Sufi ecstasy... and Kolkata musings

Ooooof! I have been MIA for far too long!! Sorry about that, guys. Kolkata was amusing, frustrating and exhilerating as only Kolkata can be - a once-great city, stuck in a tragic time warp. I love Kolkata with all my heart, but there are aspects of it that drive me insane. The people are wonderful.... and argumentative in the Amartya Sen mould. It's great to interact with as opinionated a bunch as the average Kolkatan. The famous 'addas' have not stopped, and Mamata's antics are avidly discussed over singhadas (samosas, to you and me), mishti and chai (round the clock!). The mighty Clubs of Kolkata continue to dominate social life, with their strange, antiquated club rules (So Brit. So dated). But life is lived most graciously, especially by old moneywallas, like the Sarkars. Lunch at their mansion was just wonderful - winter blooms in the well -tended garden, exquisitely served authentic Bong cuisine on the magnificent mahogany table ( prawn chops to die for, an apricot chutney dripping richness, a delicately flavoured fish pullao, an array of traditional desserts like a pistachio flavoured payesh). Rakhi Sarkar is a remarkably relaxed hostess, while husband Aveek provides the spiciest food for thought!
The debate on, "Is the media misleading the masses?" was a real phataka. I spoke for the proposition since I strongly believe the media is playing a dangerous game and manipulating public opinion, especially irresonsible tv channels that reinforce divisiveness in an already polarised society. Since I was the first speaker, that too on an all male panel (so , what else is new?), I felt slightly weighed down by the additional reponsiblity of opening up the debate on a provocative note. I think I did well (and I am no veteran debater), for the house carried the motion with a show of hands that made my team the winners by a generous margin. Moderated by the British High Commissioner, Simon Wilson, the stuffy old club came alive for an evening of high quality debating skills, thanks to terrific panellists who held their own brilliantly. Rajdeep Sardesai was so emotionally charged up, he almost broke into tears at one point. Too bad his team lost!!
This was my third exposure to the Sufi Music Festival (in its eighth year) at the Horniman Circle garden. It started off a little shakily, with a diffident singer from the Siddhi tribe in Saurashtra, followed by a Turkish performer, a loud and boisterous group from Punjab, an Egyptian group with a melancholic lead singer and ending with the Qawwals, the Ajmeri brothers . There were two crowd pleasers that night, Young Jassu from Rajasthan who plays the desi castanents (Kachra Singh was missing this year) with the Langas, and the troupe from Ajmer, with a flamboyantly dressed leader, who was clearly hoping to be spotted by a talent scout from Bollywood, and why not? Without government recognition or patronage, how does one keep these centuries old traditions alive? But the real treat was reserved for the next night with a mehfil at our friend Javed Gaya's wonderful home. The legendary Warsi Brothers from Hyderabad performed for a select audience of fifty music lovers - and what a performance it was!! My hair stands on end revisiting the evening when Amir Khushro's evocative couplets came alive and for four hours we were transported to a mystical world - another reality, far richer than the one we live. And I thought to myself : this was the Mumbai I grew up in - all-encompassing, generous, tolerant, culturally wealthy, open to influences from far and wide. The mehfil gave me hope. Our host Javed Gaya, is an elegant gourmet and much more. His table was groaning under velvety khichda, kababs, mirchi ka salan and much more (including the famous pineapple halwa). Watching Javed's many friends enjoying his hospitality I felt re- energised and renewed my dream about the old Mumbai - thank God it is not dead and buried yet. It exists . In shrinking pockets that continue to value such ideals in the face of daunting discouragement. Once again, I was back in a refined, rarefied, gracious environment, where a grande dame dressed in antique silk, wearing rare basra pearls,anointed me the ' Shama-e-mefil'. I shall always cherish the compliment!

Kolkata calling

Guys. I am off for the weekend. Kolkata it is. Another wretched flight at a wretched hour. You might have guessed I am not exactly a morning person. Here I am sitting at my dining table blogging away at midnight when I ought to be asleep. I'll be in Kolkata to participate in a national debate organised by The Telegraph newspaper, on media responsibility. Had the topic not been this volatile, I would have gladly passed. But this is the time to speak up. And say it like it is. For whatever that's worth . Most of the other participants are heavy duty 'intellectuals' - Kolkata loves their intellectuals. And every body in Kolkata fancies himself\herself as one. I shall do my very best to be as forthright and honest as possible. I' ll be rushing right back to attend the magical Sufi music festival at the Horniman Circle garden. Just what the soul ordered. Till then.... ciao ciao. Read my lips : No more Rahul. Keep guessing which one I'm referring to!

Big Losss

I had a one point agenda last night. I was determined to watch Bigg Boss and find out for myself what this rubbish was about. I was seriously concerned when a friend whose mind is worth respecting, told me she was hooked! I said, "I don't believe it..." Here was a card holding member of the Power Ladies Club, her Blackberry had become a body part, fused to her being. She checked every ping.... and moved a lot of global money around (all in a day's work) with a click. Why would she watch a dumb show featuring some toad-like men (all the women have been voted out)? Well.... guess what? Come hell or high water, she was hooked to the telly at 10pm every night. I was curious as hell, and surfed channels like mad till I found it. Eeeeeks!! There was a green faced monster on the small screen. It turned out to be Rahul Mahajan with a beauty mask! I wanted to tell him to save himself the trouble..... he doesn't need a mere mask, he requires a head transplant. And this moron is supposed to win one crore at the end of the show?? But that's before I saw the rest. Zulfie is a cutie. He should win - for being cute. The other two are plain ugh - don't know and don't care who they are. Five minutes into the show and I was ready to weep at the clumsy manipulation taking place so blatantly. All that hocus pocus about Rahul quitting because he refused to apologise to the Bigg Boss!! Those grown men (ghodas) weeping and wailing after his exist, yelling out, " I love you, Rahul!" Gawd!!! YUCKKKK!
So, why do people watch the show if it is this bad(I swear it is)? I think it is because they see a little of themselves in those inmates, and wonder how they would behave in an identical scenario.The production values are beyond shabby, and it is so obviously 'staged'. I guess suckers are born everyday. What's the bet that the creepy Mahajan will be back.... and go on to win??? Oh... I met his sensible sister Poonam (she is standing for elections from South Mumbai on a BJP ticket), who wants to come and meet me at home. She must cringe watching her brother on this grotesque show.Must ask her when she comes a-calling....

Francophile - who me??

I have a strange love-hate relationship with the French. Most times, I love them. But somehow, I can't trust them. No special reason. Just an irrational feeling. Like their sudden rediscovery of India. Of course, the connection goes back centuries, and the French liked our 'ambi' motif so much, they promptly renamed it 'paisley' and made it their own. Saroj, my lovely shawl lady from Gujarat, showed me an antique Paisley shawl from France. I told her it was Indian in origin. She knew. And said sweetly, " But we have shared it with the world." I liked her perspective. So generous and honest. Here is a woman whose vast knowledge of pichwais, for example , would impress a serious collector. But looking at her close-to-bedraggled appearance, who'd guess it? She is a complete professional. I respect her mind and expertise.She is also a canny businesswoman..... but in a tough business. Her margins are low. To acquire those exquisite pieces, she has to rough it out and travel extensively from village to village. But she loves what she does. It is a passion. We share that sentiment (and many other), in common.
The same night, I went to a soiree at the French Consul General's beautiful home on the edge of the bay. Francois has movie star looks. His Japanese wife, Mayumi, is porcelain perfect. The two of them are rapidly rising up the social ladder in Mumbai, with their grace and charm. The soiree was primarily for the city's power ladies - eighty of them. Scarey!! Mumbai's attractive Sheriff, and the principal of H.R. College, Dr. Indu Shahani ,and moi, were to share our experiences at the Global Women's Forum , Deauville, with these invitees. One look at them and I decided to keep it short, and keep it simple. They were far more interested in guzzling the decent French wine, nibbling on shrimp...and net -working, than in listening to speeches.It was a good decision on my part ( and Indu's ) to wrap it up in under fifteen minutes. One could almost see the relief on the faces of the women , who promptly went back for refills at the bar. I rushed home for my daily fix of daal chavaal with the family.
The French have their ways. Right now, they want India to buy heavy water from them.Why do you think Sarkozy made it as chief guest to the Republic Day parade early this year?Well, the French are known for their courtship rituals, and right now, India is being wooed big time by them. I am fine with it. I like good strategists. So long as we all know the deal, ki phark penda? C'est la vie. Chin Chin!!

Weekend - what's that??

Sad but true. We urban monsters can no longer differentiate between weekdays and weekends.... the days blend smoothly and meld into a 7 day, non-stop week with zero time off for self.... leisure... chilling. When we are not on our laptops ( I refuse to get a Blackberry), we our frantically texting. It is a disease - I recognise the symptoms.... but realise I am a terminal case. Like millions of others. I rushed to Alibag this morning, and charged back. I was willing to 'save' time and skip lunch. But my daughter Arundhati sensibly decided enough was enough. I compromised and settled for a multigrain chicken salad sandwich (lots of mustard), a mushroom salad , and a wonderful cappuccino at our favourite neighbourhood snackbar, 'Sugar 'n' Spice at the President Hotel down the road. Am I glad I took that break. We bonded, as only mothers and daughters do, or can. Then.... she left to converse in French with Dominique ( Arundhati goes back to Paris in December.... and needs to brush up her Mumbai Francaise), and I drove off to run errands. By the time I got home, Saroj, the Antique lady was waiting for moi. Saroj deserves a book devoted to her . She happens to be one of the most knowledgeable women on textiles. There is little Saroj does not know - from French Paisley shawls to Saurashtra aabhas - both going back a century or so. Oh.... I forgot to mention.... Saroj is illiterate, hard working and underprivileged (money wise). But what riches she possesses, in terms of sheer expertise! She could teach the mighty members of the textile board of India, a thing or two. There is much I have learned from Saroj over the years. I am grateful for her friendship.

Billionaires' Row

Even though we don't have a physical destination like a Billionaires' Row in India, it is interesting as to how many of the top dogs on the Forbes' List, actually live cheek-by-jowl, in fairly close proximity to one another, right here in South Mumbai. The Ambanis, Godrejs and Birlas, for example. The senior biz journo who compiles the Forbes' list happens to be good friend. I know the amount of painstaking research that goes into the creation of this list. Since the latest one is just out, and everybody is talking about how many billions less these guys are worth, thanks to the economic meltdown, it is amusing to monitor the figures in the context of the aam janata's perception of the billionaire phenomenon in India. Wealthy people in the past were called Crorepatis,and before that, Lakhpatis. Raj Kapoor's version of how the rich live in India was the version the common man bought into. Those mansions with hideous stairways in the middle of the drawing room.... the heavy drapes and gigantic arm chairs.... Pran in a velvet smoking jacket chomping on a pipe, women in elaborate sarees perpetually yelling at a Ramu Kaka or a Bahadur, teenagers in pig tails off to play badminton at the club in Cadillac Impalas, breakfast tables laden with plump fruit.... aaaah.... all of this was so very naive appealing and innocent.
Today's aamirlog (Mukesh Ambani has dethroned L.N. Mittal as the richest desi), are poorer by a mere $200 billion!!! So saaaadddd! And the Billionaire Club has shrunk to just 27 from 54 last year. Try telling that to the maali in the garden. Or even the kiraana walla down the road. Why.... try telling that to virtually anyone. Who cares?? Nobody. The mood is different. We are happy the super rich in India have pots of lucre. And may they make much more. But in real terms, whether Mukesh cuts back by not buying the next private jet or yacht, does not directly impact anybody's life. But we sure miss Raj Kapoor's version of indecent wealth in a poor country.

Fire and Ice

Many moons ago, there existed a popular nightclub called Fire 'n' Ice in Mumbai. It met a sad end. Well.... I underwent a traumatic trial by fire late last night, when an airconditioner in the health club downstairs caused a short circuit and started an electrical fire that created acrid, thick smoke which engulfed the entire complex.I awoke with a start at 03.30 am, certain that my own a\c was about to explode ( I live in mortal dread of that happening ). I rushed out of the bedroom to check where the sharp, searing smell of burning wires was from coming from, only to be met by toxic fumes creeping in from a narrow slit under the front door of the living room. I woke up the rest of the family ( and Kiara, our adorable female dog), and worked on an instant plan of action. The stairs were not an option, the elevators are never an option in such circumstances. That left - what?? By then there were three fire brigade tankers, police cars and other security agency personnel hard at work. The smoke was getting thicker and blacker. My eyes were watering and my throat was on fire. My daughter Arundhati was about to faint. I recalled the old fire drill - wet towels under the door, soaked towels covering the face, blankets over the body, and as quick an exit as possible.
That's exactly what we did, gagging all the way. But once downstairs, we were able to better assess the seriousness of the situation (the state- of -the-art health club has been reduced to cinders) and wake up to the reality of how poorly manned most building societies are in Mumbai. No fire alarm was sounded, no intercom alerted residents, no call was made to evacuate the building. Nothing. I find that scarey and disgraceful. In any other big city, residents would sue and claim damages if this was the attitude of irresponsible committee members. Lives could have been lost, property destroyed. What is the outcome here?? Nobody bothers to initiate action. Everybody is thankful, even grateful, about being safe..... being alive. No real investigation is ever done as to the cause of the short circuit. It is business as usual, with neighbours laughing stupidly about how they slept through it!! We call ourselves a megapolis. This building society represents one of the most expensive real estate properties in India. And this is the level of safety, awareness and accountability!
With barely a couple of hours of sleep (no electricity), I had to rush to inaugurate a plants and trees exhibition, now in its 10th year, thanks to the initiative taken by the citizens' association spearheaded by Nana Chudasama - 'I love Mumbai.' My lungs were still burning, as I spoke about global warming and other environmental issues . Sweet irony! But the plants were gorgeous.... and I have fallen in love with a full grown ficus. Determined to go back and buy it, along with a graceful, delicate black bamboo from Kolkata. These are my true friends... they respond to love, ask for nothing, but give everything - like Kiara, and .... and.... oh dear.... how sad.... can't think of a single name!!