At half-past five on Sunday, I walk past a familiar street in Churchgate, where little birds and young-pecking couples indulge. Along the side are some of the city's finest colleges, parked cars, and plush buildings that reek of Mumbai's legacy. I walk past loafers around swanky cars and I reach the cold, welcome breeze of the sea.
Young couples, and big families and old aunts line up on the promenade to watch the setting sun, the collapsing waves; to take in the glorious wind. I'm tempted to join them, but I do not. I accompany some friends to the Tea Centre instead, something I've been wanting to do for a long, long time.
Resplendent with white walls and classic wood work, the Tea Centre holds up quirky posters on it's otherwise bare walls. We savour the many delightful varieties of tea it offers. Flavoured Iced tea, Kashmiri Kahwa, Indian summer tea, Green tea and other exotic blends.
We're in tea heaven, we quickly discover. And, place an order for a light, non-sugary Indian Summer Tea that's as delightful as the sweetened Cherry flavoured Ice Tea. But, they save the most charming for the last, is what we also discover. A sugary hot concoction of apple bits, tea leaves, honey and brown sugar. We are in tea heaven, indeed. And, even more so, when we tuck into scones. Hardened, crusty bread with a dollop of cream and jam, that took us back to days at Mallory Towers.
Our little tea-party ended, and soon we were on the long road to Colaba Causeway. We straddled past heritage buildings, clean streets and a handful of people until we reached a flurry of shoppers and sellers and bright lights at the Causeway market. An hour of window-shopping and walking about later...we were, all of us, ready to brace an all new Monday and the week it brings.
[More Monday Musings here ]
Monday, June 15, 2009
Monday, June 08, 2009
Monday Musings -8
On one charming summer holiday, back in the days when we had summer holidays, my father said to me, "Don't go anywhere without your running shoes." Because, there I was on a glorious cruise boat waiting in line to use the treadmill whilst watching the lovely spread of sun and sea about me, without my running shoes.
From then on, I've always followed his advice. Whether it's been a shopping-and-Thai food oriented trip to maddening Bangkok, a short vacation to the hills of Matheran, a work oriented trip to insipid Chennai, I've always carried my running shoes.
And, so I had them with me on my one day trip to Pune. One day of too many things to do, who would've thought I'd need my running shoes? Oh, of course I did!
We reached Pune at half-past 4, settling into our large room at the Pune Club, overlooking green, green grass. And, by 5'o clock I was in my well-worn running shoes, ready to walk about and explore this magnificent property. A British-style lounge with cane chairs and low-lying tables. A quiet restaurant with courteous waiters and well-cooked food. A large bar that promised Morrison and the Beatles. And, a notice board that advertised Scrabble camps and squash tournaments and cricket coaching.
By all the flurry of the good life, lay a long, winding running track. Tucked away beyond the sprawling lawns, the plastic chairs, and food stalls. I took to my feet, and ran. It had been maddeningly long. Round and around I ran, walking only to catch my breath.
Discovering along the way, quiet minds on benches, shuffling feet on a basketball court, aching limbs at an exercise centre, the young and snazzy at a small gymnasium. Little children outside changing rooms. Sign boards and exercise charts at every nook, and every corner. An even brown path, the wind in my hear, and a dozen other running feet. Discovering so much, and so little of this beautiful, beautiful world.
Won't you take your running shoes and set off somewhere this Monday?
[More Monday Musings here ]
From then on, I've always followed his advice. Whether it's been a shopping-and-Thai food oriented trip to maddening Bangkok, a short vacation to the hills of Matheran, a work oriented trip to insipid Chennai, I've always carried my running shoes.
And, so I had them with me on my one day trip to Pune. One day of too many things to do, who would've thought I'd need my running shoes? Oh, of course I did!
We reached Pune at half-past 4, settling into our large room at the Pune Club, overlooking green, green grass. And, by 5'o clock I was in my well-worn running shoes, ready to walk about and explore this magnificent property. A British-style lounge with cane chairs and low-lying tables. A quiet restaurant with courteous waiters and well-cooked food. A large bar that promised Morrison and the Beatles. And, a notice board that advertised Scrabble camps and squash tournaments and cricket coaching.
By all the flurry of the good life, lay a long, winding running track. Tucked away beyond the sprawling lawns, the plastic chairs, and food stalls. I took to my feet, and ran. It had been maddeningly long. Round and around I ran, walking only to catch my breath.
Discovering along the way, quiet minds on benches, shuffling feet on a basketball court, aching limbs at an exercise centre, the young and snazzy at a small gymnasium. Little children outside changing rooms. Sign boards and exercise charts at every nook, and every corner. An even brown path, the wind in my hear, and a dozen other running feet. Discovering so much, and so little of this beautiful, beautiful world.
Won't you take your running shoes and set off somewhere this Monday?
[More Monday Musings here ]
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Love Letters - 21
We play a game of hide and seek. You hide. And, I seek. Foolishly, I count time until you are tucked away, nowhere to be seen. I then begin to hunt for you, looking for a little help along the way. Eventually, I find you. The happiness is ephemeral. It is time we play another game of hide. And, seek.
We are tired of our familiar game. We sit down to a round of Scrabble. You place your words. And, I counter yours. Our wretched word play goes on for hours. You plot and think and play cleverly. I shoot impulsively, and sometimes beat your score. The scales even. And, then you win. We both lie spent, after three hours lost.
We no longer want to sit still and play. We switch to catch-and-cook. Merrily, often childishly we run about. You chase me, and then I run after you. We’re out of breath, both at once. Our eyes meet, and then we walk slowly, ending the game.
We now play teenage games like Truth and Dare. You are brutally honest. And, I wouldn’t dare. Wouldn’t dare to tell you, I love you. Wouldn’t dare to fight for ‘us.’ Wouldn’t dare to ask you to another game, of another kind.
[ More Love Letters Here ]
We are tired of our familiar game. We sit down to a round of Scrabble. You place your words. And, I counter yours. Our wretched word play goes on for hours. You plot and think and play cleverly. I shoot impulsively, and sometimes beat your score. The scales even. And, then you win. We both lie spent, after three hours lost.
We no longer want to sit still and play. We switch to catch-and-cook. Merrily, often childishly we run about. You chase me, and then I run after you. We’re out of breath, both at once. Our eyes meet, and then we walk slowly, ending the game.
We now play teenage games like Truth and Dare. You are brutally honest. And, I wouldn’t dare. Wouldn’t dare to tell you, I love you. Wouldn’t dare to fight for ‘us.’ Wouldn’t dare to ask you to another game, of another kind.
[ More Love Letters Here ]
Monday, June 01, 2009
Monday Musings -7
My house is abuzz with career conversation. My sister is awaiting her 12th grade results, and spending her time thinking about what career path to choose. The Indian Education system being the way it is, requires you take the decision at the young age of seventeen. Of course, there won't be any harm if you make the decision later. But then it may also mean you haven't best utilized your years of education. My sister therefore worries and stresses, analyzes and over analyzes, hoping to make the right decision.
And, so she frets over whether to take up Law, or Commerce, or Economics, or Psychology, because the decision must be made. We try to help her, but we know only so much of her mind. At this stage, we are as clueless as her. What will she enjoy studying? What will she excel at? What does she have the aptitude for? These are some of the questions we cannot exactly assess answers to at this stage.
To make an informed decision, we talk to people. I quickly realize we live in a generation of people, who often make the right decisions, for the wrong reasons. Students choose educational courses for eventual salaries,for the course popularity and for future acceptance into a good university. Of course, financial security is an important factor. But, somewhere, I believe we're all losing the plot.
My father looks back at his time, and marvels at how things have changed. He believes, sadly so, we no longer have the time, or the luxury to make a wrong choice. This only furthers the stress whilst making a decision. Which is why, perhaps, I'd like to share what I've come to learn.
That, decisions are difficult. Decisions, any kind of decisions, are never easy. And, the truth is no amount of advice, and knowledge, and goodwill will help you take the final plunge. Because, in the end it has to come from you. And, how does it come from you? I believe at the final straw, when you have analyzed the pros and cons, one factor distinguishes the 'Yes' from a 'No.' And, that's passion.
Passion, that may now exist only as a little thread running through your life. But, passion that will drive you to take that plunge, and more importantly make the most of that plunge. I think I will tell my sister today, to leave everything aside, and find that thread. Because, it is there, even if she does not yet know. We've all been made of it. I've come to realize that, on this magnificent Monday.
P.s. Tell me what you think, I'd like to know. More Monday Musings here ]
And, so she frets over whether to take up Law, or Commerce, or Economics, or Psychology, because the decision must be made. We try to help her, but we know only so much of her mind. At this stage, we are as clueless as her. What will she enjoy studying? What will she excel at? What does she have the aptitude for? These are some of the questions we cannot exactly assess answers to at this stage.
To make an informed decision, we talk to people. I quickly realize we live in a generation of people, who often make the right decisions, for the wrong reasons. Students choose educational courses for eventual salaries,for the course popularity and for future acceptance into a good university. Of course, financial security is an important factor. But, somewhere, I believe we're all losing the plot.
My father looks back at his time, and marvels at how things have changed. He believes, sadly so, we no longer have the time, or the luxury to make a wrong choice. This only furthers the stress whilst making a decision. Which is why, perhaps, I'd like to share what I've come to learn.
That, decisions are difficult. Decisions, any kind of decisions, are never easy. And, the truth is no amount of advice, and knowledge, and goodwill will help you take the final plunge. Because, in the end it has to come from you. And, how does it come from you? I believe at the final straw, when you have analyzed the pros and cons, one factor distinguishes the 'Yes' from a 'No.' And, that's passion.
Passion, that may now exist only as a little thread running through your life. But, passion that will drive you to take that plunge, and more importantly make the most of that plunge. I think I will tell my sister today, to leave everything aside, and find that thread. Because, it is there, even if she does not yet know. We've all been made of it. I've come to realize that, on this magnificent Monday.
P.s. Tell me what you think, I'd like to know. More Monday Musings here ]
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Love Letters-20
As I sit here, I wonder where I found this silence. I wonder when my heart turned so still. So still, it had lost the will. So still, it found no words. So still, it would no longer fight. So still, it would no longer leap, and jump, and throb and seek. So still, so quiet.
As my mind wanders, my thoughts drift. I think back at when I learned to love. And why, and how, and why ever not? I think back at the magnificient red bus I climbed on to one summer morning. I knew then, I was in love. I think back at the dingy little restaurant, we first met at. The night I wondered, how immense is this love.
Now, I wonder why. Now, I wonder why my little heart leaped, my mind ticked, and time allowed love. I wonder why my heart burst into noisy chatter, so soon, so suddenly. Why, it could never pause to reason. And, most of all I wonder why it turned so quiet, so still.
Because, when I sit here, my heart longs to whistle. To talk, and write, and love, and anger, and loathe. But, it sits so quietly...so afraid to say too much, so unsure of saying so little.
[ More Love Letters Here ]
As my mind wanders, my thoughts drift. I think back at when I learned to love. And why, and how, and why ever not? I think back at the magnificient red bus I climbed on to one summer morning. I knew then, I was in love. I think back at the dingy little restaurant, we first met at. The night I wondered, how immense is this love.
Now, I wonder why. Now, I wonder why my little heart leaped, my mind ticked, and time allowed love. I wonder why my heart burst into noisy chatter, so soon, so suddenly. Why, it could never pause to reason. And, most of all I wonder why it turned so quiet, so still.
Because, when I sit here, my heart longs to whistle. To talk, and write, and love, and anger, and loathe. But, it sits so quietly...so afraid to say too much, so unsure of saying so little.
[ More Love Letters Here ]
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The City of Dreams
I do not know his name. But, I know him well. I know him by his face. Browned with many Indian summers. I know him by his hair, black, flopped to the side. By his insipid white shirt, bought off a wheel cart by the station. And, my eyes follow him as he walks unsure down the path littered with people and stones, leading up to Platform Number 5.
His steps pick up pace as he nears the platform. From a distance, I can see a brown, dusty train speeding in. Hurried customers at newspaperwallas leave transactions mid-way. The blind man pauses his sweet, summer song. And, the chaiwalla abruptly stops stirring, as if to salute the train just rolled in.
And, a thousand feet clamber up the train. Some, climb to its roof. Many hang on to its door. And, some sneak in to the luggage compartment without luggage. The healthy occupy the coach for the diseased. A couple men find place in a compartment reserved for women. They are angrily pushed out of the train.
In minutes, the platform empties. Except for the stray passenger running, a lone bangle-seller standing by the pillar, there is no one. The train begins to move. Announcements crowd the silence. And, as the train just about leaves...last minute commuters are held up, onto the train. Familiar faces help each other, make it in time. Arms flailing from the door, helping a set of running feet and outstretched arms into the train.
My man, the man I know, but do not know, is among them. He is streaking across Platform Number 5, hoping to catch the train. His legs are making fast, rapid steps...his hands are outstretched, waiting to be held. I know him well, and I know he is not a familiar face.
As the train rolls out of Mahim Junction, he stands there defeated. Nobody helped him up the Churchgate bound train. His shoulders fall. His head hangs low. Another broken dream fills Mumbai's sultry air. The train picks up speed, another dream drifts into the distance. Never to be held again, never to be dreamed.
His steps pick up pace as he nears the platform. From a distance, I can see a brown, dusty train speeding in. Hurried customers at newspaperwallas leave transactions mid-way. The blind man pauses his sweet, summer song. And, the chaiwalla abruptly stops stirring, as if to salute the train just rolled in.
And, a thousand feet clamber up the train. Some, climb to its roof. Many hang on to its door. And, some sneak in to the luggage compartment without luggage. The healthy occupy the coach for the diseased. A couple men find place in a compartment reserved for women. They are angrily pushed out of the train.
In minutes, the platform empties. Except for the stray passenger running, a lone bangle-seller standing by the pillar, there is no one. The train begins to move. Announcements crowd the silence. And, as the train just about leaves...last minute commuters are held up, onto the train. Familiar faces help each other, make it in time. Arms flailing from the door, helping a set of running feet and outstretched arms into the train.
My man, the man I know, but do not know, is among them. He is streaking across Platform Number 5, hoping to catch the train. His legs are making fast, rapid steps...his hands are outstretched, waiting to be held. I know him well, and I know he is not a familiar face.
As the train rolls out of Mahim Junction, he stands there defeated. Nobody helped him up the Churchgate bound train. His shoulders fall. His head hangs low. Another broken dream fills Mumbai's sultry air. The train picks up speed, another dream drifts into the distance. Never to be held again, never to be dreamed.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Monday Musings - 6
On a bright Sunday afternoon, running down a bustling Mumbai bylane is a scrawny, 22-year-old girl. Her face masked with fury, she is struggling to keep pace with a moving white car. I watch her till she catches up with the white car...hurling abuses, banging the car window, running after the car. And, then I turn into the lane to my house...leaving behind a trail of bewildered onlookers.
My mind is in many places. And, my heart breaks for this young girl. Who was the driver? And, what brought her to such anger? How is it that we can let ourselves go, so easily?
And, how is it that in some cases, it takes so much to let ourselves go? Let me tell you about the Caferati Mumbai Chapter's Readmeet on Saturday. Only thirteen of us turned up. It was my first time, and seeing how incredible this session is for writers and non-writers alike... I wish there had been more of us.
The Readmeet began with a round of introductions. Then, each of us read out a piece...and everybody took their turns to comment on our work- good, bad and ugly. The evening wound up with a generous serving of creamy chocolate cake and warm croissants. All this in a lovely garden...the sound of a waterfall in the background.
Considering the distance, I almost didn't go for the Readmeet. But, on my way back I began to think of how often we let these excuses get the better of us. Perhaps, it is time we start letting ourselves go...in the right direction. At the Readmeet too, I was afraid to read out my own poetry. But, I did. And, the thing I came back home with was just how marvelous it had been to shed my inhibitions.
I knew then, I wanted to share this feeling with the world. In this world that busies, buries and excuses itself with the mundane...it takes so little to let go. To break free!
[More Monday Musings here ]
My mind is in many places. And, my heart breaks for this young girl. Who was the driver? And, what brought her to such anger? How is it that we can let ourselves go, so easily?
And, how is it that in some cases, it takes so much to let ourselves go? Let me tell you about the Caferati Mumbai Chapter's Readmeet on Saturday. Only thirteen of us turned up. It was my first time, and seeing how incredible this session is for writers and non-writers alike... I wish there had been more of us.
The Readmeet began with a round of introductions. Then, each of us read out a piece...and everybody took their turns to comment on our work- good, bad and ugly. The evening wound up with a generous serving of creamy chocolate cake and warm croissants. All this in a lovely garden...the sound of a waterfall in the background.
Considering the distance, I almost didn't go for the Readmeet. But, on my way back I began to think of how often we let these excuses get the better of us. Perhaps, it is time we start letting ourselves go...in the right direction. At the Readmeet too, I was afraid to read out my own poetry. But, I did. And, the thing I came back home with was just how marvelous it had been to shed my inhibitions.
I knew then, I wanted to share this feeling with the world. In this world that busies, buries and excuses itself with the mundane...it takes so little to let go. To break free!
[More Monday Musings here ]
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