I saw Mumbai meri jaan yesterday.
A much critically acclaimed film, catching the essence of Mumbai.
A story of many people:
A cop who cannot tolerate injustice, another who has adapted to the ‘accepted standards’,
A tv reporter who is famous for her prompt 'breaking news',
A company executive and his pregnant wife,
A computer salesman who thinks all Muslims are terrorists,
A coffee vendor from Chennai who wants to have a taste of the riches,
And, a series of train blasts, affecting their lives.
A story beautifully told, refrained from any bias from the directorial point of view, this movie captured my heart. We have amongst us, people who have lost much in the blast. Still, life goes on.
Often I wonder, when I hear things like ‘mumbai marathichyanchi!’ etc. Or the recent drive against the North Indians, or the compulsion for Marathi sign boards. I ask myself,” is this really necessary? With all the city’s resources used up in this, is anyone’s life improving?”
We conveniently shut our eyes to the injustice caused by such society hooligans. Just being Marathi does not give us the right to see justice being massacred like this. Somewhere, the city is suffering much from this.
There are many pressing issues in this country: floods, violence, generalized disorder. Do we really have to spend our resources on this? Why are only caste/language related sensitive issues taken up? Why is there abundant media coverage for all this vandalism? Why is such breach of law being tolerated by the Law makers?
I am a Mumbaikar. I was born and brought up here. Whatever I have, Mumbai offered me. Still I have a question:
Is it really necessary to state a claim on the city to reside here? Can a man not just stay here, not being frightened to display his identity and talk his own language? Is this not something against our fundamental rights?
Maybe someday, we will get the answers.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Fat Man's diary- Introduction
Hi there. If you come across this implies that I have either canvassed you to read this, or you suffer the same agony. Food, the most, (and probably the only edible) delicious thing in this world, comes with a price tag. No, I am not talking about the cost in monetary sense. I am talking about the most dreaded seven lettered word- ‘CALORIE’
But before you empathically listen to my woes, let me first introduce myself. I am Anay a 24 years old guy, who was blessed to be born in this country. I can write quite a bit about myself, but that would not serve the purpose. The fact is- I am fat. Now, grammatically there are a number of ways one can describe this condition. One can call me overweight, some other, obese. But I prefer to call myself plain simple ‘fat.’
There was a time when I was careless about what I ate. (those were the blissful days!) with a highly taste sensitive palate, and a creative mother, I had a fantastic time with my friends- the carbohydrates, the Fats. They were simple too then. They were not called ‘trans’ fats, or fruit carbs etc. we had some very interesting time together.
But then, all nice things should come to an end (somebody said this. What a pessimist!) I crossed well over ten kilograms over the normal weight for my height. At first, I consoled myself. I mean, there are some people are short for their age, I was just short for my weight! I could easily cover the extra fat by some baggy dressing. Soon enough I was declared as a Bad dresser. Now, that was an insult! It was always my secret dream to be a French man some day. But French do not dress in grabs. And I was not growing vertically any more. So I decided. I was with a bad company. All my nutrient friends had to go.
I bade a hungry good bye to all those wonderful things. Gone was cheese, gone was butter, gone were cakes and gone was sugar. It was a very bitter moment then (literally). I decided to join a gym. It gives a moral boost. When you spend money for something, you feel dedicated for that cause!
But before you empathically listen to my woes, let me first introduce myself. I am Anay a 24 years old guy, who was blessed to be born in this country. I can write quite a bit about myself, but that would not serve the purpose. The fact is- I am fat. Now, grammatically there are a number of ways one can describe this condition. One can call me overweight, some other, obese. But I prefer to call myself plain simple ‘fat.’
There was a time when I was careless about what I ate. (those were the blissful days!) with a highly taste sensitive palate, and a creative mother, I had a fantastic time with my friends- the carbohydrates, the Fats. They were simple too then. They were not called ‘trans’ fats, or fruit carbs etc. we had some very interesting time together.
But then, all nice things should come to an end (somebody said this. What a pessimist!) I crossed well over ten kilograms over the normal weight for my height. At first, I consoled myself. I mean, there are some people are short for their age, I was just short for my weight! I could easily cover the extra fat by some baggy dressing. Soon enough I was declared as a Bad dresser. Now, that was an insult! It was always my secret dream to be a French man some day. But French do not dress in grabs. And I was not growing vertically any more. So I decided. I was with a bad company. All my nutrient friends had to go.
I bade a hungry good bye to all those wonderful things. Gone was cheese, gone was butter, gone were cakes and gone was sugar. It was a very bitter moment then (literally). I decided to join a gym. It gives a moral boost. When you spend money for something, you feel dedicated for that cause!
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Road ethics!
'Driving is a privilege, not a right.' proclaims my driving license. Well, I believe it. And that is why I find driving in the city a bit of a disheartening experience. People drive big flashy cars, race superbikes, not once thinking about the privilege- right issue. We often complain about the potholes or the bad roads, but do we always follow traffic ethics? Forget rules. They are to be broken. No one considers a signal jumper a criminal. But are we driving ethically?
Mine is a land of rickshaws. (there is no such word in the Microsoft dictionary!) the rickshaw wallahs are a different breed. You have to be born with it. Something which you cannot learn. I presume they are denied their badges if they give an indication of their turn. They are the absolute savages of the road. They think that their vehicle is meant to fill in the gaps in the traffic. They feel that the world is full of Photophobic people. They absolutely shun headlights! They never, ever give you a clue about what they are going to do next. A word of caution here: If you are an amateur, keep at least 10 meters gap between your vehicle and the Bajaj Ape (that’s their trade name. it lives up to it!) you will end up with a dent and without an apology.
Then there are those kids, hardly ten or twelve, who think that the traffic rules do not apply inside residential complexes. I think they are the ‘unwanted’ children- their parents are not scared of any harm which they might sustain, or worse, do.
Female drivers scare me. I don’t mean to be prudent, but it is a fact. They ride their gearless scooters with the same valour that the great Marathas once rode on their steed. One friend of mine is a good driver, but, she does not believe in applying brakes when she sites a speed breaker. She scares me. The scarier fact is not their driving alone, added to it, is the indifference towards learning the mechanics of the motor. They never try to learn to correct the minor faults or to try to know where the fault lies.
And the ultimate winners are the drivers of Pune. Even Rocci cannot drive there. There is an ABSOLUTE lack of rules there. Now, thinking about the cause, half of the Punekars are pukka Punekars; they will never give up their pride. And other half thinks that they are Americans. So there arises confusion. WHICH WAY TO DRIVE! The females moped-ers of Pune are the scariest of the species. At the first look, you would feel you are in Afghanistan. All the veiled Taliban roaming around. Then they will take a wild acute turn to the right, from the leftist lane. Their mirrors are for adjusting the goggles. I have actually seen a girl typing an SMS while riding on her Activa. I mean, we can make exceptions, she was not breaking any rules. Just talking on the phone is not allowed while driving!
I burn my own blood every time I see people not respecting others lives, overtaking without asking for a pass, or taking a turn without indicating. I have given many people a verbal bashing, at times sarcastic, at times stern. I know it is not enough. Something must be done. I am not asking to get everything ship-shape. That’s asking for too much. Just value the lives of other people on the road. All it takes is a flick of the thumb, and you might just have saved a life!
Mine is a land of rickshaws. (there is no such word in the Microsoft dictionary!) the rickshaw wallahs are a different breed. You have to be born with it. Something which you cannot learn. I presume they are denied their badges if they give an indication of their turn. They are the absolute savages of the road. They think that their vehicle is meant to fill in the gaps in the traffic. They feel that the world is full of Photophobic people. They absolutely shun headlights! They never, ever give you a clue about what they are going to do next. A word of caution here: If you are an amateur, keep at least 10 meters gap between your vehicle and the Bajaj Ape (that’s their trade name. it lives up to it!) you will end up with a dent and without an apology.
Then there are those kids, hardly ten or twelve, who think that the traffic rules do not apply inside residential complexes. I think they are the ‘unwanted’ children- their parents are not scared of any harm which they might sustain, or worse, do.
Female drivers scare me. I don’t mean to be prudent, but it is a fact. They ride their gearless scooters with the same valour that the great Marathas once rode on their steed. One friend of mine is a good driver, but, she does not believe in applying brakes when she sites a speed breaker. She scares me. The scarier fact is not their driving alone, added to it, is the indifference towards learning the mechanics of the motor. They never try to learn to correct the minor faults or to try to know where the fault lies.
And the ultimate winners are the drivers of Pune. Even Rocci cannot drive there. There is an ABSOLUTE lack of rules there. Now, thinking about the cause, half of the Punekars are pukka Punekars; they will never give up their pride. And other half thinks that they are Americans. So there arises confusion. WHICH WAY TO DRIVE! The females moped-ers of Pune are the scariest of the species. At the first look, you would feel you are in Afghanistan. All the veiled Taliban roaming around. Then they will take a wild acute turn to the right, from the leftist lane. Their mirrors are for adjusting the goggles. I have actually seen a girl typing an SMS while riding on her Activa. I mean, we can make exceptions, she was not breaking any rules. Just talking on the phone is not allowed while driving!
I burn my own blood every time I see people not respecting others lives, overtaking without asking for a pass, or taking a turn without indicating. I have given many people a verbal bashing, at times sarcastic, at times stern. I know it is not enough. Something must be done. I am not asking to get everything ship-shape. That’s asking for too much. Just value the lives of other people on the road. All it takes is a flick of the thumb, and you might just have saved a life!
Sunday, July 6, 2008
“Yes, the winds are changing,” the old man said, rubbing his callous right thumb on his left palm. Lali stood at the edge of the rock, shielding her eyes from the sun with her tiny palm. Far away, in the next town maybe, the clouds were gathering. It was going to rain! It meant a lot to her. Now, her grandmother would not have to sell the goat.
The goat had been her best friend till the date. It was dumb though. And it especially irritated her when it looked at her with its wide blank eyes, masticating the grass. But it was a comfort. At night, Lali would curl around its belly, feeling the welcoming warmth, often counting the breaths of the goat. She used to call it ‘Deju’. It meant nothing in her language, but she liked its sound.
So here was she, grinning widely, flashing a toothless grin. She had lost her incisors a week back while having a fight with a girl in the neighbourhood. Granny had told her that the teeth would never grow up unless she gave up fighting. It was not meant for girls. They needed to learn important things in life.
There was a drought the previous year. The wells were going dry, leaving the people concerned. Somehow, they had managed to survive the dry, but a draught this year meant migration. Lali could not understand why people were getting upset. Migration meant going to a new oasis, meeting new people. The people of the deserts have a big heart. Someone would have easily accommodated them. And she made fine bangles. And Deju would always provide milk.
But here were the clouds. They were heavy with the treasure they carried from the faraway seas. And they were going to fill up the wells, wash their roofs and carry the wariness away.
The goat had been her best friend till the date. It was dumb though. And it especially irritated her when it looked at her with its wide blank eyes, masticating the grass. But it was a comfort. At night, Lali would curl around its belly, feeling the welcoming warmth, often counting the breaths of the goat. She used to call it ‘Deju’. It meant nothing in her language, but she liked its sound.
So here was she, grinning widely, flashing a toothless grin. She had lost her incisors a week back while having a fight with a girl in the neighbourhood. Granny had told her that the teeth would never grow up unless she gave up fighting. It was not meant for girls. They needed to learn important things in life.
There was a drought the previous year. The wells were going dry, leaving the people concerned. Somehow, they had managed to survive the dry, but a draught this year meant migration. Lali could not understand why people were getting upset. Migration meant going to a new oasis, meeting new people. The people of the deserts have a big heart. Someone would have easily accommodated them. And she made fine bangles. And Deju would always provide milk.
But here were the clouds. They were heavy with the treasure they carried from the faraway seas. And they were going to fill up the wells, wash their roofs and carry the wariness away.
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