Rain, rain, rain

It rained hard last night. When I went to bed, I heard it beating against our large window panes.

This morning, my daughter's friend called at six thirty a.m. "There are no classes today", she said.

"Yippee", said my daughter, "I can sleep some more."

I peered down from my balcony. We are on the 14th floor, and when I looked down, this is what I saw.

The Mumbai monsoon has indeed begun.

The Maker of Keys, and other migrant stories

You move into a new apartment, and you get two sets of keys. You take one, your spouse takes the other. But now there is a problem - you need a third key. It's for the maid, who comes in after the two of you have left for work.

So what do you do?

You go to the key wallah.

He sits under the shade of a tree, or at a little street stall. His only advertisement is the keys, hanging enticingly...you see them and are reassured..ah, this is a man who knows his trade, you think.

So you give him your key, and you say, make one just like this please. Then you wait and watch, while he works away.

The lady in the picture chose to spend the waiting time chatting. I overheard bits and pieces.

'Kahan ke ho, bhaiyya?' she said. Where are you from, brother?

In this city of migrants, this is clearly the starting point of many conversations. A sort of clearing of throats, a verbal clue, heralding the beginning of a friendly chat.

'UP ke hain', he said. I'm from Uttar Pradesh.

I wanted to hang around, eavesdropping, but I walked away, too polite to intrude.

I'm sure the usual questions would have followed: Do you have family here? What do your children do? I have myself asked these questions of taxi drivers, newspaper vendors, milkmen...the answers always tell the story of Bombay like nothing else can.

'My family is in the village', they sometimes say. There are hard economics behind that answer. In Mumbai, it is nearly impossible to find an affordable place to live. Even the slums are expensive. A registered legal hutment is hard to find, and if you did find one, say ten feet by ten feet, you would pay 500,000 rupees for it. That is more money than most migrants will earn in their whole lifetime. And then there are usually old parents in the village, or a bit of agricultural land that needs to be tended, or an ancestral home that no one wants to give up.

Sometimes, though, the answers tell stories of victory.

'My son is a trader in Dadar. He has his own shop near Kabutarkhana.'

'My daughter just got married, her husband works for the municipal corporation.'

'I brought my family to Bombay. We've been here too long for us to consider going back to the village.'

'My grandchildren go to an English-medium school here.'

These are the small success stories of migrants who have carved a place for themselves in their new environment. These are also the stories that bring more and more hopefuls into the city.

So everyday, the city slums swell with new arrivals. Once they arrive in Mumbai, the city works its magic. They lose the lethargy and slow pace of their villages, and they fall into the faster heartbeat of the city. They join the ranks of tradesmen, labourers, tea-sellers, errand boys, waiters, drivers, and car washers, all in a hurry, all rushing about to create their own little success story.

Pavement Parrot

One early morning in Haji Ali, I saw this street dweller with her pet parrot. The lady had barely enough for herself, but the parrot seemed well fed and cared for.


I thought the lady might be a commercial sex worker. I found myself staring, almost as if I was looking for clues to her life. What was I looking for? I don't know...her possessions were pitiful. I felt guilty photographing her poverty, invading her privacy. I wonder if this is how some journalists feel, like trespassers.

A goddess for men. And non-men.

If you peer into the little sanctum of the Mumbadevi Temple, you'll see her - the Goddess Mumba - in all her glory. She is orange in the glow of the shendur. Her mango-shaped nosering, so typical of this region, glistens in the lamplight. There are offerings of flowers and fruits, the air is fragrant with incense. Crowds throng the little temple, pressing for a glimpse of her. On festival days, you can barely set foot inside.

Clearly, the Goddess cult is alive and kicking in Bhuleshwar.

Mumba is of course, only one manifestation of the Goddess. There are many others; you can see them carved on panels in the Mumbadevi temple.

There's Saraswati, the Goddess of Learning, with her customary swan. There's Lakshmi - Goddess of Wealth, on a lotus. There's Durga, the warrior Goddess, riding her tiger. There's dark angry Kali, the fearsome Goddess of Destruction.

But alongside these familiar Goddesses, I saw something I had never seen before - a Goddess on a Rooster.

I pointed it out to my friend Sandhya. She didn't know this Goddess either, so she asked the priest. 'This is Bahuchar Maa', said the priest. Neither of us had heard of Bahuchar Maa, so I came back home and looked her up.

Bahuchar Maa, apparently, is a very popular goddess in Gujarat, with a large temple in Mehsana. Interestingly, the website of the temple says the Goddess "gives virility to men". In addition, I found that Bahuchar Maa is also the Goddess of the hijras, the eunuchs/transsexuals of India.

Obviously, this goddess has something to do with sexuality, so I hunted around for more information, and I found a couple of curious folk tales.

Here's one of them: There was, once upon a time, a man who tried to molest Bahuchar Maa (Go figure. Who would want to mess with a lady carrying a sword and a trident?). Anyway, this man was cursed with impotency. So he gave up his masculinity, dressed in women's clothes and worshipped her. He was finally forgiven and cured of his impotence.

So - Bahuchar Maa is a fertility goddess, and both men and women seek her blessings if they don't have children. Naturally, the hijras, who dress in women's clothing, are dear to her. In fact, in the temple in Mehsana, there is an annual garba dance by the Deviputras, the hijras. I wonder if the Hijras dance in prayer in Mumbai as well...do any of you know?

The other story around this Goddess is that she was once a princess who castrated her husband, because he dressed in women's clothes and refused the pleasures of her bridal bed. Ouch.

And here's a third interesting story - there's a guy from London called Steve Cooper, who now lives in the Bahuchar Maa temple, wears sarees, and offers blessings to anyone who wants it. I'm not surprised. This is India. There's a goddess for everything. And everyone.

Finding Warli where it belongs

It is impossible to miss Warli art in Mumbai. You walk into any gift store, and you'll easily spot the animated white stick-figures on tea coasters, trays, boxes and paintings.

As art forms go, Warli is pretty old. Yashodara Dalmia, in her book The Painted World of the Warlis suggests that Warli represents a continuous art tradition stretching back to 2500 or 3000 BC.

That sounds plausible. If you check out the rock carvings at Bhimbetka, in Madhya Pradesh, you'll see the similarity to Warli. The Bhimbetka caves have had continuous occupation from Paleolithic times, and the art dates from the Mesolithic period (10,000 years ago) to medieval times.

I was shopping recently with an overseas visitor, when we spotted a typical Warli painting, neatly framed. "You mean this is traditional art?", he said. "It looks almost contemporary, very stylish!" And I thought to myself, perhaps that's what folk art is all about, perhaps it is timeless in some sense.

In Bombay's fancy gift stores, Warli art has been transformed into something fashionable. But this week, on my way to Mumbai's Kanheri Caves, I was very pleased to Warli art in its natural setting for the first time - on the walls of a mud house. The house was 'adobe' style, a mud hut, but with a tiled roof. The men of the household were on the roof, repairing it before the monsoon set in.

Here is a closer look at one section of the painting:

The entire village seems to be illustrated in it - dogs, cats, cows, women, men, houses, the village well. Notice how everyone is busy - drawing water, sweeping, tending cattle, cooking, carrying things. In fact, when I saw the painting it was like seeing the sleepy village come alive. My favourite bit though, are the village hens, check them out! I suspect one of them is the rooster, and the rest his harem!

The name JAG is written on the wall in both English and Marathi, obviously it is the name of the painter. I can't tell whether that's a male name or a female one...Warli is traditionally a woman's art though. Warli paintings are typically done before weddings, to seek the blessings of the goddess. So perhaps they had a wedding in the family recently.

If you want to see Warli painting in progress, or the inside of a Warli home, you simply shouldn't miss Dr. Stephen Huyler's wonderful collection of photos on his Painted Prayers website.

Gandhi on women

I always love taking visitors to Mani Bhavan, Gandhi's Mumbai home. It is on a quiet leafy lane near Chowpatty. On the top floor there are a series of tableaus, depicting the story of his life. Several tableaus illustrate his non-violent protest against injustice, and the last few tableaus tell the story of his assassination and funeral.

The violence of Gandhi's death comes as a shock. That this frail saint, this icon of peace, should die so violently, is hard to accept. In today's context, where the news is full of violent global wars, you begin to despair of a solution.

When you walk back downstairs, you notice a set of posters on the wall, each framed like a painting. In one of them, Gandhi talks about non-violence, and the role of women. Here's what he says:

The last sentence made me stop and think. Is it true, that women are somehow, essentially, more non-violent? And that women hold out hope for a non-violent future for all of mankind? Or is Gandhi merely propagating the myth of the long-suffering, all-sacrificing Indian woman?

Speaking to a group of women in Italy, Gandhi apparently said "The beauty of non-violent war is that women can play the same part in it as men. In a violent war women have no such privilege." That was true, of course, in India's struggle for independence. Indian women played a large role in Gandhi's fight for freedom, there were many women in all his campaigns. It was a non-violent movement, that made it easier for women to participate equally, and walk shoulder-to-shoulder with their male counterparts. You had to be brave, to face the lathis and batons, but you did not need the muscles to hit back.

In a meeting in Paris, he said "I have no doubt that (women) can do infinitely more than men against war. Answer for yourselves what your great soldiers and generals would do, if their wives and daughters and mothers refused to countenance their participation in militarism in any shape or form." His statement was based on his observation of his wife Kasturba. It was Kasturba's passive resistance to some of Gandhi's unreasonable demands that made him change himself, from a domineering traditional husband to a more considerate one.

I'm a little confused about this stuff. On the one hand, I believe in equality of opportunity in all spheres, including the armed forces. Today, we have more and more Indian women entering the armed forces and the police. On the other hand, here is Gandhi, asking women to stand up for non-violence.

So what do you think? Do you agree with Gandhi? Is his view of women as essentially peace-loving creatures correct? Is passive resistance the way to go, or is it just an old fashioned idea? If women took a stronger stance against wars, will there be fewer wars?

No matter what your views, Mani Bhavan is worth visiting. It is inspiring, thought-provoking and definitely a must-see place on your itinerary.

Fish, Forts and Pirates

Walking in the Worli fishing village is a bit surreal, especially under the hot afternoon sun.

The sky is the deepest blue, the sea dizzyingly shiny. The flags fluttering on the boats make me want to paint (not that I have any skills in that department).

How different it is, from my week in Greece by the sea!

The beach at Greece is dotted with umbrellas, beckoning tourists. The catch is arranged attractively in waterfront tavernas, where hundreds of tourists walk around. In fact, large parts of Crete seem to be designed specifically for tourists. Come holiday here, says Crete! We have the sun! We have the sea!

In contrast, here in Mumbai, living by the sea is gritty and real. The boats are small, almost defiantly colourful. The day's catch is dried on terraces blazing in the sun. Or it is loaded in simple baskets, and the women carry it to market. There are no visiting hordes, clicking away with cameras.



It is even more surreal to see the old British Worli Fort, sitting incongruously among the shanties.

The Worli Fort is more than 300 years old, and it is on top of a little hill. It was built by the British in 1675, overlooking Mahim Bay. It was used as a lookout for enemy ships and pirates. And if you look at this map of Bombay, you can see how strategically the fort is positioned, and why the British picked this spot.

For the British, the threat from "pirates" was real - and the most feared of them all was the dashing Kanhoji Angre.

The growth of the Maratha power under Shivaji in 1674 was accompanied by the formation of a formidable naval fleet which controlled the coast of the Konkan. In 1698 Kanhoji Angre succeeded to the command of the Maratha navy. With his strong navy, Kanhoji became the undisputed master of the whole Western coast, from Bombay to Vingorla.

He sought to protect Maratha interests against the British, Dutch and Portuguese, and inflicted heavy damage on their ships. He captured several trading vessels of the East India company, held hostages, and received hefty sums in ransom. Several expeditions were mounted against him, to no avail. He remained, until his death in 1729, the uncrowned king of the western coast.

Elephant God Magic

Visiting Siddhivinayak is like going to a fair.

The way is lined with little pavement stalls. Sadhus and fakirs stand at corners, selling amulets and charms. There are crowds of people from all parts of India, queueing up, drawn by the magic pull of the Elephant God.

Five rupees can get you this sacred thread
You can buy garlands and offerings on this street inside the temple complex.

At other stalls you can buy colourful images - but none of them are
carved in the likeness of the idol inside, with the trunk curved to the right.
Sweet shops sell modak - Ganesha's favourite food

And where's the rule that says you can't look pretty while you go
see the Lord? Flowers for the hair, very popular with visitors.

Siddhivinayak temple is more than two hundred years old, although it has been renovated and remodelled recently. It was originally built by Deubai Patil, a lady from Matunga, who belonged to the Agris, one of the oldest communities of Mumbai. In designing the idol, i read somewhere that she was inspired by a calendar hanging on her wall - the calendar had a photo of the Ganesh idol at Banganga, which is 500 years old. Whatever the inspiration, there is no doubt that today, Siddhi Vinayak is Bombay's favourite god.

What I like about the temple is its open-door policy.

People of all faiths and religions come to Siddhivinayak. Unlike some other Hindu temples, no one is turned away. I called the temple office to check if I could bring foreigners. Yes, they said. Everyone can come right inside. And when I checked the temple website, I found that the makhar - the sanctum housing the deity - was built by a Muslim artisan family, known for the intricacy of their work. I wish we had more temples like this!

Inside view of the temple sanctum, with the makhar
Here is what he looks like: black stone idol, coated with red lead (shendur).

The Taadgola Man

Ever since I posted about the Bhandaris and their affinity for toddy palm trees, I've wanted to find a taadgola seller. The taadgola is the fruit of the toddy palm tree, and is a great heat buster.

I finally found a taadgola man, sitting on the roadside, near the entrance to Siddhi Vinayak temple. He was busy slicing open taadgolas for visitors to the temple.

If you haven't eaten a taadgola before, imagine the soft flesh of a tender coconut, but slightly firmer, with a transparent sweetish liquid inside it. You bite into the flesh and the liquid squirts and squelches into your mouth.

It's perfect for Mumbai's hot summer. And if you want to transform it into high cuisine, try this really easy recipe: Cut the fruit into small cubes. Sprinkle sugar and cardamom powder. Chill. Bring out fancy little dessert bowls, and serve it at a summer party. I bet your guests will love it!

Bazaar Walks - Discovering Unani

Arq Musaffi sold here! says the advert on this shop in the Bhendi Bazaar area. 'Oh look', I said to my friend Freni. 'It's a Unani medicine store'.

I looked up Unani a bit, and I was intrigued when I found out that Unani as a formal medicine has been practiced for more than 2000 years. So I went searching for its roots.

The first thing I found is that the word 'Unani' is Arabic for Ionian, which means Greek. So, in case you thought Unani was a 'Muslim' medicine, sorry - it's Greek!

You see, Unani was originally developed by the Greek physician Hippocrates (40 - 370 B.C.) from the medicine and traditions of the ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia. But the most famous proponent of Unani is the Persian physician Ibn Sina (Avicenna) who wrote about Unani in his medical classic al-Qanun.

So how did Unani come to Bhendi Bazaar, a Muslim locality of Mumbai?

The Mongols, that's how! When the Mongols invaded Persia and Central Asia, many scholars and physicians of Unani fled to India, where they popularised it. During the British rule in India, Unani medicine lost government patronage, but continued to be practiced in Mumbai because of its overwhelming popularity. Today, Unani is widely practiced among the Muslims of India, Pakistan, Bangladesh and Sri Lanka.

In India, Unani practitioners (hakims) are legally allowed to practice as qualified doctors.

I was curious about this shop, so I peeped in to see if the hakim was in. He had just stepped into the room at the back (where he lived). I saw rows and rows of bottles with exotic looking oils, neatly stacked. There was a little brass weighing scale, there were powders and herbs, and there were certificates hanging on the wall.

There were no patients in the clinic just then, it was a sleepy afternoon. But if a patient did walk in, then the first thing the hakim would do is check the pulse. The pulse or the nabz is the primary diagnosis tool in Unani. Urine and stool tests are also used these days, but for an experienced hakim, the pulse says it all.

So is there a science behind Unani?

Firstly, Unani is rooted in the understanding that spiritual peace is essential for good health. I'll buy that idea, scientific or not.

Second, Unani is based on the Hippocratic theory that a perfect balance of three things - elements, humours and temperament - helps in keeping the body and mind healthy. Is that scientific? You decide. It certainly sounds like a neat theory!

These are the basics of Unani:

• The elements (arkan) in the human body are fire, water, earth and air.
• The humours (akhlat) in the human body are blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile.
• The temperament (mizaj) of a person is expressed by the preponderance of a particular humor, so your temperament could be sanguine, bilious, phlegmatic or melancholic, depending on which humour predominates.

Sounds a lot like Ayurveda, right? I can't seem to trace the connections between these two streams of medicine, one clearly dominated by Hindus, and the other by Muslims. But obviously there is something there. Material for another post perhaps!

Oh, and if you're wondering what the shop was advertising - Arq Musaffi is a blood purifier and a cure for boils and warts!