Dear Delhi ... Love Bombay : Odd Jobs

I love them! When one has to assume a role/task out of the routine. Had a few of them oflate. Here they are:

- The fellowship program that i work for now (www.indiafellow.org) visited Leh as part of a travel workshop with the current batch of the fellows. I went ahead of the group for preparations and on the morning of their arrival went to the airport with placard to receive. Not that i could not recognize them. The last 10 months - these are the faces i have seen and come to love. But just the thrill of the job. Also having travelled by myself often with no one anticipating arrival; i know it feels special to be awaited for.

-  My office area has a host of atms. On my way back one of the evenings, the guard to one of these was dozing off and the atm's glass door has recently crashed due to heat pressure. Risky nap. I offered him 30 min of guard time (PRO-BONO ... now this is a term which my work forces me to hear at the rate of 10 times a day) with the condition of taking his guard-stick and chair. Pity no one clicked a picture.

- 10 months in Shahpurjat's 95B are up and the hunt for a new rented apartment in the same locality has begun. Evenings i meet landlords/brokers. Interesting process this and a separate blog on that soonish. A couple of days ago; when i met Mr. Barikh at a pre selected spot for checking out a particular flat i asked him what i have always wanted to a complete stranger while shaking his hand; from a cult movie you will know the moment you hear it - "AAP PARTY HAI YA BROKER?"

 

Dear Delhi ... Love Bombay : An Eventful Traverse

The thing about ‘bastis and its shabby lanes’ is this – it even makes the non observants try and search for a story. Generally I can walk past a crowd feeling perfectly agnostic and enjoying my mindspaces. But the moment I step into a galli – rustic and thick with history; I am completely engrossed. Thankfully, like Bombay, Delhi also has a fleet of them waiting to be traversed. Saturday afternoon when I entered the Nizammuddin basti to reach Mashaq Manzil, I began that familiar search for meaning (may be it makes us feel really artsy – don’t know how else to place this queer emotion). Honestly though the overarching aroma from the numerous food stalls on the approach road to the Dargah was more tempting; but I moved on cause I was headed for Masaq Manzil on a purpose.

Aga Khan Foundation is working with Archeological Survey of India in restoration of the Humayun’s tomb and surrounding monuments of historic significance. As part of the socio-economic initiative, they are promoting women groups in the basti that are working in various aspects of child and mother health, hygiene, income generation through handicraft and healthy food businesses etc. The Self-Help-Groups (Yup! For someone who has read my older blogs here, the term is making a come back after a longish break and I am not complaining one bit …) are looking for basic trainings and systems and processess and that gets me associated with them on a consultancy arrangement for the next 6 Saturdays. Forever, I find myself in situations where I make a comeback to my favorite touristy place on a work role. Happened during fellowship with Shivneri fort. Now with the Humayun’s tomb. I have fond memories associated with time spent 3 years ago being a tourist with a companion to the tomb. And here I am working with the group that is restoring it …

The women groups are working on stitching, Ari embroidery work, Sanjhi paper cutting art and preparing nutritious snacks for the local community as well as retail sales in Delhi. Very recently, the crafts also found way right inside a 100 day stall in the tomb's premise under the brand - INSHA-e-NOOR and needless to say the sales are pretty steep being a one of its kind outlet in a tourist spot! As i reached the centre; about 15 minutes before the rest on a quiet and ordinary Saturday - i took a while to process what i truly feel about the return to the familiar domain of SHG training. There was no pressure cause i knew every word i had to say. There was no awkwardness cause women across regions are similar in their aspirations and resilience. I felt like i belonged without having to find my place. How often we try so hard to fit and fail. I have a feeling this will go really well and the 6 Saturdays is just a start to something more longish ... bring on the financial literacy videos! 

Also, somewhere in the background a familiar voice rung - you can go away from Chaitanya but keep the Chaitanya within you alive ...

 

Dear Delhi ... Love Bombay : Aaj Toh Post Banta Hai!

Two things make Delhi dearer today.

Their sheer faith for he has faltered once before. What does this victory mean really? A lot in terms of politics and future. But what it clearly means is the grit and faith of a people who are ready to give a second chance. How often does one get that. There are so many things i know i would have done differently had i got it. For Kejriwal - you know that something somewhere is right. 

I personally love the idea of a group of people bringing about change. The differences amidst them and yet the harmony they create together. Too romantic perhaps; but forever i like to see a band of people doing something remarkable. That could be producing music, playing at a world cup, running a democracy or doing a fellowship. I think i was growing a bit worried about the validity of my idea of late. Was looking for a reassurance that it can happen. Weirdly, it was AAP which brought me this faith today in the middle of all the other places i was searching for it. Whether they will rise up to the trust or falter is anyone's guess. This way or that, Delhi is all set to write some of the busiest pages of its political history from tomorrow on.

Cause Anumitra's Big Bong Theory cooks food like Ma does. The postcard reminded me of the ones Ma would write to Calcutta in her neat Bangla alphabets and occasionally Antara and i would also get our 2 lines of glory each where we would write the 'how are you mama and mashi?' in the smallest font ever. I wanted to eat everything on the menu tonight - for some reason i have been missing her food. Or may be her love with which it was made just for me. When the amount of mustard in your fish curry is just right and the lime squeezed over the bland daal neither less nor more; the tomato chutney not too sweet and the amount of oil dripping from the brinjal fry high - you know that something somewhere is right. Yes Delhi, amidst your bhaturas and the gosht, i was missing this for a while. 

The Big Bong Theory opened a couple of months ago at 122, stone's throw from my 95 in Shahpur Jat. I had interacted with the owner Anumitra who also is the lead chef and figured that it is a place running on her passion for the cuisine and intent to make the flavours known. Post the meal i could not resist hugging her to express my gratitude for making me feel loved ... for she cooked with all her heart just as Ma would have.

What better than closing the day of a public historic victory on a personal gastronomical high!

Dear Delhi ... Love Bombay : They Do Not Make Tawa Rotis in ShahpurJat

Not like i love rotis. I could live on rice all my existence - whether the accomplice is daal or fish alike. However, the occasional need to change taste and self imposed house arrest made me walk around the Shahpurjat colony this evening. Living alone has the perils of not making rotis as it is quite a ceremonial process compared to pressure cooking rice. Not that i know how to make them either. After a stroll-search of about 30 min in the neighborhood when i realized my only options were bhatura, puri or tandoor roti; reluctantly settled for the later. The community does not eat tawa roti!

Outside this stereotyping, i also saw the area at more leisure today and realized how close it is to my previous big city in this ability to merge 2 worlds. Shahpurjat has a front face which can be described in 2 words - boutique and artistic. Wall murals, interesting eateries and designer studios. You can buy a bread loaf from a bakery which can cost you 80 rupees. The back lanes are the what i call the utility lanes. When in time of real need and cash crunch on month ends, these come to the rescue. You can buy 4 rotis for 10 rupees or half plate chowmein for 20. As my life oscillates between their dual, i ponder about the state of mind of the original inhabitat. In fact i do not even know if the ones who run all those utility shops are the actuals, but from most small talks i have made, it appears that they have been living here post independence and by the virtue of that become the actuals.

The corner shop lady the other day was marveling at my kurti (she must be surprised to see the otherwise clumsy pajama tshirt girl all decked up ... it was Diwali day, was going to meet a friend and his family) and there was a similar awkwardness i saw which i have seen in a lot of other eyes around; including those of my landlord's 25 year old daughter. A tribe of people who still have the customs of ghunghat which their own daughter-in-laws follow, but are having to rent out spaces to tenants who do not shy away from venturing out in their hot pants when frequenting the cafes on the front face of the colony on a lazy Sunday noon. The skimpily clad are also the ones who pay up for the quite steep rents in this area due to its prime positioning; and thus help the actuals cope up with their financial needs to survive in this city which is all around them. Also the tribe must be at the peek of confused cultural identity - their education expects them to be broad minded and accept this sharp adjustment and so in their attempt to appear 'civilized' and 'into-it' i have seen them trying hard to behave undazzled (and this i think enchants me the most) at the face of all this that surrounds them. The encroachment of space and mind - what must the actuals be thinking; it is anyone's guess.

A displaced migrant then in essence is no different is experience to an actual whose world around is slipping at a pace he cannot keep up with.

P.S.: Soon will put up a few pictures of the 2 worlds co-existing here.

Love,
From One 2-Faced City To Another

Dear Delhi ... Love Bombay : The Root of Fear

The other day i left home at 5am to reach the other part of the city called Delhi Rohilla Station to catch a train. This was also the first by myself navigating through the public transport system at wee hours. First thought ... the dogs which often chase you on the roads at this time of the day. In another city, that was basically my only concern in the odd hour travels. But here it was just the first among many. Safe? All stories one hears comes flashing ... my only respite; i convince myself that i am now perhaps past the age where any unholy incident might mar the journey. Lame i guess but works generally.

The train took me to an unheard town called Baggar in Churu block, near Loharu junction in Rajasthan - work visit. A train-bus-jeep-bus journey later i found myself at the dusty, sleepy and how every small town i have been to western and central India have always been. However, it was her odd hours which set her apart. Very different from the ones of the city which has now been home for a considerable period of time; considerable to be called familiar.

The wait at the Baggar chowk for a state transport intercity bus was pleasant. With all the shop-owners, hawkers, urchins and passer bys looking yes, but none staring. From offering to give a stool to sit n wait to keeping the bag in their store safely, offering water to asking whereabouts. A lot many times in a lot many encounters in villages and towns unnoticed and lost in the deep crevices of Google Maps, i have experienced this bonhomie. Feeling equally gay at each one.

As i looked at the Baggar lane through the rear view mirror of the bus speeding away i also began to think how it is almost always never the unknown we are afraid of. It is the stories, repeated over and over, tarnishing stories, unhealthy stories, harmful stories, solitary stories - which awakens the fear. The fear of the known is much higher than that of the unknown.

And this also dear Delhi is perhaps one of your biggest misfortune.

Take Care,
From The City That Never Sleeps

Dear Delhi ... Love Bombay : Things Are Close By

Dear Close-Knit Delhi,

It is a joy trust me to leave home at 9 am and be at workplace by 9.20 am. My inmates would die for that pleasure - travelling sometimes for over 2 hours to reach. The other day someone mentioned that they come over from Noida which is far away and i calculated, that is lesser than Vashi - Borivili perhaps! No sea comes handy here i see ...

And in terms of time what does that mean ... the evenings are for who they should be. For instance, cooking a simple dinner while chatting to a distant friend. Walking down almost as slow as the heart pleases to from station to home's stretch instead of the hurry and fatigue to reach; and watch the birds go home along. Stitching a cloth to make it a curtain and browsing online for a suitable Madhubani to paint on it the next evening. Oh and listening to the old songs hour at radio fm from home and not in a sweating bus. Finishing up an old incomplete tattered biography from amongst the collection of books to start reading a new. And having enough time to miss an old school friend randomly. Delhi, your close knit formation is aluring me to get back to lost habits - and i aint complaining!

And thus so removed are our evenings  from each other ... no rush and push here. And then again when it rains, your parched earth smells as sweet and you feel just the same as i. 

Love,
Scattered Over 7 Islands, Bombay

Dear Delhi ... Love, Bombay : Introductions

-- Last 4 years, i have lived in a lot of places - all of them rural. I mean lived and not visited. The first 25 years were in Bombay solely, and not to mention, i love the city. Everything about it. Everything that people living here stereotypically love and also the odd ones which only a 'born and brought up' identifies. Also not to mention again, like a lot of Bombaywalas i had that constant slight disdain for this other city Delhi, just like how the reciprocal also holds true i guess. It is like one of those relationships where the other person is so different to you that in order to protect your own ego and esteem you would rather believe that he/she is bad - even without a civilized interaction to give a chance. Putting down someone cause it is convenient. I have been guilty of the same. So much for priding myself as being a staunch propagator of equality. I have a chance to correct it now.

Bombay has treated me well. Very very well. I have only had happy times in the city. The only thing the city failed to give me is a hurt. In that sense, Delhi has been kinder; it gave me a hurt which made me grow. So i am going to try be non biased and begin my letters To Dear Delhi ... With Love, Bombay; hoping both the cities will enjoy reading them. At start perhaps, i will have more questions and then slowly how Delhi changes the perspective of Bombay to the point where the cities begin to coexist in harmony within me --

******************************
Dear Delhi,

I always wondered how it must be for you to not end into a sea. Or for anyone. To have roads in all directions leading to other places. Don't you miss having a place from where there is no where left to go? Or may be you do and i do not know of it yet. I hope my next few days with you, i will find my own no-where-to-go-to-places in you. Any suggestions?

Love,
Bombay

O Naadaan Parinde ...

It was the usual fellowship sitting pattern. On the floor, in a circle, some lying, others stretching. The only face that registered was that of Rahul, his usual self. Rest were still profile photos sticking out of resumes - god knows how many times i had browsed through those in search of indications as to who will make jam better over selling vegetables. The journey and the decision preceding to bring me there was by no means less eventful. Besides the venue was a modest but warm training centre in that city of mine. How will my palms walk the old city streets this time without being held, will my feet be able to bear the melancholy when it touches the surface of Badi Lake, will my eyes be able to behold the beauty across the Gangaur Ghat without that heart beating by my side, will Jagdish temple forgive me for bringing in one heart instead of two this time ... I almost prayed that the schedule be tight and there be no time to venture out. Thank God for Rahul and Nikita, soon to join. I stepped into the circle and took a place.

And as the day progressed; the inhibitions cleared making way for the sunshine just like that. May be it was the dejavu of the set-up, may be it was the 16 of them and their uncanny similarity to my own batch mates - someone's mannerism reminded of Rupal, someone's one liners brought back Akshay's humour, someone had Vasu's eyes and someone went into his mindspace like Saurabh would. The resumes and faces begun to merge. Should i be strict and remain an outsider? Should i be overfriendly to become the 17th co-fellow? Build a wall or break it? Act 20 or 40? ... and then i halted the clutter. When am i going to stop assuming the other side and just be. So i stopped and it was a smooth ride thereafter. Days flew past. As the training progressed, i saw them emerge. From reluctant hesitance to shy approaches, to sleepless chattering till the budding signs of impending friendships amongst them. They were becoming a fellowship band. How amazing is this format of bringing complete strangers and putting them through a sequence of experiences ... almost always works! And in my head and heart, they were removed from the associations initially made. 16 individuals with their own merits and flaws, and on their own accords now, equals. Could not have asked for a better group. And one more time i realized how easy it is to love. How i am at my best when i love. I want to paint again, read another book, write a piece, listen to Hemant's hauntingly sad one without remorse and walk aimlessly in the rain. No matter the palm, feet, eyes or heart are solitary. Thank you India Fellows ... you have no idea how much you did by being you.

The thing about this role, like it is with most things precious, is that it has the potential to give extreme joy as well as intense hurt at the same time. My mind goes back to the activity with Manali on the 2nd day of the training. The fellows are indeed the fruits and birds of the tree. And as they grow and i step back hoping to become redundant - the joy and hurt rises proportionately ...

The euphoria of the 14 days settles, i venture out for another wander to yet another known city of mine. The ipod collection needs refreshing. Where is that folder of Gurudutt's songs gone. Is this bag good enough to hold up against the rain. Can i reduce another pair of clothes to make it lighter. Why am i even going to this one. May be i do not know anymore how to be without wandering. May be i do not know anymore what to do if not wander. I have never before felt so tired at the start of a trip ... never so old.

4 Years and 3 Batches Later ...

... I return to the fellowship's orientation program.

Seems like a lifetime has passed by as I watched, and then again yesterday when the meru cab stopped by the door step to pick up and that 3 people of mine waved at me like every time I have left home ... I realised time had also in a weird way perhaps stopped, as if the 4 years were just a night's dream. I felt like that 25 something, twinkle in the eyes and butterflies in the belly; ready to be awestruck by the magnificent, ready to explore the unknown, ready to jump hoping for the net to appear, ready to love a hundred times over.

What is it that has changed then? i) Definitely more wise. Wise with experiences. The good ones have taught, the unpleasant ones have taught better. ii) The romanticism has reduced. Perhaps that is just part of growing up too. Besides I have seen way too many twinkling eyes turn dull, courage succumb to societal norms, love turn indifferent. iii) The faith has remained. For every weakness and manipulation witnessed, I have also met amazingly courageous folks. The good always outplays.

As the meru dodged the city blocks, I removed my glasses. It is one of my favorite acts to be moving fast past a blur of varied city lights at night. Sometimes it is so peaceful to not be able to see things clearly. The number of new subways, freeways, monorail lines and of course the metro now has changed my city a bit lot. As I took a keener look, I also apologized to her for having left everytime; almost penalizing her by abandoning for other people's in considerations. But she like an undeterred lover soothes every time I seek solace. As I leave the city for the trip, for some surprising reason it feels like homecoming.

And above all, I feel an excitement at the prospect of adding 16 new love stories ... this time in a completely new role and capacity. Thank you India Fellow, let it begin!

To Be Able To Believe ...

By far, this is the best way i have spent the first few days of any new year. The first time Nitesh mentioned about the winter camp, i somehow knew i wanted to go.

The Tibetan Children's Village was started in 1960 mainly for the Tibetan 'refugee' (i have a lot of reservations using this term, especially after what i experienced during the camp with kids who each have a heroic story of sojourn in their kit; and my own grandparents' recounts ... but for the traditional term we have been used to for quickly identifying the constellation of circumstances which this particular community faces) children. The Gopalpur chapter of it started in the early 90's and this winter break the students who have no homes to easily go back to in the current situation, participated in this Science - Mathematics - English camp. The first day i got assigned a group of 7 kids from grade 7th for science. I decided to ask them what intrigued them the  most and 5 out of 7 asked questions related to changing shape of the moon and colour of the sky to the formation of the universe and names of stars. And so the week i spent with them was dedicated to basic astronomy. Suited me fine since it was also what fascinated me most of my childhood and i could relate. I walked into the camp with a lot of empty spaces and came back rich and overly filled. Starting from the confusion of 80% Tenzins in the class to knowing each one now as if i have known them since forever - it has been a humbling experience. Very few other occasions have taught me so much in so little time.

If i were to put my finger on the singular thing which affected me the most, then it has to be the strong presence of a core which believes and has faith - and that commonality cuts across not just the students or their teachers, but the people working for the movement or just the folks running the day to day operations of the school; the architecture and the art both. The trust in the existence of a higher purpose than just self and its pursuit, the spiritual faith which helps you surrender yourself to a leader and still retain your own identity. May be it struck me the most cause it was very strongly manifested time and again in the 8 days there. Or may be it struck me more so cause i was somewhere losing my core and trying desperately to cling on to it ...

Yes meeting Tenzin Tsundue and spending considerable time with him was something i looked forward to; but experiencing him recount his atypical across border visit as the fine story teller he is, or just see his expressions as he explained the nitti gritties of the map of the Tibetan capital over a lunch break in the canteen has been inspiring in more than a single way. I had purposely not exposed myself to a lot of his writings beforehand, just so that i meet him without prejudices. On my way back in the train, while i read Kora, i understood it so much more. To be inspired is such a thing! More so by someone who is more relate-able, contemporary, symbolic of an ideology and not out of history books. In fact every person met, starting from the principal of the school Phuntsok Tashi to co-volunteers from all over, added so much more joy and colour right at the start of the year. Like they kept saying when shaking hands, 'Here the hands are cold, but hearts are warm' ... i come back from the TCV winter camp of Dharamshala with a warmer heart and stronger faith in the existence of the core within and the goodness of its pursuit. And a temporary goodbye-n-takecare; with a promise to be back there soon. Thank you TCV.