The Year is New, but are Your Priorities?

Everyone’s excited about the new year that began on January 1^st. Excited about a new beginning, a new resolution, a new twist to lie, a promise to oneself, new changes, new attitudes, new, new, new…

But is that really the case?

Do we really look forward to a new year or look back and enjoy the memories of milestones past. Are we just content to look back and not bother much about what lies ahead?

Image Courtesy: discussionist.com

If yes, then why rejoice for all the things accomplished at the end of this calendar year? Why not think of what didn’t happen this year? Why not think of what more could have been done this year? Why not reflect upon things that still require attention?

Some examples if you please.

Everyone in India went gaga over the fact that the country now has 1 billion telecom users. Yay! The country is now connected, right?

But what about the fact that India’s population is 1.2 billion, which leaves about 0.2 billion people still without a phone?

And what about the fact that there are 4 billion people in the world still not connected to the internet according to CNN Money? That’s four times the people who just use telecom services in India.

How about the 1.6 billion people in the world who have no sort of electricity at all if the World Bank is to be believed? How come these people don’t have a light in their homes this new year while we celebrate?

But the best and most apt comparison is that the United Nations claims there are 1 billion people in the world who defecate in the open even today. Well, how about that? What about them?

If you need to think, think of what is still left to do instead of lying back and basking in the glory of things already achieved. These are the things that need to be done this year.

Make a promise to help in whatever little way you can, for every small measure helps in making this world in the words of the immortal Michael Jackson:

A better place for you and for me and the entire human race…

10 ways living in a boys PG is more horrifying than you think

Some of you already know that living out of your house is not great and all is not hunky-dory but only when you go to live in a boy’s PG do you actually get to experience hell-on-earth. It is a truly enlightening experience.

1. There’s a distinct lack of privacy

 Privacy? Ha-ha, what is that? This is the state I have had to live in for the past five years. Over time I’ve sort of become an expert on the subject with people peering into my computer screen, looking at my texts, opening my cupboard and generally being more of a nuisance then they tend to be everywhere else. It is more like a community shelter. I’ve often wondered why I pay to live at these places and then I realize that my job pays me so much that I can’t afford my own place without mortgaging myself and nobody will even accept as collateral.

2. Even your bottles get stolen

You have to get used to the fact that you no longer buy things for yourself but for everyone who ventures into your room to use your deodorant, eat your snacks, drink your juice, sleep on your bed and even drink the water that you kept in the fridge five hours ago so that it could get cold. In the end, you still get to drink hot water in 45 degrees Celsius. Your things get used and then they don’t even get replaced because you obviously brought it for everyone to use. You stop expecting people to fill your bottle and keep it after they drink from it because no matter how much you scream at them, indiscipline is the only principle that is followed with religious zeal everywhere.

3. There’s no space to even walk around breathe!

The paying guest business is booming and if I had enough money, I’d buy a place and rent it out too but since I don’t I’m waiting for someone to gift me some property. In the meantime, PGs are so cluttered that you are overwhelmed with the sheer number of people in your vicinity. I had a sense of personal space about five years ago. It got violated the first time I stepped into a PG and I’ve never managed to reclaim it ever since. You gradually realize that the only place you have a modicum of actual unadulterated air to breathe is on your own bed. The moment you get up, it’s like a Mumbai local but with considerably less chances of getting thrown out and dying.

4. Food habits change with every new place

Like South Indian food? Like Punjabi? Like Indian-Chinese? Like Gujarati fafda-jalebi? Sorry, who cares what you like. Most PGs hire people who can cook a maximum of two types of food. Sometimes, it’s just one type. So if you manage to find a place that serves different food on different days, you’re in luck but if you’re getting too cocky, don’t. You never know when the cook might get changed for stealing, making everyone sick or because of a payment issue. You might want to search out a safe alternative place that will deliver food to wherever you stay. It makes life much easier. But you always have the option of staying alive on tea, biscuits, wafers and good old Maggi. Damn! Is that an endorsement? Will I go to jail?

5. Contracting a communicable disease is relatively easy

Did you read the third point where I said that… just go and read it. On the other hand, if you did, you now know how it would be as easy as one sneeze, one cough, one handshake, one snot-barrage to spread any air-borne or touch-based communicable disease. PGs are what you can describe as the perfect environment for malign viruses and bacterium to flourish. It can take anywhere between three days and a week for the common cold to infect everyone. Now you know why I had myself checked for swine flu every time I coughed or sneezed. If you didn’t already know how dangerous this disease is, go check the stats, this article can wait. And now imagine that you are living in a place looks clean but harbours more diseases than the WHO lab in World War Z.

[This is my article for the Youth Connect magazine. You can read the entire article here: 10 Ways living in a Boy's PG is more horrifying than you think]

I am an ousted CEO too

You’ve all no doubt heard about the case about the investors of housing.com oust the very founder of the company, Rahul Yadav. There must be a number of cases where similar things have happened to entrepreneurs who have sought investors to fund their fledgling start-ups. Now, I don’t presume to compare myself with Yadav in any way but…

Mine is one such story as well.

In September, 2013, three of my friends and I came up with an idea of starting up a news website for the students of the institute where we studied. We envisioned it as a platform for our fellow students to participate actively in the fields they were studying for. A practical approach to academics is what we brought our focus on when we thought up our web magazine.

Since we thought this up on the stairs of our institute, and involved the contribution of every one of our students, it was obvious that we were going to approach our management with this plan. We did so, and to our utter surprise obtained instant and enthusiastic support. We were asked to begin work immediately and submit requests for funding as and when required.

We were ecstatic and set up our website over eight months of planning, business model development, website designing and social media operations. Finally, out product was launched on the April 12, 2014 in the presence of the institute management and students. We had our own start up!

I assumed the role of Editor-in-chief, another co-founder as Chief Technical Executive and the other two co-founders as Editors of the two beats they excelled at. Although this selection does not seem fair, I must point out that the people in these posts were ratified by a general election within a week.

We ran the website with vigour and published 54 articles in the first two months of the launch alongside our hectic study schedule, assignments and internships. Some of our students even worked full time to support their education and even they contributed in one way or another to the initial success of this operation.

As in any other organization, we faced criticism, disgruntled employees and complaints relating to bias and prejudice. Although, all of these allegations were proved to be baseless time and again, these problems seemed to have an impact on the trust the management had placed on us and the morale of the entire team as well.

Decision-making ultimately passed to a representative of the investor (management) and although I still held editorial powers along with other editors, it became increasingly apparent that the democratic model upon which we had founded this organization was to come under fire from those who had deigned to finance it.

Finally, fed up with constant intrusions upon my sovereignty as Editor and decision making behind my back, I resigned from my post at the end of two months to allow for a new editor and pledged my support to the team if they needed it; albeit from outside. My resignation was rejected for reason I’m sure you can imagine and was told to maintain charge till they (management) could decide on someone to take my place and restructure the organization, placing their representative in overall charge.

Reluctantly, I withdrew my resignation in the interest of the magazine against my better judgement. But by then, the determination to lead controlled organization had left me and the team’s will to work had waned to the point that they refused work until the tie this matter was sorted out.

Two months of forced pieces and half-hearted work later, the management decided not to amend their mistakes but to make some more. They asked for my resignation in August, 2014, appointed their own Editor and asked the rest of the team to resign as well. They held a rigged election, refused to reveal the results and formed their own team against the wishes of the student body.

They rebelled.

Today, our organization lies, covered in dust, waiting for a new generation of students to shake the dust off what would have been a reputed student’s platform if only power hadn’t corrupted the investor.

Although complete in itself, this is still an excerpt of the whole case. You can read the full story here: The Story of an Ousted CEO

End of Two Years - Not with a Whimper, but a Bang

This reversal of T S Eliot’s famous lines from ‘The Hollow Men’ is the perfect way to describe how this blog completes two years today. And it isn’t the end just yet; I believe this is just the beginning of my long relationship with writing. It has only been in this second year that I’ve really flourished in the Blogosphere and ventured into new territory.

Triumphs like reaching out to 200 followers on Facebook, 35,000 page views on the blog, 151 posts, 2,500 (the highest) views ever in a month and 40 followers on the blog itself are things I’m proud to announce this year.

I almost feel like a CEO presenting the statistics of the last financial year to eager investors. I know that these numbers make no difference to those who read my work on a regular basis. These facts are also not because I want to impress first time visitors, I’m sure it makes no difference to them as well. However, it is these small things that make me realize how much the blog, my writing, my readers and I have grown in the past year.

This is one of those times when I’m truly impressed by my own perseverance. And believe me when I say that perseverance isn’t one of my strong suites, I can’t stress that enough. But blogging over these two years has probably been the best outlet my passion has had in recent times. Writing for other websites, meeting new people, reading fantastic authors and trying to match up to the level of fellow bloggers has been as exhilarating a challenge as I’ve ever faced.

Dabbling with various forms of writing has expanded my horizons and placed such knowledge into my hands as one can receive only by staring at oneself in the mirror that shows one’s soul. It has helped me unravel the mysteries of the workings of the world and given me exposure to how fast the world is changing around us at this very instant. It has provoked… enlightenment.

My readers, who have suffered the most at my hands are the ones I have most to thank for they are my inspiration, the ones who have placed their expectation in me to deliver the best of the best. What more can one ask for? It is only through meaningful conversations, the endless debates and the views of the world that have helped my work my gears to bring out my twisted version of what conspires around us.

After two years, I’m not tired, I’m not weary and I’m not ready to give up. I’m ready to drive by this milestone and begin the next lap of this incredible race. Hope to have you by my side and in my ear, edging me on…

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 Monk who almost wanted a Ferrari

Tales of organized religions running after money and trying to spread their faith all around either by force or through bribes are mire in the history of not only this nation, but the world. But these are just tales and conspiracies which may or may not be rooted in fact. What happens however, when such stories of a real incident come to light?

I know of one such incident and although I refuse to admit if this is fiction or fact, it makes it very clear that the voices reciting the vow of poverty are often lost in the need for materialistic luxuries of life.

Featured here: The Bishop of Bling, Germany.
Image Courtesy: Google Images.

Once there was a priest who, after many years, finally made it as the preacher of a large congregation. The place of worship was large and the number of devotees was also higher in comparison to other places where he’d been assigned before. This city he went to had a reputation of not being able to tolerate nonsense from their preachers and this priest, in his pride, managed to get on the wrong side of the entire council. It was just like the previous priest; he was transferred because of his arrogance.

This priest managed to run things his way for a while but ultimately the patience of the people ran out because he never stopped making them regret the fact that they didn’t contribute enough money to God and by that, he meant he wasn’t happy with the amount of money that went into his upkeep after paying for the maintenance of the house of God. He kept repeating the dire situation of the accounts, all under the statue of his maker while the congregation tried its best to keep him happy. But it was not to be and the priest’s senior had to have him transferred for his own well-being.

This priest was sent to a village whose faithful consisted of just a handful of people. He was appalled! How could he be sent to this place after heading a temple of a big city? It was outrageous. He probably thought that these villagers deserved a new priest without any experience while he deserved to be moving up in the hierarchy and heading another big place of worship. How dare the management leave him to rot in some godforsaken village?

And so, once again, senior had to transfer him and this time, even though he got a small town, which was technically a promotion from the village, the priest was sullen at this transfer too. Now this town had recently been upgraded, divided into two parts and another temple was built to accommodate all the faithful. This priest got the new temple and its people but he had to commute to this new temple everyday from his residence, which was still at the old place of worship. It takes time to shift quarters and it hadn’t happened yet. A minor inconvenience no doubt, to travel within the same city and pry for the people. But the priest now demanded separate living quarters for himself and a servant for his needs at the new place. The management decided this was too costly an affair and refused this demand.

Within a year, the priest demanded a transfer.

Looking at his track record, it does seem plausible that this person would have fared better as an IAS officer than he did as a priest.

It only goes to show how the people who serve God are also not totally immune to the pleasures of life and it’s not like they don’t deserve them but there are those who work to sincerely spread love and foster goodwill among people according to what their scriptures say. These sincere people try to do good in often horrible conditions, among hostiles, in dangerous territory and under threat of prosecution and death on a regular basis. The priest in the story and those like him give everyone else a bad name and are often the reason why even the most religious of people tend to lose their faith.

The Tale of the Yellow Assassin

He was the patriarch of the family. He had all the makings of a leader. Well-built and intimidating, he sent everyone scurrying the moment he let his piercing gaze fall upon them. His yellow-tinted skin appalling and yet evoking respect from a distance. He was one best avoided, given his space for he didn’t take kindly to an invasion of his territory. As distant as he was to his own, he was even crueler to those who managed to fly into his trap. Cold and calculating, he was the ultimate assassin.

But his time was waning.

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

Now there was a new baddie in town, in His town. They called him the Flyboy. He struck hard and fast, before anyone could see him coming. He struck from the shadows and went straight into the light. He had made a name for himself and carved a niche right into His back yard before His lieutenants even realized that he was a threat. The Assassin was not happy… at all.

But he waited as he always did. Calculating the odds and sizing up his opponent before deciding to strike for that was his hallmark and the reason that he still had the city in his control.

The Flyboy was a new-age gangster who liked to do things fast. He didn’t completely understand the intricacies of it all but relied on brute force to claim what he wanted. He was reckless and violent and a pain for everyone who came into contact with him. The city was getting restless.

And the Assassin still waited.

As was bound to happen, the Flyboy spread his wings too wide and the Police Commissioner snapped. He ordered the immediate cleanup of all organized crime in the city. He gave a free reign to every officer and issued everyone the ‘license to kill’. He wanted the city free of these thugs who thought they could do whatever they pleased. Well not in his town!

The ensuing rampage saw the brutal mopping up of everyone on the other side of the law, irrespective of rank. The Flyboy was riddled by bullets inside his own apartment after a firefight that lasted half an hour.

The Assassin’s house was blown up with all his lieutenants inside. All his safe houses were busted and his gang was sent to sleep with the fishes. The Assassin himself was killed while trying to flee the city.

He had waited for too long this time.

Cast

The Assassin: A Spider

The Flyboy: A Bumblebee

The Police Commissioner: The Author

Setting

Author’s Bathroom

Got Married... Almost

That means I didn’t, relax Dad.

Valentine’s Day, the one day of the year that commemorates the commercialization of love. That’s so cute. The flowers, the cards, the balloons, the chocolates, the dinner, the sex and everything that comes with it. The day when lovers tend to love each other more than usual and use it to express it in 

various forms.

However, it is the individual choice of each and every person how they want to celebrate this day. Whatever my thought about this day, I respect that fact that others would like to enjoy it, and rightly so.

Sorry, sorry, sorry no… it is against INDIAN CULTURE! STOP! What is this entire western culture thing that you young people are doing? Not nice! This is not what we do. NO!

That’s what some radical fundamentalists in this cultured country of ours believe. And so they declared that any boy and girl seen together on this day would be married at that very instant. It’s as if they were roaming around with a pundit and marriage register around town!

Well OK but what about people of other religions you ask? What other religions they ask? There are other religions in India? Wrong! There is only one religion in India and everyone must get married in the customs of that religion. Period.

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

I was roaming around town the whole day with the gang which included ‘girls’ too. I did something even more blasphemous in the evening, I was hanging out with just one of my female friends and I kept telling her that we could be married at any moment if she hung around any longer. But kudos to her, she said that she didn’t give a rat’s arse about the “Keepers of Culture Corps” and even in the worst case scenario of us getting married; I would be a good bargain. She said that. Really! Come on, you can’t make this up!

Fortunately, nothing of that sort happened.

In your face punks!

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!

Blackmail on the Ropes

As part of my media studies, I had to go out into the city with my crew and shoot a documentary on any subject whatsoever. Like any good student of the Indian education system, I like clichés, so I decided to shoot a day in the life those who walk on ropes for a living; a subject so worn out that nobody else even considered doing it. But one must admit, it makes for great cinematography any day and is a bit less boring than having a number of interviews that our subjects require.

So we found a family of performers who specialized in this field and made arrangements to shoot them (with cameras) and document their day for an amount of money that was downright obscene even after an hour of haggling and trying to make them understand that we were students and not professional movie-makers. They had got so used to people coming and filming them that they had actually fixed rates to have themselves star in documentaries. Talk about being professional! Thank God they had not yet made an association for this kind of thing or we would have been ripped off big time just for ten marks worth of credits.

Anyway, so we came about to a sum that everyone reluctantly agreed upon. They still thought it was less and we still thought it was too much. Nevertheless, we decided when to shoot and were glad that the negotiations were done.

Photo Credit: Google Images.

Now, the bread-earner in the family was a 9 year old girl whose father did nothing while his family went out to work. The family collected the earnings of the child for the four months that they were in the city and spent the other eight months on these savings in the state from where they migrated.

Skipping ahead to the shoot and its end, we came about to the point where they packed up after their performance and waited for us to pay up. And unlike the times where we usually looked at each other’s faces to see who had money, we all came up with the cash in a flash and went to pay them.

Surprise, surprise! They refused to take the money! Like flat out refused to touch it. On asking about their reluctance to take it, they said that the agreement was for four times the amount we were giving them. What?!! Yeah, that was our reaction.

We reminded them of our agreement but they still stuck to their argument that we had not agreed to the apparently paltry amount we were handing them. We were worried now. We tried to reason with them but then they began bemoaning their poverty and how we were kicking the poor in their stomachs.

Aah! We now realized that they had resorted to emotional blackmail but they didn't realize that we too were hardened negotiators! We tried reasoning despite the fact that we were now angry at their blatant lies but they refused to budge. In the end when they still refused to take the money we were offering we just walked away with the money feeling a little bad but still…

LIKE A BOSS!

The Horror-Coaster named BRTS

For those of you who are not aware, BRTS is a public transport system that stands for Bus Rapid Transit System. It is an exclusive system of transport since it runs on its own track that is built in the middle of all the major roads of a city. It has its own platforms, dedicated service routes, rapid availability and is given priority at crossroads. Oh and yes, more than half the buses are air conditioned since it can get pretty hot here in Gujarat, yeah very hot.

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

Leaving the fact that having two public transport systems running on the roads here in Ahmedabad creates havoc with traffic since the police just seem concerned with fining people without helmets; let me get to the point. I had the opportunity to travel in the BRTS on a Sunday evening at peak hour. Here is a timeline of what happened that evening:

08:00 pm: We reach the nearest BRTS platform, buy our ticket and wait for the bus which should have come with 10 minutes.

08:30 pm: The first bus in half an hour arrives with at least 50 people crammed into it. We get into it nonetheless because we don’t want to wait another half hour for the next one.

08:45 pm: We both get separated inside the bus with people jostling to get in and out at the biggest crossroads we stop at. My friend panics since it’s her first time in public transport. She pleads with her eyes for me to stand next to her.

08:55 pm: I finally manage to get her next to me after seizing an opportunity while people were getting down at a stop. She is relieved, a LOT.

08:59 pm: We get off to change buses at a junction where two routes intersect. We breathe in open air after 29 minutes.

09:01 pm: Fortunately, the next bus arrives ‘Rapidly’ and we climb on despite of it brimming with people – again.

09:06 pm: People are swaying from side to side as our apparently drunk driver kept swinging the vehicle into turns that Schumacher would be proud of. I had to literally put both of my hands on either side of my friend and brace myself on the holding bars to prevent falling over her and others the next time he stopped the bus.

09:12: pm: The driver stopped the bus – not at a platform or because of traffic at crossroads, but because our bus had run out of diesel! Unbelievable! And the worst part is that commuters were not even informed of the same. He just pulled over and got off the bus to talk to another driver who had stopped ahead of us.

09:20 pm: it was only after he climbed into his seat and started the bus that he let us know that the bus had run out of fuel and that he’d had to borrow some from the other bus.

09:23 pm: The bus stopped so violently that almost all the people standing in the aisle went tumbling to the floor and some even from their seats. Fortunately I had braced myself so well that my friend and I managed to stay on our feet. There was an immediate uproar among those who had fallen. People accused the driver of being drunk and even threatened to complain about him at the next platform and have his license revoked.

09:24 pm: Passengers up front attempt to convince those in the back that a bicyclist had tried to cross the road in front of the bus and had the driver not stepped on the brakes, he would have been run over. The bicyclist was wearing sunglasses – in the night – I saw it!

09:25 pm: Enraged passengers get off the bus at the very next platform and try to get the driver to get off the bus so that they could possibly beat him to pulp but he managed to start the bus and we were on our way again. One good thing that came out of this mess was that everyone was alive and the bus was relatively empty for the rest of the way.

09:30 pm: we finally reached our platform and got off the bus with a sigh of relief that I hadn’t let out in a very long time.

It took us exactly one and a half hour to get to a place where it would have taken just 45 minutes to reach at the most, had we used our own vehicles. And it would have been without all the unsavoury incidents that took place along the way.

Talk about a memorable Sunday!


My friend Shruti Chaturvedi also wrote a hilarious piece on the BRTS recently, you can read it here: The BRTS.

Brandy, Whiskey & all that… FOR ALL!

Well, I wish that was possible, because in that case I’d hand out a glass to each one of my readers and then clink them to the resounding clamour of ‘cheers’ from all around. Today, my blog turns ONE.

It is quite an achievement for me that this blog managed to survive for a year. That been said, it is also an achievement that I’m writing my 100^th post on this day. It would hardly have been conceivable to me that I could actually manage this, had someone used this line to exhort me to write when I began. But I’m glad I did, because this day is a feeling I’ve had only twice as yet; the first was when I finished school and the second was when I completed my graduation.

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

All those who have followed my writing since the inception of this here blog, they will probably know that I started it just because I was getting bored at home and staring at a four month long vacation with absolutely nothing to do except for eating and watching what I like to call ‘my big ass’ TV. And so began this incredible journey of jotting down my feelings, my experiences and sharing those of others in the blogging world and outside of it. It was the first time that I came to realize the responsibility of being a writer and the joy of sharing my work with those who really want to read it.

It was somewhere around the six month period when I first experienced ‘writer’s block.’ I no longer knew what to write and I’d already exhausted all that I wanted to put out. But then it was this self-same blog that helped me realize what I wanted to write. Well, the blog and some people:

Namrota Mazumdar who found a novel way to keep me on the keyboard in times I didn’t feel I could write something worthwhile; she started poking me on Facebook and this inconspicuous yet highly effective nudging gave me the motivation to write again.

Then there was Sumedha Sharma who connected with me on a more professional and personal level and gave me newer insights into things one might just write off as normal.

Shruti Chaturvedi was I think my original inspiration to start the blog and it was she who helped me take my baby steps in the Blogosphere.

Farheen Raaj, one of my most intriguing and talented juniors at college is the one person younger to me whose opinion really matters.

My readers, especially those who commented and reviewed my work have also been my constant critics and support who helped me write better. A few of these people off the top of my head are Naini Khajanchi, Trisha Das, Debjani Ghosh, Dr. Shirish Kashikar and all those who have been reading but not let me know of their presence.

I’ve had inspiration from many great writers in the blogging world and to name all of them would take another post altogether, but chief among them are Sakshi Nanda, Tomichan Matheikal and Nabanita Dhar.

Thank you all very much and all those whom I’ve forgotten to mention.

Yours, in writing,

Brendan-Anton Raphael Dabhi.

Blowing in the Wind…

So yesterday, Ahmedabad experienced one of its worst rainstorms since the year 2010 and I know that not because I read it in the news, but because I was stuck slam bam in the middle of it and had to walk back to my college hostel in water up to my waist. Wish I’d gotten that motorboat then! Sigh!

But that was all alright because it happened in monsoon and because it was predicted. The swimming in waist deep water wasn’t, but I just chalk it up to the awesome drainage system management in this fair city of mine. Mohenjo-Daro seemed to be more developed to me right then. But these rains? Whoa! These were really something.

So here I was, minding my own business in the sweltering heat, in my sweltering outhouse, in my sweltering body and scalp when it got all cloudy and the weather turned into what my Dad just likes to call ‘sexy.’ So I like out the window and wonder how long the weather would hold before the sun scorched the clouds out of the stratosphere. I was even going to call my friends and take bets on this but before I knew it, it began drizzling and was that heaven!

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

Within moments, the drizzling had turned into a torrent and before I could step out onto the terrace to receive Zeus’ blessings, my windows and doors were flapping like gulls in high tide. I looked out my door to see a rain storm in full gale, blowing sheet upon sheet of rain into the setting sun, which was still hidden by the way.

All that was good since I could just close everything and sit in the comfortable dryness of my room, but no, that wasn’t to be allowed. The aluminum roof of my room started shivering and the wooden panels started creaking so loudly that I thought they would give away any moment. And three of them actually did so, peeling away from their joints and going down the five floors onto the street below my building.

This storm escalated so fast that I hardly had time to pack up my essentials and scram into the apartment before the whole enchilada actually blew off the roof over or on my head. Fortunately, my friend was kind enough to take me in for the night and so ended my night of sudden horror. I now realize somewhat how it must be to lose one’s everything in a hurricane or typhoon, even though I lost nothing.

Well played global warming, well played.

Insolent Interfering Imbeciles

Nobody needs to be told how skewed the Indian society is. Amid tall claims of modernization and criminal charges of westernization, it is clear to any person how perversely orthodox and unbending this civilization is.

There are a number of examples wherein this backward mindset can be seen, heard and experienced in everyday life. It might not always become glaringly obvious, but that is only because we have accepted these things and taken them in our stride as things that ‘just happen’ in India. Is it such a surprise then that we have songs that go like, “It happens only in India…?”

One such problem of the Indian people is their indefinite problem with the youth of the country. They believe that today’s youth is irresponsible, useless, unemployed and indecent. What they apparently do not realize is that if they make such allegations, they malign themselves and not the youth, since their accusations revert upon themselves as to what morals they've passed down to this generation.

This however, does not mean that I’m pleading guilty to those charges. In fact, I believe that the Indian society’s problem is their fear of accepting change. They are scared of losing what they have been brought up to believe is true. What they do not understand is that their society will ultimately stagnate like the Sanskrit language, without the change that the next generation stands for.

The incident that has driven me to write this post is a classic example of the skewed morality that Indians posses and are incredibly proud of.

My colleague and friend, a woman, offered to drop me home after a very long day of film shooting and we were both half dead. The area in which I stay is pretty well developed and is near to some very reputed institutes of the city, there’s a lot of traffic and so she dropped me right into my lane. I had a couple packets of chips and so we decided to sooth our ravenous bellies before leaving for home. Now as we were eating and discussing the next day’s schedule, this woman in a night dress comes to the gate of one of the houses and asks us our business in sitting “near” her house in the night. We explain ourselves, albeit grudgingly but she still pushes on, mentioning that times are bad and the “things” that happen to woman nowadays. Ultimately, we had to leave before she woke up half the lane.

Image Courtesy: Google Images.

 This is what one means when they say, “People in India can piss on the road but they can’t kiss on the road.” Two people, mutually respectful of each other, sitting on government property and eating a packet of chips that is the only thing gone into their mouth since the start of day, are chased away by a by a half-naked home owner because it scandalizes her morality. Brilliant, isn't it? Praiseworthy even! She has proved herself to be the keeper of women’s honour and the guardian of Indian morality in this time of great evil.