Stand closer; it's not as long as you think!

The title is from an interesting sticker I saw at Kurian Jacob's guest bathroom. Not sure men do really think ‘its’ long enough as they aim, but inevitably end up messing the flap of closets – a frequent sight in flight toilets. Next time it’s a favour done to the next in line female reliever, if the flap is lifted before the performance or may be just sit and perform; because the female anatomy is simply challenged for a ‘stand and relieve’, which compels them to practise the ‘Aramandalam’ posture above a filthy flap. I keep reminding my daughter to cover the flap with tissues. It worries me that she has to sit on an unhygienic flap. 

Sanitary hygiene is a very personal (literally) issue in India. Homes are kept clean but not public spaces. Public rest rooms are an assault to the senses. Men usually manage, as their physicality allows them to relieve free of contact of the nauseating closets and wall urinals. But then it's only an epilogue to the psyche of a nation where sanitation is shrugged off with a NIMBY syndrome - not in my backyard!

Sanitation, bogging the head lines these days is a case of a vexed maze, where delayed policies stumble on social taboos in a country where ‘have-nots’ defecate in the open and the ‘haves’ ‘flush-and-forget’ in cities that simply don’t have a sewerage system. So where does the tonnes of shit, soap, shampoo, detergents go? – into our remaining lakes, rivers, rivulets and the seas; the same waters that find their way back into the underground pipes that criss-cross our streets and hang precariously under bridges, often leaking, making their way back to households to quench our thirst. 

It would be naive to believe all that we pump out of our porcelain toilets just vanish somewhere and our water sources remain pristine.  It won’t, until a sewerage system is also part of our city development, unlike Delhi and Bombay where 50% of the dwellings just do not have sewerage.

It was interesting to read that hundreds of toilets built in villages remain unused and the target population still defecate in the open owing to tradition – one cannot live and defecate under the same roof! Looks like a long road to travel before everyone relieves in the confines of a toilet. 

Efforts to sanitise the nation has been announced from the ramparts of power. Hopefully efforts are also made for a billion plus population not to relieve and wash into its strangled rivers and to use public toilets responsibly. 

Kerala – No land for liquor

It’s a state that sprang up from the sea-bed as a repentance of the killings of Parasuram. It’s said the blood from the dead were enough to fill 5 rivers. When Parasuram handed over the strip of land to Brahmins to rule, he would never had imagined a time, when the liquor that flows in the veins of its population would be surplus to fill the backwaters of a state that sell scenic pictures to the world labelling it – Gods own country.

If you grew up in a Christian household, you would notice that wine and alcohol was not a taboo but a pervasive liquid state that made its presence felt in family gatherings – be it birth, marriage or death and even in the church altar, when the priest sips the wine during the holy mass. Alcohol was part of our healing too - a burping aunt would be offered a few sips of brandy and for a fermented ‘Appam’ dough, there was always a few ounces of fresh toddy.

There was enough for everyone to drink - Arrack, Toddy, Rum, Brandy and imported whisky from Persia from the early migrants who boarded ships to the coast of the Arabia; they came back with trunks filled with rolls of polyester, Brute perfumes, Quality Street chocolates, Rothmans cigarettes and bottles of liquor.

So see, it was not a bad situation we were in then. Somewhere down the years people got bored and found more reasons to booze. More and more factories closed down and more men flew to the Arabian cities, in budget and not so budget carriers that fleeced them for filling up their seats so easily. Bandhs (banned now) and Harthals (upgraded to what a Bandh stood for), offered plentiful holidays but restricted to stay at home. With higher wages for manual jobs, money flowing to NRI bank accounts, a humid and hot weather and a slow paced life in an otherwise ‘nothing else to do’ state, boozing might have been an attractive proposition. We now top the list of boozers in the country and it also supports the state exchequer to the tune of $1.2 billion.

A ban on liquor consumption seems to unsettle queues that are visible every 2 kilometres along the state highway. The serious question is, what will replace liquor to mourn a death, to raise a toast and to kill time in a harthal?

Troubled mountains of the Yezidis, Gazans, Tibetans and Kashmiri Pandits

It was the year 1984 and the sleepy school town of Tangasseri woke up to a murmur, that Mother Theresa had arrived in the Missionaries of Charity home in Tangasseri. It was ten minutes before the morning assembly bell to go from the flat metal disc hung next to the principle’s office, at Infant Jesus Anglo Indian High School; yet hundreds of children ran out of their class rooms, crossed the road that choked mostly of cycle rickshaws, fewer cars and bicycles loaded with students and school bags. 

They rushed into a small furniture-less room of the charity home known to distribute milk powder, wheat and medicines to the needy (generally argued as incentives for conversion). There she stood in the middle of the room wrinkled as ever, her hands busy being kissed by children of different faiths – all of them who chorused ‘Our Father in Heaven’ and ‘Hail Mary’ at the end of the school assembly, something which might be blasphemous now.

Today is World Humanitarian Day and Mother Theresa still remains the most recognisable icon of6 humanity, a virtue that is no longer taken for granted in a world of misplaced priorities and blinded greed for land, religious hegemony and power.  For some time now the mountains around the globe have been wailing.

The world is anguished at the gruesome accounts of murder in Gaza and at the ruthless genocide of the Yezidis.  The sheer violence and the pace of wiping out of a heritage in the arid mountains of northern Iraq has outshone the plight of the Tibetans and the Kashmiri Pandits who have been for long subjected to a gradual extinction of a rich cultural heritage over decades and with no signs of  rescue from a hegemonistic china or an apathetic India to its indigenous Pandits respectively. 

For now Dalai Lama stares helplessly beyond the Himalayan ranges for the dragon to let go and the Pandits look up, from their relief tents and borrowed homes across the country, to a Modi who wears a saffron turban at heart.

Fighting insurgencies and racial-religious intolerance seems deadly and tedious than rescuing poor and the bedridden from the sickness haunted streets of then Calcutta. Humanity is being celebrated as another ‘World Day’ in a long list of days earmarked to represent a cause and not an innate human gesture; as a reminder, as its no longer part of the gated communities and free markets we aspire for.

Whose Independence its anyway?

Growing up in the 70s and 80s, Independence Day meant to be a day to remember the contributions of freedom fighters that otherwise remained within the four walls of our history classes, walking the parade in Ashram maidan in the scorching sun (with a feeling of churning of the tummies that precedes spinning of the head) and ultimately a holiday.

Over the years there's lot to cheer and weep for a country that saw the Nehruvian social development marked by the public sector white elephants that still slow down the economy with its unique work culture of apathy, Stoic Indira rule, Age of nepotism under Rajiv that also ushered in the computer-literacy revolution, the liberalisation of the 90s that devalued the rupee over years from Rs3 to a dollar in the 1970s to Rs 40 in the 1990s, but boosted exports; created jobs, millionaires and more poor; and the rise of religious intolerance and moral policing in life and arts (read books and movies) and a tunnel-visioned foreign policy that alienated all of our neighbours.

India leads in space technology, Global exports of goods/services and soft power. But we do also export maids, drivers and labourers (when there is shortage for them domestically) and risking self respect. I am yet to see a Lebanese maid or a Jordanian labourer in the Middle East. Doesn't mean all is well with these countries; yet there is an inherent self respect in the polity.

There is more nationalism visible now. FB/Twitter profile pics are painted in tri-colour, people do actually wish each other on social media and RJs and TV anchors fill up their script for the day. School children are still asked to join rallies and some may still feel dizzy under a monsoon free sun; but the nauseating chillness of the ruling class that is free of accountability and ethics, and immune to the laws of the land celebrates the real independence.

B+F Open Flame Kitchen

Word spread quickly about this new joint in Kuwait – B+F Open Flame Kitchen. Opened in 360⁰ mall OFK comes from the group that operates two of the best food joints (Slider Station and Burger Boutique) – both my favourites.

We managed to get into the waiting list and 90 minutes later got a call. The Indian guy with long hair at the entrance was smartly dressed and for once I thought there are good looking Indians in Kuwait. We were escorted to our table next to the bar counter. I guess Dark, Gold and lots of Metal was the brief given to the interior designers’. The golden dome shaped chimneys – 3 of them were aesthetically placed within the seating area. The chimneys looked like 3 huge furnaces with kitchen counters alive under them. The maze of circular metal rods that run atop between the domes add to the ‘black’ theme.

After sipping the complementary drink we were greeted with ‘Shrimp balls’ (coated in fried thin noodles) rolled at the end of sugarcane sticks and ‘Wild fire Burger’. The balls were juicy and it was fun chewing the sugarcane sticks (memories of childhood at mama’s home in the Island). The slider burger was so-so; I have had better ones at ‘Slider Station’. 

Medium done mutton ribs and ‘Ostrich’ lean meat accompanied with Portobello mushroom sauce, baby tomatoes in penne sauce and sautéed spinach. Will definitely recommend the mutton ribs but would have preferred the ‘Ostrich’ to left in the Australian wildlife. 

We got ourselves drowned in the Brownie chocolate pudding (a must try) before leaving the table for someone else who had already clocked 90 minutes. 

P.S. you may not find all of the dishes listed in the menu available. We lost out on our first 6 choices.

Romancing Jaipur!

Drive from Delhi to Jaipur in the wee hours of a cold foggy December morning was interrupted intermittently by a mammoth caterpillar of trucks trailing for kilometers. I had never seen so many trucks in my life. Nothing noteworthy regarding the drive…though loved the parathas from the highway dhabas.

We had just 3 days to immerse in this kaleidoscope of magnificent historical sights, culture, art forms, exotic food and electric mix of people and elephants. For the past few weeks we have been wanting to be in Jaipur….to feel and experience the magic of its medieval charm.

The walled pink city was crowded with people, cars, rickshaws, two wheelers, jaywalkers and what not. The shops lining the sides of this ocean of traffic looked straight out of a bollywood film set. I knew what I had to do in Jaipur….get to see the not to be missed sights, eat as much I can and romance Jaipur – the way I haven’t romanced any other place; and i did.

‘Jal Mahal’ was like a landscape painted in water colour…the wavery reflection of the palace in the midst of the lake was like a morning dream. 

A 20 minutes drive later ’Amber Fort’ (pronounced as Amer) was in sight – built in the 16th century, its a beautiful complex of palaces, halls, pavilions and temples – immortalised in the epic drama ‘Jodha Akbar’. We walked through the maze of hallways and narrow steps that crisscross the complex and was 10 minutes late to reach the foot hill of the complex for the 50 min ‘light and sound’ show that started at 6pm (instead of 6.30 pm). The open air theatre set against the majestic fort was the ideal setting for a cold winter evening show. The fort, the sole actor brought to life in shades of yellow, red and Prussian blue the vibrant history of rajputs and the fort.

On our way back we dropped in at ‘Chokhi Dhani’ – a wholesome package on Rajasthan culture. Ambience was that of a fair with magic shows, puppet show, antique shops, traditional eateries, play areas, mud houses (will never forget what happened inside) and chalets complete this resort. We went for a drink and had karkori kebabs – it just melted. The night was getting colder and we waited in a queue for the traditional Rajasthan thali. Everything about the thali was spicy except the plate and side plates that were made of leaves. Water was served in mud mugs. We had our pictures taken with the turban.

Started day 2 with a visit of the City palace. Didn’t find it special. Outside amongst the chaos of people and traffic there was an old ambassador car parked in the middle of the road with a ‘gori’ model in designer labels lying seductively on the bonnet and cameras flashing while hundreds reined in by ‘Jaipur bouncers’ walled the ambassador. Surprisingly the crowd behaved – am told in Delhi the same shoot would have been greeted with sleazy comments.

Outside the palace we did a bit of shopping and took a guided tour of the ‘Hawa Mahal’. The ‘guide’ came in as a record player (the size of a pin pad) and headphones for Rs 80. The girl at the counter spoke impeccable english with a refined disposition and looked out of place for a medieval Jaipur. We walked around like Siamese twins as we had to share the player - we didn’t complain. A magnificent 5 storey pyramidal building crowned with latticed balconies and miniature domes and covered with delicately sculpted stone jalis – 953 in all. Built in 1799 for the women of the royal household to watch the royal and religious processions without being seen. The King was the only male who was allowed entry. That explains why the structure did not have an entrance from the main road. 

We had time only for Nahargarh fort. Set on the densely forested hill top offers a stunning view of the city. The plasterwork on the walls were noteworthy as the finish was so smooth that its indistinguishable from marble. I have lasting memories of the time we spend in the palace corridors, hallways, rooms that looked over the city and the long rocky fort pathways running down the hills. We were indeed romancing …may be just like the Rajputs did centuries ago in the silent cold breezy corners….away from the footsteps echoing in the corridors.

We saw sunset from the fort walls and soon the palace wrapped up in thick darkness. There was not a single light in the palace except the choolas that were lit by the labourers at the basement of the palace to cook their dinner. On our way down the hill, at a distance ‘Jal Mahal’ glittered in the still lake waters. We dined at “Peshawari” at the Sheraton and called it a day.

Jaipur will always remain close to my heart. I romanced like never before - in the unkempt palaces, amidst the noisy and chaotic pink city and while gorging the spicilicious food that Jaipur offered.

Shakespeare Cafe - Jumeirah, Dubai

It was an unassuming evening drive that turned out to be a memorable lazing over coffee. We were out for a late night drive on Jumeirah road and were looking for a café. I remembered Jaishree taking me to ‘Shakespeare Café’ a few weeks back. It was just around the corner. In a few minutes we reached the café. The café is spread over what seems to look like a living room, verandah and an adjoining room – all of which is part of a two storey commercial building that houses among other shops an antique shop, cafes and a pizzeria.  

The exterior room built with wooden walls and huge glass windows with flower pots hung on them overlooking the parking space is the most welcoming.  Shakespeare’s café is one of its kinds in terms of interiors.  There are no tables and chairs – only sofa’s and sofa tables that are gaudy and seems like straight out of a high school Shakespeare play. But then that’s what makes it special and magical amidst the multi flavoured sheesha smoke that bubbles from the tobacco molasses.

Each sofa is distinct from the other and layered with satin cushions – even though it makes a great Shakespearean backdrop but does not work so much for your back. We thought the style quotient didn’t match up to its comfort counterpart. 

The menu is largely Mediterranean and owing to a low appetite we shared a chicken and grilled vegetable sandwich. The latte and cappuccino kept us going while we bubbled the ‘mixed berry’ sheesha for over an hour. It was a cold night and we had a memorable rendezvous.

The crowd was a handful of young Emiratis  -   girls and boys rattling merrily into the wee hours and two loners reading books with sheesha  joining them for company. The staff was extra courteous and attentive. The place exudes a lot of style. We promised ourselves another visit….looking forward to it.

Kamala Das - One last love!

Kamala Das’s embrace of Islam was widely covered in the media. Most of them (media and the literary circle) knew the reasons for her conversion even though she did feign an attempt to explain that she felt protection in a ‘purdha’, liked the discipline of the religion and wanted a Master to guide her!.

For someone who had romanticised her love for Lord Krishna through numerous writings and a literary icon who embodifies Hindu cultural symbols, her sudden metamorphosis to a burqa clad ‘Suraiya’ was like the Pope swapping his costume with Sri Sri Ravi Shankar.

The truth was that she once again found love in her late years in a politician who was 20 years younger to her. She believed in total surrender in love (as true to her writings) and declared to the whole world her plans to convert. The politician who was madly in love with her chickened out in the last minute. He was worried about his career; may be his worry had more to do with the public perception of him making love to a 60 plus year old literary icon.

He withdrew and she never revealed his identity. She wrote about their love …at times describing it as a love that was secretly unveiled in moonlight. A few poems later she left the world.

Love bite bites!

Is that a bed bug bite? A 6 year old girl hushed to her mom while staring agonizingly at a lady seated across in the metro. The lady in her mid 40's revealed a furious 'love bite' above her collar bone. The mother agreed to her child's inference. She was glad that her child knew about bed bugs and thankfully that she is too young to know that love bites!

Love making is a private affair. Every day millions of couples married or not, whether they are entitled or legally allowed to or not, indulge in it.  Some carry the 'wear and tear' for the next few days. I do not know if its cool to carry around love bites while in a metro or at work. Though its a positive indication of an active sex life, it can cause unease for atleast a few in conservative societies who happen to see it escpecially when accompanied with children.

The sight of it can raise a pair of accusing eyes to a husband suddenly caught off guard, 'when was the last time I had one?' 

At work there have been a few men and women who used to flaunt it - 'you bet...last night was entertainment entrainment entertainment'. But then some would attempt to weakly hide it with a slippery shawl or a high neck collar - 'yes it was really good...hope you guys didn't see it'. Thats all about the good part of the 'bite'.

What about the bites that come from stolen moments?  Those who didn't get from their partners have a tough time with concealers and googling for more tips to hide it. There are many...not to be disappointed. I  have checked it :-).

Its Valentine around the corner. Those who cant afford to flaunt a 'love bite', Def Leppard song comes as a statutory warning:

If you've got love in your sights 
Watch out, love bites 
Yes it does 
It will be hell!

The Indian Story Telling - A Tragic End

Its the time of Rajshri brand of movies (remember Maine pyar kiya, Hum aap ke hai kaun, Vivaah). Every body ought to be in love with each other. No hate, no evil; may be a thin slice of jealousy could be squeezed in during the narrative (just to lead the story to a logical conclusion). But then it shouldn't  hurt anyone's sensitivity - be it in the North or South, Hindu or Muslim, Priest or Sanyasins, Upper Caste or Lower Caste, Weaker sex or those in sex trade,  Tribals or Maoists, the list is endless in our democratic country. 

Its tiring times for writers. Their characters can no longer be bad or with grey shades. More so the grey ones should not be identified with any community, religion or political background. They need to speak the language in neutral accent and should be an aetheist with no political affiliations (an accent trained chinese might fit the bill). Thats the democratic stage allowed for characters in India, while in the real democratic world where we live we know people do kill in the name of religion, God men leading lustrous lives, fringe political outfits into moral policing, and many more that would inadvertently offend someone somewhere if depicted on screen or in a book.

Lets forget that once writers had the freedom to reflect the society. Disney fairy tales do sell anyways. The villains are mostly witches- who cares, thankfully they are not a vote bank!