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Some photos from a wonderful weekend in Hyderabad – Falaknuma (mirror of the sky) Palace, Chowmahalla Palace and some local sights.
26 Sunday Feb 2012
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Some photos from a wonderful weekend in Hyderabad – Falaknuma (mirror of the sky) Palace, Chowmahalla Palace and some local sights.
22 Wednesday Feb 2012
I wanted to write about my experience soon after the Patna trip simply because I din’t want to lose the ‘high’ I felt post day one. However, to ensure that the feelings were not transitionary, I waited a few days. While my first impression was clouded by the city’s dust and loud buzz, it definitely was not the lasting one. My work gave me the opportunity to tour within and outside of Patna and also to connect with people across many spheres of daily life. Apart from the meetings, interactions included those with hotel staff, rickshaw and taxi drivers, restaurant owners, street food vendors, tourist offices, local women and shop owners. I was always left pleasantly surprised with their willingness to help and be friendly, which goes to show how prejudiced I may have been about ‘biharis’, an impression based largely on their reckless driving skills. When I mentioned this to our rickshaw driver (who become our private guide for a small hike in fare, displayed a sense of loyalty by vociferously shooing away anyone who dared jump onto the ‘reserved’ vehicle, took great pride in showing us around his city and did not dictate the final price but only happily took whatever we offered – Pavan Kumar and do give him a call if you land up in Patna (0)99052 01327), he went on to say something so simple yet profound – “Bihar mein aisa kuch nahi hai, sab jagah log ache hota hai aur bure bhi hote hai, aur bihar ke log waise hi hai” which means “People are people everywhere, good and bad exists even in Bihar but it isn’t anything out of the ordinary”. He mentioned that earlier there used to be a lot of ‘goonda gardi’, but now Nitish Kumar’s government had a strong hold on law and order. In a city which would calm down by 7 p.m., we now found ourselves, two girls, roaming freely late into the evening. So obvious was his statement that I felt ashamed of expecting otherwise. And so relieved did I feel with this realization of human behavior that I even let my guard down with Bihari bacteria. Omlette pav, paapdi chaat, aaloo tikki, moodi, litti, narayal paani, aam paapad and a king size bite of moti choor laddoo later, I was hugely satisfied.
Another thing I noticed is that common spellings vary drastically across India and it’s so interesting how you can hear local accents through the way things are spelt. ‘Fhemily resturant’, ‘paw bhaji’ or ‘whishkey’, totally cracked me up and I cannot explain how funny it was when during one of our meetings, me and Vijaybhai played ping pong with Vijay and Bhijay until he flashed me a wide grin and signaled ‘V for Victory’ in my face.
Through the course of the next few days, we saw and sensed the efforts that must have gone into developing Bihar. The organizations we met expressed hope with the current government, who also regularly organizes ‘jan sabhas’, a platform for the common people to meet with the chief minister. One of the organizations, fighting for a tough policy change has managed to make headway with the government and their fight has seen more light than in previous days.
Going forward, I will judge situations not as a result of inherent human flaws but only as outcomes of their surrounding environment and also pay more attention to developments taking place in Bihar as these will make for good learning lessons. My journey came a full circle, when I asked the rickshaw driver who was dropping me home to wait outside the polling booth, while I cast my vote for Mumbai’s municipal elections. I left my suitcase for a good ten minutes, entrusting the driver and whilst dropping me home, much to my delight, he told me that he was from Patna too. Thinking back on my trip, I could imagine the family and home that he must have given up to drive us around, the buzzing mosquitoes as we call them, in a city run by those who divide and rule on state lines and elected into power only because the majority cannot be bothered to vote.
13 Monday Feb 2012
Posted Patna
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Landing in Patna on a lovely morning, the weather a perfect 17°C, we were looking forward to experiencing Nitish Kumar’s Bihar in full action. For a suburban girl from Mumbai, chaos is not an out of order phenomenon, but the streets and bylanes of Patna are crazy. The morning began by sitting in a rickshaw wider and taller than those in Mumbai but driven with a higher level of recklessness. Three times the driver banged into someone or something and life continued on as normal. I however, found myself inching inwards several times only to save my derrière from being dragged along by the bus that drove too close for my comfort. What is funny here is the rickshaw sharing concept wherein they pause when they see a bystander, even though they are overflowing with people and then take you in without even asking you where you want to go. We did hop into one only to change our plan because the driver wasn’t going where we wanted to and then, he dropped us off at the market place so that we could find ourselves another rickshaw to continue onwards. We decided to walk and were guided on to the Khuda Bakhsh Oriental Public Library, one of the few things to see in Patna, which was supposedly a 10 minute walk. 30 minutes later, and soaked in a bizarre February rain shower, we found ourselves at a 2 storey building which was very well maintained and definitely stood out amongst Patna’s other structures. To fulfil the long cherished desire of his father, Khuda Bakhsh opened it for the people of Patna, with 4,000 rare manuscripts in Arabic, Persian and Turkish, apart from the printed books and today it houses, close to 21,000 oriental manuscripts and 2.5 lakh printed books. Unfortunately, we only managed to catch some glimpses of the collections. With Bodhgaya and Nalanda being too far away to embark upon in the afternoon, we returned to Hotel Patliputra Ashok, which I must add, we were lucky to get since most of Patna’s hotels were sold out but not that lucky either because if you shut the bathroom door completely, you will get locked in. The rickety ride back to the hotel was not pleasant either and I felt myself choking on the smoke which was settling down in my lungs along with the cold heavy Patna air. Sitting in the room, blaring horns still resonating all around me, I’m reflecting back on the lovely chaat which adorned the otherwise murky streets of Patna. Hot samosa chaats and the traditional Litti, which I will muster up the courage to try during the course of my next 3 days in Bihar 🙂
05 Sunday Feb 2012
Posted Aurangabad, Travels
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Little did I realize what gems the city of Aurangabad – named after the Mughal emperor Aurangzeb, would present before me on a quick weekend getaway. Ajanta and Ellora were embedded in my mind as typical school trip destinations, ones which usually fail to leave a mark on the child, due largely to more interest in friends, frolic and the burden of history. Also, caves in India are marred with visuals of graffiti and serve as love abodes, rather than serving their historically significance. But, for all those who have not visited Aurangabad – please do so with a sense of urgency. A year from now, replicas of the main caves in Ajanta will be open to visitors while the original treasures made accessible only to historians and scholars – so before this happens, do go and savor some of Maharashtra’s grandest sights.
Ajanta – curtains open to a dramatic setting. Amidst a deep ravine, 250 feet above the ground and across an inverted C-shaped rock cut out, lie 29 Buddhist caves. Built in two phases, the former dating all the way back to 2nd century BCE, these caves lay hidden amongst thick forests only to be discovered in the early 19th century by a British officer during his hunting adventures. Imagine these caves, bespeckled with paintings, frescoes and larger than life statues of Buddha.
Their carvings, so intricate, go to show how far ahead we were from our foreign competitors two hundred years before Christ. Secular themes, depictions from the Jataka tales, geometric patterns, floral and ornamental motifs, celestial beings and many more wonderful imagery lay splashed across. Unfortunately, the humid weather aggravated by unheeded flash photography have contributed to ruining some of these marvels, the penalty of which all of us will pay a year from now.
100 kilometers away lie the 34 caves of Ellora – where remarkable memorials of three great faiths – Hinduism, Jainism and Buddhism are spread over 2 kilometers. 12 of the caves are Buddhist (600 AD to 800 AD), 17 Hindu (600 AD – 900 AD) and the rest Jain (800 AD – 1000 AD). Beginning with the Jain section, the monolithic rock cut temple had a certain heaviness about it but the delicate and detailed ornamentation on the pillars rendered grace to the setting. In contrast, Kailashnath, the unrivaled centerpiece of Ellora, was heavily laden with sculptures depicting scenes from Hinduism, Mahabharata and Ramayana. Built over 150 years, an early visitor to this particular cave has been quoted to say “It is a wonder to see so great a mass in the air which seems so slenderly under-dropped that one could hardly forbear to shudder on first entering it”. I felt exactly the same.
Lastly, the southern section is lined with Buddhist caves, some of which house the Buddha’s towering statues (Mahayana period) and others, house relics which are symbolic of Buddhism but do not align with a form of Buddha (Hinayana period). A combination of Chaityas (chapels) and Viharas (monastries), these caves are peaceful and yet, present a heavily sublime sense of grandness.
Finally, the originality of the above monuments is complemented by a close attempt at modeling the great Shah Jahan’s Taj Mahal. ‘Bibi-Ka-Maqbara’, commissioned by Aurangzeb’s son, Azam Shah, in memory of his mother Rabia-ul-Durrani, pales in comparison to Mumtaz’s Mahal but is most definately worth a visit.
All in all, Aurangabad, in the winter months especially, is not worth missing and it would be a shame to let go of a wonderful weekend right here in Maharashtra.
01 Wednesday Feb 2012
I have always felt a strong attachment to my city, Mumbai. Our equation however has evolved with time and today I seek answers to several complex questions. After a few years of studying abroad, I was surprisingly aware of sights in Mumbai that I was earlier immune to. Labourers toiling in the hot sun with their children playing in debris nearby – I questioned the authenticity of the ‘city of dreams’. Multitudes of tiny hutments shadowed by tall buildings – I doubted whether this was a form of blissful ‘co-existence’ we are popularly known to house. Traffic engulfed roads at all times and this made worse by a lack of driving etiquette – I wondered where the ‘city planning’ was. I found myself craving for a weekend away only to listen to sounds of silence.
Many a times I imagine a life lived outside of Mumbai but once that moment has passed, I know that our relationship is beyond flings. For all her vices, she still boasts an indomitable spirit, a gentle nature, a forgiving attitude and a universal sense of acceptance. Having lived here, one cannot dispute the existence of a certain oneness amongst her culturally diverse, migrant infused and economically disparate population. I know that Mumbai, like other cities, is not a perfect one. But I also believe that she has not failed her people in providing them with a certain sense of belonging.
I have been breeding a shameful sense of ignorance about Mumbai for a while. Books have been written, movies have been made and foreigners have breathed her in more than I have. So far, my knowledge about her has been restricted to restaurants, clubs and the Gateway of India. But now, an inherent fondness has paved the need for a substantiated love. I feel the need to be a tourist in my own city and visit the ‘much written about’ destinations along with unravelling local joints that lend Mumbai her unique charm. I wish to walk around in the scorching sun amongst her people, to jump onto a local train (for therein lies my first challenge) and in turn, unravel as many facets of daily life as I can. My plan is to be foot loose and fancy free with the objective of finding a more deserving sense of belonging and also, to bring Mumbai closer to you.
14 Tuesday Jun 2011
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Location: Sir Jamshedji Jeejeebhoy road, Byculla
Photographs by Robin Chhabra and Amira Shah.
The Jews in Mumbai are few, 5000 to say the most and hence when enlisting the minority communities in India, very often we forget to mention theirs. It is important to highlight their contributions to Mumbai laid through the foundations of the Sassoon empire. David Sassoon, fled Baghdad (a baghdadi jew) to arrive in Mumbai in 1832. Along with his family, he set up his home in the Byculla area and with it, the mercantile Sassoon empire. He traded in silver, gold, silks, gum, spices, opium, cotton, wool, wheat. It was said that “whatever moves over sea or land feels the hand or bears the mark of Sassoon and company”. It must also be noted that while through trade and commerce Mumbai benefitted greatly from this empire, Sir David Sassoon and his family also made great philanthropic contributions. Schools, colleges, libraries, hospitals and so forth. The home he built in Byculla (now Masina hospital) became a hub of social and religious activity. It was close to this home that he decided to build the Magen David synagogue in 1861.
Painted in a chalky blue and overshadowed by a cloudy sky, the first impulse is to stare at the imposing clock tower, a part of the religious edifice. Interestingly, this clock tower became a trade mark for most monuments donated by the patriarch of the Sassoon family, differentiating the offerings made by other family members. The entrance of this two storeyed structure is marked by tall pillars laced in white. While the blue and white paint renders this synagogue a distinguinshed look, its facade, bearing a few corinthian columns which add a dash of decor, is quite simple. In contrast to the outside, the inside is dazzling with yellow and white lights lit even during the day. It reminded me of Diwali celebrations. A red carpeted central prayer area provides for a sense of symmetry within the synagogue and benches of varying designs are laid out all over. The visit to this synagogue, however, felt incomplete for it was at an odd hour and marked by the absence of worshippers and that makes it difficult to feel a religious space in its entireity. While I wish to experience a synagogue when followers are in attendence, for the time being I have become more aware of this small community living in Mumbai and of their contributions made thus far.
01 Wednesday Jun 2011
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Sarthak is a 3rd year student of architecture at Georgio Institute of Technology, USA (dhingra.sarthak@gmail.com).
Location: Kala Ghoda, Fort
My mother first told me about Amira’s plans to visit Mumbai as a tourist and she suggested I accompany her. I must say that I am extremely glad I did. Not only did I visit parts of Mumbai that I had never known existed, it allowed me for the first time to actually feel truly at home in this city where I took a local train not because I absolutely had to. Over my years in Mumbai, I had witnessed sights of enthusiasm, of dedication, of perseverance, of sorrow, of humility and of joy that had made me proud to say that I was a part of this city. I am uncertain about how comfortable I would feel saying that today, I question how apt it is for one to feel like ‘a part’ of the whole that we characterize as our city. Most of us live so superficially and in our cushioned niches that we fail to be a part of the heart, the blood, the sweat and the tears that come to embody the character of our city. After getting just a small taste of the Mumbai experience I cannot say that I am a part of this city, I don’t know who is but I do feel more at home here.
Getting out of the taxi that brought us to the Fort area, we were not particularly looking for St Thomas’ cathedral yet but rather Yazdani bakery. Making our way through the hustle and bustle of the old financial district we noticed what resembled an under heighted clock tower, a little sign by the entry gate read ‘St Thomas’ cathedral’.
As one stands facing the gate there is very little indication architecturally of this being a church. Moving through the gate we are set on an angled approach as opposed to a linear approach most definite for church design as it was meant to be processional. You approach an exonarthex (outer entrance or lobby area) with two little engravings on stone from entirely different eras offering homage to the people credited for the creation and maintenance of the church. It leads into an endonarthex (inner entrance or lobby area) however not in the traditional sense and it feels like a vestibule of sorts. With the use of the narthex, the church suggests elements traditional to Byzantine architecture which dates back to the rise of Christianity in the Roman Empire. You view again a series of stone engravings however each one of these is remarkable in its own right. Each is a memorial to British parishioners, many of whom died young of disease or in battle.
The cathedral built in the early 1700’s is an amalgam of Neo-Classical and Neo-Gothic styles. It has a whitewashed interior and is furnished with polished brass, wood and stained glass windows. A little scale model of the church drew me towards it and informed me of the restoration work that was being done on the church. It was easy to identify strong architectural features such as buttressing columns that was a clear suggestion to Victorian-Gothic architecture. I was astounded by how ignorant I had been to the fact that I could find such architecture right at home.
It took a moment of seated calm to realize what a religious edifice this was. Walking down the nave (central approach) towards the high altar which led me to the Gothic extension, the ceilings rose another 10 feet reaching a total height of nearly 30 feet and if you allow your eyes to follow the slender curvature of the roof, you will find some of the most beautiful stained glass works that you would have ever seen. Two parallel rows of choir stands lined the space perpendicular to the onlooker and a little gold bar blocked off the entire area. Multiple short Corinthian columns lined the area as if to point to the sheer weight of the structure. The entire space had an absolutely celestial feeling that is quite indescribable. The church might lack the scale and obvious grandeur as that of its contemporaries but the charm of the little Gothic extension and the entire cathedral’s willingness to survive was an absolute delight.
In the hope of being able to view the buttressed columns up close, we tried to go around towards the back of the cathedral and stumbled upon a playschool. This very playschool at some point might have been where the Cathedral & John Connon School, one of Mumbai’s oldest and finest schools began. One of the gates which the East India Company had built to protect their settlement was the entrance to the St. Thomas church. It was called Churchgate. That is why the whole area towards the West of the church is called “Churchgate” even today. I was not shocked or surprised as to how I had never known any of that, I had prepared myself or rather hoped to be surprised and I just smiled at myself.
30 Monday May 2011
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Location: Close to Grant road
Kamathipura derives its name from ‘Kamathis’, a group of workers from Andhra Pradesh who came to Mumbai in 1795 and rendered the flat areas habitable by the construction of Hornby Vellard and Belassis Road (two important causeways that allowed the merging of seven islands into today’s Mumbai). Several years later, one such liveable area is home to one of the world’s largest red light districts.
Apart from having walked the streets of Bangkok where girls on fliers are sold unwaveringly, I had never seen such a district before. With preconceived images of shining disco balls decorating the area and girls walking all around with glamorous expressions on their faces, I went to Kamathipura. However, Mumbai’s red light area, several narrow lanes running parallel to each other, had such a ‘usual’ air about it, that I felt lost in its normalcy.
In the late evening hour I did see the prostitutes, wearing bright red lipstick and gaudy jewellery, standing at the corners. I looked up to see the balconies from where I had heard that men take their pick, but no one stood there at this time of day. The parts of the buildings known to be brothels were covered on the outside with loose plastic. The rest, functioned as a normal residential space. Children were playing on the streets below, men at the paan-shop were discussing religion and Godliness, old men were sitting on resting hand carts, and women were buying vegetables for their evening meal. I also saw a Jain temple, a mosque and a church there. Kamathipura, was another crowded and poverty stricken inner city area, one where prostitution was any other profession.
The stories from Kamathipura are many. An architect friend who did a project within these by lanes speaks of night schools and shelters which have been set up for the children of these women while they are at work. In order to protect their children from the influences of this trade, they prefer to own homes in far away suburbs, for many a son becomes a pimp in turn. Walking past policemen stationed here, it is obvious that the same law which deems the activity illegal, very much partakes of its profits. I did have a camera in hand and while I tried to sneak in some pictures only for I felt ashamed at making a specimen out of these women, one of them naturally posed for me and gave me such a bright smile, that for once it did not have the same effect a smile should. There is always a certain attitude about the way prostitutes walk, talk or even stand, one that seems to place them forward, a parallel to the very definition of the word ‘prostitution’. While it is difficult to write about my feelings from that day’s experience – close to 200,000 such women in Mumbai, feeding off to one of man’s most basic instincts – they remain soaked in sadness that is linked to a choice made out of a lack of others. And hence, while prostitution is a part of most or every society, it will never be one of seamless integration.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prostitution_in_India
Please watch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gKzDtYJR2b4&feature=player_embedded
23 Monday May 2011
Location: Kemps corner, Malabar hill.
(Note: A non-Parsi may not visit the area. My friend and I got a glimpse of the forest land surrounding the towers (which are well hidden) from the terrace of a building nearby)
The Tower of Silence is a place which many of us may find difficult to fathom for two reasons. One, it is an open well like structure where bodies of people from the Parsi community are laid after their death. These are left here to be devoured by encircling birds of prey. Two, they exist (there is more than one such burial well – currently three) within a large forest area, spread over 55 acres on Malabar hill in South Mumbai.
Here is an explanation (from Wikipedia) on such a practice:
Zoroastrian tradition considers a dead body—in addition to cut hair and nail-parings—to be unclean. Specifically, the corpse demon was believed to rush into the body and contaminate everything it came into contact with, hence the rules for disposing of the dead as “safely” as possible. To preclude the pollution of earth or fire, the bodies of the dead are placed atop a tower—a tower of silence—and so exposed to the sun and to birds of prey. Thus putrefaction with all its concomitant evils is most effectually prevented. The towers, which are fairly uniform in their construction, have an almost flat roof, with the perimeter being slightly higher than the center. The roof is divided into three concentric rings: The bodies of men are arranged around the outer ring, women in the second circle, and children in the innermost ring. Once the bones have been bleached by the sun and wind, which can take as long as a year, they are collected in an ossuary pit at the center of the tower, where—assisted by lime—they gradually disintegrate and the remaining material—with run-off rainwater—runs through multiple coal and sand filters before being eventually washed out to sea. The ritual precinct may be entered only by a special class of pallbearers.
While driving down Malabar hill, towards the Kemps corner end, the walls on the left climb so high that one cannot even begin to imagine what lies on the other side. This has been done purposefully, for the Tower of Silence, if visible to the public eye, gets disqualified from serving its purpose. Also, amongst the Parsis, there are designated people that are allowed to go to the burial wells (located deep into the forest area). It is a wonder that this small community within Mumbai has managed to veil their final resting place from most of us, inspite of it being in the heart of Mumbai. It is their last journey, a silent respect.
17 Tuesday May 2011
Location: Just off Mahalaxmi station
Looking over the bridge near Mahalaxmi station, one can easily spot Dhobi Ghat. In light of its popularity, intensified by a recent film release called ‘Dhobi Ghat (Mumbai diaries)’, I expected a more sought after approach. However, the visual from above was but a trailer to an action-packed movie being shot down below.
Dhobi Ghat is set against a backdrop of sky scrapers, with sounds of passing trains whooshing through the air. On the periphery of this laundry, reside its workers, families in tow. Small hutments, living near open sewers and being continuously impregnated with the smell of chlorine, are lessons in stark reality lived in an unadulterated form. A typical day begins before the break of dawn and nears completion towards sun set. Seven days a week, three hundred and sixty five days a year, the washermen are on the job. Festive holiday seasons such as Diwali, Christmas and New Year’s, are their busiest times.
Built during British times, it is now under the charge of Bombay Municipal Corporation. For a minimal yearly fee, the concrete washing enclosures – each one resembling a cube shaped bath tub – are rented out to the dhobis. A raised stone platform, meant for flogging the clothes, sits across the enclosure. While this archaic method of hand washing continues to be used for loose clothes sent by individual homes, large orders, from hotels, airplanes, hospitals, are washed in industrial size machines and tumble dried after. Spanning the length and breadth of Dhobi Ghat, drying lines sway against a gentle breeze. The clothes hanging off them absorb the sun’s rays from above. The standard operating procedures being followed at Dhobi Ghat remind one of Mumbai’s Dabbawala system. Thousands and thousands of clothes from all parts of Mumbai, some even from the nearby city of Pune, come to the doorstep of Dhobi Ghat on a daily basis and every one of them goes back, clean, crisp and neatly folded to its owner. While the dhobi’s may wonder how an activity as mundane as washing may attract such curiosity, it is no suprise that the world’s largest open air laundry, dominated by male washers, attracts hordes of visitors.
When I look back on my time at Dhobi Ghat, I see droplets of foam splashing everywhere. Men beating lifeless cloth, the sound of washing machines silencing their act. A large area, flooded with colour, cordoned off for washing saris. Jeans, all shades of blue, chilling out together. Pastel hues, emanating from shirts hanging upside down, in another corner. Running parallel to the railway track, a drying line, only for stark whites. Smoke from burning clothes lined with oil, making way into nearby lungs. Pipes start receding towards the end of day and water drains out of the concrete slabs. Men and women carrying dirty clothes, bundled up in an old faded sari are returning home. Dhobi Ghat is place one must visit, for it is here that you see Mumbai’s dirt and grime being washed off and in turn, providing life to this city of dreams.