Vegetarian Food Paradise - Shree Thakar Bhojanalaya

There is an Irish proverb, “Laughter is brightest in the place where food is good’. A Mumbai institution since 1945, Shri Thakkar Bhojanalaya is one such place. The joy and aromas in this small eatery in Kalbadevi are its USP. With the quality of food remaining the same, the amount of spices and oils not any more than in home food and the servers serving as if you were a guest at their own home; this is a place that has its loyal patrons whose tribe is only growing.

I was introduced to this quaint little eatery by father and his younger brother (Chacha). The two brothers love to visit this place as they get to eat their favourite Gujarati and Rajasthani foods in the form of a thali and customised to their tastes. So while Chacha likes his food spicy, Papa prefers it medium. Come to Thakkar Bhojanalya and not only these two but me who eats minimal spices also has an awesome time. So all their vegetables and curries are made to cater to people with different spice levels and the menu changes daily. In fact, the family that own this place also gets their meals catered to from the restaurant.

The starters and desserts listed for the day 

Yesterday I decided that it was time I took Persepolis and her mother to this iconic food joint as she had never been there. Born and brought up in Mumbai, educated in institutions close to this eatery and worked in the lanes even closer; this friend of mine was oblivious to the existence of Shri Thakkar Bhojanalaya. Once she obliged me with an appointment in her calendar I decided I would waste no time and so the dinner was decided.

Reaching the place is a bit of a chore, given that it is smack in the centre of old Mumbai with narrow lanes and hand carts plying. Once there, it is your luck how long or short would be the wait. I was prepared for a twenty minute wait but fortunately it was  only a couple of minutes. A very comfortable table for three allotted to us we got the empty thalis with the endless vatis (katori) and Persepolis was super excited. She wanted to understand how much food would come our way and vowed not to eat till all her vatis were full.

The empty thali with a signal of oncoming abundance

First came the salad and the chutneys followed by the starters or the farsans as they are locally known. They were piping hot and tempting but Persepolis held on. Then came the aamras, the mango puree, and that bulldozed all temptation away. She just dug into the vati and I was smiling. The veggies and curries were delayed as aunty and I had requested for non-spicy variety. Unable to hold herself any longer, Persepolis decided that she would get the spicy lot that was already being served. And soon her thali was full. As the server with the papad walked by she stopped him to take one, not that she craved it but wanted to taste all the items on the menu. With the thali full she dug in and seeing her smile was pure joy.

The full thali where refills are unlimited! The acutal food coma begins

Soon the non-spicy food came and we were on our way to a food coma as well. Now before I move ahead, as you can see the variety of the veggies and the curries I will not spend time on that. But dear readers, you should know that the breads are also of a minimum five types – jowar roti (the one that has my preference), bajra roti (which is served with jaggery), wheat roti (with ghee), biscuit bhakri (which is delightful but heavy) and puri (yummy but deep fried). So I got my jowar roti, aunty took bajra and wheat and Persepolis took one of each! She was like a child in the playground with new toys!

I was savouring the food and taking my time with each curry. There was no place for desserts either in my stomach or in my thali. Persepolis decided that when satisfying the taste buds the sweet tooth had to be catered to first. So she took the kalajaum and the sheera. While by the end she could not eat the kala jamun she loved the coconut sheera.

Just if you thought this is where the meal was over, no. There was rice, pulao and khichdi still left to go! I had no place for anything but at the insistence of the person incharge I had a teaspoon of the khichdi and the pulao. They were delicious! Persepolis and aunty enjoyed the khichdi but post that even Persepolis had to stay stop to the food onslaught. We were full to the brim and more. It was an absolutely delicious meal served with love and at INR 700 a person it was not expensive.

The evidence of a delicious and a thoroughly enjoyed meal!

Just before we got up to leave we realised that the buttermilk had been left. Well it is supposed to be a digestive and in that light Persepolis and I drank to toast our fabulous dinner. We were all happy campers. Alighting the stairs Persepolis claimed that she would now recommend Shree Thakker Bhojanalya to anyone and everyone she met. In the next instant she had a realisation and said, “ Well I would be recommending a place that everyone already knows of.” Better late than never my friend!

Until we meet again, enjoy the food photographs and if possible a visit to this food paradise!

Prakash - Truly a gift for the taste buds

There are some things in life that do not change and what a blessing that is. That was exactly my emotion as I walked out of today's team lunch. 

We had a morning filled with meetings and my colleagues were clear from the word go. Today's lunch had to be simple and authentic local cuisine. Now, the outsiders may not realise it, but Mumbaikars will. Authentic local cuisine in this city is Maharashtrian, Gujarati and even Sindhi. Then comes the street food which is a mix of the two former cuisines. So I was not sure what to pick. However, given that we were in Prabhadevi, I took the decision to satisfy my own nostalgia and cravings and take them to Prakash - Shakahari Upahar Kendra at Sena Bhavan.

For the uninitiated I must say you have missed out on life! If you have lived in Mumbai or been here and not been to Prakash and Aswad, then well make sure your next visit has these two eateries factored into your plans. I got introduced to Prakash twenty five years ago. Yes, you read that right. 

Let me start at the beginning. These were the days of engineering. Chembur to town (as where I reside in Mumbai is and was addressed) was a long journey that started at a college where the canteen only served Vada pav or pav Vada if you wanted variety. It was absolutely not an option to eat there unless one was starving of hunger. I had a large group of friends and a bunch of us stayed after the mid point between Chembur and town. So this bhookad ("forever hungry") lot of us would stop at a few places over the course of four years. 

In the order that the destinations  enroute, the first one was Matunga circle. Of course we would get off here for a dosa. Mumbaikars will know that any of the udipi restaurants here are worth entering into blindly. Some people have their own preferred ones, and rightfully so, but you cannot go wrong with any. I for one am a dosa fan. Given that I was born in the south, I guess I acquired that taste in the womb itself. So these are stops that I liked.

The next stop is the one where I cringed. A lot of this "gang" hailed from a junior college aka high school called Ruia College. For them, Chinaman was next to heaven. As the name suggests, it served Chinese albeit Indo Chinese, one cuisine that my taste buds have never taken to. The twisty oil soaked noodles and the chewy Manchurian made my stomach roll even before I saw the food. Yet, pretending to be a part of the crowd I would follow the enthusiasts to this place, to which I also had to walk a lot from the bus stop. It just seemed unfair! Go to eat food I don't enjoy and that too after walking more than I needed to. 

That is where the third and final stop came - Prakash. It was just behind the bus stop and it had the most lip smacking sabudana Vada, sabudana khichdi, piyush, Thalipeeth, misal etc. Now if I acquired the taste for idlis and dosas in the womb, the taste for sabudana khichdi was no younger. My very first memory of eating sabudana khichdi, sabudana Vada and Kanda poha is when my father's younger brother took a toddler me to pick up his car. At Panshikar (another famous Maharashtrian food place at Opera House), I still remember, standing on the table and gobbling the three snacks. Chacha and I both enjoy these snacks and probably he gave this taste to me. So for me Prakash was divine - no walk, all scrumptious food and taking me back to childhood. 

After I graduated, I still went to Prakash. Then I moved to Europe. But as Mr Pea's parents stay close by, when I went to visit them I stopped to get my fix - the sabudana vada or the khichdi. Once I moved back to Mumbai, I followed Prakash. It was covered by New York Times (https://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/21/travel/21bites1.html). I commended their taste buds. I knew when re-construction of the building started the place moved across the road. But going there for a meal did not happen. So today I grabbed the opportunity literally with both hands. 

I warned my colleagues that there would be no air conditioning (Mumbai recorded 38 C today), we would have "some random people" share the table with us and it would be a small space. They were game for it and I was super excited. One colleague asked if there would be a thali. I did not recall one there and I looked at him saying I don't know but thinking why would one want a thali at Prakash and off we went to locate the relocated Prakash. 

As expected we had to wait. Thankfully we stood in the blistering sun for only 10 min when we got a full table for four. So no random folks joining us. The waiters still wore the same pink coats. How familiar! How nostalgic! There was no AC. Yet another box ticked. Felt like coming home! Now even before I looked at the menu I ordered two Sabudana vadas. My colleagues were a bit surprised but I was the local. Then I glanced at the menu and saw a thali. So I ordered that. Next came Piyush. A cousin of the north Indian lassi, it definitely is the one I am partial to. Ok let me.just  out and say it. Lassi literally pales in comparison to Piyush. And finally Solkadhi which was for me and I was not sharing it. This is a cousin of the masala chaas and well they both get my attention but cannot be shared. 

Before I move on let me tell you the reaction to the Sabudana Vada in the words of my colleague. " I had gone to Chennai to meet a friend and he took me to a place where we had to wait for 10 min to eat idlis. I was wondering what the fuss was all about. They eat idlis daily at home. It is an idli. But once I ate there I could stand in the queue again. That is what this Sabudana vada is about." Well that is how you create fan following people! 

Next I ordered a Thalipeeth for the table. This spicy and scrumptious flat bread is made of multigrain flour. I have always loved Thalipeeth and Zeitgeist probably knows how much the best. His mother makes some excellent Thalipeeth. In fact the day I landed in Canada for his wedding, his mother asked me what I felt like eating. And there, in the foreign land, I had said Thalipeeth and she made this not so easy to make flat bread. The two pieces served today were over even before they came. 

The misal met with the same fate. Made with sprouts and legumes, this snack in a gravy, topped with curd was washed away. I was smiling. And as I was seeing food being eaten faster than it could be served, I also saw people digging into the Bhindi in the thali with gusto. The one with the thali did not mind. In fact I think he encouraged it so that he could try the other stuff as well. So he took the dal out as he supposedly does not like dal. I tried to explain how delicious Varan bhat is and so another one just took it on his plate while scooping some rice from the Thali. Everyone was just enjoying this indulgence. 

By then I had probably had half a Sabudana vada and saved a small portion of the thali peeth as I savoured my Solkadhi. To see what I wanted to eat, I turned to the menu and knew what I wanted - Pithala Bhakri. Made of gram flour, the Pithala is a spicy and delicious thick curry. The Bhakri served is soft and mouth melting. When the portion came, I called dibs. Took one bhakri and some Pithala and then left the others to decide how they wanted to split the balance. I was a happy trooper. As I ate mine, taking time with each bite, the others had demolished this too! 

Finally came time for dessert. And while the menu has options, I had decided as I had entered that the sweet would be kesar Shrikhand. Hung sour curd, churned with saffron and sugar, it's thick, it's aromatic and it lightens the palate with all of the above along with a satiating cooling sensation. If I go on describing this, I would need to restrict the audience and so will stop. The proof however is, people ordered individual portions after having shared the one originally ordered. 

After such a hearty lunch it was difficult to get up. It was after two thirty pm and the lunch rush had subsided as well. To give the food time to settle we discussed a legal agremeent and a P&L issue. After no excuse was left we called for the bill. That is when the final tradition of Prakash was unveiled. Please pay in cash only. I think this is one bill that everyone on the table wanted to pay! Wholesome, authentic and delicious; my colleagues walked away thinking we got away scott free with a menial initial ten minute wait and a bill that was lighter than the Bhakri we ate.  

Fortunately, some things in life don't change. And food at Prakash is one of those! 

Delhi - A City Just Happy to Be

Winter is not my favourite season but Delhi houses two of my favourite people. And so when on Monday I was told that I needed to be in Delhi for an urgent meeting on Wednesday, I faced what I call subdued excitement. Oh my little angels were thrilled to hear that I was coming and we made plans of the storytelling session for Wednesday night too. At the same time, I warned Sequoia of my absolute need to hog the heater. And so here I am, in the still adolescent winter of this year, with a coffee mug in hand and a warm fleece around me; wondering why have I never penned my thoughts on this city that gave me some of my most cherished friends...

It was yet another move to yet another city and yet another school. I was hesitant and shy. They had all grown up together, and here as a teenager, a newcomer in me was trying to fit in. I can't remember who it was, but one of them adopted me and soon we were the five fingers of a palm. Oh we did our own things outside class but we all hung out together too. We went to Christmas parties, birthday parties, each others homes and even stood by the classroom window together to catch a glimpse of the latest Bollywood heartthrob! It was a period of seven months, and yet those seven months created a bond that has survived distances and years. 

Delhi gave me a brother in a brother-in-law. The first time ever, when I knew everyone around me was hiding the truth, he broke the news to me. Nana (my maternal grandfather) was no more. Yes my mother and Sequoia had reached too late to be able to meet him one last time, but such was life and I had to stand strong for Bonsai who was still unaware. Yes they had all hid the truth but that's because I had my last exam to write. Yes we had to tell Bonsai but we would do it after I had settled. Had it not been for him, I would not have been able to accept the truth as simply as I did. And then we went for a drive to India Gate, a place that lights up my face even today. 

Delhi was the first city that made me understand what social support means. Of course the so called support can go to the extreme of interference, in some cases; but people here have the time for family, friends and even neighbours. Community living is still a part of the culture here. It still is a place that celebrates Diwali, Holi and Independence Day in neighbourhoods with children and adults participating with equal enthusiasm. This spirit is definitely not visible or palpable in the Mighty Mumbai. 

So why have I not yet written about Delhi...I guess that's because Delhi is just happy to be. Delhi does not scream out glitz and razzmatazz, it does not force you to live a life only the way it seems fit but it also does not open its heart out to you. If you come you are welcome to find your own place in and pace of life. If you live here you will be given the opportunities that you seek. If you expect that the city, and not the people, will make you smile you are knocking at the wrong door. So Delhi has no insecurities about its place on the global map as I see it and it has been an easy part of my life; making me ignore the fact that it did lay the founding stones of friendship.

So why am I writing about Delhi now? Other than the fact that it is an important city in my life, it is because today I felt that it is also a city that has taught me to go with the flow. 

The meeting I came for was not fruitful. I was disappointed and thought maybe the trip had not been needed. Muddled in these thoughts, I was waiting for the car on the main road, witnessing the traffic jam and trying to wrap a shawl to keep myself warm. A lady walked up to me and asked me if she could find a bus from there to Dhaulakuan and I replied, "Sorry I don't know". She smiled, "why are you sorry. You don't know, that ain't your fault." That is when I realised she was depicting the city. It's ok in Delhi not to know it all. It's ok in Delhi to be a newcomer and not to know the way the city works. It's ok in Delhi to ask for help. Is that not true for life as well?

As I am on the flight back to Mumbai, and looking at this Capital from the skies above, I acknowledge that people in Delhi can be aggressive and abrasive but then they have a life. In Mumbai people can be polished and polite but they have an agenda. Delhi can be unsavoury and unsafe but it keeps things real. Mumbai is safer, not necessarily less unsavoury but more of a dreamland. And yes these are statements that stereotype, generalise and talk about my own views; but I can see how Delhi will be nonchalant about these while Mumbai will not take it kindly...and that ladies and gentlemen is the biggest difference.

An Opportunity to Make it Better

HP messaged, "He just passed away, Tanu". I was sitting at the table and just about to shut the laptop when it hit me; it's over and the only friend with Junior is HP. I could be there but I was told to stay put and so I have been writing. The one coping mechanism, cure and celebration I know does not fail. And so, for the first time in my blogger's life I will write a second post on the same day. 

My thoughts are with Junior, his family and other friends. For days together HP has been upset with the behaviour of other friends; individuals who seem to be there only so that no one could say that they were not seen...

Friends; that takes me back to another conversation earlier today. I made a statement that I have never found Bombay to be a warm city. Of course this December night it's cold but I was referring to the warmth of a place  or person. "Why? Don't you have friends?" Of course I do, but if I was to visit Bombay as a stranger, I would find it impersonal, in rush, disorganised and confounding; in short not warm. And yes I have friends who not only make this city special but make me want to make it less rough for their comforts.

As I am praying for Junior's father and his family, I am taken back to the time when Appyrichvictor's father was diagnosed with cancer. It was early January, four years ago, when he called me from his abode in Europe, asking if I knew an orthopaedic who could give a second opinion. I did; but what was the problem? After a few questions and patient cajoling I realised it was the metastasis of his father's cancer that was the reason for this subdued, troubled sounding and hesitant call. I had no words that came to me. Uncle was the healthiest and most active individual in the seventies I knew. Well that being said, the situation had to be handled. We decided on a course of action and Appyrichvictor decided to fly down to Bombay.

From airport to home, we decided to catch up with the other events of one another's life. Neither of us spoke about the actionable items in the next few days. I guess we were tardy. That very evening we had to admit uncle to the hospital and there we were faced with complications. Appyrichvictor consulted his brother in law in UK, the only doctor in the family, and then took the decisions that needed his consent. The Sporty Biker and I hung around for any need that Aunty or Appyrichvictor may have. Hospital staff behaved as if it was just another day, which of course for them it was, but they lacked any and all compassion. The doctors were unclear and impatient in the way they dealt with the family. All in all, the worried son who had been away from India for over 20years was not in a comfortable place. Aunty went home and Appyrichvictor of course was on ground zero. After a post mid night dinner I left the hospital but Sporty Biker decided to stay on. The battle against cancer had just begin.

The next two and a half years were similar. Doctors who promised to see the patient at 6:00pm would rock up at 2:00am. Asking questions would infuriate some, others needed further consultation to give clarity and yet others were not available. On days when we rushed uncle in emergency I distinctly remember ER staff not giving him a blanket till a ruckus was created. Or for that matter, the ER doctors lacking thoroughness of taking a proper history. Proximity to home, the only oncology speciality hospital in a twenty kilometre radius and uncle's condition; there seemed to be no option but to deal with this hospital. So the treatment, the late night dinners at the hospital stairs and reluctant second opinions became par for course. 

Demanding auto rickshaw drivers, the horrible roads and the poor infrastructure; all added to the woes of the family of the mother and son. When Appyrichvictor was away, he had a job to keep, Sporty Biker and I tried to be around as much as we could be. But Mumbai distances and the rushed life we lead, meant that we were not there as often as we would have liked to be...

On one of her annual visits to me, in London, mother fell ill in the middle of the night. I dialled 101 instead of 111. While 111 is medical emergency number, 101 is non emergency police number. After hearing me out, the 101 operator alerted the paramedics, assured me they were on the way and then politely told me that next time I should dial 111 to save time. The paramedics reached in less than 10minutes. They came up, examined mother with the utmost kindness and care and suggested that we take her to the AnE. I got worried then but patiently they explained that her ECG, Blood pressure, pulse etc were all normal but as a precaution this was recommended. 

I had friends in London, in fact in the same building, but I did not need to bother them at that unearthly hour as the strangers who were care givers gave me no reason to feel vulnerable. Yes the next morning, an unfeeling boss demanded that I haul myself into the office and that is when all friends and their wives took turns to be with mother. Yes friends make life easy but sometimes we cannot do without them and at other times we don't need to inconvenience them. 

No this post is not about London being better than Mumbai. Nor is this post about merits of friendship. This is a post about the environment that we have created in our cities; an environment that forces us to look at self more than all that impacts the life of the self and the impact the life of the self could have on others. This is a post that expresses a wish that maybe someday Mumbai, a fascinating city, can also become a city with open arms. This is a post, to say that it is you and I who make this city, let us make it a better place for all of us. Because once we are gone, we would have lost any opportunity to make any difference. Because when we go, we probably would not even know that time is up. Because after one chance has gone, we may never get another chance even though life may be long...

Mumbai Diaries - Monsoon Mystery

Inhabitants of Mumbai, or Mumbaikars as we are called, are the luckiest in the country as far as public transport is concerned. From the local trains (akin to tube or subway) to buses to auto-rickshaws to taxis, the city has all modes available depending on the budget and fancy of the traveller. I am very happy to cab it up often or even take the bus for short distances.

It was pouring today, and as my luck would have it, my car needed to be sent to the garage for an engine fault. With meetings crisscrossing the city I had to rely on Ola (Indianised Uber) and surprisingly not only was I lucky to get them immediately on request, but also got upgraded each time. The only once I got dinged by Ola was at the end of the day, when I decided to leave office.
 

Not one to fret, I walked into the drizzle and asked a standing black and yellow cab driver if he would drive me to my destination. While he said yes, he did not budge from his position in front of the driver's door. He kept looking on and then suddenly opened the cab door for me. As I sat in, I felt a bit uncomfortable. There was no other cab available so I decided to stick on. At the traffic signal 200meters ahead, the driver was busy staring in the rear view mirror and had to be prompted to move on. A bit weird, I thought and felt it more reasonable to call a friend till we reached the traffic dotted Marine Drive. I just wanted to be cautious.

When we reached Chowpatty, I decided to attend to emails and till the end of the journey did not pay any further attention to the driver, the taxi or the traffic. I alighted, diagonally opposite the building, intending to cross the road quickly. However, something struck me as odd and so I ambled on. The cab driver, to my surprise, kept standing. I had not disembarked at a taxi stop, there was no passenger in sight and the light on that part of the main road was also dim. I could not fathom why he was waiting. I stood on the divider allowing two cars, far apart from one another, pass by. Crossing slowly I turned and looked at the guy and he started to slowly drive on or amble on as I had. Did he want to know which building I got into, was he just bored or was he waiting for someone! I don't know. And that is when suddenly the traffic on the opposite side starting increasing, forcing the cabbie to move on further. Once he was out of sight I walked on home.

I still find the entire experience, the journey and the driver's behaviour bizarre. It is not my first or last strange encounter with a black and yellow cabbie in Mumbai. But something about today's trip makes me uncomfortable even as I am writing this from the comfort of my own room. I am not scared. I am not anxious. I am not disgusted. I am just a little unsettled and curious about the driver's motivations...

Mumbai black and yellow taxi drivers know the roads of Mumbai at the back of their hands. They also have a need for speed. Most of them are nice people too, but then there are some strange apples like the man at the wheel tonight or an indifferent blind eye turning individual I encountered last year.

It was another rainy day in Mumbai and another late night at work, but that day I had the car and driver to get me back home. On the way, at a traffic signal, I noticed a couple making out in the back seat of the cab that had stopped just ahead of us. What was strange though was that the woman seemed to be pushing the guy away and moving towards the door. Suddenly I saw a third man sitting besides the driver, in the front. Something was amiss.

At the next signal I asked the driver to overtake the taxi and then stop. Once the car was stationary, I got off and marched towards the cab; with my eyes on the woman. I was hoping she was not in trouble. Seeing me approach she looked down and started rummaging through her hand bag. Doubt broke my steps, was I overreacting and misreading a situation...

I did a U-turn and went and sat in the car, but my brain had somewhere stored the number plate. At the next signal the cab driver swung from the left most to the right most lane and took a right turn. Very normal rash driving for Mumbai taxi drivers, but I just felt a kick in my gut. The entire next kilometre I was cursing myself when I saw two cops below the flyover. I asked the driver to pull aside, walked up to them, explained what I saw and my apprehensions, and finally gave the number plate details. I was assured that they would be on the lookout for the cab.

Many hours later, once again in the comfort of my room, I had felt uncomfortable. I was also anxious. There was a nagging feeling that maybe I should have carried on and confronted the girl at the traffic light when I had the chance...

I could never find out what happened to the girl. I will never know but I hope she is alright. I can never find out why my cab driver behaved the way he did tonight. I will never know but I hope that my unease is misplaced. But what I do know is that my first reaction, the one straight from the gut, was not completely incorrect last year or today. And I also know that it is not just in case of these unpleasant instances, but even when life has thrown happy occurrences my way, my instinct has been mostly right.

There are times when we distrust our own judgement and there are times when for no reason we don't trust people. But when it comes to total strangers, maybe we need to follow our gut instinct and go with the initial reaction and not over think. Who knows the first flush could really become the first bloom. Who knows maybe over thinking kills a perfectly valid view. Who knows maybe the maybes spin a web that can never be entangled...

PS I wrote this last week but got around to posting it only today 

Mumbai Diaries - A Monsoon Memory

"You must have all sorts of experiences in life", were Bonsai's infamous words to me when I came face to face with my first failure -  I had managed to fail an exam! A grade A student till then, I was in a state of shock and shame when the wise one enlightened me.

 

Driving home in the rain today, I am not sure why I am reminded of that day. Maybe because it is a grey, rain soaked, Mumbai Monsoon day; that was after all another rainy afternoon when I had gone to the university to check my results, only to find that my roll number was not on any of the displayed lists. That meant I had probably failed in at least one subject. I maintained my composure through the journey home. I was strong, I could not cry in public; but once home, the dams broke as I sat alone, my head hung in mortification.

 

My mother tried to tell me that as long as I continued to use the grey matter nestled in my skull, this one setback would mean nothing in the long run.  Sequoia comforted me by pointing out that asking for revaluation was always an option I could exercise. But Bonsai did not understand the fuss. For her, it had happened, I had to accept it, and rock on the road ahead. I was unable to swallow the bitter truth and chose to keep mum about the entire situation. It was my doing and I had to deal with it.

 

I was trying to find comfort in To Kill A Mockingbird when Spectacle called me. It was Ganesh Chaturthi he reminded me. Lord Ganesh, the remover of all obstacles had come yet another year to bless us all, spread cheer and guide us forward. I had to be at his home for the evening aarti (prayers) and he would not take no for an answer. I did not know why I had to go, when with his arrival, the Lord had put a gigantic road block in my future plans. All I wanted was to be by myself and lick my wounds. But Spectacle does not back down easily and I had no energy to put up a fight.

 

I wore a mask of bravery, my favourite white salwar kameez and stormed into the rain to face my friends. The bravado melted half way through and I arrived with a subdued smile that showed all the effort it had created. There was not one person wearing kids gloves in that house and yet it was the most peaceful time I had that day. I was pulled up for being late. My peculiar mannerisms were made fun of; but there was not one person who spoke about college or of results.

 

It took me a few days and a few friends to get over the lump in my throat. Once I had kicked myself for being so pathetic,  I started to try to unravel the mystery of my dismal performance. As the layers peeled away, a realisation began to form; hard work had to be accompanied with smart efforts too! So troops were gathered and individual friends were tasked with explaining different aspects of Engineering Drawing; including the bizarre concept of imagining an object lying right in front of you to be at infinity. Why would anyone want to confound their brain with this insanity was beyond me! So I decided to understand the rules instead. They made sense and gave a framework to the otherwise ridiculous exercise.

 

The gradual process started giving me a context. As I began to comprehend the subject, my confidence grew. The layers of the mystery started coming off more easily. Soon I realised that my failure had been a composite mix of a closed mind, being too hard on myself and a lack of confidence in my own abilities. At some point I had stopped understanding the fundamentals. Instead of getting someone to explain things to me, I was hard on myself for not being able to keep up with the others. I had moved from Maths Honours to Engineering. I had taken admission in the college and vocation of my choice. I had to be able to stand up with the rest. That I did not enjoy Engineering Drawing, made me less  capable, suddenly, in my own eyes! All these pressures led me to create a scenario where I was not just good enough at Engineering Drawing, and my results ensured that my hypothesis was proven.

 

My first failure taught me that all of us have our strengths and weaknesses.  Planning and asking for help to supplement a weakness always improves chances of success. But most importantly, integral to every victory is self confidence. I guess it was overcoming that one hurdle that laid the foundation for my future risk taking ability and every achievement going forward.

 

I guess Bonsai was right after all! We must have all sorts of experiences in life! Or in Randy Pausch's words "Experience is what you get when you didn't get what you wanted. And experience is often the most valuable thing you have to offer."

A Tale of Two Cities

A Tale of Two Cities is what I have begun calling my last few days. Between London and Mumbai, the two cities have been hogging my brain span and getting most of my attention. As I sit with a cup of hot tea, staring at the rain pelting on the roof of the neighbouring building, I cannot help but think of how these two cities are so different and yet so similar.

 

Thanks to the British, Bombay is endowed with beautiful Victorian architecture. From The Gateway of India to Chatrapati Shivaji Terminus (erstwhile Victoria Terminus) to Opera House, there are so many dilapidated examples of brilliant English construction. If one ever visits The Pantry, a quaint café in the alleys of Kala Ghoda, immediately you are transported to London's Shepherd Market.

 

It had been a couple of years in London when I bumped in to Bing Master at Marks & Spencer. Having not met for a long time as neighbours in Bombay, the chance meeting in London was surreal and we decided to catch up. I do not remember if we went to Shepherd Market, or the now shut Indian restaurant at Piccadilly; but to go back to respective homes we walked to Green Park tube station. His train went north and mine south. As I turned right to go towards my platform he stopped me. He would not let me go till I sang. That was ragging a friend! He did not care. Either I complied or we would both be at the station. It was late and the last tubes would pass by in sometime. My options were limited but my anxiety knew no bounds. He is an accomplished singer, musician and painter. I would only make a fool of myself. But I had to get home, and so I sang an old Hemant Kumar favourite when the demand came for a ballad, and so I croaked out one. Surprisingly he liked the Hemant Kumar rendition and suggested that I learn music. That was then and ten years or more later he still remembers the songs.

 

I wonder what would have been the memory had the same thing played out in Mumbai. Instead of an empty tube station we would have probably reminisced about a sprawling and smelly platform spotted with people and red Paan spits marks. The comfort of a girl and a guy being seen together late at night would be replaced by miles of distance between us, to ensure no law enforcement agent could have any confusion at any point. In fact I don't think in Mumbai the scene would have played out at all, as the trains run until much later in Mumbai(London tubes are 24/7 only now), alternatively I would have hopped into the relatively more affordable cabs.

 

The two cosmopolitan giants are the centre of attention of the individual countries they grace. They lure individuals from far and away with dreams of treasures and success. Both can boast of a personality and character that can pale many other global cities. But while one is beheld for its acceptance the other is feared for its rigour. Where one provides opportunities a plenty the other tests every bit of perseverance. And where one invokes inspiration the other can shake an unprepared visitor.

 

I have lived and worked in both. They are both home to me. Each one of them has contributed to who I am in their own way and so it's only fair that they both get their own space in my thoughts. The tale of my short life so far would be incomplete without either of the two cities. And so a Tale of Two Cities it is - one shining under the skies most often and then other standing tall under grey skies. Only today they have interchanged their usual getups, and so the rain soaked Mumbai has taken me back to London.

Harried Potter and the City of Dreams

Harried Potter (HP) called, totally miffed at all my writings on London. He was ready to put me back on the next flight back to Heathrow (ouch!) because he just did not understand "all the fuss about London". Another bitter taste of Heathrow would do me good apparently. "Let me take your friends out of that city and let's see where your lurve for Londres disappears". The impulsive and irrational reaction from one of the most controlled and calm individuals I know, over some writings, left me amused and dumbfounded.

 

The statement that London is special because of friends made me think hard. Now, all my friends know how special they are, and those who don't,  please rest assured that you are. Without any offence to any one of those kind souls living in the British capital, the honest truth is, with or without friends London would remain as special. However, I cannot say the same for Mumbai!

 

Yes I have called Bombay the city of my dreams. I accept that it sowed the seeds of ambitions that are beginning to sprout. But those aspirations were carefully cultivated in London under the most trying and exciting circumstances. Yes Mumbai has been home for the longest time. After having lived across India and Malaysia, I had the opportunity to put my roots down here. But those roots sprawled across continents and oceans to take shelter under the grey and cloudy London skies. Yes Bombay gave me friends who have become my anchors in life. I have become a better person thanks to their feedback and affection. But you see London did that and does that for me on its own. It connects me to my audacious aims, it gives me a strong gigantic leaping pad and it shows me the mirror that I need, to take the next chance in life; and buries any lingering fear.

 

Mumbai makes me work harder than I thought I could. It never fails to surprise even if it is only estimating the travel time for the daily route to work. The city decides whether it will be twenty, thirty or forty minutes. Bombay throws me off balance just when I thought I had it all under control. Flash strike of taxis, or a surge pricing of onions or simply unavailable medication! The simplest tasks can drain so much energy that there is no bandwidth available to enjoy the city on a normal day.

Mr. Potter cannot deny any of the above and I am sure he is thinking of his miserable luck in finding a driver for almost two years now, the horrible commute that he has to undertake behind the wheel daily and the long traffic jams that have caught him off guard on multiple occasions. 

 

What endears me to Mumbai are the red, blue, orange and green beacons like HP. They make me smile at the most unlikely of times. They surprise me when I am least expecting it. And they size me down when my idiosyncrasies start to soar too high. It is they who make Mumbai home I want to come to after a fantastic week in London. It is they who make the Mumbai monsoon even more magical and it is they who make life in Mumbai meaningful and lovable. And just for that, Mumbai will always be special.

Cities of the World

What would I not give to be able to draw caricatures of my selection of top world cities at this moment! Probably even if I gave everything it would be worthless as I cannot sketch to save my life! So I guess I have to make do with words, which at least at times, do walk my talk.

Before my expressions start painting the picture, let me set the reference points. In my depictions a man represents money and power while a woman denotes grace, elegance and warmth. Did I hear sexist? Not at all! Just paying homage to the majority traits of the two genders.

Let’s start at the very beginning, the very place that the seed of this idea was sowed; London – my city of bridges. The very wonderful and charming city that embraced me eight years ago when I walked in a nobody is now old and widowed. The aristocratic lady has a very demanding family. Her aura, character and personality remain; however, the depth of the wallet is waning. How she forms her will is being fought over, and this old gentle creature now needs care. Boris Johnson is definitely not the right grandson for the part but for the moment there is no choice. Let us hope that her youth returns and she is vibrant once more.

It is with sympathy that the young man and woman (a married couple), i.e. New York, look at this old lady. Together they not only have what London lacks in power and wealth but also the youth lends energy. Yes they will need more grey hair to get the character and aura that London has; but well why fret about tomorrow when today can be cherished! However, personally, I think I prefer the grandmotherly touch across the Atlantic than the frenzied life of the couple.

On the other side of the world from New York yet another fascinating story is unfolding. That of a middle aged man with maybe a dark side to him. Popularly the world calls him Hong Kong. He is a descendant of the widowed aristocrat, can be smooth and suave; but craving the life of the married couple, he is always in a hurry and lives on the edge. Yes he is interesting and remarkable but do not be deceived, be on a guard as he may take you by surprise anytime!

Taking this living on the edge to another level is the brash young man called Bombay. He believes that he has the world hooked to his talent and would like to rule the globe. His impatience and newly acquired additional disposable income is making life unruly. Sanity to his life comes from the calmness of his mother, a cousin of the old widowed aristocrat. The maturity of the mother and her affection holds back the young lad from shattering in times of adversities, helps him pick up and move on. A mentor is hard to come his way so his only hope to becoming stable is developing patience and employing rationality in conduct on his own.

Rationality comes very naturally to Bombay’s neighbors – the nouveau riche young couple with a very proper set up; Singapore. What can one say about them? Everything in their house is functional. There are no breakdowns and no eventful moments. Life runs with a soft rhythm that does not change its pace. Frankly, after a while it feels too suffocating. Maybe they need to borrow some of the vicarious ways of Hong Kong and Bombay?

Talking of vicarious, there is no one else with a more sensational life than the young European romantic lady with a line of suitors on the shores of the Seine. Paris is breathtaking, charming and her cultured panache entices most hearts that set sight on her. She can win all five senses in all seasons and is truly a diva.

The only chic male in Europe, matching this diva’s personality, is the relatively young King of Bavaria -Munich. Sadly, he lacks her perennial vivaciousness and can be a little too sophisticated to keep her interested. That in part is because somewhere the memory of his departed beloved wife lingers on. But when he decides to pursue, he can beat the Pied Piper of Hamlin. Once you know him, you grow to love him. He is still the strong, stable and trusting man standing tall.

An odd combination of sorts of Paris and Munich is far down in the southern hemisphere where a distant cousin of Paris lives. She has beauty but not all the sophistication. This young lady’s good looks have overawed a million suitors but her mild aggression and attitude has simultaneously tamed their interest. Not that she needs to worry, because she has her own young native South African fiancé. He may not be the all powerful but he is as handsome as her and has a way of living his own life. Together they bring a unique splendor to the world and Cape Town is the perfect definition of a happy couple. The uniqueness of their relationship is difficult to replicate in this world; and I can safely say that it is for this reason that Cape Town is my favorite city.

There are many more cities to cover – Vienna, Delhi, DC etc. but the mere mention of my favorite has me mesmerized. The memories are too sweet to let go of and it seems like it is time to become nostalgic and reminisce my days in Cape Town. So I guess I will sign off here and maybe capture the other caricatures in another edition another time.

India Attacked: By Terrorists and Media

Since the Mumbai attacks, a number of articles have been published in the western press about the tragedy, why it happened and the aftermath. One thing that stands out in a number of them is the poor PR process that our leaders have managed to stage – explicitly in their conduct and implicitly by sheer lack of using the diplomatic forum to project India’s views on this tragedy.

While we are all outraged and desire a number of changes, should the global India diaspora be thinking of how can we help in correcting this lapse on the part of our leaders? Should Indian journalists, in India and outside, contribute towards articles that leave out the complexities that encompass the nation and encourage the world to portray an even sorrier picture of our country?

Take a look at some of these articles (not all of them are unbalanced) and share your views. It will be interesting to see how others feel about this.

1. After the Horror - TIME
2. Mumbai Attack - New York Times
3. US warned India before Mumbai Attacks - The Guardian
4. Mumbai Attacks - The Guardian
5. Who Could Be Behind the Mumbai Attacks - The Independent
6. India Lashes out at Old Enemy - The Independent
7. Down but Not Out - Newsweek
8. In Anger Over Mumbai Attacks - Washington Post

We the Politicians, Celebrities and Citizens of India

The tragedy is not even over and the leadership of the country is out to gain political mileage. The ruling government has presented the resignations of ministers who could have and should have been more responsible not just in their administration but even in their conduct post the tragedy. Does that help? Not really. Does the government really hold them responsible? Who knows? However, the display definitely seems to calm the public. One good thing that this government is doing – building pressure on foreign soils which need to answer questions they have avoided for far too long.

The opposition is on its own trip. "It is a collective culpable negligence of the government. The responsibility should also be collective and no government has the right to survive after this," party spokesperson Rajeev Prataap Rudy said. Did the reigning BJP government in Rajasthan resign after the Jaipur blasts or did Narendra Modi do anything similar after Ahmendabad was attacked? Then who are the opposition to preach! Can they not use their time and effort more productively by maybe setting up blood donation camps or trying to increase border security in the two Border States just mentioned?

And may I ask where the Mayor of Mumbai is? She has not even come forward once to make a statement in the last three days! Why? What is her contribution to help the city heal?

Appalling! And in the midst of this, the Mumbaikars’ are all screaming and shouting, especially the celebrities. Can I ask how many of them have gone to donate blood, or have deemed it their duty to buy medicines or be there to really care for the injured? Physically attend to the critical night and day? They all want to talk sitting in the cosy confines of their homes, sleep with a pistol under their pillow knowing that they have personal security outside or sit in New York and Delhi and use this tragedy as an interesting talk time quip with friends. Let them rush back and come out of their homes and serve the city that has given them their stature and then talk! Raising money and giving donations is not enough. Do not instigate the people. Shram daan is the answer. Sweat for these people and then instigate them!

Personally, I am on my way back to Mumbai. I made a point to my boss this morning – “I want to go home at the earliest, maybe by the weekend if possible, even if you deem it unsafe. It is my home and I want to be there.” I might just donate blood or I might just be the shoulder for a bereaved friend. But I want to be there. His response – “will you promise to do some work as well”, my response – “I promise I will”. Anything to be back at this hour. He was only joking and I know that.

I get aggravated and I get angry. That is not the answer I understand. I apologise for my rants. But I cannot understand why we are all not putting in efforts but just talking. If Gandhi only spoke, India would not have been free! Each one of us can make a difference. Please rise up to this challenge!

Mumbai: A Lesson of Living and Loving??

Over the last two days, like most of the world, I have expressed my emotions without inhibition. Be it a feeling of violation or be it anger towards some of the reactions that I am hearing, I have been voicing my views actively. At the same time I have been analyzing and debating with friends, measures that India probably needs to install going forward. Everyone has their views of what should be done ranging from compulsory military service being introduced to imposing of military rule in the country. Given the absolute shock value of India’s own 9/11, people’s ideas are also extreme.

While I would love to comment on all of this, I think there is something more fundamental that I would like to address before that. And that is the uncertainty of life. As a friend mentioned in his email yesterday, “there is absolutely no certainty in life about what lies ahead for us.. We could be driving on a road and a crane could fall on us or we could be having dinner / doing business in a hotel and get shot down... The inevitability of death to this body of ours seems so crystal clear.” His email had me thinking – if I were to die today, at this very moment, would I feel that I had lived a meaningful life? Would I transcend into the other world knowing that I had rendered all my duties? Will my conversations with God convince Him that in me He had a lot to be proud of? And above all, will I be able to close my eyes without any regrets?

I do think I lead an honest life, doing all that I do with sincerity. At the work place I believe that I have always strived to give my best, sometimes even getting unduly attached to my work. In fact, friends have often jested with an opinion that I am married to my job. There I have absolutely no regrets. On the personal front I am not so sure.

My family knows of their importance in my life and my unconditional love and support for them. However, I do think that I could spend some more time with them. There are friends who I think I would like to see and spend some more time with. I have been promising them a visit for a long time, not realizing that I need to grab the opportunity when it comes. Procrastination in being with the ones you care about might not be the smartest idea given the uncertainty of life. I am seeing this more clearly than ever before, today!

And then there comes something which I has been nagging me for the last twenty four hours – how measured should one be in human interaction. If a desire to express an emotion or admiration exists, is there merit in debating its articulation and the timing of the same? Is the deliberation worth, given that a prolonged delay could snatch away any opportunity of making these feelings known? How fair is it that the human race, in spreading terrorism and fear, has little qualm; but in spreading love and togetherness we sometimes take an eternity. Resolving this very basic conflict will hopefully help each one of us improve our own lives and also show us the way forward in these troubled times.

Mumbai - Calm Collected Response Need of the Hour

This continues to be Mumbaikars' worst nightmare prolonged beyond comprehension. However, I believe that as a city we need to remain calm and not be instigated. A number of our "celebrities" have made inflammatory remarks and displayed not just immaturity but a total lack of balanced view. [1] As educated citizens we should refrain from reacting to these statements with aggression.

The need of the hour is for us to stand together and help the task forces in the rescue operations. We need to remain vigilant and report any suspicious activity to the authorities at the earliest. It is imperative now that we all display maturity, efficiency and professionalism. Mumbai is a city that has come out of various crisis only because of its spirit and unity. This time we need to deploy our perseverance, courage and togetherness like never before. Let the world know that not only are we not deterred but we also salute and support our defense personnel who have done a tremendous job in the last 24 plus hours.

[1] Point in case is Mrs. Shobha De, who in her attack on the government and authorities has completely forgotten that lapses have happened on the part of private enterprise as well. This is not the time to point fingers and call for public uproar. The hotels have lost a number of their staff, 14 policemen have been martyred and over a 125 civilians have been brutally murdered. My deepest condolences to all the bereaved families.

Mumbai - My City of Dreams

It was only a couple of weeks ago that I sat in the office, across from the Oberoi hotel, beaming with excitement. It seemed to me that finally my wish of returning to Mumbai, my city of dreams, was going to be fulfilled. All organizational issues seemed to have been resolved and the paperwork was apparently nearly complete. I flew out of Mumbai with eager anticipation, to pack my bags and bid adieu to London, my city of bridges.

Today, I am at home in London sitting spellbound by the television coverage of the Mumbai terror attacks. I am feeling violated and vulnerable. It is as though my house has been broken into and ransacked in my absence, and I have to watch from afar as a mere passerby. The office has also informed me that my departure will now not be in the next ten days as I had expected, but is subject to security concerns being alleviated and the firm getting enough comfort that it is safe for me to return to my own city. While I appreciate the thoughtfulness, I am saddened that my watch from afar will probably be prolonged.

Truth be acknowledged, my presence in Mumbai is not going to have even an iota of impact on the current situation or the lives of the inhabitants. I am no anti terrorist expert, nor am I trained in combat and neither am I equipped to handle rescue operations. By the grace of God, my near and dear ones are all safe and sound. So why is the delay of just a few days becoming such an agony for me? Because it is my home that is burning and I want to be there. If not for anything else then to share the pain that the others are going through.

I moved to Mumbai as a teenager about sixteen years ago, having lived all over India and South East Asia. My experiences in each of the places we had lived in were unique, but Mumbai somehow was just different. It was in Mumbai that I first got in touch with my true values and keenest ambitions. The tryst with schooling here honed my leadership skills. My interest in theater developed in this city which is the hotbed of Indian theater. It was Mumbai that became the stepping stone for my career trajectory and lastly it is Mumbai where I found some of my best friends. Mumbai has never come forward to embrace me like a mother for a child. But it has always inspired me to go after what I believe in, and in my quest it has been a silent supporter.

The shores of Worli Seaface have provided me with long walks and a cool breeze, when I needed to clear my head and think clearly. The tea stalls at Churhgate were mid night thirst quenchers after a long and arduous day of play rehearsals. Juhu beach and Chowpatty highlighted the simple pleasures of life, ranging from a road side snack bite, a camel ride or the absolutely gorgeous sun set over the Arabian Sea. And I cannot forget the Mumbai roads – the institution that brought me closer to the street kids (the ones selling small wares and the ones forced into begging) who showed me how despite all odds one can still smile and persevere.

The Taj Mahal hotel is special to me for a number of reasons. Shamiana, the coffee shop was a treat spot for our family for a large part of my childhood. Amongst the most cherished memories I have of the hotel are of an evening a few days before I was to fly out to for my MBA. In front of the Taj, overlooking the sea, two of my closest friends stood by me and expressed their concern over my well being in a foreign land. To be honest, more than anything else, they were worried that I would fall for a Frenchman and be heart broken. So in all candidness they had selected the picturesque spot to lecture me, so that if nothing else, the view would draw me back to Mumbai. (Strangely enough, they are now both settled in the US for good!) It is unbelievable that the same architectural icon that I remember so vividly, and was at just a few days back, has been gutted by a terrorist attack. The burning images of the Taj seem to be movie trailers that I wish I had never seen.

My romance with Bombay and the stories of our rendezvous’ are endless. I can continue to narrate instances and experiences from dawn to dusk. Bombay holds all that is dear to me and it is for that reason that I want to head back and head back soon. In this hour I want to make sure that while the battle has been tough, the dreams that the city held still exist; and the city only perseveres harder to achieve its own dreams and destiny. I want to fly home, home where I belong and I want to fly now.

Mumbai under Siege - Are Citizens not Responsible?

2008 has been an unprecedented year in the history of India’s struggle against terrorism. No longer are violent attacks limited to Tier I cities and no longer are the perpetrators targeting public transport systems. It has suddenly become a campaign aiming every city which is even slightly sensitive to communal tensions. The modus operandi is to destroy the most basic every day hang outs – shopping areas, restaurants, hotels and even residential locales. And if the ongoing terror siege of Mumbai is an indication, terrorist organizations in India are succeeding in their mission.

The media has been covering the Mumbai attacks through the night and has over and over again blamed the government and law enforcement agencies for this tragedy. Given the enormity and the gravity of the situation, indeed the very first question that needs to be answered post resolution is why and how did this happen. However, is it a question that needs to be answered only by the governing entities? I do not think so.

As a nation, and more so as the city of Mumbai, we have fought terrorism for a long time now. There is an inherent realization in each one of us that we are probably not safe. But there is no effort from the citizens to help the police. We frown upon their check posts, we do not co-operate with their random scrutiny and some of us do not even consider answering their questions worth our while. When the government implements new laws to fight terrorists, “minorities” amongst us just jump at the opportunity and play it out to be an oppression dictate.

Private organizations have made little effort in beefing up security at their own premises. It is not just in terms of scanning people and their belongings (which in fact some offices implement very efficiently), but in terms of installing security cameras, having a trained vigilance team in place to monitor the footage and employing qualified security guards at and around entrances. If one considers why the two hotels (the Taj and Trident) could be taken under control by terrorists, one reason immediately stands out. Both have multiple entrances which can be broken into without being noticed. Who should take responsibility for safeguarding private premises? If we start expecting the police to do so then I think we should stop expecting them to monitor other crimes in the city.

There are critical questions, however, that the authorities need to answer. Despite the robust intelligence infrastructure that the country has, how was the possibility of such a shootout and siege missed? How could the weapons be used in open public places without the attackers being detected? Why did it take the fire brigade 30 minutes to reach the Taj? And lastly why was media allowed to come in close proximity of some of the attack sites, such that forensic evidence could have been destroyed?

Yet again our city of dreams has been invaded and our attitude remains unchanged. We are still looking for a scapegoat to pass on the blame to. But it is high time that we realize that it is only collective responsibility and joint accountability that will lead to a meaningful fight against terrorism. In the absence of this we remain a vulnerable and ready target for those who want to create chaos and disrupt lives; more than they already are.