Breakfast With Shambhu

Can I get away with it?

I suppose most cats think they are either on par with or superior to human beings? Shambhu for example thinks it is his right to join us while we're at the dining table. He might be playing furiously in the living room but as soon as he hears my fork against the plate he comes galloping at top speed and immediately jumps onto a chair so as to watch me eat. Then in slow steps he tries his luck, to see if he can actually get onto the table though mostly I swat him away with a rolled up newspaper.

Incidentally Shambhu's way of digesting the morning news is to first sniff at the paper, then look at it intensely, then scratch it up and try to chew the edges off. Am sure he gets more of what is happening in the world than I do.


Oh, now that's really interesting - let me just get through this paragraph before you knock me off the table

Shambhu's favourite toy with which he can spend ages playing at a stretch, is something that looks like a white bottle cap though Saru told me recently it is not a bottle cap at all but some part of a table fan that he prised loose while pawing the fan. He pushes it around with his paws, chucks it up in the air, leaps up to retrieve it, executes professional looking somersaults over it and scrabbles around madly from one end of the room to the other - for a minimum of two hours, until he drops down exhausted and then proceeds to sleep soundly with one paw over his eyes for the next few hours.

He has been going down to play in the garden as well, though he is very fussy and insists on being escorted into the lobby. Once there, he takes off. For some reason he doesn't like to go out on his own, though once in the garden, he is able to find his way back home alone! Cats are strange!

Now I dare you to shoo me off!

Some Highlights Of Our Marve Retreat

Clockwise from left: Chandran, Sudha, Suresh V, Suresh D., Sharat and Meher

For those of you not present, here are some highlights of our retreat this weekend, at the guest house in Marve by the sea.

Chandran made the tea! Too bad we don't have photos of this but I believe it was quite an event. I only got to taste it and I must say it was gooooood.

We got an opportunity to shake our bodies and jump around and generally let loose, which is normally difficult to do in the city, during our two hour weekly sessions.

During an afternoon session we discovered a whole lot of hidden talent in the members of our group. In pairs they composed the most philosophical verse I have come across in a while, and I hope to post it on the basicindia blog soon.

After dinner there was a round of story telling with each one contributing a sentence to the main story. We came up with an all time record of a horrendously stupid story involving a right angled cat (contributed by Sharat) a sexy cat, a lightening conductor and Chandran. I forget who actually bolted up the lightening conductor - the sexy cat, the right angled cat or Chandran but one of them did and the story ended on that note. Chandran if it was you up there I presume you are back on earth.

Suresh V was so exhausted with cats and Chandran going up and down the lightening conductor that he retired to bed a couple of hours before actual bedtime. He was followed downstairs by Suresh D, Sharat and Sudha who then sat up chatting up old Hindi movies till well past midnight after which Suresh V really decided to call it a day because he was expecting a visit from a neighbourhood ghost apparently with whom he claimed to have spent the night.

Another highlight: it was quiet in Marve! Even more quiet than it is during the week. We normally avoid going to Marve on weekends because of the cars racing up and down the main road playing their boom boxes at top volume - not to mention loud parties that keep us awake till 4 in the morning, sometimes. But this weekend it was very peaceful, it rained a couple of times and we were quite grateful to whoever organized the peace and quiet in Marve.

Babel

Finally, after planning it for weeks we got down to seeing the movie "Babel". I think those of us who watched it yesterday evening (including Chandran and Sudha) must have been the last to see it. Almost everyone I had asked seemed to have seen it already and most of them said, "It's a very good movie" and then kind of shuddered. So I, not being a fan of movies based on violence and other depressing topics, have to confess it took me too a while to even decide to see the film.

Well, I must say it's one of the most thought provoking movies I've seen in a while and doesn't allow itself to be easily classified, bringing together as it does, four different stories in four different parts of the world. What was the message? Was there one? I'm not even sure but yes, it makes you think about a whole lot of things. Makes you think about the nature of our world (the human world), about the rich and the poor and how the rich seem to always end up with the attention. It makes you think about fate, about whether or not our life is in our hands and side by side it makes you think about responsibility because of the nature in which we are all linked together in today's world.

Towards the end of the evening, the door of the drawing room (where we were watching the film) opened accidentally and Shambhu wandered in. Knowing his tendency to play with and chew at wires and generally jump onto tables and push things around, and being extremely protective about my DVD player I yelped and got Sudha to catch him and remove him from the scene once again.

More About A Cat

Saru and Shambhu setting out for a walk in the garden

Simba has undergone umpteen changes in name. Though he is still sometimes called that, we felt a Maharashtrian name would be more suitable so Simba became Simbhaji which then turned into Shambaji which was then converted to Shambhu and finally now to Shambhu Maharaj. So for the time being this is it. (Pankaj recently referred to him as the "mini Maharaj".)

He is one of the most peculiar cats I've come across in that he is not greedy. He likes food and willingly gobbles up stuff you give him, which he likes, like cheese or bits of papad. But he doesn't beg or screech like most of the other cats we've had. He just watches with big eyes. He also loves to join us at the dining table when we're having lunch or dinner. I think it's mainly for the company though. He tries to park himself on the table itself, then seeing that that is definitely not on, he goes and curls up on one of the chairs and goes to sleep while the rest of us eat.

Shambhu likes to watch TV. God knows what exactly his little brain registers but he sits intently before the TV screen at times, following every move with his head. On one occasion he was terribly annoyed when Saru switched off the TV set and jumped up to claw the screen. As soon as she switched it back on, he again settled down to watch the programme (I think it was the late night news in Marathi).



Mornings are the time when he tears around the place like a maniac after which he most often settles down for a snooze. Periods of frantic rushing around are interspersed with long periods of rest (luckily for me!)

New Addition To The Family

Simhachallam (Simba for short) joined us on Tuesday 27th. Simba is the ginger coloured ball of fluff I saw rushing madly around the Willingdon club verandah when I took Sean and Pervin there for dinner about five or six weeks back. I wanted to take him home straight away but the fond waiter serving us requested me to wait a couple of weeks as the kitten had not yet been weaned. In the meantime I didn't get back to the club and the kitten went out of my mind. Till I was there with my former classmate Nazneen and I suddenly thought of it again. That afternoon we were in a rush so the next day I roped in Sudha and Sharat to help out and we went off with a basket to collect Simba, who was so fast asleep and just gazed at us from the basket like he was stoned, that I thought he might be sick. Nothing of the sort. In the cab he started to yowl like a crazed lion (I knew immediately it was a male!) and now that he's got used to being here he tears around madly, bites Saru's feet and wraps himself constantly around her legs, tries to jump up onto the dining table during meals and does all the things a normal feline ought to do.

He's fussy about food though. Doesn't seem to relish anything other than minced meat. We'll have to try out the regular cat food now. Currently he's sitting on the window sill watching the crows.

Chipko at Haji Ali

Chipko is a movement that was originally conceived of and followed by women peasants in Uttarakhand, to prevent the felling of trees in the region by the forest department. Launched in 1973, this movement by the end of the seventies, had spread like wildfire throughout the Uttarakhand Himalayas . The good news is that the movement continues to inspire people from all over the country and the latest Chipko slogans I've been reading about have been raised in my own neighbourhood.

A whole lot of residents living around Haji Ali have decided to battle against the municipality which wants to chop down 84 trees as part of a plan to beautify the promenade at Haji Ali. The idea is to get rid of all these trees and replace them with Zodiac signs. Huh? Concrete Zodiac signs as part of a beautification programme?! Are there any sane people left in the municipality or are we dealing with a bunch of complete morons? Neither probably. Somebody somewhere is going to be walking away with a bulging wallet and a fat smile on his face, on account of the so-called beautification programme which according to many of us will result in a seriously hideous promenade.

Anyway the Chipko movement at Haji Ali has been apparently spearheaded by one Jayashree Desai who has also agreed to adopt a tree. Several people have now said they will adopt and look after a tree and that they will stand between the tree and the axe if the municipality comes along to further its idiotic ideas. I feel tempted myself to go join them so I'm going to be finding out more about this protest, very soon.

Juzt simbly

The sea is getting slowly rougher each day, although there are several weeks left for the monsoon. Dark clouds have also started to pile up in the sky in the evenings and you almost get the feeling that rain is a few days, rather than several weeks away.

This morning I went out onto the balcony and breathed in a fresh draught of the sea air mingled with ... aaaah... fresh piss. From where I couldn't exactly say, I mean there are men relieving themselves over the rocks every day but this smelt like it came from somewhere closer. Maybe someone had peed against the building wall?

+++

Reading Pamuk's "Istanbul", a good three years after my visit to Turkey. It brings back memories of my own trip down the Bosphorous with Ayse and Bablu, and our visits to monuments like the Sofia Haga. In some of the places foreigners have to pay more to enter, than the Turks so while visiting Topkapi our very clever driver Yashar actually persuaded us to pretend we were locals and not tourists from India, while Ayse dinned it into our heads NOT TO SAY A WORD. "You're deaf, both of you, understand?" It worked - inspite of the fact that Bablu made a very strange looking Turk in his dhoti and colourful kurta, but what the hell, we got in almost free of charge.

Hallo!!

Cottages at "Tamarind Tree" in Dahanu

Am shocked to see that I haven't looked in on my blog for almost a month. Well partly its because I'm going through one of those phases when I've cut down on my internet usage quite a bit. It tires me to sit in front of the computer and I prefer to read or listen to music these days. The groups are going quite well and we've been scouting for new places to hold workshops in.

Cheerful looking dorm

Last week, Sharat, Sudha, Chandran and I drove to Dahanu to check out a farm called "The Tamarind Tree". Michelle, who runs the place with her husband Hemant, drove down with us from Bandra, where we picked her up and we spent the morning and part of the afternoon with her on her farm.

Very pleasant though it's starting to hot up a bit and we agreed that May would be too warm for us to have any workshops there. So most probably we'll get started after the monsoon some time.

Cooling off on the porch with some fresh toddy

The farm is alive with all kinds of creatures. There’s a huge frog who sits in a well all day long, (Chandran photographed him but the pic wasn’t too clear) and a cat called Minnie who complained loud and long as we walked into Michelle's house and then ignored us the rest of the day. We saw a cow and a calf grazing on the patch in front of the house and we heard about the ducks – Donald and Daisy – whom Michelle and Hemant bought for Rs. 200 a piece though Daisy went and died (I forget how. I think she swam over to the other bank, was picked up by the Adivasis and eaten up).

Michelle works with an NGO and is keen on hooking up with like minded people involved in doing similar work. We had a long chat, all of us, about the farm, about the adivasis who live in the area, the kind of stuff we could maybe do together. Lunch was simple and delicious – drumsticks boiled with a little haldi, potato bhaji, rajma, red rice, chapattis and pickle, washed down by a glassful of cool lassi.

Mother India spreading good cheer as usual

Mistress Minnie after lunch

Pics by Chandran

Visitor from Sharjah

Have been really lax about writing. Put it down to a combination of lethargy and guests! Suman (old Buddi- we refer to each other as such) was here from Sharjah and we had a wonderful time together, often joined by her daughter Gitanjali who lives in Bombay and about whom I hope to write a bit more, one of these days.

Here is a pic taken at the Willingdon club where we had lunch last week. My parents, Suman, me.

Terminator T1000

You guys are going to be wondering what I have to say about Terminator T1000, considering how little I have to do with robots or with weapons of mass destruction. Well, today's DNA has a pageful of interviews with youngsters about the role of gadgets in our lives and how they react to them. One young fellow, Steven Pereira, who sports distinctive criminal tendencies and even looks like a hardened convict, has this to say about robots: "I want a Terminator T1000 robot. I'll use it to threaten to kill mankind." At least the guy's honest and one can't help wondering how many like him are lurking around in today's world, and whether or not they will get access to the kind of power and technology which will make their dream come true, on a large scale!

Why My Morning Coffee Tastes A Bit Different

A couple of days back I finally decided to junk the "Indian Express" and to go for "DNA" - which I used to anyway subscribe to a couple of years ago. That time I ditched DNA because I found it a trashy newspaper. I don't think I've changed my opinion too much but now I've decided, that DNA is at least colourfully trashy compared to the Express which is just plain drab whichever angle you look at it from.

To date I haven't come across a newspaper I really feel like reading, which I would feel good supporting. All media anyway is biased, everyone has their own agenda and the "news" you get is the world view of a particular set of people. As long as you know that and read what you read with a pinch of salt it's fine I guess. Anyway it's nice to have a newspaper in your hands while you're drinking your morning coffee and to catch up on what is happening in the world, even if it is a one-sided perspective. Mainly habit I guess.

After months or well, almost a year of discussion about Saru, Asha and me going out to lunch (and slowly losing my credibility as the lunch failed to materialize) we finally got our act together and set out for this veggie thali place in town called Panchratna Gaurav. We had been there a couple of times already in the past couple of years and the two ladies simply love it because the thali you get is unlimited and you can stuff yourself with any amount of goodies for a standard price.

So while nibbling at my own food I watched Asha and Saru devour quantities of chapattis and dal and different kinds of vegetables, snacks like samosas, Khandvi (which every good Guju knows how to make) an array of chutneys, and two sweets which happened to be rasmalai and jelabi. I was careful not to eat too much having learned from past experience that an overstuffed stomach generally leaves me writhing with discomfort for hours! But it was great to see Saru and Asha ingest never ending helpings of kadhi, dal, and other stuff.

Shortly after I learnt from Suresh who was to come over that evening, that the institute where he teaches English was shutting shop due to a spate of violence that had started in the city, spurred by the ranting of our local hero Raj Thackeray. We got back home without incident (the violence was sporadic and mostly in and around Dadar and the suburbs) and sat glued to the TV for the next couple of hours.

Later I asked myself whether the recent upsurge had only to do with the strong arm tactics of a short sighted ambitious politician. Somehow there seems to be so much hatred and resentment in people everywhere that it takes the slightest flame to start a raging fire. One can understand these feelings in a country like India and especially in a city like Bombay which experiences such extremes in wealth. At one end you see folk squandering hundreds of thousands of rupees on lavish five star living and at the other end there are people who don’t get two square meals a day.

The crazy thing is, that often the poor and the middle class are not even conscious about the indecency of all the conspicuous consumption but rather, aspire to the same kind of lifestyle themselves. The violence which transpires naturally, comes out of ignorance and a total lack of awareness. Instead of protesting against corrupt politicians and equally corrupt business people who work hand in glove with the politicians the average man is seduced by politicians into channeling their negativity into violence against those they imagine are “intruders”.

Warmer Days in Bombay

Can you imagine people in Bombay actually longing for warmer weather? Well it's true, that's the state we've been in this last week. The temperature actually dropped to 8 degrees Centigrade. Not funny in a city which is geared for the heat. Not funny to wake up and go to the loo at night and wash your hands with ice cold water. Ugh.

This week has been somewhat more comfortable. In fact this is the kind of weather I'd settle for permanently. Cool but not unpleasantly cold. If only we could have a say in the decision making which goes on in the cosmos, about our weather! One thing nobody is looking forward to is the summer. "If winter has been this cold it means summer is going to be unbearably hot," says our cook Asha with great conviction. Well time will prove whether she is right or not but even if she is, when we're actually there we'll probably be too weak and enervated to take note of her words of wisdom.

A Wedding Dinner

At long last Meher and Chandran's wedding dinner which had been indefinitely postponed last year, materialized. The first time we were invited it rained on the big day. In fact it poured to such an extent that the road around where M and C live were flooded waist deep. Around where we live was a bit better but the main reason the dinner was called off was that the caterer was coming with the food all the way from Vashi or thereabouts. So then we decided to have the dinner on Republic day - but the bout of malaria with which I was laid up for a couple of weeks put paid to that idea and we eventually met up last Saturday, the 2nd.

Our entire group turned up including Vijay and Mahendra our "banana artist" as I sometimes think of him (after that brilliant session we had with him in which he made us sketch bananas to meditative music) who are not strictly speaking, part of our group but good friends all the same.

It was a good old Parsi dinner including "pathra ni mach" the chutney covered fish wrapped up in a banana leaf which is almost mandatory at all Parsi weddings, mutton pulao and dhansak, fried chicken, an egg boorji and some vegie dishes which I decided to skip. Followed by the traditional Parsi custard.

I knew I was really back to normal when after downing a glass of Bloody Mary followed by a glass of red wine, nothing "happened" which means I didn't feel sick or liverish or indisposed in any other way. Now this is something to be really happy about!

Bombay In Winter

It is winter in Bombay. At 10 degrees Centigrade (50 Farenheit) we're freezing. Friends in Europe and the U.S. please don't laugh, but here we are shivering, my knees are giving way, my ankle is stiff, and I am actually enjoying sitting in the sun on the back balcony - something I avoid doing like the plague at any other time. It's so cold in the evenings on the front balcony facing the sea, (windy too) that we have taken to sitting indoors with our drinks. The up side of this is that we now listen to a lot of music, which is something we hadn't done as a family for ages.

The bout of malaria has meanwhile dampened my interest in booze so I've standardized on my own rather eccentric variation of Bloody Mary without the vodka, inspired by my cousin Shiv. It's made with home made tomato juice to which I add Worcestershire sauce, a dash of Jal Jeera, more than a dash of Tabasco sauce, half a lime and soda, topped with ice. I could drink any amount of it but I suspect many people would want to spit it out.

Have also lost a couple of kilos on account of the illness and am trying desperately to maintain my current weight. Wish me luck.

Welcome To Eeendiya!

Selva, Serap, Ayse and Gursel

This is the week of the guest. I have lost count by now of the number of people who have passed through our house in the last few days. Everything that could possibly go wrong has gone wrong but then it's all part of the fun I guess.

The Turks arrived on Thursday. First Gursel and his wife Serap (his "new" wife as everyone keeps referring to her, since he was earlier married to Aysegul who could not make it this year to India) in the morning followed by Selva in the afternoon. Gursel and Serap arrived minus their luggage and it took three days and umpteen phone calls to Emirates Airlines to trace their bags. It was Id so all the offices were closed on Friday and earlier nobody seemed in the mood to work. Finally yesterday the airline office said the bags had come but that Gursel would have to personally collect them from the airport. When he and Serap returned from the long and tiring trip to the airport Serap fell quite sick with the usual vomiting and diarrhoea. Also they came minus their sleeping bags which had been apparently filched from their rucksacks.

As for Selva who arrived on Thursday by cab, it took her two and a half hours to get to our place because the cabbie didn't know where Mahalaxmi temple was - which is one of the landmarks in Bombay so apparently they kept going round in circles till they finally found their way home. For a Bombay cabbie not to know where the Mahalaxmi temple is, is like a cabbie in London saying he doesn't know where Buckingham palace is, or a Parisian taxi driver saying he has never heard of the Louvre. But that's how the modern day taxi driver in Bombay is, and anyway what is important is that she got here in one piece and was glad to see us.

Walter, Dustin, Tara, Anja
Meanwhile the last lot of guests, Walter and Anja who had returned from a five day trip to Benares and were supposed to take the train to Goa along with Anja's daughter Tara and Walter's son Dustin, discovered at the train station that their tickets were not confirmed and they had no seats after all so all four of them landed up here at past one o'clock in the night. I was in bed but the Turks were still chatting on the balcony, so I presume they got some kind of welcome and they slept in the drawing room on the floor. They have now decided to fly to Goa.

Serap is better and everyone is just lazing around while I sit at the laptop. We will soon be ready for lunch. Tomorrow the Turks and I (along with my parents) are headed for Neredu 2 so you'll hear from me after the 12th of Jan when we return to Bombay.


Merry Xmas and all the best for the coming year!

A Modern Indian Wedding

I am not a great fan of large scale gatherings and generally avoid things like weddings and funerals. Not that I have anything against people marrying or dying – it’s got more to do with my increasing unwillingness to compromise on what I wear and what I mostly like to wear, regardless of where I am, is blue jeans or some kind of variation on the theme. You get the picture. It is ages since I shopped for wedding wear, the last time being when I was shanghaied to Bloomington Illinois way back in ’92 to attend my brother’s wedding. Having finally got there of course I was mighty happy to be part of the scene but that’s another story. Since then there have been other occasions but when pressured into attending a wedding or party I find myself increasingly doing it on my own terms. Which means showing up in casuals in the midst of dazzling silver or gold embroidered apparel overlaid with sequins and making up for it with a glittering smile (adequate metal in my mouth makes this quite feasible) and good behavior if necessary.

A few days back I was quite pleased to be able to be part of a wedding without actually having to attend it. The neighbor’s daughter was getting married and the first I heard of it was when I saw the foyer of our building being decked up with roses and multi-colored garlands, and a huge pandal being set up on the lawn. I must say, this speaks volumes, either for my status with the neighbors or my inability to remember functions to which I’ve been invited. My friend Marlis’s excitement was palpable. Her jaw dropped when she discovered that we would be able to watch an entire Hindu wedding ceremony from our balcony upstairs without having to trouble ourselves being sociable to a large number of people who had gathered for the event.

So this was when I discovered what a modern wedding is all about. The bride’s people had gathered in the compound and were milling around the gate to receive the bridegroom whom it took over an hour to get to the venue from about two hundred yards down the road. According to tradition, he was accompanied by a regular brass band belting out wedding standards which perforce included a slightly off key version of “Come September”. The elderly photographer fumbling around with a bulky SLR and a bagful of lenses, seemed almost redundant. Each person in the bride’s entourage happened to be touting a digital camera, some of whom even photographed my friend and me grinning at the spectacle from the balcony.

“You see how hospitable and welcoming India is,” I said to Marlis. “We organized this event especially for you. I mean they could have had the wedding a couple of weeks before you arrived or some weeks later but it is your happiness that counts.”

Finally the bridegroom arrived, perspiring and now and then pushing aside the veil of flowers which was obviously asphyxiating him, but in good form nonetheless and swinging and waving his hands to the tempo of the music. By now it had switched to a kind of Bhangra to which a party of elderly turbaned men, part of the baraat, were kicking their legs and waving their arms with gusto.

The actual wedding ceremony was mercifully short – not more than about an hour and a half long, during which time the bashful couple circled the fire seven times, exchanged rings and took part in umpteen other rituals to cement their union. (“In Germany the whole thing lasts less than twenty minutes” said Marlis). At the end the bride and bridegroom were pronounced man and wife and the guests slowly made their way back to the entrance where a silver horse drawn carriage awaited the newly weds.

In style the young couple clambered in and prepared themselves to journey off into a new life together. I got ready myself, to wipe away a tear when the bride suddenly whipped out a mobile from I don’t know where, maybe from under the folds of her ghagra or from a handbag hidden from sight, and started yakkety yakking with fervor before the coach had got going. I wondered how her newly acquired husband felt about this and whether I should start feeling sorry for him, considering the bride’s first action on getting married was to commune over the mobile. I needn’t have. He pulled out his own mobile from out of the pocket of his jacket and busied himself with it as well as the coach slowly pulled out of the driveway. I played around with my digital camera wishing desperately I could capture this scene for posterity but it was too dark and they were too far away for my flash to have an effect.

”Oh what the heck,” Marlis said later with an indulgent sigh. “You never know. Maybe they were really talking to each other.”

The Pace Gets Faster

The last days we've all gone down like a bunch of skittles with colds and coughs and runny noses beginning with the maid S, who passed it on to my mother who passed it on to me. A the cook got her cold and cough independently and has been going round sounding like a woebegone foghorn and also been sleeping it off most of the day. My cold has slowly retreated meanwhile which is just as well because the season of guests has got underway.

Sumana and Olav
Last week Sushama B and family were down for a wedding of a close friend's daughter so her daughter Sumana and Sumana's husband Olav spent a couple of days with me - the various members of the B family were parked in different places. The wedding they attended seemed like a remake of Monsoon Wedding, with numerous bashes involving singing and dancing and general merry making.

Ravi and Sushama

Last night Suhail arrived with Aude and confirmed reports given to us by other friends about Alitalia. That they make a fuss even about serving water on the flight. (Though Suhail said he waved his hands constantly at the stewardesses passing by and managed to get his fair quota).

Right now the two are sleeping it off after which Su will probably show Aude around Bombay and we'll spend the rest of the time catching up on all the news.

People's Week

Ishwar and Sheila - down from Canada

This past week has been a real "people's week" bringing old and new faces together. There was the visit from two friends of Dwight's from Toronto - Ishwar and Sheila - who are on a three month vacation. Having spent a month in Europe they landed in Bombay and spent two days wandering around Colaba and Elephanta. They are now chilling in Goa, before they go to Bangalore (which incidentally is where I am headed as well, this coming week). Both Sheila and Ishwar are in the mental health field and so, also interested in the work we do here.

A former classmate, Ketayun also turned up last week and we spent the whole morning exchanging gossip about the people we knew and had studied with. As a result of K's insistent search for old friends I also managed to locate Nazneen who was one of the three students in the arts division at BIS. Those were the days, when a class had nine pupils, six in the science division and three in the arts section! So Nazneen answered my mail and it turned out she was on her way to China for a conference on the Montessori method and I told her I too would be out of town the next few days so we decided to catch up later on.

Then out of the blue Lygia called up and we spent a looong time catching up on all that had happened the past ten years or more that we lost touch with each other and now plan to meet for dinner or some such thing when I return.

Right I'm off to bed now (or maybe I'll see if there's anything worth watching on TV.

Returning To India - The Land Of Festivals

Returning to India hasn’t been as tough as I thought it would be. This is what I wrote to friends I’d left behind in Germany a couple of days back. In Europe they often ask me about my dual life, the one I lead during the months I spend in Europe and the life I lead back in India. In actual fact it is a bit of a pain I suppose, exchanging (among other things) the clean orderly environment of the west for the grimier, garbage filled, chaotic streets of India. Somehow it didn’t seem so bad this time round. I reckon that with time it gets easier, to slip back into the old routine and on this occasion I even found myself luxuriating in the feeling of being home again. Bucket baths, (which I love) being able to eat with your hands, being able to live and work at your own pace rather than to adjust to that of your host in whichever city you happen to be visiting. “I’m happy to be in Bombay again,” I mailed a number of people.

I’d forgotten about Ganesh Chaturti. Two days after flying back from Frankfurt I woke up from my afternoon nap to the dhoom dhoom of a deep bass which sounded like it came from the flat above us. Neighbor’s planning a bash tonight, I thought a bit woozily and went back to sleep. Over the next half hour it got worse. When I finally made my way to the guest room which doubles as my office and which faces the road, I discovered the noise wasn’t coming from the neighbor’s place at all but from the street outside our house.

“Ganapathi”, beamed our maid S at me who had spent the entire afternoon gawking at the spectacle unfolding below. She seemed simply delighted with life. Huge loudspeakers had been set up just outside the gates of our building to welcome the holy procession to the sea which was preparing to start from some enclave close by.

The noise predictably got worse with time. I found I could no longer work. I could no longer think, no longer write, no longer do much more than just listen to the thump and clash which reverberated along the entire street. The drumming and the booming at some point seemed so much like they were happening inside my head that I was threatened by a very real headache. With some luck I found that by closing the door of the room facing the road and escaping into the living room I could avoid about fifty per cent of the furor and even clear up a little space in my brain to think.

What were the festivities about, anyway? Ah, yes it was all centered around this elephant god who was supposed to smoothen your path to success. At times, noise in India brings on an amnesia which makes you forget your own name. The ruckus seemed to make mincemeat of any sense which might have been originally attached to the ritual. It was the birthday of Lord Ganesha wasn’t it. The day on which he was believed to uplift mankind with his very presence. Although Ganesha himself has been revered privately for centuries, the festival was popularized by the freedom fighter Lokmanya Tilak, in order to increase people’s awareness of the freedom struggle. Ganesha himself stands for wisdom and intellect. Freedom, wisdom and intellect however seemed to be the last attributes which the horrible sounds emerging from the road reflected.

So what did those sounds reflect? What was the drumming really trying to say, I sat and wondered and it seemed to me, the noise was actually a reflection of the frustration and boredom which characterizes a large part of today’s youth. “I’m going crazy, I’m bored, save me from the burden of repression” seemed to be the main underlying message being banged out by the drum which lacked any sense of rhythm or musical quality. As with so many festivals in India, Ganesh Chaturti too – at least according to me – has lost its original significance. It is no longer about wisdom and intelligence and brings with it none of the sense of peace and sacredness which a spiritual ritual is supposed to be about.

At night, when a couple of huge idols in the vicinity had at last rolled out of sight to make their way to the sea, the world fell silent again. Lying in bed after dinner, listening to crickets chirp and the waves of the ocean lap around the rocks beyond the garden wall I sensed peace making a comeback in my life. In those last few minutes before being overtaken by sleep I felt I was once more in touch with something sacred.