That Thing Called Love...

I don’t know what really to call it, intriguing, amusing, impulsive etc etc and for all the words that don’t seem to come into my head to put into perspective what I want to say. I wanna talk about hmmm… you know what, and given that I love the filmy world, let me tell you a story, and I’ll stick to the characters made famous in Bollywood -  Rahul and Anjali…

Yup, you might have heard their names - Rahul and Anjali. They had never met before, they belonged to their own worlds and were comfortable in that space. And one fine day, as fate would have it, they crossed paths, at a common friend's typical page3 type party, but unlike cinematic journeys, this one was real, wherein they didn't stop and stare at each other, nor did violins play in the background. They were aware of the other’s presence, like at every party one is aware, but carried on with what they were doing mingling and dancing in good spirits, which was what all do at parties.

Life went back to normal and the two didn't even have memories of each other. But as fate would have it, they'd meet ‘again’, but this time it’s a not a hulabaloo kinda social gathering, but a close knit family affair. Rahul’s best friend had gone to see a girl, you know, the arranged marriage types, and that girl was Anjali’s first cousin. What a small world it is!!! So when the two familiar faces met, what happened next? No, they din’t break in to a song sequence. The personality type of the two individuals was far different from those we've seen on screen, and in this case, both of them were complete introverts, and let me tell you, similar personality types attract even better than opposites. Coming back, it was after a little fumble and some small talk, that Rahul and Anjali finally got know each other and with that phase1 was now complete. So what is this phase 1? Well, I’ll come back to it a little later… Moving on, as time passed by, the distance got shorter, and a 1000 sms, whatsapp, likes, comments, tweets, pings, later, like a typical scene out of a film, one proposed and the other accepted. No, it wasn't for a big fat Indian wedding; it was for some shuddh desi romance, which happened over coffee, cinema, Chowpatty and some more coffee. Phase 2 completed. Yea, now I know I haven’t told you what phase 1 was, and I am already talking about phase 2.

Relax, I will not only tell you about phase 1 & 2 but will also tell you all about all the 3 phases together. Yup, there are three. As the bond grew, somewhere and somehow so did the space, perhaps Rahul and Anjali had their own lives to manage and deal with and one thing led to another. Every conversation turned into a misunderstanding and that led to lesser talk, which led to even more misunderstandings till finally, there was no talk and that was the phase 3.

Together put, this is how it went:

· Phase 1: From being strangers to friends

· Phase 2: From being friends to more than friends

· Phase 3: And from being more than friends to complete strangers again

And this is what I find hard to put into words - the three steps - all put together, you can call it whatever you want, maybe for some it might be intriguing, to some other amusing, or maybe even impulsive. But I guess it is best described as ‘Crazy little thing called Love…’

Sombre Pessimism from an Unapologetic Optimist!!!

As India turns 67 today, its a happy sight to see joyous citizens celebrating, celebs doling out 'so-me' (social media) wishes to their fans, Tv channels running thematic shows and phones ringing with constant pings of Independence Day messages. What hoopla it is, seems as if reel has turned to real. And what really makes an Indian proud would undoubtedly be our National Anthem, from the beautiful lyrics of the Jana Gana Mana to its soulful sound, even if one croaks, one has to sing or hum along. 

Now, although I am an unapologetic optimist, there is a sombre bit of pessimism in the bigger picture that I see, to begin, our leaders and the political class seem to be doing very little in terms of really connecting with the nation and its people, all they focus is on personal vendetta of the opposition, if you have been entrusted with the mandate of governance, then prove your prudence to the people the trusted you and brought you to power. The same with the opposition, your coming to power will not be based on facts, truths and stories you bring forth, it will solely be on how much you inspire and instill faith by works to a development delayed and economically hungry nation. 

Next in line is the business class; now there are a few who stand out and apart. But the majority, toe the line of the herd, the only lobbying that they synergize with, is in which they see bigger top lines and better bottom lines. CSR is more of a viable and economically better PR exercise given that you get a tax relief and the junta to cross sell. 

And finally the aam aadami, somewhere has lost his consciousness in the realm of reality. I received so many texts of Independence Day messages that spoke negatively of our neighbouring country. Does our freedom give us the moral and ethical right to run down those that do us wrong? If so, then how are we any different from them. Add to that, the apathy that the junta shows, not just to politics, but to life in general makes me ponder...

But then again, as I said earlier, sombre bit of pessimism. I guess the 'Independent India' that our freedom fighters fought for will some day shine on.. Till then, we'll perhaps continue the reel to real celebrations of a Happy and Independent India. 

Happy Independence Day !!!

Making Heaven out of Hell… In Rs. 12/-

Not too long hours ago, a spokesperson of a leading political party, for reasons best known to him blatantly blurted out; Mumbai mein toh Rs. 12/- khana mil jata hai and that sentence caused a tsunami of a reactions in the media; from locals who were genuinely hurt on the comment, to political parties of the opposition, that got an opportunity to score some brownie points. And then, not too many hours into the controversy, the political party (of which the spokesperson was from) started a political game called ‘keeping distance’ (with the spokesperson )and that in turn, lead to a turn around of sought's; the so called statement was retrieved. 

As I write this piece, my phone just beeped, I received a broadcast, which joked about a popular burger brand, would soon launch a new burger for Rs. 12/- and no prizes for guessing it would be called the ‘McBabbar’ which brings me to the point I really want to talk about, that if a prankster thinking out of the box can come up with an innovative burger, even if its just for fun, why cant our netas?

Almost immediately post the controversy, the cat and mouse game began, like its the given for political parties to do in India, when they goof up, but that is not the need of the hour, especially when you have a tainted past, and there are many a questions with regards to the future? Here was an opportunity to make Heaven out hell… In Rs. 12/- …. How? Read on…

Among the many controversies surrounding the government is that off: The huge quantities food getting wasted and rotting away, which is a shame, given that in our country a fairly large number of people sleep hungry, to make it worse statements given out by its representatives saying one can get a full meal for Rs. 12/- What do you do then? Perhaps think up of solutions rather than running away from the problem. The answer lies in a simple product of a Maths equations; two negative make a positive. 

What could have or should have been done is simple exercise of innovative thinking, resource mobility and immediate action thus leading to solution. To elaborate; instead of letting those grains rot away, the govt could easily set up food centers (Read:on the lines of the Junka bhakar model, Mumbai) across the country, wherein they could employ locals, distribute these food grains and veggies and actually dish out meals for the intended Rs. 12/- and then when asked where do you get food for Rs. 12/- the answer could be ‘We’, we provide a wholesome meal for Rs. 12/-.  This action would perhaps then give some respite among the many controversies and perhaps restore confidence in the general public that bought them to power. 

So to all politicians and govt officials, when you do make a blunder, remember it is not all asunder,

A lil bit innovative thinking, resource mobility and immediate action, can get you laurels a thunder.

The Gud Ol' Dhobitalao

In a certain generation not too long ago, if you said Dhobitalao, you meant Little Goa.

In Toronto, Canada where I live, there is little Italy, little Greece, little Portugal, little India and even, just outside of Toronto, an entire suburb (officially called Brampton) known as Khalistan, where all the Sardars live.
 

Brampton used to be a farming area populated by whites, until the Sardars moved in. Now it is a place which abounds in Punjabi samosas, sarson-ka-saag and 'lawyers' who 'help' you with settling personal injury car accident claims. But you will not find any little Goa.

Now, to get back to Dhobitalao.

That area of Bombay was home to a large dhobi migrant community from UP that worked from a pond that was originally built by the Parsis to supply their Agiaries. Over time, as the water got stagnated, they turned it over to the dhobis who needed exactly such a spot to base their trade in  the city. Eventually, the pond was cemented over and the Parsis built residential buildings which they gave over as rentals to newcomers in Bombay.

It was exactly in such a condition that the first Goans started moving in. Soon the area was overflowing with Goan migrants who chose to live together, God knows why, given the crab mentality for which the community is famed. Not only did they live in harmony, but also in relative peace, although a typical large family of seven or eight lived in one room no bigger than 300 to 500 sq feet.

 In that space they hatched, matched and were dispatched.

Dhobitalao, as I knew it, was Goan enough to be known to the rest of Bombay and even outside and the Middle East, as the Goan hub outside Goa. Among well known features of the area were oasis of large rooms of about 1,500 sq feet or more in very old dilapidated buildings that became the homes of Goan Village Clubs about which much has been written. What I will add is, that the living conditions there were absolutely pathetic. But then, living in Portuguese Goa of the time was equally so, despite the large village spaces.

If this description has put in your mind a decrepit neighborhood you would not be entirely wrong, but I have not yet made a reference to the vibrancy of the place. Dhobitalao was the Bronx of the 1930s. People hung out their washed clothing to dry and sat on their building terraces. The terraces were the community arenas where every social celebration took place.  A birthday, a dance and even movie shows. Everyone was invited, both from the building and everywhere  else. Prohibition was in force and Aunty's famous rotgut was served.

On one occasion, while learning German from a Saligao resident of Indra Bhuvan , I was called to watch a movie on the terrace. The boys running the projector sat precariously with their equipment on a small patch on the roof, the white painted wall was the screen and the bar was lined along one side.

There were all kinds of home cooked snacks on a table and everybody sat hunched on the floor in the dark of an 8 pm evening. I don't remember the name of the movie, but it was smuggled in by the Goan usher of the nearby Metro cinema. There was dancing after the movie but by then I had left as I had a long hike back home to Byculla.

Dhobitalao's Main Street extended from the Sonapur Church (Dolours) to Crawford market, a distance of about 1 km. Along the way were butcher shops selling fresh pork, and the famous C D'Souza's and Vienna restaurants which were frequented by lonely sailors between trips.

They served excellent Goan-Bombay fusion food at ridiculously low prices. In 1965, you could get a plate of sorpotel, a loaf of bread and Crumb Chops (pork chops fried with batter and bread crumbs) followed by a plate of rice with fish curry and a fried mackerel on the side. It was excellent value.

 On Dhobitalao streets, other restaurants abounded. Along Main Street were also a couple of wax candle shops. Thinking about it now, I  wonder what kept them in business. Perhaps it was the yearly fairs at which body parts made of wax were sold. Main Street was the show-piece of Dhobitalao. Other side streets were not so clean nor as spacious.

There were the Wellington Terraces, a group of four buildings within a rough stony compound that was a village all by itself. Everybody in Dhobitalao had a relative or villager in Wellington. Outside Wellington were all sorts of trades-people - tailors, darners, cobblers and others.  All were excellent craftsmen and I remember my dad taking me to a cobbler there to custom make my leather shoes even though we lived in Byculla. Perhaps part of the reason might have been the opportunity to visit one of his friends where a glass of hooch was assured.

Within Dhobitalao on the southern and eastern ends, were the Irani restaurants about which the Canadian-Goan writer Marcos Catao has recently written. Two of them were Sassanian and Bastani. They made the best bread puddings and the most flaky and light meat patties that melted on your tongue. The pani-kum chai was a great chaser to these snacks.

A little beyond Bastanis was the standing place of the 'Dhobitalao Bandsters'. These were not band members but individual musicians who waited to be hired for any wedding or other occasion. They were not a cohesive unit and may never have played with the others, but once they were selected, without practice, they performed as if they were an accomplished orchestra.

That is a great thing about Goans. They make awesome musicians. Partly in the genes and partly due to their village choir-master training, playing is across the spectrum. In all the great Bombay swing bands of the sixties and seventies, like Micky Correia, Johnny Baptist, Maurice Concessio, Goody Seervai, Nelly, Ken Mac and Hal Green, the majority of the musicians were Goans. Nowhere could this be seen better than in Dhobitalao.

 A walk down the street of any neighborhood, especially after sunset, would produce harmonious wafting sounds of  lilting Portuguese marches and sambas, tangos, classical mandos, and even Louisana blues and Hollywood music scores. It was truly a music fest per gratis.

At the heart of Dhobitalao was the Sonapur (or officially, Dolours) Church. Women with sleeveless dresses were sent away from the Communion railing without the host and the ones without veils or scarves on their heads were publicly berated. Khomeini must have learnt his state-craft from the Sonapur priests.

But these same priests  did not bother the men folk. These they considered to be without redemption. As soon as the priest stepped to the pulpit to start the preaching, the men made off to C. D'Souza's next door for coffee and cigarettes. What they didn't hear, they didn't care about.

The vicar even attempted to put a loudspeaker inside C D'Souza's so as to disturb all conversation there during sermon time, but that only resulted in coffee-talk rising many decibels higher. Eventually their volumes outdid the loudspeaker, permeated the church and disturbed the semonizing priest himself. The vicar conceded defeat and removed the loudspeaker.

Religious feast processions winding through the streets of Dhobitalao were very unruly. There would be a massive crowd of people setting out from the church but as each Aunty's speakeasy was passed along the way, the numbers of men would get less and less until at the door of the church on returning, the only males in the procession were either below fifteen or those banned from their favorite Aunty's bars due to non-payment or the very frail who wanted nothing but peace with their God whom they were due to meet soon.

The boys and girls of Dhobitalao were indoctrinated in the value of education by their parents, whether they went to the nearby Jesuit school of St Xavier's or to Little Flower, St Sebastian, St Thresa's or Dolours. They might have had no place to study except under the dim lights of the passageways or during late nights with their parents' snores for company, but they learned their lessons well. Here in Toronto, there are many of those once-Dhobitalao-youngsters. They are 'solid buggers' now and their children go for the best higher education there is in Canada.

When my children were young kids growing up in Canada, we told them to eat their vegetables and not leave them. My wife used to  tell them, "Think of the starving children in India and finish the dinner."  And now they tell their children, "Finish your homework. Think of the children in India who would make you starve if you don't!"



~ Author unknown

Summer Thoughts .....

This is one time of the year, when the weather really gets to you, the sweltering heat of the sun constantly draining you out, can really be a dampener, quite literally as you are left most of the times drenched in sweat. And all you want to do is get into a place (read: shade or maybe an air-conditioned room) which will probably give you some respite, or maybe drink up some thing chilled to cool you down.

But a little closer look at this so called summer time, and you know that the summers are kind of necessary, for it is during this time that nature is in action, evaporating water which will then pour down as rains... And talk about rains don't we all love em... The cooling water, the pitter-patter, the smell of mud... ah the sweet sound of rains drops...,  and now, coming back to the summers, if it weren't for the summers how would we have the rains, or else how would we know the value of a winter.

Perhaps life too draws out parallels from nature, so many times we find ourselves into situations where we just find ourselves trapped and drenched without solutions, and in times like these all we want is some instant relief similar to the ones we want in summer (Read: Air-conditioning or a chilled beverage). Many a times, all we contemplate in those moments, are perhaps escape routes to our situations and somehow we fail to see, what this situation is bringing out of us, we fail to realize that this test of time will only make us stronger than what we were before, we don't understand that, the lesson we learn, will eventually pour down as wisdom at a different time. Every time you feel a summer like situation in your life think about how good or different the season in your life was a few months back or how good and different will it be a few months from now 

So the next time you feel that incessant need to escape because your life's season is going through its summer remember that: 

There's reason for every season and there is season for every reason 

All you gotta do, is make the most of every season without any particular reason

And that's when you"ll know, love and enjoy every season anew

perhaps because of reasons best known to you...

Happy Summer Time!!!