A typical day in the life of of a MAVERICK.

The sun was beating down on me as I walked till the auto. Hot afternoon sun. How I wished I could get up early like everyone else and reach my office when the sun was still a cute red ball on the horizon. Was it now chastising me for not waking up early??
“kanjur maarg??” I asked the auto driver.
“Nahi, sirf IIT main gate tak”
“teek hain” I nodded and got in.

It felt like a refreshing morning ride, while INFACT all around me, people were having their mid-day break.

I got down at the IIT gate, and walked till the bus stop. From here, I had to take a bus till the local train station. While waiting for the bus, once again, I wished I had woken up earlier because the frequency of the buses is much higher in the mornings. and It would have saved me the wait at this goddamn bus stop.
However once inside the bus, I got a vacant seat and started feeling lucky. “ Maybe I wouldn’t have got this seat if I had come here in the morning, it’s so much crowded then!” I tried to reason…

At the local station, a long queue awaited me. Nothing new, it’s an everyday ritual. But today, just as my turn came at the window, the operator decided to take his afternoon break. Believe my luck ! Couldn’t he have given ONE MORE ticket??? Now I had to wait for another operator to come, settle himself, adjust his seat, open his cuff buttons, collar buttons and relax under the fan till he felt like he needed a break, which is when he would start giving the tickets!!

Didn’t I tell you Mumbai teaches you many lessons?? Well, here’s one for a start
Mumbai life lesson #1 : SHIT HAPPENS when you least expect it !

And once on the platform, a local train came. Only, it was going in the other direction. Why is it that the first local train that comes, is always going the other way?

Mumbai life lesson #2 : SHIT HAPPENS more often than you think it does!


Finally, my local train arrived.
“Platform number ek ke local - do bajkar painthees minute ke- Mumbai ke chatrapathi shivaji terminus jaane waali -dheemi local hain. “
I got in and found that it wasn’t very crowded. Which meant that there was just enough space for me to put one foot down. “Crowded” is when you can't put either of your foot down.

At vikhroli, a sadhu boarded the local train. Lotta in his hand, and ashes smeared on his forehead, he pushed his way into the local. I suspected he didn’t have a ticket!
“Where are you from, swami ji ? “ I asked in the most humble tone I could manage.
He did not reply.
“excuse me, swami ji??”
He gave me a serious menacing look.
** gopal has signed off !!

mumbai lesson 2.5 # trying to start a conversation with sadhus and mendicants here is a VERY BAD IDEA.

The local train beats rhythmically , and it rocks you silently as it passes by buildings and factories, garbage dumps and roads, through slums and gutters…
You can actually enjoy the ride if you are lucky enough to be standing( read hanging) at the door. Inside however, it’s so hot and crowded that it would give you a FEEL of what the german concentration camps must have felt like, the gas chambers especially.

I closed my eyes and waited for the time to slip away.
Already one station down. Three more to go.
First it’s Ghatkopar, then vidyavihar… and then, I’d be in KURLA!!

Outside the kurla station, it’s one big MAD market.

You have to go begging the autowallas to take you to your destination. Consider yourself lucky if someone obliges.

“bhai saab, bandra kurla complex aaoge??”
A blank stare. Which means No.

“bhai saab, bandra kurla complex ?? “
No response. not even a blank stare. He didn’t even turn his head, started his auto and pushed ahead…

Mumbai lesson # 3 : Auto wallas here, have loads of attitude. so much that even the bollywood movie stars could borrow some of it from them !!


“BHAI SAHAB, BANDRA KURLA COMPLEX ???????”
“ baait”
he had the expression of disdain and haughtiness. As if HE is the one who’s paying for my trip.
,
Mumbai lesson #4 : if you want to reach your office and save your skin from the sun’s heat. You’d better learn to put up with the drivers “attitude”.


How nice it felt to be in the my office building! After all the travel in the heat and dust of Mumbai. It feels like a lease of new life, and the air conditioned cool of the building makes your forget all the hardships you went through to reach there.

Well, I was late for office. QUITE late.
So late that some people already started leaving.
But No issues, I had always been among the last to arrive and the first to leave.
Be it College, work, ceremonies – whatever. (The only exception being movies. If I miss the titles, I will go watch the movie again! )

Now, as I walked to my cabin, I wondered why my colleague was giving me THAT look. (?) Wait, I think I told her that I would come early today. Shit, I had some work to do !

and NOW I have some serious explaining to do. What would I tell her??...........

Mumbai lesson #5 : take a job where you could come in at three and leave at five. And nobody gives a damn.

But where you can’t find one, my job could be a close substitute

Santa Cruz.

A stranger to bombay might be forgiven for wondering if it's penelope cruz's brother. well you never know, maybe it WAS actually named after some Mr. Santa Cruz. Like so many other places in Bombay named after people like Hiranandani, Lokandwala…


This evening, I saw a huge poster at the local station there, in the memory of those killed in the july 11th blasts. It happened HERE. The bomb ripped apart a whole compartment, killing hundreds of commuters.

Often while traveling in the rush hour crowded local trains, i wondered… what if… a bomb goes off in this bogie this very moment ? What if… there’s a bomb ticking away in one of those bags ? It’s been over ten months since those dreadful bombings happened, but even today I constantly come across several grim reminders of them – an occasional announcement urging commuters to look out for suspicious bags or unclaimed things, a tattered poster which reads “ Be watchful for suspicious people” or “ instead of looking out through the window, look out for people who look suspicious – issued in public interest by so and so”. On an impulse, I always look around for suspicious looking people. And guess what, EVERYONE looks suspicious. The guy sitting next to me could be a suicide bomber, and the guy standing over there – it could RDX in his bag.


I searched on flicker for pics of Bombay blasts, and guess what I found?
Pictures of Bombay socialites partying! Having a blast!
I wonder what I will find if I search for Bombay bombs.
pics of hot babes, perhaps…


Vexed with the crowd, i decided to take a bus to kurla. A bright red double decked BEST bus. I went and sat down in the upper deck. Sitting up there, I could feel the altitude. and it was a little unnerving, because i knew the laws of physics made it easier for a double decked bus to topple.

BEST, the Bombay city transport, stands for Bombay Electrical Supply and Transport. Whoever it was, who thought of merging electric supply with transport must have had a lot of foresight. Because, a ride in these busses infact does give you a shock !
But don’t go by the name. When it comes to service, BEST is just the opposite – WORST.

I got down at the IIT gate and walked the full 2 kilometres to the hostel. No more traffic, no more crowds, no more Noises – just a calm and deserted road lined with trees...

And by the time I reached my room, I am so tired and exhausted that I don’t even have the energy to pick something from the floor.
I only seem to have just enough energy to blog about it : )

today...

, This is how a typical day goes for me. Today, for instance…



9: 30 hrs : first call to wake up for breakfast

10: 00 hrs : second and final call to wake up for breakfast.

10:00:15hrs: I said something in my sleep which sounded like “aaarrrg grraa..” But actually meant “carry on, dude! Will see you at lunch”.
My friend got the message”.


12:30 hrs : first call to wake up for lunch

12 :45 hrs : second call to wake up for lunch

13 : 00 hrs : final call to wake up for lunch.


I woke up to the penetrating shouts of my roommate. “you better wake up now, or you will miss your lunch too. wanna starve till the evening, huh??”

“easy dude, I’m already awake. Get me the paste…zzzzzzzzzz zzzzzz”

13:15 hrs : My friend is back from lunch.

13:30 hrs : Got up. And now starts the hunt for the toothpaste.

13:38 hrs : the hunt for tooth paste is called off. Search unsuccessful.

Here for a change, are some statistics.

No. of hours I spent sleeping : 5
No. of hours I spent trying to wake up : 5

Time(in minutes) spent in searching for the toothpaste : 10
Time(in minutes) actually spent in brushing my teeth : 1


By 2 : 00 pm : I was FINALLY out of the hostel.

the blue umbrella - a review of the movie

Never judge a book by it’s movie. Or a movie by the book from which it’s adapted.
That's a folly to watch out for ! There are brilliant books made into brilliant movies, there are not-so-brilliant books made out into brilliant movies and then, there are the third types : brilliant books wasted by being made into not-so-brilliant movies.
The blue umbrella falls into the third category. Unfortunately.

I first read the book when I was 13. it was a sort of a literary treat for me, all the more so because it came from the desk of my favourite author, Ruskin Bond. It’s a simple story set in a small village in the garhwal hills. A heartwarming tale of a girl, her innocent fondess for a beautiful umbrella, her sense-of-loss when she loses it, and the efforts she takes to recover it, written in a simple, yet touching style which is a trademark of Ruskin bond.

So, when I heard of vishal bharadwaj’s adaptation, it kicked up excitement in me. I have been a Ruskin bond fan for as long as I can remember. His stories like “the hidden pool”, “room on the roof”, “grandfather’s private zoo” have etched permanently into my memory, sometimes tricking me into believing that they are true memories of things which happened to someone close to me. I am sure, thousands of children spanning generations have grown up reading his books, and to them his stories are not just stories, but a nostalgia laden journey down the memory lane to those beautiful dream lands that their imaginations conjured up for them many years ago.
I feel that way about “ the blue umbrella” .
A simple story, but one that makes you smile. One that lingers in the recesses of your mind long after you put down the book.
Needless to say, I was eager to watch the movie, eager to find out how vishal manages to capture the magic in the story. For it’s not just a simple story.


I caught the movie when it was premiered at the mussoorie international writers festival. The audience included several writers, journalists, poets and also sitting with them were Ruskin Bond and Vishal Bhardwaj himself. The movie ran for 90 minutes( with the last 30 minutes itself seeming like 90 minutes) and when it ended, it left me cold… I could hear a celebrity writer next to me murmur – “ I can’t believe it’s the same guy who made omkara!!!”

It was a strange mix of feelings –
elation at watching it in a premier screening, much before it’s released for the junta. what with Ruskin bond and vishal bhardwaj watching with us!!
and the disappointment at the raw deal that was dished out.


The usual Q&A followed with people asking the usual questions –
why did you chose “the blue umbrella” for your movie?
how was the experience of making this movie?
blah blah blah??
with the usual answers –
blah, blah and
more blah…

Yesterday, I lost my sony k750i mobile phone to an amazingly skillful thief in the local train. When I told my boss about it, he grinned and said -
“WELCOME TO BOMBAY !!!! "

the madness that is mumbai.

well, mumbai is already madness. without me having to add to it...

I had just relocated to Bombay. Leaving Bangalore was a tough decision for me, but had to make it for the sheer adventure of exploring life in a new place. I have always been a vagabond at heart, and somehow found the idea of being rooted to a single place a little unsettling. But on second thoughts, I now realize how much I have traded for this new sojourn. I left behind everything I have built in the two years that I have stayed there – the friendships, the familiarity of buses and bus-routes, the places that I got so used to frequenting, the people, the workplace... Well, sometimes you do want to break free from the mundane familiarity of places, things and people.
but then again, sometimes you just want the reassuring comfort of familiarity.

Bombay is an enchanting place. Love it, hate it, you just can’t ignore it. That’s Bombay for you! the city of dreams, a city where swanky complexes juxtapose grimy slums, and filthy gutters flow beside plush multiplexes. A city that is perpetually on the run, and a city that proverbially “never sleeps”. And what can perhaps capture the quintessential spirit of Mumbai, better than its local trains?? I start my day traveling in them. And so do millions of others. An estimated 4 million people use them everyday!! Crowded, filthy yet fast and efficient, they operate as the lifeline of Bombay. Each one of these trains is designed to carry 1400 people, but at peak hours, sometimes the number swells to 7000, that’s five times its capacity! people squeeze into each other, until you believe it’s practically impossible to fit another person in. And then the great Mumbai miracle happens!! Another person actually pushes his way inside… people push, shove, fall down, hurt themselves, fight, swear, jostle, but somehow eventually make it to their destination. The train stops for about a minute at each station, and about a hundred people push in and out of each bogie in that time. A slurry of action, accompanied by the din of frantically rushing footsteps ensues even before the train stops… it’s worth watching, albeit from a safe distance. And as the train starts moving out, the last trickle of desperate people fight for the foothold at the door. Scores of people hang from the train, hinged precarious at the footboard. some with one foot on the foothold, some with half-a-foot.
It’s Mumbai :-) and it teaches you a lesson or two in endurance, patience and more importantly, to fight for survival.

the first mussoorie international writers festival

The first mussoorie internatonal writers festival – experiences.

There’s something about mussoorie...something that makes writers flock to it. Or something that makes it’s residents turn into writers. Well, could it have something to do with the sparkling air, the hills and mountains, or maybe the unhurried pace of life? How else could you explain the fact that mussoorie has the highest "per-capita" number of resident authors in the country? For a town of it’s size, with a popuation of 35,000, it has a disproportionately huge lot of popular authors. Be it Ruskin Bond, who captured the imagination of generations of school children, with his tales of this hill-station or the pioneers of travel writing in this country – hugh & colleen gantza, or Stephen Alter, whose travelogues to the Himalayas are the next best thing to actually visiting them! And then, there are billl aitken, sudheer thapliyal, ganesh saili, allen seally, namitha gokhale, and a whole lot of writers popularly referred to as the “mussoorie school” of writers. Anita desai was born here, the first Australian novelist john lang was buried here, jim Corbett, Rudyard kipling have both been here…isn’t that SOME list??

And then, one cold evening last winter, when Steve Alter told me that he is organzing a writers festival in mussoorie, I was all excited!

I had visited him to get my book autographed. It was around 9 in the night( quite late, for a hill station in winter ) And inspite of my impromptu visit at such a ghastly time(man, I have guts!), steve was very inviting, friendly and kind to me. I apologized profusely, told him how much I enjoyed reading his book “ all the way to heaven” and how much I am looking forward to reading his “sacred waters”, flashed it before him and requested for an autograph. And before I could realize it, we already had been talking for an hour!! We talked about the treks we had made to common destinations, the events and places about which he had written about, about mussoorie, about the writing assignments he was working on and writing in general. I was particularly amused when I found out that his grandfather was among the first to discover dodital, a beautiful lake in the Himalayas, where I have trekked to in 1999. The dairy of his grandfather carrying the accounts of that trek had influenced steve so much, that he wanted to visit the place so badly for so long. But it was not until 2001 that he could actually visit the place. The reason? this lake lies outside the “inner boundary” that existed ( with china ), beyond which which no foreigner/anglo-indian was allowed to venture for security reasons. This inner boundary was hundreds of kilometers well within the Indian territory, and was finally opened to everyone in the late nineties.


Well, that’s when he told me that he would be organizing a writers festival, with sponsorship from the winterline foundation along with the publishing houses of penguin, roli books and harper Collins. He handed me a brochure, and told me I could attend the sessions!!!! my reaction was that of disbelief! Well, here’s a writers festival, with the list of invitees including the who’s who of india’s literary scene! What more could I ask for???


That was December, 2006. Cut to April 2007....

to be concluded...