Food for thought

The primary reason for best laid plans to go wrong on a long weekend is that you sleep till late morning. When I got up at 10:00 AM on Saturday morning I knew inwardly that my plans for shopping ahead of my trip to the USA would turn up to nothing. Hence, I found myself once again in the office, researching on how to drive in the USA. And not surprisingly, Moinu too turned up. In the whiff of the moment, we decided to head out for lunch. Moinu suggested 'Sinbad' in ITPL, but I felt it too gaudy for a routine Saturday lunch. Finally, after a round of negotiation, I agreed to his suggestion of Bhagini.

Bhaginis are a unique phenomenon. These are restaurants or restaurant look-alikes that seem to inhabit the suburb of West Bangalore. They can be frequently spotted in this locality, every few kilometers, especially on the Outer Ring Road. So when he said "Let's go to Bhagini", it left me wondering which one he was referring to. There was one just around the corner from our office. But we drove for some time, before he pulled up opposite to the Innovative Multiplex in Marathalli. My curiosity was answered when he pointed to a three or four storeyed building with a glass facade like one of those small scale software companies - Bhagini Palace.

Those who are familiar with these Bhaginis would instantly recognize one of their ilk, if they met them on the road. The prominent feature of any Bhagini is a gaudy, yet boring neon sign announcing its name. It seems to take up the whole space of the restaurant. As you step in, you are greeted with a fountain like structure that gushes out water. At night, the whole place is lit up with those little party lights, like a cheap tourist attraction. Inside a Bhagini, you are likely to find three different seating arrangements. One is the usual rectangular restaurant hall, that caters to some umpteen tables. There is also that long hall which runs from one end of the restaurant to the other, with tables next to each other and can be readily converted into one big table catering 50-odd software engineers ever on the look-out for cheap team lunch options to save company money. There there is the "upstairs" option - usually popular for evening get-togethers with liquor (As has been the case whenever i've been there).

That being the case, it definitely came as a surprise that Bhagini Palace did not follow the design standards used for the rest of the Bhaginis. I confessed to Moinu immediately that it was the first time I was visiting this place. The interior had more of a Shanthi Sagar look - immaculately (or trying to be) dressed waiters trying their best to accommodate the crowd on those cushion chairs with ornate metal. Each table had four folded banana leaves - in preparation for the meal to be served on them. Bhagini serves mainly Andhra cuisine. Their menu card does lay claim that they are adept at serving any cuisine, but i have not really been brave enugh to try them out. As far as time goes, i remember eating only one dish from these places - the regular Andhra meal. My memories of Andhra meals date back to the time I spent in Chennai, where we used to eat that delicious dinner of Andhra meals - The paruppupodi and the dal curry being my favourites - from the T-Nagar Mess - a place which if I described would make the girls who inhabit the software industry cringe with shock and shriek "how unhygienic!"

Now coming back to the Bhagini, there are a few characteristic traits to this place. By default all the orders are considered to be for Andhra meals, unless specified otherwise. Perhaps this would explain the existence of banana leaves. The next is that more than one waiter is eager to take your order (though the eagerness stops there). The species that inhabits the Bhagini the most is the one that infests this planet by hoards and has become a threat to the planet's very existence - the Software Engineer. Rarely a moment goes by when you don't hear a conversation from a nearby table, that doesnot contains words such as "issue", "object" and "hierarchy". The place sometimes gives you a feel that it is a breeding ground for the species where they multiply without control - akin to one of those In-Gen Labs in Jurassic Park.

The fourth, and foremost feature about the place is the long processing time. From the time you give the order to the umpteenth waiter who surrounds you to the time when you catch hold of a stray waiter and negotiate with him to serve your meal, governments could rise and fall in Djibouti. "Perhaps it is because of the Omelette we ordered" claimed Moinu as we waited for ages. The Omelette came, but still there was no sign of the food. It took so long that I have forgotten what we discussed (neither girls nor office politics - those are two topics i can never forget). "And people complain about us exceeding MPT in Message Processing!" growled Moinu finally. And we weren't the only ones complaining. "Meals? Sir, it would take minimum half an hour for us to serve!" said the beaming headwaiter to a family who had just walked in. It was not surprising that they chose to disappear immediately.

The food when it came was nothing to complain for, perhaps because I was already hungry. As the famous saying goes in Malayalam, "gathi ketta puli pullum thinnum" (A hungry tiger would even resort to eating grass). It never came down to eating grass though, as I finally got to gobble up my paruppupodi and dal curry mix - enough quantity to fulfil the hunger of a dozen Ethiopian kids. It had been quite some time since i'd had Andhra food, not to mention from Bhagini. As they claim in their website, "They are ready to give good quality of tastee dishes and bar items with good service. By the way they requires good satisfaction of routine of customers. There are 75 workers and staff working in the restaurant. The speciality of the restaurant is available all kinds of drinks."

Stanley Kubrick fans would swear by the name of "The Shining" - perhaps the best horror movie ever made in Hollywood - based on Stephen King's book of the same name, about a hotel which houses an unspoken evil. One of these Bhaginis would serve well as a backdrop if some smartass Bollywood producer took it upon himself to make an Indian copy of the movie.

Of tourists and ponies

American Tourister - that's what i had planned to call my sojourn in the USA - An opportunist in the Land of Opportunities. There is no doubt that I am an opportunist. We all are - how much ever we deny it. But then the word "Tourister" has a strange inevitability to it, for I am not a tourist.

Today, I got my ticket, after a lot of deliberations about when to leave and how to leave. Finally I put in my money on Lufthansa, the least due to the fact that they are my customers. I do not carry any misplaced loyalties to my customers outside the office. It was merely a choice based out of experience and sheer laziness.

The third of April marks the anniversary of the foundation of the famous Pony Express, the precursor of the US Postage system, where mail was transported across the country on horse and rider relay teams. It had captured the imagination of a country. My imagination has to wait a few more days.

A week later I would be off, facing new challenges in the so-called Land of Opportunities. A week further, I would perhaps be roaming in the streets of the historic city of Philadelphia. Another week further - to the people of this city, to those who see me everyday today - I would be history.

For...we remember others only in the hour of our need.

Recommendations for the month

Books:

World Without End (Ken Follett): See review below. A good read for one time, if you like Follett's style of writing, but falls short of the high expectation set by its predecessor, "The Pillars of the Earth".

The Great Railway Bazaar: By Train Through Asia (Paul Theroux): Well-known for his travelogues, Theroux takes you along with him on his railway journeys across Eurasia - on the famed Orient Express, The Khyber Pass Local, The Frontier Mail, The Grand Trunk Express, The Golden Arrow to Kuala Lumpur and the Trans-Siberian Express. Theroux's account focuses on people and situations, and provides riveting reading, though a bit sarcastic at times.

Movies:

Zodiac: The story behind one of the unsolved crimes in history - the Zodiac killer used to terrorise the towns of California. After a much publicised manhunt, the killer was never apprehended. The movie takes a look at the lives of the people who were a central cog in the manhunt. Starring Jake Gyllenhall, Robert Downey Jr., and Mark Ruffalo, the movie moves along at a lively pace, looking at how the investigation affects the life of the three protagonists. Robert Downey Jr. excels as the eccentric detective who is determined to track down the killer.

Eight Below: An inspired story on the survival of a pack of dogs in the Antarctic winter, and one man's efforts to rescue them. Though endearing, it is a bit long for the average movie-goer, and tends to stretch one's patience at times.

All the King's Men: With an exceptional star cast featuring Anthony Hopkins, Sean Penn, Jude Law, Mark Ruffalo and Kate Winslet it would be natural to have huge expectations from this film, but it fails to live up to it. Based on the Pulitzer-winning book by Robert Penn Warren, on the life of Huey P. Long, the story follows Willie Stark on his rise to power and the inevitable fall from it. The plot has too many twists and moves at a pace which the viewer finds a little difficult to catch up with. Sean Penn's electrifying potrayal of Stark stands tall. The excellent cinematography and the presence of one of the most under-rated actors of our time - Jude Law - make the movie watchable once.

Miller's Crossing: A classic edge of the seat thriller from the Coen Brothers on the power struggle between gangsters, the movie features the extra-ordinary but not-so-stellar star cast comprising of Albert Finney, Gabriel Byrne, Marcia Gay Harden and John Turturro - established actors in their own right. The story moves at an electrifying pace and even though there seems to be umpteen twists in the plot, is never difficult to comprehend.

The Lord of the Rings - box set: The LOTR trilogy of movies has established itself in film folklore. There's nothing more to be said about them. But the six feature DVDs packaged along with the set is a treat to the 'Rings' fans. It is a treasure trove that delves into the efforts of the creators, and provides an insight into why the trilogy is regarded as the "best movie to come out of a book". A must-own for any movie collector.

The Book Without End

Six years ago, I discovered Ken Follett's writing. The first of his books that i had laid my hands on was "The Hammer of Eden". Before i could read a page, my room mate had finished it, and started ranting and raving about it. Once I finished the book, i found it difficult to share his enthusiasm. The second book however, converted me - a huge 1000-odd-page story about the construction of a cathedral with interwoven plots and characters, took me no time to finish. I immediately classified "The Pillars of the Earth" as one of the best fictional works i had read till date.

"World Without End", published as a sequel to "The Pillars of Earth", caught my attention precisely due to that reason. It had been a few years since I had read a Ken Follett novel. Whatever be the content, one can but fail to admit that his novels are fast-paced. It was a mixture of curiosity and ennui that prompted me to lay my hands on the book. The result is yet to be comprehended by my mind.

"World Without End" starts off generations after the life of Jack Builder. Two centuries have gone by, and Kingsbridge Cathedral has grown into one of England's most important priories. The story weaves us through the lives of the people whose destiny is linked irrevertably to the small town and its fortunes. The characters by themselves, are vivid as painted portraits. We follow the fates of Caris, the tempestuous girl, who is forced to shun the love of her life - Merthin, the Carpenter - and devote herself to a life as a nun and a prioress; the shrewd Gwenda, who struggles through her life to support her lover, Wulfric; Godwyn, the ambitious prior of Kingsbridge, who would stop at nothing to hold on to the power he has over the town; Ralph, younger brother of Merthin and in service of the king, who uses his power and position to advance his cause; and many more.

Typical of all his books, the narrative moves at a brisk pace through the intricacies of the plot. The reader is spellbound at the knotting and unravelling of the various situations that the protagonists find themselves in. Follett evens ventures to bring in real events into the narratives, such as the Battle of Crecy (which is considered widely as a kick-off to the Hundred Years War), and the Black Plague which plays a major role in the story. Whether Ken Follett's knowledge on the middle ages is exemplary is beyond me who cannot profess knowledge on the era. But the book is gripping...until the end, when the author seems to lose the plot.

Perhaps the biggest failing of the book is the last 100-odd pages. For what was a gripping story for 1000 pages, loses its plot completely in the last few pages, turning into a contrived ending as if it were a long drawn out mega serial forced to its end out of sheer boredom. The book starts off in intrigue, when the four children witness a murder in the forest near Kingsbridge, and contrary to expectation, this incident does not become a central cog in the machinery of the narrative. Rather, it is sidelined until the end, when the author contrives to pull it out from the dusted corner to fit it into the plot. The reader is left to wonder as to why so many plot twists were unravelled so easily.

The narrative loses its shine, as it meanders towards its uneasy ending, with the focus of the story shifting from one character to the other. As the focus of the story shifts from the intriguing character of Godwyn - who is conveniently killed off by the author - to the less impressive and weak Ralph Fitzgerald, the story weakens, and starts unravelling by itself as if it was cut through by a sword.

The book comes to a tame ending, as if upholding the old saying, "all's well that ends well". Many of the actions by the various characters do not make sense, but to fill in the narrative in an artificial manner. As I turned the last page, I felt that the book was aptly named: This was a World Without End.

Recommendation: Not one of his best, but worth a read.

The Eternal Thirst

ye kooche ye neelaam ghar dilkashi ke
ye lut te hue kaarwan zindagi ke
kahan hai, kahan hai muhaafiz khudi ke?
jinhe naaz hai hind par woh kahan hai?

Those unforgettable words light up the screen as the viewer is spellbound by the magic of Guru Dutt. TIME Magazine rated it as one of the 100 best films of all-time, calling it the “soulfully romantic of the lot” among Indian films. Hindi cinema has come a further fifty years since, but “Pyaasa” has managed to carve a niche for itself in the annals of Indian cinema.

har ek jism ghaayal, har ek rooh pyaasi
nigaahon mein uljhan, dilon mein udaasi

Pyaasa tells the story of Vijay, a destitute and jobless poet, whose melancholic poems are rejected by a world which wishes to dwell upon the romantic notes of love. The dark tones in Vijay’s poetry stem from his college days, when his sweetheart, Meena, spurned his love to marry the rich Mr Ghosh, a newspaper publisher. The only person who loves him and his poems is Gulabo, a prostitute. A despondent Vijay is encouraged by his friends to turn to the bottle. In a drunken stupor, he gives away his coat to a shivering beggar, who in turn, saves Vijay from the lights of an oncoming train. The world believes Vijay to be dead, and he achieves demigod status when his book of poems is published on the insistence of Gulabo. His friends and brothers, who are busy making money out of Vijay’s death, refuse to identify him at the hospital where he is recuperating. In a dramatic climax, Vijay announces to the world, his existence. However, now that everyone is willing to acknowledge him, he no longer desires the fame and glory. With Gulabo beside him, he yearns to go away and establish a world of his own.

jahaan ek khilona hai, insaan ki hasti
yeh basti hai murda paraston ki basti

For the modern movie-goer, Pyaasa is too dark and melancholic to perhaps endure the whole distance, and one can pick holes in the script if one really wants to do it (such as how only the coat survived, when the beggar’s body was mangled beyond recognition). But for a connoisseur of the art, in spite of being a black and white film, Pyaasa is awash with colours – colours of despair, compassion, and resplendency. The lead actors give a splendid performance – Guru Dutt as the poverty-stricken poet, Waheeda Rehman – in her first major on-screen role – as the kind-hearted courtesan, and Mala Sinha, as the opulent society woman. Rehman as Ghosh, and Johnny Walker as Sattar Bhai, provide perfect foil to the lead cast. The camera work by V K Murthy is breath-taking. The whole film is dark, conveying the mood of the story perfectly. He paints the portrait of each character in their inherent state of mind – Vijay is shown with his face half obscured in the shadow, to reflect his despair and poverty, Gulabo has an angelic glow around her face, a mark of her kindness and compassion towards Vijay, and Meena’s face is fully lit with a milky effect reflecting on her opulence and suffocation in the marriage that she chose.

jawani bhatakti hai badkaar bankar
jawan jism sajte hai bazaar bankar

The musical score by SD Burman and the lyrical poetry of Sahir Ludhianvi are now part of legends. Mohammed Rafi moves comfortably from the light-hearted “Sar Jo Tera Chakraye” and “Hum Aapki Aankhon Main”, to the powerful “Yeh Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaaye” and “Jinhe Naaz Hai Hind Par”. Geeta Dutt is sensuous in the beautiful “Jaane Kya Tune Kahi” and “Aaj Sajan Mohe Ang Lagao”. And, Hemant Kumar delivers his punch in the soulful “Jaane Who Kaise Log The Jinke”. The film is also interspersed with beautiful poetic lines.

yeh duniya jahan aadmi kuchh nahin hai
wafaa kuchh nahi, dosti kuchh nahin hai

Guru Dutt’s master direction ensures that Pyaasa leaves us with a host of unforgettable cinematic moments – as Vijay lies on the grass, watching the world go by, he is crudely awakened from his dream as a passerby tramples and kills the bee. The image of Gulabo, flirting between the huge pillars of the building as she entices Vijay in her song, is captivating. Gulabo’s unfulfilled love for Vijay is dramatically captured in the song “Aaj Sajan Mohe Ang Lagalo”. The fickle-mindedness of the world is reflected in Vijay’s soulful rendering of “Jinhe Naaz Hai Hind Par”, after he witnesses a pimp who stops the tearful courtesan from attending to her sick baby, and forces her to continue dancing. And who can forget those powerful words that he utters, standing silhouetted against the door in the climactic scene:

yeh mahalon, yeh takhton, yeh taajon ki duniya
yeh insaan ke dushman samajon ki duniya
yeh daulat ke bhookhe rawaajon ki duniyaan
yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaaye toh kya hai?

All I need is to be free...

The video was created by me using some of the photos I clicked during my Mumbai Trip. Please do leave your (preferably non-anonymous) comments.

Random Thoughts...

Still in Mumbai mode...Some random thoughts and learnings from the trip:

1. Tunnels can be very boring - especially when you spend around 15 minutes travelling inside them, as is the case with the Konkan Railway route. Thoughts of the Naples Black Market Express inevitably come to mind.

2. The taxi drivers in Mumbai are more honest than their counterparts down South. They charge you the exact fare in the card.

3. Apartments in Mumbai are never re-painted.

4. If you like something you see, click a photo! Else, you might regret it later (you can delete it later if it doesn't look good). I missed clicking the 'Photo of the Trip' at Haji Ali, and I regret it!

5. Never order a Dosa in Mumbai.

6. For all its hype, avoid Leopold Cafe!

7. And for all its hype, the Colaba Causeway has some great and cheap food joints - try "The Food Inn". It is small but good.

8. Biryanis on trains have a strange habit of changing appearance and taste, depending on the time of the day they are ordered.

9. How much ever people try to pull you down, it's never too late to enjoy your life. After all, there is a child inside everyone.

The Bombay Diary - Epilogue

In today's world it's a crime to enjoy your life. We take pride in the fact that we are old and mature, and work hard for a living - so much that we fail to enjoy our lives. And the moment someone wants to let their hair loose, they are ruthlessly pulled down and are told to act their age (it happens to me everyday). Today, a group of old ladies (and they were well over 50) showed us how to live.

On Wednesday, 30th January, we left Bombay for Cochin (I've somehow never come to terms with the new . Maybe that's why I always live in the past).

We still had some moments to savour. The trip ended just as it had started - on the Gateway of India, watching the sunrise. Since our train was only at 11:40 AM, we still had time to get up early and go on a walk - of course, the "intention" of the walk was to find something for breakfast, but Colaba wakes up only after 9 o'clock. We were unable to find a single open restaurant at 7:00 AM.

Some old guy was busy taking photographs at the Gateway - not like us, but SERIOUS photography, with a small team and a model. SS claimed he was the famous Gautam Rajadhyaksha, but on hindsight, it does not seem to be true since this guy was much older. He seemed to be shouting harsh instructions at the model, but his behaviour clearly indicated that he knew what he was doing. Well, all's well that ends well (no pun intended).

The drive to Lokmanya Tilak Terminus in the taxi was memorable in many ways:

1. It was difficult to make out which was older. The taxi driver was an old guy, but the taxi itself seemed older than him.

2. The music - you can't call it retro, you can't call it new. It was one of those T-Series collections.

3. The traffic in Bombay is irritating. I take back what I said about shuttle drivers in Bangalore in my Day Zero post. These guys are worse, and are looking for an excuse to honk.

There's a certain beauty to the suburban stations in this city - they are never empty. You always see people from various walks of life, racing from one place to the other. It's scary to get into a local train during rush hour - you are just pushed along in the crowd, without being aware of where you are heading. Sitting in the cosy confines of my long-distance train, watching life go past in the locals is a privilege. These trains crisscross the city like the blood vessels in the human body.

At Chiplun, SS decided to have Vada Pav. I just wanted a coffee. Just then, I told him that he should try out a 'pazham pori' (he couldn't pronounce it). It was the coldest pazham pori I had ever had in my life, but having not eaten one before, SS was amazed by it. As they say, Ignorance is indeed bliss.

At 6:30 PM, we pulled into the town of Ratnagiri, famous as the birthplace of Lokmanya Tilak. A horde of old ladies boarded the train. Their families and extended families had come to see them off. They were on their way to Thrissur to embark on a tour of Kerala, as one of the old ladies gleefully informed me. They were in full spirits, playing cards and antaksharis. Soon the enthusiasm spread to the other travelers. Everyone wanted to be part of of it...Well, almost everyone. "After all, they are North Indians. Only they can think of doing such things," my fellow traveller chipped in. I wondered why someone needed to be from a different part of India to enjoy life. The ladies taught us an important lesson - it is never too late to live your life.

Morning brings with it, the familiar feeling of being home - the train passes into Kerala. They say that home is where the heart is. Perhaps my heart is still here. And that's why i still love coming here. It was 1:3o PM by the time we got down at Aluva. A dozen stops at so-called important towns and snail's pace between Calicut and Shoranur had not dampened my spirit. Ah! Kerala...for Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety (...and she's better than Cleopatra). I hope I can keep returning here. Always and ever...

Pic of the day: For most of the year, Bharatapuzha, the largest river in Kerala, is just a sand bed with a few puddles of water here and here. Still, a fisherman angles his bait in a puddle, unsure of the catch.

The Bombay Diary - Day 5

The Vedas state: “Mathru Devo Bhava, Pithru Devo Bhava, Acharya Devo Bhava, Atithi Devo Bhava”. But whom do we term as our “Atithi”? Is it only the foreigner? Or is it anybody who comes to us with an open mind? The famous and so-called reputed Leopold Café seems to think that it is a privilege to be a foreigner. Just walk in and you would know.

Malabar Hill is one of the posh areas in Mumbai, where you would find the houses of many business tycoons and film stars. Today we decided to trek down the hill. We caught a taxi (that’s perhaps the dictionary meaning of the word “trek”) to take us all the way to Malabar Hill. We had in mind to visit many areas in and around Malabar Hill. On the map was mentioned the term “Hanging Garden”. Images of Nebuchadnezzar’s splendidly laid out gardens of Babylon flashed through my mind. But after seeing the Phirozshah Mehta Gardens, I wondered where the “hanging” part was.

Opposite to the Phirozshah Mehta Park, stands the more famous Kamla Nehru Park, and its “Boot House”. The park offers a fantastic aerial view of the Chowpatty Beach, and the Marine Drive, up till Nariman Point. Being a Tuesday, we did not expect much of a crowd, but to our surprise, it was filled with school children out for a picnic. And during my schooling years, I never even got to spend time in our school playgrounds. Even with all the crime happening in the city, the Maharashtra Police seem to be over-staffed. There were five cops manning the place – quite unusual for a park. And soon they got their victims – three school children, making mischief in the park. The cops were more than happy to give them a big lecture about how they should not put their lives and the lives of others in danger. But the language they were using was far from polite, and downright abusive.

Our next destinations for the day were not mentioned in the map that we had been following. Getting to the first one was easy – the Banganga temple complex at the base of Malabar Hill, near Malabar Point. Squeezing through all the gullies and by-lanes of the area, one would come across a huge dirty tank, near the sea. Around the tank are situated a zillion temples that together form the Banganga complex. Away from the bustle of tourist activity, people continue their lives out here, worshipping the cow that stands opposite the Walkeshwar Temple, on the way to their duties of the day. For, the average tourist never knows that this temple was built way back in 1127 AD. It was destroyed by the Portuguese, but was rebuilt by a benevolent businessman in the eighteenth century.

The Banganga Tank was also built in the same year as the original temple, and is today the oldest structure in the city of Mumbai; a fact lost on many a tourist. Legend has it that Lord Rama, on his way to Lanka, had stopped over here. As he felt thirsty, he drove an arrow into the ground, and out sprang the water of river Ganga to quench his thirst, and hence the name. Wikipedia claims that the tank is cleaned every January for the elaborate Banganga Music Festival, but one look at the tank, and it seemed to us that it had not been cleaned for the past few years. However, clean or not clean, a visit to that area is an experience one cannot forget – simply considering the history behind the place.

If that was an experience one cannot forget, the next was even more surreal. In the midst of the bustling noises of the Girgaum area, lies an oasis of calm. Surrounded by concrete monsters, both old and new, lies the wooden Christian bastion of Khotachiwadi, a heritage village in the midst of the great city. The entrance to this hamlet would be easily missed if you are not specifically looking for it. And that seems to be the case with the rest of the city, as the place has a peaceful silence surrounding it. The hamlet consists of two-storied wooden houses, with a verandah and long staircases running at the front of the house. Our only companions in this place were some art students, who were busy making sketches of these splendid architectural beauties. It was as if we had been transported to some quaint Goanese village.

A few meters away from Khotachiwadi, on the main road, you would come across a huge Victorian building in a dilapidated state. In any European city, this would have been one of the biggest attractions for the tourist. Standing at the big junction that bears its name is the only Opera House in India. Today in a state of disuse, the once-beautiful building that would have seen many a celebrity, acts as a lime depot. Thankfully, there seemed to be a few scaffoldings in place, perhaps the signs of a long-due renovation.

Moving east of the opera house area, towards even more crowded by-lanes, one would reach the famous (or infamous, as one would perceive) Chor Bazaar – the “Thieves’ Market”. Everybody knows that you could perhaps never buy anything original from here, but people nevertheless throng these streets in search of antiques, automobile parts, hardware tools and what else. SS had clarified that you could possibly buy anything from a pin to a motor car out here. Of course you had to be careful about your belongings when you visited Chor Bazaar – they would flick it off you and try to sell it to you. Hence I was doubly careful about my belongings. It was not an overstatement when he mentioned that you could buy “anything” out here. I was amazed to find English gramophone records from the fifties and sixties – I even found one of Star Wars. SS seemed to be obsessed with old coins and hourglasses, and was quite enthusiastic to haggle with each shopkeeper for the price of them. The authenticity of the stuff was soon clear to us when we saw a coin “made” by the East India Company in 1939, that too with the picture of Hanuman behind it.

Our last act for the day and perhaps for the trip was to have a long stroll along the busy Colaba Causeway – the tourist hotspot of the city of Mumbai. For those in Bangalore wondering what is so great about this place, it is the “Brigade Road of Mumbai”. For a long time, we wandered along the pavement, haggling with the vendors, having friendly conversations with the tourists, and lapping up the bad experience we had at the much hyped-up Leopold Café. Four days of fun had finally come to an end.

The last photograph we took before calling it a day was the majestically lit dome of the Taj Mahal Hotel. It did not come off well, but some things print a far better picture in your mind that on paper.

Quote of the Day: Debating about how much we should tip the waiter at Leopold Cafe, SS quipped angrily: "Why should we tip them so much? They don't know how to treat Indians properly!"
Me: "They may not know how to treat Indians properly...But we do..."

Pic of the Day: (I had a black and white pic, but chose this to avoid monotony - so much for hypocrisy)

As free as a bird? Not anymore. Life can at times be cruel!

The Bombay Diary - Day 4

Of all the places to spend the evening, today we chose the most unlikely place that a tourist from Bangalore would opt for. Today, we spent two hours at the Strand Book Festival (yes, the same thing that is held at the Chinnaswami Stadium in Bangalore), and of course, I bought books from here too.

The morning was extremely successful! We finally got to eat dosa for breakfast – well, almost…provided you can really call it a dosa. But then, something is always better than nothing. Today we decided to attack the museums in Mumbai. Our first destination was the National Gallery of Modern Art in the Kala Ghoda Art District. Since when I became a connoisseur of modern art (why stress on “modern”?), I do not know. But it was always worth experimenting. Unfortunately it was closed for the day, thus perhaps saving me the blushes. To avoid a complete alteration of our plans, we decided to call up the next museum to check whether they were open. Thankfully they were.

If you walk through the Fort area in the Mumbai, you cannot miss the buildings. The big gates of the Naval Docks stand imposing upon everyone driving past them. Adorning the walls of the docks are colorful murals depicting the maritime history of India. As you walk further, the huge white façade of the Mumbai Town Hall lords over Horniman (no pun intended in the name) Circle. The building also houses the State Central Library and the Asiatic Society, and the steps leading up to the doors are a favorite haunt for people to spend some time in the evenings. A little further, towering above everything in the vicinity stands the massive towers of the Bombay Stock Exchange. As the road winds itself past these buildings, one comes up against the huge red walls of the Reserve Bank of India.

Not many people are aware of the fact that there exists in the Reserve Bank complex, a unique museum. It is dedicated to what is perhaps one of the driest topics to discuss – money and finance. The Mint Museum, as it is popularly known, focuses on the currency and coinage of India through the centuries. The intricacies of money and banking are described in a simplistic way. The museum narrates the history of coinage and currency right from the prehistoric times, through the different dynasties that ruled India, to the present day monetary system controlled by the Reserve Bank of India. Not surprisingly, the museum lives up to international standards.

Returning back to the Kala Ghoda Art District, we met one of Mumbai’s defining images – a Dabbawala. The old man was very sporting, and allowed us to click a photo of him. We could not but help smile remembering yesterday, when another old man selling wind vanes at Chowpatty beach, ran away at the thought of getting his photos clicked. Clicking photos of the common man seems to be the order of the trip for me, and it seemed like a coincidence when our next stop turned out to be the photography exhibition of Ketaki Sheth. The subject of Sheth’s photographs was the life in the streets of Mumbai – profoundly bewitching photographs of the common man and his struggle. I ended up buying her book of photographs (“Bombay Mix”).

On the street side on Mahatma Gandhi road, can be found a unique art gallery – the “Pavement Art Gallery”, where people exhibit their paintings on the pavement itself, and it was a unique sight. However, the more famous Jehangir Art Gallery, which stands opposite to the sprawling Victorian building of the Elphinston College, was a familiar experience to last year. There was an exhibition of the paintings of Satish Mondal, who seemed quite obsessed with bald heads and different birds and insects sitting on them. But then, I’ve never been able to figure out how people judge art. This turned out to be true as the next room contained what I thought were some amazing paintings. But whoever judged them never seemed to have thought so, since there were quite a few “awarded” paintings which I could not make head or tail out of.

Ketaki Sheth’s photographs seemed to have made a profound impression on us, since we spent the next one hour sitting on the pavement, clicking photographs of people passing by. But we still have miles to go before we reach her level of expertise.

Oh…and a small note. If I mentioned that the buildings in the Fort area are difficult to miss, I would not be entire true. Walking along Shahid Bhagat Singh Marg, you would barely give a second glance to the run down, decrepit building, which stands opposite to the brightly decorated walls of the naval docks. For those who do, a marble plaque announces its importance. Formerly known as Admiralty house, it was the residence of the Admiral from 1764 to 1792, and also served as the Chief Court of Bombay until 1879. Today, it stands in utter negligence. So much for heritage!

Quote of the Day:
Gazing up at the famous Regal cinema house, SS asked: “But why is this building so famous?”
Me: “Because it is old.”

Pic of the Day:
If only he could find a better future inside that...

The Bombay Diary - Day 3

Sakal lok maan sahune vande
Nindaa na kare keni re
Vaach kaach man nishchal raakhe
Dhan-dhan janani teni re

For our generation, the freedom struggle is something which we have heard and seen on the television. It is a lesson in the history textbook. Hence, when we come face to face with the relics of that struggle, it leaves a lasting impression on us. Today, it happened to me.

Of all the things in the world, I spotted a “Lincoln” today – the first one I am seeing in India. I still remember the ride I had in the Lincoln taxi that took me from Palo Alto to the San Francisco airport. It is perhaps an irony that we spotted the Lincoln – the all-American car – when we are yet to find a place that would serve us an idli or a dosa for breakfast! Breakfast has so far consisted of sandwiches and toasts.

The walk to Churchgate station was a nice experience – under the shadows of the clock tower of the Mumbai University and the Maharashtra High Court one can spot thousands of young men busy in their game of league cricket, in the various ‘maidan’s that dot this stretch. As the local trains pull into Churchgate station, young men carrying cricket bats and stumps are eager to alight first, so as to not miss a moment of the action. Sunday had indeed arrived!

Our first destination was Mahalaxmi. Two contrasting, yet similar images present themselves. At the edge of the water, a distinguishing white building rises up. A causeway connects the dargah of Baba Haji Ali to the main land. A steady stream of people meanders to and fro along this, to the pull of faith. A few meters away, nestled into a busy street, stands the Mahalaxmi temple, with a ‘Tirupatiesque’ queue snaking out to as far as you can see. Both the places are heavily guarded by the police. Perhaps it is a testimony of the people’s faith that these places are frequently threatened.

Perpendicular to these landmarks run one of Mumbai’s famous roads – the Gopal Rao Deshmukh Marg, or as the common man would love to call it, Peddar Road. The road snaked its way up Cumballa Hill reminding me of San Francisco. There is nothing great about it, except for the fact that if you are walking along it on a warm afternoon, in search of a place to have lunch, you would not find one. Our intention in such a futile walk was to get to our primary objective of the day – Mani Bhavan.

Off the busy Hughes Road, in a by-lane that goes by the name of Laburnum Road, lies one of the most famous houses in India – Mani Bhavan. In spite of the location it is perhaps difficult to miss the place due to the number of tourists who visit this place. For it was here that Mahatma Gandhi stayed from 1917 to 1934, and launched his Satyagraha as well as the Civil Disobedience Movement. A museum dedicated to the life of the Mahatma, Mani Bhavan is an eye opener for every Indian. It is not as if we do not know anything about the freedom struggle or the role played by Gandhiji in it. But to come across it in our life is an altogether different experience.

Behind the walls of Mani Bhavan, lies another landmark. A huge park, split into five smaller ones, overflows with people of all ages, playing different kinds of games. A section of the park houses a tall white pillar with a pink lotus on top – a reminder of the significant event that occurred here on the 8th of August in 1942. It was here in the Gowalia Tank Maidan – now called the August Kranti Maidan - that Gandhiji made his famous “Do or die” speech. For the British, the time to quit India had come.

And the evening? It was quiet and nice – a movie and dinner with two lovely English ladies.

Quote of the Day: Me: “Haven’t you heard of Afghan carpets? They are very special”. After a pause, “Well, they are special. I don’t know why they are special.”

Pic of the Day: Mahatma Gandhi's ashes, kept for public display at Mani Bhavan.

The Bombay Diary - Day 2

Happy Republic Day! Waking up early in the morning, we decided to catch the sunrise at the Gateway of India. There seemed to be more pigeons at the gateway that people. A group of old people were standing in a circle, singing the national anthem. We stood there in attention. This time at the Gateway, there were no fans of “Immaculate Misconception.” We headed towards Elephanta.

Elephanta is about an hour from the Gateway by boat. The island was earlier known as Gharapuri, before being discovered by the British, who named it Elephanta after they found the statue of a stone elephant there. The boat ride to the place was uneventful and similar to innumerable rides I have had in Kochi. There was a small toy train, to take people from the jetty to the base of the hill. I could not figure out what was so special about it, but it certainly seemed popular. The place is teeming with monkeys (not of the Symonds kind), that too quite daring ones. If you carry anything eatable with you, they would not think twice before attacking.

Elephanta is no Badami, but it is really worth a visit if you are a history or mythology enthusiast, especially for the Mahesh murthy – the three headed sculpture of Shiva, depicting the creator, the preserver and the destroyer. There was quite a huge crowd, with guides chirping about – some of them genuine, some of them fake. I heard a particular guide telling a Chinese couple that the big Mahesh murthy statue represented Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. He even pointed to a relief that depicted the descent of Ganga and stated that it was Shiva and Parvati having a picnic!

Across the Thane creek from Elephanta, a dark grey dome can be seen rising ominously. It is difficult to miss out that domed shape of the reactor at Bhabha Atomic Research Centre at Trombay. Before returning back from the island, I managed to take a few shots of that place, managing to avoid any of the hypothetical laser-activated guns they would have mounted to deter photographers (according to SS). The return trip was made more eventful thanks to a couple who seem to have not taught their two kids some basic manners. They bought everything that came their way, and after eating, the kids were quite content at throwing the wrappers overboard.

It seems like life starts after 8’o clock at the Marine Drive. The Marine Drive is more famous than for the reasons the Shiv Sena popularizes it for. As you sit there near the sea, you can see people from various walks of life moving past – from old ladies, who want nothing, but a quiet evening by the seashore to little kids having a running race between them.

At the Marine Drive, we came across a couple of kids playing a game of street cricket, and unintentionally, got involved. It brought back some memories from my childhood days – about how, bowling should always be underarm, and the first ball that someone faced is always a trial ball (of course, you have to ask for it. It is not by default). We were asked to step in umpires to resolve a dispute between the kids. The Sardar kid seemed to be a Sachin Tendulkar in making, hitting his hapless brother for six after six. Before coming to Mumbai, I didn’t remember the last time I played gully cricket, but after today, I will.

Quote of the Day: As we sat on the boat to Elephanta, SS turns to me and quips: “Do you know how to swim?”
“No” I reply. “Do you know?”
“No” says SS. And then after a pause: “Then we are in the same boat.”

Pic of the Day: Before starting his day, a Mumbaikar salutes the sun as it rises above the Gateway of India.

The Bombay Diary - Day 1

3:15 AM: Guntukal Junction. One of the biggest and most important railway junctions in South India – a station that is perhaps more important and bigger than the town it serves. I step out into the cold for a cup of coffee – mindful of the mother in those countless hindi movies, who steps out of the train at a wayside station to collect water for her baby, only to find the train chugging away from her. But my luck over the past two days seems to have changed for the good. I have a steaming cup of coffee and go back to sleep.

7:00 AM: Lingiri – another station that serves no place. It seems so far away from civilization, but beautiful. There is just a small station building, with trees lined up on either side of the tracks. The sun is already on its way up and the train is slowly waking up. Vendors keep wandering to and fro at will, selling coffee, tea and “bhains ka doodh” (buffalo’s milk).

7:45 AM: Nalwar. From here the train would take a completely new look – that of a school bus. The platform is full of children with school bags bigger than themselves, the younger ones clutching at the fingers of their brothers and sisters so that they do not get lost. This is no Kumbh Mela. The next station, Wadi, where they are headed is just 15 minutes away. Wadi is perhaps the official breakfast stop for the train. On the long platform, you can spot idli-vada vendors every fifty meters. Not surprisingly, the stop is for around five minutes.

8:30 AM: Shahabad. The train has truly transformed itself into something resembling a BMTC bus, with people crammed into every nook and corner. Somewhere in the neighboring coupe, somebody has switched on a music player, and it was blaring out all those mushy Kumar Sanu songs from the 90s. Just out of Shahabad, the train stops with a huge hiss of air – perhaps the air brake had come off. There was no damage done, but it brought our attention to a detail that we’d missed until then – there was no emergency chain in our coach.

12:00 PM: Solapur Junction. The railways seem to have learnt the mantra of multi-tasking. It’s for the third time today that I see this particular train that sports the name board: “Kacheguda-Falaknuma-Raichur-Wadi-Gulbarga-Bijapur-Solapur.”

4:00 PM: Pune Junction - our original first destination during this trip. The train is almost empty. All the way from Solapur to Pune, it was a quiet and peaceful ride. Huge plains dotted either side of the track, with the corn rustling in the hot wind. We had taken turns to sleep through the afternoon. The plains would now give way to huge gorges as the tracks cut through the Bhore Ghat and descend the Deccan Plateau into the huge city of Mumbai. It would be a fun ride.

7:15 PM: Dadar. The train has emptied. The kids have parted way. They have another four hours to go before they sleep. As we pull out of Dadar, a strange guy in a black shirt puts down a huge black bag and asks us: “Can you please mind this bag for some time?” Without thinking twice, we agree. Once he disappears, the thought strikes our minds:

SS: “What if it really is a bomb? If he is not back in 5 minutes we will inform the guard.”
“But where is the alarm chain?” I reply back. “And anyway, the train is nearly empty. Who would want to bomb it now?”

But the thought still lingers in my mind. I am reminded of that explosive dream that I had – the one about the aircraft. “If we’ve to die today, we will!” I bravely declare. Within a few moments, a loud noise makes us jump.

Somebody had slammed the door of the coach. If this were a Tom and Jerry cartoon, you would have seen those different colored cats numbered 1 to 9, jump out of Tom’s body. Thankfully, the strange man is back. He profusely thanks us and leaves. We had finally reached Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, Mumbai.

The first thought I voice after alighting from the train was: “Man, this place looks no different from Chennai Central!” Thankfully, no Mumbaikar hears me.

And then, I sprain my leg.

Quote of the Day: The discussion between us, was about attending marriages and other family affairs.

"I never attend any functions" I declared...and then after a pause, added: "Only subroutines". SS was speechless.

Pic of the Day: Between Pune and Mumbai, nestled on the banks of the Indrayani river, lies the small village of Kamshet. As we speed along in the train, for a few seconds, the river gives us company. This particular location was made famous in the 1990s by the song, "Mile Sur Mera Tumhara"

The Bombay Diary - Day Zero

24th January: It’s D-day. Nothing was exceptional about the way it started. Grey skies dominated the gloomy morning. After yesterday’s adventures I was not inclined towards another busy day, but the world does not revolve to our whims and fancies. The first thing that greeted me in office was a Very High priority message.

Nevertheless, by evening I was in a comparatively jovial mood for the trip. SS dropped the first bombshell: “Can we leave late? I need to finish my PF document.” For a moment I was speechless and then, the unmentionable expletives followed. He finally relented when I assured him that I could connect to the SAP network from anywhere using my laptop.

We had to take the office shuttle to the railway station. As I stood beside it, I heard someone mention: “This shuttle is very lively, man. They play dumb charades, antakshari and what else…I took this shuttle to Majestic yesterday.” There were around twenty people in the shuttle. Fifteen of them already had something plugged into their ears. The rest were already asleep. People have weird ways of defining “lively”.

“By 6:30, you would get to the station”, said someone in the shuttle. I was a little skeptic about that. No sooner we left the office, than I realized why they were so confident. I wondered how I manage to survive driving my car in Bangalore, with such shuttle drivers around. By 7:00 we reached the station.

“We’re going to rock this trip”, declared Sumeet
“Yeah, I’m gonna be a veggie”, I retorted back.

The train left on time. We seem to have good company for the trip. Our fellow passengers are three first year engineering students from Surat.

People are on the verge of retiring for the night, but there’s still some night life left in the train. Old people are chatting, a baby keeps crying in another, and youngsters as usual, cannot find sleep after their examination. I have already lost count of how many times that veiled lady in the red saree has walked to and fro in the compartment aisle. Outside, the moon is just rising. It seems fiery with a yellow aura around it, covering the waters of the Yelahanka lake with a metallic sheet of light.

At 9:50 p.m, I am perhaps the only one awake in this coach. We have just passed Makalidurga. The train chugs along the countryside. The huge mountain hugs the track on the other side of the train, while the vast plain stretches out before my eyes. In the moonlight, it feels as if a white mist hangs over the plain. I keep looking on at the vast lake as its waters shimmer in the silvery light of the moon.

Quote of the day: “Many a time in life, we come across many things, which would not make any sense and have no meaning. We should just accept them as true and not question their existence. One such case is that in the material master, the strategy group should be defined as ‘10’ and the availability check as ‘02’.” – myself, while teaching Nagashri.

Pic of the Day:

Yun toh main dikhlaata nahin...
Teri parwaah kartaa hoon main maa...

The Bombay Diary - countdown to day zero

11:44: 16 minutes to Day zero

Is it destined for disaster? I do not know yet. But the events leading to this moment, as I sit, clicking on my laptop, has been a recipe for disaster.

It all started from the very first step – booking the tickets. I had already booked the tickets when I realized that perhaps I would not have my passport with me during the journey. “Since when did travelling within India require a passport?” you might ask. That’s what happens when you book a train ticket via the internet – you need a passport too. Coming back to the passport, I had to get the thing renewed since it was expiring in March, and hence I thought I might have to surrender it (It is still with me, but that is a different story altogether). So much for planning! I had to cancel and rebook the tickets, this time with my PAN card.

The second hurdle was perhaps due to our own stupidity – we assumed that the Pune Landmark Quiz, for which we had planned this whole trip, was happening, and hence imagine my shock when I called up Landmark last week to find that the quiz had been postponed due to the lack of a venue. We were now in a dilemma – whether to make the trip, or go to Chennai and attend the Odyssey Quiz. The quiz in Cochin was on. The fact that there were no tickets to be obtained at this eleventh hour, and the bonus of roaming around Mumbai for an extra three days tilted the balance in favor of the former option.

A third bubble almost burst on us, when last Friday I got the call from Model Engineering College that the quiz had been rescheduled from 2nd February to 31st January. Now this was never going to be possible, as we would be reaching Cochin only on that day. However, after a few rounds of negotiations, we managed to reschedule it to the 1st.

Now back to this moment and this day. So far so bad! First, the nagging throat pain, then a failed attempt to hold my own at a craftily dreamt up argument as to why team outings should not be mandatory. Then, my trip to the Lal Bagh flower show gets cancelled after Reshma falls sick, and finally, the fiasco that is called “packing”.

I had cleverly made a list of things to carry. But when I finally sat down to pack I realized how underprepared I was. Music is the food for my soul, and hence wherever I go, my i-pod accompanies me. All of a sudden, my i-pod cable mysteriously disappeared. To top that, i-Tunes decided to play funny, and all the songs that I had industriously updated into my i-pod vanished. It was two hours before I could fill the thing with whatever music files I could lay hands on. Halfway into the packing I realized that my bag would not hold. With great difficulty, and the murmuring of whoever had slept off, I managed to find a suitcase and stuff clothes into it.

Then I realized that my PAN Card was missing.

The last I remembered, I had seen it in the office. I frantically logged in to messenger to find some crazy soul who was still in office at eleven o clock! Thankfully, such crazy souls exist in the form of Moinu. A call to him resulted in a firm reprimand as to how dirty and shabby I kept my cupboard drawer in office. Still no sign of the PAN Card! While talking to Moinu, somehow the idea occurred in my mind to check my travel pouch…Well, there it was.

At least, we can now board the train

Into the Valley of Death...

1200 km south of Tokyo, halfway to Saipan, lies a volcanic island approximately 21 square kilometers in area. The most prominent feature of this island is the dormant Mount Suribachi that rises up at the Southern tip. Sixty three years ago, as the Second World War reached its climax, US and Japanese armies met on this island, in an epic battle for supremacy on Japanese soil. What was predicted to be a quick rout was transformed into nearly 40 days of heroic combat by the sheer will and determination by the Japanese soldiers who were expected to die in defense of their homeland. As Admiral Chester Nimitz put it, “Among the men who fought on Iwo Jima, uncommon valor was a common virtue.”

On February 23, 1945, Joe Rosenthal photographed five US marines raising the stars and stripes atop Mount Suribachi. That photograph and its commercial exploitation to aid the American war efforts was the crux of Clint Eastwood’s phenomenal “Flags of our fathers”. It took another month for the US troops to secure the island of Iwo Jima, and the determined fight to death by the Japanese army forms the essence of Eastwood’s twin film to “Flags”, the award-winning “Letters from Iwo Jima” (Iō Jima Kara no Tegami).

Based on a non-fictional work, “Letters from Iwo Jima” relates the story of the brave Japanese resistance on the island through the letters of General Tadamichi Kuribayashi (Ken Watanabe) and the ordinary soldier Saigo (Kazunari Ninomiya) addressed to their wives. The story is spun through the eyes of two people from different walks of life – Saigo is a baker by profession, who pines for the pregnant wife he has left behind, while Kuribayashi has been to America and understands the futility of the war he is fighting. On landing on Iwo Jima, Kuribayashi realizes that the impending attack cannot be met by the traditional Japanese technique of diving headlong into the landing enemy troops and embracing a brave but futile death. As General Patton famously said, “No bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country.” However, Kuribayashi’s train of thoughts and ideas are not endorsed by other generals who believe in outright victory or glorified sacrifice. The average Japanese soldier is torn between this clash of opinion – whether to die rather than face dishonor or to live and fight another day. Kuribayashi, and his trusted lieutenant Nishi hold fort against the odds even though the denouement would be an inevitable death.

From a broad perspective, there is nothing new in the plot of the film. “Letters from Iwo Jima” treads the beaten path of many a war movie – of how war is futile; of how the soldier is driven to his appointment with death and glory by the machinery that controls the war from somewhere safe; of how there is a human side for the people on the front on either side. But we still love to watch these moments on the screen, perhaps partly due to the fact that these are people who venture into the action, knowing perfectly well that they might not live to see the next day, and partly because we chose not to venture out from our own couches to fight for our country. And thankfully, Eastwood treats the viewer with well controlled doses of these much-clichéd scenes. The soldier’s anguish is expressed with subtlety in the letters that Saigo writes to his pregnant wife (“Hanako, This is the hole that we will fight and die in”), and through the letters that Kuribayashi addresses to his wife Taro, we can see the image of a man who knows he cannot win, but is determined to fight and die for his country. There is no specific story woven into the film – just a splash of history, interspersed with human emotions. But those splashes leave indelible impressions on our heart.

Eastwood shot the film in shades of dark taking the viewer along on a gruesome journey of the volcanic hell that the island of Iwo Jima turned into in those few days. The characters leave a lasting impression in our minds. Ken Watanabe, as ever, towers over the film in the role of General Kuribayashi. He once again proves without doubt that he is one of the finest actors Asia has produced - in my honest opinion, it was a sin to deny him an Oscar for “The Last Samurai”. Kazunari Ninomiya essays the role of Saigo with ease and makes it easy for the viewer to empathize with the baby-faced soldier pining for his beloved. Tsuyoshi Ihara is a surprise in the role of Baron Nishi – the Olympic champion who once partied with Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks, and still turns up to die for his homeland. The story leaves us with some unforgettable memories – the light moments between Baron Nishi and the wounded American POW, Sam, as they exchange pleasantries; the spellbound faces of the Japanese soldiers as Nishi reads out a letter from Sam’s mother; the final moments of Kuribayashi before he shoots himself (“Is this still Japanese soil?” he asks Saigo); and finally, the grim picture of what the future holds – recuperating on a stretcher, Saigo watches the horizon with a weak smile as the sun sets on the Empire of the Rising Sun.

“Letters from Iwo Jima” and “Flags of our Fathers” are two sides of the same coin, both masterpieces in their own right. It does not matter which one you watch first. For those who have never heard of the island before, “Letters from Iwo Jima” serves as an eye opener to the heroic combat between two determined armies, and for those who have heard of the Battle of Iwo Jima, it provides the new perspective that there was more to Iwo Jima than a Pulitzer Prize winning photograph. Historically, Iwo Jima was an eye opener to the Allies. The stark realization dawned on them that they could never accomplish an invasion of Japan without heavy losses (the Allies suffered 27,000 casualties in Iwo Jima, whereas the Japanese had only around 20,000). The result was even more devastating for the world – for it paved the way for the most destructive weapon ever dreamed of by man – the Atomic Bomb.

The Fog

Antonio Bay is one of the many scenic towns that dot the West Coast of America. Today, it celebrates the hundredth year of its founding, and preparations are afoot to honour its founding fathers. But unknown to its inhabitants, Antonio Bay holds a dreadful secret – a secret that is as old as the town itself and will destroy the town on this day. One hundred years ago, six of the town’s founders had deliberately sunk and plundered the “Elizabeth Dane”, a ship owned by the wealthy leper Blake, who wanted to establish a leper colony near the town. By lighting a fire on the rocks, they had lured the ship and everyone aboard to their doom. The gold plundered from the ship was later used to build the town church. As if like an act of God, an unearthly fog had come in from the sea, aiding them in their ghastly act.

As the town gears up for the celebrations, Stevie Wayne, who runs the local radio station from her lighthouse, spots a strange glowing fog moving in from the sea. She is convinced that there is something in the fog. Something or someone that wants revenge for the wrongs done in the past…

John Carpenter’s “The Fog”, starring Adrienne Barbeau, Jamie Lee Curtis and Janet Leigh was released in 1980 to big commercial success, but mixed reviews from the critics (A remake was released in 2005). Coming on the heels of his highly successful “Halloween”, “The Fog” is another quintessential horror flick that you would love to watch on a restless night with dogs howling outside your window (as was the case with me). Inspired from the real life event of the sinking and plundering of a ship in the 19th century near Goleta, California, "The Fog" is mercifully short, with only an hour-and-a-half of running time, which perhaps works much in its favour of scaring the viewer. The short duration of the film makes the plot move at a good pace thus ensuring that the viewer is not detached from what happens on the screen.

There are no great performances on screen, since this is just a low budget horror flick and does not provide ample screen space for the actors. However, “The Fog” has its moments of spook, which still manages to raise the hair on your arms. The phosphorescent fog moving in from the ocean with the dead sailors silhouetted against the white twirls, are memorable shots. Thankfully, the movie spares us of the gory facial features that accompany the horror movies of the present. “The Fog” never rises to the levels of spook and scare that Carpenter dished out for us in “The Halloween”, but what is now considered as one of the better horror movies ever made (501 Must See Movies: Bounty Books) is a definite watch for people who love that old style of horror where the movie-goer is made to imagine his/her darkest fears come alive.

Of Mice and Men

The thick mist hung over the huge expanse of the KR Puram lake at 7:30 in the morning. The water was eerily not visible. A perilous feeling hung over me as if something lurked behind those white tendrils. If you are thinking this might be a horror story, then that's the only shock you are going to get out of it. The mist withstanding, there seemed to be nothing spectacular about today morning...until i reached the office.

It was just another morning amongst all mornings (wow! i'll give Dan Quayle a run for his money). It was 8:30, time for breakfast, when things suddenly got interesting. For the past two days, conversations in the office had lingered on the animal species - especially monkeys. And today, to make matters more interesting, a member of the animal family decided to give us a visit. Perhaps it had got offended by the fact that monkeys were getting more attention than they deserved, and decided to take matters into its hands, for as the clock ticked towards 8:30, i spotted a mouse.

Mouse [n. mous; v. mouz]
-noun, plural mice
1. any of numerous small Old World rodents of the family Muridae, esp. of the genus Mus, introduced widely in other parts of the world.
2. any similar small animal of various rodent and marsupial families.

Perhaps that would make it clear to you that I am talking about those small furry things which make shrieking middle-aged ladies stand up on top of the table, and not about those small black contraptions that are connected to the computer. Of course, if you thought the middle-aged lady was an exaggeration, the effect of the mouse on our office personnel was no less dramatic. There was a sudden flurry of activity of people jumping up from their chairs. A few muted shrieks were also audible. Soon it was replaced with a sense of curiosity - everyone wanted to see the mouse.

Soon it was scurrying all over the place. The mouse seemed to take a special liking to Maneesh's seating place as it spent quite some time exploring his abode. Our manager in the meantime wanted us to capture a video of the mouse - it would be a nice opportunity to make our own Tom and Jerry home video. But the response of my mobile phone camera was far from satisfactory and to top things, the mouse seemed to be a bit camera-shy (The least i could do was capture a video of one of the mice attached to our computers).

The mouse, meanwhile, continued its exploration. Finding nothing of its interest near our cubicles, it decided to head for the printer in the hope that someone would have left their pay slip print-outs unattended. Meanwhile theories were abound as to what to do with the mouse (which in the meantime had rejoined its family):

"Why don't we use a mousetrap to capture it?"
"Or better, crack a few PJs. It will run away by itself."
"Why don't we play some famous songs? All insects and vermin will get killed since they are all 'hit' songs."
"Why don't we buy a snake? Snakes and mice are born-enemies."

Maneesh was busy researching on Rats and Mice on wikipedia, and confirmed with a glee that it was not a rat since it was more than 12 centimeters long. He confessed that he had played the role of the Pied Piper in school and the experience might come in use. I suggested that since he had researched so much, perhaps he could befriend the mouse, and in perfect Ratatouille fashion, it might even help him solve his messages.

Nobody thought of cats.

Cat [kat]
–noun
a small domesticated carnivore, Felis domestica or F. catus, bred in a number of varieties.

Unbeknown to us, two enterprising souls got together and launched the project to catch the mouse. After minutes and minutes of discussions among themselves, they drew up a design document to catch the mouse. For all the commotion the rodent caused, its end was quite unspectacular - they caught the mouse with a dust bin and earned the applause of everyone around.

What happened to the mouse afterwards is not known...

Was Bob Woolmer murdered on that fateful night?
Is Symonds really a monkey or is he simply acting like one?
Was Mozart poisoned?
Was John F Kennedy really killed by the CIA, who was afraid of his rising power?
Why did Genghis Khan halt his armies on the brink of Europe?

History is full of such unsolved mysteries. Perhaps the fate of the mouse may also remain as one of the greatest unsolved mysteries in this world.

By afternoon, the mouse was forgotten, and people were back to spotting monkeys. Public memory is so short...

Pick of 2007

Nah...this is no countdown. And if you are wondering why I am attempting it, the reason is simple. I had to write something...for, let me be honest, I have forgotten how to write!

I had penned a diatribe on people wishing each other "Happy New Year" and continuing on with their miserable existence for the rest of the year, about how people put on a show of meaning good to others, and so on...But then, nobody is interested in reading anything so nasty, even if it is true. Hence all that was left was to discard it and write something nice. After all, one should start the new year on a pleasant note, as the world likes to say.

Listening to my Worldspace radio churn out all those nice Gulshan-Kumaresque romantic numbers (that made life so beautiful during school and college days) on New Year's Day put the thought in my little brittle mind - to look back at the songs that captured my imagination in the past year. I had done one such exercise before also in 2003, hence it is not something entirely out of the blue.

Should I say the choice was easy, or should I say the choice was difficult? Owing to the fact that not many songs caught my ear in 2007, i was left with a handful of numbers to choose from. As i said before, this is NOT a countdown, and is in no particular order.

So what provoked my imagaination?

1. Jaage Hai (Guru): There's perhaps, just four lines in the song. What's so great about that? It's specifically those four lines...

Jaage hai der tak, hamein kuchh der sone do...
Thodi si raat aur hai, subah to hone do...
Aadhe adhure khwab jo poore na ho sake...
Ek baar phir se neend mein woh khwab bone do...

Listen to Rehman's suppressed tone at the beginning, and you feel like slipping off to sleep and continue dreaming, and achieving all those which can never become a reality in this lifetime...

2. Bol Na Halke Halke (Jhoom Barabar Jhoom): In an otherwise jarring soundtrack (I didn't muster the inner courage to watch the film), it comes as a whiff of fresh air, albeit halke halke (slowly). It took time for me to imbibe the song. OK, maybe Iam a little partial towards it because of the train sequence, but it does not take anything away from the fact that the song has been shot beautifully in some of the best locales. Add to that the lilting voices of Rahat Fateh Ali Khan and Mahalaxmi Iyer and the beautiful lyrics (Aa neend ka sauda karein, ek khwaab dein ek khwaab lein), you have a winner all the way.

3. Hey Shona (Ta Ra Rum Pum): "Shona"? What's that supposed to mean? It's exactly that thought that kept me away from the song for long. But some songs attract you towards them, and "Hey Shona" is such a track. The quintessential lovers' song, it gives you that floating-on-the-moonlight feeling. Do not be surprised if it reminds you of "My Dil Goes Mmmmm", but the similarity ends with Shaan and the background crooning. The lyrics are softer and the surprise element is the sensuously soft voice of Sunidhi Chauhan. If you are a romantic at heart, this one's for you. And the best time to listen to it? Go on a drive late at night with the song playing on your car stereo...

4. Aye Hairat-e-Aashiqui (Guru): So much has already been said about it. Rehman has this technique of capturing your heart slowly, and uses it to great effect in this song, as it starts mildly and builds up inside you with the high-pitched chants of "dum dara dum dara..". And then, you are forced to ask: "Where the hell was Hariharan hiding all these days?" For once, forget the lyrics. As Rehman says on Worldspace, "There's so much to hear..."

5. In Dino Dil Mera (Life in a Metro):

"Be-rang si hai badi zindagi kuchh rang to bharoon...
main apni tanhai ke waaste ab kuchh to karoon".

I guess, it is time to confess...about the inspiration behind my Budapest Diaries. Walking along the riverside with the song playing in my ears, it was in the city of Budapest that I fell in love with the song.

6. Hare Krishna Hare Ram (Bhool Bhulaiyaa): The song that caught the imagination of an entire nation. I'm not a person who would fall in love with such a song, but this one strangely makes me tap my foot in rhythm. Though Neeraj Sreedhar's chant is infectious (The chant seems vaguely familiar...is it a copy?), it's nothing compared to Akshay Kumar's innovative actions - to the extent that the cinema-going crowd was unwilling to vacate the halls until the song came up on screen - and to the extent that I (of all the people) try aping the step whenever I hear the song.

7. Chak de India: Now where did THAT come from? If the above mentioned song caught the imagination of a nation, this one inspired a whole nation. And for that precise reason, it finds a mention in my list. There's nothing technically great about the song - below average lyrics and average, but good, music. But the moment you listen to the song, it conjures up unforgettable images - Ian Bell trapped in front of the stumps by Zaheer Khan, a helpless Matthew Prior losing his stumps to RP Singh and a ruthless Yuvraj Singh launching a blistering attack on Stuart Broad. Thank you, ESPN and Star Sports. And please spare a thought for the Indian hockey team, who did so much but were unsung.

8. Labon Ko Labon Pe (Bhool Bhulaiyaa): Oddly, for me it's the timing of song in my playlist that does the magic trick. Coming on the heels of the foot-tapping Hare Krishna Hare Ram, this lilting number forces you to sit back, relax and imbibe it. The moment you see the colourful picturization of Shiny Ahuja and Vidya Balan on the screen, it is love at first sight. After all, what else can you expect, when you have the majestic presence of KK, the voice behind the song?

9. Masha Allah (Saawariya): Whatever sin was committed on screen by SLB, has been atoned for by this number. The chorus of "Masha Allah" by Kunaj Ganjawala, with the alaaps of Shreya Ghoshal is enough to give the song that ethereal effect. Add to that, Ganjawala's effortless movements from one note to another, and you can see that dream world in which the song is picturised. Spare me the movie. I'll take this song instead anyday.

10. Taare Zameen Par:

Jaise Aankhon Ki Dibiya Mein Nindiya
Aur Nindiya Mein Meetha Sa Sapna
Aur Sapne Mein Mil Jaaye Farishta Sa Koi
Jaise Rangon Bhari Pichkari
Jaise Titliyan Phoolon Ki Kyari
Jaise Bina Matlab Ka Pyara Rishta Ho Koi

This one is for the child in you. Be it Shankar Mahadevan's excellent crooning at the end of the song, or the beautiful chorus that invokes childhood memories, the song just captivates you each time you listen to it.

11. Maula Mere Maula (Anwar) and
12. Tose Naina Laage (Anwar): I'm going to use a technicality to include these songs - that even though the music was released in November 2006, the movie was released in January 2007, thus qualifying the songs to be here. And my desperation to include these songs here should be enough to describe why they are my favourites. Right from the magnetic Maula mere maula chorus to the captivating lyrics of Javeda Zindagi (Nahin Koi Insaan Mohabbat Se Khaali, Har Ek Rooh Pyaasi, Har Ek Dil Savaani), it's sheer poetry in motion

13. Maa (Taare Zameen Par): What can I say?

Bheed Mein Yun Na Chhodo Mujhe
Ghar Laut Ke Bhi Aa Naa Paoon Maa
Bhej Na Itna Door Mujkko Tu
Yaad Bhi Tujhko Aa Naa Paoon Maa
Kya Itna Bura Hoon Main Maa?

Tell me you didn't cry for that, and i'll tell you...You don't have a heart.


Amen...

Some notable omissions:

1. Cheeni Kum - Sorry, I can't get over the originals
2. Laari Chhooti (Ek chaalis ki last local) - i found the music monotonous for my liking.
3. "Awaarapan" and "The Train" - I have this prejudice against Emraan Hashmi
4. Rozana (Nishabd) - a synthetic background score
5. Tere Sawalon Ka (Manorama 6ft Under) - good song, but the length put me off
6. Jab We Met - cute movie, but that doesn't necessarily make the music stand out
7. Johnny Gaddar - everybody raves about the title track, but somehow it missed by radar completely
8. Om Shanti Om - Too much promotion and too little substance. Six packs don't make a good music track.

That's me...I don't know whether the vast majority of music lovers out there would agree with me...perhaps that's why we are all called "individual"s. No one person can be the same as the other...and let me be an individual with my own likes and dislikes.

To re-iterate what A.R. Rehman says in the Worldspace ad: "There's so much to hear..."

From Bridesmaid to Bride

It was the stuff dreams were made of. On December 2nd 2007, myself and Shetty sped off towards Devanahalli to try our luck at “Intellect Explorer”, the quiz held as part of “Reboot 2007”, the yearly inter-corporate cultural competition.

The playing field was packed with the who’s who of the corporate world – Infosys, Wipro, Oracle, Logica etc., to name a few. The quiz had a three-tier format – a written prelims followed by semi-finals and a final. The preliminary was a tricky affair, where we had to answer 25 questions and managed to finish 8th out of 12 teams. However, we changed gears in the semifinals, cracking questions at will, to finish on top of the round.

The finals were a completely different ball game. We were against five of the best corporate teams in the business. The quiz started off with a long visual connect question consisting of 19 clues, which we managed to crack on the second set of clues, to gain 22 points. Things started going downhill from there on, as we were unable to crack the next 21 questions, as the other teams started to leave us behind. However, we still had a little fight left within us and stormed back with the connect round and the buzzer round. And then, with two questions to go, a look at the points table made us realize that we could not lose. We had finished first.

For many years, we were the bridesmaid, and not the bride. But on that day, we were not to be denied. This was our first ever First Place finish in an inter-corporate general quiz. The Dream has just begun….