Narendra Modi Chronicles....

My Taj!

This appeared in Asian Age / Deccan Chronicle today....

                      Narendra Modi ki Jadoo…

Lit Pests and Lit Fests go hand in hand. That’s what makes it so much fun. I do hope some well meaning idiots don’t try and sanitise these literary carnivals anytime soon.What’s a Lit Fest without at least one juicy controversy? While the just concluded Sahitya Utsav in Agra was relatively calm (the thick fog and biting cold dulled our senses somewhat ), some of the sessions did get pretty heated – thank God! At mine, the ‘N’ word ( Narendrabhai) came up repeatedly. Vani Tripathi, one of  Narendra Modi’s national level general secretaries, set the ball rolling by extolling her political boss’ many virtues. This was a couple of days before his ‘Ab Dilli door nahi’ visit to the Capital. Assembled invitees on the grounds of the DPS school, cheered her on and clapped each time she pointed out some khaas achievement of Modi’s. Initially, I was a bit stumped. We were in Yadav land. Mayawati’s shadow was also omnipresent. And yet, there were more taalis than gaalis for Modi. Something significant had obviously changed. And changed when no one was looking. Modi is suddenly kosher!It’s okay to praise him in polite company. It’s okay to talk about him as the next Prime Minister of India. It’s okay to nod approvingly when people point to the progress in Gujarat and give Modi sole credit for it. Hardly anybody brings up Godhra. And even if someone does ( as I did), people’s eyes glaze over and then it’s back to singing his praises as the only dynamic, progressive, results-driven leader in the country. As the man who delivers ( but… what?) .As a chief minister who has transformed his state and given a global vision to his people. Gujaratis themselves sound smug and super confident when they speak about Narendrabhai being the next prime minister ( “Choukkas thassey!”). It is almost a given. Now , Modi is being compared to Nehru! Sweet irony. Where does that leave Nehru’s great grand-son  -  Rahul Baba ? If even his legacy and lineage are going to be smoothly hijacked and snatched away, what will our Dimpled Darling fall back on?

Perhaps that is the whole point. Maybe Modi’s A-Team has come up with a simple strategy -  strip the rival off the only attribute he possesses ( an accident of birth), appropriate his birthright ( dynasty still counts), and leave the poor man shivering in the unseasonal rain in Delhi. Brilliant! Modi’s  managers have been hard at work rebranding the firebrand. That’s a pretty tough assignment, given Modi’s history. But after convincingly winning his third term as Chief Minister, Modi and his crew are on pretty strong ground. It is Modi’s time now, they insist. With his proven track record as an able administrator, Modi is the one who should rightfully claim that coveted kursi. For his part, he is shrewdly making all the right noises and moves. His much quoted reference to the half-full, half-empty glass has gone down well with the media. Never mind the hot air ( come on… it was a pretty manipulative analogy). But what has really stumped his critics and foes is the new assertiveness vis a vis Delhi. Modi is not playing coy anymore. He is out there, stating his ambitions straight up and doing so in Hindi, not Gujarati. His Hindi, in any case, is far better than Rahul’s  ( let’s not embarrass Sonia by bringing up hers). And Modi has obviously worked hard on improving his rashtra bhasha. The effort is paying off. It is the first vital step he has taken to let the others know he means business.And his business has now relocated to Delhi.

Today, Modi is no longer viewed as a political pariah. His jadoo is working. Of course, the knives are still out for him. His personality is such. But even his harshest critics are willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. This is unbelievable! The same man who was called the Butcher of Godhra not so long ago, is being feted and felicitated, not just in his own State where he enjoys the absolute support of hard core followers, but increasingly in Delhi, too. It’s a fascinating story to monitor and chronicle. Its narrative involves all of us. How has Modi managed the switcheroo so seamlessly? Is it by design or default? Are we that desperate for change? Do we have such a short memory? Is Modi’s much touted efficiency winning over morality? What has happened to our earlier reservations and concerns? All thrown out of the window? How and why?

The answer is obvious. When someone says, “I am willing to settle for an era of benevolent dictatorship under NaMo rather than suffer the weak leadership of  a well- meaning but dumb Baba,” it’s a remark worth paying attention to. So, we are prepared to accept a man whose track record has blood on it, over a naïve new player who earnestly swears to serve the country but doesn’t discuss specifics. Rahul’s sweet and innocent speech in Amethi  made hardliners laugh. Modi’s aggressive emphasis on development, on the other hand, is winning him new converts every day. In such an atmosphere, the country’s votes are up for grabs… who knows, a mysterious new Khiladi may appear on the scene out of nowhere and leave both these men ( Modi and Rahul) standing open mouthed at the gatepost. If that does happen,fans of  Rahul Gandhi will be pained to see him drifting into oblivion as a kati patang.But Narendrabhai’s supporters will have nowhere to hide. Paradoxically enough, both men are wooing the desi youth and projecting themselves as Youth Icons. More than any other mission statement they might make, what is needed on a priority basis is a definition of ‘Youth’. Remember, India’s 8^th Prime Minister Chandra Shekhar was referred to as a Young Turk, pretty much till he died, aged 80.   

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Yes. He was finally hanged. Afzal Guru. Why did we wait this long? Politics of convenience and timing. Two evils do not virtue make!   

In VOGUE...

This appears in the current issue of VOGUE....

I should have listened to my mother. I wonder how many women of a certain vintage are saying the same thing across the world right now. I reckon, countless. Most of us have finally found the courage to admit we screwed up. And screwed up bad.The bald truth is, we never ever did have it all. More fool us for thinking we could. That’s the old story. What of today? What now? I look at my daughters as they rush around most weekday mornings, hanging on to a half-drunk mug of strong coffee. Sometimes, they leave home without their faces fully on. Seeing my startled expression (of course, I don’t utter a word…. not at that hour) , they wave an efficient looking mini pouch at me. Aaha – the magic bag of tricks – make-up basics. Despite my better sense, I yell after them (retreating backs are so depressing  for moms), “Be careful with the mascara wand….you could damage your eyes in a moving car.” They blow a quick kiss and rush away. I am told this is how it’s done. By zillions of working ladies across the world. They can take master classes in applying professional quality make-up (no smudging), in assorted modes of transport, from Mumbai’s autoriks and overcrowded trains, to cabs with maniacs behind the wheel.  Some of these accomplished women can also use the rear view mirror to draw the perfect lip line as they self-drive.

Welcome to the world of  Mad Women, where the only rule is to score ( not what you are thinking). And maximize every micro-second of  one’s waking hours. Never mind the consequences. And the consequences are pretty scary.Ta ke something as simple as eye contact. Is there a law against it? If not, why doesn’t anybody make it any more? Has it been declared politically incorrect to greet people by actually looking up from the device gripped in one’s hand – from the  i5 to the latest generation of something that hits the market from somewhere – generally Taiwan? The dreaded ‘C’ word is no longer ‘commitment’ but ‘communication’. There is no time for it. And when there is no time for something…anything… it generally means there is no need for it, either. Imagine. We are in an age in which we can reach even the man on the moon via a smart gadget if we want to, thanks to the technological tsunami.And yet, we refuse to reach the man in our bed! No amount of tecchie expertise can replace the compelling power of a pair of eyes meeting another. Of a ‘no-agenda’ cuddle….or kiss.If that’s not happening, it is indeed a loss worth mourning. Same goes for touch. We touch keys of keypads… but not one another. We make love to our latest gizmos, but go to bed alone. What are we afraid of? Or has ‘aloneness’ become the new ‘togetherness’? I see more single people (men and women) in their forties than ever before.They insist they are doing just fine. Are they, really? Then why aren’t they smiling? Dumb question.

Is an ‘island’ existence what we want? A life of isolation – even in a crowd? Young women I talk to sound confused, even worse, they sound hostile.They rave and rant against everything. Nothing is good enough.What are they seething over? Oh – does it matter? It’s about safety, they insist. Explaining emphatically, just as you can never be too rich or too thin, you can’t be too safe. Look at what happened to Pallavi, they point out. Pallavi Purkayastha being the bright, beautiful young lawyer who was brutally killed by the watchman of the building she occupied, in a flat she shared with her live-in partner.That ought to have been the wake-up call for urban women across India, for whom life has become a daily challenge of just staying alive! Rape, molestation,stalking, acid attacks, kidnapping, and several other forms of torture and harassment are the new realities that have become the ultimate barometres of a severely skewered and frighteningly dysfunctional society, unable to come to terms with a rapidly shifting social landscape in which women are the drivers of change. With all the other signs of emancipation and progress in place, we are still living in a country that does not factor in basics for women in the work force – enough toilets. Or any toilets at all! The corporate bladder has affected the health of more women than the dreaded dengue. Fact. Go check!

 So, in a sad and resigned mommy-way, I do get the angst and permanent scowls I observe around me. But that doesn’t stop me from yearning for long forgotten smiles and twinkling eyes!Whichever way one looks at the problem, it boils down to safety. Physical and psychological safety. Women simply cannot take safety for granted any longer. It is an issue we are not comfortable talking about, since it seems ‘old fashioned’ and wimpish. Women who whinge about personal safety are mocked and worse, excluded. Shut up and put up, they are told. Or get left behind. I was talking to a sharp investment banker in her mid-thirties, who had deep worry lines between her brows. She looked harrowed and pre-occupied at her own dinner party, in her own ( heavily barricaded and  cctv secured) home. I wondered why that was so. It was a great home with spectacular views. She had a staff of three full timers to look after her. She was dressed impeccably, perfectly groomed, with an enviable gym toned body. Add  to that a cute boy friend who she said gave her the best foot massage ever. Then? She sighed, took a big swig of her Merlot, and confessed she was just tired all the time. Bone tired. Her day started at 6 a.m. with a personal trainer. After that it was boom,boom, boom, often till 11 p.m. when she got back to her fancy pad, only to crash in an exhausted heap…common story. Most of us hate admitting it, but what we need even more than love… is sleep! Something so basic and yet so under- valued. We have trained ourselves to keep going well after our poor bodies are crying out pathetically for nothing more exotic than a firm bed and a soft pillow.

Are we, as contemporary women, being a bit too hard on ourselves? The truthful answer is an unambiguous ‘Yes’. God knows which and whose idyll it is that we are chasing, but it’s simply not worth it, if the consequences are an alarmingly early burn out. It seems perfectly insane to be pushing ourselves this relentlessly in order to win some vague badge of approval – generally from other women caught in the same trap. We keep talking about the work-life balance. We attend seminars and lectures that provide advice on how to get it right. But nobody has cracked the formula so far. I watch young mothers who burst into tears at the smallest crisis. These same ladies are on top of the game in the office. They are described as ‘power women’ in opinion polls. But they become powerless in an instant when faced with a domestic situation,  which is no more alarming than the baby’s maid taking a couple of extra days off. Instant panic! Meltdowns on an epic scale. It is eventually the approval of their female peers they crave for (“If she can do it all and have it all, why can’t I?”). The thing is, nobody has it all. Often everything comes apart overnight. And a crisis doesn’t always issue a warning. Our emotional resources are so damn depleted, we feel diminished if the ‘back present’ given to invitees after the toddler’s party, aren’t posh enough for some of the snooty moms present. We allow ourselves to feel rotten over being caught carrying last season’s ‘It’ bag. Or if our family holiday is to Coonoor and not Cambodia. The social pressure to host the classiest soirees and wear the chicest designer wear is destroying more relationships than we care to admit. Competition has become the new killer. Along with the desperate  need to conform and be counted in a very crowded field.

So what should today’s woman do? What are the coping mechanisms that could help her to feel better about herself, her life, her choices?What does she have to give up in order to lead a more stable existence? Does she necessarily have to give up something in the first place? Do men? The answer might surprise you. If women have it bad, so do poor men. If women are struggling to make peace with the multiplicity of demands and expectations society imposes, so are men. One just has to take a look at some of the more evocative TV commercials that make a comment on changing attitudes within family. The ones that bring an instant smile to the face are those that evoke a charming sense of nostalgia. Ads in which women are projected as soft, caring, sensitive creatures looking after the needs of a family with love and tenderness. The men in such commercials are equally old world. They come home bearing surprise gifts ( solitaires,  keys to a new car) for their dutiful wives , who smile and hug the husbands, their eyes brimming over with gratitude. I am a complete sucker for these shamelessly sentimental commercials myself. Who wants to be Superwoman?At least, in  my book, the answer is pretty obvious. Given the choice, I’d rather be my mom. She was so much happier.

Super fabulous launch of Kareena's Style Guide

That's the Diva herself in all her stylish glory! And that's my sweet Diva, Arundhati with her favourite movie star. Arundhati says she can drown in Kareena's radiance! 

I guess our Penguin guys are too shy to say anything as effusive, but their expressions tell their own story. As for me, as a newly minted publisher, I couldn't have asked for a better launch pad for my first title. Everything came together so smoothly - the fabulous Shangri La venue, the guest list, the Moet, and of course, the Diva at her stylish best ( Tom Ford, in case you are wondering!)

Who wants to be Mrs.Salman Rushdie No.5?

 All four images are from Jaipur. The ones on top are with Rajmata Padmini Devi. She had graciously invited me to lunch at her residence - the magnificent City Palace. I was completely disarmed by her innate simplicity and quiet grace. The others in the picture are Sunanda Tharoor and Hemali Sodhi. The beautiful boy dancing in the courtyard of the Palace Cafe speaks a lilting version of English, Italian, French and German. The cops in the last picture were there to thwart protests in the wake of the Asish Nandy controversy. As you can tell, it's a pretty motley crowd of hired 'protestors''.

 Oh.... for all those who want to know about our strange footwear in the earlier post, it's a disposable covering that one wears in order to protect the pristine marble of the Taj.

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This appeared in Mumbai Mirror.....

                                  Who wants to be Mrs.Salman Rushdie…?

 So…. who wants to be the next Mrs. Rushdie? Dumb question! Do I see quite a few raised hands out there?Yup. I do, indeed.Across the world and certainly here in India, there are any number of gorgeous young things who’d love to be Salman’s missus number five. Paradox or what? Let’s take a good look at Salman, ladies. Let’s try and figure out what makes him so damn irresistible to women. It can’t be his looks  (Salman is the first person to laugh about those). It isn’t about his money. I don’t know his net worth, and I am pretty sure he has done well for himself. But, let’s face it, Warren Buffet he ain’t.He is not even a Ruia or Dhoot. He  is well…. Salman Rushdie. All hooded eyes and sardonic smiles. A man who has a way with words and women. That’s quite a feat. Words… that’s easy, he is a brilliant writer. No debate. Women? Oh oh…. different story. Rushdie at 65 is hot! Madly hot.  Sure, he is seriously out of  shape ( gymming is for wimps, not geniuses – got that?) But he is also seriously irresistible. Sir Ahmed Salman Rushdie ( knighted in 2008), serial husband,  is also the original Cerebral Sizzler. Best served garma garam.

I watched him gamely go through the mandatory motions while promoting his movie ( make no mistake - ‘Midnight’s Children’ is unambiguously Rushdie’s film). I figured he was trying to keep himself awake and amused as he repeated a spiel that by now must be coming out of his ears. This is the least fun part of any creative endeavour – the hard sell and road show. Salman must be well aware of the boring drill which involves flogging the poor chap from city to city, country to country. He is the movie’s brand identity and trump card . No Salman. No interest. The book is 32- years- old. The original Midnight’s Children who so loved the book, are now paunchy, complacent, middle aged grandpas and grandmas. The current generation of readers ( I am told they do exist!) has moved on to ‘higher ground’ ( Salman’s favourite phrase). Grey matter is restricted to appreciating fifty shades of  that depressing colour. And yet! There he was, sportingly playing to the galleries, those observant hooded eyes checking out the fawning crowd invited to the Little Theatre by Anil Dharker.  As if on cue, he performed his set piece, chortling at an anecdote here, an off the cuff joke there. Dead pan humour and wry wit, perfectly in place.  Wait a minute – I got it! The key to Salman’s spectacular success with the ladies is definitely linked to this one trait -  his awesome sense of humour. Bas. You may say there are so many funny guys floating around. Do women necessarily want to bed and wed them? Naaaah! But just look at Salman’s enviable track record. Forget Johnny Depp ( Salman’s joke about him is brilliant). It is our Salman who’s the asli super stud. The man who makes women weak with desire. But… desire for what? His fame? Umm. There are countless men a hundred times more famous.His brain? Well, a good brain is attractive. But … I guess that’s not the  only part of a man’s anatomy women seek under the sheets.  Could it be his bad boy reputation? That’s a turn on, for sure. Most good girls are absolute suckers when it comes to naughty guys. But then, going by just that, there should be a long queue of  lusting ladies lining up outside Arthur Road jail.

The last time I met the Rushdie  was  at a small dinner in Mumbai when the luscious Padma Lakshmi was not yet his missus. Forget her eyes, she could barely keep her hands off him! She kept gushing, “I don’t see enough of my boy friend.” Salman seemed pleased to bask in her adulation while she draped herself all over him and posed for photographs. Padma is an ex-missus now. And Salman is single. Very single. At this stage in his life, I am guessing he is ready to try anything… or anyone. What does he have to lose? With his devilish charm and devastating wit, Salman may just make it to the list of the world’s most eligible bachelors. Never mind the girth. He is the Jack Nicholson of the literary world. At once magnetic and entirely impossible. Women just lurveee that! More fool them.

We were just so lucky!
The Taj was shrouded in a thick fog.... and there were over  40,000 visitors present! But thanks to the kindness of Mr. Janoo, and the local police commandant, we were able to see the magnificent monument in the most meaningful manner. It was rushed, yes. But it was worth every single micro-second. I had just finished my talk at the first Taj Lit Fest - a Sahitya Utsav. It had gone brilliantly. I had signed countless books and noted with a certain amount of glee that Sethji had sold out in the first half hour. Nothing could keep me away from the Taj now! We rushed there in a convoy of police cars - now I know what a lal batti experience means! And spent the next two hours just gazing at the overwhelming beauty of this unreal looking monument to eternal love. It is at once tragic and uplifting.
Then, it was time to hit the sabzi mandi and shop for potatoes.... you do know Agra is known for its spuds??? Sadar Bazaar shopping followed.... I could not resist the stylish red boots selling in a gully, right next to the famous chaat wallas of Agra! I paid 800 rupees for them!!! The boot makers of Agra create leather shoes for some of top Italian brands. I guess what makes it to the thelas are seconds or surplus items. Do I really care?? Puss in Boots is all set ! More pics coming up once I upload them.
Let it be said that for all of Mayawati's evil ways, she has created an Expressway that is by far the best in India.

India: Republic of Hate and Nightmares...

This appeared in Sunday times yesterday

                        India :Republic of  Hate and  Nightmares… not Ideas.

Ban this. Ban that. Intimidate.Scare.Browbeat.Disrupt.Destroy.

 We are living in deeply troubling times. The Republic of Ideas…. Dreams… Imagination… has been replaced by the Republic of  Hate and Nightmares. Which is why it is important to address this missive directly to the individual who is  hell bent on  pushing the hate envelope still further.

Dear Mr. Intolerant  -  Disrupter of  Peace,

I write this with anguish in my heart.  It took just seven days and four nasty protests to establish your credentials as the ultimate cultural rogue.Sadly,the weakened (and wicked) State has meekly surrendered to your bullying and threats. You have picked your targets well. Ashish Nandy,Kamalhassan, Salman Rushdie and Shah Rukh Khan. High profile… but soft and vulnerable. You decided to ‘teach them a lesson’.You nearly succeeded. It happened because we let it. Because we went on the defensive. We explained ourselves strenuously…provided alibis and excuses. But mainly because we surrendered. Too easily.Too soon. And allowed you to trample all over us. Yes – it has become an ‘Us Vs. Them’ siege, unfortunately.Why did we back down so  fast? There lies the sad tale. It has to do with several factors – all of them valid. Age and frail health ( Asish Nandy). Commerce and connected considerations (Kamalhassan). Heightened sensitivity ( SRK). Or plain fatigue ( Salman Rushdie ). It has come to such a ludicrous point that soon creative communities across India will be forced to quietly shut shop. And worse – shut up. That is precisely what you want.

The irony of this ghastly situation isn’t lost on anyone. Check this out - most times, the angry mobs ( led by people like you) are composed of people who do not read, write,draw,sing, act,paint… or even think. Books are judged by a bunch of  illiterate goons who may never have held one in their hands. Movies are condemned by those who have not watched the film they are demanding a ban on. Art is dismissed by philistines who have never stepped into a gallery. Speeches are damned by those who don’t know any language – except the language of abuse. In such a hostile atmosphere, artists, writers, painters, movie makers, musicians and thinkers are pushed into a pen…. threatened, gagged, brow beaten, intimidated. Their crime?They possess an independent mind.

Why is Kamalhassan threatening to quit India and seek exile in a more tolerant environment?Why is he compelled to convince his “Muslim brothers’’ that his film is pro-Muslim? Why is Asish  being dragged from one tv studio to the next asserting , “ I have always been a champion of the Dalits’ ? Why should SRK have to play the martyr over and over again and wear his patriotism on his sleeve? Why is Rushdie still hunted and hounded?

 Mr. Distrupter, you know the answer.

 As of now, you are calling the shots in this ongoing battle for Freedom of the Mind. Your corrosive antipathy towards what is foolishly called the Liberal Threat, is winning the war so far. Intellectuals are crawling when they needn’t even stoop.Soon public platforms will be effortlessly hijacked by your types – narrow minded, vicious people. “Religious thugs” indulging in “cultural terrorism” to borrow Rushdie’s evocative words. You and your ilk, who are nothing but two paisa  hirelings of  local politicians, appear determined to exert control over  carefully  nurtured vote banks . That is precisely what has led to an outbreak of cultural goondagiri parading as moral policing. People can see through such humbug. What do you want to hear? Hypocritical, gratuitous remarks? Would it make things any better if our intellectuals were to start every public discourse with salutations like : “My Muslim brothers…my Dalit sisters….  my Tribal children?” Your recent ‘triumphs’ should not give you false confidence. In the prevailing Chamcha Culture that defines political life, you may have succeeded in terrorizing a few.  But be warned  - this is a fight that goes beyond personalities.Or even expeditious politics. It is not just about Asish, SRK, Rushdie or Kamalhassan . This is a fight for freedom. Absolute freedom. Zero compromise freedom. Freedom of  ideas… and  the  vibrant expression of all that is diverse in our complex society. As guaranteed by our Constitution. Lathis can stop crowds but not thoughts. Dissent is our birthright.And we shall have it. Just you watch!

Bebo's Style Bible...

 It's party time! What a super fabulous way to launch the imprint! I am on top of the world!

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This appeared in Mumbai Mirror on Saturday....

                               Like a virgin…

Last week, I made my virgin trip to Assam. I am ready to make a shame faced confession, right here, right now : visiting the Seven Sisters was never a top priority. I was attracted – yes – but also apprehensive. The usual reservations : is it safe? Will I  get my head blown off by assorted insurgents? How does one even get to the North East? Stupid, ignorant reservations, I agree. And then came the invitation to visit. Daunting logistics followed. No direct flights to Guwahati from Mumbai… I was told it was easier and cheaper to go to Bangkok. But I wanted to go to Guwahati, not Bangkok, I clarified. WHY???? asked the bewildered travel agent. Good question. Many lousy excuses later, the trip was on. Well… media men, Zarir Hussain, and his older brother Wasbir , took care of all earlier doubts ( with a little extra persuasion from Arnab Goswami – a proud son of Assam himself). I was invited to present an Award ( Assamese of the Year) to Olympian Shiva Thapa – cute as a button and all of nineteen. Apart from this important event, I had long nurtured a selfish interest or two in visiting Guwahati. Dipping my feet into the mighty Brahmaputra that flows through the city, was one. And paying obeisance to Kamakhya, the Mother Goddess, who resides in a deep dark and wet cave ( the sanctum sanctorum of the ancient temple) was another. This historic pilgrimage site is perched  800 feet above sea level on the top of the Nilachal Hill. And here’s the interesting part :  Consider this - the Brahmaputra, which flows past Nilachal Hill, is the only ‘male’ river in India. I needed to check out its testosterone levels ( very alpha and most impressive).  Kamakhya being a Shakti Peeth, is fiercely female, the seat of Tantricism,  and perhaps the most important manifestation of female energy. The juxtaposition! Wow!  I, umm,  desperately needed my fix of unadulterated female energy. I am happy to report, I experienced an overwhelming surge of the same, as I crouched next to the natural underground stream in the cave ( let me skip the yoni reference) and tasted the icy cold water. It did wonders for my estrogen levels. I swear! And I exaggerate not when I say I emerged from the dark recesses of the cave into bright sunlight feeling like Angelina Jolie on steroids or Lara Croft unchained. I was ready to take on the world.

Legends around the divine power of Kamakhya abound. She is often described as the ‘Menstruating Goddess’ . The annual Ambubachi festival attracts thousands of visitors from across the world. The privacy of the Goddess is scrupulously maintained for those three days when the underground stream turns blood red  ( iron oxide). Childless couples throng the courtyard seeking divine intervention. Tantriks make a fortune, as believers sip a mildly intoxicating brew out of a monkey’s skull.Some blessed couples return a year later,carrying new born infants in their arms. Who can question faith and miracles? On its part, the ferocious Brahmaputra claims its own victims when it floods. A centuries old structure named ‘Urvashi’ juts out into the river and is closely watched by locals when the waters start to rise dangerously. It is believed the town of Guwahati will get entirely submerged the day the tip of the Urvashi tower goes under water.

I met several bright ,beautiful and accomplished ladies of Guwahati, including a senior cop. I asked them about the Kamakhya effect. Did they feel more empowered living in the shadow of the awe inspiring Devi? They exchanged looks and smiled mysteriously. One of them confessed coyly that the last time she had spontaneously gone up to her husband to give him a cuddle, he had looked up in alarm and asked, “What’s wrong?” She said, she had shrugged and said, “Nothing…. sorry!” Oh oh. I looked across the room at their husbands who were busy sorting out national and global problems. I figured the  macho Brahmaputra had exercised its effect on that lot. They were happy in their alpha heaven. As for us, we were left stranded on the banks of the male river, waiting for deliverance…despite Kamakhya watching over us. My own pumped up estrogen levels  were also rapidly waning. No worries. I’ll find me a new fix soon.