Showing posts with label Mumbai. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mumbai. Show all posts

Friday, November 11, 2011

Oh Dilli!


It is exactly 7 pm in India and 8.30 am in the U.S.
Just a regular day at work for me, the same buzz, the same chatter that builds up to the time when markets open.
But my head is buzzing with a very different kind of a sound. It is  faint, far away and a little distant. It’s the sound of Delhi’s gaffar market, where I spent many afternoons looking for an old broken walkman to write an obituary on.
The sights and smell of Chandni Chowk and the steps that lead up to the Jama Masjid, whose tombs have seen me climb up and down, brushing against a hundred people and exchanging that awkward look and a sheepish smile.

Bangalore is getting colder by the night. And all I can think of is cold winters in Delhi. Walking around lodhi, stopping for a quick peg at Lodhi Garden Restaurant and then  to Khan Chacha for a roll.



(All images from Google, please don't sue me)

Thursday, April 02, 2009

'You’ve got to see two things in Bombay, the Bombay rains and the Bombay girls.'





Debutant author Anirban Bose, in his semi-autobiographical work of fiction, ‘Bombay rains and Bombay girls’ looks at the city from an outsider’s perspective. Though in many ways the book is not about Bombay but about the people and experiences of the city. Like the central character of the story even Bose who hails from a small town came to Bombay to study medicine. A doctor by profession and assistant professor of medicine at the University of Rochester, Bose's story revolves around a small town boy who comes to the metropolis to pursue studies in medicine.

Adityaman, an eighteen year old from a small town lands in Bombay to study medicine and the turn of events in his life teach him a lesson or two about growing up and life itself. Adi is not only infested with inferiority complex but also a great need to be the good guy amongst his peers which often leaves him making a choice between the devil and the deep sea. Lost for choices, he deals with his life single-handedly, making new friends, sending out roses to girls and garnering a dream of becoming the CR (Class representative), a goal he sees as a stepping stone for popularity.

Adi’s friends Pheru, Sam, Rajiv, Harsha and Toshi make this journey interesting with their distinct way of looking at life. Right from being ragged by a bunch of scary seniors to regionalism in college elections to giving him dating tips, they support him in every way by offering their valued advice. As a matter of fact, the author very poignantly touches upon issues like regionalism which has given birth to the “we and “they” feeling among migrants in the city after the recent string of attacks launched on outsiders by a certain political party. The book takes a ghastly turn as one of Adi’s hostel mates; Toshi dies in a plane crash. As Adi and his friends leave on a journey to Arunachal Pradesh, Toshi’s hometown, to visit his parents in a pursuit to bring their friendship to a closure, a series of unplanned experiences followed by a murder mystery leaves Adi and his friends bewildered.

It takes a student’s union strike and Adi’s unconditional attraction towards a classmate to create a rift in their friendship. Will he stand by his friends or offer his services to the ill-staffed obstetrics department at the coercion of his new found love? Will Adi complete his journey towards the far-east to meet Toshi’s parents? As one proceeds through the thirty odd chapters in the book, it gives one a sense of relatedness. As the plot thickens it leaves the readers wanting for more not out of curiosity but out of pity for the protagonist, at certain point even making the reader cringe because of repeated twists and turns in this campus novel. Bose’s narrative style of writing reflects on his choice of words which are over dramatic and sometimes over the top. As the story’s hero heals from his Achilles heel, his journey reminds us of similar experiences that we might have shared leaving us feeling sympathetic towards the hero in the end. The book is titled so because every newcomer in this city often ends up admiring the Bombay Rains and the Bombay Girls.

The journey that Adi embarks upon leaves the reader wanting to know more not out of curiosity but out of pity for the character. The book takes the readers through unexpected twists and turns like a typical Bollywood pot-boiler.


P.S. -Perfect for reads during tedious train journeys. But if you are thinking of buying it, wait till it reaches the local raddiwalah. Not worth spending on a first copy.

Available at all leading bookstores
Price- 195/-

Friday, November 28, 2008

My words are failing me today

Mumbai has seen its darkest day in history. The last 48 hours have defined how helpless and vulnerable we as citizens. The metropolis has suffered again, suffered big time.

Numerous people are pouring news channels with comments, feedback, bloggers all over India writing in, asking questions, but is that all we are reduced to? How many more blasts, deaths do we have to witness till we actually live peacefully in our own country?

See again, all I am doing is question. Sitting in my room, in front of the television behind closed doors, what else can I do?

This is more than just security lapse; this catastrophe suggests that our own people are involved. My heart goes out to these brave army men, NSG commandoes and police. Brave men who lost their lives, no matter what rank they served, which caste or creed they belonged to. Where is Raj Thackeray today when as a self proclaimed leader of Mumbai he is supposed to be visiting victims?

I salute the army, NSG commandoes who without fearing for their lives fought relentlessly. My words are failing me today..

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

IRONY!!

A man looks at his devastated home and unwillingly poses for the cameras waiting to catch the right moment. A woman who has just undergone a painful pregnancy in a cab is tired of the shutterbugs. She is so sick of it that she violently shuts everyone out of her room. The poor baby in her father's arms is being tossed from right to left to get that perfect angle, the perfect shot, the perfect light. Its IRONIC to see how the savior of the distressed suddenly becomes this selfish photographer with just one motive- getting the best images for the next day's newsprint.

Its really a very sorry sight. Though I am not blaming our photographers, afterall they are doing thier job. But some amount of sensitivity is required. We journalists claim to reach out to people and bridge the gap between those who suffer and those who provide them the necessary respite, but all of this for more readership, attractive, eye catching pictures.

In fact it will be very unfair to blame the photographers alone. My fellow journalists, may it be print or electronic or even web for that matter, are all running a race. All of them aspire to finish first. All of them want the juiciest information for their newspapers, magazines , channel!

I really dont know how many people will agree with the text above and how many would disagree, but certainly am not too happy being associated with such a state of affair. I might not make a good journalist, considering the views I hold but I will definitely move towards becoming a responsible journalist! I might not get stories brimming with thousand scoops and scandals but am sure I wont earn the wrath of a troubled soul!

Thursday, March 06, 2008

STOP!!!!


We are tired of this constant scrutiny, constant fear of being laughed at, ridiculed and reduced to nothing but a mere toy. Just this morning when I was on my way to college, an asshole passed a comment. I decided to ignore it because I had a 9.16 train to catch. As I reached Churchgate, another jackass passed a comment and this time I was determined to give it back to him. I realised what he said right in my ears after 2 seconds and chased him as soon as i registered those horrible words. He looked behind and saw me coming. He ran and I ran after him, asked for a little help from a passerby but all he did was look at me like a fool. Though I couldn't get hold of him but I was hell bent on doing something about it and hence this post. I thought of calling on 103- the helpline started by Mumbai Police for women and elderly people in city. But it wouldn't help unless I have some proof of the incident.
We have had enough of such nonsense. I am sure many girls and women go through such occurances every day. The ladies compartment in the suburban locals are full of indecent illustrations of nude women drawn on the walls with unwanted graffiti and derogatory remarks. Dont we deserve to live with respect and a little peace of mind?
I urge all men reading this to help women if ever you spot a woman in any of such situation and I urge women to be strong and fight against it.

I DREAD LOOKING BEAUTIFUL,
I HATE THE SIGHT OF MIRROR,
AM HAPPY UGLY, AM HAPPY UNATTRACTIVE.

AM NOT YOUR SLAVE,
AM NOT ASHAMED OF MY IDENTITY, MY GENDER.
AM HIDEOUS AND STRONG.

I WONT BEG TO BE LEFT ALONE,
IT'S MY RIGHT TO BREATHE FREE,
I AM PROUD TO BE A WOMAN..

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

City of joys and sorrows.....

Taking a break has become an alien activity for the people of Mumbai. Life is cenetered around a monotonous and never ending cycle of chores that leaves one with very little time to spend with ourselves. Life certainly is not a cake walk but yet things look very easy to achieve and acquire here. Probably that is the because of the 'never say never' attitude that people. Love, hate, betrayal, complassion, jealousy or any other emotion can be experienced in the span of a single day.
Our day starts with abusing the newspaper vendor for ringing the door bell too loud to abusing the errant kids in the building who make your life hell in the evening when all you want is a space with pin drop silence. Hurling abuses and walking ahead is the mantra that all of us seem to have understood very well. We have become workoholic sparrows, home to work and work to home. Life, though doesn't really look complicated but nonetheless it sometimes becomes like a living hell.
One has to fight for everything, right from a window seat to getting a passport made. No wonder we talk about Mumbai's fighting spirit, ( pun intended). I am not trying to demean the place I call my home but just reminding you of the changing times. I totally agree that I have bever seen a city as vibrant and colourful as Mumbai, yet there are time when I long to get away, without a doubt I long to get back as soon as possible. This city is like a sweet bitter truth. One cannot ignore the goodness of it but at the same time one cannot move away from adversities.