[Experiences] Zen and the Art of Waste Management

Last afternoon, when I was going to pick Haiku from school, Adyar Signal was doing her thing, stopping men in their tracks. An expensive black SUV was in line ahead, waiting for her to change her mind. Just then, one of its rear power windows slid down stylishly and then, an empty plastic cup descended on the road. Sirens started going off in my head. I didn’t know how long I had at the signal. But decided to brave it and bear a few honks if I had to. Pushed the gear to neutral, pulled up the handbrake, clicked my seatbelt open, snatched my car keys out, slammed the door and strode ahead. Picking up the abandoned cup, I walked up to that expensive SUV and peeped into its posh interiors. A little boy in a uniform sat there, looking so like my own son. I held the cup in one hand and waved a ‘No-no!’ with my other hand. Then, dashed back to my car. I know not if this crazy aunty on the road made any difference to him. But, it was worth a try!

As my car moved into first gear, my mind went reverse, mining for moments like this one. Popped a short scene from years ago. My big Haiku was then, just in pre-school! One day, when walking towards his school, saw a paper cup fly out of an open car window. I bent down, picked it up, looked at the driver in the car and asked with a smile, ‘Why don’t you drop it in the dustbin?’ He got the cup from my hands and smiling sheepishly said ‘Sorry, madam. I will!’

Another morning, when the sun had just got up and was scuffling around in search of the newspaper, I was taking a walk and I saw two ladies seated on the pavement outside an apartment having coffee. One of them done slurping the last drop nonchalantly threw her cup on the ground, totally engrossed in the animated talk of her companion. I walked up to her and asked her, ‘Why don’t you drop it in the dustbin?’ She replied that the corporation cleaning lady would clean it up.  ‘Still…?’ I asked with a smile. She smiled too and I left.

Heartened by these harmless little incidents, I was getting rather complacent about my approach. One evening, when I was taking Haiku to his Karate class, I saw a middle-aged man walk out of a shop. Having finished his packet of chips, he threw the plastic cover right where he was standing. Walking up to him and pointing to a dustbin close by, I asked him that question you must know by heart by now - ‘Why don’t you drop it into the dustbin?’ That was it! As though I had said a dirty thing, that man started yelling. The voice level set to an embarrassing red, he first admonished me asking what right I had to ask that question to him and then advised me to go and clean my home. In an interesting turn, he then shouted, ‘Did you pay your dowry?’ Even now, no matter how much I flex my logical muscles, for the life of me, I can’t understand what that’s got to do with anything! Anyway, he started exhibiting his superior skills in hurling English words for verbally abusing a woman. When Haiku looked up and asked me, ’Why is he shouting at you, Amma?’, I decided it was time to move away before my son got into the ‘What is he shouting…?’ part!

Why all this fuss over a piece of paper or a plastic cover on the road, you may ask. Isn’t there garbage flying everywhere around? Even around that very dustbin that I ask these people to drop the trash. You would make an excellent point even if you went a step further and said, ’What difference does it make even if you are going to hurl it into a dustbin? It’s going to a dump yard and be on the ground elsewhere!’

‘Still…’, a voice inside whispers in response, ‘isn’t not littering the very least you can do for mother earth?’ First, we’ll hope for the hand that takes the trash to the place it belongs, then the mind to think about recycling and then eventually, the heart to care for all of earth as each one’s own home, as it truly is.

But as long as such screaming strangers continue to live in our home, my motto is only going to be: ‘You drop, I pick up, No talk’!

[Random] In a noisy world...

Silence… 

Of a room in Den Haag

Of a soul within

Of a far-away souvenir

Of a long-ago gift

Of an unborn child

Of a dead parent

Of an unanswerable question

Of an irrefutable answer

Of depression

Of euphoria

Of the yet-to-speak toddler

Of the about-to-die elder

Of a fighting couple

Of an estranged friend

Of a reunion, prior

Of a farewell, after

Of an attentive listener

Of a perpetual talker

Of unexpressed love

Of concealed apathy

Of a monastery

Of a library

Of a fallen tree

Of a sprouting seed

Of a crowded theatre

Of a deserted graveyard

Of spectators of a crime

Of photographers of a disaster

Of the moment before an applause

Of the moment after a rebuke

Of leaders who should condemn

Of followers who should complain

Of the sinner

Of the forgiver

Of the speechless speaker

Of the speechless signer

Of a loving look

Of an angry stare

Of the black night

Of the white moon

Of a thinking mind

Of a feeling heart

Of the breeze

Of the earth

Of hands that do

Of eyes that see

Of the universe

Of an atom

Of a tear

Of a smile

Silence…

That speaks a thousand words!

[Echo] In Memoriam Mine!

Broad forehead; 
Black-rimmed spectacles;
Bold eyes;
Brilliant mind.

Short and stubby fingers;
Square palm with deep ridges;
Palm raised, looking inward;
Eyes solving lifeline riddles.

Dug! Dug! Dug! - A homecoming Bullet bike;
Tap! Tap! Tap! - Little feet rushing to the gate;
‘Now! Now! Now!’ - A little voice beseeches;
Dug! Dug! Dug! - Bike starts before it stops!

Laid-back streets of a small town;
Vendor selling books galore;
A pair of little hands grasps one eagerly;
Sowing reading, the seed to her future!

Mornings by his huge study desk;
He reads the papers to look at his world;
Waking up, seeking him out first,
She sits on his lap to see him, her world!

A Maths notebook brought in his line of vision;
‘The sum of the sums done yesterday’;
He gives more of the same - her morning’s mission!
Sowing solving, the saviour of many a troubled today!

A gentler, cleaner morning breeze;
He’s seated in the lotus of yogic divinity;
In, pause, out - Breathing with ease;
Painting on her mind, a portrait of serenity!

An atheist, who believed in himself;
Richest and poorest, the same to him;
Patience, honed over the years, to perfection;
Soaring strength of will, keeping his pain at bay;

Crowds thronged that street,
To bid farewell to a man they loved;
‘How could you take him away so soon?’
They demanded of their indifferent God!

Little eyes stood, not knowing what to say;
Little mind making sense of what, before her, lay;
Little did she know that this pain was here to stay;
Many years ago, this day!

[Travelogue] To the heart of a city!

“One of the very nicest things about life is the way 

we must regularly stop whatever it is we are doing 

and devote our attention to eating.” 

― Luciano Pavarotti

With that quote, you must have already guessed the theme of this piece! On our last day in Mumbai before getting back to Chennai, we decided to get a taste of the native Marathi cuisine. Our friendly driver took us to a Marathi restaurant, Shree Datta Boarding House in Lalbaug. It was quite a small place but ‘Good food’, as our driver remarked enthusiastically. While we were poring over the menu, he made some helpful suggestions - one ‘Jhinga’ (Prawn) fry and one of fry ‘Surmai’ (Indian King Mackerel). The thing is whenever you order some dish and say the magic word ‘Vade’, it instantly becomes a thali, which is a collection of 5 Vades, a Vade being a thicker and richer version of the ‘puri'. Along with this, comes the main gravy, be it chicken or veg or fish and two little cups, one of which contains ‘rassa’, meaning the essence, sort of like a thin but spicy curry  and in the other, ‘Solkadhi’, being a pink coloured tangy- tasting coconut-milk based drink with a unique personality. Tearing a piece of the Vade and dipping it into the gravy or rassa, as your mind dictates, you should let it reign over your taste buds. Delicious though it was, I was not ‘gutsy’ enough to do five Vades. I stopped with four and decided to taste a little with rice and it was a yum combo too. The driver suggested a fry of ‘Bombil’ (Bombay Duck fish), another specialty of Marathi cuisine. The thing is all these items were deep fried but magically, not a bit of oil stuck to your fingers. It had minute pieces of coconut fused all along the surface of the fried meat as if one with the soul of it. After the sumptuous meal, took a walk along the markets of the area, glancing at colourful Rangoli powders and breathing in the wafting scents of hot chillies. 

We decided to pause at the Haji Ali Dargah, the quaint old mosque on an islet connected to the mainland by a half a kilometre walkable path. But it was so densely crowded this Sunday that we decided to do it another time. In searching for offbeat things to do, happened to learn of a place called Samovar Cafe. As it was close to an art gallery and museum, which we anyway love, we decided to go towards the place. Only then, checking it on Google, we found the place to be permanently closed just in the March of this year, despite its popular demand and patronage by some of the most-famous celebrities of Mumbai. Still, as we had started the journey, we decided to continue onward and the rest of the day turned out to be a delicious surprise of another kind. Food for the soul and mind! I didn’t think much of museums here, after having seen the well-planned ones abroad but that’s only until I saw the ‘Chhatrapati Shivaji Museum’, previously the ‘Prince of Wales Museum of Western India’. Intelligently organized and well maintained, with professional and friendly staff. If not for the overwhelming number of Indian faces around you, you might believe that you were standing in Chicago or Brisbane. These collections take you to the splendour of the past elegantly. Just those two glass cupboards with neatly arranged colourful, intricately designed snuff bottles from all over China is worth the visit to this Museum. We had but one hour and it was an hour well spent. Paused to reflect how generously the business tycoons of the city such as the Tatas had generously donated to the art and aesthetic scene. Even while on the roads, I couldn’t help but notice the Godrej sponsored pots neatly tied to the walls, containing flowering plants all along a flyover. This sense of giving back and making the city rise to the heights it has taken them to, is something to be lauded. 

In the absence of Samovar Cafe, went in search of another one and Zomato recommended ‘The Nut Cracker’. Taking a short walk from the museum along ‘Gandhi Marg’, we came upon this quaint old place tucked away in a little corner, like those shops you see along London’s streets. Very Brit in its style! I owe the quote on this blog to the one of their Menu card. Ordered a ‘Bombay Local’ sandwich in the spirit of our trip while Haiku’s choice was the molten chocolate. Both turned out to be fabulously fantastic. The ‘molten chocolate with vanilla ice-cream’ being the sinner and the Bombay Local sandwich being the priest. To tell you more about the Bombay local, it was a grilled sandwich with tomatoes, potatoes, onions and green chutney, made in Mumbai style. With that lingering taste of Bombay, bid farewell to this charismatic and confident city. Bye, Mumbai… Hope we meet again!

[Travelogue] A Rendezvous with Nature and Culture!

After a late and laid-back start, we reach Sanjay Gandhi National Park in Borivali, Mumbai. How fortunate are the people of this crowded city to be blessed with 100 Sq. km national park within their municipal limits. In a city, where the only growth seems vertical and buildings dot every nook and corner of Mumbai, it’s great to gaze upon this green cover. In the past couple of days,I had glanced at the most expensive private building in the world, situated in Mumbai, seen many glass floor upon floor of dazzling multi-storeyed apartments and even heard of huts in a particular area costing 40 lakhs. Still, to me, the epitome of the wealth of this city, is this forest area. Taking a short trip on the tiger safari caught a few glimpses of tigers sauntering in the afternoon, glancing left and right, seemingly well fed and satisfied with their lot. Exotic monkeys with black faces and tails, and with beards look at the visitors, some shyly and some cheekily. Still, amidst all this beauty, had to encounter the painful scene of a deer gobbling up plastic, as if it were a rare delicacy. Man, you are strangling nature with your bare hands!

Where you only expected to find nature, there’s culture, in the form of Kanheri Caves within this park. I read that this forest used to lie on an ancient trade route and Buddhist monks have been busy creating art out of stone for 1000 years, between 1st century BC and 11th century AD. The serenity of those gigantic Buddhas is seen to be believed! Even after all these years, the magic of that smile calms you. There seems to be more 109 caves in all, of which, there are monasteries, rock-cut benches, engineering marvels storing water for the summer and halls portraying Buddha in various forms. One could spend an entire day being awed by the magic of this work of men of long ago. This made me wonder why in spite of all the technology we have today men don’t go carving mountains and creating art. To see it an opportunity of art seems to be a thing of the past. When I wondered out aloud to Madhan, he responded saying maybe it’s because mountains belonged to no one then and also that, perhaps now, man sees mountains as quarries of stone, the source of boring but useful things like roads. Pragmatic materialism seems to be at odds with spiritualistic creativity!

After relishing the evening breeze with windows open and breathing in through the lungs of Mumbai, we returned to the urban desert. Dinner was at a place called ‘The Tasting Room’ within Raghuvanshi Mills, an old textile mill transformed into a new age shopping centre. In the ruins of materialistic industry, there is art, blooming once again. The restaurant had left the walls as is, in the old dilapidated state with minimal retouching but a clean look, with faded, rusting mirrors dotting the wall. Here was proof that man is constantly reinventing. Thousands of years ago, those Buddhist monks saw rocks and created art. Now, men see ruins and create art again. In the days of yore, religion was the fountainhead of those artistic pursuits and now, wealth is the goal of these artistic reinventions. Whatever, as long as art lives on!

[Travelogue] Exquisite Elephanta!

On our second day in Mumbai, drove through extra-heavy traffic to the historic Gateway of India to sail onward to Elephanta Caves, an island off the mainland of Mumbai. The thing is, neither does Elephanta have elephants nor does it have natural caves. Elephanta was called so because when the British landed on the island, a huge stone elephant welcomed them and they decided to give that name. Perhaps, they fell so much in love with the statue that they decided to appropriate it for the mainland!

The caves were carved out of a single stone by the hand of man to proclaim the glory of his God. In such a cave here, as I observed panel after panel of the stories of Lord Shiva, I was immediately transported to the Chola temples of Tanjore. Both were celebrations of this same God on stone! The story of Shiva was depicted with such elaborate detail. I could touch the nails of the guardians of Shiva in the central temple of the Lingam and appreciate the delicately nuanced design on the necklaces and crowns of the gods therein.

The moods of quirky Siva were well captured. No doubt, he was an interesting chap to anyone from any age. And no wonder, so many kings that lived on this land were enamored by the charisma of this God. Be it his ferocious anger, artistic sublimation, yogic meditation or playful teasing, no one could express it like this God. Still, I saw the true God in the hands of those artisans who had patiently carved out panel after panel of such beauty out of a single Basalt rock. The emotions speak to you, as if it’s a movie playing on stone. There are so many interwoven stories in each panel, the expression of each character in the panel saying something fascinating.

What shocked me was how Portuguese soldiers had mindlessly destroyed many of these sculptures. Some of their bullets are still wedged within the stone. An arm gone, a face disfigured, a form distorted! In spite of this atrocity, the supremeness of art triumphs over this petty minded vandalism. How could any one not see the extraordinary beauty in this work? There is no need for belief in any God to appreciate art.

The moment reminded me of the present time when these same atrocities are being committed in Syria. If such men could somehow be made to see that their own children and children’s children would shudder in disbelief that their forefathers could even think of something like this, then perhaps the world has hope. In art, there is God or at least, man seeking to come closer to the notion of God. What does it matter what’s the name of that God?

From gazing at this piece of art, my reflections seemed to have travelled in directions, both local and global. That indeed is the power of art to inspire, to enthuse and to give human beings, the intuition to connect the seemingly disconnected and to realize, in the end, we are all but one.

[Travelogue] Coast to Coast: A journey in India

“We travel not to escape life, but for life not to escape us.” – Anonymous

Chennai says bye to departing travellers, with three billboards, one of Apollo hospital, one of Maruti’s car, S-Cross and the last of MRF Treader, as if to say ‘Thanks for coming. Don’t forget our hospitals and automobiles!’ My eyes fall on a long panel of artwork on the wall facing the runway. If you delve into the source, it’s nothing but a few wire cables twisted into forms and lo behold! there is a story revealed. It’s a procession. After a Holmes-worthy investigation, Haiku and I decide it’s a religious procession because the figure in the palanquin has one of his palms in the ‘blessing mudra'. Then, ahead of this Very.Important.God, there’s his Godly bodyguard on another palanquin, the ferocious God known as ‘Ayannar Samy’ in villages, the one with blood-shot eyes and blood-stained weapons, mounted on a horse. Men carry these two palanquins, while other men play on the drums, harmonium and other assorted Indian musical instruments. Two men with painted masks dance ahead of the procession, which Haiku interpreted as ‘Puli aatam(The dance of the tiger)’.  At the beginning and end of the procession, stand two men holding a spherical firebrand, shedding light on the entire procession. This is great work, ingenious in its simplicity! Although one question is, where are the women? Chennai Airport, you must work on an artwork doing justice to the women of Chennai!

One such, a cleaning lady in the ladies restroom, when asked about the flood situation in her place, answered that she lived in Thirusulam, which was on high ground. Besides, there was a godown and so she was pretty much secure. She commented gravely about some of her other colleagues caught in the disaster. As I was leaving, she thanked me for enquiring about her experiences, with a warm smile that went straight to my heart. We often think conversations with strangers make us vulnerable. In truth, they make us safe and whole, another step closer to being connected to all of humanity. 

Riding the clouds, I catch the first glimpse of Mumbai’s vicinity. Some stunning studs of mountains, these Western Ghats sure are. Down below, nature’s creation, a winding and curving river, with a mind of its own, runs intertwining with man’s creation, a purposeful road, seeming to have many cities to go to, travels focused with no distractions. Sort of like the interplay of emotion and logic in one’s mind. 

Through the densely-packed huts near the airport onward to the sprawling Juhu, where I hear, Amitabh comes out on the streets to greet people there, at times. One has to love the geniality of the man. Heard too, that people wait for hours together, as for a ‘God Darshan’. Moving on, Haiku and I get a little taste of Bollywood in a recording studio listening to a Hindi movie turning trilingual. Reaching out to the regions is of crucial importance in this nation of more than two-dozen languages.

The day is winding to a close and it’s time to catch the famous superstar of a sunset on Juhu beach! Deliciousness rises to its peak in the fall of this crimson globe. The sun seems to leave the room glowing with a blush, shyly as if she’s out to romance the night. In the waning luminescence of this celestial lady, awaits an old man selling pink cotton candy tied to a post; An elderly couple walk together, shining in the intimacy of their years together, sharing their sunset years and the setting sun; Energetic youngsters do cartwheels in the sand, an infectious display of their strength and flexibility; A maid multi-tasks talking on the phone as she baby-sits a toddler; Joggers, walkers, runners on their own tracks, within and without; Haiku and I run towards the ocean. Pausing at the edge, he reflects that the sand is a mix of white and black and that the imprints of shoes seem like flower prints in the sand. 

Vada Pav, the essential Mumbai ka food, we savour on our way to Bandra. Hot n’ Hot! Heat of the vada, hot off the oven and the heat of the paprika compete to take siege of your taste buds. Here we find a snack, in Mumbai style, which fills your tummy without emptying your pocket. Hearty meal for twenty bucks! Driving through the streets of Mumbai, looking at branded shops and thrift shops, a stone’s throw away from each other. Like a quintessential metro, Mumbai seems to have something for everyone. Even chic and fashionable ladies are seen buying and bargaining with the sellers on the street.

We visit the Mount Mary church in Bandra. Looking at the paintings depicting the life of Christ, it can’t escape one’s notice how the faces look very human and like those of people in Mumbai. Ahead of us, there’s a man on his knees, intent in prayer, his posture making you want to believe that God is listening. There are also other Gods living in the same area with names like Shah Rukh Khan & Salman Khan, I’m told. 

A walk on Bandstand by the beach, holding hands with my beloved ones, ending a rich day, in which I travelled from a bustling city on one coast to a bustling city on another coast and saw with my own eyes, how these cities are both similar and different, in many ways. Lucky are Indians to savour the flavour of new cultures without even leaving their country!