Down the corner of a building called Sea Mist in Worli Koliwada, Mumbai runs a little lane into many lanes. Shops and houses dot the land, surprisingly for Mumbai, there is enough room to breathe. Just before you enter, is a little stall that sells food. We are prancing around for any food, and we stumble upon this father-son duo. Crowds throng a little stall- that's made up of a table and a stool.
'How safe is this food,' reads the light in our eyes. The gentle man allows us to sample small dot-sized Dal Vadas. There are bigger ones too. And, there are samosas, you can tell they aren't typical. I ask him what they are made of. Poha, onions, potatoes and chillies..instead of the usual potato stuffing.
I am about to pick the samosas. When a piping hot bowl of aloo vadas arrives, and he dishes them out with a spicy green chutney. Between us, we share. A little sampling of all things unique at this little stall in Worli, Koliwada.
Go there, will you? And, when you do find your steps to the centre of the colony. It's an open space; in the evening young children are practicing their Karate moves. Their cries dance with the wind. And, right in front of you is the sea. And nearby, yet in the distance, is the Bandra Worli Sea link. At just the point when the breathtaking bridge flies into an architectural delight. Arched poles greet the city and the sky. Such a sight to be hold.
'But city people rarely look at the sky,' my companion tells me.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Showing posts with label 30X30. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 30X30. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
30X30: Everyday Runaways
Mumbai is a city with few gardens. Perhaps in your large city of dreams, there are many gardens- immense, obese and beautiful. But, in our city, we have so few. Or, so I think. And, then too, almost none of us make the time to go to a garden. And, a garden in daylight...almost never. Perhaps, gardens are in our memories like picnics from school, so long ago. Perhaps, they are in our mornings, like the early morning walks we made it to. And, maybe in our evenings, the healthier evenings, the evenings well spent.
But, gardens in daylight are like time stolen. Time stolen from schedules that shouldn't give, and time stolen from families that don't give. There are couples- young, full of lust. They are hungry, for each other. And, some of them are shy. There are even couples that meet surrounded by groups of giggling girlfriends. Four girls watch on one girl with her lover.
And, then there are young boys, studying. In little nooks, under trees..they are sitting with ruled sheets of paper, scrawled handwriting and cheap paperbacks. Some are lost in thought. And, some are up to no good. Loafers lurk in corners; they make me almost afraid. Groups of girls sneak out of college and gossip. They watch me curious. I am a stranger, in a garden with familiar lurkers. I am a stranger, in a garden with familiar thieves. Thieves of time. Thieves of daylight drudgery. Like, everyday runaways.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
But, gardens in daylight are like time stolen. Time stolen from schedules that shouldn't give, and time stolen from families that don't give. There are couples- young, full of lust. They are hungry, for each other. And, some of them are shy. There are even couples that meet surrounded by groups of giggling girlfriends. Four girls watch on one girl with her lover.
And, then there are young boys, studying. In little nooks, under trees..they are sitting with ruled sheets of paper, scrawled handwriting and cheap paperbacks. Some are lost in thought. And, some are up to no good. Loafers lurk in corners; they make me almost afraid. Groups of girls sneak out of college and gossip. They watch me curious. I am a stranger, in a garden with familiar lurkers. I am a stranger, in a garden with familiar thieves. Thieves of time. Thieves of daylight drudgery. Like, everyday runaways.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
30X30: Saturdays in the Train
Saturdays in the train are like little devils trying to make a holiday out of nothing. Young children prancing up and down narrow corridors, and passageways. And, tugging their mothers fancier-than-usual sarees. All laced in sweat, because on Saturdays too, the heat doesn't let up. It lets lose however, purse strings. Almost as if you deserve it now, this little lull of a slow train ride to somewhere. This little sprinkling of money spent on cheap, knock-off room stickers and oranges and little clips. Rich mothers buy hairbands and earrings in all colours- blue,purple, black and yellow..especially yellow to match clothes in all colours. Poor mothers buy one sticker, and refuse two clips. Little kids are now crying, or gushing happy depending on which side they are on. And, then they are watching each other. Children of more watching children of less, with smiles in their eyes. And, children of less, looking on. Curious, wide-eyed and still tugging at their mothers' fancier-than-usual sarees.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
30X30: Woman in Love
As I watch her, I remember the song by Barbra Streisand, 'Woman in Love.' She is draped in a beautiful black burka, her eyes standing out like moons in a night sky. Her fingers reach for her cellphone; she is checking the time. You can tell, she is waiting for time to go by. As she nears her destination, her fingers reach out for a mirror in her purse. She checks her make-up. Little hands dab sweet-smelling cream onto her flawless skin. Then, she uses kohl, and a tint of red on her lips. Once she is done, she pulls out a tiny bottle of Ponds Dream flower Talc and dabs it on her skin. The little pink bottle goes back into her purse.
She checks in the mirror, once again. Then, she repeats the ritual. Completing it with a dab of the same flower talc. And, then once again.
Three times in a row. Before she pulls out black lace gloves, torn slightly, and slips them on. My eyes lose her, and then she is gone. The lady in black, the woman in love.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
She checks in the mirror, once again. Then, she repeats the ritual. Completing it with a dab of the same flower talc. And, then once again.
Three times in a row. Before she pulls out black lace gloves, torn slightly, and slips them on. My eyes lose her, and then she is gone. The lady in black, the woman in love.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Thursday, November 12, 2009
30X30: Dedication
Our lives our a dedication to the creator, God. Our movements a salutation to the universe created. To the mountains, and the seas...to explore, discover, enchant. Our actions a salutation to the people coexisting. To love, to learn from, to guide. Our talents to give back in gratitude. Our sadness to put up with in, in acceptance. Just as we are with our flaws...the world too comes with its jagged side, an uneven beautiful side. Our lives are a dedication to a little patch on the jagged side, to clear what little of it we can.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
30X30: Of strangers and friends
I wish I could say it is easy to lose people you love. But, as I sit here, staring at a computer screen, surrounded by people I love, I know it isn't true. People come into our lives, their shapes and sizes ( personalities really) filling our little gaps and spaces. We were not made to be alone. And, we are made a lot for the people who come into our lives.
It never ceases to amaze me how beautifully our lives and beings ebb and flow, shape and reshape to make room for the people that come, and go from time to time. It is difficult, but wonderful to make room for strangers. To appear as always available. Then, you never know who you can bring joy to.
Of course, as time goes along...with joy comes trials. And, sometimes you lose people you love. Perhaps, it is on a stance of right versus wrong. Perhaps, it is over a trivial issue like time, orwork. Nonetheless, people often part ways. And, then it you began to realize the void, the spaces they fill.
As I write this, I can think of many such people in my life. I want you to know I am thinking of you. Until we meet at the same side of the bridge, you are being missed. Maybe for the long, ending phone conversations about life in minute details, that we no longer have. Maybe for the wake-up, girl-power sms'es my phone now misses. Maybe for the giant-sized hugs that are no more. Or, maybe just for you. Just for you and all the times we've laughed, giggled, smiled our way through this beautiful, beautiful journey called life.
I want you to know that my life is waiting to make room for you, again. Because the shapes you fill, are the shapes YOU fill. Nobody else, and nothing else compares. Even as strangers, even as friends.. our lives are made for definite roles, in definite moulds.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
It never ceases to amaze me how beautifully our lives and beings ebb and flow, shape and reshape to make room for the people that come, and go from time to time. It is difficult, but wonderful to make room for strangers. To appear as always available. Then, you never know who you can bring joy to.
Of course, as time goes along...with joy comes trials. And, sometimes you lose people you love. Perhaps, it is on a stance of right versus wrong. Perhaps, it is over a trivial issue like time, orwork. Nonetheless, people often part ways. And, then it you began to realize the void, the spaces they fill.
As I write this, I can think of many such people in my life. I want you to know I am thinking of you. Until we meet at the same side of the bridge, you are being missed. Maybe for the long, ending phone conversations about life in minute details, that we no longer have. Maybe for the wake-up, girl-power sms'es my phone now misses. Maybe for the giant-sized hugs that are no more. Or, maybe just for you. Just for you and all the times we've laughed, giggled, smiled our way through this beautiful, beautiful journey called life.
I want you to know that my life is waiting to make room for you, again. Because the shapes you fill, are the shapes YOU fill. Nobody else, and nothing else compares. Even as strangers, even as friends.. our lives are made for definite roles, in definite moulds.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
30X30: November Rain
Secretly, I always hope for rain in November. For November Rain. It always comes without warning. It's always beautiful. And, it always brings an unexpected flutter of joy. Even when it reminds me of nights spent clinging to tear-dried headphones and listening over and over again to Guns n Roses' November Rain.Then, it was about a song that could fill the void. Two years ago it was about a fleeting joy, encapsulated in a piece of poetry. Now, November Rain is about the added dash of joy to happiness. It's about the uplifting in uplift-ment.
November Rain (2007)
And, the rain came down
Slowly; Hurriedly
Lashing against
Now-spent-umbrellas,
Hastily sputtered-up pakodas,
Black taxi-cabs
And neon blue light auto-rickshaws.
Lashing against
Toes stepped upon
by a hundred, frenzied toes
Hands chanced upon
by a hundred, hungry hands
New-found love,
Glances unreturned.
And, the rain came down
Joyously; Hurriedly
Lacing bittersweet cups
of warm tea
Serenading pebbled excuses-
for city-streets
Hurling happiness
Hurtling despair
Twirling, for just an instant,
The little girls
With big black eyes
And rancid hearts
Of never-ever.
And, oh how the rain came down
Joyously; Hurriedly.
[All title credits with the creators of the song that has inspired many. 30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
November Rain (2007)
And, the rain came down
Slowly; Hurriedly
Lashing against
Now-spent-umbrellas,
Hastily sputtered-up pakodas,
Black taxi-cabs
And neon blue light auto-rickshaws.
Lashing against
Toes stepped upon
by a hundred, frenzied toes
Hands chanced upon
by a hundred, hungry hands
New-found love,
Glances unreturned.
And, the rain came down
Joyously; Hurriedly
Lacing bittersweet cups
of warm tea
Serenading pebbled excuses-
for city-streets
Hurling happiness
Hurtling despair
Twirling, for just an instant,
The little girls
With big black eyes
And rancid hearts
Of never-ever.
And, oh how the rain came down
Joyously; Hurriedly.
[All title credits with the creators of the song that has inspired many. 30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Monday, November 09, 2009
30X30: Lullaby
What do you think of before
you sleep, I ask?
Are you angry, discontent
Or, perhaps at peace.
Maybe your lips are
mumbling in prayer
your heart is content.
Are you worried?
Are you bringing the covers
down on a day well spent,
was it a restless day?
Did you feel well,
did you push yourself
are you falling asleep much too tired?
Are you empty then,
or weeping like young lovers
and the forlorn-
are you quiet?
are you turning in to silence
to the sound of music on your headphones
to the sound of his breathing,
or hers?
Is your hand under your head,
wrapped in his, or hers,
or is left hanging, yearning?
do you fall asleep quickly then,
does it take you time? And, when
you wake in the middle of the night,
do you wait awhile?
No, don't tell me how you wake up.
Just tell me how you fall asleep.
And, is there a lullaby?
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
you sleep, I ask?
Are you angry, discontent
Or, perhaps at peace.
Maybe your lips are
mumbling in prayer
your heart is content.
Are you worried?
Are you bringing the covers
down on a day well spent,
was it a restless day?
Did you feel well,
did you push yourself
are you falling asleep much too tired?
Are you empty then,
or weeping like young lovers
and the forlorn-
are you quiet?
are you turning in to silence
to the sound of music on your headphones
to the sound of his breathing,
or hers?
Is your hand under your head,
wrapped in his, or hers,
or is left hanging, yearning?
do you fall asleep quickly then,
does it take you time? And, when
you wake in the middle of the night,
do you wait awhile?
No, don't tell me how you wake up.
Just tell me how you fall asleep.
And, is there a lullaby?
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
30X30: Rickshaws
We are riding past the lights, the waves, the stars that surround Juhu Beach in Mumbai, when my rickshawwala decides to engage in conversation. An interesting little conversational escapade ensues. The rickshawwala politely inquires, "Do people actually win money on television lotteries, on channels like E24?" I answer, "Almost never." Perhaps, I want him to lose his child-like starry ambition. Perhaps, I want to dissuade him from squandering his hard-earned money on lottery tickets. Or perhaps, I am just as cynical as him. As we ride along, his curiosity rambles along.
Why does Sridevi (Who he spotted outside Shoppers Stop in Juhu) have a falling jawline? It must from an injection to help her look beautiful, I tell him. Why do call-centre girls smoke so many cigarettes, he asks me? I do not know, I tell him. And, can his nephew (who is studying in college) join a Call Centre? He must know English, I tell him. He is afraid his nephew's English has a Bhojpuri accent. He is perturbed he is destined to a life of a rickshawwala too. How much is the rent in Mumbai, he asks me? More than in Delhi, I tell him. But, you don't earn as much in Delhi, as you do in Mumbai, he states. I look at him, incredulous. Oh yes, you do, you do!
Not as much as Bipasha Basu, who earns 10 lacs a minute, he reasons. I smile. He goes on to explain how interest on a minutes' earnings, could earn her enough for a lifetime. He tells me about girls in his rickshaw who were going dancing on New Years' Eve. He advised them to go watch Bipasha Basu, he tells me. "But she looks quite simple," he adds. "Even my wife looks better than her. Only thing, Bipasha Basu uses make-up." I secretly hope, he returns home and tells his wife what he thinks.
As he keeps with his tales of city girls, and city stars - he stops to ask me if he can continue to talk. And, a little later, as I alight and pay him my fare, he apologizes if he has spoken too much, or asked too many questions. I walk away knowing I have met a thorough gentleman. One with a Bhojpuri accent, at that.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Why does Sridevi (Who he spotted outside Shoppers Stop in Juhu) have a falling jawline? It must from an injection to help her look beautiful, I tell him. Why do call-centre girls smoke so many cigarettes, he asks me? I do not know, I tell him. And, can his nephew (who is studying in college) join a Call Centre? He must know English, I tell him. He is afraid his nephew's English has a Bhojpuri accent. He is perturbed he is destined to a life of a rickshawwala too. How much is the rent in Mumbai, he asks me? More than in Delhi, I tell him. But, you don't earn as much in Delhi, as you do in Mumbai, he states. I look at him, incredulous. Oh yes, you do, you do!
Not as much as Bipasha Basu, who earns 10 lacs a minute, he reasons. I smile. He goes on to explain how interest on a minutes' earnings, could earn her enough for a lifetime. He tells me about girls in his rickshaw who were going dancing on New Years' Eve. He advised them to go watch Bipasha Basu, he tells me. "But she looks quite simple," he adds. "Even my wife looks better than her. Only thing, Bipasha Basu uses make-up." I secretly hope, he returns home and tells his wife what he thinks.
As he keeps with his tales of city girls, and city stars - he stops to ask me if he can continue to talk. And, a little later, as I alight and pay him my fare, he apologizes if he has spoken too much, or asked too many questions. I walk away knowing I have met a thorough gentleman. One with a Bhojpuri accent, at that.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Saturday, November 07, 2009
30X30: Life
And, sometimes life is so beautiful, it makes you weep. Such a circle of mending, and fulfilling itself. Such a journey of learning, and enriching your being. Such an experience to delight in. I can see joy in the littlest things, make stories out of the smallest, most mundane things. Life's purposes and plans can be entirely enjoyable. Difficult, but beautiful. Beautiful enough to make you weep. Like the sound of the soft blues number flowing into your little blue room.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Thursday, November 05, 2009
30X30:Untitled
I can stare at the sea for hours
We are affluence
watching it from atop
white, endless waves
take me to far away?
I can stare at the sky for hours
Blazing lights all in a line
Airplanes flying furiously
from sky to ground
Don't bring me back, will you?
Let dreams, like waves
find new shores
not frolic like
wastrel children lying on
sand at 1'o clock AM
catching flying ten
rupee notes.
I can stare at their eyes for hours.
Young, forlorn
lost for love.
Spend it unwisely, I almost think,
little one
Just do something that makes
you smile
Do something that makes you
smile.
Another airplane comes roaring by,
Another wave goes galloping away.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
We are affluence
watching it from atop
white, endless waves
take me to far away?
I can stare at the sky for hours
Blazing lights all in a line
Airplanes flying furiously
from sky to ground
Don't bring me back, will you?
Let dreams, like waves
find new shores
not frolic like
wastrel children lying on
sand at 1'o clock AM
catching flying ten
rupee notes.
I can stare at their eyes for hours.
Young, forlorn
lost for love.
Spend it unwisely, I almost think,
little one
Just do something that makes
you smile
Do something that makes you
smile.
Another airplane comes roaring by,
Another wave goes galloping away.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Wednesday, November 04, 2009
30X30: Revelation
As we lingered over cheese crackers and tea yesterday, I realized it is easy to take the good out of everything. To take the acceptable from People. Places. Religion. To accept the things we like. And, to squash it out for the facts that make us uncomfortable, the aspects that aren't appealing to our sensibilities. People. Places. Religion. To weave it into a convenient little mesh of all things that aren't uncomfortable to our selves, and our lives. Bound to get us caught in sometime, somewhere...I reckon.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Monday, November 02, 2009
30X30: The WatchMaker
It would seem as if a city - noisy, ugly, struggling to survive - would be devoid of an honest business-man. Or, at least not without a man unwilling to make an extra buck. But, I found him, I did. Outside a little garage in the West of Andheri, I found an honest WatchMaker. A fair-skinned man of Muslim faith ,sitting to work with a hundred little things that make up a watch.
He sits outside a rickety garage shop, that trades in used articles. His work station is a little table and chair. This minuscule space earns him his livelihood. Each day, he turns repair-man to the many expensive watches that Andheri hands bare. And, the imitation variety too. The WatchMaker, I'm certain can tell the expensive from the inexpensive...the real from the knock-offs.
I go up to him, to fix a watch strap. He is done in seconds, and asks for a sum of a mere Rupees 5/-. I have no change, and hand him a twenty. He haggles with nearby workers for change, but finds none. I tell him to return Rupees 10/-, I know I can afford an extra Rs. 5/- to a Watchmaker. But, he doesn't budge. And, refuses to take the Rs. 5/- even.
I am forced to turn with a repaired watch, and not a penny lost. From the corner of my eye I can see a crisp ten-rupee note sitting on his table. And, a man who chose to be an honest business man. And, not make an extra buck. Oh, Watchmaker, your purity, made my Sunday!
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
He sits outside a rickety garage shop, that trades in used articles. His work station is a little table and chair. This minuscule space earns him his livelihood. Each day, he turns repair-man to the many expensive watches that Andheri hands bare. And, the imitation variety too. The WatchMaker, I'm certain can tell the expensive from the inexpensive...the real from the knock-offs.
I go up to him, to fix a watch strap. He is done in seconds, and asks for a sum of a mere Rupees 5/-. I have no change, and hand him a twenty. He haggles with nearby workers for change, but finds none. I tell him to return Rupees 10/-, I know I can afford an extra Rs. 5/- to a Watchmaker. But, he doesn't budge. And, refuses to take the Rs. 5/- even.
I am forced to turn with a repaired watch, and not a penny lost. From the corner of my eye I can see a crisp ten-rupee note sitting on his table. And, a man who chose to be an honest business man. And, not make an extra buck. Oh, Watchmaker, your purity, made my Sunday!
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Sunday, November 01, 2009
30X30:Simplicity
Tonight,
all I know is
the moon is out,
and, the stars, they carry an answer.
Tonight,
all I see is
vast endless sky
grey for miles, like forever
Tonight,
all I hope is
dreams like light
blaze grey skies
Tonight,
all I need is
your hand like love
to hold me,
carry me,
help me...
into tomorrow.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
all I know is
the moon is out,
and, the stars, they carry an answer.
Tonight,
all I see is
vast endless sky
grey for miles, like forever
Tonight,
all I hope is
dreams like light
blaze grey skies
Tonight,
all I need is
your hand like love
to hold me,
carry me,
help me...
into tomorrow.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
30X30: Of Cities and Hope
And, it would seem then that of all the cities you fall in love with; the cities you love the most are the ones in which you find hope.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Friday, October 30, 2009
30X30: Fragments
Does it bother you that some of the most significant moments of your life are blurs of memories? Like clouds from a time long ago. White, puffy and ethereal. I can catch, remember and savour only fragments of the time. The time that shaped my love for writing. In a dingy, hole-in-the-wall in 4 Bungalows. I was thirteen-years-old. And, my mother had enrolled my sister and me in a Raell Padamsee summer workshop.
I cannot remember the name of the workshop, but I know I have the certificates saved for posterity. I cannot remember the name of the teacher, but I can remember distinctly his black grizzly beard, his youthful exuberance. I can remember looking forward to each class.
And, I can remember my bit-sized, ten-rupee notebook wrapped with silver paper and plastered with stickers. I can remember sheets of printer paper I misused to write stories, because sometimes writing is about the paper you use. And, the size of the font. And, the colour of the pen.
We used to have writing exercises. We had to create stories and use words beginning with a letter of the alphabet. So, one day a story was about Gareth the grizzly gardener, and another day there was a story on the bear who wouldn't bare. The more words you used whilst twisting the plot, the higher your ranking.
I remember secretly hoping for that A plus. Or, that little star. Or, a very good sealed in pink ink upon ruled paper. And, in that little room lost in the dark, with a window for good measure, I remember falling in love with the power of words. The excitement of turning them into stories, and using them, and challenging them.
I cannot remember his name, but I know whom to thank. The man with the grizzly beard, and the encouraging smile. Who led me to write. Of course then on, like anyone who loves what they do will agree, it has been a journey of constant learning and unlearning. But a journey of growth.
Somewhere in the middle, I can remember creating a alternate email address. I held a fascination for life lessons, and I remember sending out Emails to friends with little snippets. This was in tenth grade, and I think I wanted to change the world. With emails. I think of it and smile. I do not have those Emails, but now I wonder if somebody, somewhere does. Ah, time sometimes leaves its trail in fragments.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
I cannot remember the name of the workshop, but I know I have the certificates saved for posterity. I cannot remember the name of the teacher, but I can remember distinctly his black grizzly beard, his youthful exuberance. I can remember looking forward to each class.
And, I can remember my bit-sized, ten-rupee notebook wrapped with silver paper and plastered with stickers. I can remember sheets of printer paper I misused to write stories, because sometimes writing is about the paper you use. And, the size of the font. And, the colour of the pen.
We used to have writing exercises. We had to create stories and use words beginning with a letter of the alphabet. So, one day a story was about Gareth the grizzly gardener, and another day there was a story on the bear who wouldn't bare. The more words you used whilst twisting the plot, the higher your ranking.
I remember secretly hoping for that A plus. Or, that little star. Or, a very good sealed in pink ink upon ruled paper. And, in that little room lost in the dark, with a window for good measure, I remember falling in love with the power of words. The excitement of turning them into stories, and using them, and challenging them.
I cannot remember his name, but I know whom to thank. The man with the grizzly beard, and the encouraging smile. Who led me to write. Of course then on, like anyone who loves what they do will agree, it has been a journey of constant learning and unlearning. But a journey of growth.
Somewhere in the middle, I can remember creating a alternate email address. I held a fascination for life lessons, and I remember sending out Emails to friends with little snippets. This was in tenth grade, and I think I wanted to change the world. With emails. I think of it and smile. I do not have those Emails, but now I wonder if somebody, somewhere does. Ah, time sometimes leaves its trail in fragments.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
30X30: Afternoon
Afternoon then
lulls along
Long hours of incumbent,
angry sun. Sometimes too cold,
or too gradual as wives
await husbands
in houses with curtains.
And, husbands gather
fortunes.
Fortunes often squandered on
afternoon ladies' lunches and deceitful
husband-other woman
siestas
in buildings where lonesome
wayward students flock
to smoke cigarettes
and decipher lust.
Afternoon
when beggars hang around trees
Afternoon
when midday papers reek scandals
Afternoon
when business folk struggle through work
Using paper doodles
And garam adrak chai
And an apple packed from home
to survive.
Afternoon
When sisters evade brothers
and mothers occasionally discover husbands
In yellow light,
across now cleaned hallways
and two-minute telephone lines.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
lulls along
Long hours of incumbent,
angry sun. Sometimes too cold,
or too gradual as wives
await husbands
in houses with curtains.
And, husbands gather
fortunes.
Fortunes often squandered on
afternoon ladies' lunches and deceitful
husband-other woman
siestas
in buildings where lonesome
wayward students flock
to smoke cigarettes
and decipher lust.
Afternoon
when beggars hang around trees
Afternoon
when midday papers reek scandals
Afternoon
when business folk struggle through work
Using paper doodles
And garam adrak chai
And an apple packed from home
to survive.
Afternoon
When sisters evade brothers
and mothers occasionally discover husbands
In yellow light,
across now cleaned hallways
and two-minute telephone lines.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
30X30: Hope
Of late, I've been thinking a lot about hope. A four letter word that threads through our lives, adding a glimmer of light. Allowing us to traverse the everyday trials, the long hauls and the dejection with equal flourish. Helping us through heartbreaks, and aches...through longing and the niggling troubles of loving. Goading us through failures and successes, holding us through friendships that disappear and the ones we struggle to stay. And, even allowing us through simple dismays like the rickshaw that wouldn't stop, the bus that fled away, the burning sun that stays.
What do you base your hope on, I ask? Perhaps, you hope on the sweet promise of love. Or, the ever yielding journey of life. Maybe, you hope on success. Or, maybe you hope on God, all encompassing. I do believe such hope is beautiful. Tell me however, have you lost hope? Have you let it slip away to nowhere, dissolve into nothing? How does it feel? Life must be weary, without hope.
But, with hope life is joyous. Long journeys to seemingly small quests, patience through tiresome arguments, waiting on time itself are all a little easier because of hope. The hope that this too shall pass. The hope that this will teach us, and make us better and stronger. The hope that our love will then be sweeter. The hope that life will soon yield more.
How beautiful it is to hope, I think. And, even more beautiful to hope with joy. To hope through joy. Not a sullen wait on glory, but a smile for a smile. I do hope you always hope.
[ 30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
What do you base your hope on, I ask? Perhaps, you hope on the sweet promise of love. Or, the ever yielding journey of life. Maybe, you hope on success. Or, maybe you hope on God, all encompassing. I do believe such hope is beautiful. Tell me however, have you lost hope? Have you let it slip away to nowhere, dissolve into nothing? How does it feel? Life must be weary, without hope.
But, with hope life is joyous. Long journeys to seemingly small quests, patience through tiresome arguments, waiting on time itself are all a little easier because of hope. The hope that this too shall pass. The hope that this will teach us, and make us better and stronger. The hope that our love will then be sweeter. The hope that life will soon yield more.
How beautiful it is to hope, I think. And, even more beautiful to hope with joy. To hope through joy. Not a sullen wait on glory, but a smile for a smile. I do hope you always hope.
[ 30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
30X30: Jugaad on the Street
Not so long ago, I was working on a campaign that used the Internet to seek out entrepreneurial talent. A part of the project, was a fun segment by a teammate entitled ‘Jugaad on the Street’ that showcased street entrepreneurs from across India. The other night at Connaught Place, I was reminded of this project. I was reminded of the little twist street entrepreneurs give ordinary ventures, and turn successful.
ThePaan store at Connaught Place is a shining example of this. Bustling with people late into the night, the store serves paansof all kinds. There’s Kulfi paan, Chocolate paan, Goondi paan and even Chuski paan. Dished out rapidly, one after another, to all kinds of people. Surrounding the store are workers, collegians, young couples and old families. The smiling man at the store busies himself readying paan, stopping not even to take a phone call. That's in all likelihood from another eager customer.
Of course, you must try the Chuski paan. He hurriedly puts in the basic ingredients that go into a sweet paan. Then, he brings out a slab of ice, crushing it into little crunchy pieces and stuffs it into the paan. Before you can change your mind, he pushes the paan into your mouth…the ice melting just a little after you are jumping from the sudden tinge of cold. It's fascinating to watch new faces delight from the experience, over and over again.
The Chocolate paan is chocolate-y just right, and the Goondipaan is bit-sized and distinctly flavoured. At the cash counter, an old man with a big moustache sits. I wonder who came up with the innovative paan varieties. Could it be the somber old man, or the dynamic young fellow? I am not sure, I realize much later. Even as the cold now lingers in the air, and jugaad finds a way at the tollbooth.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
ThePaan store at Connaught Place is a shining example of this. Bustling with people late into the night, the store serves paansof all kinds. There’s Kulfi paan, Chocolate paan, Goondi paan and even Chuski paan. Dished out rapidly, one after another, to all kinds of people. Surrounding the store are workers, collegians, young couples and old families. The smiling man at the store busies himself readying paan, stopping not even to take a phone call. That's in all likelihood from another eager customer.
Of course, you must try the Chuski paan. He hurriedly puts in the basic ingredients that go into a sweet paan. Then, he brings out a slab of ice, crushing it into little crunchy pieces and stuffs it into the paan. Before you can change your mind, he pushes the paan into your mouth…the ice melting just a little after you are jumping from the sudden tinge of cold. It's fascinating to watch new faces delight from the experience, over and over again.
The Chocolate paan is chocolate-y just right, and the Goondipaan is bit-sized and distinctly flavoured. At the cash counter, an old man with a big moustache sits. I wonder who came up with the innovative paan varieties. Could it be the somber old man, or the dynamic young fellow? I am not sure, I realize much later. Even as the cold now lingers in the air, and jugaad finds a way at the tollbooth.
[30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Monday, October 26, 2009
30X30: Dinner
We are sitting to dinner at Mrs. Sharma's house. Dull conversation lulls the evening along. One tiresome moment, after another. In talking about nothing, we have spoken about everything. Debauched television shows, unending maid woes and our horrid little neighbours. We are seated upon divans from Delhi, overlooking a garden through glass, and munching on salted peanuts from Abu Dhabi. Mrs. Sharma is well-to-do.
Long, winding, uninspiring conversation is bearable amidst such luxuries. Soft, patterned napkins and polished silver cutlery; luxuries my mother never permits. My eyes drift continually to the paintings upon beige walls, to the cracks upon weathered walls. Dinner is finally served.
Piping hot fulkas, sweetened yellow dal and a spicy kobhi bhaji line the table. We savour each bite, eating noisily. Chattering mindlessly. Mrs. Sharma is her usual bustling self. Tall, lanky, gaudily dressed and terribly impatient. She watches me eat, until I can eat no more. And, then she calls out to Puneeta to bring the desert.
Old, dreary, almost shriveled Puneeta walks in to the room. Mrs. Sharma tell us she has been working there for many years. Mrs. Sharma doesn't tell us what an efficient worker Puneeta is. She only goes on watching my mother, and father eat.
Puneeta, however has some dismal news. The sugary, home-cooked dal halwa isn't ready yet. Mrs. Sharma glares at her. Angrily, she asks her why. Puneeta silently walks away. Old, ugly Mrs. Sharma follows her in and begins to scream. And then, suddenly without warning, there is a thud. Mrs. Sharma pulls up her hand, and lands it deafeningly on Puneeta's scarred face. We rush to our feet. Only to remain silent spectators to ten minutes of urban insanity.
Hours later, as I watch the moon, from my white window, I am uneasy. Rage bubbles within me, and spills into nothingness. Puneeta's face wafts through my mind, guilt gnaws at my insides. I am hot, brimming tears...loud, angry sighs all at once. Then, my sobs soften in to a dreamless sleep.
Sometimes, even hope doesn't yield in wretched Shyam Niwas.
[I have a bunch of stuff penned, but haven't been able to put up posts owing to a lack of Internet connection. Will be made up by tomorrow. 30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
Long, winding, uninspiring conversation is bearable amidst such luxuries. Soft, patterned napkins and polished silver cutlery; luxuries my mother never permits. My eyes drift continually to the paintings upon beige walls, to the cracks upon weathered walls. Dinner is finally served.
Piping hot fulkas, sweetened yellow dal and a spicy kobhi bhaji line the table. We savour each bite, eating noisily. Chattering mindlessly. Mrs. Sharma is her usual bustling self. Tall, lanky, gaudily dressed and terribly impatient. She watches me eat, until I can eat no more. And, then she calls out to Puneeta to bring the desert.
Old, dreary, almost shriveled Puneeta walks in to the room. Mrs. Sharma tell us she has been working there for many years. Mrs. Sharma doesn't tell us what an efficient worker Puneeta is. She only goes on watching my mother, and father eat.
Puneeta, however has some dismal news. The sugary, home-cooked dal halwa isn't ready yet. Mrs. Sharma glares at her. Angrily, she asks her why. Puneeta silently walks away. Old, ugly Mrs. Sharma follows her in and begins to scream. And then, suddenly without warning, there is a thud. Mrs. Sharma pulls up her hand, and lands it deafeningly on Puneeta's scarred face. We rush to our feet. Only to remain silent spectators to ten minutes of urban insanity.
Hours later, as I watch the moon, from my white window, I am uneasy. Rage bubbles within me, and spills into nothingness. Puneeta's face wafts through my mind, guilt gnaws at my insides. I am hot, brimming tears...loud, angry sighs all at once. Then, my sobs soften in to a dreamless sleep.
Sometimes, even hope doesn't yield in wretched Shyam Niwas.
[I have a bunch of stuff penned, but haven't been able to put up posts owing to a lack of Internet connection. Will be made up by tomorrow. 30X30 is a series of 30 unrelated posts in 30 days by Gayatri Makhijani and Anuj Gosalia. One post everyday, for the next 30 days. Follow the string here ]
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