Yeh hain Mumbai meri jaan

Five thirty local, ready to leave from platform number nine,
Throngs descending ... to travel VT central line.
'The nonchalant Mumbai junta', clinging to their seat or standing,
In a typical Bombay rush hour, 26th Nov, early evening.
Everyone with reasons to rush back 'ghar' ...
Be it the cricket match, odd family chores or simply 'timepass with dost & yaar'.
Middle class people with BIG BIG dreams,
Yeh hain Mumbai meri jaan, the city of of aspiring kings and queens!




Among those boarding the train, like any other day
An old bespectacled 'Parsibaba', his usual self ... all jovial and gay.
Working at the Churchgate bakery for last twenty years and nine,
His day starts sharp at eight, and by five he usually calls it time.
That day, 26th of November was no exception,
As he trudged along, through the crowded platform.



But that evening WAS special, his marriage anniversary
Back home, his 'bawi' waiting with Parsi delights culinary!
He remembered her face and how they eloped twenty five years back
Started chuckling at the memories of his late dad in law going mad!
But fret and fume, as much ‘pappa’ wud,
He finally got em married, Parsi style with roses and loads of food.
Everyone settles here, everyone survives
Yeh city hain ‘Mumbai, meri jaan’, with and without the high rise!




Today again .. 'bawa' was carrying home roses and wine,
‘Arre babba’ … Spend a romantic evening with 'Bawi' to dine.
The roses were expensive, fifteeeeen bucks per stick,
A kings ransom, but he had carefully taken the best twenty five pick!!
For the evening WAS special, it ought to be …
Twenty five years!! ... a journey of an eternity.
‘Marriage’ the Bawa thought … ‘was a like a properly baked Mawa cake,
Kadak outside, lil jam on the top and difficult to bake.
But done properly, taste everlasting .. soft like a bun,
Like Bawa, like Mawa… yeh hain Mumbai Meri Jaan.




His only wish that autumn evening … ‘Only If Adi was around’,
To be with them, on this special day bound.
A major in the army, they lost him to Kargil few years earlier,
But Oh proud were they parents ... their son A martyr.
The valour recognized … He fondly remembered Adi’s last march,
‘Yeh hain Mumbai meri jaan’ .. the entire city came to the streets with the mayor giving the final funeral torch.




He stepped in the compartment, only to remember,
Had forgotten to buy the evening paper.
Stepping out, he was about to leave,
When he felt a familiar tug at his sleeve.
Looking down, he recognized the BIIIIIIIGGGGG smile,
It was Ashraf, complete with his boot polish set, face covered with guile.
One of those nameless urchins that symbolized the city
His life's story, like many .. of constant strife and adversity.
He & his five year old brother, abandoned early,,
Further, an accident amputing his right leg severely.
But a typical Mumbaikar ... spirit undaunted,
Working hard, polishing grease with hands getting tainted.
Supporting both … his thin frame on a crutch & his brother with an education that he never got
And hoping for days when they would be a better lot.
Always a polish in his hand and a smile on his face,
Regular commuters loved him for his hard work, dignity and grace.
'Bawa' was no exception, a kind soul himself given to charity
Often getting his shoe polished, out of sympathy.




But that evening, Bawa was in a rush,
And as such had no need to give his shoe a brush.
But kind soul, he didn't want to deny Ashraf some penny
'Its a special day for me' , he thought ... "So I might as well give him some money"
He fished some coins and gave it to the child,
But Ashraf would have none of it, as accepting charity is never on his mind.
So Bawa had to think of an alternative in quick time
"I am going to buy a paper, so guard these precious roses of mine"
“Uncle, kiske liye?’ .. Ashraf winked, wanting to have fun,
Bawa winked back … Chota, bada … “Yeh hain Mymbai meri jaan”,




Bawa laughed and walked, and was just near the newsstand,
When that 26th evening, the devil himself visited VT and the strand.
Hell broke loose as sentinels of death sprayed bullets asunder
Bodies he saw fall left right and centre.
Bawa ran as he had never before,
And dived u'neath the rain of bullets, and out from the main door.
Only when he found a police car did he feel safe,
Protected yet paralyzed at the mayhem that just took place.
There he stayed put for the night … eight hours and more,
And came onto the platform, only when dawn struck four.




What he saw turned him numb and cold,
For around him were bodies strewn ... of young and of old.
He struggled to walk among the injured and the dead,
Trying to spot any survivor … from all he surveyed.
Chances of survival … few and far between,
He gave up all hope … it was a massacre by the trained ‘fidayen’
And suddenly, when almost all hope was gone, from the corner of his eye,
He saw something that made him cry.
For there on the ground, was a familiar face,
Holding dearly onto the roses ... not a single one ruffled or out of place.
What had transpired was crystal clear,
With a crutch, Ashraf could not run afar.
He tried, desperately, walking up towards the ferret
But soon found himself, embracing a garland of bullet.




Bawa rushed to him, but all in vain,
Multiple bullet had pierced him time and again.
Tears mixed with blood and sweat on the platform floor,
As Bawa tried to revive Ashraf galore
All his efforts were soon left unsaid,
As the medics soon pronounced Ashraf dead.
Yeh hua keya, ‘Mumbai meri jaan’??
A rape .. a scar .. that now can’t be undone!




But in all that chaos, mayhem and gloom,
A young five year old came and stood silently by the paling moon.
Ali looked at his brother, then Bawa and again his brother …
Wiping his tears, picked the roses and held them for Bawa to gather.
“It was a miracle that Ali had survived”, the police said so and so did Bawa realize
Soon it was morning , came the medics as the place needed sterilize.
“Another missing number” …. the police gestured Ali towards the orphanage van,
And that’s when Bawa stepped in … “He is mine” … ‘Yeh hain Mumbai meri Jaan’!!

Hesitant faces, on looking crowd …
Till … Lil fingers reached out and caught Bawa’s hand, safe and sound …
In that morning, amidst all the gloom,
A family found a son, and the son … a family and a room,




Tum jitna bhi hum e maroge, mar lo, kiuke tum honge hairan!
To the spirit OF Bombay … To the spirit CALLED Bombay … “Yeh hain Mumbai meri Jaan”

Poetry:Deathsong

There is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life,

more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth.

From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree,

and does not rest until it has found one.

Then, singing among the savage branches,

it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine.

And, dying, it rises above its own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale.

One superlative song, existence the price.

But the whole world stills to listen,

and God in His heaven smiles.

For the best is only bought at the price of great pain...

Short Story: Where the river runs deep

“It will be twelve hundred if you want the entire carcass. Arre baba, even those limbs serve you faithfully in your lifetime. Don’t they have a price?”, Abul Miyan retorted looking at Pudintji.

Pudintji thought for a while. Abul Miyan had a point. He himself was in a hurry and there was no scope for major thinking. It would soon be daybreak. He only had tonight! The last thing he wanted was people to see him talking to this gravedigger at a Muslim graveyard. In a small town like Amravati, that would be enough to start tongues wagging. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention and add to his already full cup of woes.

He closed his eyes. “Jai Bajrangbali. I have never killed anyone. Hope you understand that there are bigger stakes involved here”. As if the divine ape answered back, he opened his eyes and said, “I am going to pay thousand rupees, body, limbs, tail and all. Abul, that’s a deal. Take it or leave it.” Not letting Abul ponder on it and trying to close the deal, he added in the same breath, “ I will let you know how, when and where to deliver”.

Abul scratched his hair or whatever was left of it. He was in this profession for the last six decades. In his lifetime he had been privy to a lot of experience. But he had to admit that this was unique. I mean, how often do you have a pundit come to your grave (!!!) at the middle of night to negotiate a price for a carcass. When the Punditji had first told him his requirements, he had almost fallen off the stool. The Punditji wanted a fresh human corpse. First Abul thought that the Punditji was a tantrik. But then surely he would have known. Tantriks were Abul’s regular clients. Abul was their first port of call whenever they needed any kind of corpse, human or otherwise.

The pundit turned around one final time before leaving. “Abul , are you sure I can’t get a human body? Even an invalid would do”

A sarcastic smile came across Abul’s lips. A smile laced with tadi. The country liquor’s sharp smell hit Pundit & burnt down his nostrils. Abul Miyan started laughing slowly at first and then with great gusts. “Yes why not? Add another thousand and its all yours. Hehe. Or maybe, with what you are paying, you can buy the skull and the torso. Will that do??? Hehe.” He said that knowing very well it wont.

The pundit knew that too. His plan would work only if he had a complete corpse. He wished he had one more thousand. But this was the last thousand he had, that too after selling his wife’s jewellery. The Pundit promised to himself that he would get her jewellery back if the plan worked. And next year, he would follow it up with a human body. He turned and started walking towards the gate. From behind him, he could hear Abul Miyan saying in between his bursts of laughter, “I will have it delivered. Just keep the money ready Punditji”. The pundit started walking faster. He suddenly felt so awkward at this graveyard, his white dhoti and the sacred thread in so much contrast to the surroundings. Suddenly he felt everything invading his purity. He felt puckish. He wanted to run out of this place. “Bajrangbali, please forgive me. I wish I knew this would be so difficult. Please give me strength”. He hurried out of the graveyard, underneath the starry sky towards his home.

When the Pundit reached home, everybody was still fast asleep. The only thing that was wide awake was their domestic cow. It looked at the Pundit but did not make any noise, probably understanding the gravity of the situation. “My only piece of asset. Gauri, my beloved cow” thought the pundit. He went near the animal and patted it on its head. Then he opened the rope and led the cow to the riverbank where the grass was thicker. He tied the rope to a tree trunk and let the cow stay there for the day. He would be too busy today anyways, to take care of the animal. The he returned to his house and took a long bath. He had to wash off the sins of tonight and the day to come. He put on his fresh dress and then went to the temple. THE TEMPLE. His very reason for doing whatever he was doing. He sat down to meditate. Half an hour later, he was a much more calm and collected person.

He was Pundit Vijayprasad Hariprasad Bhimprasad Mishra. A blue blooded Triloki Brahmin. He prided himself on that. Like his father Hariprasad and his grandfather Bhimprasad before him, he had served the community at Amravati through his temple. At least he thought so!! The temple of ‘Pishach Mochan” with its reigning deity of Bajrangbali.

The temple was well known in the entire district. It was situated on the bank of river Anandi, at the juncture where the river took its sharpest and deepest bent. The juncture where the current was highest, where every year, some or the other accident happened. Every year for the last ninety years, that bent had asked for human sacrifice in terms of some accident or the other. The temple was a legend. It was rumoured that anybody who left for a journey without paying obeisance to the ghosts at the temple would meet with a deadly fate. For ninety long years this legend served the temple and the Mishras. And today, on the day of Kartikye Amavasya, it attracted devotes from all over the district who brought with them offerings for Bajrangbali.

But not any more! About three years back, the government created an over bridge upstream. That obviated any need to cross the river by boat. Worse, for the temple, there were NO accidents in the last three years. It was fast becoming a dying legend. Punditji could already see the coffers drying up with lesser devotees every year. He HAD to do SOMETHING. FAST. A sacrifice was called for. And what better than to time it for today, in front of a few hundred devotes. It was time that the legend was reborn.

Abul came around nine in the morning. He had found a carcass and a fresh one at that. The plan was simple. When devotees would be drawing up the temple ghat on the river bank, Abul would let loose the carcass. It would flow upstream, right in front of the ghat. Then, the punditji would take over!! He knew what to say. He would incite the devotees to impress what happened if one did not pay obeisance to the temple. The rest would be taken care of by the devotees who he hoped would spread the word far and beyond.

Around eleven the temple of full of devotes. Punditji looked around and gave a satisfying smile. He signaled Abul and slowly made his way towards the river bank. Soon he could see a carcass floating towards him He started shouting, carefully choosing his words. At first the devotees were taken by surprise. But sooner than later, the pundit could see the desired response. They were awestruck. Some were crying.

“ …… for all that the government says, look what sin the God has delivered to us today, on this auspicious day of Kartikye Amavasya………”

As if the Gods had heard him, the carcass got stuck in front of the temple ghat. It suited him since it added to the effect. He took one glance at the carcass and went on,

“…….. do you still do not believe in the legend …..”

The great Pundit Vijayprasad Hariprasad Bhimprasad Mishra was at his oratory best when he suddenly missed a beat and stopped mid sentence. Something was bothering him and he looked back at the carcass. It was a cow all right & it looked familiar. The left hip. The right part of the face. All looked strangely familiar. He looked back at the audience who were standing slightly at a distance and then he looked at Abul Miyan who was right beside him by now.

Abul Miyan said, “Arre janab, one perfect job. Found a fresh animal on the riverbank. The owner must have really cared for her. She was so tender. Felt bad to kill it. But Abul Miyan keeps his word. Told you, I will get you fresh carcass.”

Punditji looked at Abul, the caracass and then at the devotees. They were waiting for him to say something, his face marked by a complete look of disbelief and horror. Everything was reeling for Punditji. He could feel he was sweating, and tears blurring his eyesight. He took one final look at Gauri’s caracass and then the world closed on him.

Commentary: Smriti's words of Wisdom on 'Stress Management' .. & my humble comments

Smriti - Such profound statements from u!! Thanks a ton!!!!! Just cudn't stop myself from adding some of my humble observations. They are given in Red below each of your statements.... Really profound and earth stattering. Keep going!! TC

1. Accept that some days you're the pigeon, and some days you're the statue.
I don't mind being either. As long as the pigeon doesn't shit on the statue (ie me), fine by me!!

2. Always keep your words soft and sweet, just in case you have to eat them.
Its like during foreplay (for men!) Who cares whatever you committed, after sex. ;-)

3 . Always read stuff that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it.
Penthouse. Special Edition. At least death will be sweet

4. Drive carefully -- it's not only cars that can be recalled by their Maker.
Beg to differ!! Depends on who is doing the driving!!! In laws will usually join forces with your wife driving u nuts!!!! Ask any 'happily' married man.

5 . If you can't be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.
Motto of any dyed in the wool market researcher!! They live by it.

6 . If you lend someone $20 and never see that person again, it was probably worth it.
Monami, please specify what you are referring to?? The money, the person, or my plain stupidity in lending it??? !!!!.

7 . It may be that your sole purpose in life is simply to serve as a warning to others.
This one, I agree. My face looks like the 'no entry' signal at the busy Burjuman crossing..

8. Never buy a car you can't push.
U need a lil tutorial in Physics!! Specifically, Newton's third law on motion … 'Every action has an equal and opposite reaction'. Lemme explain!!

Ever tried 5 day old baked beans with beer in an empty stomach? Now what happens is that the speed with which you'll fart will be enuf to propel u from here to the moon (with the car) and back in record time. Try. Please try.

ps – One caveat!! Put a gas mask on, before u start! The stench may be lethal.

9. Never put both feet in your mouth at the same time, because then you won't have a leg to stand on.
Ever tried freehand farting??!!

10. Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.
Look at Punjus! If Bhangra can be passed as popular and aesthetic, anything else is!!!

11. Since it's the early worm that gets eaten by the bird, sleep late.
Depends!! Whether it's a weekend or weekday!!

12. The second mouse gets the cheese.
The first mouse eats it!

13. When everything's coming your way, you're in the wrong lane.
No offence meant but if its women, money and fame, I wud rather be in the wrong one!

14. Birthdays are good for you. The more you have, the longer you live.
You got me confused!! 'More' b'days per year??? Are you saying that my parents planned me in installments????

Now that's what I call creative synchronized 'child planning' …(read lovemaking)!!

15. You may be only one person in the world, but you may also be the world to one person.
Likely scenario??? Conversations with God on top of Mt Everest!!!!

Or .. a truant tenant and an equally tenacious landlord! Ask me (the tenant ie!!)

Get the idea, babe??

16. Some mistakes are too much fun to only make once
Wish my folks dittoed the same sentiment about my existence!!

17 . We could learn a lot from crayons. Some are sharp, some are pretty and some are dull. Some have weird names and all are different colors, but they all have to live in the same box
Same for condoms! Same sharp, some pretty, some dull!! Depends on the tool they cover!! They have weird names from Casablanca to Azaad Farishte (no kidding, big brand in Maharashtra, I have done research), Bajrangbali to Ecstacy!! Forget different colours and boxes, these even come in different flavours (peach, pineapple, mocktail and even 'cocktale'!!!)

And finally, when it comes to learning from condoms, its simple to learn. Put them on, follow ur instinct and man, isn't the end learning awesome!!

18 * A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.
An even happier person is the one who can avoid one and reach on time!!

Photo Essay - Calcutta Kaleidoscope

Calcutta Kaleidoscope

These pictures are not comprehensive, nor are they supposed to be! They are just some of the glimpses to my Calcutta – the City that gave me soooo much, the city that made me who I am, without asking ever anything in return!

Amar Kolkata. Amar adorer Kolkata!!. My Calcutta. My adorable Calcutta. To you...

The making of the Bong intellectual
Notice the thick rimmed glasses! The passion with which he clings to the book. Another bibliophile? More than that! It’s a phenomena is action!! The making of the Bonling intellectual. Wait till he grows 18 to recite Neruda!!

Oh Fish!

Oh Fish! If he doesn’t walk fast enough, he will miss the Bengali Bhadrolok waiting for that special ware that makes or breaks their day – fresh fish. Didn’t you know? All bongs are Aquarians! Gastronomically!!

'Date'line Victoria….

Victoria Memorial was made by the British to compete with Taj Mahal, to establish Calcutta as the seat of British power BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH…… Rubbish!

Only a Calcutta teenager knows Victoria’s real legacy! One of the few places in the city to date, away from those prying eyes….

Somen: Aditi, I will make the world come to your feet..
Aditi (cosying up to Somen on the bench): How about an ice cream for starters?

… And the legacy continues!!

'The two towers' ... of Bridges and Ghats….

“Like two citadels, they stand on guard, a roving eye on anyone who dares to enter the City of Palaces!”

We are talking of Howrah and Second Hooghly Bridge.

Gateway to Calcutta.

And with them the innumerable Ghats that throng the river bank.

Every inconceivable part of the human journey – from birth to death, from puja to potty – starts and ends here.

Sporty!!

The city is sports crazy! Cricket carzy!!. Now there are three ways of enjoying cricket.

Way one – my style, playing truant from school on a winter a’noon. Defo advisable, especially if you happen to 'love' certain subjects like chemistry etc..

Way two – Getting up at 4 in the morning, and playing it. Defo hard way. For the Sourav wannabes!!

Way three – Eden Gardens! Watch in style! With 1, 00, 000 people. Phenomenal experience. Classroom per excellence .. Sunny Gavaskar taught me the virtues of patience; Kapil aggression and Richards attitude and flamboyance! Debted for life.

Street fights

Sometime in 2400 AD, an historian will observe about Calcutta … “One peculiarity of this city was the furor caused by four of its chief street inhabitants - The ever eager Calcutta traffic police who would try to control traffic. And the rickshaw puller, the yellow ubiquitous Cal cab and the tram who would jointly try to undo the sergeant’s good efforts!

Each had a mind of its own and they did just that ie follow THAT mind irresopective of the discomfort it brought to the other. Streets were never more alive and kicking!”

Street Camraderie & Cacophony ... of the highest order!!!

Siesta Time

Whosoever said that Calcutta is the city of bandhs should be slapped! Bandh is not a recent phenomenon, so please stop maligning us! Bandh is part and parcel of Calcutta daily life, right from its inception..

Between 12 noon and 4 pm, after a heavy lunch (bhatghum in Bengali) everything has to be religiously shut! Strictly, siesta time!! No nonsense please, we Calcuttans take this seriously.

City of contradictions

City of poverty. City of madness. City of hunger. City of decay.

Also .... City of kindness. City of angels. City of joy!

Phuchka ….

No its not Panipuri! And for God’s sake, please don’t mix it with Golgappa! Its Phuchka. P-H-U-C-H-K-A. Crispy, with potato and special masala and tetuljol! pop it in aaaaaand .... 'Absolute bliss'!!!

Chowrunghee

It embodies the essence of Calcutta. Adapting to the rich and the poor, the dharnas as well as parades, it is the heart of Calcutta. Where else will you find street urchins doing potty with carefree abandon, tourists smarting out of

Grand Oberoi, industrialists honking their latest Mercs, students haggling over movie tickets at Metro and journos debating over a ‘bhar’ of piping tea. Peaceful coexistence! Not to forget, the cacophony of the Anglo Indian community which has made Chowringree so special (remember 36 Chowringhee Lane!!)

Sound of Music

Throughout the day, he has different sawaris! Rich and poor, old and young! Trendy and cute!!

But when the day is gone and night has descended, when all sawaris have been safely dropped home and the work of the day is done, his legs take a rest and his flute starts talking. Music of good old days. Tales of sadness and happiness!! Notes of frustration and endearment. Night falls. The city sleeps.

But the city never sleeps,

Calcutta never sleeps!

To the spirit of Calcutta ... to the spirit called 'Calcutta'

Poetry - Postmodern Blues

I have grown so tired
I have not read for a while,
Driving to office on the expressway
I reminisce the days gone by.


The pen and the paper,
The record player and the book,
Are the only things I can find,
As I count my belongings on a lonely a'noon.


I can drive that fast car,
And I know the clutch and the brake,,
Can speed up and ride away...
But which drection do I take?


But WHICH direction do I take??

Poetry - For Brishti's Scrapbook - 'Lil Sparrows'

Sparrow's in a nest,

One, Two and Three,,

Under mother's breats,

Warm as they can be!



Your mother keeps you warm,

Your father brings you food!

Wordly troubles you have none,

Happy little brood!



Mid you do not fall!

From your nest so high,

You have no feathers yet,

So you cannot fly.



When your feathers grow,

On a Sunny day,,

And you are strong enough

Off you shall fly, happily chirping away


Brishti, I will wait for the day you fly away! That will make the work of my life complete.