“Weekend Diaries: A Tale of Two Cities and Other Stories”

# It has been less than a fortnight since I left Bombay. And in little over a fortnight, I leave to my next muse: Delhi. As a teenager, I wondered at the fascinations of people with their cities. Now, I wonder at mine. Cities and nostalgia coexist. You look at a city and you see phases of time captured here and there, blotched in different colours of different hues. People, dreams, and struggle of existence give a city its flavour. As for beauty, a city lies in the eyes of the beholder. It may mean nothing to you in oblivion and it may mean so much to you as a function of vivacity.

I can’t say with conviction if Delhi and Bombay shared different colonial past but they surely have a contrasting present altogether. Yes, they are the two most-talked cities of the country but it was only in recent past that I, thanks to my friends inhibiting these cities, came to know that an ardent lover of one city automatically christens you as a jeerer of the other. I wish the world was this simple as a place.

I do read a lot about Delhi. Prime source of my fascination infuses from its past and permeating present. Bombay was a place of cinema, business, Sachin, Rohinton Mistry, and a disaster called Shantaram. It is only now that week-end readings on Bombay occupy my shelf.

In India: A Portrait, Patrick French observes India to be a “melting pot”.  And if we were to see India as a melting-pot, no place more deserving than Bombay is to be crux of that pot. Here everything amalgamates with everything that nothing remains just the only thing. Bombay does not intimidate you with its magnanimity like Delhi does but by its sheer pace and every second day changes. ‘Adapt’ is the ‘relax’ and movement is the favourite pastime. Washington, Beijing, Madrid, Canberra and Delhi may have been the administrative capitals but it were the NYC, Shanghai, Barcelona, Sydney and Bombay which ended up representing dreams of the populace.

While Delhi maybe my first love, Bombay is surely the new infatuation.

# This week-end’s readings include:

Vikram Chandra, Love and Longing in Bombay  

Suketu Mehta, Maximum City

# My friend, moving to Delhi and looking for a roof to live under, asked me for some contacts. I recommended him magicbricks. Stupid people!

# An interesting article on the mongrelisation of English is here.

# An interesting website, a modern day Hobson-Jobson of modern day South Asia lingo is here. A treat to linguists. Do check.

©Rakesh 2011

"Random Nostalgia: Cicade de Jodhpur"

You miss Jodhpur and you miss….  

Railway Station: One of the oldest railway-stations; belonged to erstwhile Marwar state. the red-brick look, toy train and adjoining clock tower, the taxi-wallas who’ll quote thrice the fare going by my not-so-Marwari appearance, statue of Ummed Singh next to it, the cheap food-stalls and “hotels” next to it, Sarvoday bookstore
 

City Clock Tower: Spice market, scrap electronics market, tobacco market, and congested gallis. And yeah; cows. Arora Namkeen
 

Jalori Gate: Shahi samosa, “second-hand” bookstores
 

Ummed Palace: Fondly called the Chittar-Palace; largest private property of the world. Residence of erstwhile rulers of Marwar
 

Mandore: abandoned erstwhile capital of Marwar state. In-laws’ home of the mythical demon Ravan, Garden and the monkeys
 

Walled City: and the old city market within
 

City Fort: Mehrangarh, 400 feet above the city; the view of Blue-City
 

The architecture of Collectorate, High-Court and Jodhpur University
 

Kaylana Lake and the ferryboat rides
 

Gulaab Halwa Paliwale; MG Road
 

Shastri Circle at the evenings
 

Monsoon Bike rides to Osiyan and Tinwari village; Highway food
 

Ramdevara Jaitarus in the months of July and August
 

Sundays at Sumer Public Library
 

Terminal at Mohanpura Bridge
 

Jaljog Circle and CCD
 

B-Road: Shiv Gauri, Bombay Sandwiches.
 

Kohinoor Twin Cinemas: They are a delight on opening days of any Salman Khan movie.
 

Hakeems of 12th Road and Station Road
 

Tanga rides from Nagauri-gate to old-city
 

Free-entry plays at Town-Hall
 

Free shows and art-exhibitions at Information Centre
 

Budget-shopping at National Handlooms
 

City-Buses at peak hours
 

Sojati Gate at elections
 

Silence of streets on Indo-Pak matches and next day front page photo of deserted Nai Sarak in local dailies
 

Reading local dailies; they are fun I tell you
 

Playing Cricket at Barkhatullah Khan Stadium
 

Ravan Ka Chabutra Maidan at Ramnavamis; Circus Shows
 

Listening to women haggling at the old-market, free-entertainment guaranteed
 

Feeding fishes at Lalsagar
 

Nightlong haithais and gupshups in the old-city
 

Paota Circle and traffic-cops; Sabzee Market
 

As much as I can remember….
 

Photo: City Clock Tower
 

©Rakesh 2011

“Coffee Tales: I Just Want to Have a Coffee!"

Today, tired of the day, I went to this coffee café which has franchise across all the major cities. The ambiance was nice and the big screen on the wall showed a repeat cast of an EPL match. It was a no-brainer that the place was less coffee and more dating. But that was not the reason I was there. I wanted to be at any place which was not spelt as T.R.A.F.F.I.C. I was fidgeting the contents of my bag when I was presented with the menu card.

Jeez! I’ve been to cafés but this list was really endless. I realized that I’ve had never ordered anything at such places; thanks to my friends who always did it for me. But this was confounding. Cappuccino? Espresso? Okay. This sounded familiar. I can do that. I thought.

“Espresso it will be.” I told the waitron.

“Ristretto? Doppio Espresso? Or Macchiato?” Came the quick interrogation.

“Macchiato sounds good.” I pretended

“You want it with latte or with ice?” He was not giving up.

“I’ll have it with latte please.” I expressed my intentions.

“We’ll have your customized-coffee at your table in few minutes Sir.”

Now I did not know what to say. But that was exhausting! I felt like screaming out loud that I just wanted to have a coffee. Any damn coffee as long as it is not a tea. I don’t care if it is Cappuccino or Americano. Yes, I don’t understand coffee for I ain’t a coffee-maven. I don’t even know what ‘latte’ means your schmuck! (I later ‘Googled’ it though to make sure they weren’t adding poison.) I'll rather watch KJo's shallow talk show where they don't have to choose from n varieties of coffees. and where they spell coffee with a 'K' than dying of suffocation at this place.

And by the moment they had the customized-coffee for me, I did not even feel like having it. I felt like an outsider and had a feeling that fifty pairs of eyes were piercing through me for the every sip I was having. Overcharged and done with pretentious etiquettes, I rushed out of the place. Breathed some polluted air. Cars and buses were talking with honks. I love traffic, I said to myself.

©Rakesh 2011

"Dating Bombay: In Search of an ‘Indian’ City"

                                                                                                          

“The first requisite to happiness is that man be born in a famous city.” 

-Euripides

While for Rousseau cities were “the abyss of the human species”, for Shakespeare it was all about people. I can’t remember since when I caught a strange fascination towards cities, but maybe this has something to do with my changing cities very often every few years. (Thanks to my dad’s job and my education needs) Delhi was always special and intriguing for me only because I’ve had read a lot about it. As for Bombay, I could not find a reason well enough to be excited about, but still it was a muse of my excitements. Maybe Bombay represents a very basic dream to be among the betters for the bourgeoisie. Like Rio de Janeiro is for Brazilians and NYC is for people from second-world.

Some time back, I could not digest what an article said about Indian cities in Livemint. I just thought that the writer was pretending to be classy and unorthodox all just to create sensation to grab desperate attention. Writers do that. But now that I think of, I can’t construe any genuine ‘Indian’ city which is worth for its planning, architecture and class. Delhi was built by Moghuls who were not Indian, at least till that time and later by the British. Moghuls gave us Agra, Fatehpur Sikri, Lahore, Dhakha and others. Hyderabad was Kutb dynasty’s talent. 

All major ports were conceived by traders who came from Europe. These include: Pondicherry, Goa, Madras and Calcutta. Shimla, Darjeeling and to a large extent Bangalore and Chandigarh in modern times, are all British. Jamshedpur, of which I get mixed reviews, was again an idea of a Parsi, a community not indigenous to India. All the rise of the ‘90s could give us were Gurgoan, Noida, Ahmedabad and the likes. Which by all means are just noise and pollution and glass and concrete. The Indian stamp on Delhi and Madras is nothing but debasing. Bangalore and Calcutta are mess now. This leaves us with cities of erstwhile southern kingdoms like Cochins and Vizaks but they are not world-class by any means. Cities of Ganges planes like Varanasis, Kashis and Patnas? Maybe. The Indian cities I can think of now are all former Rajputana fort-holds. Jaipur, Jodhpur, Ajmer, Chittorgarh, Jaisalmer and every major city you can think of in Rajasthan are all, if not world class, hallmarks of proper planning and architecture, although of striking similarity. Mind you, I am not talking about the city-expansions beyond the ‘walls’ which are again dingy. The state of these cities inside the 'walls' is miserable though now. But then again, cities of Rajputana and Sikhs were heavily influenced by works of Moguls. In fact, the most recognized monument of Jodhpur and the largest private property in the world, Umaid Palace, was again designed by a British.So the truly world-class ‘Indian’city of its times belonged to Harappa and Mohenjo-Daro, I guess.

Bombay is no different. From seven barren islands developed by Portuguese and later by British, all India could add to it was haphazardness and change in name of city and its landmarks. Bombay is no different from any other sloppy Indian city. The only part of the city where you are not ashamed to be in is South-Bombay. All British and heavily populated by Parsis. And it is world-class because it is not Indian. People from other parts of the city proud themselves in their cosmopolitan outlook and an unobservable , invisible and fancy-named ‘Mumbai-Spirit’. This Mumbai-Spirit, for as much I could observe over my stay of three days, refers to daily struggle for survival. Darwin, if alive, would have definitely cited Bombay to endorse his theories.

Don’t get me wrong. Bombay is awesome. But only if you are an Indian and are used to this way of living. It, arguably, it the best Indian city to live in. Although people pride themselves in being exotic and being able to speak fluent not-so-pedantic English, but to my pleasant surprise, it thankfully is devoid of fake, boring and pretentious intellectual intelligentsia. Like that of Delhi, if I were to mention. You have here, the best of both worlds. And once you get into the groove of it, you don’t want to live anywhere else. Bombay brings you out of your comfort zone and rewards you for it. I loved Bombay and would want to be there always. If we goes by Shakespeare's notion of judging a city by its people, this city is classy and cosmopolite. It has always opened arms for people of all caste, creed, religion, region and nationality. Even if you rape and debase it, it does not say No. Million dreams are conceived here everyday and twice that are shattered. This city has spice. And beyond all it's black murkiness, this city beats. This city has life.

The rise of the ‘90s, when most of us were actually born, has given us a false notion the India is the in-thing. The fact is that India and Indians are still and were always looked with contempt and disgust and associated with poverty and uncivilizedness all over the world. Most of us won’t know it because we are poor readers and poor travelers and won’t know how it is to live in a world-class civilized society. India can never give birth to London, Madrid, Venice, Rome, Vienna or Hong Kong. Not in these times at least.Till then, there is nothing to be proud of  about 'Indian-ness' in Indian cities.

Post Scripts:

• It is awesome to be gifted  a camera before you embark to Bombay. Not a cam-savy person, but thank god else I would have so much missed capturing the city. :)
• Also, it is cool to meet some online identities. It is cooler if you could avoid the taxing part. People in Bombay are suave, refined, sophisticated, classy, polished and recherché. At least people I know are. :)
• Also it is cool to stand next to SRKs Mannat and feel liked screaming. The watchman is very friendly. :)
• Don’t believe in Shantaram. He, like all foreign authors, is programmed to see shit and is biased. Slumdog Millionaire is crap. :)
• If you can’t create it, rename it. :)
• Oxford disappoints. It is less books and more dating. :)
• Taxi and Auto drivers are surprisingly friendly and honest. Go by meter and standard fare-chart. Autos are rickety. Not allowed in South-Bombay. :)
• Elephanta caves, though world heritage site, are not that majestic. Though the cheap to and fro ferry ride from Gateway of India to it is worth it :)
• Some interesting takes on Indian cities are here and here. :) 

In photo:(from left) Taj Mahal hotel, Gateway of India, Unknown building.

©Rakesh 2011