Bombay- Another Gujarat in the Making

As is common knowledge, Bombay’s Shivaji Park was recently sullied by Narendra Modi’s presence. Unfortunately, Bombay didn’t think so. The turnout of people, hanging onto every word of his speech was phenomenal. The Park was packed, with people standing on tiptoe for a glimpse of the despotic mastermind behind the Gujarat genocide. As depressing as the outcome of the Gujarat elections was, the Shivaji park incident was worse in a way. It was an ugly reminder of how the cosmopolitan city of Bombay is no better than a village in the Panchmahals. A not-so-subtle hint to the Muslims of the city, state and country.
Cut to my ongoing house hunt. A couple of days ago, I had seen a rather nice place in the same building that I’m staying in right now, which I was interested in renting. I spoke to the landlady who was reasonably pleasant, showed me the apartment, offered me some furniture and even offered to have a carpenter come in and fix some stuff before I moved in. And then, today, when I was about to go and pay them a deposit, her son retracted the offer. My confusion was natural and I immediately asked my friend to get in touch with the broker to see what had suddenly gone wrong. No prizes for guessing the reason. It was the realization that I belong to the hated community, of course.And this from cultured, educated people who share their building with Muslims. From people who will put on their Versace and Jimmy Choos for parties, sip Dom Perignon delicately while discussing politics and the “Plight of a Minority Community in India.” A quick detour into the past followed, when I remembered my grandfather telling me how, many years ago, when he and my grandmother wanted to rent a house in Ahmedabad, they were subjected to exactly the same treatment, except then the discrimination was more blatant, and not as subtle.My brains were scrambled, and there were hundreds of thoughts and feelings darting about. One of them was particularly depressing, made more so by the truth of it. Whatever we, as individuals do, to uphold fairness and justice, we cannot enforce it. No matter how many rules we make, or how many provisions we provide, its not enough. And no matter what impact we try to create in our “own little ways,” the larger picture remains unchanged. We can straighten lines in the picture, perhaps add a drop of colour to a bleak portion, but when looked at in totality, the picture remains the same. No matter how many books are written, films made, constitutions changed….the ugliness is inherent and here to stay.

…….And Idealism gives way to Cynicism…..

I suppose the best we can do is to rescue ourselves; and not allow ourselves to sink into the mire- because God knows; this country is neck deep in it!

Homeless in the Hinterland

So as a sequel to my post on Bandstand, here’s the unhappy piece of news- my landlady, in keeping with her unpredictable, cranky ways, has decided that I must leave her apartment and find a roof elsewhere.
Thus started the search. 100s of phone calls to friends, brokers, acquaintances and other people who fit into neither of these categories. All the brokers I was in touch with last year have been mobilized again, as well as a bunch of new ones.
Why is it so hard, you ask? Well, if there is one thing that is synonymous with Bombay, it is the lack of space. “Squeezed”, “cramped” and “pigeon-holed” are words that immediately spring to mind. Logically, the consequence of this is that Bombay doesn’t have as much housing as it needs. And if you are particular about location, well, quite simply put, You’ve Had It! Yesterday I saw three apartments after work. One was in a gully leading from a main road, in a building with an elevator so precarious, I was tempted to take the stairs to the 7th floor, and consider it my workout of the day. However, not wanting to hurt any feelings, I got into the lift and tried to think about the dream flat that undoubtedly awaited me after that ordeal. Hmm…well, I was assured that there would be a fresh coat of paint, a spring cleaning, and new furnishings. “What about the screaming children on either side of me?” I wanted to ask, but bit my tongue. And then the final touch was delivered. “No boys are allowed late at night, ma’am”, informed me the broker. Right. It was time to move to the next one.
The next apartment which had been advertised rather attractively; was in a village. I kid you not. Yes, it’s located in Bandra, but from what I understand, the area’s called Chuin village. Just getting there was quite an experience. The village lies off Ambedkar Road, one of the respectable localities in Bandra. We were happily cruising down the nice, wide road, when suddenly; the rickshaw-waala turned into an almost-invisible gully, and entered what can only be described as a labyrinth. Maze after maze, gully upon gully, until we reached the attractively advertised apartment. Apart from the fact that it had an Indian loo, ceilings so low that one of the brokers, who was all of 5’8 suffered a rather nasty knock on the head, mainly due to his excitement in trying to figure out what a particular appliance lying in the bedroom was, it was passable. At one point, all four of us were standing thoughtfully around the object, helpfully throwing up suggestions.
“A.C. hoga- dekhiye, madam, A.C. bhi hai.
“Arre, nahi yaar, yeh heater lag raha hai.”
“Arre, bhaiyya, yeh hai kya?” (my friend in a plaintive tone)
“COOLER! COOLER! Haan, madam, yeh cooler hi hai!” (barely able to contain his excitement at this point, at having cracked it!)
Giggle giggle giggle. (Me- blame it on a temporary bout of insanity caused by stress)
And the third apartment- again, in a shady gully, off a main road that’s being dug up (I wont even begin to try and imagine the chaos that would reign during peak hour here), the apartment was what in Bambai-lingo is called a “converted 1-bhk”, which means its basically one large room, where a makeshift enclosure has been made to accommodate a “standing kitchen” (again, a Bombay term which means the kitchen is too small to sit in). Louder than our voices in the apartment, was the sound of traffic below. But what REALLY sealed it was the fact that the place had been done up in tacky peach tiles (with brown tile flooring), with pictures of rivers flowing and standing trees painted onto the wall. Shudder!

Yep- I think I’m going to be homeless very soon. I need as many crossed fingers, prayers, horseshoes, lit candles, turkish eyes…whatever it takes…as I can have!

Happy New Year!

This New Year was so wonderful; a fitting end to a marvelous year. 2007 had been exceptionally good to me…even the unpleasant moments coming together to yield some goodness in their wake. After a spell of a couple of mediocre years, 2007 made them all worth it.
And then there was Bhowali. I went to Bhowali with a bunch of friends and family to bring in the New Year away from the madness of the cities. And what a good decision it turned out to be. Bhowali, situated in Uttaranchal, about 11 kilometers south of Nanital, is the perfect location for a quiet, yet eventful holiday. Getting there took us longer than expected, because one of the cars in our convoy kept hiccupping, but in the spirit of the holiday, it was all taken calmly, with everyone munching on sandwiches, chocolate and steaming glasses of chai while waiting for the mechanics to do their job. And once we got there, it was well worth the trouble. Our evenings in Bhowali were my favorite part of the day, spent listening to music, playing board games, watching movies, or chatting while sipping on glasses of red red wine- all huddled in front of the fireplace. Or perhaps visiting friends who’d had the same brainwave as us, and escaped to Sattal to wrap up their year. Days were spent driving around to various places- Almora for the views of the magnificent snow-capped Himalayas, Nainital for shopping sprees, the forest area to supervise the mountain house my mother is in the process of building, and also some temple visiting at a heritage site.
Mornings were lazy, beginning with large hot mugs of chai in the backyard, with views of the mountains in the distance and feeding our Bhutia dog her morning quota of biscuits. Breakfasts were always enormous; we were ravenous enough to consume large proportions of eggs, bacon, baked beans, toast, and juice each morning. After which we’d skip down to the cars for the outing planned for the day. Afternoons were usually out- picnic lunches were a special favorite with all of us.
The thought of ending this perfect holiday and returning to Delhi/Bombay was such a depressing thought that in the end we all stayed two days more than planned. And then it was time to head back to Delhi. The couple of days I spent in Delhi were fantastic too, but when compared to the sheer beauty of the Bhowali trip, it paled substantially.
Hopefully the coming year will be as kind as the one past was…with many more such holidays peppered in between. Cheers to that!