On a recent trip to Rohtak, in Haryana, I met Savitri – probably in her mid-thirties; dressed in a chiffon salwaar-suit, with her head coyly covered with the dupatta – she tiptoed into the room to serve us tea. Her hands smeared with intricate mehendi designs and her wrists adorned with red glass-bangles; a large red-bindi gracing her forhead and an innately south-Indian style pendant hung on her slender neck. A little baffled seeing such a pendant around a very rustic north-indian woman’s neck – I asked her if it was a gift from someone she knew down south. A little hesitant at first, she softly replied, “pitajhi ne diya hain.” Now, being a Bengali myself, I can assure you that my Hindi isn’t too great either, but surely not as bad as to pronounce ‘pitaaji’ as ‘pitajhi’! Yes, it was her pronunciation which gave away, in those few seconds, that Savitri, wasn’t after-all from Haryana or any place nearby – she was from Kerala.
I later spoke to Savitri, at length and asked her how she landed up here, from a very matriarchal Kerala background to one that is utterly male-dominated and blindly conservative. What Savitri narrated was astounding – she said it wasn’t just her, but that there were many such Malyalee women, married into farming households of Haryana. I later to spoke to a journalist friend who revealed how due to Haryana’s abominable sex ratio and growing female foeticide, most farming households now ‘traded’ women from other states to grace their households…. and yet female infanticide is the order of the day here - an irony of gargantuan proportions and a sordid fact of our ‘Incredible Indian’!

Some quick facts –
The states of Punjab, Haryana and Jharkhand have the worst sex ratios in the country. According to the 2001 census, there are only 874 women with respect to 1000 men in these states. The national average was 933.

Figures by United Nations say that about 7,50,000 female foetuses are aborted every year in India.

It does matter if you’re black…it doesn’t if you’re white!

MJ’s epoch-making song might have inspired our impressionable young minds, but what I saw and heard a few days back has left a taste so bitter that I have barely been able to overcome it.

My friend’s daughter is a tad dusky – well that’s what I would describe her complexion as…however for some of her friends in an upmarket school in Gurgaon, she is ‘black’ and therefore only eligible to sit at the back of the class. Shudder!! Childish as it may sound, but this little girl who is barely 10 was asked to “polish her face as well while she cleans her shoes everyday in the morning.” Is this a malaise of newbie-yuppie Gurgaon, or is this a problem which runs deeper in our society…for we are all aware how, obsessed the average India is about fair skin and how we are still one of the largest markets for bleaching creams!!

Tell-all television...Indian style!!

Indian television has hit a new low-vicarious and mindless content, which are winning record-breaking TRP's...as someone from the media, my conerns about this present scenario has been echoed in much the similar vain by many colleagues from this field. Here's what a good friend and media professional(who wishes to maintain anonimity for obvious reasons) has to say....

We Indians are obsessed with our morbid fascination of C grade starlets and faded celebrities. And never before have so many of them ganged up together to crowd our living rooms and consume precious prime time slots on the telly.
Last week, whole of India gaped at prima donna of reality shows and presiding deity of Silicone mountain, Rakhi Sawant choose her potential life mate. A week back Urvashi Dholakia, a popular actress in some unpopular serials, gave rare insight into her misdemeanours, dating from her heady adoloscent years to her current bohemian existence. Much like democracy where we get the leaders that we deserve, serials and TRP ratings work on similar pattern. We get the trash because we crave for the trash.

Viewers are left with so little alternative. After a 10-12 hour slog at work, the mind can understandably struggle to cope with howling/bawling Barkha Dutts/Sagarika Ghoshes. Both of them can be injurious to the ear drum but more than that the horror tales of HINI virus from Pune, raging infernos in the streets of Imphal, suicide of a girl raped by boyfriends are hardly the stuff to soothe a tired mind.

Fiddle with the remote and you are bombarded with sob tales of wronged wives and wronged husbands and wrongful mother-in laws. Shimmering sets and glitzy costumes but maudlin emotions and vacuous storylines.

Just when you thought the sports channels will have a bit of adrenaline rush, well the evergrowing multitudes of experts and former players with their cliches and hamming the same old cricket jargons will esnure you do not need lullabies to hit the sack. I was at the receiving end of one such torture recently-trying to generate interest in an eagerly awaited cricket match- the anchor asked one of these cricket experts- so what does India need to do to win the match. The answer could not have been more profound and succint. He twitched his facial muscles, the forehead was creased...and then answered... "Well I think for that India will need to bowl well, bat really well and field well".

So i can hardly wait to head home and switch on the telly to watch some wannnabe star or an underachiever gloat over his bedroom conquests or failed adventures. And if i am lucky attend a swayambar on tv..

MJ’s ghost still lives on…

…said the news caster as she beamed bright on the television screen - the excitement palpable in her voice – the bold fonts of this “BREAKING NEWS”, so big that they could have almost popped out of the TV screen too!! Yes, an entire one-hour dedicated to MJ's ghost(interspersed with ads of course), ran on some news channels the other day. Add to that the painstaking analysis by "experts" of how MJ's ghost was still “emotionally”, “psychologically” and “physically” attached to the Neverland ranch…and before I could raise any doubt in my mind, the reporter confidently showed as proof, how the ghost was dancing too, moon-walking to be precise!!

P.S.- in case you have missed this hilarious news piece watch it now – "MJ's ghost” is doing the rounds on the online space too – YouTube, news websites, et al!!

Apathy at its best

amidst the many responses that I received for my last post on the Lalgarh situation, there was one which stood out. Sent by Turjo Sen, a senior media professional, personally on my mail, he recounted a poignant and heart-wrenching story about the pathetic situation of tribals in India...and I couldn't help but share it with all of you. So here it is in Turjo's words...

"I remember a story narrated by one of the Indian archers. The Government had once initiated a scheme to conduct an archery camp for talented tribals from this region. After showing prodigious talent and hitting bulls eye repeatedly, one of the boys refused to aim at the targets and instead started targetting the birds on the trees. He said it was no fun aiming at lifeless targets and preferred the birds since it would atleast ensure a good meal after the practice session. The youngster along with most tribals from the region soon left the camp because they were more interested in aiming at rats and water snakes at the camp, their normal diet for a long time.

So one thing for sure, there are precious little done by the politicians and their ilk in this region

There are no schools, hospitals in these regions so its a bit unfair for us to slam them for causing a law and order crisis. The problem is that they are misguided by their leaders who see them as easy fodder to further their own ambitions.

It was such a pathetic sight watching the campaign trail of Pranab Mukherjee in his constituency of Jangipur. Hundreds of kids without a stitch of cloth were running after his cavalcade. And he was the Home Minister and i do not see the script changing much, now that he is the Finance Minister.

But then politician bashing has been a favourite pasttime for us for far too long. I think we on the whole are a generation of very inert people. We salivate at Shiney Ahuja's story, a tiff between Dhoni and Yuvraj is a national disaster, Salman-Katrina spat is a calamity of bigger magnitude than drought in Vidharba. So as a nation, a lalgarh crisis is just a par for the course." - Turjo Sen, producer and journalist at Ten Sports.

How green was my valley...

As Operation Lalgarh rages on, and village after village ravaged by Maoist rebels, my mind is filled with a cavalcade of images - of a region swathed in sal forests, eucalyptus trees; exotic hills, colourful chou dances and simple tribal folk - a landscape unique in it's topography, vibrant in its cultural quotient and varied in its sociological demographics. Today, it's different – the resounding sounds of bullets have replaced the sweet rhythms of its rare musical instruments and melodious tribal tunes – the road to peace seems like a distant dream now…

Gurgaon- the great divide

It's hard to believe that Gurgaon goes to the polls tomorrow....over the past one or two months, ever since the campaigning spree spread to every nook and corner of this country, I haven't seen a banner, a placard, or any signs or symbols of any political party in the up-market areas of Gurgaon...all that is reserved for the other part of town, so symbolicaaly demarcated (or should I say separated) by the NH8flyover. This is not swanky Gurgaon, its the 'other' Gurgaon, known for its small-town appeal...its what a lot of people would describe as being 'downmarket'-crowded and noisy, where bullock-carts, buses, rickshaws and cars fight for every inch of space...where people are shabbily dressed, where fruit and vegetable vendors and local kirana shops blantantly flout all rules and spread their wares onto the already congested roads. This is what a lot of people know and refer to as 'old gurgaon'- full of dirt, smoke and grime and far-removed from the posh gated-communities on this part of town. All the political campainging is happening there, in old Gurgaon, while it seems its up-market counterpart is happy to view the tamasha surrounding the great Indian elections from the comforts of their drawing-rooms...they are a people who couldn't bother any less, for they only take out candle-light marches, when a 26/11 happens and create a little noise in the media about rising taxes. This is Gurgaon, with its glaring great divide...and like the often heard statement that there are two India's - one living in its metros while the other languishing in its rural belts, one sees the reality of it unfold everyday here in this very city.

Man United or Arsenal....the heat is on

It's finally time...a few hours from now would decide who goes into the finals....I'm on my way home to watch this cracker of a match, negotiating through a crazy traffic and on a day which has been the hottest in decades...the heat is on!!

Delhi Belly

Yesterday was no less than a combing operation of sorts to find eletrical fixtures etc. for my new house. We went to the old groggy bylanes of Delhi and were quite stunned to find rows of shops selling delectable edibles of every shape, size and aroma - from mouth-tingling paani-puri, pakoras, dosas, fruit juices, chaat...the list just goes on. But what was most reassuring was the fact that these old delhi roads are still brimming with a joi de verve and culture that cannot be found anywhere else in the city.

Slumdog is a brilliant film, and i fail to understand what's disturbing the likes of Mr Bachchan and Priyadarshan - is it insecurity, that a white man came to mumbai and created a stir with his fascinatng portrayal of the city's slums, considered a blotch on swanky India's image and something that cannot be shown to the rest of the world. Or do these prominent voteries of masaala movies, feel threatened - afterall a Slumdog, with its intrinsic "indian" subject has been shown more convincingly- something that most mainstream bollywood films can only aspire for.
There's nothing wrong with our brand of desi cinema- complete with their song and dance routines; but most of our films are not even convincing enough, with lacklustre subjects and childish portrayals. What john abraham and abhishek's character did in 'dostana' was utterly ludicrous and ended up making a mockery of a sensitive subject.
It's sad that a Mr. Bachchan should make such foolish remarks on Ray's films,(while speaking in context of Slumdog) - that Ray's films consciously depicted India's poverty to attract international viewership. One can only suggest the so called 'living legend' of bollywood cinema to jog his brains and recollect how many of Ray's films have actually depicted poverty or consciously dealt with that subject. Ray's subjects had variety - from exploring themes on man-woman relationships, corporate politics, friendship, children's fantasy ....the themes are endless - something that most voteries of Bollywood cinema cannot probably even begin to imagine.

The vanishing minstrels of Bengal

While visiting a newly constructed mall in Kolkata recently, I came across two Bauls, singing vociferously near the gargantuan structure, in an effort to attract whatever little attention they could from the nattily clad 20-somethings hanging around there. The contrast, all too prominent - two shabbily dressed itinerant singers in bright ochre, with the simple ektara (one stringed musical instrument) standing before what could be described as one of emerging India’s pleasure-seeking hotspots…(if only I had a camera to capture that moment, I rue now!)

The receding communities of Bauls, once (and probably still now, to a great extent) a leitmotif in Bengal’s cultural landscape, are itinerant singers, known for their musical rendition of themes such as love, brotherhood, man’s eternal spirit and unity with the almighty. Somewhat similar in spirit to the troubadours of Europe and Sufi singers, the music of Bauls captures these themes through evocative yet simple lyrics.

Ironically, it’s in the West that today’s bauls are still finding patient audiences for their kind of music– hopefully this enchanting folk music won't die an unknown death here in India, its place of origin!

still ruminating...

After spending a lovely christmas weekend in Cal, its back to the capital again - with its chilling cold, morose fog and generally gloomy weather. Sordid reminders of chillier days ahead creeps into my mind which is still immersed in the happiness and cheer of last week....Park Street was lovely as always; only that the number of billboards and kiosks has considerably increased in all these years and young people, by which i mean the 20-somethings are definitely far more nattily dressed than when we walked these legendary streets in shabby jeans and casual T's....six years is indeed a long time!

Christmas in good ol' Cal

Nearly a fortnight is left before we can wish each other a 'Merry Christmas', but my mind is already there, in good ol' Cal - conjuring up images of a brightly lit Park Street and Park Circus, the grand midnight mass at St. Paul's Cathedral, an effervescent Flurys and Nahoums selling its delectable fare, and a colourful New Market where frantic last-minute shopping for christmas trees, stuffed Santas and colourful confetti is on for the big day.
Its been over 6 years since I have been in the city for Christmas; and this time around, when I am keenly hoping to be there, the very thought of it makes my heart skip. For those who are not from Kolkata, its a feeling hard to come by and even fathom. Christmas in Kolkata, during a pleasant December end, is "different", charming and cheerful. Those fond memories kept crawling back every year...this year I will be there to relive them once more!

Music, books and love…in a time of recession

The other day, while speaking to a friend, I learned, how the present economic slowdown has affected our lives in more ways than one…Apart from the financial crunch which we all seem to be struggling with i.e eating-out less, cutting down on movies as well as the habitual splurges - here’s what a few of my friends/acquaintances, who have either received the dreaded pink slip, or are sitting idle in office are up to these days.

Vikram – is learning photography and writing more.

Ritika – is detoxing somewhere near the turquoise shores of Thailand. Her new found interests post-the job loss, includes, yoga and reading books on spirituality.

Varun – has found “true love”…(wonder whether the girl shares the same sentiment though??)

Atul – is helping his wife with cooking these days…(my thumbs-up for that!!!)

Prachi – is seriously contemplating taking up music, her first love, as a full-time career option.

***All names have been changed to protect privacy of the individuals.

It’s Cheers to the Bengali sondesh now…

The Bengali’s love for the venerable sweetmeat or ‘mishti’, as Bengalis call it, is as feted as is his intellectual fervour. Everytime I have returned from Kolkata, a bagful of mishtidoi (sweet curd), rasgolla, or sondesh (of different shapes and sizes) have been stuffed into malleable polythenes, each to be handed later to my many non-bengali and Bengali friends/colleagues residing in Delhi. Often the sweetmeats would dissapear within minutes of the boxes being opened – with my hungry friends hankering for more…and complaining simultaneously that the quantity was too less!!

The other day, while rummaging through the newspaper, I read that a well-known Bengali confectioner had introduced what he termed as the “Rum-Sondesh”, i.e sondesh laden with rum…. Now, I don’t know how many of my friends have already read that news piece…. but I can well imagine what my bagful of sweets would weigh on my next return from Kolkata!

P: S - In an unfamiliar little lane near Russel Street, in Kolkata, you can also find ‘rum-phuchka’ that’s nothing but delicious pani-puri served with rum instead of tamarind water...'Rum'-pum-pum...I can already hear you guys singing!!

A musical tribute

Yesterday, music lovers from all across the city braved the chill of a crisp December evening to gather at Delhi’s Nehru Park. The occasion – Music at the Park, an event promoted by Spicmacay, which had invited sarod- maestro Amjad Ali Khan.

Dressed in his trademark churidaar-kurta, the sarod master took to the stage with an appeal for world peace and harmony; and thanked the 300-odd audiences who had turned up despite “red alerts” issued across the city post 26/11.

As he strummed the firm chords of the sarod, playing the lilting ‘Vaishnav jan to tene kahiye je’ (gandhiji’s favourite bhajan), a carnatic piece, a newly composed concerto and many more compositions, the crowds listened rapt - enjoying the Ustaad’s every delicate move and nimble manouever on the sarod, as well as the impish challenges he put forward to the tabla players, to match up to his skills.

P.S: music lovers, as I have already mentioned in this write-up had turned up to savour the fine tunes of the sarod. There were those who enjoyed music, those who were connoisseurs, some who wanted to learn more about Indian classical music and others who wanted to catch a glimpse of the Ustaad himself. However there was one cheerful Indian fellow sitting behind me, explaining frantically to his firaang friends about Amjad Ali Khan’s music and his mastery over the “santoor”. …WAIT. Did I hear that correctly – the SANTOOR? Yes, the SANTOOR it was, which he repeated time and again and confidently so, throughout his mini-lesson on Indian music to credulous foreign guests!!

Is India still shining??

The much-hyped phrase “India shining” seems to have lost its sheen very drastically…its “India blazing” now…full of black smoke and soot, symbolically captured in the burning of the Taj hotel. The outpouring of anger and frustration of the citizens of this country is completely justified – after all, for years it’s the common man, who has borne the brunt of callous governance.

It has taken a 26/11 for us Indians to sit up and take note – the intelligentsia and the affluent are FINALLY speaking. These affluent voices were never so strong during the 2006 blasts of Mumbai or the series of terror strikes in Delhi, Jaipur or Bangalore. 26/11 is nothing but a rude shock for US, the affluent Indian – we are shaken out of our wits because we are finally scared.

In its 60 years of existence as a “free” nation India has added quite a few colourful feathers to its vast repertoire of achievements. However, basic minimum amenities of food, shelter and clean water still remain a distant dream for millions in this country – add to that widespread poverty, illiteracy, caste divide, female infanticide, regionalism, a neglected north-east…. well the list just goes on…So are we indeed free then?

To put it across very simply, in countries like Norway, Sweden, Australia, Japan, Switzerland and many other nations, the human development index is rich because the state and its citizens act ‘responsibly’ – social welfare, education, economic development and life expectancy are the prime pillars for a “quality life”. India on the other hand is a burning cauldron – with its own social ills, grave economic divisions between classes, and crass politics; and until these frayed issues are cooled it is in vain for a country like ours to proclaim itself to be “shining”.

Its time we did some serious soul-searching and asked some basic questions - are we indeed “responsible” citizens? Is it not time to get our own house in order first before pointing the finger of blame at others?

Mumbai

We have seen it all, 24 hr television, online news, blogs and on social networking sites – the trauma, the scare and the bloodbath perpetrated in the three-day long siege of a city we all love. Amidst the shock, the distress and the death there was one piece of news that trickled into our humdrum lives – my close relative had lost a very good friend by the name of Kaizad. Kaizad, a Taj hotel staff lost his life inside the kitchen, after receiving 3 gunshots. He was on his way to becoming one of India's most sought-after young chefs. In his last moments, Kaizad called some of his closest friends, in an effort maybe to say a final ‘goodbye’.

For me Kaizad is just a casual acquaintance – someone I had met only once at a relative’s wedding – a tall, strappy fellow in his mid twenties, marked by a quiet and calm demeanour. Images of that wedding night flicker in my mind…and more poignantly now.

Kaizad is only one of those unknown faces amidst the many hundreds who have lost their lives in this dastardly act. And in the end, the so-called ‘spirit’ of Mumbai will indeed live on – hopefully our collective conscience will not forget this attack on our pride, our souls and our lives.

going,going…Gone

OK so the TATA’s have finally made up their minds –to bid adieu to the hostile terrain of singur. I saw the first rollout of machinery on huge trucks and felt like its big wheels were crushing all my hopes, prayers and earnest wishes for them to stay on – for the hundreds who need to earn a living, for the dwindling image of West Bengal and for poor old CM Bhattacharya’s sake. For every proactive step that he takes, a defiant and over-zealous CPM politburo and a recalcitrant leader by the name of Mamata di (if only she had an ounce of ‘mamata’ (compassion) left in her) crush all his hopes and condemn his efforts; so much so, that the poor old man is left fuming helplessly and ends up saying an unpalatable ‘sorry’ for even daring to speak up. So much for living in a democracy!!

The hills beckoned again...

The hills beckoned once again, and this time it was Mukteshwar. I had visited Mukteshwar about 5 years back, and was expecting it to have been ravaged by commercialisation like a la Nainital. But lo! The undulating greens, the rustling trees swathed the hills like it has been forever. The rains played spoilt sport and dashed all our hopes of trekking through the narrow pathways garlanding the hills – we were caught up indoors, either reading, listening to music, chatting or playing with my niece. And once the sun shone bright on the hills and the happy rainbow smiled from a corner, we were up and about – packed our umbrellas and water bottles in the blink of an eye and literally ran out of the hotel to savour every moment. The shiv-mandir, chauthi jaali and the view from the PWD bungalow were all part of this itinerary….by the end of it we were thirsty and somewhat hungry too, and were lucky to find a shabby roadside tea stall. I was kind of hesistant about the quality of tea that would be served in this scruffy little place…. but minutes later a man and his wife, sexagenarians both, walked upto us with happy faces and served the most amazing masaala chai I have had in years. We made ourselves comfortable on the roadside milestones and makeshift stone seats, while sipping tea and listening to stories of their life and living in these ardous hills…somewhat amazed at their tenacity and touched by their joi-de-vivre.