Mumbai Magic

Another musical Sunday

2012-01-29T13:45:00.002+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan
I am having a magical Sunday morning, listening to thisgreat lady sing.

This is M S Subbulakshmi, and she is singing Swati Thirunal's famous Aliveni. Her voice brings to my mind, visions of a blue-skinnedlotus-navelled Lord Vishnu. The maiden yearns for a tryst with this beautifulGod, and begs her friend to go fetch him. In her anguish, she wonders - why is he late? Is he dallying with someone else? She praises her friend, showers kind words on her, and begs her to go and bring him.

In case you didn't know, Swati Thirunal Rama Varma was the ruler of the Travancore kingdom. He died in 1846 at the very young age of 33; but not before leaving behind an incredible legacy of poetry and song. How does a king manage to write like this? This is a woman's voice! Her love and longing! But he so beautifully becomes that voice...he dissolves the lines between personal and religious,creating an atmosphere of ecstatic longing for the Divine. Truly this King is no ordinary man!

Here are the words of the maiden, sung to her friend:

Oh Aliveni, lady with tresses the colour of black bees! Whatshall I do now? Oh Maanini - most respected lady!

Tell me, what shall I do, thelotus eyed Sri Padmanabha has not come yet!

Oh Komalaangi, she of the charming form! Of what use are thehumming of the bees, the gentle breeze, sandal paste and the fragrant jasmine; if my beloved does not come?

Who is the blessed damsel, I wonder, enjoying the company of Sarasaksha, he whoresembles Cupid!

I keep looking for him to come by the usual path, but I cannot see, as my eyes are brimming with tears. Has mydarling forgotten all the sweet words he uttered when we were together!

Kambukanthi, oh lady with thegraceful neck like a conch! Don't delay anymore. Please tell him of my miseryand bring him at once to me.

Here is the song itself, in case you want to hear it. The way MS sings it, you can sense the devotion and grace.

And of course, this song has inspired classical dancers as well. I loved this Bharatanatyam version of Aliveni by Sujatha Srinivasan; look how poetically she shows the black tresses; and how masterfully she gestures "I have an idea, let me send Him a letter!"

And there is this piece in Mohiniattam as well - different genre, same emotion! The dance begins around minute 1:30, so some patience please!

To me this dance is very familiar because it was part of a school program (I went to a South Indian school , right?). I saw it then, and did not see the meaning, nor understand its context in the larger stream of Vaishnavism or the Bhakti Movement. But I see it today and it speaks so much more to me. Perhaps you have to be a woman, not a schoolgirl, to feel this shringara rasa! :)

Mumbai Mehfil

2011-12-25T22:10:00.001+05:30

This Christmas we had what can only be described as a shaam-e-mehfil. Pramod invited a bunch of his work colleagues, and we sat down to an evening of song and music.

There was wine (and whisky and rum and vodka)

And food...

And lots of laughs

I was the only female in this group of 12 guys. But miraculously, in the entire evening, the sacred words "Sachin Tendulkar" came up only once. Amazing, no? :)

As I looked back and wondered why, I realised that the real star of the evening was the music itself. The mehfil lasted 4 hours, and we played so many "oldies-goldies" that it was quite magical. Pramod brought his harmonica and played a song for us. I don't think I even realised how time flew until someone looked at the clock and announced that it was 1 in the night.

Here's my pick from the evening: Kahe ko roye (why cry?) from the movie Aradhana. I haven't been able to get it out of my head all day long. The absolutely stunning lyrics of the song are here, in case any of you are interested.

Safal hogi teri....aradhana....kahe ko roye
Kahee pe hai sukh kee chhaya, kahee pe hai dukhon kaa dhoop
Bura bhala jaisa bhi hai, yahi toh hai bagiya kaa roop
Phulon se, kanto se, mali ne haar piroye
Kahe ko roye....

The Diary of Riaz Samadhan @ The Museum Art Gallery, Mumbai

2011-12-13T12:19:00.022+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

I don't really follow the contemporary Indian art scene.

But the very first thing that struck me about Riaz Samadhan's current showing (The Diary of Riaz Samadhan) is his refined sensibility. As soon as I stepped into The Museum Art Gallery, I knew this artist's sense of aesthetics was something that personally appealed to me.

Painting titled "Beauty lies in wholeness".

There is a bed of dried leaves strewn on the floor of the entire gallery. The whole effect looks really good, doesn't it?

Then I took some time to really see his work, and I found myself liking it more and more. He has a perceptive sensitivity about people, about the nature of things; and he combines that with a non-sentimental, restrained but rich way of expressing it.

For example, see this one, called Perception Diptych. As soon as you see it, you sort of mentally slow down and look deeper. On the black half of the diptych, the line drawing of the house invites you to see the inner dimensions of the man. On the other half, there is a farm, trees, perhaps this is how this person views himself, perhaps it is an accurate self-perception, but perhaps it is not. Perhaps the man cannot see all of it?

Painting titled "Perception Diptych".

As you can see, there's a lot going on, but the execution is disciplined and simple. There is no overstatement. I would have liked to buy this for my house, but suspect that I cannot afford it :) :)

Here is a view of the Museum Art Gallery; you can see how Riaz has used the gallery space. The centre installation has a set of daily objects. I'm guessing that each object is a memory from Riaz's personal "Diary", things that have meaning for him. The objects are displayed on a stand; the stand is set in a bed of leaves strewn on the entire gallery floor.

Gallery view with leaves on floor

I figured that apart from the objects, the leaves themselves - the dry rustling sound and the rich woody smell - were evocative of some personal memories for Riaz, and wondered what they were. Of course, modern "good manners" forbid you from asking such personal questions, but I would have dearly liked to know!

Standing in that air-conditioned room, smelling the fragrance of the dried leaves, taking in the aesthetic appeal of the paintings...it was a short but sweet treat for the senses. Thank you, Riaz Samadhan, for sharing your Diary :)

The Paris-Bombay Chanel Show - I like the glitz!

2011-12-10T08:32:00.027+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

The Indian press has been writing scathing comments about Karl Lagerfeld and his rose-tinted view of India; but really, he's produced some neat stuff for a new India-inspired Chanel show.

The show is called the Paris-Bombay Metiers d'Art (meaning Paris-Bombay Crafts and Art). And while it is a pretty good homage to Indian textile and jewellery craft; it has a modern look that gives it global appeal. Most important, a lot of it is actually wearable. Which is more than can be said for the usual nonsense that passes off as high fashion.

Take this one for example, lovely soft drape, evocative of the saree, but such a beautiful outfit. My friend Sheetal who is tall and leggy would look fantastic in this. Me, alas, I'm too short and - let's face it - too dumpy - to even dream of wearing this.

Photos from ibtimes.com; they have a great set of photos in case you want to have a look

I like the jewellery, do you? Absolutely fantastic stuff that works very well with the bejwelled collars and the Shiva-inspired dreadlocks!! :) Looks like it was crafted in India, doesn't it? It isn't. Apparently it was all fashioned in the Chanel ateliers in Paris.

Here's another totally gorgeous blue saree-inspired outfit. But really, it's that silver tribal-looking belt across the shoulder that gives it that incredible look. I wish I had a bigger photo, so you could see the ghungroo-like detail on that shoulder-belt.

The gauzy transparent fabric reminds me of the story about Emperor Aurangazeb's daughter. Apparently Aurangazeb reprimanded his daughter for appearing nearly naked in public; only to discover that she was wearing fine chanderi; a mix of cotton and silk so fine that it was almost sheer. Only after she wore seven layers of it was he satisfied. The model above has no such father to please! :)

If you want to see the show, check out the show trailer on youtube. You'll be surprised at how wearable everything is. There are lots of kameez-churidar inspired pieces and skirts wrapped like dhotis. Flat sandals (that have been so popular in Linking Road!) have also made an appearance, with lots of embellishment. There are several day-wear outfits; skirts and jackets, trousers, etc. All of them have interesting Indian accents - but it is the evening wear and bling that I really like a lot.

The stuff will be in Chanel stores in May 2012, I'm told. Not that I will ever buy anything from this line, ever. The prices are eye-wateringly high :)

Chor Bazaar again!

2011-11-21T10:14:00.016+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

Among the most fun things you can do on a Sunday is go to Chor Bazaar.

I went with Walt and Mary, a couple of fun Canadians, and they were great company. In the past they owned retail stores, so they understood the pleasure of pottering around looking for great finds.

The two photos below are from a shop that does "sets" for Hindi movies. Everything is over-the-top and glitzy, and would be perfect in scenes with grand villas and sweeping staircases!

Hah! Look at that lion! I can imagine a villainous Amrish Puri standing in some haveli with tiger-skins on the wall and his hand on the lion's head while a poor peasant trembles nearby :) And the marble fountain splashes water in the background.

Should I have brought those two little marble dogs home? I certainly could not have brought the rather grand-looking lions!

Apart from the marble stuff, there are lots of old posters, old metal biscuit tins, boxes of cigarettes, and other stuff that you simply don't see these days.

Is it just me or do you love this 'Little Stuff' shop too? It's like a magnet, no? It is very tempting to bring some of it home. Last time I went, I brought three brass milk-cans home, in three sizes, to arrange in a row.

I was quite taken with this poster of a wicked-looking Pran from the 1971 movie Adhikaar. Check out the video here. Pran is "Banne Khan Bhopali", a lipstick-wearing flamboyant singer. The hero of the movie is Ashok Kumar, and the plot involves an illegimate child and lots of misunderstandings. Ah, the seventies!

I simply can't get enough of this stuff. I'm going back again another day, of course! Anyone want to come with me?

The Perfect Balance

2011-10-19T12:39:00.011+05:30

- By Aishwarya Pramod

My college, like a lot of other schools and colleges, organizes a ‘Traditional Day’ every year – a day when everybody dresses up in ‘traditional’ clothes, dances, eats good food and takes lots of pictures.

So why have a Traditional Day? Is it to celebrate our varied traditions? OK, that seems like a legitimate reason, but honestly I don’t know if it makes complete sense or not. Traditions change, some die out, and new ones are created through foreign influences and local changes. There are a lot of girls (including me) who combine jeans with T-shirts/western-style tops on some days, and kurtas on other days. Guys dress Western style, and wear kurtas less often than the girls. And on top of that, most people speak English 70-80% of the time, including outside classes (though this is only true of my college, not necessarily others).

Sometimes Traditional Day just seems like an easy way to assuage the guilt we feel about being so Westernized. Living in Mumbai, we’re disconnected from the lives of the millions of Indians in rural and semi-rural areas. But ‘the heart of India is its villages’ - we get bombarded with this message all the time. So we want in on that too. Sometimes I feel like Urban Indian Guilt is similar to The Great White Guilt :) subtly filled into us through overt and subliminal media messages and societal expectations.

What’s the solution? Celebrating our traditions, by clinging on to saris and salwar kameezes that we don’t really wear otherwise?

Well, alright, it’s not even as if *I* know the solution to our East vs. West confusion; in fact, Traditional Day maybe a good solution for some. It’s not Traditional Day that bothers me but the attitude that accompanies it, the comfortable “I’m in touch with my roots and therefore better than you” smugness. The whole “I’ve found the perfect balance between tradition and modernity with my strapless saree blouse and sexy heels” is simply ridiculous. Priyanka Chopra in Dostana spends the entire movie in shorts or little dresses and then suddenly in a (rather pointless) song sequence, she emerges as the 'Desi' girl. So much like Traditional Day, OMG.

All of us in India (and for that matter the developing world) are constantly faced with the choice of east vs. west, tradition vs. ‘modernity’. And each of us makes different choices in response to this, based on our family background, upbringing, media influence, peer group, conscious choice, etc. And every individual’s choice is okay by me.

Let me finally clarify what exactly I’m getting at:

THERE IS NO PERFECT BALANCE.

THERE IS NO RIGHT AND WRONG.

There is no need to be either proud or ashamed.

I know people who wear western clothes 90% of the time, hardly speak in Hindi (or other Indian language), whose values are completely western; I know people at the other end, who are completely traditional and perfectly happy about it. And I know a bunch of people in the middle of these two extremes. All these choices are perfectly valid.

When I was 13, I went to camp. We were speaking to a camp instructor about our mother tongues and when he found out I wasn’t fluent in my father’s family’s language, Kannada, he immediately proceeded to tell me I should learn it and it was really sad and shameful I didn’t know it and that we should uphold our traditions and culture lest they die out.

Well. Firstly, culture is not a static concept that needs to be preserved or for that matter even can be preserved permanently. What I am today is the result of my upbringing – I was brought up near my mother’s family, so I speak Tamil. I’m not going to go out of my way to learn Kannada, just to ‘preserve’ culture. Instead, I’m the daughter of a Palakkad-Tamil mother and a Kannadiga father living in Mumbai who knows Tamil, Hindi, English and a smattering of Kannada.

And secondly, O venerable camp instructor, what about the fact that you’re wearing a shirt and trousers at the moment? How would you like it if someone came and told you you should be wearing kurta-pyjama and that you were helping destroy our culture? No, wait, not even kurta-pyjama, it should be angvastram-dhoti. :) I’m not judging YOU, am I? So please extend the same courtesy to me.

(I didn’t actually say any of these things to him, I just mumbled something and looked sheepish.)

So even though it’s all supposed to be relative, we all get judged every day. Either we’re too westernized and not ‘Indian’ enough, or we’re too ‘ghaati’ and not modern enough. I think this just reflects our lack of empathy. We don't want to understand others; we want to hang on to our little value judgements and preferences and impose them on others.

Sorry about this rant; for all its length it probably isn’t very coherent. That’s because my own thoughts on tradition and western influence aren’t very well formed. If there’s one thing I think I’ve conveyed clearly, it’s my confusion. Also, in the article I’ve focused on being judged for not being ‘rooted’ enough but there’s probably even more judgement on the other side – in certain circles, not being Westernized enough is social suicide.

I guess that’s what writing your opinion on the internet is all about, isn’t it? Putting your thoughts out there so anyone who wants to can berate the hell out of you. Oh well :)

How to Buy a Saree Blouse

2011-10-08T08:59:00.022+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

If you're female and Indian, there's one absolutely essential skill you must learn: how to buy the perfect blouse for a saree.

The Matching Centre is where you learn the ropes. It's almost a rite of passage, really.

My mom and sister, entering the Matching Centre

In the early days, when you enter the Matching Centre, you're filled with a gnawing, groping uncertainty about what to buy. So many shades to choose from! How can there be *that* many shades of green? And which of those is best for my saree? Should I buy a blouse the colour of the main saree? Or should it be maroon, the colour of the saree's border? If I buy the green will it also work for that *other* saree, the one that aunt gifted me? Two-by-Two or Cotton? 80 cms or 1 metre? Should I get lining for this blouse? Will it be see-through? Will this colour run? Will silk be too hot? Aaarrgh. A million questions, plaguing the rookie blouse-buyer.

See how difficult it is?

But then, just as you lose all hope, help emerges - and it's usually in the form of an unassuming guy with an unerring eye for colour. Every Matching Centre has this miracle guy, with a quiet manner, who will take your saree from your hands, find the *perfect* fabric with the *perfect* shade of grey or green or whatever. All you have to do is stand there with a grateful expression, and fork out the money.

Mr. Know-it-all-but-will-never-get-cheeky-about-it

As time goes along, you become more confident. You find yourself saying somewhat firmly "Two-by-two will do just fine, thank you". "No, I do NOT think that's the perfect shade. It needs a little more purplish-brinjalish-rani-pink, really." At this point in your life, you will find even older aunts turning to you and asking, "Deepa, do you think this blue shade is ok?". And you step in, inspect the fabric critically, and say "Uh-uh. Nope. Not sky-blue enough. It's got to have more white in it. See that piece? Fourth from the left? That's the one you need". If you're proved right, and that indeed is the right shade of sky-blue, you feel a wave of confident smugness that nothing can quite beat!

But is that all? Of course not. The goal (ahem) is to get to the point where you actually find yourself expressing your personality through the blouse you buy. What? You didn't know? Yep. The saree blouse is all about personality, baby :)

And how does one express personality? By going beyond the plain single-colour blouses, of course. You have to start using patterns and borders and coordinating them with your sarees - with just that little edgy difference to keep it from becoming boring. You'll buy some disastrous stuff in the beginning - but eventually you'll get there.

Some ghastly prints and some good ones

A nice but small selection of Maharashtrian khun

I bought this black and red one, to wear with a red Fab India saree.

Over time, you end up acquiring a set of printed blouses; and various combinations of plain sarees to wear with them.

Small part of my blouse collection!

And some sarees that I team them up with

I like this purple and ochre cotton saree; and this blouse with slightly different but similar shades looks very good when worn with it.

And *then* as you start to experiment, as you start to mix and match and reconfigure your wardrobe, people stop saying "Hey, nice saree!" and start saying "Hey, nice combo!".

That, my friend, is how you know you have arrived in Blouse Heaven. When they start noticing the blouse fabric, you've done it. You've finally cracked the Art of Buying A Saree Blouse.

Why I love Ganesh visarjan

2011-09-11T22:04:00.010+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

Today I went with my camera to get photos of Ganesh Visarjan.

I saw a lot of little things that arrested my attention, and I wondered why, inspite of living here all my life, I hadn't noticed these things earlier.

So this post is going to be a series of photos, titled I LOVE GANESH VISARJAN BECAUSE...

Because coming out to see Visarjan is the beginning of a tradition, grandfather to grandson.

Because only at Visarjan you can see a Mumbai-ki-chokri, dancing in abandon, taking the idol to the sea. When she dances, the world stops!

Because the rain makes the ecstatic drumming even more incredible.

Because the joy is very real - and not necessarily alcohol induced.

Because at some point, you'll always see the women doing fugdi :) :)

Because a little rain (or a lot of it!) doesn't mean a damn. People will line up for hours on the roads to wait and watch the processions.

Because Mumbai's upscale folks also celebrate this festival, they don't turn their noses at it. And it's great fun to go pandal-hopping and gawk at the gorgeous huge idols.

Because there are small family Ganpatis, not just big ones. This family of murtikaars have had a Ganesh in their home for 75 years.

Because there is pride and joy in decorating your own small thela

Because not everyone makes murtis of plaster! This is a clay murti.

Because children always get the best seats in the house :)

Because the shiny toy-sellers come out, and for one evening, Mumbai feels like a Rai Bareilly :)

Because you can hear kids refusing to get off the ferris-wheel even after the ride is over

Because the Mewad Ice-cream Man is not on holiday, and rain or no rain, you can eat ice-cream if you want.

Because basically, you can quite easily ignore the Elephant God and pretty much do your own thing if you want!! :)

Dharavi Photos: Colours of Ramzan

2011-08-21T23:40:00.022+05:30

- by Deepa Krishnan

Aishwarya and I went to Dharavi today, to meet some women who make papads. It was around 4:00 p.m., when we walked through one of the main bazaar areas. The street stalls were just beginning to be set up, with food for the evening iftar.

I could not believe the colour of the falooda packets that I saw - a pink so lurid that it would put all other pinks to shame :)

Amidst the lurid pink, were reds, oranges, yellows and greys

Foreground: Yellow Papayas

Behind: The falooda-man making take-home packets

The faloodas are really popular, so the vendor spends the afternoon tying them into little packets. In the evening, when the crowds assemble, he will have no time to do anything but hand over the packets (and count money)! Every few minutes, burkha-clad women would walk by and buy some to take home.

After the electric colours, the pale greens and muted yellows of the melons were very calming.

Just looking at these soft shades makes you feel cooler

Pineapples had been neatly peeled and the prickly bits had been taken out.

Pale yellow with dark green tops

Pomegranates add an exotic dash of maroon-pink to the fruits on sale. A mix of these fruits, sprinkled with chaat powder, will make a tangy, sweet way to break the fast.

Teen ka kitna? Lady in burkha taking three pomegranates home.

To add volume at low cost, bananas are added to the fruit chaat.

Ripe yellow with only vestiges of green

As if all this wasn't enough, watermelons and apples provide more colour!

There were lots of food stalls too, just beginning to be set up. The onion pakodas and kala-chana chaat counters were in place.

Adding orange and brown to the color-mix!

Usually the kala chana chaat is decorated with sliced tomatoes, and garnished with green coriander and lemon, but because it was early in the day, the presentation wasn't fully ready. But you can imagine it, can't you? :)

I saw people at little restaurants hard at work, setting up great big handis of mutton biryani, with coloured rice. At some counters, jalebis were being fried and dunked in sugar syrup. I couldn't see any of the famous kababs or indeed, any meat on hot griddles (tawas)...perhaps the griddles would only come later around sundown.

The chicken shops and meat shops were doing brisk business. This butcher stopped his thaka-thak-thwack for a little while to give me a smile.

Impressive heavy knife, making dull sounds on wooden meat counter. (Little bits of gristle would fly every time the knife came down. Not good for my vegetarian soul!)

These little boys had set up neem datoon stall.

Chewing the twigs releases chemicals in the plant that can kill bacteria and reduce the build up of plaque on the teeth. The neem datoon counters also sold lemons. I liked the contrast between the two colours, but couldn't understand why all the datoon stalls also sold lemons. Do you know? Is it because neem is bitter?

Meswak or Siwak is also used for cleaning teeth

(and tastes much, much nicer than neem!)

After the walk through the bazaar, we met some women, who were papad makers, to find out more about their life (material for another post perhaps!). By the time we finished chatting, another couple of hours had passed. We walked back through inside lanes to where the car was parked.

Because we came through residential twisting lanes, I didn't realize how much the bazaar area would transform in a couple of hours.

The crowd was incredible.

Our car in a sea of humanity

We inched further ahead, and found that the road was impossibly jammed with people. A handcart trundled to our left, piled high with suitcases (manufactured in Dharavi). As far as eye could see, the road was full of people.

We decided to stoically inch further ahead

By this time, I was standing with my entire torso outside the Innova, photographing the road :) It was quite an experience, actually, watching the crowd stream past, all intent on reaching home in time for prayer.

"Press walon ki gaadi hai" was the murmur in the crowd

(it's my new DSLR camera - everyone thinks I'm a professional! Whereas I can only point and click!).

After about 20 minutes of going through the dense crowd, we finally came out on the main road. I would have liked to get down and photograph the evening iftar meal. But it would have meant waiting for at least another 45 minutes. We were tired, it had been a long day already and I simply wasn't ready to jostle for photos. Besides, I had really enjoyed watching the lead up to the evening meal, and the ability to photograph all the vendors when they weren't going crazy dealing with the iftar rush.

I'm glad I could bring back these photos and post them. Hope you enjoyed them!

Schmoozing, Indian-style

2011-08-18T08:22:00.014+05:30

By Deepa Krishnan

The media today is full of the anti-corruption / Lokpal bill protests around the country. Some folks are pro-Lokpal, some are anti, but almost everyone agrees that corruption is really a huge issue and needs to be dealt with.

I think it's useful to look at this corruption issue from a historical and cultural perspective.

Humans have always given presents and sweeteners as a way to establish good relations, improve trading ties and smoothen their way. The first tribe that came out of a cave probably received presents of meat from visitors who wanted a place by the fire.

Certainly from the time of recorded history, every historical account of landings in a new place, or setting up of trading starts with little presents. Thomas Roe presented a book of European maps to Jehangir. The Jewish arrivals on the Malabar Coast presented gifts to the Cochin king. This is routinely the case at the courts of kings and emperors; from the durban at the door to government officials, everyone is part of the sweetening process.

Thomas Roe at the court of Emperor Jehangir

We should really first admit that this kind of dealing is part of the normal human way of life. Sweetening is done in many ways, you go with presents, you send boxes of mithai at the next Diwali, you return favours and contacts, and you eat and socialise together to make sure the relationship is reinforced. This is the way work gets done among human beings. We schmooze. We relate. We give and we take.

Shop selling fancy Mithai boxes for Diwali gifts

To expect that people will come out of thousands of years of a way of life/way of work and suddenly stop this way of influencing things is just very impractical. It may be "morally correct" but it is not practical. Those who can influence will always do so, whether it is by money or contacts or through ideas and words. I think taking the high moral ground on this is very much like many other moral stances that we love to take - totally impractical and completely blind to historical reality, or any understanding of what the average human being is all about.

When I look around me historically as well in the present day, I find that everyone in India understands the concept of influencing and schmoozing very well. After all, it is very much a part of our social culture and tradition!! What varies is the extent and style with which it is done. The current brouhaha is only because people simply are boggled by the SCALE at which it is being reported. Therefore we are seeing a feeling of outrage among people.

So what is the practical solution?

Before we attempt a solution, we need to understand that humans WILL try to influence, whether by social means or by money. So we CANNOT end that. But the line between baksheesh (tip), the traditional way of rewarding work, and ghoos (bribe) does exist, although it is very thin. So how do we ensure that this thin line is maintained?

I am inclined to think that the answer lies in the Indian legal system. All organizations have rules about what constitutes a gift and what constitutes a bribe. In large corporations this is called "a material amount" i.e. the amount above which you cannot accept gifts. In government also, this rule exists. So what we need really, is to tighten the EXISTING legal system to work faster, to allow reporting and punishment when someone crosses these rules. THE ABSENCE OF AN EFFECTIVE LEGAL SYSTEM IS THE ROOT CAUSE OF CORRUPTION IN INDIA.

There was a McKinsey report regarding this some years ago. The facts of that report were staggering. With the additional hiring of judges and setting up of speedy courts, the benefits to the nation were mind-boggling in terms of just economics.

I for one would like to see that report again, and look for solutions within that. Setting up a new Lokpal doesn't seem like a solution to me. My fear is that it will set up a new authority that goes against the basic principles of checks and balances enshrined in the constitution. What we need to do is make our current checks and balances system to work well. That is what we need to debate.

It is good that we have an Anna Hazare to raise the consciousness of people, and the current media-hype and circus around it is a necessary evil to increase awareness of the issue. But the stupidity of the situation is that this will lead only to Congress downfall, and not any long-lasting change in the historical way in which we Indians operate.

Narali Purnima in Mumbai - fun with coconuts!

2011-08-14T16:17:00.011+05:30

by Deepa Krishnan

I was walking along Bhaji Gully yesterday when I saw a crowd at a coconut shop.

It was Narali Purnima yesterday, the day that marks the beginning of the new fishing season. The fisherfolk offer coconuts to the sea, and pray for safety and a good catch (this year with the oil spills along the coast, they're going to need those prayers!)

Crowd at the coconut shop

What I didn't know is that the guys play a coconut breaking game on Narali Purnima. I chanced upon it suddenly, so it added a real dose of fun to the day!

Basically the game consists of two players, each buys a coconut from the shop, and then they try to break each other's coconut. The tougher nut wins :) :)

Stack of coconuts for sale, game in progress. Mr. Orange T-shirt gives it a go!

There is of course, a science behind the coconut selection. Too big, and the coconut will crack. Too small, and it won't be allowed in the game. Each player gets one turn to hit, and one turn to submit their coconut for hitting.

Give as good as you get

Sometimes, there's only a tiny crack on impact, and sweet coconut water comes spilling out. I saw the guys drinking the water by simply holding the coconut up over their mouths and letting the sweet water rush in. I wanted to go ask for some!

The coconut crack'd, nectar flowing!

Sometimes of course, the coconut totally shatters on impact, leaving a very pleased winner.

Smashed!

I had never seen this festival celebrated this way before - have you? There was a lot of shouting and glee all through the thing; a bunch of guys having a total blast. I had fun photographing it!!

Portrait of a Mumbai courier boy

2011-08-08T10:49:00.009+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

I met this courier boy outside our apartment complex a couple of Sundays ago. He was sensibly dressed for the rainy season - shorts instead of long trousers, water-proof bag, documents covered in plastic. It was 9:00 a.m. and his day was just beginning.

I said to him, "I just bought a new camera, I'm learning to use it. Can I click your photo?" He nodded and said ok, and he posed for me on his bike. He had an infectious, almost cheeky smile. In fact, he came across as a very confident kid.

Nine am, quiet Sunday morning in Sion

He was wearing a T-shirt that said 'Good girls go to heaven, bad girls go everywhere'. It brought a grin to my face.

Confident look and cheeky T-shirt.

I showed him the photo in the camera viewer, and his smile widened. Since I'd just bought the camera, he asked me "What does this camera cost?".

I spread five fingers of my hand and said "Fifty thousand". He made an expressive "Oh boy" gesture, half grimace, half-grin, and I suddenly felt the sharp divide between our lives. I knew he thought I was super-rich. I suppose I'd react similarly if I went to that crazy Ambani house on Altamount Road.

I wanted to say something to the boy. Should I say "I didn't start out rich. I've worked damn hard for this"? That seemed too much like a guilt-assuaging trip :) Or should I say "If you study and work hard you can get there too"? That seemed like too much of a lecture to give to a stranger. But everything else seemed inadequate. So in the end I smiled and said "Yes, it's really expensive, no? I got free vouchers at the Croma store, that's how I bought it". The explanation eased things a bit...anyway, he said bye and zoomed off on his delivery round.

I thought to myself, just another day in Bombay, where multiple worlds collide. The differences are there, staring us in the face. We can't wish it away; all we can do is handle it as gently as possible.

An ode to Misal Pav

2011-07-30T20:09:00.018+05:30

- by Deepa Krishnan

I don't understand why more people don't write or talk about misal-pav. It is, in my view, the city's tastiest Maharashtrian breakfast dish, spicy, tangy, low on oil and fantastic value for money.

Misal-pav opposite the Municipal Building at VT

Last Sunday, I photographed this plate of misal-pav (with my new camera!). It was being sold at a little nondescript hole-in-the-wall place that also sells pen refills and chocolates and aspirin. It was nine thirty on a Sunday morning, and the shop had a steady stream of people asking for misal pav.

Pav of course, is the bread. So what's misal?

The word misal means mixture, similar to the word mishran in Hindi. A lot of things go into the misal, and there is quite a bit of flexibility in how you put it together. Indeed, many Maharashtrians will tell you that nothing can beat a Kolhapuri misal, one of the spicier versions of this dish. There is the less spicy Puneri misal, the Nashikchi misal, and so on, with each local shop offering it's own personalised jhatka :) :) to the taste.

No matter what the variant, in general, a misal will have something called "usal" as its base, this is a dish cooked with safed vatana (dried white peas), matki (sprouted 'moth' bean) and chawli (black-eyed beans). Matki is the most popular, but all three are used, sometimes all together. The generic Marathi term for these ingredients is kad-dhaanya, an all-inclusive sort of word that encompasses sprouts and grains. A large variety of kad-dhanya are sold in every Maharashtrian locality in Mumbai.

Kad-dhanya shop on Ranade Road in Dadar West, outside the Pethe jewellery shop. Everything is pre-sprouted and ready to cook, a blessing for the Mumbaikar

The key to a good usal is an eye-watering mouth-tingling spiciness, which is set off wonderfully by the pav. The spiciness comes from the unique masala.

A lot of people haven't heard of "Goda Masala", the Maharashtrian version of garam masala that goes into a traditional usal. It is a complex masala, totally unique, and packs quite a few surprises. For example, who would have thought a masala could have dried lichen (you know, the mossy stuff that grows on tree bark)? Amazing, no? The Western Ghats of Maharashtra are very bio-diverse, and they have a rich collection of lichens. So that probably explains how lichen ended up in this dish! I wonder who collects it - do they just scrape it off?!! :) :) I would highly recommend reading this wonderful account of Goda Masala by A Mad Tea Party. Great photos!

In my grandmother's home, we had masala-women, tribal migrants who came from the villages each year and pounded masalas in stone or iron mortars with huge wooden pestles. These days, the masala-women are no longer to be seen. Fortunately, you can buy goda masala in shops, like this one near Dadar station:

Walking into Family Stores in Dadar is an education in Maharashtrian specialty cuisine. Especially around festival days.

If you want to try making usal at home, you could skip the complicated stuff and just buy ready-made usal-misal masala, like this one from Kapol. There are lots of other brands as well.

The Kapol site also offers a simple recipe for how to use this masala

Once the usal is ready, you serve it piping hot with garnish. The garnish is usually a layer of shev (farsan), topped by onions, a wedge of lemon, and fresh coriander (as you can see from the Kapol photo above).

I've seen several different recipes for usal; some that only involve a tomato based gravy, but also some that involve tamarind. If you search online, you'll find lots of variants. If you understand Marathi, you'll thoroughly enjoy this cooking demo on Zee Marathi. The hosts of the show are TV stars; they are themselves having a whole lot of fun. The conversation is zesty and the recipe is easy. It substitutes garam masala for goda masala, so purists will wince :) but it is total dhamaal as we say here in Mumbai!!

We are like this only

2011-07-27T08:31:00.005+05:30

In a Mumbai living room, doting grandparents, grand-aunts, grand-uncles, aunts and uncles gather around a little laptop screen. Everyone is smiling and saying incomprehensible things.

What's on the screen? Two tiny twins sitting at a laptop in Cinncinnati, lisping nonsense and winning hearts with every lisp. Welcome to the world of Skype in India.

"We are like this only".

Advantage, Omni!

2011-07-16T17:44:00.014+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

The black-and-yellow Fiat Premier Padmini has long been the iconic taxicab of Mumbai.

But of late, many new taxi models have started to show up, smartly turned out in the mandatory black-and-yellow.

Among all the new models, though, it appears the Omni has one special advantage...

Superior leg room, made possible by sliding doors!!

Advantage, Omni! :) :) Move over, Fiat!

Of beads and happiness !

2011-06-25T21:19:00.016+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

One of the nicest things about living in India is how you can get something custom-made so easily. Today I set out to repair a broken green necklace, and to create a new piece of red coral jewellery for myself.

This green necklace is one of my old favourites...but has been sitting inside my jewellery box for a while now because it broke while we were on a TV shoot.

Mercifully, I didn't lose too many of the beads. So I put all the broken bits away in a little box, waiting for the day when I would have some spare time.

Today, I finally found the time, and took the box to my local street-side jeweller, Mr. Raju Patwa.

The Patwas are a traditional group of craftsmen who work with beads. Although this man had not seen the original necklace - all I gave him were loose beads - he took one look at it and created something just as attractive as my old one. I sat on a little stool next to him, and watched him deftly put it together. At the end of 15 minutes, I had my necklace back, and a big smile on my face! The cost? Thirty rupees. I was very pleased because I used to wear this necklace very often, and I missed not having it.

My next project was more ambitious. I have this really lovely coral pendant set in silver. It used to be strung on a single red leather thong, but the thong broke. So I was stuck with the pendant, not knowing what to do with it.

This time, I wanted to string it on something slightly chunky looking. So Mr. Patwa and I spent 15 minutes looking at different beads and arranging / setting them in different combinations. After examining red, green, and silver beads, and tsking and tut-tutting our way through many wrong combinations :) we finally hit upon the idea of using tiny black beads, interspersed with asymmetric long coral beads.

Once we had agreed upon the basic idea, I left Mr. Patwa to think up the actual creative bit of how to make the idea come alive. I was to come back after an hour, to see what he had done, and then we'd figure out any further changes.

With an hour to kill, I wandered through the market with my mom and sis. We went to a specialty food store, stocked up on some favourite treats, bought fruits and vegetables, ate rawa dosa and had mosambi juice...and by the time I came back, there was a half-finished necklace waiting to be tried.

So then we went to the final stage: I tried it, we added some beads, removed some others, modified the length so it would be just right for me...and finally, I took it home. It had taken totally 1.5 hrs to get this necklace done. I paid Rs 300 for the coral, black beads, design and labour and thought it was well worth it to have something so personalised.

And then...(sigh)...the pleasure of wearing it (and knowing no one else has one just like it!).

My sis saw the necklace and said, I want to design one too! She has just today bought a silver pendant and ear-rings from SIA (where there is a massive sale going on), and we're going to make an expedition to Bhuleshwar to buy beads. Then we'll come back to Mr. Patwa to figure something out for her. I'm looking forward to the next creative session!

Dastangoi in Mumbai - wow!

2011-06-17T20:18:00.021+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

Wow. It's not often you get to see a live performance that is this fantastic. To think I almost didn't go!

This is Dastangoi, the art of story-telling, that used to be popular among the Mughals. I went for a show a couple of weeks ago, at M C Ghia Hall in Kala Ghoda.

The Mughal Emperor Akbar loved Dastangoi performances, and encouraged them in his court. The art died later; so this is a revival of a lost form. But the show that I saw was different in some aspects.

For one thing, the original Dastans (tales) were usually told by a single guy. The Dastan I heard had two narrators; Danish and Mahmood. They took turns to tell the story to the audience; skillfully passing the baton back and forth. They also conversed with each other as part of the story, often enacting conversations between two different characters. Their timing was perfect. They were witty and the script was incredibly funny, so all through the performance, we were rolling with laughter. If you ask me, it was much better than having a single narrator. Here's a photo of Danish and Mahmood with mock-serious faces, saying the most satirical things. The audience was literally in splits. We were forbidden by the duo from clapping in appreciation, so all we could do was say wah-wah, wah-wah in traditional style, and collapse laughing.

The original Dastans were about djinns and magic and adventure and what not. Here's a scene from the most popular Dastan, the Epic of Amir Hamza. Amir Hamza is a larger-than-life hero who travels to strange places, fights demons, trades witty remarks and generally saves the day. No wonder Akbar loved him! I can imagine the entire Mughal court going ha-ha-ha, wah-wah, wah-wah, just as we did! Under Akbar's patronage, Dastangoi evolved into a popular form. This illustration was commissioned by Akbar, as part of the Hamzanama, a huge series of 1400 such drawings, illustrating all the adventures of Hamza. Look carefully and you will see a giant called Arghan Deo rising from the water bearing a gift for Hamza. I wonder what this particular fairytale was!

The tale that Danish and Mahmood told us was not of Amir Hamza. It had a very modern theme - it was about civil rights and sedition, inspired by the imprisonment of Dr. Binayak Sen, a health care worker and human rights activist. For those who don't know this story, it would be good to look up the Free Binayak Sen website. Dr. Sen and his wife Ilina Sen were among the audience (I was sitting at their feet; hence the unusual angle!)

Because the Dastangoi format requires a magical setting in a strange land, Danish and Mahmood invented a strange country, peopled by strange characters. But it was easy to recognize comparisons - there were the poor landless, there was an oppressive state and police, and a shoddy legal system. The story was told in satire form; the humour saved it from being a one hour moral sermon. It was powerful and appealing, and the audience responded with many wah-wahs both for the content as well as the presentation!

Earlier in the evening, both Dr. Sen and Illina addressed the audience on the issue of sedition laws and how they can be misused by the state. Dr. Sen is Vice President of PUCL (The Peoples Union for Civil Liberties), a 25-year old organisation formed primarily as a platform for the protection of civil liberties and human rights.

The audience for the speech represented Mumbai's educated elite (no surprises there) - social workers, writers, activists, lawyers, film makers and college students. People listened carefully when the Sens spoke, and clearly there was a sense of real concern among the audience about the issues that were discussed.

I went with my friend Pooja. Before the speeches, we made a little foray into Jehangir Art Gallery, where I bought a couple of paintings. This is me with the artist, Somnath Roy, who teaches at the Government College of Art and Craft, Calcutta. The paintings are now hanging on my wall at home.

Later that night, Pooja and I went to dinner at Chetana, where we had a Rajasthani and Gujarati thali and discussed the performance (we both loved it). I dropped her at Churchgate Station for her train, and returned home happy. All in all, a good evening, even if I did return significantly lighter in the pocket!

Gandhi Market

2011-05-29T08:01:00.003+05:30

- By Janaki Krishnan

I welcome Saturday - a day I get to spend time with my two working daughters. We discuss children and maids, go out shopping, eat and unwind. Yesterday, we went to Gandhi Market in King's Circle - a market set up soon after India's independence to rehabilitate refugees from Sind and Punjab.

There are about 200 shops in the market. Initially it was just a cloth market catering to the lower middle class, but today the market offers everything - vegetables, leather goods, artificial jewellery, decorative hair clips and many other household items. It's definitely a woman-centered market!

Though the market is housed inside a single-storied concrete structure, the real fun and excitement begins long before you reach the gate. The entire footpath surrounding the market is a shopper's paradise. Small sellers selling readymade garments for kids, innerwear for ladies, napkins, towels, imitation jewellery, churidar sets, etc. line up on either side. Pushing through the crowd enjoying the multi-coloured dresses for children is itself a happy experience.

It is an open secret that bargaining starts at 50% of the price quoted by seller. In olden times this market catered mainly to the lower middle class. However, today Gandhi Market has grown in size and variety and also offers quality stuff. Very intricately embriodered designer sarees suitable for bridal wear are sold.

However, the majority of people enjoy an evening buying stuff from the small stalls outside the market, at throwaway prices.

As we approached the gate, I stopped near a pavement shop selling colourful embroidered salwar suits. Just when my daughter tried to click a photo, the owner, a young man of thirty, came and stood near me saying, "Maji ke saath mera bhi photo nikalo" (Please click my photo along with your mother!). He touched my feet for blessings. We all smiled and for a moment he felt like one of us. 'That is Mumbai' I thought. There is a free spirit where all are equal irrespective of one's station in life.

We stepped into a shop selling sandals at fixed rates. I just sat on a stool watching people going in and out. A young lady (she appeared to be educated and modern with short hair and a trendy look) came in and picked up a black and white sandal, tried it and put it back. The shop owner (who was also the salesman) gave her three more sandals, of different patterns, colours and price. She tried all three and quietly walked away without buying - probably satisfied with the very act of wearing them for a short while at no cost! The shopkeeper, cool and calm, unmindful of his wasted labour, turned his attention to his next customer. She was a saree-clad woman, very different from the first one, and looked like someone from a lower income group. But within a couple of seconds, she made her choice, bought an expensive shoe, and walked off.

As every good salesman knows, it's all a matter of chance, and even people who step in casually may go home with a bagful of purchases. The Mumbai salesman's patience is legendary (especially in saree shops!). In the major saree markets, you will find salesmen always encouraging you to see more and more of their goods. "Dekhne ka paisa to nahin lagta behen", they say with a smile. "Costs no money to see". They will do their best to present all their goods, tempting you with one offer after another, until you find that one saree you absolutely cannot resist! Mumbai is a shopper's haven, yes, but is also the the marketing capital of India. I'm quite sure no other city in India can match the sales and service levels that Mumbai shops offer.

Finally we came to the jewellery section. Glittering stones of all hues set in traditional as well as modern designs, to match every outfit and every occasion, were displayed with the board 'SALE 50% REDUCTION'.

We were almost tempted to buy some ear-rings, but we were running out of time, so we returned home. We had spent nearly two hours in and around Gandhi Market, and the faces of smiling, hardworking sellers continued to linger in my mind.

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This article appeared in DNA Newspaper on Jun 6, 2011

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Bombay Sandwich

2011-04-15T01:11:00.085+05:30

by Aishwarya Pramod

Bhelpuri and vada pao may rule the world of Mumbai street food; but I think the Bombay Sandwich manages to hold its own quite well :)

Everyone I know likes them – hot, toasted, full of sliced vegetables, melted cheese and spicy green chutney.

I’m not really sure why it’s called a Bombay Sandwich (I googled it and found no explanations), but I think it’s probably because the sandwich as a major staple of street cuisine is only found here in Mumbai. I’ve eaten these sandwiches at Elco Arcade in Bandra, at a little stall outside my college building, at a stall in Matunga Market, in Gurukripa Restaurant in Sion, and near Podar College... And they’ve all been deliciously filling. :)

I’ve noticed that these sandwiches tend to be almost exclusively vegetarian. I suppose that’s part of the definition of a Bombay Sandwich. And there’s usually a fixed set of veggies that go into it – cucumber, tomato, potato (very important), onion, beetroot, capsicum. And the bread is always soft and white, no fancy healthy alternatives like brown or multigrain.

Some sandwich-walas add their own special twists to the sandwich. The one near my college, for example, tops his sandwiches with crunchy sev; really nice! The one near Podar College offers chocolate and cheese sandwiches, which seemed popular among the students.

The Making of a Bombay Sandwich

Spread the slices with butter, green chilly-coriander chutney, and red garlic chutney. Add fresh crunchy cucumber slices....

...thick wedges of boiled potato, and sprinkle generously with sandwich masala (a KEY ingredient). This sandwich-wala perhaps makes his own masala. When asked, "Bhaiya ismein kya hai?" he said "Ismein toh jahaan hai" :). But one could recreate this sandwich at home using sandwich masala from Kapol or Tid-bit.

Add onion, beetroot (ooh, colourful) and a ton of grated cheese...

Tomato, more masala, and finally it's ready to be toasted...

... using this contraption-thing (we have one just like it at home).

It comes out hot and golden-brown. Cut into pieces, top with more chutney, more grated cheese, or both.

Delicioso!

Oh, but I cringe to think how calorific (AND unhygienic) it probably is. Kidding, actually I don't care, I’d eat it anyway, anyday :)

------------------------------------------------------------------------

This article also appeared in Chorus+Echo, a UK-based website that

curates and publishes interesting cultural stories from around the world

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With Caroline Quentin in 'A Passage Through India'

2011-03-27T09:22:00.014+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

This week I'm feeling like a TV star :)

I was on iTV in the UK, in a show called A Passage Through India. The show had a celebrity hostess, Caroline Quentin, and she travelled through many cities, including Mumbai.

Episode 2 of A Passage Through India, iTV UK

I took Caroline around Mumbai in a taxicab that had been specially arranged for the shoot. We were both wearing maroon, and the red upholstery of the cab gave it a "this is India" look.

How do you like my "Sonia Gandhi" saree? :) :)

The saree is actually a khadi cotton, that I bought from Sundari Silks in Madras. And aren't the pearls gorgeous? They're from Cochin, a gift from my husband on our last Kerala holiday. The ear-rings are from Delhi. So the only thing "Mumbai" about this is my saree blouse and my lipstick!

In the initial part of the programme, we drove around the city must-see's and I gave her an introduction to the origins of the city and how the East India Company finally arrived here.

After the initial driving around, we went to see the city's bazaars. This is Caroline and me at Chor Bazaar where I was talking about two of my pet themes, recycling and the never-say-die spirit of Mumbai's migrants.

Car parts and metal recycling near Chor Bazaar

Sharing a laugh over hair colour and male vanity

Caroline is absolutely lovely; she is warm, outspoken, funny and intelligent. A total delight to be with. We had loads of laughs; some of which made it to the show, and some of which didn't (thank god). In this part of the programme, we were discussing what colour hair we preferred in men :)

We also went to Mangaldas Market, where we found this family shopping for a wedding.

Caroline Quentin at Mangaldas Market, doing her thing - making everyone laugh!

There were two cousins, both getting married the same day, and both girls were at the market looking for their trousseau. Everyone was very friendly and they all had a good laugh at Caroline explaining how she did the dandiya-raas at Navratri.

We found a lot of stray dogs in Bhuleshwar and Chor Bazaar. Caroline loves dogs; she has 4 dogs at home; so we talked a bit about the problems of having such a huge stray population, and about local non-profits that work in the area of stray dog welfare. Later in the show, she went off with a vet to see Welfare of Stray Dogs in action. She also went to see Mallakhamb being practiced; and she went shopping with a Bollywood starlet and learnt some dance moves.

Towards the end of the show, we went to the Taj for drinks. It was a hot day, and this was a welcome break from the bazaars.

"Mumbai's heart lies in its bazaars", I'm saying.

All in all, a fun day spent with a lovely lady; and a chance to showcase my city, minus the usual cliches. I quite enjoyed myself!

Welcome summer

2011-03-13T18:20:00.038+05:30

By Janaki Krishnan

Mumbaikars welcome summer for many reasons - happy holidays for children, travel plans for the family, and of course, Alphonso mangoes for everyone.

For me, summer is not just these things, it is also the season of the Jackfruit, Queen of Fruits, with its lovely yellowish soft flesh and unparalleled sweet taste.

Jackfruit extracted and ready to eat (Matunga Market)

My earliest memories of this fruit go back to the 1960's when I was in the seventh standard at SIES School, Matunga. As soon as the school closed for summer, we would start packing to go to our native village in Kerala, where my grandparents lived.

A month before our arrival, my grandfather would begin preparations for our visit. He would select the jackfruit tree that bore the sweetest fruits, and earmark the best fruit for us. "Don't cut this", he would tell the servants. "It is for my grandchildren from Bombay."

The day we reached Kerala, he would make preparations to pluck and bring down the ripest fruit. Jackfruits can be huge; and we children found it fascinating to watch a big fruit weighing 20-25 kilos being brought down carefully from the tree. A rope was tied around the fruit, and it was lowered down slowly to avoid damage.

Jackfruits at Vashi market. There are some giant ones at the bottom left.

Once the fruit was lowered, it was then brought into the house with all of us 8 children trailing behind it. First the big fruit was cut into two. Then, as we watched in anticipation, it was cut into smaller, more manageable pieces. Finally, the "nose" of each piece was cut to loosen the fibres that bound the fruit together; and each child was given a piece.

Before we could dig into the fruit, my grandmother would emerge from the kitchen with coconut oil to protect our hands from the sticky "chakkini" (thin long fibres holding the hidden fruit inside). Once the oil was applied, we were then finally free to handle the fruit. The pleasure of removing the chakkini, finding the delicious fruit, removing the seed, and then finally popping the soft sweet fruit in your mouth is a heavenly experience! Today's children may perhaps consider it a laborious procedure, since they are products of the fast-food age. But in those days, even my youngest brother (who was just 4 years old) would not allow our grandmother to do it for him.

Delicious fruit hidden inside the fibrous chakkini

By the time we finished gorging ourselves on the fruit, servants and other poor people of the village would come to buy the seeds for making vegetable curry. They would pay 2 annas for a big measure of seeds; but there would still be many seeds for our own use in cooking.

The thick, thorny outer skin would be cut into smaller pieces. We children would take the pieces and feed the cows and buffaloes. Thus every part of the fruit would be used.

Our adventures with the jackfruit didn't end with this. The next day, an unripe jackfruit would be selected; and deep-fried to make jackfruit chips. The day after that, another fruit would be used to make jackfruit papadam, and another for jackfruit jam, both of these for us to take to Bombay.

Almost every day that we stayed in Kerala, the menu would include jackfruit (chakka). Most often, it went hand in hand with mango (manga). Chakka kootan and manga pachadi. Manga sambar and chakka poduthual. Chakka pradaman. Chakka Erisheri. Chakka Neyappam.....an endless list of inventive dishes would include the jackfruit.

Idichakkai poduthual, made from jackfruit seeds (from Moorthy mami's kitchen)

All these summer joys came to an end when my grandparents moved to Bombay, for my grandmother's treatment at Tata Memorial Hospital. But the jackfruit continued to make its presence felt. My mother would buy jackfruit every year on Vishu, and she would make these dishes afterwards.

Most of these dishes are just a fond memory now. I do not have the skill (or the enthusiasm!) of my mother, to try my hand at various jackfruit recipes. If I do buy jackfruit, the easiest thing, I have discovered, is to make chakka poornam. Cut jackfruit into small pieces, add fresh coconut and jaggery, cook it for 15 minutes, and add ghee at the end. The taste is lovely; it can be eaten plain; or as a sort of spread with white bread; or even an accompaniment to a dosa. Try it!

Posted by Deepa on behalf of Janaki Krishnan

A Sunny Morning at Sewri Fort

2011-02-27T22:18:00.015+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

I have been going often to Sewri these days, now that flamingo season is here.

But today, I also took the opportunity to climb up to Sewri Fort with my friend Sancia. I had forgotten my camera, so these photos are from my cell phone.

It was 8:30 a.m., and the sun was just starting to warm up the fort walls.

The fort interested me, because it is very much part of the city's history. It belongs to the heady "pirate" days on the Bombay coast, when wars were fought for control of Mumbai as a trading post.

Sewri Fort was built by the English, to protect their interests in Bombay. A carved stone over a doorway says 1736; but battles were fought here even before that.

The Siddis attacked and conquered Sewri in 1689. The also overran Mazgaon, and raided Worli. Check out the much tougher looking Siddi fort here; my daughter wrote about it when we visited. Safe in their invincible fortress, the Siddis, known for their naval prowess, were a force to reckon with.

Spurred by defeat at the hands of the Siddis, and threatened by the Marathas and other European powers, the East India Company went into a building flurry in the second half of the 1600's, raising fortifications all over Bombay.

Sewri Fort was one of them. It wasn't a useless investment. When the Portuguese attacked in 1772, the attack was repelled from Sewri Fort.

Here is a pictorial timeline of Mumbai's forts

(those that are still standing today):

As you can see, lots of forts were built in the second half of the 1600's. Most had fallen into disrepair in the last 300 years. In the last 5 years or so, the government has begun to "restore" these forts. The ones that I have coloured in blue have been "restored", but it is so insensitively done that it makes me wince.

In the photo below, you can see the original stone steps going up to a look out point. Concrete has been poured over the curved decoration of the steps, to create a cement "banister" for these steps. A concrete wall partly covers the original stone arched door (where I found the carving of the year). What were they thinking??

50 sepoys manned this fort; and it had 8-10 cannons, looking out toward the sea. There were living quarters, and ammunition stores. Today, all the bunkers are concrete, although some attempt has been made to keep the shape in line with the original construction.

We climbed up to one of the view points to look at the harbour. The tide was retreating; beneath us we could see mangroves; and amidst the retreating water, there were flamingoes feeding.

We went down and got some close up sightings of the birds. Today the sighting was really fantastic; we spotted what must have been at least two or three thousand flamingoes. The juveniles stood in little brown and white groups, and the adults stood in much larger groups of pink. Apart from that, I saw gulls, stints, kingfishers, egrets, herons and what not. But without my camera, I couldn't get any decent photos :( sorry!!

Eventually I got hungry; and Sancia also needed to go to church. So she dropped me at my mom's house, where an excellent breakfast was waiting. Dosa, chutney, sambar and molagapodi. And filter coffee to top it all. Bliss! I wish all Sundays were like this :)

Flat tyre on the Vashi highway

2011-02-10T10:50:00.013+05:30

By Deepa Krishnan

We were returning from a wedding in Pune, when the car began to veer and drag a bit to the left. The front tyre had gone bust. We asked a truck driver where we could get it fixed, and he pointed to a repair shop about 500 metres away.

Vashi highway on a glorious sunny afternoon

The 'Puncher' Shop with its rubber tyre advertising

I was surprised at how long it had been since I had last visited a puncture shop. Ten years, I think! You know, this is what happens when you employ drivers, and stop taking the car out yourself. You kinda stop doing these little things, and before you know it, boom! you're sitting in a little ivory tower, and you don't know what's happening out there any more.

I discovered, for example, that there were now these new-fangled things called tubeless tyres. Don't laugh, dammit. I didn't know!! When I last looked, tyres were filled with thin rubber tubes, the tubes were full of air, and that's how cars worked. Now apparently, these tubes have disappeared. No longer can you turn a tyre inside out and wrest a skinny tube from its innards. No longer can you fill these tubes again with air; and send the car merrily along it's way.

Instead, you fix a flat tyre with an entirely different set of tools.

The first thing you need, is a strip of this deceptively simple looking stuff.

This is a tough, chewy rubbery-leathery thing that sticks to your fingers if you let it. It's basically a plug.

The next thing you need is this T-shaped tool, with a needle. And you need a tube of vulcanising fluid.

Now for the repair itself. Snip a small strip of the rubber plug, shove the needle through it; and then put this vulcanising fluid on it. Then you grab the handle with both hands, take a deep breath, and shove the strip it into the problem spot. See the guy in the photo below?

Our repair guy was around 16 years old.

There was an assistant as well, a little kid with a bandana.

So what happens - chemically speaking - is that the vulcanising fluid works on the strip, and converts it into a permanent hardened plug. (Or at least, that's what I think!). The little kid's job was to keep the air-pressure in the tube constant, so the plug would set well.

The Apprentice.

He took his job seriously.

There were other neighbourhood kids as well, watching.

Mom and Dad waited outside.

The neighbouring shop-owner kindly gave them space to sit.

Inside of our repair shop. I have *no* idea what most of these things are.

What I do know, though, is that these things are there for a reason. *Some* car, *some* day, will be rescued by some weird contraption that can only be found in this mess!

Seriously, why do cars have to be so complicated? :)

For example, what on EARTH are these belt-thingys?

More mysterious gizmos.

What is that U-shaped thing hanging from the ceiling? Or is it not U-shaped? Should I announce a prize for anyone who can actually name all these things?!!

Anyway - the whole repair thingy took about 15-20 minutes. I tried chatting to the 16-year old; but he was cagey. I'm from Calcutta, was all he would say. I let him be; there are a lot of illegal migrants from Bangladesh near the Vashi area, and I did not want to probe further. He was making a living in a tough world...I wished him well, and went on my way.

Girls unite! Nothing to lose but your chains!

2011-01-22T10:20:00.011+05:30

by Janaki Krishnan

I am a regular reader of the Tamil magazine Mangayar Malar (you can find it in the bookstands at Matunga, but most Tamil people in Mumbai have it home-delivered).

Mangayar Malar is a women's magazine that covers various topics - real life anecdotes, interviews of successful people, religion, recipes, etc. Among the most popular sections is a monthly forecast (using rashis). There is also a matrimonial column.

Mangayar Malar - Dec 2010 issue

Among the many real-life stories in the magazine, there was one story about a Brahmin priest from a small village. This priest has four sons, ages 45, 42, 39 and 32 respectively. All four sons are unmarried, and the priest has been having a hard time finding a match for any of them.

The priest bemoans the fact that no one is willing to marry his sons, although they are good men. Girls want money and status, according to the priest, whereas his sons can only offer a simple village life.

Kanyiar Manam Maruma - will girls change their minds?

The writer of the article has invited comments from readers, asking whether we are now living in an India where girls want material pleasures more than anything else. Why are today's Indian girls chasing money, asks the writer. Do they not know that a happy marriage is not about material things? Or is it that today's girls are educated, have jobs of their own, and are therefore increasingly unwilling to get married?

Thirumana Malar - the "marriage special" section of Mangayar Malar

The writer's questions set me thinking about my recent experiences in the "marriage market". In my spare time these days, I help my friends in matching the horoscopes of their sons or daughters with prospective brides or bridegrooms.

Once the horoscopes are matched, the girl and the boy talk to each other. Here are some of the questions that girls are asking before accepting the boy:

1) After marriage, are we going to live with your parents? (a good question in space-starved Mumbai!)

2) Will you look after my parents in their old age? (especially when she is the only daughter)

3) Shall I give a part of my salary to my parents after marriage (probably for repayment of a PF Loan that the father has taken for meeting wedding expenses!)

At the end of the day, I feel this is a positive trend in our society. All these years it was a man's world. A young man, whether educated or illiterate, healthy or disabled, handsome or ugly, asks for a "fair", beautiful, smart, homely, educated girl, along with dowry. After marriage, the girl is the property of the husband and the in-laws, often exploited physically, mentally, emotionally and financially.

I am happy that the situation is changing; that girls are losing some of the traditional chains that bound them in the past. These changes have touched only a fraction of Indian society. It is high time we wake up and discard these harmful attitudes towards women.

Cosmopolitan Mumbai

2011-01-16T17:45:00.008+05:30

I was telling someone about how cosmopolitan Mumbai is; but other than anecdotal stuff, I found it very hard to prove! I mean, how does one convince anyone of something like that?

Then we came across this dentist shop in Dharavi:

The signboard was written in four languages - English, Hindi, Tamil and Urdu. I didn't have to say anything more! :) :)

Why Mittal Patel is one heck of a lady

2010-12-19T10:29:00.041+05:30

Some days ago, I met Mittal Patel, a very determined young lady from Ahmedabad.

Mittal is a journalist by profession. But for the past 5 years, she has been working with the nomadic and de-notified communities of Gujarat, trying to get them access to basic rights. In doing so, she's taken on two of the biggest challenges in India - the bureaucratic system, and the caste mindset.

Mittal Patel

It was my neighbour Rashminbhai who introduced me to Mittal (or Mittal-ben, as she is called by most Gujaratis).

At Rashminbhai's invitation, I spent an evening at Amulakh Amichand School in King's Circle, watching Mittal tell her story to an audience of 100 people.

Mittal talking about nomads. The speech was in Gujarati.

I was so fascinated that the very next morning, I went over to Rashminbhai's house, and spent three hours chatting with Mittal. Over many cups of chai (and Rashminbhai's delicious farsaan), I listened to more details of her work.

It was quite an education.

The nomadic tribes of India are spread over multiple states, primarily Maharashtra, Rajasthan and Gujarat. In Gujarat, they number around 4 million, and this is the target group that Mittal has sworn to support (that's roughly the population of Singapore or Ireland, by the way).

One nomadic family with their cart. All their belongings will typically fit into the cart.

Gujarat's nomads are not one single community (there are over 300 communities listed in the government list). They follow different religions, practice different occupations, and have different customs and beliefs. The Dafer people, for instance, are typically employed to guard ripening crops. The Saraniyas are knife sharpeners. The Kangsia are bangle sellers and traders. The Nat and Nataniyas are performers - bards, musicians, acrobats, dancers, fire-eaters and so on. The Vansfoda work with bamboo and sell bamboo products. The Vadis are snake charmers; the Madaris work with monkeys.

As Mittal rattled off one community name after another, I was struck by the one thing that all these communities have in common - their traditional way of life is either dying, or dead already.

Television and cinema have largely killed the demand for traditional entertainment. Legislation has killed the livelihood of those nomads that work with animals. Plastic has replaced bamboo and other materials. And so on. In the past, people in a village waited for the nomads to show up on their annual routes, trading goods, services and entertainment. Now, there is no demand. So the nomads are quite literally, out on the streets, reduced to begging and theft for their livelihood.

No takers for acrobatics.

As if the loss of livelihood was not enough, the nomads have another big problem: As far as the government is concerned, they don't exist. I'm not kidding. The nomads have nothing, no birth certificate, no ration card, no land deeds, no school admission record, nothing. Not a single piece of paper, to prove they're part of the Indian population.

What this means is that they are completely left out of all government schemes. Take NREGA, for example, which promises work and an honest day's wage to anyone who wants it. Even if a nomad woman says she wants work, she can't get it. Why? To be eligible for NREGA you need to be a resident of a village. But village panchayats routinely refuse to let nomads be registered as part of the village population. They're nomads, right? They don't belong! So what if they've lived on the outskirts of a particular village for 20 years. They still don't belong! In fact, Mittal tells me that when she goes looking for a nomadic settlement, villagers typically do not even acknowledge that it exists.

Saraniya settlement on outskirts of village. This is no man's land, typically on the boundary of two villages. So neither village owns up to the settlement.

Apart from this, old prejudices and caste issues also kick in. Some nomadic communities have traditionally been labelled thieves. Most are from the lowest rungs of the caste hierarchy, with zero respect from other, higher castes. There is also the fear that if they are formally acknowledged, they will stake claim to government benefits.

Net net - the nomads are left out there in the cold - with neither the government nor the village recognising their existence. Not surprisingly, Mittal's biggest effort is firstly, to get every nomad a piece of paper that says, Hey! Look at me! I'm here! I am Indian! I'm Gujarati! I live in this village!

This ought to be simple, but as anyone who has worked with government machinery in India will tell you, it's staggeringly difficult in practice. In the first place, the whole thing requires forms to be filled and submitted - and how does an uneducated nomad do that? Mittal told us a quirky story about how she tried to help a middle-aged nomad with filling a form:

Mittal: Janunath, where were you born?

Janunath: I'm not sure. You write what you think is right, Mittal-ben.

Mittal: But how can I just cook this up? At least tell me something more about the areas where you roam, so I can write something sensible.

Janunath: I don't know, Mittal-ben. Ask my mother.

Janunath's Mother: We go to many places, Mittal-ben. I don't know where we went that year when he was born.

Mittal: Fine, I'll write something or the other. OK, Janunath, tell me what your age is.

Janunath: 18

Mittal: 18? Are you sure? You look older to me.

Janunath: I don't know, Mittal-ben.

Mittal: Do you have children?

Janunath: Yes, four children, here they are.

Mittal: Ah, so this one is the oldest? He looks like he is 14!!

So Mittal gives up asking questions, and she estimates everyone's age by looking at the age of their oldest child! And thus the form is filled for the whole clan, with approximate age, approximate place of birth, and so on :)

But form filling is only the beginning. The next problem is that the form verification process requires the village panchayat to certify that the details are correct. This is, of course, next to impossible. So Mittal and her team have to keep shuttling endlessly between the government and the panchayat office, patiently coaxing people to do what is right.

Without going into all the painful stories, let me just say that it is STUPENDOUS achievement, that Mittal Patel has finally got voter id cards issued to 20,000 nomadic people.

Way to go, Mittal-ben!!

That's not all. She has lobbied and got the Gujarat Government to pass a new State Resolution, which gives nomadic/de-notified people land rights. In the first year of allotment, 502 plots of land have been alloted to people who previously had no piece of earth to call their own. Mittal has started "tent-schools" for nomadic children, conducted "group marriages" to help reduce the burden of wedding expenses on nomad families, rescued nomadic girls from prostitution, and taken on many other social issues.

Honestly, I can't think of a more difficult challenge than trying to change the way "society" thinks. And I can't think of a more frustrating task than to get the big slow blundering bureaucracy to do something different. But Mittal has taken both these challenges head-on, and proved that it can be done.

When you meet people like Mittal, you end up feeling like you simply have to do something to help. You can't just sit there and let someone struggle against huge odds. I've started by contributing from my company's profits to Mittal's NGO; and next April, I'm planning to work on training and providing employment to some of her nomadic women. I'm looking to make a trip to Ahmedabad soon. Anyone who wants to contribute is welcome.

Discovering carrom at Chor Bazaar

2010-12-12T14:29:00.013+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

I was walking along Chor Bazaar when I spotted these carrom coins. Nostalgia grabbed me, and I stopped in my tracks.

I played a lot of carrom as a child. Summer holidays were usually filled with competitive carrom games, and I suddenly remembered how we'd emerge from the games with white and powdery fingers.

I looked around, to see if I could find the carrom board. Ah yes, there it was, stacked up casually against another stall.

I was tempted to take the board home. God, but I used to love this game!

When I was growing up, there was a carrom club in the building where we lived (although "club" is probably too grand a word for it). The game was played in a small garage in our building, mostly by guys, but there were a few women and girls as well.

Each evening, we'd wait for grown ups to push up the garage door, so that we could troop in and set up the heavy carrom board. Four of us would sit at each game, one on each side of the table. Other kids (the poor latecomers!) would gather around, watching the game, waiting for their turn.

There was not much conversation, really, beyond the game itself. In fact, the game was everything. The only things you heard were small little expletives, or frustrated groans. We lived for the pleasure of the perfect shot, and praise from a keen audience. "Great shot!"..."Too good, yaar!" and so on.

As the evening progressed, the older folks, back from the office commute, would come and join the game. Younger kids would get shooed off the game, to make way for the older "dadas". The younger ones wouldn't leave though, they'd just stand around watching the older gang at the game. A single yellow bulb would come on, lighting the board as it grew darker. At seven thirty, the kids would go home, while the older ones played on.

The game was played intensely. Players had reputations to live up to. Mr. X was good at straight shots. This other guy, Mr. Y, his backshot was perfect. Z was a 'thumbing' champ. And so on. Every year, we'd have competitions, and reputations would be made and broken.

When I left Bombay for Calcutta (to get my MBA degree), I discovered to my delight that there was a carrom board at IIM Calcutta. So carrom continued to be part of my life for another two years.

Then I got married, and discovered that carrom was played in my husband's family as well. I remember some long ago afternoons, playing carrom with his cousins. Of late though, there have not been any games, as most of the cousins have dispersed.

I've stopped playing now, more's the pity. The last time I played was five years ago, when we moved into a new apartment in Bombay. There was a carom competition here, and on an impulse, I enrolled my name for it. It was fun, and I even won the darn competition.

I should really start playing again. Game anyone?

Hair can be so annoying!

2010-11-01T19:45:00.019+05:30

- By Aishwarya Pramod

I've always wanted long hair - long, lustrous, wavy/straight black hair. But my hair's never been very long - a short bob or a boy cut when I was tiny, and just past my shoulders in high school and college.

It's not for lack of trying to grow it, though. You see, my hair goes through an annoying cycle, which seems to force me to keep it permanently short.

The cycle has four stages:

STAGE 1: OPTIMISM

I have short hair in this stage. I get my mom to massage oil into my scalp every time before I shampoo it, which is twice a week. It's really shiny, healthy, glossy. No hairfall or anything. At this stage, I'm convinced that my hair will be able to grow long and strong.

I have great hopes for you, hair :D

STAGE 2: COMPLACENCY

My hair's grown a little longer, so it needs more care. I really should oil and shampoo as regularly as I did when it was short, BUT I've grown lazy :(

Plus, somehow in this stage, there's usually some kind of distraction like an upcoming exam, for which I need to study furiously 3 weeks in advance, or a trip outside Mumbai to a place that doesn't have hot water or enough time for mum to sit and massage oil into my scalp. So I skip the coconut oil and shampoo directly. Sometimes I don't even use conditioner. :O

This happens a few times, but I tell myself "You've been very regular with the oil upto now, it's ok if you miss it this time." (Big mistake, btw.)

I can't really focus on my hair HERE, can I?

STAGE 3: DESPERATION

My hair decides it's payback time and revolts. Hairfall, split ends, general destruction. I desperately get my mum to massage coconut oil into it every 3 days, but it's too late.

Oil Massage

STAGE 4: GIVING UP (OR A NEW BEGINNING)

I hate my hair. I'ts thin and shapeless. I have to get it cut.

I give up! Time to head for the salon.

I get it cut short, and then I'm back at Stage 1!

This four stage cycle thing has happened to me thrice. :| Wow.

This time I swear I will take care of you, hair. I would have been at Stage 3 (desperation) right now, but thankfully, stage 2 (complacency + lack of time/energy to oil stage) wasn't as bad as the previous times. So I'm going to get it cut, but only to shape it a bit so I can grow it long. This is a whole new Stage for me B-)

Anyway, a bit about hair oil:

I use Parachute coconut oil sometimes, and sometimes I use a special ayurvedic oil prescribed by a Vaidyan (ayurvedic doc). No idea what's in it - medicinal plants I guess.

Every time before I shampoo, I sit down on the floor with a book while my mom (or if my mom's busy, the maid) sits on a chair behind me and massages the oil into my scalp for 15 - 20 minutes. I sit with the oil in my hair for an icky hour, then I shampoo and condition. The cleanliness feels good after the oil.

I'm convinced that the secret to good hair is regular use of coconut oil. It's supposed to be very good for hair (and skin). I really think that if I ever have healthy long hair, it will be thanks to coconut oil. And lots of it, regularly.

My weapon of choice!

Weekend with Ranjana

2010-10-24T10:38:00.037+05:30

I've been working too hard, frankly, and so has my husband Pramod. This weekend, though, our friend Ranjana (bless her!) came to spend Friday night with us; and we finally made time for a long overdue night out in the city.

Friday night, at our apartment complex, waiting for the car.

I'm wearing a halter-neck top that I bought eight years ago. That's how dated my wardrobe is. As I was dressing up, I decided enough was enough. I would definitely go shopping on Saturday. Being a workaholic is ok. But wearing the same darn thing over and over again? Sheesh. I'm not *that* ossified.

When the car came, we set out for Bandra, to pickup an old school friend of Ranjana, and then headed to Aer, the rooftop bar at the Four Seasons.

Ranjana and Pramod at the Four Seasons rooftop bar

If you want my honest opinion, this is truly the most outstanding piece of real estate for a bar/restaurant in all of Mumbai. The cover charge at Rs 3000 per couple is stiff by the city's standards, but the incredible view of the city glittering below is very worth it. We hung around at the bar for a few minutes, until our table was available.

City glittering below

Honestly, this photo does no justice to the view. The full moon was out overhead, and the city lay beneath us. The walls are of sheer glass, making the most of the view. The seating is a sophisticated white, and the dim lighting is perfect. It lifts the spirits, this place.

All seats taken

On a Friday night, all seats were taken. The crowd is a mix of all age groups; but this is not a teeny-bopper place; it is significantly older. There were many people here catching a drink after work; I saw a lot of business suits and formal office wear. The Four Seasons is very conveniently located for people with offices in Worli and Lower Parel. For those working in Nariman Point or Fort, it is a logical mid-way stop on the way home. I rather liked the feeling of being part of the "office crowd". Tables are large, so even for bigger office groups of 8-15 people, there's lots of space.

We ordered nachos and chicken satay; the nachos were not as crisp as they should have been. The satay was pronounced excellent. I didn't even look at the menu; so I don't know what else was on offer.

The worst part of Aer is really the music. The night we were there, it was some electronica/techno type of thing; totally ugh. After an hour of listening to it, I was ready to give up and die. Pramod - who is more sensitive to music than I am - walked up to the DJ and said, hey, check out the people here, do you think this is the kind of music this age group is looking for? As it turns out, the DJ had nothing else to play; or maybe he had been instructed to play nothing but this nonsense. Pramod and the DJ chatted amicably for a long time; while the rest of us looked on and wondered what they were talking about - maybe they were earnestly discussing the city music scene :)

It was a relatively cool October night, but I think November-February would be perfect. I'm definitely going back again, to see if the music changes at all. Fortunately, the music isn't loud.

After Aer, we went back to Bandra and dropped off Ranjana's friend.

It was midnight by then; and on an impulse we decided to check out more places. I dragged Pramod and Ranjana to Pali Village Cafe for pasta and dessert and coffee. But we got there too late; they could only offer wine and dessert. So off we went to that old favourite, Olive.

Chilling out at Olive

For a place that is so much part of the city party scene, Olive is quite unpretentious. The food is good, the service is decent, and the crowd is a merry mix of all sorts. We found a nice corner at the bar to hang out; and then Pramod wrangled us a table to take a late order for pasta and pizza and tiramisu. Quite a lovely end to the day.

Oh - and one more thing - if you're wondering whether I kept my shopping resolution - here's the proof :)

A productive Saturday afternoon at Zara

We went shopping at Palladium on Saturday. Ranjana and I were joined by my sister, and we spent a happy afternoon trying on all sorts of things.

Zara is such a delight - I could kiss every single designer that works for them. By some miraculous magic, the clothes at Zara make you feel feminine and beautiful, in a way that other stores don't quite manage. Ranjana bought up half the store; and my sister bought winter clothes for her upcoming trip to Istanbul.

I was content with three simple additions to my wardrobe. But I'm already looking for another weekend out now, so I can wear them. Pramod, are you reading this? :)

Of grand hotels and other things

2010-10-10T10:56:00.038+05:30

No, I'm not writing about the Taj Mahal Palace Hotel!

The Taj is undoubtedly a city icon, but Bombay has been home to several other fancy hotels; some older than the Taj, and some its contemporaries. It's time someone wrote about them! By some quirk of history, none of these grand hotels now survive as working hotels, except the Taj. But several buildings remain, reminders of past days when these were grand hotels where the elite of the city hob-nobbed and conducted business.

The Majestic Hotel, Colaba, 1909 (built just 6 years after the Taj Mahal Hotel).

The Majestic used to be one of the city's premier luxury hotels; it was built by an Italian firm that ran the super-snobbish Savoy at Mussoorie and Carlton in Lucknow. Nothing but the best would do for the Majestic! These days though, it houses a hostel for members of the legislative assembly, a basic canteen, and a department store on the ground floor. Quite a come-down from its glory days!

The Majestic is not the only old grand hotel; there were others too. Where did these hotels come from? Who built them? For whom?

To look for answers, we must go back 150 years, to a glorious era of prosperity when Bombay became an important global centre of trade and commerce.

In the 1860's, Bombay saw unprecedented growth because of two key events. First, the American Civil War (1861-1865) led to a global shortage of cotton, because exports from the cotton fields of America were blockaded. The demand for cotton from Bombay shot up; prices rose to astronomical levels, and dizzy fortunes were made overnight by the city's cotton traders and shipping merchants. The second momentous event was the opening of the Suez Canal in 1864, which dramatically improved shipping.

As trade grew, traders and merchants from overseas started coming to Bombay for business; and naturally the demand for hotels went up. Hotels were certainly a more attractive option than the "chummeries" or clubs that gentlemen could stay in. What's more, travellers by sea had become used to the high hospitality standards offered by well run steamships, and looked for similar comforts in the ports.

Among the earliest grand hotels was Watson's Hotel; which reflected Victorian enthusiasm for ironwork in the French colonial style.

Watson's Esplanade Hotel, 1867-69

It was a 'Whites Only' hotel; and was built by John Watson, who ran a drapery business in the city. The building's unique cast-iron frame was imported from England, and reassembled here. In its heyday, the hotel boasted 150 well-appointed rooms, and a grand ballroom. It's most attractive feature was an atrium. The waitresses, I am told, were imported from England as well :) After John Watsons died, the hotel closed down. Today it is a warren of small offices. I took a photographer on a walk into this building, and she clicked this very interesting photo of the nameboards inside Watsons.

After Watsons came The Bycullah Hotel built in 1871; and the Green's Hotel built in 1890. Both these buildings were earlier mansion flats; they were converted to hotels.

Green's Hotel was bought by the Tatas, and demolished in 1973, and in its place, the Tower wing of the Taj came up.

The Bycullah Hotel, 1871.

I'm not sure what happened to the Bycullah Hotel - but it's not there any more. The pillar in the photo is still there, it's locally called "Khada Parsi" or The Standing Parsee. It is now squashed between two flyovers; see this photo. So Bycullah Hotel has disappeared, then. Does anyone know when or how?

The next hotel to come up was The Great Western, converted to a hotel in 1890 or so. In the late 1700's, this building was the residence of the Governor of Bombay; then subsequently it was the home of the Commander-in-Chief of the Indian fleet. In the 1800's it was the Recorder's Court House. Today, the building houses small businesses, an art gallery, and a designer garments store.

The Great Western Hotel, 1890, originally home of Governor Hornby (who bunded the breach at Mahalakshmi)

The road on which Great Western is located is Dockyard Road, now called Shahid Bhagat Singh Marg. The facade of this street remains the same today as it was all those years ago. The Doric porte-cochere of the hotel was demolished to widen the street, so the Great Western is like a face without a nose :) but other than that, walking on this street is a great way to experience the old Bombay.

Hungry kya? Take a walk! (Article in Times of India today)

2010-09-25T13:25:00.007+05:30

The Times of India featured our Matunga Food Walk in this article today in the Wine and Dine section of Crest. OK, so they got the prices wrong, but all publicity is good, right? :)

There's also a photo of me in a red saree, looking like a little blimp. I swear I am not this fat! It's the *others* who were tall and slim, dammit!

Hungry Kya? Take a Walk!
by Mahafreed Irani
Sep 25, 2010
Times of India

For tourists who want to skip the clichêd tours of Mumbai, culinary walks are an interesting alternative. "Food is one of the most interesting ways of understanding a culture, " says Deepa Krishnan of Mumbai Magic, a tour company that organises food walks in the city. "Tourists are increasingly looking for more insightful and interesting experiences than merely visiting monuments.

Bazaar walks and cuisine trails help to showcase some very rich aspects of Indian society. " The Mumbai Magic food walk starts with a guided tour around Matunga market and ends with a cooking demo and tasting of traditional food at an Indian home. While at the market, a culinary expert guides tourists around various food-speciality shops. Even though Matunga isn't a tourist area, Krishnan chose the market as it has a number of eateries and stores that sell regional ingredients. "Most foreigners have limited knowledge about Indian cuisine and may have only tasted Punjabi fare like butter chicken, " she says pointing out how they are surprised that Indian food is not as spicy as they have been led to believe. "Regional food is a pleasant discovery for them."

The package which costs Rs 1, 000 per person for a guided tour for six includes a visit to a Gujarati, Parsi, Goan or South Indian home. During the visit, tourists can choose to participate in the cooking process of a traditional meal or sip on some Indian wine and observe the cooking. The demonstrators have been flooded with queries like, "Can we peep into your fridge?" and "Please explain the use of these unfamiliar cooking gadgets", says Krishnan referring to tourists who were curious about metal tongs.

Krishnan also organises food trails in Delhi, Agra, Jaipur, Chennai and Kottayam. In Kerala, the walk includes visits to a private spice plantation, paddy fields and toddy shops and in Jaipur, tourists learn how Rajasthani cuisine has been influenced by the hot climate and scarcity of water.

Lifffftttttttt !

2010-09-18T19:13:00.045+05:30

I live in a tall building, with 18 floors. We are on the 14th floor. This means that everyday, we go up and down the lift at least a couple of times.

Like all other tall buildings in Bombay, the lifts in our apartment complex are operated by liftmen.

They sit inside the lift on a little stool, but stand to attention when any of us enter the lift. We tell them what floor we want to go to, and they press the right button. That's their job. To stand at attention, and press buttons.

There are several liftmen, all nameless. They go by the generic name of "Liffffffftttt!" because that's what we yell whenever we want to grab their attention. The residents of our apartment don't really 'see' liftmen as individuals or address them by name.

This is not true of all buildings in the city. I have seen, in some buildings in Napeansea Road and Cuffe Parade, greying liftmen who have been there for ages. Everyone knows them, and their names are heard often. "Ganpaaattthhhhh....jara lift roko !!!".

One of my friends lives in a Parsi colony where the lifts are ancient. The liftman is a critical part of their life, because the lift must have manual supervision, and it responds only to his magic touch. ("Oh God I'm getting late for office, where's Kadam, the lift is not working"). As a consequence, there is, in this colony, a "tring-tring" bell to summon the elusive Kadam. Kadam is also an errand-man ("Dina darling, I forgot my car keys, can you send it down with Kadam?"). Like the lift, Kadam is also a fixture, grey and creaking.

But in our building, the liftmen change every other week, using some sort of complex roster system that I haven't figured out. Our building, like most tall buildings these days, has sub-contracted the maintenance and security to an agency. So we have armies of smartly uniformed staff, but we don't know their names. By the time we find out who they are, and exchange the first pleasantries, they're gone.

In addition to the liftmen, we also have a guy who sits at a desk on the ground floor, just opposite the lift. I'm not quite sure what he does. He goes by the name of 'Security', although I'm can't see what security this skinny kid provides (there is a another bunch of older, somewhat tougher looking Security guys at the gates). The 'Security' desk is a promotion from the lift, I think, because you only get to sit at that desk once you've done the lift assignment and you know all the residents of the building.

Today there was a new guy in the lift, even younger than the previous one. This one looked like a new migrant. He was uncomfortable with his navy-blue uniform, he kept fiddling with the big fancy belt buckle, and didn't know numbers in English. So the Security guy helped him, by telling him my floor number in Hindi. He still messed up and pressed the wrong button, and stood there dejected when I quickly pressed the right one. "It's ok", I smiled at him, remembering my first job and how terrified I had been. "You'll learn soon". He was too raw to even nod or acknowledge what I said, let alone smile.

Hmm, I said to myself when I got off the lift. One more new migrant. One more guy here to see if the city will work its magic on him. They keep coming, these young hopeful men, barely out of their teens. Maybe his uncle is here in the city; and is providing the initial support. Or maybe it's someone else from his village, who has brought him here, introduced him to the contracting firm that manages our lifts, and stood guarantee for him. I hope he will learn the lift numbers quickly, before some resident complains.

I recently had an overseas visitor who laughed and said "God, why do you guys need a guy to push lift buttons? Can't you do it yourselves?" On the face of it, this looks like a logical statement. But I was recently in a lift with a precocious kid, who pushed the emergency button, because the lift was unsupervised for 10 minutes. My new maid doesn't know how to summon a lift, let alone operate the number keys. My mother doesn't like being alone in the lift. Almost no one knows what to do in case of an emergency or a lift stopping midway. So I say, until the state of affairs changes, until everyone gets an education, Let There Be Liftmen !

The dosa gets my vote

2010-09-05T11:17:00.014+05:30

Four hungry people. One Giant Paper Dosa. Lots of coconut chutney, and lots of sambar.

Paper Dosa at Sunder's, Kabutarkhana, King's Circle

Have you tried sharing a paper dosa? That first crumbling of the perfect cylinder shape, the vain attempts to preserve some semblance of orderly eating...until chaos descends and everyone is just eating whatever crumbs they can find? What fun :)

Ordering four separate dosas just isn't the same, is it?

Sunders is a regular stop on my forays to King's Circle market. Apart from the paper dosa, they serve a wacky menu with several different dosa varieties (including a schezwan dosa).

They do a decent masala-dosa as well. I'm not a big fan of the masala-dosa. But it does seem to have found its place under the sun. Food writer Nilanjana Roy gave the masala dosa her vote for "national dish of India" in an article in Outlook earlier this year. She says: The dosa has crept into our lives in a quiet revolution, a stealthy and entirely bloodless coup. It can be found in dhabas in the Himalayas, stuffed with exotic ingredients in five-star restaurants...It can be stuffed with paneer, or with chicken and keema fillings for the unregenerate carnivore, but it’s the masala dosa that flies its flag across India. You can even, experimenting with spinach and carrot fillings, create a suitably tricolour masala dosa, while retaining the potato stuffing that is the trademark of the true Udupi stalwart. We can continue to argue over the rest of the menu for a genuinely nationalist Indian banquet, but for the moment, the dosa gets my vote."

So what say? The masala-dosa as a national dish? Sacrilege? :)

If I were to think about Bombay, instead of the whole country, then here's my list of the top three popular eats in the city:
- Vada pav
- Bhelpuri
- Dosa

(Yep, the dosa, gets *my* vote too)

To market! To market! (HT Brunch - Sun Aug 22)

2010-08-25T08:08:00.028+05:30

The Hindustan Times did a lovely story this weekend, on "Hidden Cities" - little known delights of Mumbai, Delhi, Kolkata and Bangalore.

I thoroughly enjoyed taking Mignonne, the writer who covered the story, on a walking exploration of Bhuleshwar and Kalbadevi.

These vibrant areas of the city constantly surprise me - even when I think I know it all, they throw something new at me. This time, on the walk, it was a little signboard in Mangaldas Market, that said "Extra Gully".

Mangaldas Market is one of the largest wholesale fabric markets in this area - a somewhat addictive experience if, like me, you have a thing about fabrics. It is divided into little lanes, and each lane has a number that helps orient you in the maze. I've been there several times, but this was the first time I saw this little board - Mignonne pointed it out to me. An Extra Gully - a builder's quirk, perhaps, but firmly declaring its presence :) We are here too! say the shops in this lane! All you have to do is follow this arrow!

I had to squint up to look at the board. Hard to spot!

The sign is in English, Devnagri and Gujarati. By its very nature it reminds me of the multi-cultural mix of traders who have made this area their home. Muslim, Parsi, Hindu and Jain traders, all use the Gujarati script. Marathi-speaking dealers use Devnagri. English is commonly used by all these communities...notice that the word Extra is English; and so is the word Gully...that doesn't stop anyone from understanding it and writing it in whatever script they want!

On the walk, I also took Mignnone to one of my new favourites - a fantastic little bindi shop near the TBZ store, called Tanvi.

What fascinates me about this shop is how they constantly have new products. How does one innovate in something as simple as a bindi? Apparently, the possibilities are endless.

For example, I spotted this bright orange box amidst other bright boxes, and asked "What is it?" Kya hai? "Khol ke dekho madam", said the guy at the shop. Open it and see.

The box that caught my fancy

So I open it, and ta-da! It's a Bindi Wallet, with a little mirror on top for me to admire my forehead.

Given how expensive fancy bindis are, a wallet to keep them all in order is a practical idea, but what evokes my admiration is the design effort that has gone into making the wallet attractive and appealing. Clearly, this is designed so that it is perfect as a part of a bridal set, or maybe just a wonderful embellishment to a woman's dresser.

And if you find the bindi wallet too large to carry around, here's a tinier version, to slip into your purse :) Notice how the design is more no-nonsense, perhaps it is meant to appeal to the working woman of Bombay? :)

Go wow 'em at the office, girl!

And that's not all. The world of bindis extends beyond the forehead, to hair ornaments, anklets, tattoos for the arm and back...and all manner of body art.

Body art in every colour you can dream of

There are new designs every couple of months.

I see the stocks of bindis and tattoos constantly changing, and marvel at the design impetus behind it. It is the market itself that drives this design. The Indian woman - with her love for all things colourful, and her readiness to try new things - is at the heart of these products.

Photo of me which appeared in HT Brunch - at Tanvi Bindi Shop.

Tanvi is a wholesale shop, but you can see how the entire business is geared towards appealing to the women of the city. "Yeh chalega kya"? Will this work in the market? This is the single-minded question that drives all of Kalbadevi and Bhuleshwar into a frenzy of innovation and change. More power to this machine, then! May it thrive and prosper!

P.S. If you want to read the full article then it is here, with many interesting other tidbits about Bhuleshwar.

What's it with women and cameras

2010-08-15T17:29:00.032+05:30

I was chatting with my friend Derek this morning when he said, hey I bought a new camera lens.

What is it, I asked him, what did you buy?

It's a SIGMA something something, he said.

Actually, that's not what he said. He correctly named the exact model. But I usually get a dazed look whenever anyone reels off any numbers. So only the Sigma registered and I kinda lost the rest of the plot there :)

Anyway, Derek is off happily experimenting with this new super-zoom lens.

Talking to him, I felt that sharp familiar twinge I always get when I hear about cameras. When are you going to buy a better one, Deepa, I asked myself.

For two years now, I've been wanting something better than my point-and-shoot. But I haven't gotten around to buying it.

It's not that I cannot afford it.

As I was chatting today, I finally realised the real reason I haven't bought a camera in two years.

Guilt. With a capital G.

My ultra-conservative-about-money upbringing doesn't allow me to spend a hundred thousand rupees on a gadget.

And it's more than that. I also realise the real problem is that I'm unwilling to spend on a gadget that is purely for me. No one else in the family will use that camera. It's going to be just my own personal toy.

An expensive toy. That will lead to further expenses as I get into accessories, more lenses, photography lessons...

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

A peculiarly female thing? I guess a sociologist would have a field day over this. After all, this is a country where women eat last, after they have fed the rest of the household. Where women consistently undervalue themselves and their interests.

But is my guilt over an expensive purchase a female thing? I know many women who indulge themselves to death; usually in the form of jewellery or clothes or shoes or purses. They're buying fancy mobile phones these days as well; and cars and laptops. Many of these are women who don't have careers; it is the husband who brings home the bacon, so to speak. There is no guilt over these purchases - instead there is just pride and vanity, blessed by social sanction. Clothing and jewellery are a woman's way of telling another woman how rich she really is.

Unfortunately, that logic doesn't extend to womens' cameras. You can't show them off to other women, you see? :) Fancy mobile phones, even laptops and cars, you can show off. But the only people who seem to really understand cameras are men :)

Men really understand expensive toys, don't they? My male friends almost always egg me on to buy that new camera, and most of them offer advice on what model to buy.

My husband definitely has fewer qualms about expensive toys than I do. As I type this, the Bose he bought sits there twinkling at me. Before that, there was the custom-configured Wharfedale. But hey - to be fair to him, it's just two things in all our years together. So does he have guilt too? I *think* so. He certainly has the same ultra-conservative-about-money upbringing! Maybe that's why we don't squabble about money matters :)

Anyway, I think my camera story is drawing to an end. Why? Two things have happened - first, a new Croma store just opened near my house. Which means I am just ten minutes away from my camera. And second, we finally exchanged our credit card points for 35,000 rupees of Croma vouchers. Which means my guilt trip just substantially lessened :) Watch this space!

P.S. All advice welcome! Budget is anything upto Rs 100,000 for relatively light camera and decent zoom lens.

A Dummies Guide to Sabudana Khichdi

2010-08-12T08:01:00.021+05:30

Let's face it. Sabudana khichdi is the easiest thing to make.

Strangely, I totally *suck* at it, producing a gooey mess every single time, instead of a happy light breakfast. It's a complete mystery, because I am otherwise a competent and creative cook.

Thankfully, with the arrival of my new maid, the sabudana khichdi in our household has morphed into a work of art. Since Shravan is here, in all its supposed holiness, and people are buying sabudana by the kilo, I thought this a good time to produce this Sabudana Khichdi for Dummies.

Note that I am merely recording what my maid is doing, I'm not cooking. I'm convinced I'm jinxed when it comes to this sabudana thing :)

Step 1: Sabudana soaked overnight

Aha. Hang on there, because this is the first stumbling block. Most recipes will tell you this soak overnight stuff. The real trick though, is to Know Thy Sabudana. The right amount of soaking (1 hour in our household, but 30 minutes in some others) is required. After this, you drain all the water out, using a colander, and you leave the wet sabudana in the colander overnight. When you come back in the morning you'll find that the sago globules have morphed into fat moist little delights, waiting to be cooked.

Step 2: The Ingredients - Cumin, Lemon, Chillies, Peanuts coarsely ground, coriander for garnishing

There's a missing ingredient in this photo, which is a boiled potato (optional, strictly speaking, but hey, who doesn't like potatoes? And it adds a nice extra texture). By the way, the ground peanut thingy? The more you add the nicer the whole darn thing tastes.

Step 3 - Heat oil in kadhai, add cumin.

Easy, no? The thing is not to burn the seasonings, so keep the flame low, wait for the oil to heat up, then add the cumin.

Step 4: Slice chillies lengthwise

If you're in a household of brave men and women, you can chop the chillies into chunks, or chop them really fine for a spicier dish. I prefer not to be surprised into biting chillies, so we slice them this way to spot it easily.

Step 5: Watch green chillies sizzling in oil. Careful. The pods tend to pop when hot.

Step 6: Add the sago. No, it doesn't stick to the sides of the pan, but cut the flame to as low as you can.

Step 7: Squeeze lemon

My maid and I don't see eye to eye on this lemon business. To me, lemon is something you squeeze at the very end, like a garnish, after you take this thing off the flame. My maid doesn't have any such qualms, and adds lemon anywhere anyhow. Given that her food is outstanding, I should just sit back and let her do what she likes, right?

Step 8: Add salt to taste

How much, really, is "salt to taste"? Different salts have different saltiness, so this one, my friend, only works by trial and error. The golden rule is of course, Less is More. Go easy on the salt. Err on the side of caution. And so on.

Step 9: Bring on the ground peanuts. The more the merrier.

This is also the time my maid brings out the boiled potato, cuts it into tiny squares and pops it into the mix. I've also seen potatoes added at the beginning, just after the green chillies. That seems more sensible to me, but hey, what do *I* know.

Step 10: Give it a good stir. Watch it go from white to a happy brown.

Sabudana cooks quickly. In about 5 minutes, the sago turns translucent, which is when you know it's done. But it also sticks a bit to the sides of the pan, so you have to keep stirring.

Step 11: Chop coriander into bits for garnishing

Step 12: Serve hot

This is important. Cold sabudana is like biting into very dead fish. Hot, steaming, spicy, with the fantastic smells of coriander, lemon and chilli, that's how to eat this thing.

And the best way to eat it is plain. Maharashtrians ruin it, according to me, with a ridiculous sweet yoghurt dip to go with it. But hey. Whatever floats your boat.

And now to breakfast....

Men, women and bonding

2010-07-25T23:00:00.017+05:30

My friend Raju posted a link to an article from the Wall Street Journal about how men and women have different types of friendships: Friendship for Guys (No Tears!).

Women, according to that article, bond by talking. They share personal information, ups-and-downs and relationship difficulties, bonding over long conversations with their female friends.

Men, according to the same article, prefer to "do" rather than talk; playing sports together, or going on adventure treks and so on.

The article primarily refers to an American population. But I'm wondering if it applies to Indian men and women as well.

My husband doesn't have a all-male buddy gang that takes off for the hills once a year in macho style, but he definitely likes "doing". His idea of a fun day with a friend is "Let's go to the club and play tennis." Or scuba-dive. Or try para-gliding. Or some such thing. We went to Greece on holiday; and all he wanted to do was the 17-kilometer Samaria Gorge trek. Thankfully, he's blessed with a sporty daughter; so the two of them went for a whole day's grueling trek, while I spent the day snorkeling and taking a boat cruise around the island.

We often holiday together with my sister's family. Somehow in these holidays we're always "doing" things. Whether it's Borneo, or Africa or Ranthambhore, we always seem to be up and on the go. This suits the men quite well, although they'd really like to do less wimpy things than shepherd us around in "safe" activities.

Rafting in Borneo. Example of low-challenge wimpy stuff :)

But in spite of all the sporty stuff, my husband isn't averse to "talking" either. He certainly is loads better at talking than I am. I don't really talk to anyone about my personal relationships, or any problems / difficulties that I might have. When I have trouble at work, or want to vent, I call my husband :) But mostly I just think about how to fix the problem, or - if I think it can't be fixed - how to cope with it. If I'm exceptionally hassled, I go to sleep and hope the next day will be better. Or I go off and shed a few private tears in the bathroom. I usually don't call up other women and talk about it.

Maybe I just haven't had a bad enough crisis in life, eh? Or maybe my regular weekly Sunday sessions with mom and sis are already quite enough of a release valve :) This morning the three of us sat around and did the usual laments about maids, traffic, and the lack of civic sense in the city. We discussed exams, children, new recipes and upcoming family weddings. Dad wandered in and out of the room; half chatting, half supervising some masonry work.

None of us did any soul-baring, but this sort of idle morning chat is enough to recharge batteries and let you get on with the week ahead. Quite therapeutic! Can women bond over trivia, then? It would seem so, at least with family.

- Deepa

P.S. My cousin Satish wrote this piece today called Male Bonding (curious co-incidence, both of us writing about the same stuff!!)

Want to come on a bazaar walk this Saturday?

2010-07-21T17:22:00.006+05:30

I was looking through my photos of Bhuleshwar, and I remembered this basket in the Flower Market which I photographed three years ago.

I couldn't identify several things in it, so I asked the lady and she told me. The long maize-like thing is actually kewra. Who knew?

Anyway, I'm inspired by this kewra photo to go see more new things in Bhuleshwar, so I'm organising a walk this Saturday.

Does anyone want to come?

The Invite for the walk is here: Mumbai Magic on Facebook

Let me know if you want to come. I was originally going to do it this Saturday (24th), but given that it's pouring rain this week, maybe we'll do it next Saturday instead. Please email me at deepa at mumbaimagic dot com to check.

Frommers India 4th Edition - Mumbai Magic

2010-06-27T22:29:00.012+05:30

Frankly folks, I don't know whether to grin or blush or what.

You guys simply *have* to read this review that just appeared in the latest Frommers India guide!!

For those who want to know what the 3-star rating means - here's the guide to Frommer's ratings:

According their website: "the Frommer's star rating is meant to quantify the kind of intangible, experiential elements that help travelers make informed decisions.

The "baseline" recommendation is zero stars - every hotel, restaurant, attraction, shop, and nightlife establishment that Frommer's chooses to review is recommended; otherwise, we simply wouldn't include it."

I'm soooooooo very pleased with this review! Actually, even that's an understatement. At the moment, I want to twirl around and hug someone at Frommers (if only I knew who wrote this!). Unfortunately, after being labelled "super-sophisticated", twirling is out, so I am forced to offer a more sedate thanks.

How do you survey a billion people?

2010-06-06T20:44:00.027+05:30

Two diminutive women showed up at the door this week.

They said - in Marathi - "Janaganana karaycha aahe"

Jan-a-gan-a-naa (a neat tongue-twister, try saying that fast!), is a compound formed from two Sanskrit words:

janaH = people
gan.H = to count or consider

After they rattled off that tongue-twister again, I figured it out (thank god for Sanskrit lessons in school).

"Ah" I said to them, sounding ridiculously Anglophone and hopelessly upperclass. "Census-saathi aale ka?" Are you here for the Census?

It was a hot summer afternoon. I invited the ladies in, and offered refreshments. It was then that I saw their big black bag - CENSUS OF INDIA 2011.

The black Census Bag

From the depths of the bag, the women produced large forms. I had expected tacky forms on bad paper, the sort you see at the Post Office. Instead, the forms were aesthetically pleasing, printed on thick, good quality paper, and colour-coded for ease of use. Later I found out that the forms would be scanned through character recognition software, and that there would be no manual data entry.

The Enumerators with their form and custom-designed pad.

There are 2.7 millon Enumerators roaming all over the country at this moment, surveying 240 million households. They've been given 45 days in which to do it. Since this is India, where people speak 450 languages, the Powers that Be have sensibly restricted the Census forms to 16 primary languages. The Postal Department - another giant Indian undertaking - has been kept busy shipping these forms to multiple data collection centres across the country.

For anyone who has run any kind of project, the challenges of tackling such a gigantic logistics effort are quite obvious. For example, how do you train 2.7 million Enumerators? The Census team follows a cascading system, of course, starting with a mere 90 trainers at the top of the pyramid, but geometrically progressing to 2.7 million in three crazy big steps.

90 National Trainers,
who train

725 Master Trainer Facilitators,
who in turn train

54,000 Master Trainers,
who then train

all the 2.7 milllion Enumerators!

Sigh. Sheer poetry. The math is beautiful. Honestly, this is the kind of big leap of ambitious "can-do" that impresses me no end. Here are some other impressive numbers:

Number of villages being surveyed: More than 600,000
Number of towns being surveyed: 7700
Total population being surveyed: 1.2 billion
Number of "how-to" manuals printed: 8 million
Amount of paper that's being used: 12,000 metric tonnes (ha! I can believe that!)
The cost of this exercise: US$ 130 million

I sat down to answer the questions, but I was also very keen to see the whole process in action.

There seemed to be two types of forms - one type that collected basic data about the household and its members, and another that collected information about the quality of housing and amenities, assets, and other lifestyle questions.

The basic data will go into the National Population Register - an ambitious project that is being done for the first time ever in India, to produce accurate information about people living in each area. The National Population Register will contain a "List of Usual Residents" for each area, along with socio-economic profile (gender, education, occupation etc). From this list, duplicates will be weeded out across the country, and every Indian will be issued a Unique ID.

Answering questions for the National Population Register

I'm waiting now, to see what they're going to do with our names. The women wrote them down in Marathi, ruining the pronounciation and spelling. What further destruction the character recognition software will do to our names, I don't know.

But I have (strangely), a lot of faith in the bureaucracy. Slow and plodding it might be, but it usually gets things done, and is capable of getting things done on a very large scale. Let's wait and watch.

On CNNGo today - Mumbai Magic Bazaar Walk

2010-05-20T11:16:00.005+05:30

There's a review of my Bhuleshwar bazaar walk on CNNGo today:

Trivial pursuit: In search of god, gold and pieces of history at Mumbai's old markets
by Tarini Awatramani

We take a tour of the city's pulse centers -- the by-lanes of old bazaars -- and discover five things we never knew about this beguiling city.

The original epicenter of commercial life in the city, Crawford Market, Zaveri Bazaar and Buleshwar are like living museums. Mumbai Magic knows these interconnected markets in a way that gives you a glimpse of a time past, which you would easily miss trying to navigate through the crowds on your own.

Here are five of the many great things you didn’t know about your city, that you can learn from its markets.

Mumbai dying?

2010-05-17T09:07:00.008+05:30

The Hindustan Times Brunch had an interesting article, comparing Mumbai, Delhi and Calcutta.

The article suggests that while the 19th century belonged to Calcutta and the 20th to Bombay, the 21st century belongs to Delhi.

Do you think this is true? Is Mumbai on a downward slide? Does the 21st century belong to Delhi?

I summarised the article here; would love to hear comments: Delhi - 21st century city?

Flamingoes at Sewri - unexpected bonus

2010-05-10T21:44:00.007+05:30

- by Deepa Krishnan

I went to Sewri on Friday, and stumbled, literally stumbled upon *thousands* of flamingoes.

What a spectacle.

I've been to Lake Nakuru in Kenya, where they gather in larger numbers, but seeing these birds in my own backyard, so to say, was a totally different feeling.

Of course, this little photo does no justice at all to the scene. But if you click on it, I think you'll see a larger image, which is a little better.

In any case, what you see in the photo is only 20% of what I saw. What I saw was a total 360 degree scene, flamingoes everywhere on all sides and on the far shore as well.

It was all the more fabulous because it was completely unexpected. I thought the birds would be gone in May.

I am so pleased!

Theo's Adventure Capitalists on BBC2

2010-05-08T08:26:00.012+05:30

- by Deepa Krishnan

There's a new show on BBC2 this month, that I worked on. It's called Theo's Adventure Capitalists.

In the show, millionaire host Theo Paphitis helps three British companies launch their businesses in India.

The India episode will air on May 11, at 20:00 UK time.

Introduction and "let's explore the market together"

The three companies are:

Marmite - yeast-based breakfast spread - will we love it or hate it in India?
Luxury watch manufacturer Bremont - will it sell?
Regenatec, a company that sells kits that convert diesel engines to plant oil based engines. Will the idea even take off?

The bit I did was a general introduction to the Indian marketplace - mostly talking about food preferences, taboos, typical characteristics of buyers, etc. We also visited a home for a look at urban families, and cooked lunch together to give Theo a sense of how Indian kitchens are set up, and whether Marmite would find acceptance in this way of life.

Photos from the shoot - not sure what bits of this - if any - will finally make it to the screen, but it was fun doing it anyway:

At the Flower Market

The price of a pen (Theo owns Ryman the Stationer and was amazed at how inexpensive everything is in India)

Not everything is inexpensive :) Women will pay the world for things dear to their heart!

I think in this photo I was listing the defining characteristics of the Indian consumer. Not sure! Certainly my fingers seem to be counting out *something*!

Discussing real estate in Mumbai

Sweaty but happy after the cooking session (introduction to an Indian kitchen, typical cooking style, figuring whether Marmite will find acceptance)

Old is Gold. Or is it?

2010-04-19T00:26:00.008+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

On April 15 (Poila Baisakh, the Bengali New Year), a Bangladeshi writer I know wrote an article bemoaning the loss of traditional Bangla culture.

Children in Bangladesh are eating pizza and burgers, he agonised. They're losing interest in traditional Bengali food! They're listening to Westernised remixes of traditional Bangla songs! They're losing touch with rural Bangladesh, and even losing simple local knowledge (for example, how to walk through slippery soil or negotiate rickety wooden bridges).

As I read his article, it naturally struck me that we have pretty much the same thing happening in India.

I know only half the traditional Tamil pickle recipes that my mother knows. I do not know how to drape the beautiful traditional kanjeevaram, the 9-yard saree (although I've been promising myself that I will learn it!). I do not know the names of the months in the Hindu calendar, and I cannot read the traditional almanac to check for "auspicious" hours. I don't know how to draw water smoothly from a village well, or how to frugally channel the watering of a coconut grove. I have none of my father's intimate knowledge of astrology, or his deep understanding and appreciation of Kathakali. I am blind to the sowing and harvesting patterns of the paddy fields, and I can barely tell one spice from another in a plantation.

It seems to me that in just one generation, a whole world has been lost.

Watching the paddy harvest at Hampi. We had no clue it was harvest season when we went there.

When I consider my daughter's generation, the loss is even deeper. My daughter and niece are even less familiar than I am with festivals and rituals. They are city kids, who know nothing at all of village life. They will, in all probability, never wear a 9-yards kanjeevaram...and in time, the looms that produce these beautiful sarees will stop making them.

My first instinct, therefore, was to empathise with the Bangladeshi writer's sense of loss.

But then, I stopped to think.

Is this really loss? Or is it just a natural movement forward?

Do I really want us to be a stagnant people, staying the same always? So what if music and food preferences change over time? So what if our kids love rock music, and remix it into their own versions, part Indian, past Western? So what if we love Chinese cuisine, turning fried-rice into a uniquely Chindian offering?

In India we have had a glorious tradition of adopting and literally transforming all sorts of foodstuff. We did not have tomatoes, potatoes and green chillies until 500 years ago when the Portuguese brought it. But look at us now; these are an integral part of our cuisine!

How do I say thank you in Portuguese? :) :)

In my home, yes, we do not cook some of the traditional Tamil and Kerala dishes because I don't know how to. But we are experimenting with all sorts of other stuff - Gujarati achars, Punjabi masalas, Greek feta, Italian pastas, Mexican sauces, Chinese stir-frys - this is no loss!! More and more interesting spices are entering my kitchen, and soon these will be part of a glorious new cuisine. Far from being a loss, this is a fresh breeze wafting through my kitchen bringing flavours from all over the world into my life.

I believe people who have a problem with cultural changes are blinkered. Cultures that do not learn and adapt - they just wither and die. Those who observe, adopt, adapt and innovate are richer for it.

But then (sigh), what of the old ways and their undoubted beauty? Do I really want to forget our history and culture? It is a dilemma, isn't it?

At a dinner discussion some months ago, my daughter asked, "Amma, do you think it's important to study history? It's just a bunch of old stuff, right?"

And I answered her by saying, "I think it is important to document and preserve information about the old days and the old ways, otherwise we won't know who we are or where we came from."

The real reason why people fear cultural change is because they think it leads to identity loss. But what if we teach our children who they are, what their roots are? If we are able to connect children to their roots, then they can listen to any kind of music, eat any kind of food, wear any kind of clothes... but I believe they will still remain anchored to their real identity. They will, even while embracing change, not morph into rootless, culture-less, confused strangers.

Speaking for myself, my heart is here, anchored in Mumbai, amidst my family. Whether or not I learn to cook a 10-course feast, I know that this sophisticated subtle Brahmin vegetarian cuisine is part of my rich legacy. Whether or not I eventually learn to wear the 9-yard kanjeevaram, I know it is my people who created this thing of beauty many hundreds of years ago. So even as I fly around the world and experiment with other clothes, I feel the silken threads of the kanjeevaram anchoring me, calling to me, reminding me of my roots.

So yes, Old is Gold, because it tells who you really are. Armed with the old, it's easier to tackle the new!

My mother in a 9-yard South Indian kanjeevaram, me in a more "modern" 6-yards version, and my daughter in a "borrowed-from-North India" salwar-kameez. Our clothes reflect three generations of change already!

The Party

2010-04-11T10:29:00.016+05:30

- by Deepa Krishnan

We threw a Saturday lunch party yesterday (well, maybe that's the wrong way to phrase it - the party sort of threw itself).

You see, my husband is changing jobs, and his team from the old company wanted to organise a farewell party. The venue was our house.

The gang showed up with an amazing number of beer bottles. A plastic tub from the bathroom was rescued, filled with ice and water, and served as the chiller. The guys assured me that adding salt to the water would speed up the cooling process. "Three minutes for ice-cold bottles", they boasted. So my somewhat flummoxed maid was summoned and asked to dump salt into the tub. She thought (so did I) that the boys were nuts, but apparently salt reduces the freezing point of ice, or some such thing. Anyway, I was having wine, so I didn't really care :)

We live in a small apartment that is absolutely not capable of holding 20 people - but hey, this is Bombay - where we all know how to survive the super-dense local trains. Naturally, all through the afternoon, as the beer levels progressively increased, people showed a lot of creativity in finding places to sit / sleep / slouch (and straddle!)

The star of the show was our new music system - my husband's pet project, into which a substantial portion of the family fortune has been sunk. Through the afternoon, I heard not one, but several technical discourses on how to make the most of our Bose (what is it with men and gadgets?).

The laptop was rigged up to the system (so were mobile phones), and we had a merry procession of DJ's, each trying to educate the audience on what constitutes good music.

We started with lavni - a provocative song called 'Piklya Paanacha' - which was completely lost on the non-Marathi part of the group, but which I loved. It led to discussions on how lavni shows now work in the interior parts of Kolhapur and other districts, how the age of Mumbai dance bars is now over, and how - if you are on the inside track - you can see dance shows in Pondicherry of all places! If you want to hear/see the lavni song and dance, the link is here - and if you want a translation of the superbly rustic lyrics - dripping with innuendo and come-hither references, just ask me!!

Moving on from lavni - the gang had people from all parts of India, so we moved on to a wide assortment of other stuff - the Tamil gang played some good old Ilayaraja hits and some 'modern' Kollywood stuff (loud catcalls, etc!). There were classic Hindi movie songs from O P Nayyar; "50-years of Golden Bollywood", nostalgic stuff from Bob Dylan and Santana, and an assortment of blues and jazz.

There were repeated calls for music from Dilli 6 from me - I wanted to listen to what I call the achar song :) For me this song has become the quintessential summer afternoon song, and the sight of the sunlight filtering through the curtains made me want to hear it.

Surprisingly, no one asked for or played the newer Bollywood "party" numbers, except for one aborted attempt at the popular 'Pretty Woman' song from that Shah Rukh Khan starrer. I was kinda surprised. If there is one type of music that everyone in Bombay understands (especially after several rounds of beers), it is Bollywood dance music - a sort of universal common denominator not only in Bombay but across the country.

I don't have anything against the feel-good numbers that Bollywood produces - many are fantastic infectious songs that set your foot tapping. But I think I enjoyed our somewhat divergent musical afternoon more, simply because of all the inflections and variations we had. Tamil, Marathi, Hindi, English, old, new, modern, traditional and folk music - the songs were chosen by different people from different parts of the country, with different kinds of upbringing. There was a lot of laughter and shouting and booing, but it was good-natured fun, and every song was given its due chance to impress.

Later that night I thought about the party and reflected with a smile that maybe this sort of get together is why I like Bombay. The mix of people and all the different regional flavours is what makes this city a cosmopolitan joy to live in. The more we live side by side, the more we learn to listen to each other, the richer we become. I wish some of the intolerant idiots who are ruining the city with ther bigotry would learn this simple lesson.

Mumbai Magic is on Condé Nast - again!

2010-03-30T22:20:00.008+05:30

This month Condé Nast Traveller voted Mumbai, Chicago and Buenos Aires as top buzz-worthy destinations. And Mumbai Magic is the only tour company listed in the article, yayy!

We're Off To Mumbai, Chicago, and Buenos Aires
by Eimear Lynch | Published April 2010
Our top picks for the biggest-value buzz-worthy destinations worldwide. Get 'em while they're hot.

Taking the local train

2010-03-21T21:27:00.008+05:30

- By Aishwarya Pramod

This year I started travelling by local train for the first time.

Throughout my school days, I'd been a princess going back and forth everyday by car, and this continued for the first few days of college as well. (In my defence, I never asked for the car. My parents insisted I be driven to college and back, honest!).

But then I felt the need to travel by local train, simply because I needed to have an option in case I could not go by car.

So I asked a classmate, who I knew lived close to where I lived, and she agreed to come with me to the station (V.T.) and show me which trains I could get on, and where to get off.

VT Station, from where my journey back home after college begins

View of station as we approach from my college

Subway entrance to get to VT Station

The train journey was very interesting the first time. In the compartment (Second Class Ladies) there were all sorts - fisherwomen chatting loudly, squatting at the entrance; college students, listening to music on earphones, burka-clad ladies and schoolgirls wearing headscarves.

Vendors selling chips, samosas, bhel puri and others selling clips, stickers, bangles, earrings got on. My friend and I looked at some earrings together.

A blind man got on, singing a devotional song and walked through the compartment. A woman followed him, holding a tin where people deposited coins.

It wasn't very crowded, and only a few people were standing in the compartment. Most of the others had places to sit, though in most cases 4 women were squeezed into a seat meant for 3.

The ones standing asked, "Kahaan utarna hai?" to the ones sitting. Where will you get off the train? The sitting ones told them where they would get off, and thus those standing reserved places for themselves after the ones sitting got off.

At Wadala Road, the station before mine (and hers), we got up and went to the door. At the next station we jumped off, and on the platform pulled free of a pocket of ladies trying to board the same train we had got off from.

It was time to walk home. My friend took the bus as she lived a little distance away. I was feeling confident about the train journey and looked forward to it the next day.

But immediately the next day, that girl didn't come to college. I was left to find my train on my own. I got onto the wrong train, and at Byculla station, I asked the lady next to me "Agla station GTB hai na?" (The next station is GTB, yes?)

She said, "Arre, yeh gaadi GTB nahi jaati. Utar jao, tumko waapas jaana hoga." (No, this train doesn't go to GTB; you better get off this train and go back)

I didn't know how to go back and what to do after that, but I didn't want to ask (I didn't want to look ignorant :P ... stupid, I know!). So I got off at the next station and took a taxi home, feeling pathetic.

But that was a long time ago. Now I'm more familiar with the trains. I can catch trains both on the Central line and the Harbour line, because my house is located near 2 stations - GTB Nagar and Sion.

Sometimes while travelling with friends, we take the General Compartment where both men and women are allowed to travel. We usually take First Class... I took the General Second Class Compartment once and I don't want to do it again (This involves an embarassing incident where I accidentally groped a man's chest - I was standing near the seat and I thought it was my bag but I turned around to find a very affronted-looking Sardarji. I mumbled a sorry and ran for the door. This only happened cos the Second Class Compartment was more crowded, and because I was talking to a friend and didn't concentrate on what I was doing!!).

First Class Compartment. Further down is Second Class, where you can see people hanging out of the door.

Many days when I've had to stay back late in college either because of lectures or other work, I prefer to take the train home, rather than asking the driver to wait. So that happens around two or three days a week. Now I also have a rail pass for the Central line - First Class.

I can't make any claims to be a veteran/seasoned commuter but after a year of college, I'm no newbie either!

Pigging out at Elco Arcade

2010-03-11T19:26:00.014+05:30

- by Deepa Krishnan

I'm quite certain there are two women for every man you see on Hill Road. It's all the shopping, you see? Makes for a skewed gender ratio!

Hundreds of big and small stores, selling clothing, bags, footwear, purses, hair accessories... it's absolute paradise for female shopaholics.
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But for me, what makes this chaotic experience extra-special is this: the restaurant at at Elco Arcade!

Home of the special pani puri, Elco is a destination unto itself, a fast-food Mecca, so to speak.

Space is at a premium, given the almost permanent crowds. So the management cleverly uses little red stools. Whether you're out with the whole family, or just with a friend, the stools lend themselves to amazingly creative configurations, doubling up as both tables and chairs. And if you're dating someone, the stools allow you to cozy up. Who wants a big table in between?

One of my little pleasures at Elco is sharing food. When you order something, you can say "Five spoons, please!" - and the waiters understand perfectly. When the item is served, you plonk it on a common stool, share it with friends, and when you've polished it off, you then order the next interesting thing. This sort of sequential ordering and eating works because the waiters are lightning fast, everything is served ultra-quick, and there is hardly any thumb-twiddling. Here are three happy shoppers digging into a shared sev-puri.

But sev-puri is not Elco's trademark dish. It is the pani puri that catapulted Elco from a small street-side stall into a thriving restaurant. There are 2 pani-puri counters, and as the guy at your counter works his magic, your entire system floods with anticipation. Little crisp puris with their spicy-tangy-sweet fillings...aah...you can barely wait. In fact, look at the careful concentration on the girl's face in the photo below :)

While the pani-puris are really good, my favourite at Elco is their pav bhaji. This is the only place in the city that I know which serves pav bhaji along with dahi-vada and a gulab jamun. I remember how surprised and pleased I was the very first time I got it! It was an unexpected bonus, and one that made perfect sense to me. The dahi-vada is cooling on the palate after the spicy pav bhaji, and the gulab jamun rounds off the meal delightfully.

This is my cousin Sheela with the cheese pav bhaji that she and I shared. She was visiting from Malaysia, and I decided she should experience the delights of Elco. The entire plate was sinful, yes, but worth every calorie. When you come to Elco you really need to check in your diet at the door.

This Sunday I went back to Elco. Sheela's brother Juggi was visiting from the US, and so five of us piled into our Innova and went to Elco. It was quite warm outside, so we were ushered upstairs - where to my surprise, there was a very modern-looking, air-conditioned space. Not surprisingly, here too, there were more women than men.

We ordered five different dishes, and we shared it between us. I managed to click photos of my bhelpuri and my mom's dahi-puri before they vanished in an all-out attack by five spoons.

The bhel was just the way I like it - with little slices of green mango to add that extra tang.

My mom loved the dahi-puri, but Aishwarya didn't. She thought the dahi was too sweet.

We polished off the whole affair with mango-kulfi (yes! it's that time of the year! the Alfonsos have started to arrive!) and falooda, before heading off to Carter Road to watch a street play (more of that later perhaps).

The menu at Elco has many more interesting things that I have not yet tasted. Makai Pattice, Basket Chaat, Double Chaska (whatever that is!), Tava Aloo Chaat...take a look.

I'd like to try all of them at some point. I guess I'll simply *have* to go shopping more often, then, won't I? he he.

Disappearing Act

2010-03-06T10:48:00.014+05:30

- by Aishwarya Pramod

Up until I was 5 years old, I spent most of my time at my grandparents' place. My mom was a working woman and during the day time my grandmother and grandfather looked after me.

Their house was on the ground floor of a set of apartments, in a small lane behind Roopam cinema (now Cinemax Sion). One of my earliest memories is of a tree, growing near the gate of my grandparents’ building. The strange little flowers on that tree spread a red carpet on the ground. And in and around that tree, there were tons of sparrows. Sparrows hopping around (when moving on the ground, they prefer to hop instead of walk), sparrows scolding angrily, sparrows flitting busily about the whole building.

When I was almost 6, we went to live in Chennai. When I came back to Mumbai seven years later, I saw that the tree was gone and only a few sparrows were in sight.

I wondered where they all had gone. I wondered if it was only from our building that they disappeared, or from all of Mumbai?

The answer, I found out from newspapers, is that the little birds have dropped in population drastically - more than 50 percent- since the time I was last here.

Sparrows are tough city birds, but in Mumbai, they've been subjected to an unholy combination of challenges that has broken their hardy backs.

For one, they have fewer places to nest now. The old, traditional houses had lots of hidey holes and protected crevices for sparrows to make their nests. Box style flats have fewer of these spaces.

Traditional roofed housing in Bandra -
But these old enclaves are disappearing fast. In the background you can see new modern style concrete housing.

A fisherman's old-style home in Worli Fishing Village.
This sort of house has lots of nooks and crannies where sparrows love to build their nests.

Another surprising reason is the introduction of unleaded petrol. When unleaded petrol combusts, it releases compounds that kill insects, which are an important food source for baby sparrows.

Radiation from mobile towers also affects the reproductive and nervous systems of sparrows. Their babies have high mortality rates and many of them are born with serious deformities.

Pigeons, crows and other bigger birds are serious competition.

City folks don't dry grain out in the open as much as they used to, so sparrows can't steal grain from here (another important food source gone).

Surely, the sparrow is disappearing from the city. This is a bird that has characterized not only my childhood, but that of many others in Mumbai. Perhaps the disappearance of the sparrow indicates the passing of an old way of life in Mumbai. Or maybe Mumbai was always rapidly changing, and I just didn't notice it when I was 5 years old.

Lamps for Sale!! New and Old!! Lamps for Sale!!

2010-02-27T09:32:00.009+05:30

- by Deepa Krishnan
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I know I have an overactive imagination, but I swear to you, some shops in Chor Bazaar look like they are straight out of The Arabian Nights.

Pottering among the shelves, you feel you might chance upon Alladin's fabled lamp, or some other magical object to transport you in time and space to some distant Caliphate.
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There are all sorts of combinations of brass and glass, there's a clinking and tinkling, and everywhere, there is a thin layer of dust that reminds you this is a flea market, not an upscale boutique. But it all adds to the experience, the rickety chairs you sit on, the way you have to hunt for treasures...
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We were shopping for antique looking light fixtures. My friend had bought a traditional heritage house in Penang and was looking to refurbish it. A brass chandelier we saw hanging from the ceiling seemed just the right thing. We had them take it down from the ceiling for closer inspection.

Then we tried different types of glass holders, to see what designs we liked. We had just one night - she was flying out the next morning, so we had to be patient while stocks were checked to ensure we had enough numbers of glass holders. The price was a fantastic bargain at Rs 15,000 for the chandelier, a set of 17 glass holders (2 spare ones), and all fittings.
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The deal was clinched; and we waited some more while the little screws were fixed, the chandelier polished and scrubbed. The more I looked at it, the more gorgeous it seemed. Even in that very ordinary setting, I could see that when this thing was finally transported and installed in a heritage home, it would look amazing. What is it about burnished brass that's so alluring?

There were lots of other things in the shop, some were art deco, some ornate and colourful,...depending on your taste and the kind of decor that works for your house, you could end up buying a lot of things here. I loved the art deco, actually. Some of it was funky and fantastic. But even the colourful glass stuff was full of character and would add interesting drama to a boring living room.

It was late, almost 8:30 p.m. by the time we left the shop. I was starving. When we walked out to the car, we found this street-side treasure: Sweet potato!!

Roasted on a coal sigdi, and served with a dash of salt and chaat masala...sigh...what a treat. Have you tasted this before? The potato skin was darkened to black over the coal fire, but inside the flesh was white and steaming hot. We clambered gratefully into the car, and headed back home tucking into our little treat. I'm totally convinced now- every shopping trip ought to end with great street food!!

The dabbawala and other Mumbai stories

2010-01-31T09:04:00.023+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

"Why haven't you written about the dabbawalas?", someone asked me recently. "They're such a Mumbai icon!"

Well, if you really want to know, I haven't written about the dabbawalas simply because they've become such a well-worn cliche. I am so irritated by condescending articles that gush "Oh, they're uneducated but they're still a six sigma operation!!".

As if only people with university degrees can run anything of high quality!

I'm quite certain the istriwala who has been coming to our house every week for the last 20 years runs a six sigma operation. He rarely, very rarely, makes mistakes. The guy who delivers our groceries (he comes home every alternate day and takes orders) rarely makes mistakes either. The newspaper delivery is never wrong, nor the milk delivery. The flower-woman delivers the right fresh flowers for daily prayer (different types of flowers for different houses, different lengths, and special flowers for special days). There's a fruit seller who brings bananas to my parents home every other day, and a vegetable seller who brings palak.

Istriwala at work, 7:00 a.m., near Indian Gymkhana, Matunga

Paperwala doing his rounds, near SIES School

All of these services are run by people with no literacy; they each service large numbers of people, and they all work quite well, thank you. Why? Maybe it's history. We have had, for many hundreds of years, tradesmen and artisans and tailors and goldsmiths, all providing custom services to not just nawabs and maharajahs, but also to a large section of middle and upper middle class consumers.

People were born into these specific trades - if your father was a goldsmith, so would you be. Fathers passed on to their sons, not only the necessary skills of the trade, but also their clientele. "Yeh hamara ladka hai", said our istriwala to me some months ago. This is my son. It was a business introduction, a way of ensuring the son's face was imprinted on me, so that when he passed on, the son could take over the business.

The sons of tradesmen all start by following their parents to shops or on their rounds, familiarising themselves not only with the trade, but also the customers. Our family goldsmith, for instance, knows three generations of our family, and we know three generations of theirs. As each generation passes on, the younger ones continue the relationship, offering personalised and trusted services.

But it's not just artisans and tradesmen - you can see custom-services even in the daily bazaars. Come pickling season, shopkeepers set up custom mango slicing operations. "Don't cut it so fine, bhaiyya", you can say to them. "I'd like it more chunky." Buying a pineapple? They'll slice it into nice thin circles so you don't have to bother. How about a pomegranate? Ah, no problem, they'll peel it for you and give you bright red kernels in small pouches. Fresh corn? They'll cut the kernels from the cob and custom-pack it for you. If you're a regular customer, they'll remember what you like and how you like it.

Mango seller, Bhuleshwar. You can taste before buying; and have it cut to your specifications.

Pomegranates at Matunga Market, free peeling service

As you can see, we are quite obviously, a people who understand personalised and high quality service extremely well. In fact, I think Indian consumers are probably the most demanding in the world. We want - no, we insist - on superior service, tailored to our needs, at little or no cost. This of course, is a daunting prospect for anyone supplying anything to the Indian market. But sellers who can understand this mindset and who can tailor their products and services to it, are the ones who will succeed and thrive.

The dabbawallas have, in fact, done exactly that. They provide a service that is designed around their customer's needs, at a price that makes sense. This doesn't make the dabbawalas any less iconic or interesting - but it does set them into a larger context, the context of a city that offers other similar services at really low costs.

Here are the simple economics of the dabbawala story:

Number of dabbawalas: 5,000

Number of dabbas they deliver every day: 200,000

Charges per month: Rs 250-300 per dabba

What you get for 10 rupees a day: Two-way delivery of food (in the morning, hot food is transported from home to office, and in the afternoon the empty dabba is brought back)

Does it make sense?: Yes it does. A thali meal at a restaurant costs at least Rs 35; and the nicer ones cost Rs 100 - Rs 200. So even with the dabbawala's delivery charges, you end up spending much, much less every month if you bring food from home. And you don't get upset tummies. And all your little food taboos are intact - you can eat garlic-free meals, if your religion forbids garlic. Or sugar-free meals, if you're diabetic. Unlike a courier service, you get the same dabbawala every day, a face-to-face personalised service integrated into your daily routine. Before the era of cell phones, dabbawalas passed on messages as well ("Come home early, your aunt from Valsad is here!"). Even today, because it is a familiar trusted daily service, the dabbawala will sometimes deliver cell phones or pens or things that someone has forgotten at home.

And thus the dabbawala's proposition works; it is priced right for the market, but more importantly, it satisfies the customer's requirement for a customised, personalised meal that meets personal, medical, religious and social requirements. It therefore delivers exactly the kind of value that Indian customers want and appreciate. If there is a magic formula for succeeding in the Indian market, surely this is it.

Mumbai on their mind

2010-01-08T09:40:00.004+05:30

The three of us got featured on Harmony Magazine (you know, the one Tina Ambani owns) recently. Mom and I enjoyed the photo-shoot at my home. Aishwarya co-operated, but barely :) The article is reproduced below, I thought it was well written.

Mumbai on their mind
A family blog that brings together the past, present and the future

The family that 'blogs' together stays together. You are tempted to rewrite the old proverb when you meet 70 year-old Janaki Krishnan; her daughter, Deepa, 40; and granddaughter Aishwarya, 16. The three share a group blog: www.mumbai-magic.blogspot.com.

Though it was Deepa who came up with the idea in 2006, Aishwarya and Janaki started contributing a year later. Janaki, a retired teacher, was inspired to write actively when her first article on Mumbai's Koliwada market was published in HT Café, the daily supplement of Hindustan Times.

The blog, in essence, is a paean to Mumbai, featuring little-known streets and monuments: the obscure Jewish synagogue in Masjid Bunder; the vegetable market in Vashi; a tiny attar (perfume) shop in Crawford Market; the knife sellers in Zaveri Bazaar. Many posts related to places are written by Deepa, who organises city tours through her firm Mumbai Magic Tours. Janaki's writings are steeped in nostalgia and interesting details of everyday life: the 'season' of making pickles; remembering her mother on Mothers' Day; oil baths of yore; and finding the perfect banana to match her family's diverse taste. And Aishwarya, who believes her grandmother is her "emergency number", writes about everything from travelling in local trains to taking riding lessons and monsoon in Mumbai. All three often discuss possible subjects for the blog and have inspired more members in their family to write. "My uncle wrote a funny piece about people falling asleep in Mumbai trains and my grand-uncle wrote about a rare flower that bloomed in a terrace garden near his house," says Aishwarya.

Harmony magazine, Nov 09

At the Post Office

2009-12-20T22:23:00.017+05:30

- by Deepa Krishnan
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I have not been to the Post Office in the last 12 years. But last week, I went with mom and dad . They had invested a little money a while ago, in some postal savings scheme, and my signature was needed in order to redeem it.

My first impression of the interior.

At first I thought nothing had changed at the Post Office - but then I realised the red colour was new. The place was brighter than I remembered. And there were now chairs that you could sit on, while you waited for the files to move. That's Dad, seated, waiting for his cheque.

Mom in the rust colour saree. She's helping the lady in green fill a form in English.

A Tamil-speaking lady in green was having trouble with forms. Mom as usual, volunteered to help. I wandered off with the camera, clicking photos. The first thing I noticed was this couple.

They were at the Monthly Income Scheme counter.

This is a scheme where you deposit a certain amount, and then you withdraw on a monthly basis. It is popular with retired people - perhaps there was a family elder on whose behalf they were withdrawing.

I sneaked a peek at the man behind another counter. I wondered what his job was. I found out easily enough. His job was to write things in big fat ledgers.

The babu and his numbered ledgers

It seemed to me like the dullest job in the world, scribbling little numbers on page after page, book after book. And yet, this is a sought-after job, bringing with it a certain social standing. A man with a steady "go-ment job" has no trouble finding a bride.

I saw the usual board, asking people not to bribe officials.

A little further away was the mail dropbox. If memory serves me right, the red slot below is where I used to drop letters to my German pen-pal. I wonder if anyone has-penpals these days!

The green is for inside the country, and the red is for international.

I wandered outside the post office gate, and found a little blue office. The board on the office said, "Harris Michael Koli, Investment Consultant. Please phone on mobile before comming" (His spelling, not mine!).

Exterior of Sion Post Office.

On the building you can see the new logo of the Indian Post Office, launched in 2008. It is meant to represent a new dynamic and modern postal system, in tune with the twenty first century. Frankly, in a country this size, that is not an easy achievement. I looked up the India Post website and found that we have a staggering 155,035 post offices in the country, of which 90% are in rural areas.

By the way, I found some other interesting tidbits as well:

The average distance you have to walk anywhere in India, to find the nearest Post Office is 2.59 kms.
In Maharashtra, a typical rural post office serves 5,127 people and an urban post office 35,324 people
Of the 155,035 post offices, 2,500 have completed what the India Post calls "Modernisation (Improving Ergonomics)". I wonder what they did as part of this exercise!
An impressive 10,000 post offices have been computerised (my post office is one of them, so there are fewer babus writing in files in Sion, he he.)
There are 30,000 female employees of India Post. This is 10% of the total staff.

Another interesting thing about the Indian Post is that it provides employment for more than just it's staff. Like Michael Harris Koli above, or this gentleman with the moustache below.

Mr. Moustache - the grand old man outside Post Office!

Mr. Moustache has been a fixture outside the Sion Post Office for the last 20 years. What does he do? He is a typist, and he types out legal agreements on stamped paper. It has nothing to do with India Post, this is just a very good place to set up shop.

The Parcel Service Guy

Next to Mr. Moustache is another counter - this is a Registered Parcel service. You tell the man the address, and give him your parcel. He wraps it in the right sized envelope or packet, seals the package with wax, and fills in the post office Registered Parcel form. All you have to do is take it inside the Post Office and send it off. It's a handy service if you can't read or write, or don't have the right packing material at home.

When I wandered back inside, I found that our cheque was ready. Dad was pleased as punch. We didn't have to wait too long, or fill lengthy forms. The records were computerised, it was easy to check the file and see what was due. It was all very pleasant. And while it isn't as fast or easy as say, a private sector bank, I suppose things *have* changed, after all, at the Post Office.

(Article quoted on CNN Go Jan 7 http://www.cnngo.com/mumbai/none/post-about-mumbai-post-office-006787)

The flamingos are here!

2009-12-08T07:27:00.027+05:30

- By Deepa Krishnan

My uncle, A. Krishnan, sent in these photos from his visit to the Sewri mudflats last week. Our pink visitors are here again!

Flamingos are very interesting birds. You know they're not born pink, right? Baby flamingos are a whitish-grey. They turn pink over time because of algae in the food they eat. So this kiddo on the right has some years to go (and lots of eating to do!) before he looks as pretty as that other guy on the left.

They have a funny way of feeding - they eat by holding their bills upside down in the water. See that deep curve on the bill? There's a specially adapted tongue inside the bill that filters tiny food items. In lesser flamingoes, the bill pumps water 20 times a second, while the tongue filters away like crazy!! They need about 60 grams of food a day, so no wonder they feed all the time.

Just in case you were wondering, the flamingo tongue tucked away inside that bill is large, fleshy and has little bristly projections. Yeew? The early Romans thought it quite a delicacy, anyway, and pickled flamingo tongue was on the menu at their parties! I kid you not.

Here are some more birds that have not yet turned fully pink. You can really see the curve of the bill beautifully in this photo. Babies are born without the curved bill, by the way. Strange huh? It takes some weeks for the bills to start curving. Until then, parents feed the chick. Both dad and mom produce a sort of "milk" - well, let's call it milk, even though it is red in colour. Babies store the pigment in their liver, which then gets deposited in their adult feathers as they grow.

You know another interesting thing about flamingo babies? They grow up in creches. Flamingos lay a single egg, on mounds of mud. When the eggs hatch, the chicks join a creche, a sort of group child-care facility which is marshalled by some adults. The adults lead them on foot to fresh water sources, because the chicks can't fly. Mom and Dad come to the creche, find their kid, and do the milk feeding thing. Hah! If only we had that sort of child-care to help Mumbai's stressed out working parents!

Here's a longer range view. These are mature adults, since they're all pink. Flamingos live for 40-50 years, did you know? I found that very surprising, because I always thought birds were short-lived. Goes to show how much I *really* know about birds!

Here's a still longer range photo. Look at the number of birds in the distance! How pretty they must look when they're flying!

There are lots of flamingos at Sewri right now, but there are also many waders and kites and other interesting birds. The best time to see birds is between high tide and low tide, so look up the newspaper and see when the high tide is. If you go 3-4 hours before that, you should have a pretty good shot at spotting them. Or else, you can go just after high tide. If you take the train to Sewri, then the big main road that comes out to the east of the station goes to the Sewri jetty. You can drive there as well, via P D'Mello Road, or the inner docks road. Ashbirder has a pretty good map, if you want one.

So what are you waiting for? Grab a pair of binoculars and head out! It's right in the middle of the city, you don't even have to go outside the urban jungle!!

- Deepa