personal

Rahul and I

This entry was posted in media personal on by (updated 3589 days ago)

Ok, the title here isn’t the Asha Bhonsle album. It could probably be the title of the picture I got shot with Rahul Bose (no, it’s not appearing anywhere here). But before I describe that foolishness here, here’s some bhoomika. On 7th April was Kitaab fest in IHC and the main reason why I wanted to go there was because one of my favourite most authors – William Dalrymple was participating. He’s a wonderful writer and is the sole reason behind my sudden interest in Indian history. Textbooks could never do what he did with a couple of books of his. I had written a review of the “City of Djinns” a year or so back and I wanted to write about “White Mughals” but then let it be. I’m currently reading “The Age of Kali”. The immense desire to meet WD in person and to be able to talk to him, was enough for me to slog in the week so as to be able to take leave on Friday. People got quite flabbergasted when told that I took leave for “this” event and that too when I am not even a writer (well not with critical acclaim at least), journalist, critic, random media person and am instead a software person. Of course the other attraction was Rahul Bose who I think is one sane actor and last but not the least, he blogs too!

The morning of 7th saw me get up quite early so as to make it to IHC at 9am from Gurgaon. I shouldn’t have made that effort because I made it at 10am and was greeted by a hall which was absolutely empty with not even the ghost of a program lurking nearby. Shortly William Dalrymple arrived and started setting up the projector with his slides for the reading of his new book – The last Mughal. I didn’t have any problems in procuring seats in the second row, right in front of the stage because the hall was fairly empty. The program started when Rahul Bose arrived “fashionably late” (in the compere’s own words). The book reading by WD started with a gusto but got converted to a sleep inducing murmur in some time. The chilling AC anyhow made me feel like curling up in a blanket and sleeping. William Dalrymple and Rahul BoseI somehow managed to keep myself awake. William Dalrymple appeared to be the bonhomous and affable guy next door. He tended to stretch on with his reading, quite unaware that he was doing so. This thing of being oblivious to it all, is what lent him a non-starry air. After the session, Rahul Bose asked him some questions related to the apparent change in the amalgamation of the British and the Mughal cultures, over a period of time. He also talked about how history takes shape by word of mouth or how it would be for our coming generation because of the difference in our perceptions and the things which are recorded down in history books. That is something I have always found rather interesting. It has also been highlighted quite well in the Da Vinci code.

One of the advantages of sitting right in front was that I could minutely see every expression of Rahul Bose Rahul Bose in deep thought(some of which I captured on my cam). I suddenly felt all school girlish about a celeb being there right in front. I also felt silly for feeling that, since clearly no one else treated him like a celeb except for the NDTV, CNN IBN and Tehelka guys. For a moment I even did the admittedly shameful thing of giving him the attention Rahul Bose with a faraway look in his eyesI had initially reserved for William Dalrymple. But in spite of all this I knew that I wanted to get a picture clicked with him. So I waited patiently till most of the “bees” had stopped buzzing around him and then I asked him if he would mind getting a pic clicked with me. He acquiesced and pictures happened. He instantly rushed out, before I could even utter a thanks, with some autograph mongers trailing behind him. That made me feel rather foolish for having given “bhaav” to a celeb. As it is, he doesn’t get a chance to get his picture clicked with me everyday.

After the WD & Rahul session there were several interesting discussions with eminent South Asian and British writers as the panelists. By this time I had exchanged my seat for a row which was way back in the hall so as to facilitate easy exit. Around lunch time when the discussion got rather boring, I thought of exiting the hall. Just as I reached the cornermost seat next to the aisle, a thought bubbled up in my head. It said, “What if I were to fall right now. This whole area looks rather precarious.”. And somehow that’s exactly what happened. My thoughts translated into reality with me wondering whether I had had a premonition or something! I had twisted both my ankles quite badly. More than the pain in my ankles, I was quite shaken up by the happening as I had actually been cautious and ended up falling. I had a feeling that for a split second there, I had hogged the limelight from the panelists and perhaps the whole hall was looking at me. I quickly did what I was in the process of doing viz. exited the hall and then collected myself. The pain wasn’t that much in the day but by evening I was beginning to walk like a wooden legged pirate. Thankfully I wasn’t driving as I had company. It took a day for the twisted ankle to get ok by using a painkiller and a muscle spray. As a result I missed the 2nd day at IHC when Goldie Hawn had to talk about her book. Since this “twist in the story” happened, I was also unable to get William Dalrymple’s pic clicked with myself. But I had managed to run into another celeb. Suchitra Krishnamurthy had a painting exhibition ongoing at IHC. And do these celebs make some dough or what! Her paintings were in the range of 2.5 Lakh + 12.5% VAT! If someone is as foolish as to leave buying a good enough car and buys a painting done by Suchitra, then he actually deserves that painting. I didn’t expect her to be there, but there she was, wearing HUGE goggles that looked like Mickey mouse’s ears, asking me whether I wanted the rate list. After taking the list I realised that it was her. I actually used to like her in her Lakme ads, but here she looked like a cartoon.

On the 3rd day of the Kitaab fest, I visited IHC for the sole purpose of meeting WD, talking to him and possibly getting a picture taken. The panel debates were rather interesting and engrossing. Soon enough William Dalrymple got free. He looks pretty much at home in cotton kurtas and all. I went and talked to him in bits and pieces with myriad “bees” buzzing around him from time to time. He even started greeting me with a “hi” everytime I pinged him, ignoring all the news channel dudes! Was I pleased or what! I also learnt that he lives right here in Gurgaon (Kapashera border to be precise). I talked to him some more and our conversation ended when eventually the picture titled “William and I” happened. A very unique and well spent weekend.


By the moon and the stars and the sky

This entry was posted in holiday movie/play/event/book review nostalgia personal photography on by (updated 1976 days ago)


The prominently evident flavour last weekend can be described in one word – spontaneous. After seeing a rather pathetic movie which finished at 1:15am and ended up giving me a headache instead of laughs, it was time to freshen up a little. I digress, but here’s a one word review of Malamaal weekly – “bakwaas”. This important event of “brevity in its real element” having been put aside, I shall now proceed to describe the wonderful spontaneity that ensued.
1. I wanted to see the sunrise in the hills since long now.
2. I have been to and lived in, various Jhumri tallaya corners of our country but never Rajasthan/Jaipur.
3. If I am awake that late, there’s no way I can get up by the time sunrise happens. Except if I never sleep to begin with.

Put 1, 2 and 3 together and you know what followed. After a quick “camera-jacket-sneakers-cassettes-water bottle” pickup, we were on the Jaipur highway by 2am. Well, practically I am on it every single day at least twice, but this time the destination was not yonders.

So off it was, with some breathtaking Kandisa in the middle of the night. Eerie moonlightI have said it earlier and I say it again. ‘Kaun chaday roz yeh sooraj, pawan kaun phoonke’ echoes just the sentiment I had at that time. The mesmerising moon followed us everywhere. It was almost full and there were no clouds. Everything was bathed in the full moon light. After the first toll check, small little hills began dotting the landscape. In the milky whiteness of the moonlight, all of them seemed even more pristine and untouched. Venus, shining brightSome attempts at taking the moon’s pictures got thwarted because of the sheer luminosity of it. I had been much more successful earlier the previous weekend while attending an Indian classical music concert in Nehru park, when the moon had bashfully peeped out from under the clouds. Kandisa soon gave way to Roxette. The darkness soon gave way to an eerie blue sky. At 4:30 am we stopped and had some adrak chai from a dhaba. All this, while Venus was shining brightly in the night sky. It’s a strange feeling, this exploring in the darkness business, while the world sleeps. It unites one with nature, just a little bit more, than what one would be in the daytime. It all seems to be one’s private haven, one’s private adventure, one’s private magic show. In the morning it would be there, but it would be for everyone. That is magical yes, but special – no.

Soon the milky whiteness of the night began giving way to orange hues in the eastern corners of the sky. The western corners were however unconcerned with whatever was happening on the opposite end and retained the same look. Lots of kilometers and trees went past. Finally we stopped again, just as the sky was beginning to glow a ripe golden. I tried a panoramic shot which I later stitched together. The most fabulous golden sunrise wasThe panoramic sunrise just *about* to take place along with a big moon against a blue sky, just about to vanish away like the cheshire cat’s smile. The ripple of clouds spread above the sun like a natural quilt, only enhanced the colours more. While I took a series of shots to create a panned panoramic shot, I could see the sunrise taking place in a different frame (than my camera’s) and the sun actually coming out from behind the hills as if golden butter floating its way to the top in a pan. The opposite end of the sky was of course still drowsy and birds lazily flew along, carrying wisps of brightness with them. The fabulous sunriseWith the glorious sunrise witnessed, we inched our way towards Jaipur.

On the outskirts of Jaipur is Amer fort, built atop a hill. Since we didn’t have much time to spare, we knew this would be the only “Jaipur” we would be able to see. So off we went spiralling up the hill with “Kuschel Rock” giving us company Shall we dance?over music. Never before had I realised that hills are so close to Delhi! This fact itself quite pleased me. The place was absolutely scenic and full of greenery as well as lots and lots and lots of peacocks. There were entire peacock families moving about calling out to each other. It reminded me of my childhood when my sister and I also used to go “Keyooon” along with the peacocks in ChandiMandir and they would reply back with equal enthusiasm. We spotted a lot of peacocks Stretching by the moon!dancing too. Soon we came to a clearing from where the splendid view of the valley below was visible. Wisps of cloud hung in the air over the town and over the palace in the middle of a lake. Typical Rajasthani stuff. We reached the gates of the Amer fort soon but there was nobody to greet us except the longtailed long..err.. langoors. They made quite a picture, perched on a tree against the fast vanishing moon. The fort would have opened at 9 am and we were already there before 7am. But with enough of happiness and smugness collected for one day, we set back towards Delhi.

I drove on the way back, with speeds between 120-140kmph. Glisten carefullyMore smugness followed. I promptly earned myself some ma-behen gaalis like “Michael Schumacher kee maa” and “Narain Karthikeyan kee behen”. But in the end, nobody can ignore true excellence and I got a compliment on my excellent driving skills when we landed in Gurgaon by 11:30 am and promptly went to 32nd milestone for a brunch. Surprisingly I wasn’t drowsy even after a night out and eventually slept after 36 hours. All in all, a great funfilled weekend which I shall always cherish for all times to come. But this wouldn’t have been the same without my friend who actually was spontaneous enough to get up and go all the way to Jaipur in the middle of the night, who was patient enough to stop and watch each time I felt the urge to click pictures, who let me drive his car, and who also listened to entirely my choice of music. For all this praise that I am showering on you, I am sure next time you would let me visit Chowki dhani and let me buy some nice mojris too :p.


Barbie girl 1

This entry was posted in blank noise personal social on by (updated 1976 days ago)

“You can brush my hair, undress me everywhere“..”kiss me here, touch me there, hanky panky“. A lot of guys think that’s what women are for. Writing a post on such issues like the ones that blank noise project (which incidentally got mentioned in boingboing too) covers, had always been on my mind but never did that earlier, because I never wanted reactions amounting to martyrdom, like “oh you poor thing, you had to go through so much”. I am glad I wrote, nevertheless. No, not because I had to vent it all out or that it would be cathartic. I didn’t need to do that. Those things had been purged by my mind a long time ago. And all women learn to do that eventually. They block out such memories in their entirety and lead their lives as if nothing happened. I am glad I did it because of the kind of reactions that I have received from people, many of whom are male. I anticipated that almost all women would be writing similar stories (and actually I was sick reading the same stuff). What I didn’t anticipate was that most men are completely oblivious of the “magnitude” of the situation. I am glad that this series had them enlightened (read “shocked” in their own words).

I am also hoping that it would have definitely helped many women realise that they aren’t the only ones going through this. Everyone and I mean every single one has to go through exactly the same shit. I also hope that women actually learn to “raise their voice” (literally) against it. I noticed that some of us felt “dependent” on men. I would like to point out that largely everyone in the society is dependent on each other for some reason or the other. But dependency to the extent of not being able to go out to a movie or a mall or to the market, unescorted, is pure crap. I know women (not child women but grown up adults) who can not even cross the road on their own without someone holding their hands! I know women who need “company” while going to the loo because they are scared (of the dark or of the loneliness, only they would know)! It irritates me to no end to see people perfectly capable of taking care of themselves (and others at that), being so dependent on others for such small little things. May be it’s because they have been sheltered all their lives and the reason for that would be the kind of experiences women face here. It’s a vicious cycle of sheltering and dependency which only leads to further dependency. It needs to be broken by the *women* themselves, by realising that dependency to some extent is unavoidable but it is only by breaking that mental dependency that they would learn to take care of themselves. This is the only way they would ever be able to get the strength to get back at the people who are largely the reason for such harassment on the streets, in public places and even in one’s own home.

In this country which has such high female infanticide rates, and has all kind of discrimination against the girl child, I have been fortunate enough to get a good education and parents who don’t have such a mindset. But I see several others who are as fortunate, still stuck mentally in a rut which makes them feel “helpless” and “dependent”. Just taking up a job and being a working woman is not called being “indpendent”. Independence stems from one’s own mind. There are females who can not take a single decision independently. Not for others and not for their own self. Whether or not it’s life altering, doesn’t matter. Taking someone’s opinion or consultation is definitely good, but having someone else take entire decisions for you is different. I know women who are grown up adults and can not get themselves from point A to point B all by themselves. Whether Point A is their own home and Point B – their next door neighbour or the Louvre in Paris, it doesn’t matter. They are not limited physically or monetarily. Mentally is the only way they are. I stay alone in the same city that my parents stay in (though it took me a year to convince them to be able to) and I do it because I *can* and want to, and not as a solution to any problem. I am tired of repeated clarifications (most of them, to women) to inconsequential stuff to the effect of, “I do NOT get scared of the dark or for that matter spiders, rats, frogs, lizards and what nots”, “I can take care of myself”, “I can run the house independently”. My only (of course unsolicited) advice to such “oppressed” women would be to wake up and stop being “Barbies” themselves. Only then can they expect others to NOT treat them as the same.


Take a vow 1

This entry was posted in blank noise personal social on by (updated 4511 days ago)

As I sit down to write for the blank noise blog-athon, I wonder where I could begin. Should I start chronologically from the age of 7, when a man servant felt me up in places I can still not get myself to write down? Or should I go ahead to the age of 14 when a guy rubbed himself into me in a not so crowded bus in Nepal, all this when my parents and sister were in the same bus, but I didn’t dare to move, for the sad reason that at that age, I didn’t know how have the guts to react in that kind of a situation. Or should I just jump past all those daily experiences of men feeling me up, pushing themselves into me in public transport, or staring at me or winking at me or passing lewd remarks or pinching my butt or singing songs or throwing balloons at me every damned holi or autodrivers offering me “lifts, jahan bhee jaana ho” or cars stopping by when I am walking alone on a main busy road, following me for some time, assuming that I am on sale or “boys” aiming small paper pellets at my butt or men hitting my butt by driving too close to me while I am walking my dog or guys speeding on a bike hitting my chest so hard that I almost fall with the sheer force (apart from the shock)… I am out of breath already and this sentence doesn’t even seem to be anywhere near ending. Maybe I should just land up at the incident which happened at some new year party when I was 16 and at that age, like everyone else I had the humble desire a young girl would have – that of being asked for a dance (not even a ballroom dance, it just a jam session). Little did I know that the request for a dance was a pretext for masturbation in a public place with the guy trying to make me fondle his dick. By that age, I was thankfully not so ill-equipped in terms of presence of mind (had enormous experience of such incidents by now) and I shoved him away with all my might. But till this date, only one person on this planet knew about it and she actually thought that I had imagined it all, since guys in those social circles are supposed to be “decent”. Nothing really “harmful” (this term is so damn subjective) happened then. I tried dealing with that incident in an adult manner (in my mind i.e.) so that my self esteem didnt get hit (“did I really look the cheap variety or did I look the “unable to do anything variety” to attract the wrong guys” kind of doubts).

There are ways and means to tackle that colleague who talks to your breasts or that elderly relative who pretends to be fawning over you but is actually lusting (you can always tell). Of course, one needs to weigh ones options and actions a little bit keeping in mind all odds. One does not go ahead and take pangas with a gang when one is alone. But one can definitely be alert and quick (not just physically but mentally as well).

There has happened a particular incident of ballooning where the guy made the mistake of being visible while throwing the balloon. He happened to work at a local barber shop, which I immediately stormed into and gave him a piece of my mind and some of the choicest abuses I knew. A guy there (a client) egged me on to give him a tight slap as well. I quietly ignored him since I didn’t want the situation to get so heated up and that guy seemed to be egging me on just for kicks. I cant say that what I did, would have made the ballooning guy stop it for his life. But it’s always best to bring the “situation” into notice. The fear of embarrassment is enough for some to at least think twice about it next time. There was another guy who tried brushing past me on a main road while I was waiting to cross it. The whole damn road was empty, but he thought that he would have a piece of my butt before I reached the other side. That guy was unaware that he was going to get the shock of his life. Though I felt like killing him, I merely held his collar with both hands and shook him so badly that he didn’t know what hit him. He tried running for his life, but he couldn’t. I was surprised with my own grip. Eventually he managed to pull off and ran for his life. It was only when everything was over and done with, that the “crowd” asked me what happened and if he was trying to snatch my purse.

There are umpteen such situations in everyday life and they would perhaps never end. Not only is it difficult to try and give such sick men their due, it is very much a difficult thing when you are left in a doubt about the intention of someone. At times things happen accidentally and unintentionally too. But at most times they are obvious enough to be brought to public notice. Even if the “crowd” does not react (and only watches) one should definitely make sure that one does not ignore it. In public transport one can always request ppl politely to stop pushing or plainly to stand a little away. The way one does it makes sure that even the ones who did it accidentally aren’t offended by your request and the ones doing it intentionally can not just go scot free. When it happens repeatedly in spite of polite requests, it’s time to stomp that high heel onto his foot or to shove ones elbow into his balls.

The best way to actually try and reduce something like this is to spread awareness amongst women that they can actually protest against it. I have grown up watching things happen to me and around me and even though I knew it was wrong I didn’t know what to do about it (till some point in my life). One needs to ignore minor happenings but one also needs to make sure that the ones which can be avoided, are. Things can get as ugly as molestation of ones own children or marital rape. There is no dearth of the levels till which harassment can go. Be aware, be prepared, be alert and be proud to be a woman in spite of the shit that happens.


Time machine

This entry was posted in delhi personal photography on by (updated 1947 days ago)

Who needs a time machine when one has one’s imagination to ride on? And a “ticket to ride” is provided by the immense heritage that is all around. On Sunday I attended, one of the India Habitat Centre organised “History Walks”. I had been wanting to attend one since years, but somehow I would always miss the opportunity or I would not be able to drag myself out of bed at unearthly hours on Sunday mornings. This Sunday however saw me determinedly see to it that I at least go and take a peek at what the concept of history walk entailed. It had been quite some time since I had gotten up as early as 6:30 am on a Sunday. This used to happen more in childhood, when we would get up early even on sundays, so as to get ready, eat breakfast and be free by the time “Rangoli” would get aired at 7:40am on good old Doordarshan. For, after that initial kickstart, the whole day used to be a non-stop, funfilled, TV affair and not a single kid I knew would miss it. If one didn’t get the hurdles like bathing and eating, aside, before Rangoli started, they would stare at you in your face when it would be siesta time. Anyhow, this is not about that personal history called childhood. This is about the history walk conducted by a historian who took us around Qudsia bagh, Nicholson Cemetry and other late Mughal and British areas around Kashmiri gate.

So here I was, after waking up at that unearthly hour on a Sunday morning to boot, with “project hairwash” aside (it *is* a project with complete planning, execution and maintenance), on my way to Masonic club, Jamuna road. I managed to reach there in time, in spite of hardly having seen this part of Delhi, ever in my life. Whatever is left of Qudsia Bagh, is apparently inside Masonic club. The majestic gatewayThe greater part of the garden was destroyed to make way for Inter State Bus Terminal and the adjacent tourist camp site. With the newly built metro in place, the Kashmiri gate station is nearby. The moment one enters Masonic, it seems one has come to a different Delhi. The place is abuzz with activity, fortunately of the birdie kingdom. There’s a lot of cacophony around which somehow doesn’t cause discomfort. No, it’s not because of the traffic from the nearby busy Ring Road and ISBT. It’s caused by the innumerous birds flapping, shrilling, singing, screeching and generally being “natural”. The place is full of tall trees, and the seeping rays of the morning sun make it look picture perfect.

About 25 people gathered around the historian Swapna, as she explained the history behind the imposing western gate that we saw next to us. Some people were taking notes, some listening in rapt attention, some preparing for photo-ops and still others like me, perhaps trying to imagine what it would have been like in the days of yore. Qudsia Begum (originally Jodha Bai or something similar which I forget now) The mosquewas the wife of Mughal emperor Mohammad Shah. She got the garden built in the 18th century (1748 to be precise). It comprises of a baradari, a private mosque of the emperor and his wife, and some gates. A small stream used to cross the garden and join the Jamuna river which used to flow just next to the garden. The stream has long been blocked and has stagnant water now. The Ring road stretches over what was once the Jamuna’s river bed. Once inside the garden, devoid of all the noise of a big metropolis, it’s not difficult to imagine a paradise, with a clean Jamuna, flowing by, right next to that green patch. After the 1857 mutiny, the British moved their battery and troops here and bombarded the Kashmiri gate. One of the smashed arches of the mosque, bears a signature of (maybe) a cannon ball that hit it. The British eventually took over and the result is a mix of colonial and mughal architecture. The British also established Civil lines, which was the centre of British administration before the new capital was formally inaugurated. The Old Secretariat, now the seat of government for the Delhi State administration and the Oberoi Maidens Hotel The Oberoi Maidens hotelare some of the colonial buildings that stand from those days. “Civil lines”, to this day, is a name associated with a very posh locality, wherever it exists. With all this history in mind, we walked around the Qudsia Bagh stepping into centuries long forgotten and gone past. The baradari is a curious mix of British as well as Mughal architecture. It reminded me very much of some of the army barracks (converted to officer’s accomodation) that I have stayed in. The mosque is functional even today. The gate looks majestic and one can imagine a queen coming here in full splendour to enjoy the flowers and the fruits of this garden. Apparently the emperor and his family used to come here often on picnic and were accompanied by an assorted array of servants and guards. Things were obviously done in style those days.

After exploring Qudsia Bagh we stepped back into modern times and the hustle bustle of this city called Delhi. The motley group of people (some of whom are regulars) walked towards the Oberoi Maidens to see the 100 year old, relatively lesser known hotel, apparently frequented by Jinnah when he was here. The Nicholson Cemetery, nearby, was named after John Nicholson Nicholson cemeterywho led the British troops that fought the mutineers in 1857. It happens to be Delhi’s oldest cemetery. As we stepped into the neglected cemetery, it was time travel in another century for us. The British may have ruled this land for a long time, but so many of them also have a “deeply rooted” past here. Lots and lots of graves, with some of them belonging to war casualties, some there as a result of prolonged illnesses, and still some belonging to very young children; Bhoot bangla?speak of the low life expectancy rates in those days. The average age of the dead happened to be very low. This cemetery is right behind Kashmiri gate metro station. After getting a dekko and reading some of the moving epitaphs, we all dispersed. The flitting in and out of time periods, and trying to capture some of the “present”, has certainly whet my appetite for more.