For the last fortnight or so, the Hindustan Times has been running a series of articles called the ‘Mumbai Project’. Here’s an introduction to the series, as it appears on their website:
‘Mumbai is booming. Mumbai is crumbling. With our new aspirations, new money and new confidence, we feel — we know — that we can take on the world. Yet, as Mumbai pursues a great global dream, the reality is that it is a third-world city. So, we now roam the farthest corners of the globe, and are shocked when we return to traffic snarls, potholes and the tensions of daily life.
HT believes we live in a time of hope — and great change. So, it's time to hope, certainly, that we can transform our city. It's also time to understand the change that is upon us. Did you know we are the process of spending Rs 43,000 crore to transform Mumbai? New flyovers. New trains. New taxis. New pavements. New roads. New drains. That's just the start. Where the money's going? Can we do better? How do we make sure we have the best in the world? It's time to begin the first real public dialogue for the new Mumbai.’
I believe, as much as HT does, that we live in a time of hope and great change. And while our cities need transformations, maybe even complete makeovers, to cope with all the additional pressures, there is an equally pressing need to go back to the source of the problem, and try to contain and prevent a further spread of it.
Most of the city’s problems stem from the fact that its infrastructure can no longer cope with its huge, and rapidly increasing population. Add to this the booming economy and its rewards, and it isn’t merely a problem of numbers, but one of a population that now has higher disposable incomes than ever before and an eager, enterprising market, keen to show them exactly how to spend it.
So this is the scenario. We have a city of 14 million and growing. We have an infrastructure that is crumbling.
The source of the biggest problem that Mumbai faces today is also its biggest resource: its teeming millions. And what is bringing these millions to the city, every day, day after day? The promise of jobs, the dream of making it big, of having a better life for themselves and their families back home. And are there really that many jobs in the city? Certainly there are, because it’s the economic capital of the country, a huge number of industrial and business houses have their head offices and branches here, and more than anything else, its a growing city, which in turn means that there is always a further creation of jobs happening simultaneously.
This is what they call a vicious circle, and someone’s got to realize it and break it. (And that doesn’t just mean creating a New Bombay. I have driven through some parts of New Bombay and it is the most repetitive and characterless township I have seen.)
In fact the story of Mumbai is not very different from the stories of the other metros. They are all suffering from massive urban migration leading to a shortage in infrastructure, further leading to related problems such as traffic snarls, overcrowded local transport, airports struggling to manage the massive traffic, electricity and water shortages, lack of proper maintenance of public utilities and so on and so forth. These have been researched thoroughly and discussed by the HT team of journalists in their articles over the last few days. (HT story)
So what is it that I am trying to say? Nothing new or innovative, as it happens, but something so blatantly obvious…
What Mumbai, and other Indian metros need, is not just a makeover.
What they need is a breather.
It’s in the interest of the whole country and not just the big metros that we look at developing our small towns as centers of trade and industry, and create enough opportunities for jobs and a standard of living that is appealing enough for a sort of reverse migration to take place. Equally importantly, we need far reaching reforms in the agriculture sector (I wonder when HT will do an equally in depth series on the Rural Agriculture Project?) so news like farmer suicides can become a thing of the past.
An interesting tool/ phenomenon (and one used frequently in the current series by HT) is our tendency to look towards other countries and cities, and emulate their example. While it is good practice to learn from other’s successes, it is equally important to study the same examples for possible flaws, and feasibility studies when the model is applied in the local context and culture, and to inform the public of the results. May we remind ourselves that the very cities we are talking about are the ones with huge ecological footprints that are unsustainable in the long run.
To take an example, a higher FSI is touted as the solution to Mumbai’s space crunch. Needless to say, it is a solution. Possibly the only solution, given the current situation. But is it necessarily a happy solution? The people residing in the high rises close to even higher-rise office buildings, are surrounded by an artificially created environment all day. They would most certainly have a higher standard of living (indeed they would need to, to be able to afford a high rise in Mumbai), but will they also necessarily have a better ‘quality of life’? Can we have studies comparing the health and happiness quotient of people residing in low and high rises in a city, given that all other factors be more or less equal? I don’t need to even say what the results of such a study would be. And yet we all know that there is no escaping high rises as a solution in the current scenario. But can we afford to ignore the merits of the alternative? And should we not try to preserve, as much as possible, the horizontal and organic character of our cities, and in turn the (relative) mental well being of its inhabitants?
This again is not possible if we let the same cities become hubs of every kind of activity. That brings me back to the point I made earlier. We have no choice but to develop smaller towns, and in a way that is efficient and sustainable.
To be fair, its not like it hasn’t started already. Infosys, headquartered in Bangalore, another city bursting at its seems, has now a mini township in the smaller neighbouring town of Mysore. We've already been shown a way. We need to study and built upon the experience.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
A lucky generation
Many years ago, when I was in high school, 9th standard or so, a History teacher made a remark in class that has remained with me to this day. The Soviet Union had just collapsed, and she was trying to explain to us young minds the importance of the occurrence. While its significance was not lost on any of us considering all the media coverage it was getting, I’m not sure any of us could completely fathom the extent of it, or the repercussions it would continue to have for years afterwards. Anyway, the point she made was that we were a lucky generation, to have witnessed events as important as that, and the fall of the Berlin Wall and the invasion of Kuwait, and the first Gulf war. These were historical landmarks, she told us, and we were all witnessing them with our own eyes, brought into our living rooms through our television sets.
I remember her words every once in awhile, every time I go to Delhi and lose my way, because a new flyover has come up, or a metro station, or a mall, or a road made one way. I have the usual Delhi versus Mumbai arguments with my architect friend, who insists Delhi is no better off today than it was five years ago. I go to Connaught Place and marvel at the number of options to eat and drink, and contrast it with many years ago, when as a child, it used to be a birthday treat to go to CP and have ice cream at Nirula’s. Not to mention the regular trips to Chonas in Khan Market, a short walk from school (also usually for birthday treats) which was one of the few eating places then to offer fast food, and salads and pizzas. Now Khan Market is a changed place, with the biggest brands jostling for space. A newspaper article informs me that it’s the most expensive real estate in the country at the moment, and the 16th most expensive in the world. Chonas still exists I believe, though I don’t go there any more.
I witness all these changes in my own country, my own cities, so much closer to home and heart, and I feel lucky indeed. (But then again, the human race is progressing at such a maddeningly fast pace, that that’s an honour no generation will be able to escape.)
I realize they are all a result of the changed economic policies brought about by the Congress in the 90s, and while I do appreciate them on the one hand, realizing the good that they have done the country, I cant also help but be apprehensive of getting blinded by all this prosperity, and forgetting how inequitable the rewards of this progress has been, favouring the cities, and not so much villages and small towns, and the rich and not the poor.
I remember her words every once in awhile, every time I go to Delhi and lose my way, because a new flyover has come up, or a metro station, or a mall, or a road made one way. I have the usual Delhi versus Mumbai arguments with my architect friend, who insists Delhi is no better off today than it was five years ago. I go to Connaught Place and marvel at the number of options to eat and drink, and contrast it with many years ago, when as a child, it used to be a birthday treat to go to CP and have ice cream at Nirula’s. Not to mention the regular trips to Chonas in Khan Market, a short walk from school (also usually for birthday treats) which was one of the few eating places then to offer fast food, and salads and pizzas. Now Khan Market is a changed place, with the biggest brands jostling for space. A newspaper article informs me that it’s the most expensive real estate in the country at the moment, and the 16th most expensive in the world. Chonas still exists I believe, though I don’t go there any more.
I witness all these changes in my own country, my own cities, so much closer to home and heart, and I feel lucky indeed. (But then again, the human race is progressing at such a maddeningly fast pace, that that’s an honour no generation will be able to escape.)
I realize they are all a result of the changed economic policies brought about by the Congress in the 90s, and while I do appreciate them on the one hand, realizing the good that they have done the country, I cant also help but be apprehensive of getting blinded by all this prosperity, and forgetting how inequitable the rewards of this progress has been, favouring the cities, and not so much villages and small towns, and the rich and not the poor.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Lead India!
There are billboards all over the city of Mumbai, and possibly the country, urging young India to choose their leaders. Called Lead India, it is a campaign by The Times of India, a leading English language publication of the country. That there should be such a campaign is not surprising, considering the upbeat mood in India, especially amongst the young in the cities and the small towns, who I imagine are the main beneficiaries of the recent and robust growth the Indian economy is witnessing. What is incredible is the faces adorning the billboards.
I don’t read The Times of India, so I’m not actually aware of the exact nature of the campaign. I write this piece as an observer, a non reader of the Times, who nevertheless notices and reacts to the overt advertising of the campaign. And my question is, surely we can do better than to incite our young to choose Abhishek Bachchan and Priyanka Chopra as their leaders? There is a certain respectability and responsibility attached to the word 'leader', which one can hardly expect filmstars to fulfill.
I can understand that filmstars all over the world are popular figures, and there exists a symbiotic relationship between them and the media. But they belong to the field of entertainment. Is it necessary to blur the boundaries so?
There was a time when the only brand one associated with filmstars was the soap, Lux. I try to delve into my earliest memories of Indian advertising, and that’s the only one in which I remember seeing filmstars. These days filmstars and cricketers endorse everything, from shaving cream to cars, cold drinks to underwear, hair oil to chyawanprash. So it is that we have an overdose of Shahrukh Khan and Aishwarya Rai, because they not only adorn the film posters plastered all over our cities, but also billboards and shop windows, and dance for us and smile at us on our television screens. Alarming as this trend is, it must work for corporate houses to sign them on for the huge amounts that they purportedly charge for endorsements.
However, having said this, and admitted to their mass appeal and ability to reach out to the Indian consumer, and maybe even the common man, I still fail to understand how they can possibly be projected as ‘leaders’? Leaders of what? Why is it that of all public figures, The Times chose to fall back on them even for a campaign like Lead India.
The saving grace is that neither is a finalist.
Though I must mention here that an actor is indeed one of the three finalists from Mumbai. The actor is Rahul Bose, and the little that I know of the man, I believe he is not entirely undeserving of the honour.
On an aside, I found this rather amusing piece on another blog. The inspiration is a passage from ‘Yes, Minister’, though neither that nor the author of the adaptation was credited, so I’m unable to provide any credits here.
INDIAN NEWSPAPERS
The Times of India is read by people who run the country (Many feel it should be rightly called Ads of India).
The Statesman is read by the people who think they run the country.
The Hindu is read by the people who think they ought to run the country.
The Indian Express is read by people who think the country ought to be run by another country.
The Telegraph is read by people who do not know who runs the country but are sure they are doing it wrong.
Mid-Day is read by the wives of the people who run the country.
The Economic Times is read by the people who own the country.
The Tribune is read by the people who think the country ought to be run as it used to be run.
The Hindustan Times is read by the people who still think it is their country.
The Asian Age is read by the people who would rather be in another country.
I don’t read The Times of India, so I’m not actually aware of the exact nature of the campaign. I write this piece as an observer, a non reader of the Times, who nevertheless notices and reacts to the overt advertising of the campaign. And my question is, surely we can do better than to incite our young to choose Abhishek Bachchan and Priyanka Chopra as their leaders? There is a certain respectability and responsibility attached to the word 'leader', which one can hardly expect filmstars to fulfill.
I can understand that filmstars all over the world are popular figures, and there exists a symbiotic relationship between them and the media. But they belong to the field of entertainment. Is it necessary to blur the boundaries so?
There was a time when the only brand one associated with filmstars was the soap, Lux. I try to delve into my earliest memories of Indian advertising, and that’s the only one in which I remember seeing filmstars. These days filmstars and cricketers endorse everything, from shaving cream to cars, cold drinks to underwear, hair oil to chyawanprash. So it is that we have an overdose of Shahrukh Khan and Aishwarya Rai, because they not only adorn the film posters plastered all over our cities, but also billboards and shop windows, and dance for us and smile at us on our television screens. Alarming as this trend is, it must work for corporate houses to sign them on for the huge amounts that they purportedly charge for endorsements.
However, having said this, and admitted to their mass appeal and ability to reach out to the Indian consumer, and maybe even the common man, I still fail to understand how they can possibly be projected as ‘leaders’? Leaders of what? Why is it that of all public figures, The Times chose to fall back on them even for a campaign like Lead India.
The saving grace is that neither is a finalist.
Though I must mention here that an actor is indeed one of the three finalists from Mumbai. The actor is Rahul Bose, and the little that I know of the man, I believe he is not entirely undeserving of the honour.
On an aside, I found this rather amusing piece on another blog. The inspiration is a passage from ‘Yes, Minister’, though neither that nor the author of the adaptation was credited, so I’m unable to provide any credits here.
INDIAN NEWSPAPERS
The Times of India is read by people who run the country (Many feel it should be rightly called Ads of India).
The Statesman is read by the people who think they run the country.
The Hindu is read by the people who think they ought to run the country.
The Indian Express is read by people who think the country ought to be run by another country.
The Telegraph is read by people who do not know who runs the country but are sure they are doing it wrong.
Mid-Day is read by the wives of the people who run the country.
The Economic Times is read by the people who own the country.
The Tribune is read by the people who think the country ought to be run as it used to be run.
The Hindustan Times is read by the people who still think it is their country.
The Asian Age is read by the people who would rather be in another country.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Memories
Yesterday while driving out of Filmcity in Goregaon east, I saw a man driving a scooter with two children standing in front, and one perched on the seat at the back. This sight immediately brought back memories of my own childhood, when my father owned a scooter (I forget the name, though it was the rage then.) And I remembered all the times, all the rides I had had on it, standing in front, with the wind in my face, while my brother would sit squeezed in between father and mother. That’s how the family used to travel, like the hundreds of thousands of other families in this country.
It brought a smile to my face. A smile that stayed a long time.
It brought a smile to my face. A smile that stayed a long time.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
The power of numbers
I heard a new word last week, and subsequently read it in the paper. I’m sure it’s been around now for a while, since the phenomenon it describes certainly has, it’s just that it seems to have missed my eye till now.
It is ‘mobocracy’.
In India in recent times, it is a word well worth coining.
Here are some facts: Sometime ago a mob had attacked an art student’s exhibition in Baroda, alleging that his paintings were provocative and offensive to the Hindu religion. In Bihar over the last week, twelve people were lynched in two separate incidents, on suspicion of robbery. In Nawada district, a mob gouged out the eyes of three youths for stealing a motorcycle. In Bhagalpur, a chainsnatcher was beaten up, tied to a motorcycle and dragged through the streets. In Mandya in South India, eleven Dalits were injured when a mob of over 150 people from “upper caste” attacked a Dalit colony. In Firozabad, a Dalit woman, whose son was accused of eloping with a girl of another caste, was burnt to death while her family members were held hostage. All except the Baroda incident occurred in the last one month.
Whatever the provocation, religious, social or caste based, and whether spontaneous or preplanned, mobocracy is a phenomenon fast on the rise.
I am reminded of a thought that had occurred to me sometime ago. The occasion was janamashtami, better known as dahi handi in Maharashtra, named after the extremely popular game that is played in every locality in the city, and that attracts bigger sponsorships and consequently bigger amounts of prize money with every passing year. All over people were on the streets that day, dressed in their very best, laughing, chatting, dancing to music blaring from loudspeakers.
Needless to say travelling by road that day was a nightmare. And that’s what made me think, looking at all those people on the streets, so carefree, and occupying the roads with such authority, that that’s what it was about. Here’s the common man, who slogs day in and day out to earn his daily bread, and goes about his daily life resigned to fate, with little hope of a better future. He toils because he must. And he hopes that the future will be bigger and brighter for him and his close ones, that he can make it so by working harder and harder still, but realizes too that that is but a dream, atleast for the majority of the people. The overriding feeling for most of his life is one of helplessness. Certainly I have felt it a lot of times, when I have found myself unable to help, either myself or people around me.
And then there are days like janamashtami. When he can dance on the streets and he is king of the road. When he feels a certain power. What is this power? The power to obstruct normal life, even for people way more influential than himself, who he bows down to every other day of the year?
And where does he derive this power? I suppose in numbers. So is that it then? It’s the power of numbers that gives people the confidence to do things they otherwise wouldn’t. And that’s what mob psychology is about. It could be one man’s vendetta, or the frustration of many, coming to the fore every time a mob gets out of hand. But whatever the source of the unrest, numbers render people nameless and faceless, and give them the power to commit acts that they wouldn’t dare otherwise for fear of social or legal repercussions.
That’s mobocracy. The evil face of the power of numbers.
It is ‘mobocracy’.
In India in recent times, it is a word well worth coining.
Here are some facts: Sometime ago a mob had attacked an art student’s exhibition in Baroda, alleging that his paintings were provocative and offensive to the Hindu religion. In Bihar over the last week, twelve people were lynched in two separate incidents, on suspicion of robbery. In Nawada district, a mob gouged out the eyes of three youths for stealing a motorcycle. In Bhagalpur, a chainsnatcher was beaten up, tied to a motorcycle and dragged through the streets. In Mandya in South India, eleven Dalits were injured when a mob of over 150 people from “upper caste” attacked a Dalit colony. In Firozabad, a Dalit woman, whose son was accused of eloping with a girl of another caste, was burnt to death while her family members were held hostage. All except the Baroda incident occurred in the last one month.
Whatever the provocation, religious, social or caste based, and whether spontaneous or preplanned, mobocracy is a phenomenon fast on the rise.
I am reminded of a thought that had occurred to me sometime ago. The occasion was janamashtami, better known as dahi handi in Maharashtra, named after the extremely popular game that is played in every locality in the city, and that attracts bigger sponsorships and consequently bigger amounts of prize money with every passing year. All over people were on the streets that day, dressed in their very best, laughing, chatting, dancing to music blaring from loudspeakers.
Needless to say travelling by road that day was a nightmare. And that’s what made me think, looking at all those people on the streets, so carefree, and occupying the roads with such authority, that that’s what it was about. Here’s the common man, who slogs day in and day out to earn his daily bread, and goes about his daily life resigned to fate, with little hope of a better future. He toils because he must. And he hopes that the future will be bigger and brighter for him and his close ones, that he can make it so by working harder and harder still, but realizes too that that is but a dream, atleast for the majority of the people. The overriding feeling for most of his life is one of helplessness. Certainly I have felt it a lot of times, when I have found myself unable to help, either myself or people around me.
And then there are days like janamashtami. When he can dance on the streets and he is king of the road. When he feels a certain power. What is this power? The power to obstruct normal life, even for people way more influential than himself, who he bows down to every other day of the year?
And where does he derive this power? I suppose in numbers. So is that it then? It’s the power of numbers that gives people the confidence to do things they otherwise wouldn’t. And that’s what mob psychology is about. It could be one man’s vendetta, or the frustration of many, coming to the fore every time a mob gets out of hand. But whatever the source of the unrest, numbers render people nameless and faceless, and give them the power to commit acts that they wouldn’t dare otherwise for fear of social or legal repercussions.
That’s mobocracy. The evil face of the power of numbers.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
In the name of the Lord
The latest controversy to have left me completely stumped and speechless is the one surrounding the remarks made by the Tamil Nadu Chief Minister M Karunanidhi, calling Lord Ram a ‘drunkard and a big lie’. I quote from a report in the Hindustan Times, ‘Karunanidhi insisted that he was only repeating what Valmiki had said in his Ramayan. “Valmiki has called Ram a drunkard, who regularly used to drink intoxicants” he alleged.’
Whatever his views on the Sethusamudran Shipping Canal Project, he could not possibly be helping its cause by making derogatory remarks about arguably the most important religious figure of the majority of the people of the country. Nor will its implications be lost on him. And being the seasoned politician that he is, he would decidedly have a very good reason for taking such a drastic stand.
I don’t know the first thing about the regional politics of Tamil Nadu, or the composition of Mr Karunanidhi’s vote base, but I find it difficult to imagine that any community or people would be happy with their leader launching an attack on an important religious/ mythological figure of another community. What then could be his motivation?
I can’t help but think that the most important outcome of this controversy has been the fresh lease of life that it is likely to give to the BJP. It is a ripe opportunity for the BJP to be back in the news, which they have successfully exploited, handed as it was to them on a platter by the TN CM.
For the last few days, as I expect for the next few as well, the papers have been full of related news, the latest being the call for Mr Karunanidhi's beheading by a certain Mr Vedanti, a former BJP MP and described as a senior Vishwa Hindu Parishad leader, a status denied him by the VHP working president, who has chosen to distance his organization from Mr Vedanti by claiming that he is not a VHP member at all.
The customary responses have been made, and new ones come in with every new quote, right from his arch rival J Jayalalitha to leaders of the BJP and the Congress. BJP leaders have gone to the extent of saying that this will be one of the issues that will lead to a mid term election, as early as the first half of 2008. Other right wing Hindu organizations are making the most of the opportunity as well, with quotes flying thick and strong from all quarters.
Everything is working like clockwork. Only, to what end?
Whatever his views on the Sethusamudran Shipping Canal Project, he could not possibly be helping its cause by making derogatory remarks about arguably the most important religious figure of the majority of the people of the country. Nor will its implications be lost on him. And being the seasoned politician that he is, he would decidedly have a very good reason for taking such a drastic stand.
I don’t know the first thing about the regional politics of Tamil Nadu, or the composition of Mr Karunanidhi’s vote base, but I find it difficult to imagine that any community or people would be happy with their leader launching an attack on an important religious/ mythological figure of another community. What then could be his motivation?
I can’t help but think that the most important outcome of this controversy has been the fresh lease of life that it is likely to give to the BJP. It is a ripe opportunity for the BJP to be back in the news, which they have successfully exploited, handed as it was to them on a platter by the TN CM.
For the last few days, as I expect for the next few as well, the papers have been full of related news, the latest being the call for Mr Karunanidhi's beheading by a certain Mr Vedanti, a former BJP MP and described as a senior Vishwa Hindu Parishad leader, a status denied him by the VHP working president, who has chosen to distance his organization from Mr Vedanti by claiming that he is not a VHP member at all.
The customary responses have been made, and new ones come in with every new quote, right from his arch rival J Jayalalitha to leaders of the BJP and the Congress. BJP leaders have gone to the extent of saying that this will be one of the issues that will lead to a mid term election, as early as the first half of 2008. Other right wing Hindu organizations are making the most of the opportunity as well, with quotes flying thick and strong from all quarters.
Everything is working like clockwork. Only, to what end?
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Shooting for NYATG
The other day I asked X what he thought of my blog and all he could think of saying was that it was too verbose for him to read.
Fair enough.
Here’s a little story with a picture.
Some months ago, I co shot with a producer- director- cinematographer- anchor from New York, for an episode on Mumbai, for a travel show called ‘Not your average travel guide’, a Discovery Travel and Living program. His name is Joseph van Harken, and he is a partner in a production house called Showcobra in NYC.
It was a fun shoot. The crew was small, just four of us: Joseph, Deepa of Mumbai magic fame, who was our guide to the city, Kottayan, who was our ‘location’ guy i.e. he was to handle matters in case we ran into trouble with the police, or the BMC or the plethora of other organizations that one needs permissions from to be able to shoot in the streets, and yours truly.
Joe, Deepa and I got along like a house on fire, and continue to be in touch. Maybe that’s what made the shoot fun. It was like hanging out with friends. But I’ll leave that for another post. The particular incident that I thought I would write about today happened on Marine Drive.
Joe wanted to take a time lapse shot of Marine Drive, with the sun going down, and the street lights of the ‘Queen’s necklace’ coming on. He wanted, therefore, a long shot from a reasonable vantage point. Deepa pulled some strings and arranged for us to shoot from the roof of one of the residential buildings near the Nariman Point end of Marine Drive.
We went up to the roof and Joe and I started looking for our shot. Except that we couldn’t find it. Nothing seemed good enough. We needed to be further out, or a few buildings further down to get the shot we wanted. The latter was not an option, and we were on the very edge of the roof already, hugging the parapet wall. While we were trying to figure out what to do, I noticed that the window ledge was fairly wide. I pointed this out to Joe, who agreed it was worth a try. So off I went to look for a ladder. Fortunately there was some repair work going on on the floor below and I was able to procure a tall stool fairly quickly. Time was of the essence, for the light would soon start dying and that’s exactly what we were there to shoot, dying light on Marine Drive.
Joe and I lowered the stool onto the ledge which was about seven feet below the top of the parapet wall. Then Joe jumped down, followed by equipment i.e. camera, tripod and a bag with spare batteries and tapes and other such paraphernalia, and finally me. There we found the shot that we wanted.
We set up the shot, pressed record and waited.
For the next 45 minutes we were stranded on that ledge, with strong winds blowing in from the sea, and believe me, the winds seem stronger when you are five floors above ground. We had to keep a hand on the camera to keep it pressed down, so that the frame wouldn’t change.
But every minute was worth it for the sheer adventure of it, and for getting the shot.
I hope it found it’s way to the final cut.
Fair enough.
Here’s a little story with a picture.
Some months ago, I co shot with a producer- director- cinematographer- anchor from New York, for an episode on Mumbai, for a travel show called ‘Not your average travel guide’, a Discovery Travel and Living program. His name is Joseph van Harken, and he is a partner in a production house called Showcobra in NYC.
It was a fun shoot. The crew was small, just four of us: Joseph, Deepa of Mumbai magic fame, who was our guide to the city, Kottayan, who was our ‘location’ guy i.e. he was to handle matters in case we ran into trouble with the police, or the BMC or the plethora of other organizations that one needs permissions from to be able to shoot in the streets, and yours truly.
Joe, Deepa and I got along like a house on fire, and continue to be in touch. Maybe that’s what made the shoot fun. It was like hanging out with friends. But I’ll leave that for another post. The particular incident that I thought I would write about today happened on Marine Drive.
Joe wanted to take a time lapse shot of Marine Drive, with the sun going down, and the street lights of the ‘Queen’s necklace’ coming on. He wanted, therefore, a long shot from a reasonable vantage point. Deepa pulled some strings and arranged for us to shoot from the roof of one of the residential buildings near the Nariman Point end of Marine Drive.
We went up to the roof and Joe and I started looking for our shot. Except that we couldn’t find it. Nothing seemed good enough. We needed to be further out, or a few buildings further down to get the shot we wanted. The latter was not an option, and we were on the very edge of the roof already, hugging the parapet wall. While we were trying to figure out what to do, I noticed that the window ledge was fairly wide. I pointed this out to Joe, who agreed it was worth a try. So off I went to look for a ladder. Fortunately there was some repair work going on on the floor below and I was able to procure a tall stool fairly quickly. Time was of the essence, for the light would soon start dying and that’s exactly what we were there to shoot, dying light on Marine Drive.
Joe and I lowered the stool onto the ledge which was about seven feet below the top of the parapet wall. Then Joe jumped down, followed by equipment i.e. camera, tripod and a bag with spare batteries and tapes and other such paraphernalia, and finally me. There we found the shot that we wanted.
We set up the shot, pressed record and waited.
For the next 45 minutes we were stranded on that ledge, with strong winds blowing in from the sea, and believe me, the winds seem stronger when you are five floors above ground. We had to keep a hand on the camera to keep it pressed down, so that the frame wouldn’t change.
But every minute was worth it for the sheer adventure of it, and for getting the shot.
I hope it found it’s way to the final cut.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Clock-wise with Kajal
There has been some progress in the last couple of days.
I had a vague recollection of ‘flash cards’ as a teaching aid, mentioned by Dr Jalaluddin when we had worked together a long time ago. I decided to make my own version, a set of simple cards, each having either a picture of an object or it’s corresponding word. The idea is to make games around the cards. There’s not much that one can do, just simple things like matching the words to the pictures, or clubbing all pictures/ words that start with the same letter together (works better with just pictures, with words it’s obviously easier), or picking up picture cards one by one and naming the objects, and the spellings, or the same activity done with words. These might seem simple, but the child’s answers, and more importantly her mistakes, reveal her thinking process and her way of making associations.
For instance, Kajal can’t yet remember ‘cake’ and ‘clock’ too well. She remembers that one of the words has an l in it, but can’t always recall which one, especially because I never ask her in any particular order, which can sometimes give children a clue. So she tries to squeeze it in, in both, and ‘cake’ becomes ‘clake’. I can’t get her to associate sounds with letters yet. Her blank expression, and long silences have led me to conclude that perhaps it is too early for that.
But other than that the cards have been a minor success. They have generated an interest, and I hope it lasts long enough for us to reach ‘z’. Then maybe I’ll have to come up with another strategy.
Two other interesting things happened today, which I think I should mention. She knows already several parts of the body, having learnt them in school. So she can start with head, eyes, ears, and so on, all the way till toes. And she can name quite a few. So I was surprised when we picked up the word ‘eye’ and she said she didn’t know what it meant. Having learnt it as the plural ‘eyes’, she was unable to make the connection. Even after I explained to her the difference in singular and plural, taking knee as a ‘part of the body’ and cloth as a general example, it still took her awhile to figure out that what she was reading and saying were actually the same word. Well, almost. So I realize that the concept of singular and plural, which seems so easy, takes time to grasp. Not as a concept per se, because I’m sure she encounters it often enough in her everyday life. But the fact, I guess, that she has to now remember another factor about words.
The other has to do with a phenomenon that all of us have been through or even used, that is of ‘switching off’ when something is not interesting enough to hold our attention. Or when we have more pressing matters to think about, and we feel that we can temporarily suspend our thoughts, allow them to stray in another direction and return to the task at hand, without missing much in the intervening period. I realized Kajal had one such lapse when I asked her to write ‘clock’ in her notebook. It was a new word, and I felt that she needed perhaps to write it several times over to be able to remember it. So once I introduced it to her, I asked her to write it ten times. She got it right the first three times. The rest of the times, the ‘l’ was missing. Strange. She’s only copying, in a way, one row to the next, and there’s no reason to not get it right. The word, correctly spelt is written in the rows above. And yet, the fourth time onwards, she writes ‘cock’ all the way down. When she finished, I asked her the spelling, and guess what? She got it right.
Its not that she was not writing it correctly, it was that she didn’t even realize that she wasn’t. A task so boring, that she began to do it mechanically, making a mistake in the bargain, and yet managing to achieve the desired result.
I had a vague recollection of ‘flash cards’ as a teaching aid, mentioned by Dr Jalaluddin when we had worked together a long time ago. I decided to make my own version, a set of simple cards, each having either a picture of an object or it’s corresponding word. The idea is to make games around the cards. There’s not much that one can do, just simple things like matching the words to the pictures, or clubbing all pictures/ words that start with the same letter together (works better with just pictures, with words it’s obviously easier), or picking up picture cards one by one and naming the objects, and the spellings, or the same activity done with words. These might seem simple, but the child’s answers, and more importantly her mistakes, reveal her thinking process and her way of making associations.
For instance, Kajal can’t yet remember ‘cake’ and ‘clock’ too well. She remembers that one of the words has an l in it, but can’t always recall which one, especially because I never ask her in any particular order, which can sometimes give children a clue. So she tries to squeeze it in, in both, and ‘cake’ becomes ‘clake’. I can’t get her to associate sounds with letters yet. Her blank expression, and long silences have led me to conclude that perhaps it is too early for that.
But other than that the cards have been a minor success. They have generated an interest, and I hope it lasts long enough for us to reach ‘z’. Then maybe I’ll have to come up with another strategy.
Two other interesting things happened today, which I think I should mention. She knows already several parts of the body, having learnt them in school. So she can start with head, eyes, ears, and so on, all the way till toes. And she can name quite a few. So I was surprised when we picked up the word ‘eye’ and she said she didn’t know what it meant. Having learnt it as the plural ‘eyes’, she was unable to make the connection. Even after I explained to her the difference in singular and plural, taking knee as a ‘part of the body’ and cloth as a general example, it still took her awhile to figure out that what she was reading and saying were actually the same word. Well, almost. So I realize that the concept of singular and plural, which seems so easy, takes time to grasp. Not as a concept per se, because I’m sure she encounters it often enough in her everyday life. But the fact, I guess, that she has to now remember another factor about words.
The other has to do with a phenomenon that all of us have been through or even used, that is of ‘switching off’ when something is not interesting enough to hold our attention. Or when we have more pressing matters to think about, and we feel that we can temporarily suspend our thoughts, allow them to stray in another direction and return to the task at hand, without missing much in the intervening period. I realized Kajal had one such lapse when I asked her to write ‘clock’ in her notebook. It was a new word, and I felt that she needed perhaps to write it several times over to be able to remember it. So once I introduced it to her, I asked her to write it ten times. She got it right the first three times. The rest of the times, the ‘l’ was missing. Strange. She’s only copying, in a way, one row to the next, and there’s no reason to not get it right. The word, correctly spelt is written in the rows above. And yet, the fourth time onwards, she writes ‘cock’ all the way down. When she finished, I asked her the spelling, and guess what? She got it right.
Its not that she was not writing it correctly, it was that she didn’t even realize that she wasn’t. A task so boring, that she began to do it mechanically, making a mistake in the bargain, and yet managing to achieve the desired result.
Monday, August 27, 2007
More on Kajal
There’s something that I’m not doing right. I’m not able to get Kajal to really respond and remember things very well. Am I making the same mistake that I have often criticized? Am I ‘expecting’ too much? Should I be expecting at all…
I see her making mistakes and I try to understand the nature of her mistakes, so I can understand how she is thinking. That might give me clue as to how to teach her better… but maybe that’s the mistake I’m making in the first place? Trying to ‘teach’ her…
Reminds me of something I read in a John Holt book,
‘If we taught children to speak, they’d never learn.’ William Hull
Anyway I’m still struggling with getting her to remember basic words, their spellings and meanings. Lost in a maze of apples, ants, axes, bats, boxes, boys, cats, cakes, caps…
Type the rest of your post here.
I see her making mistakes and I try to understand the nature of her mistakes, so I can understand how she is thinking. That might give me clue as to how to teach her better… but maybe that’s the mistake I’m making in the first place? Trying to ‘teach’ her…
Reminds me of something I read in a John Holt book,
‘If we taught children to speak, they’d never learn.’ William Hull
Anyway I’m still struggling with getting her to remember basic words, their spellings and meanings. Lost in a maze of apples, ants, axes, bats, boxes, boys, cats, cakes, caps…
Type the rest of your post here.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Frozen
A couple of days ago I had the good fortune to be invited to the screening of one of the best Indian films I have seen in recent times. Certainly its one of a kind in terms of its look and treatment. Its called ‘Frozen’ (http://www.frozen.co.in), directed by Shivajee Chandrabhushan and shot by Shanker Raman (check link for all credits.)
It’s a simple tale, of simple folk, a small, impoverished family and their struggles, both individual/ personal and together as a family against Nature and man. Nature, in the inevitable changes and difficulties that accompany advancing age and the hardships brought about by the difficult terrain they live in, and man in the exploitative practices of the more prosperous, that is the convention in societies the world over, and the changes wrought by the army setting up a camp in the area.
The beauty of the film lies in its telling.
We see their world through the eyes of little Chomo, as he takes us, layer by layer, into his world of an old struggling father, struggling against hope and reason, and a charismatic, wild, rebellious sister whose acute sense of loss leads her to question and defy everything in her path.
The imagery is beautiful and haunting. The film is black and white, shorn of colour apparently to emphasise the drudgery of their lives, and to not let the beauty of the landscape overshadow the filmmakers’ intention of illustrating the difficulty of living there.
The shooting style is particularly impressive. Camera moves are inspired and at places, lyrical. I remember a sequence in particular shot in a forest, with the trees deeply out of focus and the camera tracking sideways until it comes to a tree in the foreground in sharp focus, whence the focus shifts to the background to reveal the character. This is followed by a shot of a camera tracking backwards and looking upwards, at a snatch of sky through the tops of trees, and Chomo comes into view, walking along with the camera as the voice over begins.
Chomo narrates parts of the story, but there are long chunks in between where the viewer is left to herself, an objective bystander watching events unfold, until he decides to reappear and clear the haze, and tie the threads together. These chunks are beautiful in several ways: in their simplicity, the depiction of life in that region, and the part that they play in taking us closer to the characters. They are beautiful technically, the choice and design of shots, of camera movements, of slowing down key moments, all of which conspire to take the viewer into a mysterious, unknown space, what I like to call the mindspace of the character, even if its only briefly. And they are more esoteric, they left me wondering if I quite got everything...
All in all, it is a film well made. Kudos to everyone involved with the project, some of who I am happy to state, are dear friends. I hope they continue to work in the same spirit and produce works of the same quality and conviction.
It’s a simple tale, of simple folk, a small, impoverished family and their struggles, both individual/ personal and together as a family against Nature and man. Nature, in the inevitable changes and difficulties that accompany advancing age and the hardships brought about by the difficult terrain they live in, and man in the exploitative practices of the more prosperous, that is the convention in societies the world over, and the changes wrought by the army setting up a camp in the area.
The beauty of the film lies in its telling.
We see their world through the eyes of little Chomo, as he takes us, layer by layer, into his world of an old struggling father, struggling against hope and reason, and a charismatic, wild, rebellious sister whose acute sense of loss leads her to question and defy everything in her path.
The imagery is beautiful and haunting. The film is black and white, shorn of colour apparently to emphasise the drudgery of their lives, and to not let the beauty of the landscape overshadow the filmmakers’ intention of illustrating the difficulty of living there.
The shooting style is particularly impressive. Camera moves are inspired and at places, lyrical. I remember a sequence in particular shot in a forest, with the trees deeply out of focus and the camera tracking sideways until it comes to a tree in the foreground in sharp focus, whence the focus shifts to the background to reveal the character. This is followed by a shot of a camera tracking backwards and looking upwards, at a snatch of sky through the tops of trees, and Chomo comes into view, walking along with the camera as the voice over begins.
Chomo narrates parts of the story, but there are long chunks in between where the viewer is left to herself, an objective bystander watching events unfold, until he decides to reappear and clear the haze, and tie the threads together. These chunks are beautiful in several ways: in their simplicity, the depiction of life in that region, and the part that they play in taking us closer to the characters. They are beautiful technically, the choice and design of shots, of camera movements, of slowing down key moments, all of which conspire to take the viewer into a mysterious, unknown space, what I like to call the mindspace of the character, even if its only briefly. And they are more esoteric, they left me wondering if I quite got everything...
All in all, it is a film well made. Kudos to everyone involved with the project, some of who I am happy to state, are dear friends. I hope they continue to work in the same spirit and produce works of the same quality and conviction.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Wanted: Tulsi or Parvati
I read an article in the newspaper today that reported a most bizarre trend. It seems more and more men these days are advertising on matrimonial sites such as shaadi.com, for women who would have the attributes of ‘Tulsi’ from ‘Kyunki saas bhi kabhi bahu thi’ or ‘Parvati’ from ‘Kahani ghar ghar ki’!
Its incredible, beyond both belief and comprehension, that such thing should be happening. Though I suspect I have only myself to blame for being so shocked. This was bound to happen sooner or later. We have all seen how popular these serials have become over the last few years. And how they continue to retain their popularity in spite of having way outlived their original plot lines, and jumped several generations.
Smriti Irani’s easy foray into politics and the way people continue to identify her with her on screen avatar, was already an indication of how these worlds of make believe had entered our lives in a direct way. And it was only a matter of time, before the common man would want to embrace these notions created by the television. Men desiring these seemingly perfect demi goddesses such as Parvatis and Tulsis all for themselves, was I guess, inevitable. After all haven’t people always fantasized about filmstars?
What is it that makes them so very popular, I wonder. You see, we have always had a very rich filmmaking tradition. In terms of sheer volume, as measured in the number of films made in a year, Bollywood is the largest filmmaking industry in the world. Of course our budgets being what they are, it still doesn’t come close to Hollywood in size or income generated.
People in this country obviously value entertainment, and don’t mind paying for it. I guess it is only to be expected. At the end of a long, hard day (and I am somehow inclined to believe that a long, hard day in the life of an Indian would be a lot more taxing than that in the life of someone from a more developed country) the common man would be looking for some entertainment. So we have had a long tradition of films which would invariably have two parallel tracks, the main storyline, and a parallel loveline. No matter how strong a theme the film has, it has to have a love angle, and a few songs to showcase it, for it to succeed. Of course there has been a whole parallel movement of serious, thoughtful cinema, as also crossover cinema, in recent times, that manages to stay true to its core theme while still making some amount of profit, bridging the gap between the so called ‘art’ and ‘commercial’ films. But that is not the subject under discussion here, so I’ll refrain from going deeper. Maybe another day, another post.
The funny thing that I notice though is that as films get raunchier and more explicit, in their depiction of women, sex and violence, television on the other hand is going the other way. More and more we see women sexier and with better toned bodies, sporting shorter skirts and lower necklines, on the big screen, while the small screen in inundated with the stereotypical ‘bhartiya nari’, complete with the nine yard sari (or in other cases, salwar kameez), sindoor, mangalsutra and an undying love and devotion to the husband and family.
It’s the same country, isn’t it? And the same people? Oh sure the target audiences might be different. But surely they can’t be that different?
Further what I find rather hard to believe is how Indian audiences, especially women, are gobbling up all the scheming and politics within the family that seems to be the plotline for most of the serials on television. What is it that’s making these rather regressive serials work? Is it aspirational value? For they all them seem to living in palatial homes and doing businesses with mutlicrore turnovers. The women invariably wear designer sarees, are loaded with jewellery and always, but always, look like a million bucks even if they’ve just woken up from sleep. Is it a reflection of people’s aspirations, of what they would rather have in their own lives, that they watch and relish this entirely unbelievable rubbish?
Or is it truly a reflection of our society? Are our families, especially joint families, actually this ridden with jealousy and politics? And all the plot lines actually drawn from reality and spruced up with a good looking facade to make it sell better?
Or maybe it’s a both and more, a complex combination of many factors that ultimately works. Maybe I should contact Ekta Kapoor for answers to some of these questions. I have a feeling she has it all figured!
Its incredible, beyond both belief and comprehension, that such thing should be happening. Though I suspect I have only myself to blame for being so shocked. This was bound to happen sooner or later. We have all seen how popular these serials have become over the last few years. And how they continue to retain their popularity in spite of having way outlived their original plot lines, and jumped several generations.
Smriti Irani’s easy foray into politics and the way people continue to identify her with her on screen avatar, was already an indication of how these worlds of make believe had entered our lives in a direct way. And it was only a matter of time, before the common man would want to embrace these notions created by the television. Men desiring these seemingly perfect demi goddesses such as Parvatis and Tulsis all for themselves, was I guess, inevitable. After all haven’t people always fantasized about filmstars?
What is it that makes them so very popular, I wonder. You see, we have always had a very rich filmmaking tradition. In terms of sheer volume, as measured in the number of films made in a year, Bollywood is the largest filmmaking industry in the world. Of course our budgets being what they are, it still doesn’t come close to Hollywood in size or income generated.
People in this country obviously value entertainment, and don’t mind paying for it. I guess it is only to be expected. At the end of a long, hard day (and I am somehow inclined to believe that a long, hard day in the life of an Indian would be a lot more taxing than that in the life of someone from a more developed country) the common man would be looking for some entertainment. So we have had a long tradition of films which would invariably have two parallel tracks, the main storyline, and a parallel loveline. No matter how strong a theme the film has, it has to have a love angle, and a few songs to showcase it, for it to succeed. Of course there has been a whole parallel movement of serious, thoughtful cinema, as also crossover cinema, in recent times, that manages to stay true to its core theme while still making some amount of profit, bridging the gap between the so called ‘art’ and ‘commercial’ films. But that is not the subject under discussion here, so I’ll refrain from going deeper. Maybe another day, another post.
The funny thing that I notice though is that as films get raunchier and more explicit, in their depiction of women, sex and violence, television on the other hand is going the other way. More and more we see women sexier and with better toned bodies, sporting shorter skirts and lower necklines, on the big screen, while the small screen in inundated with the stereotypical ‘bhartiya nari’, complete with the nine yard sari (or in other cases, salwar kameez), sindoor, mangalsutra and an undying love and devotion to the husband and family.
It’s the same country, isn’t it? And the same people? Oh sure the target audiences might be different. But surely they can’t be that different?
Further what I find rather hard to believe is how Indian audiences, especially women, are gobbling up all the scheming and politics within the family that seems to be the plotline for most of the serials on television. What is it that’s making these rather regressive serials work? Is it aspirational value? For they all them seem to living in palatial homes and doing businesses with mutlicrore turnovers. The women invariably wear designer sarees, are loaded with jewellery and always, but always, look like a million bucks even if they’ve just woken up from sleep. Is it a reflection of people’s aspirations, of what they would rather have in their own lives, that they watch and relish this entirely unbelievable rubbish?
Or is it truly a reflection of our society? Are our families, especially joint families, actually this ridden with jealousy and politics? And all the plot lines actually drawn from reality and spruced up with a good looking facade to make it sell better?
Or maybe it’s a both and more, a complex combination of many factors that ultimately works. Maybe I should contact Ekta Kapoor for answers to some of these questions. I have a feeling she has it all figured!
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
saddi Dilli, amchi Mumbai
I have often found myself at the centre of a Delhi versus Mumbai argument, given that I was born and brought up in the former, and have now made the latter my home. Let me state at the outset that I love both. Both cities have their strengths and weaknesses, and it’s unfair to compare two entities so different in nature.
Delhi has been synonymous with home forever. We shifted to Delhi in 1982, if memory serves me correctly, and my family still stays there. I have seen the city grow exponentially, both vertically and horizontally, with buildings in the city growing taller by the day, and boundaries of the city expanding with every new master plan. Delhi is no longer a city but a recognized State, with its own legislature and government. And there is an entity called the National Capital Region (NCR), which includes the neighboring satellite towns of Faridabad and Gurgaon in Haryana, and NOIDA and Ghaziabad in Uttar Pradesh.
Mumbai, growing equally exponentially (I’m sure there’s data to say which is growing faster, but that isn’t of as much concern to me) seems on the other hand, to be favouring the vertical route. With land in short supply, and the disadvantage of being a coastal city, so that it cannot possibly expand much in the direction of the sea (although God knows they keep trying by reclaiming more and more land,) it has turned to the sky to accommodate it’s ever increasing population, and its growing demands. It is the capital of Maharashtra and the seat of its State government.
But these things don’t interest me. I am more of a people person. And therefore to me, the most defining characteristic of any city is its people and their environment. And the people of Delhi are a mixed lot. It’s truly a cosmopolitan city and that reflects in its demography. So even though the majority of the people are North Indian, one finds in this city people from all parts of the country, speaking their different languages and bringing with them their unique cultures.
A large proportion of the original inhabitants of Mumbai were and continue to be, Marathi and Gujarati speaking i.e. belonging to the states of Maharashtra and Gujarat. And much like Delhi, many peoples from many parts of the country have settled here.
In spite of this similarity, I find the people of Mumbai a lot friendlier and warm hearted than Delhi. The common man on the street is a lot more pleasant and approachable, as also honest and helpful. The women though are something else altogether. The women of both cities are mostly similar in characteristics, as can be expected, but somehow Mumbai women are a lot more aggressive.
The two cities work at different paces. Mumbai makes Delhi seem laid back in comparison. Neither seems to sleep, whatever the hour of the day, but Mumbai scores over Delhi as regards nightlife. Most significantly, at least for me, Mumbai offers to its women, the chance to have a nightlife even unescorted.
Also the women in Mumbai are able to exercise a lot more freedom in the way they dress. There is no denying how utterly and shamelessly lecherous the Delhi man can be. This leaves one with no choice but to dress relatively more conservatively so as not to attract too much attention. I talk here of course, of the very middle class women, such as myself, who often use public transport to do their traveling.
Strangely enough, public transport in Delhi, where it is possibly most essential, is not divided along gender lines. The backbone of Delhi are its buses, and now along some routes, the Metro, but neither has separate compartments or areas marked for women, as say is the case in the trains in Mumbai or the buses in Bangalore. Mumbai trains have separate bogies for women though its buses are more unisex. The buses in Bangalore have a system wherein women use the front part of the bus, using the single door in front for both entry and exit, while the men use the back part.
These divisions ensure that during peak rush hour, all the jostling is happening amongst women and men separately. This, though I found very strange and surprising at first, especially when traveling with friends in Mumbai when we would separate out at the originating station and reconverge at the destination station, has grown on me with time. Anybody who has faced the squeezing and pinching on crowded DTC buses, followed by the inevitable altercations and much swearing, would prefer the separation, gender equality be damned.
These are some observations based on dealing with the people of the two cities. I find the visible character, notably in terms of its architecture and street culture, also very distinct and different. I’ll save that for another post.
Delhi has been synonymous with home forever. We shifted to Delhi in 1982, if memory serves me correctly, and my family still stays there. I have seen the city grow exponentially, both vertically and horizontally, with buildings in the city growing taller by the day, and boundaries of the city expanding with every new master plan. Delhi is no longer a city but a recognized State, with its own legislature and government. And there is an entity called the National Capital Region (NCR), which includes the neighboring satellite towns of Faridabad and Gurgaon in Haryana, and NOIDA and Ghaziabad in Uttar Pradesh.
Mumbai, growing equally exponentially (I’m sure there’s data to say which is growing faster, but that isn’t of as much concern to me) seems on the other hand, to be favouring the vertical route. With land in short supply, and the disadvantage of being a coastal city, so that it cannot possibly expand much in the direction of the sea (although God knows they keep trying by reclaiming more and more land,) it has turned to the sky to accommodate it’s ever increasing population, and its growing demands. It is the capital of Maharashtra and the seat of its State government.
But these things don’t interest me. I am more of a people person. And therefore to me, the most defining characteristic of any city is its people and their environment. And the people of Delhi are a mixed lot. It’s truly a cosmopolitan city and that reflects in its demography. So even though the majority of the people are North Indian, one finds in this city people from all parts of the country, speaking their different languages and bringing with them their unique cultures.
A large proportion of the original inhabitants of Mumbai were and continue to be, Marathi and Gujarati speaking i.e. belonging to the states of Maharashtra and Gujarat. And much like Delhi, many peoples from many parts of the country have settled here.
In spite of this similarity, I find the people of Mumbai a lot friendlier and warm hearted than Delhi. The common man on the street is a lot more pleasant and approachable, as also honest and helpful. The women though are something else altogether. The women of both cities are mostly similar in characteristics, as can be expected, but somehow Mumbai women are a lot more aggressive.
The two cities work at different paces. Mumbai makes Delhi seem laid back in comparison. Neither seems to sleep, whatever the hour of the day, but Mumbai scores over Delhi as regards nightlife. Most significantly, at least for me, Mumbai offers to its women, the chance to have a nightlife even unescorted.
Also the women in Mumbai are able to exercise a lot more freedom in the way they dress. There is no denying how utterly and shamelessly lecherous the Delhi man can be. This leaves one with no choice but to dress relatively more conservatively so as not to attract too much attention. I talk here of course, of the very middle class women, such as myself, who often use public transport to do their traveling.
Strangely enough, public transport in Delhi, where it is possibly most essential, is not divided along gender lines. The backbone of Delhi are its buses, and now along some routes, the Metro, but neither has separate compartments or areas marked for women, as say is the case in the trains in Mumbai or the buses in Bangalore. Mumbai trains have separate bogies for women though its buses are more unisex. The buses in Bangalore have a system wherein women use the front part of the bus, using the single door in front for both entry and exit, while the men use the back part.
These divisions ensure that during peak rush hour, all the jostling is happening amongst women and men separately. This, though I found very strange and surprising at first, especially when traveling with friends in Mumbai when we would separate out at the originating station and reconverge at the destination station, has grown on me with time. Anybody who has faced the squeezing and pinching on crowded DTC buses, followed by the inevitable altercations and much swearing, would prefer the separation, gender equality be damned.
These are some observations based on dealing with the people of the two cities. I find the visible character, notably in terms of its architecture and street culture, also very distinct and different. I’ll save that for another post.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Kajal, my eight year old student
Sometime ago I started something that I am now reconsidering the sanity of having got myself into. My maid Saroj, who I have already written about, has this adorable 8 year old daughter. A few weeks ago, in another one of our many conversations, it emerged that this little girl had failed in the 4th standard and was now repeating a year. I should not have been surprised, I’ve worked in education before and am well aware of the state of the public education system, and consequently of the students who are its inevitable sufferers.
I decided to look into the matter, and asked her to get her daughter, Kajal’s Maths and General science books the next day. Though why, and what I could possibly hope to achieve by it was still a mystery, even to me. To my dismay (and some weeks later, with the changed viewpoint, my utter relief!) I realized that her books were all in Marathi. But of course, the government schools in Mumbai are all Marathi medium, which is as it should be. So what do I do? Undeterred, I asked Saroj to get her English books and send Kajal for tuitions everyday, or atleast on days when I’m home in the evenings. That, I realize increasingly, is not very often. And every time it isn’t I am left with a sense of guilt for having failed the child. But I jump the gun…
So start my English classes with little Miss Kajal. She is sincere enough but woefully lacking in any skills beyond half-baked knowledge of letters of the alphabet and a few rhymes blindly memorized. It is going to be an uphill task.
As I try to go on, I realize I could write endlessly about my experiences of the last few weeks. Maybe over a few posts…
Spending time with Kajal and helping her learn has mostly been a pleasant experience. She is eager and that’s half the battle won. But there are a few things about her that are peculiar. She won’t for instance say if she doesn’t know an answer. She will instead, sit there with her eyes lowered, and keep trying to work it out. Except that there isn’t so much working out in a letter, is there? And if you haven’t learnt it before, you cant be expected to know it. But she hasn’t been taught to say ‘I don’t know’ without a sense of I assume, guilt or inability.
Sadly still, she hasn’t been taught to speak, to speak her thoughts, to try to find answers, without fear of making mistakes. That has been another challenge, to get her to speak, even if it is only to say that she doesn’t know an answer. Or to try to figure out an answer even if she makes a mistake. Or to explain how she tried to figure it out.
Today was a minor success. After repeatedly getting ‘b-o-x’ in reply to a question about the spelling of ‘boy’, I finally realized why she was making the mistake. She was trying to recall the letters as they appeared on the page on which she wrote them. Except that I changed the order of the words when I quizzed her. And that confused her. Not yet having made the connection between the spelling and the sound, she was trying to fit in one of the two options that she thought might be right from what she remembered written on that page in her notebook.
Now I am trying to get her to make the connections between the letters and their sounds. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe its too early, I’m not sure. But I’m trying.
I decided to look into the matter, and asked her to get her daughter, Kajal’s Maths and General science books the next day. Though why, and what I could possibly hope to achieve by it was still a mystery, even to me. To my dismay (and some weeks later, with the changed viewpoint, my utter relief!) I realized that her books were all in Marathi. But of course, the government schools in Mumbai are all Marathi medium, which is as it should be. So what do I do? Undeterred, I asked Saroj to get her English books and send Kajal for tuitions everyday, or atleast on days when I’m home in the evenings. That, I realize increasingly, is not very often. And every time it isn’t I am left with a sense of guilt for having failed the child. But I jump the gun…
So start my English classes with little Miss Kajal. She is sincere enough but woefully lacking in any skills beyond half-baked knowledge of letters of the alphabet and a few rhymes blindly memorized. It is going to be an uphill task.
As I try to go on, I realize I could write endlessly about my experiences of the last few weeks. Maybe over a few posts…
Spending time with Kajal and helping her learn has mostly been a pleasant experience. She is eager and that’s half the battle won. But there are a few things about her that are peculiar. She won’t for instance say if she doesn’t know an answer. She will instead, sit there with her eyes lowered, and keep trying to work it out. Except that there isn’t so much working out in a letter, is there? And if you haven’t learnt it before, you cant be expected to know it. But she hasn’t been taught to say ‘I don’t know’ without a sense of I assume, guilt or inability.
Sadly still, she hasn’t been taught to speak, to speak her thoughts, to try to find answers, without fear of making mistakes. That has been another challenge, to get her to speak, even if it is only to say that she doesn’t know an answer. Or to try to figure out an answer even if she makes a mistake. Or to explain how she tried to figure it out.
Today was a minor success. After repeatedly getting ‘b-o-x’ in reply to a question about the spelling of ‘boy’, I finally realized why she was making the mistake. She was trying to recall the letters as they appeared on the page on which she wrote them. Except that I changed the order of the words when I quizzed her. And that confused her. Not yet having made the connection between the spelling and the sound, she was trying to fit in one of the two options that she thought might be right from what she remembered written on that page in her notebook.
Now I am trying to get her to make the connections between the letters and their sounds. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe its too early, I’m not sure. But I’m trying.
Of coffees and conversations past midnight...
There is this phenomenon in Bombay that I haven’t found anywhere else, and that I love… the coffee and cigarette wallahs on cycles that you find standing at roadsides all over the city, late into the night and till the wee hours of the morning. It reminds me of an occasion not so long ago, when I was at a friend’s place in Delhi, meeting up with people I hadn’t seen for many years. The conversation was still going strong, and it was 1am already. I was dying for a cup of coffee but my friend wouldn’t let me make it. He said the sounds from the kitchen would wake up his mother, and then she would insist on making coffee for us, which of course was out of the question since she had been working all day already. The occasion you see was Id, and we had gone across for the feast that has been customary on the occasion at Amin’s place for years now.
But then I was meeting Amin and Punit after many years, and Punit’s wife Kriti, for the first time. And adorable as those two seniors of mine are, they decided that coffee I shall have, come what may. So off we went at that unearthly hour, to look for a measly little cup of coffee. To Noida at first, to two hotels that they thought would have 24 hour coffee shops. One was closed for renovation and the other was just closing, they couldn’t serve us, sorry. And then to Connaught Place, where in only our third attempt (thankfully), we found a coffee shop that was open, and served some utterly disgraceful coffee.
So we paid five star rates for four cups of teas and coffees of varying degrees of respectability, but mostly I guess for the experience of it, the driving around the city and the adventure that was finding those elusive cups!
Contrast this with another occasion, also not so long ago, only this time the setting is Yari road, Andheri. Another set of seniors, this time from FTII and another long night of gupshup. And then the customary running out of cigarettes. So the last few of us still standing step out in the cold, fresh night air of 4am. And go across to the friendly neighbourhood cyclewallah. The smokers, Nilanjan and Kutty get their cigarettes and all three of us enjoy cups of lovely strong coffee. Ok, it may not be the best coffee in the world, and I do admit I’m no authority on the matter. But then again, try having that cup, at 4 am, sitting on the footpath with friends, and discussing films and friends and life and the future. It’s the experience of it… And the beauty of this already priceless experience? It’s cheap!
But then I was meeting Amin and Punit after many years, and Punit’s wife Kriti, for the first time. And adorable as those two seniors of mine are, they decided that coffee I shall have, come what may. So off we went at that unearthly hour, to look for a measly little cup of coffee. To Noida at first, to two hotels that they thought would have 24 hour coffee shops. One was closed for renovation and the other was just closing, they couldn’t serve us, sorry. And then to Connaught Place, where in only our third attempt (thankfully), we found a coffee shop that was open, and served some utterly disgraceful coffee.
So we paid five star rates for four cups of teas and coffees of varying degrees of respectability, but mostly I guess for the experience of it, the driving around the city and the adventure that was finding those elusive cups!
Contrast this with another occasion, also not so long ago, only this time the setting is Yari road, Andheri. Another set of seniors, this time from FTII and another long night of gupshup. And then the customary running out of cigarettes. So the last few of us still standing step out in the cold, fresh night air of 4am. And go across to the friendly neighbourhood cyclewallah. The smokers, Nilanjan and Kutty get their cigarettes and all three of us enjoy cups of lovely strong coffee. Ok, it may not be the best coffee in the world, and I do admit I’m no authority on the matter. But then again, try having that cup, at 4 am, sitting on the footpath with friends, and discussing films and friends and life and the future. It’s the experience of it… And the beauty of this already priceless experience? It’s cheap!
Sunday, August 5, 2007
'Ismat, Manto hazir hain...'
Last month I saw a performance called ‘Ismat, Manto hazir hain’ based on some short stories by the two eminent Urdu writers of the mid twentieth century India. They were notorious in their time for having written candidly and in graphic detail, about sexuality including homosexuality, subjects discussed only in the most delicate manner, if at all, by writers writing in India at the time. The country was shocked by their ‘baseness’ of their writings and they were tried by the government of the time for obscenity.
The performance, by Heeba Shah, Jameel Khan, Ankur Vakil and one other actor whose name I don’t recall, was engrossing and exceptional, as were the stories themselves. It made me wonder about how ahead of their times the two authors were, and in fact continue to be almost half a century later, for I daresay, our society is still not ready to accept their kind of writings in the mainstream, even if as pointed out by Manto even back then, and rightly so, his writings were but a reflection of the times…
It is sad but true still that our society, while on the one hand, is as sexually active as it is, proven amply by the population explosion, as also the prevalence of sex trade, and its attendant ills, such as sexually transmitted diseases including the dreaded AIDS, and on the other, we are as truculent as we are in discussions on the matter in the public sphere.
The performance, by Heeba Shah, Jameel Khan, Ankur Vakil and one other actor whose name I don’t recall, was engrossing and exceptional, as were the stories themselves. It made me wonder about how ahead of their times the two authors were, and in fact continue to be almost half a century later, for I daresay, our society is still not ready to accept their kind of writings in the mainstream, even if as pointed out by Manto even back then, and rightly so, his writings were but a reflection of the times…
It is sad but true still that our society, while on the one hand, is as sexually active as it is, proven amply by the population explosion, as also the prevalence of sex trade, and its attendant ills, such as sexually transmitted diseases including the dreaded AIDS, and on the other, we are as truculent as we are in discussions on the matter in the public sphere.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
'Jashn-e-azadi'- celebrating freedom and all that...
A few days ago, Tapan and I braved the notoriously heavy Mumbai rains to travel all the way from Borivli to Prabhadevi for the film ‘Jashn-e-azadi’, a film on Kashmir made by Sanjay Kak, and being screened by Vikalp. We reached to find policemen at the door of the building. Curious and suspicious, we made our way up to the second floor, to the venue. More policemen… and grave looking duo of Anand Patwardhan and Sunil Shanbag, deep in conversation with the men in khaki.
Apparently, the police had received an anonymous call complaining that the film contains material that is inflammatory, and its screening may lead to a law and order problem. And they were therefore there to stop the screening. The organizers were not convinced. They asked for a written order. The police didn’t have any. They asked for some time to procure one. The organizers agreed to wait till 7.30. The audience, comprised mostly of professionals, both film makers and film lovers from various walks of life, who rely on screenings such as this to keep in touch with documentary films as well as low budget and short films all of which are otherwise difficult to access, waited patiently while Sanjay and Anand held fort, trying to keep the audience both informed of the goings on with the police and entertained. There was on that occasion, a different and unusual group as well in the audience, a group of plainclothesmen, who were politely asked to leave by the host, the man incharge of the Bhupesh Gupta auditorium. It was strange, surreal almost to see several men get up from the last row and leave after it was established that they were not regular viewers and unknown to anyone in the crowd.
The police returned finally with a search and seize warrant. They didn’t have to search, Sanjay readily handed to them the only copy that he had of the film on a dvd, which they promptly seized and sealed. Their mission was accomplished, as was the anonymous caller’s. The screening was stopped, the audience had to go back disappointed and wondering how little it took to disrupt even a private event in this city. And how easy to denounce an independent voice that dares to impinge upon a subject that may only be spoken of by people ‘authorised’ to do so, such as the government and the media. It doesn’t matter of course, as Sanjay pointed out, that the media sends out its young 20 and 30 something beat journalists, who sometimes have all of a few hours, or more rarely, a few days to do all their research and a few minutes to communicate it in. That apparently is acceptable. But a well researched and thought out chronicle of the goings on in a region, shot and edited over several years, and presented in a film of over two hours, by a filmmaker of repute, is questionable and its screening to a set of professionals, a threat to law and order.
Such, unfortunately, is the freedom of expression in our country.
Apparently, the police had received an anonymous call complaining that the film contains material that is inflammatory, and its screening may lead to a law and order problem. And they were therefore there to stop the screening. The organizers were not convinced. They asked for a written order. The police didn’t have any. They asked for some time to procure one. The organizers agreed to wait till 7.30. The audience, comprised mostly of professionals, both film makers and film lovers from various walks of life, who rely on screenings such as this to keep in touch with documentary films as well as low budget and short films all of which are otherwise difficult to access, waited patiently while Sanjay and Anand held fort, trying to keep the audience both informed of the goings on with the police and entertained. There was on that occasion, a different and unusual group as well in the audience, a group of plainclothesmen, who were politely asked to leave by the host, the man incharge of the Bhupesh Gupta auditorium. It was strange, surreal almost to see several men get up from the last row and leave after it was established that they were not regular viewers and unknown to anyone in the crowd.
The police returned finally with a search and seize warrant. They didn’t have to search, Sanjay readily handed to them the only copy that he had of the film on a dvd, which they promptly seized and sealed. Their mission was accomplished, as was the anonymous caller’s. The screening was stopped, the audience had to go back disappointed and wondering how little it took to disrupt even a private event in this city. And how easy to denounce an independent voice that dares to impinge upon a subject that may only be spoken of by people ‘authorised’ to do so, such as the government and the media. It doesn’t matter of course, as Sanjay pointed out, that the media sends out its young 20 and 30 something beat journalists, who sometimes have all of a few hours, or more rarely, a few days to do all their research and a few minutes to communicate it in. That apparently is acceptable. But a well researched and thought out chronicle of the goings on in a region, shot and edited over several years, and presented in a film of over two hours, by a filmmaker of repute, is questionable and its screening to a set of professionals, a threat to law and order.
Such, unfortunately, is the freedom of expression in our country.
Friday, August 3, 2007
More on Saroj
So I had another conversation with my maid, Saroj yesterday. Wherein she told me about how her husband started drinking heavily after her second daughter was born, and wouldn’t even accompany her to the hospital when she went into labour with her third child. She went to the hospital with a neighbour and reached just in time. No sooner did she lie down on the table, that her third, a son was born.
Fed up with this quick cycle, three pregnancies over four years, she wanted to put an end to it, now that a son had been born. Her husband of course refused to go under the knife. She decided to have the operation herself. All this was happening while she was still in hospital after the delivery, while she still had a chance... She needed her husband’s consent in the form of a signature on a form to be submitted to the hospital. But he wouldn’t hear of it. What if something happened to the son? No point in sealing that door just yet! He didn’t turn up to sign. She cried and howled, and forced the doctors to operate on her anyway. So, weak as she was, three days after the delivery of her third child, and all of 19 years old, she had her hysterectomy!
Fed up with this quick cycle, three pregnancies over four years, she wanted to put an end to it, now that a son had been born. Her husband of course refused to go under the knife. She decided to have the operation herself. All this was happening while she was still in hospital after the delivery, while she still had a chance... She needed her husband’s consent in the form of a signature on a form to be submitted to the hospital. But he wouldn’t hear of it. What if something happened to the son? No point in sealing that door just yet! He didn’t turn up to sign. She cried and howled, and forced the doctors to operate on her anyway. So, weak as she was, three days after the delivery of her third child, and all of 19 years old, she had her hysterectomy!
A long standing question...
I met a friend, lets call him X, a couple of weeks ago. Spent a long time chatting with him, a conversation laced as always with pessimistic, offensive and infuriating comments and observations from him and rather inadequate replies and rebuttals from me. We spoke about a lot of things, but one in particular struck a chord and that's what I am writing about.
He mentioned some woman who was fiercely and vocally anti MNC and dressed in a fabindia kurta, levi’s jeans, adidas shoes and sporting ray ban sunglasses. (The reason why he chose to mention this to me is not lost on me either.) So that you see is the oldest argument under the sun, or should I say under the post liberalization sun, in this country. And it is one that I am not entirely in agreement with, nor unfortunately do I have a cogent or lucid enough argument against it.
However with my limited intelligence and even more limited understanding of the situation, let me say this: do I have to feel guilty about enjoying the fruits of a system because I am opposed to some aspects of it? Do I have to denounce a whole system because it is malfunctioning? Or is it possible to point out and protest against the aspects that are offensive and indeed demand changes, without having to boycott the resultant goods. It might sound hypocritical but to my mind, it is not. And people who say it is, like no doubt, my good friend X, seem only to be twisting the argument. Their point of view amounts to demanding that we, of the anti MNC views, should be in favour of amputating the fingers because they are infected. The idea is to be able to get rid of the infection and not the fingers.
Or is that too simplistic a view? I have often found that solutions to the most complex problems are ingenuously simple, but difficult, sometimes impossible, to implement because of social, economic or political compulsions; in fact, usually a complex web of all three. To my mind however that is the way; what the world needs today is for MNCs to have a human face, and not just as lip service. They can’t have policies that are environmentally destructive and financially crippling for the Third World, for the sake of pursuit of profit, and then redirect a miniscule part of those profits in ‘corporate social responsibility’ programs, which are, in the long run, a joke compared to the price the world has to pay to keep the same companies afloat in the first place.
The world has outgrown capitalism just as it has socialism. Neither, we have to admit, has been either wholly successful or without ills. What we need then today is a new kind of ism, one that realizes the benefits and the strengths of capitalism without losing sight of the equitable goals of socialism. Is this possible? I’m sure the cynical amongst us will say not, as also the intellectuals who understand the workings of economics better. I for one, wish that more of us would turn creatively revolutionary because unless we do, there is no hope…
He mentioned some woman who was fiercely and vocally anti MNC and dressed in a fabindia kurta, levi’s jeans, adidas shoes and sporting ray ban sunglasses. (The reason why he chose to mention this to me is not lost on me either.) So that you see is the oldest argument under the sun, or should I say under the post liberalization sun, in this country. And it is one that I am not entirely in agreement with, nor unfortunately do I have a cogent or lucid enough argument against it.
However with my limited intelligence and even more limited understanding of the situation, let me say this: do I have to feel guilty about enjoying the fruits of a system because I am opposed to some aspects of it? Do I have to denounce a whole system because it is malfunctioning? Or is it possible to point out and protest against the aspects that are offensive and indeed demand changes, without having to boycott the resultant goods. It might sound hypocritical but to my mind, it is not. And people who say it is, like no doubt, my good friend X, seem only to be twisting the argument. Their point of view amounts to demanding that we, of the anti MNC views, should be in favour of amputating the fingers because they are infected. The idea is to be able to get rid of the infection and not the fingers.
Or is that too simplistic a view? I have often found that solutions to the most complex problems are ingenuously simple, but difficult, sometimes impossible, to implement because of social, economic or political compulsions; in fact, usually a complex web of all three. To my mind however that is the way; what the world needs today is for MNCs to have a human face, and not just as lip service. They can’t have policies that are environmentally destructive and financially crippling for the Third World, for the sake of pursuit of profit, and then redirect a miniscule part of those profits in ‘corporate social responsibility’ programs, which are, in the long run, a joke compared to the price the world has to pay to keep the same companies afloat in the first place.
The world has outgrown capitalism just as it has socialism. Neither, we have to admit, has been either wholly successful or without ills. What we need then today is a new kind of ism, one that realizes the benefits and the strengths of capitalism without losing sight of the equitable goals of socialism. Is this possible? I’m sure the cynical amongst us will say not, as also the intellectuals who understand the workings of economics better. I for one, wish that more of us would turn creatively revolutionary because unless we do, there is no hope…
Our new Ms President
A rather belated post... written oiginally on 22 July 2007.
Pratibha Patil became the first woman president of the country today. She won by a convincing margin, no surprise in this country where politics can make heroes even of criminals, and her offences have been less grave.
When she was first nominated, the Opposition started a campaign against her, the basis of which was an investigation into her past, and every murky deal that she had been a part of that surfaced as a result was splashed across the front pages of newspapers for weeks afterwards. Not that it made much of a difference. The Congress may have been embarrassed, but could hardly withdraw her from the race, that would be tantamount to giving in. They knew the numbers were in their favour, and so I suppose they decided to stick by their decision. The Opposition on the other hand, continued its campaign, staying in the news, and keeping the issue alive.
I don’t know nor claim to understand politics. Its difficult as it is to form an opinion about anything these days, what with most of the media given to dramatization and sensationalisation, not to mention being also sold out to the highest bidder. In such a scenario, I found myself unable to react meaningfully to reports of Pratibha Patil’s various offences, from the co operative bank irregularities to the abetment to suicide, none of which seemed to be her offences anyway, but those of people close to her.
But what I found absolutely impossible to digest were the news reports of her having had a conversation with a Swami long dead through the ‘medium’ of one of his devotees, a woman living in his ashram. Its incredible, and an indication of the state of our politics that she should still have been elected to the high office of the President. And the fact that she succeeds a man as scientifically inclined as Dr Abul Kalam Azad, cannot be more ironical.
I am a woman and I guess I should be happy at least about the fact that women are finally getting their place under the sun. But as it happens, I’m not. I don’t need any proof nor reassurance that there are women around who are competent and confident, and deserving of all the success that a man with the same capabilities might command. And it does pain me to see that often enough these same women are denied opportunities and in many cases, discriminated against, in much more violent and disgraceful ways. However does that mean that one has to subscribe to the success of every woman who ‘makes it’, irrespective of her credentials. I say absolutely not. It would in fact be a disservice.
That however, was the card played repeatedly by the Congress. I am no fan of the Congress party, but I do not for a moment deny their rich tradition of very charismatic and very powerful women leaders over the years. It is sad then that the Congress of all political parties, should have been the one responsible for imposing upon the country, this dubious honour.
Pratibha Patil became the first woman president of the country today. She won by a convincing margin, no surprise in this country where politics can make heroes even of criminals, and her offences have been less grave.
When she was first nominated, the Opposition started a campaign against her, the basis of which was an investigation into her past, and every murky deal that she had been a part of that surfaced as a result was splashed across the front pages of newspapers for weeks afterwards. Not that it made much of a difference. The Congress may have been embarrassed, but could hardly withdraw her from the race, that would be tantamount to giving in. They knew the numbers were in their favour, and so I suppose they decided to stick by their decision. The Opposition on the other hand, continued its campaign, staying in the news, and keeping the issue alive.
I don’t know nor claim to understand politics. Its difficult as it is to form an opinion about anything these days, what with most of the media given to dramatization and sensationalisation, not to mention being also sold out to the highest bidder. In such a scenario, I found myself unable to react meaningfully to reports of Pratibha Patil’s various offences, from the co operative bank irregularities to the abetment to suicide, none of which seemed to be her offences anyway, but those of people close to her.
But what I found absolutely impossible to digest were the news reports of her having had a conversation with a Swami long dead through the ‘medium’ of one of his devotees, a woman living in his ashram. Its incredible, and an indication of the state of our politics that she should still have been elected to the high office of the President. And the fact that she succeeds a man as scientifically inclined as Dr Abul Kalam Azad, cannot be more ironical.
I am a woman and I guess I should be happy at least about the fact that women are finally getting their place under the sun. But as it happens, I’m not. I don’t need any proof nor reassurance that there are women around who are competent and confident, and deserving of all the success that a man with the same capabilities might command. And it does pain me to see that often enough these same women are denied opportunities and in many cases, discriminated against, in much more violent and disgraceful ways. However does that mean that one has to subscribe to the success of every woman who ‘makes it’, irrespective of her credentials. I say absolutely not. It would in fact be a disservice.
That however, was the card played repeatedly by the Congress. I am no fan of the Congress party, but I do not for a moment deny their rich tradition of very charismatic and very powerful women leaders over the years. It is sad then that the Congress of all political parties, should have been the one responsible for imposing upon the country, this dubious honour.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Saroj...
I want to start with something that I have been meaning to write about for awhile now, my maid, Saroj.
Saroj is this bubbly woman, vivacious and talkative, smart and sharp though illiterate, small, slim and attractive. All of 24, she is the mother of three children, the oldest of them eight years of age. Which would mean that she had her first child when she was 16. I think back to the time when I was that age, and all I can remember are my little fears and insecurities. What were my concerns then? Clearing exams, waxing my legs, not looking too fat, and ofcourse boys. The idea of marriage or sex had not crossed my mind yet. I belonged after all to a typical respectable middle class family. But this isn’t about me, this is about this child woman, a good seven years younger than me, who seems already to have lived a life a whole lot more substantial than mine.
What would have been her concerns then? Husband, in laws, taking care of the house and then the newborn child. I see her now, she is so slight in build that I wonder how she ever managed to bear three healthy children. But then she tells me that she had no milk in her breasts for the third child, and he had to be bottle-fed. It doesn’t surprise me.
She lives with her husband and children in a one room shack in a basti near my house. Her husband is a painter, who works on a freelance basis, which means mostly not. When he does work, he drinks away most of what he earns. Drinking is in fact the only regular activity in his life. He beats his wife and children though not too hard any more, ever since Saroj complained to the police. That is an interesting story in itself. Apparently, one day, after she had been beaten mercilessly by him, she lost her cool and registered a complaint in the police station. The police came and took him away and kept him in lock up for a day or two, gave him a warning and released him. The day he got back home he gave her another thrashing for having complained to the police. Off she went again to complain. This time he was taken to the Thane jail and kept there for a week. This is probably when he realized that she was to be taken seriously. He still hits her of course, but as she admits herself, never too much or too hard. For he knows that if she complains a third time, they will put him away for three years.
Then there is the matter of him keeping constant tabs on her. He keeps track of where she goes, how long she stays away, waits for her at the nearby baori, the hangout for the bastiwallahs, till she comes back and sometimes doesn’t even let her go for work.
The intriguing part, at least for me, is that the entire time she tells me these stories, she’s always laughing. It doesn’t seem the least bit strange or out of the ordinary to her that she is only 23 and has three children, that she works hard to keep the house going while her husband whiles away his time for the most part, that he beats her and her children almost everyday, and bosses over her even though it is clearly because of her work and her efforts and her goodwill among the local people, that they have a roof to live under, get two square meals a day, and her children are getting an education.
In fact, in spite of her situation, which to me seems oppressive, she almost seems happy.
It almost makes me wonder if I have it all wrong…
Saroj is this bubbly woman, vivacious and talkative, smart and sharp though illiterate, small, slim and attractive. All of 24, she is the mother of three children, the oldest of them eight years of age. Which would mean that she had her first child when she was 16. I think back to the time when I was that age, and all I can remember are my little fears and insecurities. What were my concerns then? Clearing exams, waxing my legs, not looking too fat, and ofcourse boys. The idea of marriage or sex had not crossed my mind yet. I belonged after all to a typical respectable middle class family. But this isn’t about me, this is about this child woman, a good seven years younger than me, who seems already to have lived a life a whole lot more substantial than mine.
What would have been her concerns then? Husband, in laws, taking care of the house and then the newborn child. I see her now, she is so slight in build that I wonder how she ever managed to bear three healthy children. But then she tells me that she had no milk in her breasts for the third child, and he had to be bottle-fed. It doesn’t surprise me.
She lives with her husband and children in a one room shack in a basti near my house. Her husband is a painter, who works on a freelance basis, which means mostly not. When he does work, he drinks away most of what he earns. Drinking is in fact the only regular activity in his life. He beats his wife and children though not too hard any more, ever since Saroj complained to the police. That is an interesting story in itself. Apparently, one day, after she had been beaten mercilessly by him, she lost her cool and registered a complaint in the police station. The police came and took him away and kept him in lock up for a day or two, gave him a warning and released him. The day he got back home he gave her another thrashing for having complained to the police. Off she went again to complain. This time he was taken to the Thane jail and kept there for a week. This is probably when he realized that she was to be taken seriously. He still hits her of course, but as she admits herself, never too much or too hard. For he knows that if she complains a third time, they will put him away for three years.
Then there is the matter of him keeping constant tabs on her. He keeps track of where she goes, how long she stays away, waits for her at the nearby baori, the hangout for the bastiwallahs, till she comes back and sometimes doesn’t even let her go for work.
The intriguing part, at least for me, is that the entire time she tells me these stories, she’s always laughing. It doesn’t seem the least bit strange or out of the ordinary to her that she is only 23 and has three children, that she works hard to keep the house going while her husband whiles away his time for the most part, that he beats her and her children almost everyday, and bosses over her even though it is clearly because of her work and her efforts and her goodwill among the local people, that they have a roof to live under, get two square meals a day, and her children are getting an education.
In fact, in spite of her situation, which to me seems oppressive, she almost seems happy.
It almost makes me wonder if I have it all wrong…
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