Lights! Action!

Yesterday, I spent a couple of happy hours exploring the shops in Lohar Chawl near Metro Cinema.

My cousin Girish was looking for wall lamps and energy-saving tubelights, and I was looking for focus lights for two paintings. Lohar Chawl is the "Mecca of Light Fixtures" - I've had many people tell me about it, including my interior designer - so I thought it was time I checked it out.

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After battling a couple of one-way streets, we finally navigated our way into a narrow street with a long string of small shops, each offering a wide range of lighting and electrical options for offices and homes.

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We went to several stores, eventually buying what we needed from several shops. We found that the best way to shop on this street is to go to multiple shops, until you find the specific designs that you like.

"Earlier, all shops sold similar light designs", said the owner of Avenue Lite, one of the bigger shops. "But these days, while we do stock some things in common, there is such a wide variety available in the market that the shops reflect these differences."

We certainly saw a lot of differences! From sleek sophisticated designs to colourful kitschy stuff, the shops have something for everyone.

Although retail customers also shop here, Lohar Chawl is primarily a wholesale market. The shopkeepers on this street mostly speak Gujarati. As we walked around I heard them on the phone, negotiating bulk rates, enquiring about prices and availability, and agreeing on delivery dates. The conversations were a happy mixture of small talk and clear commercial negotiations - and I realised yet again why the Gujarati community make such good traders.

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The shops also offer excellent service. In one shop, I saw an interior designer with his fussy clients, debating little points about decor, while the shop owner patiently assisted them. In another, I found a smartly dressed couple arguing over what would work best for their living room - the salesman attending to them was discreet enough to give them their space, but attentive enough to step in with creative suggestions when needed. In yet another shop, an entire family was there, quizzing a salesman on the merits of a huge chandelier. No matter how difficult the customers were, the salespersons - young men and women in their twenties - were unfailingly helpful and keen to make the sale.

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Clearly, we were in the very heart of the light fixtures market, and I simply loved being part of this busy, professional, quintessentially Bombay kind of commerce.

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At the end of two hours, we walked away with bags full of goodies, at prices that were probably among the lowest in the city. As we were waiting for the car, Girish said to me, "Look up, Deepa. See how interesting that building looks".

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He was pointing to the circular building at the corner of Lohar Chawl, which is a sort of landmark in that area. I turned and clicked one last photo, and then we headed home.

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There is an answer

- Posted by Deepa, a poem by Girish Sangameswaran

My cousin Girish wrote something about last November's attacks on Mumbai, and I thought I'd post it here on the anniversary of the attacks.

- Deepa

Violence in Mumbai, 26 Nov 08 onwards.
More than 100 killed, 300 injured.

The horrendous acts of violence
Laced with sweetness of religion
Garnished with mindsets of division
Are these acts of chaotic blindness or
Colossal stupor ?

Armed organizations with black heads
Black scarfs, black weapons
Blackness looming large
Black minds, black shouts of freedom, victory

Who are they, where do they come from,
Individual or collective consciousness ?
Remnants of the undesired or
Splinters of past hurts ?

There may be no quick answers to violence,
but surely a long term one,
When a child is told -
That the skin colour differs but when pinched hard,
one sees red blood
That the long hair is the one that’s rolled,
to be covered with a turban
That to kneel down or to join palms,
are both acts of surrender and prostration
That Pani, Neeru, Thani and Jal mean the same
That the Spirit is to be embraced and not the façade
That the visage changes but the expression is one,
And this expression is the language of the heart spoken through the eyes
Which is universal and belongs to the ONE who is common to all

There is an answer……………if we believe in one.

Sleeping City

- by Girish Sangameswaran

Sleeping has evolved into a refined art form in Mumbai.

Several variants of this art form present themselves to a keen observer of the city's local trains. Standing and sleeping in a crowded train, for example, is a simple yet sublime form of this great art. The artists have mastered the art of swaying with the crowd with their eyes closed, to complete the day's quota of sleep. Another variant of this art is standing and resting on the walls of the compartment. This is an easier proposition, but more risky if the artist is standing close to the door, where a sudden onslaught at a station may disturb the performance.

Some sleep artists rest their heads on the neighbour’s shoulder. These performances are subject to snide remarks and angry shrugs by the neighbour in question; nevertheless, the performance continues doggedly. The more diffident artists rest their head on briefcases and put up with the discomfort of a curved spine.

Many artists prefer to sit down and rest their heads on the wall near the train window, to enjoy the evening breeze. Undesirable smells from outside may interrupt the proceedings (especially as the train comes towards Sewri) - but the performance of the artist is intense and unperturbed. Talking of smells, sometimes even the most seasoned artist is disturbed when his nose is almost shoved into his neighbour’s head, and the smell of ‘rai ka telh’ (mustard oil) wafts right into the recesses of his nostrils.

But the true master of the art of sleeping is the Mumbai drunkard who considers all the streets of Mumbai as his bedroom. One sees the drunkard lying down in the most awkward positions in absolute bliss. More sophisticated than the drunkard, is the garden sleeper. These artists perform at parks, with a handkerchief on their face, snoring away to glory. The garden sleeper thoroughly enjoys his siesta amidst the sounds of city traffic.

This writer is yet to spot anyone performing this great and versatile art while walking on the road, but would not be surprised if it happened. Until then, he hopes you’ll join him in keeping a sharp eye out for more sleeping virtuosos in Mumbai. Enjoy the performance.

(This article was published in Hindustan Times - HT Cafe 05 April 2008)

Morning routine in my parents house

This is the kitchen of my parents' home. Their day begins with two glasses of warm water, to which Amma adds a spoon of honey and some lemon.

Appa finds a knife and plates, and sits down at the dining table to slice elchi bananas. It takes a while. They will eat the bananas later, with cinnamon powder and sugar. The milk is set to boil. The filter is filled with coffee powder; and boiling water is poured into it. The fabulous smell of Mysore coffee fills the air. Once the decoction and milk are ready, the first cup of coffee is had. It takes them an hour to complete their first round of morning activities.

Recently my mother took a fall in the bathroom. It was not a major fall. But my sister, my cousin Girish and I have been taking turns to sleepover at their house for a few days, until things normalise. That's how I am here, watching these morning rituals. As I observe them moving around, I realise the mortality and fragility of the human body.  Someday, I will also get to this slow-moving stage. Will my husband be there with me, dancing this slow dance?

Last evening, an elderly neighbour heard about her fall, and came to visit my mother. "Deepa," she said, in that advisory tone that even complete strangers use freely in India "You must now look after your parents carefully." Almost instantly, I replied, "Maami, it is my good fortune that I can serve them". I realised as soon as I said it that I was parroting a cliché. But sometimes it is the clichés that seem to most closely reflect our thoughts. I am indeed blessed, that I can spend time with my parents at this stage of their life. 

My parents are still able to do many things on their own. For things that they cannot manage, my sister and I have been pitching in for the past couple of years. Our army of maids and drivers has been very handy. But in the process, the big thing I have learned is that when it comes to caring for elders, money alone is not enough. You cannot throw a nurse on the job and expect it to work well. Planning, coordination and a sort of loving expertise is required.

Many things seem small; but they are important to the person you are caring for. For example, the feeding of the crows in my mother's house is a tiny ritual, but it's important to her. It follows a fixed pattern. Rice and curd are mixed together into thayir saadam. The crows come at 10 am. Nothing else will they eat, except that thayir saadam. We have tried upma, sevai, dal-rice... uh-uh, sorry! Only thayir saadam is accepted with grace. So this is a ritual now, and it must be planned the previous day. We must ensure rice is cooked every day, and that some curd-rice is set aside for the next morning. At 10 am sharp, it has to be placed on the compound wall. If my mother is unwell, then someone else must do this little thing, because the crows cannot be forgotten.

There are a hundred small things like this, each one tiny, but each one a fragment of my parents' routine, a part of the way they want to live their life. It is what makes them who they are. It brings normalcy and comfort to them, to see these things done. I hope my sister and I can do it for as long as required.