Rights and Rituals

My free-wheeling rebellious ways were the bane of my Mother's life ever since I learnt to crawl around my childhood apartment. Went exactly where I was told not to go, never ate anything I was fed, read books that weren't meant for me, watched stuff on TV I was definitely not meant to watch ^_^ , kicked up a fuss every time I had to pray or go to the temple - you get the drift.

So rules, instructions, traditions and rituals were not for this disobedient child. And that's how it remained for a quarter of a century.

Till suddenly, a certain time of day meant waking up daily for a transcontinental phone call. Tuesdays meant that agnostic me visited a certain temple on someone else's behalf. For two weeks each year everything else (including the CEO of one's company) would be dumped in favour of quality time with someone. GTalk Video Chat (yeah, Hangouts didn't exist back then) is where I went on dates every weekend.

My Mother would have truly been proud of my new found ability to suppress the rebel in me and happily dance around all the various rituals that came to pepper my life with structure and stricture.

But you know what the funniest part was? I honestly didn't mind. In fact I actually looked forward to many of those rituals. They brought a new stability to my flitting-floating existence. They brought me and the boy closer.

And now we have made up some new rituals - some silly, some sweet - but each of which makes the love run deeper every day. The goodbye kiss every morning, the "What's for Dinner" joke each evening, the much-debated-over TV shows post dinner - each of these rituals adds another shade to the rainbow we're painting together.

With that the rebel casts aside her fear of rituals and rules and walks into the sunset with her Mr. Right (rite? right?).

When art meets function, urban design is born

Art inspires. It soothes the senses, it evokes awe at raw talent, it opens up new realms of possibility. If architecture is but applied art, then all the cement and steel structures around us must be cousins of the Sistine Chapel ceiling. Or are they? 

The dwellers of Harappa and Mohenjo Daro designed the first drainage system in the world over 4000 years ago.

An artist's recontruction of the Harappa sewer system 

The Vedic Age saw temples with mind blowing intricate carvings and sculpture dot the landscape from North to South India. The Mughals built among other architectural gems the Taj Mahal, Fatehpur Sikri, the Red Fort and more. The British gave India lovely colonial buildings and turned humdrum rail stations into landmarks like the Victoria Terminus. 




And what did we build in the last 67 years of independence? Millions of concrete monstrosities that bear a close resemblance to cereal boxes?

Why do we not aspire to leave behind a legacy that's deeper than layers and layers of tar that we pour onto our potholed streets every few months? Or has national poverty become an excuse for aesthetic poverty too? 

So when a well designed, eye-catching structure sprouts up from our urban squalor, you are pleasantly surprised; to say the least. The new Terminal 2 of the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport is just that and more! 

Delhi International Airport Terminal 3

It seems to have taken a leaf from the Terminal 3 at Delhi International Airport in terms of blending beauty and utility. 















The lovely peacock feather motif is that is the symbol of the Mumbai Airport is interpreted into structural themes like pillars and walkways. 

Check-in counters @ Mumbai Airport Terminal 2

Bright colours and modern design blend with traditional motifs like the diya to create a stunning travel ecosystem.  

Departure lounge @Mumbai Airport Terminal 2

Wall of diyas near Immigration @ Mumbai Airport Terminal 2

Over 7000 pieces of curated Indian art from the 10th century till date adorn the walls of this swanky addition to Mumbai's skyline. 

  After seeing all these pictures, I think I'll be as excited to land at the new airport in Mumbai as I will be to meet up with my family when I finally visit home! Yay!!!

*Deep breath*. Coming back to the point, now that all that gushing is out of my system; I certainly hope that these are the baby steps that the new India is taking towards leaving behind it's own architectural mark on history. 

'Coz won't it be a pity if future archaeologists in India find just thousands of ugly Sulabh Shauchalays from the post-independence period! 

Public Toilets or Sulabh Shauchalays

Tujhe Dosti ki Kasam!

The other day, the most random thing had me pondering over friendship and it's many avatars.

Much against the boy's strenuous protests, I decided to watch Sanjay Leela Bhansali's latest magnum opus. The reason - a couple of my acquaintances  had worked on the movie and hey, it was a Bollywood movie! In this land of goras that I'm stuck in thanks to the boy, a dash of Bollywood every now and then helped keep me "Indian". 

I had pretty high hopes from the movie; after all, these friends of mine had received such glowing praise from THEIR friends all over Facebook. In fact I felt kinda guilty that I hadn't taken the time out and watched the movie earlier. 

It started off with the usual blindingly colourful frames, grandiose sets, OTT costumes that are signature Bhansali. However, instead of the lyrical romances that you've come to expect from Mr. B, here was a tapori Gujju drama that was trying simply too hard to be funny. Or make any sense whatsoever. 

Out of respect for my loyalties towards my friends, the boy gnashed his teeth through a full 25 minutes of the movie. But when the 3rd song and dance routine in 25 minutes came on (set to a terrible music score), all his finer emotions went flying out of the window and the boy fled the room, making the lamest of lame excuses. 

I sat through the rest of the 2 hours left of the movie, wondering all the time about what all those people meant on Facebook when they called this movie the best thing to happen to India after vada pav (Yeah, I miss Mumbai.)

This got me thinking of the various sub-species of friends that we cultivate over the years. 

Jai & Veeru - Chaddi buddies personified

There are the Office Friends - you bitch with them about all that's wrong with your workplace, share your lunch and a few wisecracks with them, but you know when you walk out of the building they're are filed away till the next dreaded day of work. 

Then there are College Friends. You shared memories, beers and innumerable assignments with these guys. You meet them rarely these days, but each time you do, you make a million promises to 'do this again soon'.

School Friends occupy a more sepia toned space in your head. It shocks you each time you see the present version of your skinny, unkempt school buddies - they are (with very few exceptions) at least 10 kilos heavier, their head is lighter by at least 10 grams of hair, and they often have a wailing, attention seeking appendage in the form of a baby (or a spouse, in some cases). 

City slickers would have Building Friends or Colony Friends who were your partners in crime in the evenings after school, but these days bump into you only during Annual General Body Meetings, in line for the free food during Navratri or Ganesh Chaturthi or at the local barber's where a face to face conversation could cost you half an ear lobe.

If you live in Mumbai, you definitely have some Train Friends. You exchange notes on the latest movies, together you haggle with canny vendors peddling random crap on the train,  you save a seat for them when you manage to jump on board before them, heck; you even sing along with them all while you make your daily hour hour long commute to work and back. 

Then there are your Chaddi Friends. These guys have known you since the time you were in your chaddis, they've bailed you out of seriously sticky situations with your parents, they've endured your mopey periods of heartbreak, they've been happier than you were for your small successes, they've cried with you and called you names, they've emptied their wallets for you when the need arose and hung around even when you shooed them away. This the the sub species that inspires sing-alongs on motor bikes with side cars attached, these are the guys who play starring roles in that magical motion picture that has all the requisite Bollywood ingredients - drama, emotions, humour, bad hairstyles and larger than life set pieces - our most cherished memories. 

Dear God, grant me an extra day with this honest-to-God, bitchy, tell it like it is sub species than having to put up with 528  'FB Friends' who don't even know my middle name. Any. Frigging. Day. 

2013: A Space Odyssey

It's been a long sabbatical, and I've missed my byte sized space of the internet. So here I am.

A lot has changed in the year and a half since my last post. I am now happily married to the love of my life. Have transformed from a staunch desi to an unwilling NRI. From a career gal to a housewife (OK, this was not by choice. The US Visa authorities deemed it fit. So.)

The dynamics of my relationship with the boy have changed too. From distance-riven separation pangs to mild claustrophobia. From rose tinted glasses to 'aate daal ka bhaav'.  From wild passion to tender companionship.

One thing however has remained unchanged. And that is our mutual need for space. I guess our relationship grew and matured on the basis of the few continents worth of space that we had between us. Even today, under the same roof, we seek our own private havens - the couch for me and the potty for him!

It is in my  moments of alone time that I appreciate the 'together time' that I've been lucky to have with him. It puts the things we say and do to each other in cold, unforgiving perspective. It's also a  friend who sometimes holds up a mirror to my face showing me the real me, warts and all.

If I had only one piece of relationship advice to give to someone, it would be this. Give your loved ones the privilege of some space. It'll only bring you closer.
 

The relationship recipe

Relationships come in all shapes and sizes. D-oh. You didn't need me to tell you that.

But seriously. Some relationships have you wondering 'what's the whole point of this?'. Like Mamata Banerjee and the UPA. Or India and Pakistan. Even Pakistan and Pakistan. Or that thing that's currently bothering me - an old friend and his newly acquired better half.

Does marriage preclude friendships outside it's sacred walls? Do friendships lessen your commitment to your partner? Or are we bound to bow to matrimonial pressures over the simple joys of buddyhood?

As kids we played with the neighbourhood kids, but that didn't make our siblings any less fun as playmates. Why then would spouses loose their sheen if friends co-exist in your social life?

Maybe these could be brushed off as ramblings of a single girl, who doesn't have a clue about marriage and all things knotty. Maybe these are just the shivers from the cold shoulder from an old (erstwhile?) friend.

All I have to say is that it's just truly a sad day for relationships of all kinds when threats and blackmail form the bedrock of a marriage and eventually strangle a friendship. 

The communication conundrum

"It's impossible to keep the spark alive"..."You'll just drift apart" ..."A relationship across time zones is a surefire road map to singledom"...These and many more lines were spouted by wise friends and well wishers when the significant other and I decided to give the telecom industry a boost with our trans-continental saga.

As always, stupidity prevailed and we said "Yeah, right!" to all the naysayers.

With my obsessive need to prove that we were right, I instituted the hallowed tradition of the daily compulsory phone call. Sorry, I didn't care if he had to submit a 25 page report in the next 3 hours, he had to talk to me to ensure that 'All is well' with our world.

The significant other took significant offense to the fact that he had to give attendance every day. He'd moan, whine, throw tantrums, but make sure he called (Lord have mercy on him otherwise) everyday. I learned to live with the feeling that I was house-training my erstwhile free-as-a-bird guy. As the years rolled by, our respective stands on the matter became even more cemented.

And then out of the blue, one day he woke up and realized "I miss the daily call. Miss being nagged. Miss the attendance giving." So what does he do? Goes out of his way to track down a number, makes multiple calls to various call centers to figure out a way of reaching me. And then yaks away with me for 4 hours at 10 times the usual call rates.

Why the sudden volte-face you ask? Simple, because I was unavailable for once.  Travelling on work, I was  in a country where telecom rates were so high, that even I, the communication freak, did not dare volunteer for the daily international talkathon.

So, suddenly the daily grind became forbidden fruit. And voila, I was back in demand!

Hmm...wondering if switching off my phone for a week will make him fly across the seas, back home? Sure is worth a shot.

Wet, wet, wet

There's something about the rains that awakens the poet in people. Something about the dewy freshness of the trees around you that makes the day worth looking forward to for millions. Something about the earthy aromas that tease your senses post a gentle drizzle that makes Bollywood actresses shimmy around in wet sarees lip-syncing to pseudo erotic numbers.

I, unfortunately, do not belong to this ocean of monsoon lovers. For me, tropical monsoons + big city chaos  + Indian infrastructure = 4.5 hours of commute time to and fro from work. Am I complaining?

Hell, no. As Ross Geller from F.R.I.E.N.D.S said in one episode about his long commute to and from work, "I've been given the gift of time!".

Mumbai suburban boat

This is the time that I use to ponder on why the beach front at Chowpatty had all it's lights blazing at 11:30 a.m. today or why rickshaw unions went on a flash strike to protest the effects of inflation on the 'common man'  leaving common women like me standing in a queue for over an hour to get  a rickshaw and head home. Sometimes these musings are nudged aside by the thoughtfullness with which the Mumbai P.W.D ensures they start work on flyovers, roads and bridges in May each year, hence adding to the exciting joyride that we all die for in the ensuing monsoon months.  

As raindrops keep falling on my head relentlessly, I make a mental note to kidnap Lord Indra and make him travel by suburban Mumbai trains in the rains for the next 28,765 years.

Mint

Trepidation. Excitement. Anxiety. Relief. Curiosity. Cannot figure which of these dominated the most all day long today.

Is it normal to feel this jumble of emotions? I don't know. How do I feel at half past midnight reflecting on my day?

Happy. Very.

I guess that's all that counts then.


P.S. Truly hope it only gets better from here.

What do you call these?

Scene 1 : You and your music coasting along in the mad, rush hour, human compression machine that is a Mumbai suburban train and a lady in her mid forties gets up and offers you her seat.
Is she your buddy?
Is she itching to get shoved around in the crowd?
Is the seat about to split into two and she doesn't want to provide entertainment to some seriously hassled women packed into the compartment?
None of the above.

Scene 2:You have a life or death deadline the next day, you're still in office at 11:30 P.M. and your colleague who has nothing to do with the project sits up with you helping you every step of the way.
Does he not have a life?
Does he have a crush on you?
Does he actually ENJOY this stuff?
None of the above.


Scene 3: Your car is hit by a biker who's flown out of his bike and crashlanded on his side on the middle of the national highway. Out of nowhere a stranger pulls up next to you, comes up protects you from the mob that's gathered around the scene, takes the injured guy to the hospital, offers you some good practical advice and vanishes once you've come out of shock.
Was this his idea of fun?
Was he expecting some reward out of the whole thing?
Was he practicing for when he'd have to don little red chaddis over his pants, put on a cape and swoop in to rescue other damsels in distress?
I strongly doubt that.

Each one of the scenarios above is as random as it is true. What makes people do these little acts of kindness that touch our lives forever?

And why do we let them simply disintegrate into meaningless alphabets on this giant Scrabble board that we are all endlessly trying to piece together for ourselves?


The more I think about these people and what they stand for, the more I'm convinced that these are the friends that God sends along when your real friends are not around to look out for you.

With that new lens colouring my vision, as I look back over the years, I discover a brand new meaning to 'Happy Friendship Day'. Thank you friends.

Shitty way to die, I must say!

This is the most ridiculous piece of 'News' that I sighted today - Elvis Presley did not die of a heart attack...he died of constipation!!

[ Click on this link for more: http://in.news.yahoo.com/43/20100508/908/ten-elvis-presley-died-of-constipation_1.html ]

Which gets me thinking, is that why he sounds the way he does in his later songs? But then again, constipated or not, I love Elvis :)