a joyous reunion. The trouble began when it became a voyeur’s haven. Not to forget, the judger’s jannat. I can do a complete character analysis based on the pictures, the posts, the status messages and well, the quizzes one takes. These can make or break your cyber reputation. What maths equation are, you can tell more about you that you can imagine.

It’s very difficult to kill the voyeur within. But I’m trying. Maybe I will switch to twitter as a consolation. Or maybe I will lay my life open here in this blog where the personal and the public will still merge but only for those who really want to know.

PS: This one was more like diary from Bombay rather than Bombay diary J

Jobless in Chembur

If people can be sleepless in Seattle, I can most certainly be jobless in Chembur. For most Bombay people, Chembur is not even a part of Bombay. So as far as they are concerned I am living in a far off land, too distant in the local train map and hence too hard to locate on the mental atlas. But I argue and insist that it isn’t after all that far from a lot of things. Those ‘things’ I can mostly not recall in the middle of any debate. Damn my memory!

So I feel discriminated against whenever I mention my address and people make this strange exasperated expression. Chembur? But why? Then you can’t go anywhere! It’s like they are already excluding me from any possibility of a social life in this new city. You! Chembur liver! Thou canst be a part of normal Bombay life. Thou shall be condemned forever to sit in your flat and write depressing blogs about your depressing reclusive life. Well, one day when I finish my “Diary of a recluse” then these very people will have to eat their own words. Then my Nobel Prize and I will sit alone Chembur and live happily ever after.

And I’m not kidding about the book so don’t laugh it off. Since it doesn’t look like I’m likely to find a job any time soon, I will have to write a book to occupy all this time I have. A book in first person, where I will be the cool protagonist-narrator and every event will follow the path of my caprice. I wonder how many writers live an alternate life through their books. But it would certainly be fun to make people I know, characters in my personal text. My word is your command. Hmmm, maybe this solitary life isn’t such a bad idea after all. I always wanted to give my favourite people lots of good luck and well, the not so favourite ones, bad haircuts!

Beware geographical discriminators, here I come !

First Impressions

Here is a vague list of the odd things that I would want to write about so that before they become commonplace in my everyday routine, I capture their first impression on me. I may never get down to writing but at least the list would be a constant reminder of that what I might forget one day.

I would have liked to say the people but I don’t know enough yet to comment and run under a heavy risk of making caricatures from my little Bollywood acquired knowledge.
The language, the tone (khalipili time pass nahi karne ka!)
Naturals ice-cream – cheeku ice-cream? Really?
The houses – if there is space management it is here.
The skyline, the bay windows – the blue lights that shimmer in the distance, to borrow from Neruda
The Taxi and auto drivers
No gardens : ( (I miss Lodhi)
The pace
Rain : )
Gujarati farsan - Theplas and Khakras – Schezwan khakras, paani puri khakras, methi khakas – globalization at its very best. I’m waiting for Mexican Jalepeno khakras now!
The beaches of course – that might take a little time to review as well but I can’t wait
National anthem at the beginning of every film
Govinda ala re - dahi haandi :)
Ganpati bappa maurya !