Dad, I’m in a Live-in Relationship

That perhaps is one of the hardest letters to write to a conservative Indian parent.

Fears of loss, hatred, marginalization and pain accompany the decision to call a parent one knows is not going to accept their choice. Tremendous courage and hope for understanding and failing that, reconciliation is the only thing that can help mitigate the fear of telling this parent that one is staying with one’s partner outside of marriage.

Here is one such letter from a hopeful son to his father.

 Dad,

You must be surprised that I wrote you a letter but believe me, in this case, it was the only way I could sufficiently put down everything I want to tell you. The telephone, the tone of voice, the emotion; it all is too much of a distraction.

I’m in love with a magnificent woman named Anna and we’re in a live-in relationship. We have been so for a month now.

This must come as a shock to you as I haven’t said anything about her or us till now. But there is a reason for that. I don’t know if you’re angry or sad or disappointed in me but I must still shamefully ask you to trust in me.

I know that you and mom brought me up believing in the sacred bond of marriage and you must feel that you could have done something more, especially after this letter. Please don’t, it isn’t your fault, it is just my choice.

I love her and she loves me and we have done so for over three years now but mom only knows her as one of my friends. She turned out to be something much more and I see her as my partner for the rest of my life. Perhaps we shall also marry one day but that day isn’t today or tomorrow or at least in the next five years.That day might also never come.

It isn’t the fault of education or this big city or bad influence that has led me here, it is the realization of what is good for Anna and me and how we want to live our lives, at least for the moment, without societal shackles till we are absolutely sure than we can bear each other for a lifetime.

I ask not for forgiveness or acceptance, I ask only for your understanding of the choice that I have made and am about to in the future. I need you to have my back, Dad.

Your loving son,

Fred

Image Courtesy: nrigujarati.co.in

This Seat is Reserved - Five ways to grab seats in a public bus

In India, public transport is cheap as it is want to be and there is a lot of public to use this transportation as is evident from the population of this country. There is always a mad rush to get into these buses, especially by people who travel to other cities to work. Added to this force are irregulars who just want to go to the other city. The resulting crowd goes so berserk at the site of a us that the people are pushed aside, pushed, pulled, shoved and crammed into a vehicle 10 years past its decommissioning date.

Almost... there... aaahhh...
Image Courtesy: theembarrassment.wordpress.com

So we Indians, as usual, have a jugaad for this not-getting-seat problem too. Our ingenuity truly is visible only in such times of desperation. Here are things people do to get a seat on public transport:

The Bag Throwers

People going to work tend to carry bags but people here sometimes carry bags just to throw them through the windows into empty seats. These people then take their own time climbing into the bus since they’ve assured their seat on it. They will then ascend as the bus starts to move, push past the other bewildered and mumbling passengers to pick up their bag and enjoy the seat they reserved not by being first in the queue but first to an empty window seat.

It looks so innocent... just lying there
Image Courtesy: langyaw.com

The Handkerchief People

Now that you know about the ‘Baggies’, we now move on to the ‘Hankies’. These people are too lazy to carry a bag so they use what is essentially a necessary product for everyday life – a handkerchief – to reserve their seats. The technique is the same as above but instead of big and marginally heavy bags; they use a piece of cotton cloth that passes as a ticket in public transport. And, it is completely valid as long s the conductor doesn’t interfere.

The ‘Taken’ Neighbours

No, these are not people whom Liam Neeson has saved from foreign gangsters. These are people who ask other to reserve their seats for them if they manage to climb up before them. The regular travellers develop a kind of bonding that happens when you spend a lot of time smelling each other’s armpits and borrowing newspapers to read on the commute. This, in turn helps them save places for each other so they can discuss which character did what horrible thing to another character on some television show.

Sorry, Occupado!
Image Courtesy: thestar.com

The Regulars

As mentioned earlier, the people who commute are the majority on these buses and over time, they sort of start respecting each other’s places like what usually happens in school or college. But even then, there is always some smartass newbie who thinks he/she can sit wherever they want. These people are scorned and the seats reclaimed even if that person get up to adjust their bag in the overhead holding deck. And the others, they just nod their approval in sadistic satisfaction.

Get off my seat... NOW!
Image Courtesy: worldnomads.com

The Legitimates

Well, these people don’t bother with the rush and the long lines and the pushing and shoving; they already have a ticket. For those who don’t know, people in public transport buses can buy tickets before or after climbing into buses. The ‘Legitimates’ are the only group of people who seem to have mastered the art of being wholly cool and buying their ticket at the counter. They stand round, saunter in and take their place reserved with an ‘X’. If there is an unreserved passenger sitting there, they will be reprimanded for their transgression with the show of a ticket. Fights often erupt because of their cocky nature.

Yeah, that's right. Yes, I do have a ticket.
Image Courtesy: wricities.org

Bombay Chronicles #3 - Beautiful Bombay

Bombay is a very old city and by that merit, has some very old building, albeit in very good shape. It is not only the old ones though that are picturesque, modern buildings hold their own in competition. They just lack one thing, the weight of history that defines their older counterparts.

This is the third and final part of the Bombay Chronicles series. You can read the first and second parts here.

The BSE is a building I had wanted to see up close from a long time. The Bombay Stock Exchange, the centre of trade and commerce that essentially makes the city the financial capital of the country is an imposing structure and one can only describe the feeling of staring up at it as one of awe. The scroll of companies listed there and the giant screen outside the building coupled with high fences, roadblocks and what seems like a whole battalion of security personnel truly presents a visage that goes with something as important as the protection of a nation’s finance. And yeah, I got told off for trying to put national security at risk by almost clicking a picture of the building.

The Haji Ali Dargah, the mosque that is literally in the sea, is another place that I wanted to visit, thanks to Bollywood. The mosque, although thronging with tourists and the faithful is a place of immense calm if one were to look for it. Sitting on the edge of the border wall, staring into the water, one can feeling peace wash over with the salty breeze and crashing waves.

A happenstance led us to Horniman circle, an area next to Dalal Street which looks like Connaught Place in Delhi. We, as media students, decided to visit Bombay Samachar, India’s oldest newspaper. It was amazing to see that the old building was exactly how it would have been when it was first constructed. More files than computers, more fans than air conditioners and senior journalists looking up over the edge of their glasses at this bunch of prospective media persons. There were three different types of printing machines. And the best thing: They don’t use key cards to log entry and exit, they use the quaint punching system to remind them of the values that were integrated with the paper.

Marine Drive, where the wave of humanity meets the waves of the ocean at the edge of land (or rather the island). Watching the place in movies does no justice to the place… at all. Need a place to unwind at the end of a hard day but don’t want to do so at the bottom of a bottle, this is the place to be. The sunset, the water, the rocks, the concrete, the crows and the crabs present such a vivid mix of sensory perceptions that one can absolutely be lost in the fine line between nature and civilization. The pure energy thrown off by the city behind and the water in front, the clash of opposite forces and the feeling of being equidistant from both, in no man’s land so to speak is an experience unlike any other. It is truly the refuge of the tired mind weary heart.

The Gateway of India, one of the two most prominent ‘Gates’ in the nation is beautiful after sunset. Obviously, selfie-crazy people need to go before that but the beauty of the yellow stone, the lighting and the hilarious signboards together with the history of the place gives a sombre reminder of days before Independence. And of course, the Taj hotel just next to it adds up to the whole experience of patriotism as symbol of steadfast reserve of the Indian people and their ability to bounce back from anything at all.

The Gateway of India.

This was all the beauty I managed to cram into my short stay in Mumbai and the rest… perhaps another time.

Bombay Chronicles #2 - Rising Tide

Bombay is the city by the sea and the people living therein are like the drops in that sea that fills up this great metropolitan, rendering it virtually impossible to breathe or see anything once inside.

This is the second part of the Bombay Chronicles series. You can read the first part here.

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

As Poseidon threatens to engulf the island and reclaim what is his, the wave of humanity pushes back in defiance, gathering more of its own into the city and inadvertently helping the Lord of the Seas in his diabolical agenda. Unlike Atlantis, which he sunk with one swipe of his trident, Poseidon seems to be biding his time for Bombay to give up its soul willingly, albeit unwittingly.

Bombay, like other cities in Japan, Europe and Scandinavia, is an island; an island that is slowly but steadily filling up with a lot more people and infrastructure than its natural capacity. Factors like the Indian population explosion and an extended rate of migration to this financial capital have overpopulated this city.

The crowd on Chowpatty beach on a Sunday.

Rising water levels around the world due to global warming and deteriorating weather conditions are posing an increasing threat to this city’s contemporaries like Tokyo and Venice. In fact, in extreme weather conditions, the sea has been known to lay a invasive hand upon Bombay’s streets as well. How long before it decides to place the city under siege?

I am no meteorologist or geologist or statistician but one can always wonder what would happen if conditions were to get worse. It is not like nobody is aware of the problem but can it be that people would rather live in denial of a problem rather than think about its ramifications? And to think that I got this theory of denial from Dan Brown’s book ‘Inferno’ which coincidently I bought in… Bombay.

Bombay Chronicles #1 – Taking on Trains, Taxis & Traffic with Tequila

At first sight, the city appears to be nothing but a mass of humanity running in various directions with myriad purposes and at varying speeds. There is a sort of slow motion scene where everything slows down when you notice something beautiful and the next moment you are pushed back into reality and into the same throng of people you noticed as you stepped foot into economic powerhouse of an island.

The people, the lights, the noise, the smell… it all feels unrealistic and in a vague sort of way, a bit like what it would be like living inside the world of ‘The Matrix’. But here, people are controlled traffic lights, trains signals and numbers that go up and down at the Bombay Stock Exchange.

In Bombay for a week, probably half of my trip was spent travelling, thanks to the vast size of the city and the distance between places. Here is how the three T’s convinced me that the only way I’m ever going to Bombay again is as a tourist and nothing more.

Trains

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

The sheer number of people at any local train station startled the wits out of me and I’ve hung on to the side of a public transport bus many a times in Ahmedabad, where buses are tilted by the sheer weight of people hanging out the door. So you can imagine when I say I’m not easily overwhelmed by crowds. Of course I’d heard stories of Bombay’s population and its load of transportation but living it was more than I bargained for when I said ‘Aaj kuch toofaani karte hai’.

Added to the general discomfort of having to smell other people’s armpits and a whole collection of perfumes, the menace of having to deal with eunuchs is an ever present threat while on a train in the city. Of course, then there is the fear of getting thrown off the train or finding that your wallet has been picked off while you were trying to hang on for dear life while simultaneously avoid throwing up on people who will probably actually throw you off the train for doing that.

But, the trains do get you where you where you need to go. The problem is not the destination, but the journey.

Taxis

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

I don’t mean to generalize here but taxi drivers are everywhere have the tendency of doubling up as tourist guides and showing outsiders the sights of the city even if it takes them out of the most direct way to your destination. The difference is that in other places you might not have to pay as much as say… the railway ticket from Gujarat to Goa to go from Bandra to Andheri.

While I was there, it was imperative that there was a functioning GPS in at least one phone to make sure that we reached the destination without having to write out a cheque instead of searching for loose change to pay the driver.

The good thing however is that taxi drivers actually follow the rules and don’t seat more than four people in the vehicle but that’s probably because the traffic police take their jobs very seriously there. And yes, taxi drivers will not always turn down the meter when you tell them your destination. They will first think about it and then they can and probably will refuse to take you there after much deliberation, leaving you stranded with on the road with the knowledge that three other taxis already passed you while the driver was making up his mind.

Traffic

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

For those of you who live in a city not as big as Bombay, you have to see the traffic to believe what I’ve experienced. I’ve seen traffic jams as long as half a kilometre or more but the situation in this city is altogether on another level. Lack of sleep and excitement at wanting to explore the city meant that I slept more hours in a taxi than I did in a bed in the span of one week. Unbelievable? Believe it!

And this is just the situation on normal days. Weekends and matches at the Wankhede stadium take this madness to extremity. God help you if you are loathe to walk, because there is absolutely no point travelling by any sort of automobile when Bombay gears up for the weekend. I’m sure that an aerial photograph of any intersection or Chowpatty beach on a weekend will show up as an ants nest, it’s that bad.

And yeah, good luck getting anywhere on time. Not going to happen.

But unlike Gujarat, where everything needs to be done with a straight head; in Bombay, tequila is happy to help. Yeah, that said, ‘Don’t drink and drive’.

The Great Indian Gay Rights Debacle at the UN

Russia put forward a motion in the Fifth committee of the UN General Assembly that challenged Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon’s changes to the international body’s benefits to partners of staff members. The chief of the UN, a supporter of equal rights for the LGBT community wanted marriage benefits to be extended to same sex couple working for the UN.

Surprise, surprise, surprise! India, along with other homophobic and intolerant nations like Iran, Iraq, China… yada yada yada, basically the whole Middle East voted for Russia’s resolution against equality! Why? Just because we don’t like gay people. Period. And also, Russia is our very dear friend and Putin is right in occupying Ukraine and may we please have that other burnt aircraft carrier you aren’t using? Pretty please?

Fortunately, 80 countries voted against this disgusting piece of legislation and supported the Secretary-General, leading to rejoicing among 40,000 United Nations staff members.

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

India has this time definitely shown its class by siding with theocratic, autocratic, monarchical and in-every-way intolerant nations by supporting this resolution. Although same-sex unions are illegal in India (which is ridiculous in the first place), this in no way means that benefits to employees of an international organization should be dictated on the same lame ‘Indian morality’ basis.

I believe, that this time the US is right in pointing out how Russia is bringing its domestic policies to bear on the international front and challenging the head of the UN in making policy decisions. Russia, under the leadership of Putin seems to want to delve the world back into the cold war era and India, instead of being non-aligned as it has been since independence, seems to want to dive head first into those murky waters.

India has taken part in a resolution that reflects how politics is played in its own parliament. The opposition often has a problem with government policies which are even good for the public. There will be endless debates, nonsensical arguments and chair flinging-microphone hurling-money waving-insult flying debacles for every other reason.

I’m only glad that our people haven’t begun doing that at UN General Assembly sessions yet. Because if… I mean when that begins, there will be no hope for the human race.

The Berlin ‘Divar’ in India

I visited Goa this December, five years since I’d last been there. Lot of development, lots of new things, improvements in infrastructure but one thing had remained the same; its charm.

How many ever times I visit Goa, it never is boring and even though I’ve visited a lot of places in numerous vacations, no place has ever given the feeling of being at peace like Goa has. Goa today is a tourist hub like none other and one can see people not only from the various states of India, but also from around the world flocking to this former Portuguese colony to marvel at the amalgamation of the West and the East. And then there are Gujaratis, they just go to Goa to drink… with alcohol being prohibited in the land of Gandhi’s birthplace and all.

So, with this entire hullabaloo *hic* and crowd *hic* and everything else *hic*, how can Goa afford me with the peace and quiet that I need?

I go to the villages.

Divar island.

Every time I go to see my relatives spread out throughout the state and some of them live in villages but this time it was different. I went to an isolated little island called ‘Divar’. I wouldn’t be surprised if you haven’t heard of this place. It is a small island with a population of around 300 families, 3 churches, 0 hospitals, 0 bridges and 0 tourism… Beautiful!

Zero Hospitals! Unbelievable? Believe it. They just have a small healthcare centre on the island and they have to make do in that. With three churches on the other hand, I guess they just pray that nobody falls seriously ill at night. Well, they can be taken to the mainland if that happens right? Wrong! If you’ll kindly refer above, you’ll notice they have zero bridges connecting them to mainland Goa. The ferries that operate on the river Mandovi and the open sea do so only till 11:00 pm. After that, they’re on their own and if you’re stuck there as a tourist, too bad because there aren’t any hotels as far as I was informed.

Considering that the name of these people’s island is ‘Divar’ which means ‘wall’ in Hindi, I guess they really are on the other side on the (Berlin) Wall.

But it’s not like the government of Goa hasn’t done its part for this island. Locals told me that the state government did propose a bridge but the people voted against it in a referendum that the government agreed to honour. One would wonder why these people would be against development of their own area but for the people, the equation is pretty simple.

Bridges = Hotels

Hotels = Tourism

Tourism = Nuisance

Hence, No Bridges.

The people see how the rest of Goa is intoxicated with tourism and in fact a lot of people on the island are also employed by the tourism industry but they want their island to remain pristine, quiet and peaceful in order to continue living there as they have for centuries now. And the government seems to understand that.

So, Divar was, is and hopefully will remain the El Dorado with more green than gold in its streets.

Oh, and by the way, they have this huge crib making competition every year for Christmas. To how you the scale of the crib, here it is with a human for comparison.

A Crib on Divar island.

The World in Goa

Goa is the land of beaches, is situated in the lap of nature and is steeped in history that is inclusive of both Indian and Portuguese culture. Well that is an understatement actually because over the years, as Goa has increasingly developed as a tourism hotspot, she has amalgamated cultures from all over the world and accepted them as her own. In the heart of Goa, I can truly see the world!

People from everywhere come to Goa to enjoy her sandy seashores, soak up her sunshine and devour her savoury sausages. Travellers from the UK, France, Germany, USA and Russia are a common sight here, mingling with the locals and even speaking a little bit of Konkani to get into the Goan spirit. A lot of shops in the bustling markets of Mapusa and Panjim have signboards inscribed with English, Konkani and Russian as well. It goes to show how well the state has learned to cope with the influx of foreign tourism of which they seem to have an endless flow throughout the year.

Calangute beach, Goa, India

‘Atithi Devo Bhava’ is a slogan that is close to the Indian heart. As hosts, we attempt to be most gracious and welcoming, for that is what we have been taught through the ages. And I saw the best example of this Indian hospitality in Goa. We travelled in city buses everywhere since we wanted to get to really ‘see’ Goa. The conductors in those buses, when they realized that we were tourists, kept asking us to take seats that weren't occupied. They kept asking us please be seated. It was… new and a very refreshing attitude. I now know another reason why tourism is at such a high in Goa, its people.

Since we went there for Christmas, we were invited to a house for Christmas lunch and I didn't feel detached from my family here in Gujarat at all. It was as if our hosts were our own, so freely did they mingle with us, talking about everything from cuisine and culture to national and international politics over single malt scotch. They served us a mix of Portuguese and traditional Goan cuisine that I had not tasted in a very long time. Christmas really feels how it should in Goa. Fabulous!

There is no dividing line between western and eastern civilizations in Goa. National borders blur when everyone is just trying to have a good time and relax. Religion, race and colour refuse to be barricades in this wonderful place and perhaps that is why Goa feels like the last bastion of world unity in India. Identities are not important, nor are languages. People speak with smiles here and that is what enamours anyone who ventures into this land.

There is a saying in Goa that people very rarely go hungry at night but are never denied a drink. This does not mean that liquor is very important here, it only goes to show the generosity of the people here. If someone is standing outside a bar, it is not possible that nobody will buy that person a drink. It does not in any way imply that the people are drunkards; it is to say that these people enjoy the good things in life and help others enjoy it too.

This is my toast to Goa, the place where the World is One entity and lives and breathes as One soul.

Viva Goa!

Who the Hell is THAT?

In the modern world, with the ideas of a ‘global village’ and ‘the world is a family’ scheme of things, we make many friends. Some instantaneous, some in hesitant steps, some with caution and some that are best kept a hand’s length away. However, connections are made every day and every hour possibly, in the life of a person, because though one cannot speak for the entire world, a large enough part of its population is connected to the internet today, thus voluntarily or involuntarily becoming part of a global endeavour to better the human civilization and build a tight web in order that we may not be nations in the future, but a World.

Taking what is explained above in macro and putting it in a scale that becomes inclusive in the bigger scheme of things, we come to social networking. And out of the many social networking sites, there is one that has stood out in this decade and much of the previous one. That small step giant leap was the development of Facebook as a tool or means to reach the above mentioned destination, and as they say, ‘the journey is more important…’

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

One makes so many contacts on Facebook. Friends, acquaintances, friends of friends, visitors, relatives, teachers, students, colleagues, seniors, juniors, drinking partners, business associates and even complete strangers are added to people’s accounts every day. It serves the basic human need to be connected and be recognized. The need to know people everywhere and to be pleased in the knowledge that others, in various places, know them.

Then there is the need for communication. To be able to communicate with people, regardless of distance, time and availability; albeit not without an internet connection. The need for rapid, cheap and easy communication is facilitated by it.

There is also a requirement for short-term connections. A need wherein two or more people need to stay connected for a certain amount of time after which they go their separate ways, sometimes without even a single glance backwards. It is this that is the crux of what is to come next.

I've observed, through personal experience that it so happens that after a while, maybe a year or two on Facebook, when one goes through their friends list, they find that there are people that they don’t know. People that they have no memory of and who are just there, God knows how. Actually, they did know that person once, but with passing time, the memory of that person has either become too hazy or has been wiped out totally. This is of course taking into consideration only those who do not keep adding people indiscriminately for the heck of it.

There have been times, when I've gone through my friends list (I do that every six months) and found at least five or more people who I recollected only faintly or who I didn't remember having a decent conversation with, even virtually for over a year.

And sometimes, I'm just like,

“Who the Hell is THAT?”

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

The Happily Ever After Party

The Big Fat Indian weddings have been famous and notorious all over the world for being beautiful and mind-bogglingly expensive. They are pompous, extravagant, have lots of unnecessary trappings and are, as mentioned before (bordering on the obscene) expensive. But it is all in the name of tradition. One can put the blame on the endless line of predecessors who thought fit to celebrate their union by throwing insane parties that lasted anywhere between three days and a week. Inviting people from all corners of the empire/country to gape in awe at the kick-ass way they could afford to feed a host by blowing up all their life savings in one huge bash. 

But weddings are seldom recognized to be what they may or may not have originally meant to be, that is a gathering of the community, meeting and reminiscing about what has happened and the opportunity to meet new people and develop contacts with possibly related or similar minded people over long distances. After all, that was a time when the word communication meant travelling vast distances and meeting up with relatives only a few times in many years.

But today, though there may not seem to be a difference in Indian weddings, I feel there are subtle changes taking place within the mindsets of people. There are several factors contributing to the change in the wedding scenario in today’s world, I've tried to bring up a few here.

First of all, is the factor of cost. With democracy and taxes and inflation, the expense incurred in marriages have risen up exponentially which means that the more people one invites, the more their bank balance dwindles. Everything, ranging from taxi rent, hotel bookings, the pundit/priest, the halls and food have prices shooting through the roof. Then there is also the cost the bride’s father has to pay to get his daughter married. Arranging a wedding, decorating a girl in gold, bestowing lavish gifts upon the groom and feeding an army can certainly be a tad expensive.

The second factor is that of communication. In today’s world, in contrast to yesterday’s, is the benefit of greater communication ability. One can talk and meet people with anytime with those once magical instruments called the “flying chariot” and “akaashvani.”  It is unnecessary and also virtually impossible to invite all the people you know because due to technology today, one may have contacts with millions of people around the world. So unless one is the sheikh of someplace or owns maybe a dozen oilfields, so many people cannot be invited.

The third and last factor affecting the Indian wedding is the change in generation and hence the evolution of thinking and freedom from age old traditions that bound the older ones. The Indian society is subtly changing, independent thought processes are getting bolder and are gaining impetus largely due to the social media and interaction with people in other parts of the world. The present Indian youth seems to be distancing themselves from their culture, not in a way that is defiant but in a way that promotes rational thinking and gives rise to the freedom of thought independent of their parents and grandparents. Marriage has no longer retained its traditional meaning today. Anybody can and possibly will marry anyone they want. They might also feel it was a mistake and marry again. Orthodox thinking today is making way for the future in which everyone is a master of one’s own fate and is hardly if ever controlled by others. Now if you’re going to marry more than once, can you afford that bash again? Because your parents sure can’t.

Note: This is the author’s personal view and has been written with statistics in his own head. He has merely written what he has observed in his surroundings. If one holds a different view, the comment box is begging for your thoughts.

The Man & his Mop

I’m sure you know how the whole week passes by with not a moment to spare for yourself? At least for me it’s work – work – work with no time for the hair I’m trying to grow once again. I’m aiming for shoulder length but let’s see till when I can manage to hang on to them with this hectic schedule and the inherent heat that has seeped into the atmosphere here in Ahmedabad.

I cannot fathom how women with long hair manage to take care of that mop but I put it down to years of practice and struggle with the mass of black snakes the Gods thought fit to put on various parts of the body. Well, I’m pretty new to the experience since this is only the second time that I've tried to grow my hair, the first being when I completed school and moved on to college. I was in the place which you’d probably call a ‘hair phase’. Wanted to be the cool dude with the hair but ended up chopping the locks within just four months partly due to frustration, partly due to the heat and partly due to the fact that my parents were horrified at what I’d done to my hair and refused to acknowledge me as their son in public. Yeah, that bad.

Well, this time I've managed to cross the four-month barrier and it’s looking pretty good so far. The heat has abated and I do not plan to have my hair chopped down due to any pressure this time, parental or otherwise. But then there is another problem of finding time to groom this hair. I admit that even this time around I've had a pretty hard time managing all this volume upon my head and I've considered more than once about walking the path to the barber’s shop but I've maintained my resolve till now only because of the compliments I keep receiving now and then from friends and that’s what keeps me going.

Let’s see how long it lasts…

Note: I've not put up a photograph of myself in the fear that somebody will break my illusion of this hair looking totally awesome.

STOP and Think for a Moment…

I’m sure everyone has that one family member or friend that is very, very racist/chauvinist/orthodox, oh, unintentionally of course, but very much still biased towards anything and everything that does not match their standard of a normal person. This person may or not be aware of what he/she is doing but to a person who is aware of these things and is sensitive to gender, colour, race and lifestyle bias, this can be shocking, sometimes appalling and more often than you’d think – hurtful.

I have seen many people with the tendency to be insensitive towards people who society marginalizes. These incidences shock me because it’s not only that we are all human and that there should be no demarcating factor there, it is also about not trying to prove that some people are better than others. Because if one is trying to do so, Hitler is a proud man in hell. Here are some sentences that I've heard around me that have caused me to stop and evaluate for a moment, how society differentiates itself on the basis of its diversity.

“What was the name of that of that African coach? You can hardly tell those people apart!”

“You’re SO gay man…”

“So, when are you leaving for the land of our little yellow friends?”

 “You have to learn to cook. Who will feed your husband? You expect HIM to cook?”

“Yo nigga! Waddup man!”

“She’s such a slut! I saw her kissing two guys in the same week!”

“So, what caste do you belong to?”

“Hey, don’t these Chinese all look like - the same?”

“What’s your religion?”

“Dude, you’re hanging out with those goras(white people)?”

And these are just some that I vividly remember for their scathing attack on people of different nationalities, different coloured skin, women, different religions/castes, different lifestyle choices and different relationship status’. It is even more disgusting to hear these things from those who you are surrounded with. Everywhere I go, I get to hear such tripe. Is it that people think that they are perfect and that these so-called “other people” are abnormal or freaks or weird and should not be part of society?

The answer, I feel, to this dilemma is not tolerance of all people. That might be confusing since everyone nowadays seems to be advocating tolerance towards everything else. Tolerance towards other religions, tolerance towards lower caste people, tolerance towards homosexuals, tolerance towards transsexuals, tolerance towards this and tolerance towards that… The list can go on. But I wonder - Is it tolerance that we need? In fact, what is tolerance? Tolerance is the mighty responsibility of the superior people to bear with the whims and fancies of the inferior people. That’s what tolerance means. Now, do we need that? Do we need to look down on people who are a wee bit different from people in our Utopian society? Or do we need to understand that we are all equal and one is not superior over any other person.

I’m not saying that I’m totally blameless here. I look into the mirror today and I see a hypocrite. Yes, because I've laughed at some of these, I've responded to some of these and I've not bothered to rebuke people who have said these things. But in retrospect, I have felt great remorse for what I have done to encourage people who make up such stuff and I have made up my mind to help people become aware of what they are saying and why it is against humanity as a whole. This is my commitment, my contribution to the betterment of society as I see it. I hope that at least one person will someday stop and think what they just said about another human being. That will be my greatest reward.

Poker Face

I stayed in my college hostel the first one and a half years out of three and it was the best time of my life. Of course we later left that place because of a rather notorious priest, but while we were there it was fun giving him sleepless nights while we wrecked havoc through the three floors of youngsters sleeping, studying, playing, and hogging in the middle of the night. Cooking with illegal water heaters, talking on the phone during study hour, reading after lights-out and jumping from one floor to another and then outside the premises of the hostel were some of the minor offences we engaged in during our stay there.

One of our favourite pastimes was playing cards. We had bought around four decks and we used to rendezvous at one room or another much like smugglers, and play till two or three in the morning. It was quite safe for us to traverse the corridors when the rector was either sleeping or not in the hostel, but if he was around, we used to sneak into rooms through window sills and balcony ledgers, risking our necks for a game of cards. Sounds stupid, but it was the only diversion we had in that mundane and rigid hostel. So, putting our bodies on the line and trying to behave like Spiderman just for the thrill of it and a lively game to pass the time was pretty OK in our books.

So it was just another boring, gloomy and wet Sunday evening in August, 2011, and the eight of us were wondering what to do except study, you know, because you don’t do THAT on a Sunday! So we decided to have a go at the cards till we managed to decide which roadside dhaba to invade for dinner.

We started around 2 pm, after an atrocious lunch at the hostel mess; where we were served ‘neck-severing’ rotis, ‘radioactive’ daal, ‘sedative-laced’ buttermilk and other “Khana bane Hathiyaar” type of food. At around 4 pm, one of us complained that he needed some tea, it was probably me. But then there was a problem, none of us wanted to pay for it; yes, we were cheapskates back then. So we decided that whoever lost the most games from then on would have to pay for everyone’s evening tea. We reached this amicable solution and started playing again. Fortunately for us, one guy lost almost all the games from that time and he got to pay for everyone’s tea and smokes, which amounted to around a hundred bucks at our favourite Kitli.

We had to pay for his dinner that night…

The Kitli: Much more than just Tea

Everyone may not know what I’m referring to, so in public interest, I will first explain what a Kitli is. A Kitli is the roadside stall that serves tea. That is at least the basic definition of what it is and what it does. It is, in my opinion, much more than what it appears to be. It is not only made up of the guy who makes and serves tea; rather it is the gathering of peoples, the makings of a family, the mixing of cultures, a potpourri of thoughts, the generator of ideas, the stirring of emotions and somewhere perhaps the beginning of a revolution.

Image Courtesy: Joel George.

I know that above sentence must have taken you by surprise but kindly bear with me while I attempt to clear my thoughts and explain my point. The kitliwala does not only sell tea, but also cigarettes, minor snacks and a lot of information and local gossip by extension.

The Kitli is therefore...

A Social platform. People from anywhere and everywhere gather in one place, not with the particular intention of mingling but it is something that happens automatically among those who are frequent visitors to a particular kitli. Exchanging common courtesies like passing the tea, holding the plate, lighting a cigarette and asking for change often lead to conversations, sharing of incidences, common friends, gossip, fun, fights and more often than not, a closer bond among those kitli-goers. After a few visits, even the kitli owner is familiar with the order you usually place, your brand of cigarette and whether you have cash to pay him or not!

A Newsroom. Kitliwalas subscribe to at least three different newspapers for their customers. At least the ones I visit do. Customers often ask for the papers while sipping their morning tea or while chatting over their evening snacks. This leads to a lot of information being shared along with maskabuns and omelettes. People all over the place recount incidences of similar happenings in their part of the city and whether one realizes it or not, one does certainly become aware of what’s happening in their city simply by visiting the kitli.

A Platform for discussion. Students, employees, players, officers… all visit this place to discuss the most important aspects of what they do, what should they be doing, what is happening, what’s wrong with it and how it can be rectified. Groups of people gather at the kitli with a certain purpose too, though it may seem unlikely. These gatherings focus around certain subjects and often lead to strong or heated discussions/arguments within the group. But ultimately, everyone makes up with a hot cup of cutting chai and one cigarette being shared by everyone. Discussions here often lead to serious decisions by individuals and can affect their mindset. Opinions change, faith is reinforced, doubts arise and fate is changed all because of a talk at the innocuous roadside kitli.

This has been my experience at the kitli; you are welcome to share yours. It’s always good to hear stories, because after all, it is stories that make up this world, not atoms.

Image Courtesy: Joel George.

Rediscovery of the Old World.

Home - A place of rest and respite, there place where you go when you have nowhere else left to go. the place whose doors are always open to welcome you back.

Even though you may move on to bigger and better places, even though you might get settled there, even though you might enjoy your new home better than the old one, even though you might have better facilities there, even though it may be very convenient in all aspects… Someday you have got to go back home, to your city, to your roots, to YOUR place. It’s a thing deeply ingrained into the Indian psyche. We cannot, I think leave behind our own city for a new one, however better it may be, and even if we do, we like to come back once in a while and check things out for ourselves. Walk through the bazaars, stroll in the gardens, eat at the food-stalls and remark on the progress the village/town/city has made since we’d last been there.

I am exactly the same. I shifted to a new city three years back for better study opportunities and even though I loved my adopted city and hardly thought of home, there were days when I would miss my hometown so badly that I would just pack a single bag and hightail it back home over the weekend.

It’s like going on to discover the New World like Christopher Columbus. You land there, survey the place and feel, “This is good.” But after a while you’re like, “What’s going on at home?” That’s when you pack your bags, get a couple gifts for the Queen and sail right back into friendly ports. However decadent and war-torn the Old World may have become, it is still home and better than a few bags of potatoes and some tobacco. (If you know your history)

I studied for three years in Ahmedabad and now I'm back in Rajkot. I've realized the fact that wherever else I might choose to go, in the end I have to come back here. And it’s been a pleasure knowing my city again. In my first post, I wrote about returning to my city and wondering what to do. In case you were also wondering what I would do… I took the option of exploring my city again and I was quite surprised at the development that had taken place in the time that I was away. I learnt of things that were known to exist only in a Metropolitan and my eyes beheld such wonders that were not to be seen in the New World. I roamed in places that I knew not were even there and learnt so much in that one month that I was overwhelmed with awe for my own city, in which I earlier put not much stock.

I have even seen this tendency in a lot of Indians who live abroad. I'm not talking of those who were born of Indian parents in other countries, but first generation Indians who have migrated outside. I know of at least three such families who come to visit India every year. Even when I talk to some people who live abroad, they tend to miss their cities and wish to return, at least for a vacation, to stand on the land of their country, to feel the fragrance of her flowers, to taste the food of her hands and to sleep in her lap.

It feels really good to rediscover the Old World.

Of Left & Right & Wrong & Right

They say, “Early to bed, early to rise…” OK I forgot the rest, but you know what I mean. But it’s getting nigh impossible for me to wake up before 9:30 in the morning because I don’t sleep before 3:00 in the night. And, I absolutely HAVE to wake up before 9:30 because my Car driving class starts then. Well, they aren't so strict about timings there so that’s cool but the horror starts after I sit in the car. I've just woken up, hurriedly worn something remotely decent while brushing my teeth, forgotten to comb my hair, with bathroom slippers on my feet, no tea in my gut and wearing the afore-mentioned Terminator shades to hide my red-shot eyes.

The instructor there at the institute changes every day so I often don’t realize who’s throwing instructions at me. This may be so either because my sleep-addled brain can’t pay attention to both, the instructor and the road or because I don’t care enough so early in the morning (without tea). You see, I’m not really a morning person. But due to my sleepiness, I've discovered my Superpowers, oh yeah! I can differentiate my driving instructors simply by the commands they issue on the road! How many people can do THAT?

So I've figured out that I’m being taught by three instructors on a daily rotational basis. Since I don’t know their names (obviously), I have made up names for them with their major characteristics.

1.)    Severus ‘Handlebar’ Snape:

So this guy comes in and says, “Start the car” in such a monotone that my hand automatically goes to the keys and as soon as the engine whirs, his hand is on the steering wheel. After that, his hand only comes off after we’re finished with the lesson. Along with the curt commands and almost dictatorial command over the pedals, I feel like I’m ‘LEARNING’ to drive the car on bloody Autopilot.

2.)    Michael ‘Pitstop’ Schumacher:

The man with the need, the NEED FOR SPEED. He just lets me pull the car out on the road and gives me free reign of the raw power beneath my legs. He sits back, turns up the volume on the stereo and asks me to hit it! This incredible teacher taught me how to brake and go without hitting stuff or rolling down slopes. He makes me stop – go – stop – go and then vroooooom… to the end of the road. Basically, I like him… a Lot.

3.)    Akshay ‘Joker’ Kumar:

Then there is the man who never stops talking and cracking jokes that only he understands and laughs on while I try with all my patience not to drive the car into a tree or the back of a truck or into a wall. While he’s not joking or spitting out of the window, he tells me to stay left, once even when there was a bulldozer coming up the wrong way. I swung into the fast lane anyway to avoid turning into bread and just missed being hit by a trailer from the other side. We had to stop while he took a moment to compose himself. He’ll never joke about THAT, I bet!

So, this is how I've been starting my mornings since the last week and will continue this routine for the next two. Hope my adventures continue to get even more interesting…

Endless Possibilities

Hey there world…

This is Brendan-Anton Raphael Dabhi writing his first blog at the age of twenty one because this is the first time that he has two months of actually nothing to do. So, instead of just eating, shitting and sleeping, he’s decided to put his time to this use – writing a Blog!

So, I've just finished my graduation and come back to my hometown from my adopted one. Seems strange: These roads, these lanes, these roundabouts, these gardens and these landmarks that I’m seeing today are but flashes in black and white film at the back of my mind. So much has changed; it’s difficult to say I know this city anymore. Now I’m back here, but I know not what I’m going to do with these two months on hand.  I will leave this city at the end of two months to pursue further studies in another university, but in the meantime: Mission ‘Do Something Useful’.

I could go out looking for a summer job, a place where I could be of some use. Where I don’t feel like dead-weight  This could gain me valuable experience or an internship certificate or a stipend or even a proper salary. But who is going to give me a job with a Bachelor’s degree? I could hope that some or the other local media house gives me a job but that’s hoping for too much entirely and I know it.

I could go out exploring my city once again, getting to know it, discover it once again. Get to feel its pulse again and perhaps feel at home once again. But I fear that two months are too short a time to get to know this place again and it will be heart-wrenching to leave it again once I connect with it again (It was hard enough the first time).

I could go out on a photography spree, my presently dominant hobby. I could capture this city in my lens and in my eyes before I leave it again because I know that this city has so much to offer the inquisitive and creative mind. There are small things everywhere that join together to make up this city. The small nuances, the behaviour of the people, the interaction of the mass, the structure of its buildings, the feel of the rush hour traffic, the soft breeze in the evenings, the flowing of its river, the majesty of its statues, the flight of its aspirations, the hopes of its young, the laughter of its children and the wheezing of its elderly are all part of the heart and soul of my city and even if I tried for a thousand years, I could never hope to recreate this place in my work.

So, at the moment, I have some options and I’m weighing the pros and cons of each with a view to coming to a good decision. If you have some advice, please go ahead and dish it out, I’m all ears!