On loving one's city

I have been in Bangalore for over 2 years now, and after the initial rush of the brilliant weather that strikes you the most if you move here from Bombay, all I have really done is crib. See that's my thing. Some people are good at photography, some write like a dream. I crib - that is my special talent bordering on superpower.

I had dismissed a lot of things in Bangalore. Like malls. I had dismissed UB City completely. After seeing most of what there is to see here (and I haven't seen Cubbon Park yet, mind you) I had decided that if you don't want to eat, drink, or shop, the only time you need to leave your house in this city is when you are getting out of the city (and thanks to R's work hours, getting out of the city has not been happening as much as I want it to). Which is not entirely wrong, Bangalore does not really have a lot of options for people like me. The food is good. The clubs are often unbelievably wannabe but Purple Haze more than makes up for them. There are movie theaters, and there is that one Rangashankara. And there is the UB City Amphitheater. And now Gig Box is bringing some brilliant concerts to the city. There is Oktoberfest, and there will be Storm Festival. The weather is to die for, it makes everything better. And for a home bird of the chai-beer-baarish-music fame like me, this really is enough. I will have to agree, and I have known this from the day I set foot in Bangalore, that Bombay may be my favourite city in the world, but if I want a life that counts in every possible way, Bangalore will have to be home.

Yesterday, on a quintessential chilly Bangalore evening, R, Thakur, and I listened to the Dire Straits live tribute at the amphitheater. It drizzled. High spirits flowed. And it rained. We walked along the rain kissed roads, and talked. And ate. It felt like freedom. And camaraderie.

And suddenly, I feel like writing again. A change of scene is more important than we give it credit for. And a change of scene does not always have to mean getting out of the city. I am not too fond of most things that Bangalore has to offer for entertainment outside the awesomeness that is my house (You probably remember that narcissism is also my thing), except maybe food, but it is not fun anymore when your clothes start getting too small for you :P. But concerts like yesterday's (that ended too soon because of the rain) on an evening like that, make Bangalore what it is. Home.

I am in love all over again. And not just with Bangalore and Thakur and Mark Knopfler. Go figure!

P.S. I saw Raghu Dixit in concert a couple of weeks back. I spoke to him backstage. And I really believe that there are rock bands and then there is the Raghu Dixit Project. Their rockstarness goes beyond their music. It is a pity not too many people get that.

 

On domestic violence

Here's a touchy subject that I had stopped thinking about completely in the last few years. I live in an apartment complex with other English speaking, educated couples, singles, and families. One would think that education makes a difference. But I realized just how wrong I was! On my way back from office today, I heard a couple fight in fluent English, at the top of their voices - there are in fact two such couples in the neighborhood, it may be an adjustment issue so I never got around to "ringing the doorbell". Till today. Today, it was more than just a loud argument. This was an English speaking, educated, big city girl getting beaten up by her English speaking, educated, big city husband. And I could not take it. I rang the doorbell. I had no idea what I would say or do if the door actually opened. It did not. The scream died down. And nothing stirred for the 5 minutes that I stood there waiting. And then I left. But I am sure it is not over.

This is not a one off  thing. I remember a friend's neighbour in Bombay who used to drag his wife to the corridor and beat her up. Nobody bothered about it. At the risk of sounding naive or errr.. elitist, I did think that domestic violence does not go beyond slums and maybe smaller towns. Because education and exposure are supposed to set things like these right, right?

I have a question. What DO you do if this happens in your neighborhood? Do you leave it for the couple to figure out? Or do you butt in at the risk of being asked not to interfere? What would you have done?

P.S. - R thinks I am emphasizing too much on the "English speaking" bit, but I am not sure how else I can explain why I am so shocked and disturbed by today's incident.

Shonar Bangla

Believe it or not, Calcutta is my one of my favourite places in the world. I was reading about a blogger's life in Calcutta, and I remembered another era. Not even remotely like her's. But what an era it was!

The 12 hour train ride in a ladies' coupe in Danapur Howrah Express.

A station with more cars and less porters. And murals?

Howrah Bridge.

The freedom to wear brighter, nicer, lighter sweaters away from the biting cold in Patna. The freedom to not look like a fat version of Vickey from Small Wonder.

The Flury's of the 80's and 90's. The high tea, eclairs, beans on toast, and stolen sugar cubes in paper napkins. And Christmas evenings in the middle of decorations fit for the queen!

Christmas mornings spent shopping in New Market, buying Christmas goodies - colourful pencils, trees and decorations, toy bugles, flowers and cakes. And stockings and caps.

That one Christmas mass I attended.

Momo shops in refugee living rooms.

Long walks along Park Street, picking up Enyd Blytons from footpaths full of books.

The best Chinese food I have ever had, at Bar-b-Q. Being pushed forward to speak to the Captain at the restaurant, so everyone could be sure I wouldn't grow up to be an "introvert" :-) Boy did they succeed!

Passing by Loreto's on weekday afternoons, and being a tad jealous because their skirts were shorter than what Notre Dame, Patna would ever allow.

Nizam's. Astor's garden restaurant.

Earl Street. Didis from my aunt's neighbourhood.

That park in Earl Street. Long walks for the many dogs my aunt kept (and once even cats that walked all over you at night - not my best memory!) and early teenage ogling for me.

Spending winter afternoons in the lawns of Dabur House. Sipping cola, being driven around, feeling important, and pretending to myself that I was in my office.

China Town. Mum's birthday at the Taj. Bengal. My sister and I, in our identical frocks and 'boy cut' hair styles, at our absolute best behaviour. Meeting and getting pecked on the cheek, and autographed by Md Ali. My dad remarkably more excited about him though, I had no idea who he was!

And Puja. And pandals. And pandal hopping. And the bengali thalis at The Park. Being overfed. The bengali sound of celebration to drive the bad vibes away. I don't know what that sound is called.

Deshbandhu. Sharma's.

Hobby Corner. Choco chip ice creams.

Calcutta Club.

AC Market, the closest I got to a mall then. All the shopping in the 3 short weeks we spent there. Summer, winter, or Puja.

The smell of Bengali food that the cook made, moong daal, maaccher ghonto, maachher ghonto in moong daal.

The distinct sound of hyperactive, early morning 'clean behind the door/ dust the shelves today' conversation in fluent Bengali.

Driving past Moulin Rouge/ Waldorf, and mum reminiscing about her very few and far between experiences inside a pub.

Victoria Memorial and faces hidden behind black umbrellas.

And sometimes, a drive to Haldia or a drive to the harbour to join dad on the ship.

While trips to Bombay and other voyages happened randomly and often impromptu, it was the immaculate planning and rhythm of Calcutta trips that clearly make them my first and most firm tryst with The Big City Life in my growing up years. The one place that showed me all the opportunities that lay ahead. That had me give everything I had, to the one chance I had of getting out of Patna - graduation :-)

So many memories. With Puja in the air and all, I am getting hopelessly nostalgic about my Calcutta sojourns. The next time I travel to those parts, there is no way I am not going to aamar shonar Bangla.

I do need some education

Image courtesy - http://sgaissert.wordpress.com

Piyu tagged me in this post, and it got me thinking. Everyone around wants to learn something. I will be honest with you, I have never really wanted to learn anything. I am not kidding! I studied what I studied because I first thought it sounded cool, and then I wasn't allowed to quit. I could probably tell you things I have wanted to study - all "at that moment" sort of things. Journalism after watching Burkha Dutt (in her better days) on TV for an hour, policewoman after watching Udaan (the TV series I used to see when I was 6, not this recent movie that everyone's raving about and I hated - horrible acting!), psychology when I could not for the life of me "understand" people. Then I realised I never really cared! English literature when I thought I read/ wrote something I loved. The latter was subjected only to my opinion.

I wanted to learn how to draw once. That was only because I assumed it would help me pass Engineering Graphics.Until of course this friend of mine I strongly believed should have studied design instead of the uninteresting things we studied but never learned, also flunked the paper.

I have had my moments - photography, guitar, singing (I daydream about being able to sing in front of a bunch of people and getting a standing ovation. That is exactly what it is - a daydream. You have to hear me sing to believe it. Photoshop, even. But I don't think about it long enough. I once learned Kathak for some 3 years. Imagine! Quit one day because it was beginning to bore me to death. The fact that there were sudden rumours of my guru ji being involved in something illegal, made it easy for me to convince Ma. I had joined art classes, but that was only because my art teacher strictly thought I needed extra lessons to keep my brush within the margins. Even that was a tall order for me! I started playing drums in the school band. One week. Taek Won Do - 3 days. Singing. With harmonica, mind you. I never got beyond Sa. You can say that I don't have the discipline to learn anything. I can try to sound cool by saying that the theoretical first few days of learning something bore me enough to quit, and it might just be true. No wonder my college years were such a torture initially. Because of my complete, unapologetic inability to sustain the first few days of learning. But then again, what does education have to do with learning? (And that I really mean.)

There are things I want to learn. I am not sure if one can. Like shopping well. I shop. Not too expensive, nothing extraordinarily cheap. Most of my clothes are quite nice too. But they are all the same. Similar colours, similar patters. Cotton and denim. That is it. And I won't count the wedding sarees and salwaars, because they were all packed to perfection exactly one week after the wedding. There is hardly any variety in my wardrobe. I wish I could go on a shopping spree and find 5 pieces of clothing, all completely different from each other and from the ones I already own. Even if I buy a new top, it will look like one of the older ones. I don't know how I always end up doing this! How can unlearn this?

My patterns of love, hate, and indifference are extremely erratic. If I am let down by someone I REALLY care about, I just turn away. Indifferent. But it is the non entities I lose sleep over. I just need to know they are alive. That is enough to irritate me. Turn me into a bitter person. Irrespective of whether that person is around or not. And there is a chance that these people neither betrayed me nor personally did me any harm. What the hell! Another thing that I need to unlearn, and learn the opposite of. Only I don't know what the opposite is.

I want to learn how to really read something that is important but uninteresting. Rent agreements, bank letters, forms. I have the attention span of a... I don't know. I can't think of a simile. But I can never read anything important. Important to everyday existence that is. Except Marshall Goldsmith of course.

I want to learn how to weave magic with words. Be cryptic yet make sense. That is not my style (if I have one that is - I have an obsessive need to put this disclaimer every time I talk about style), I know. But I want to learn. And I know I can't. One can't learn something like that. Right?

I sound as (adorably) pompous as Frasier when I say this in my head, because I cannot relate it with the image I have of myself. Or the one that a lot of people who know me, have of me. Of late I have wanted to learn Indian History. Not study. Learn. I wish someone had taught me how to put history lessons in perspective back in school. As you grow up, you realise that a lot of your present finds its roots in history. School emphasized on that, but they never told us why or showed us how. The more I read/ watch TV shows, an odd NGC show, Saira Khan's Pakistan, Story of India, the more I want to get that elusive learn-all book of Indian History. Not a refresher course, there is nothing to refresh. (It is a strange feeling to have foreigners excite me about Indian History).

So that is that. Do you know who can teach me all those things? All except Indian History. Quick question - is learning always a result of teaching? I know the converse is not true.

On an aside, the weather is magical these days. Happy-sunny and happier-rainy in parts. I was reading Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth for the 100th time (I have nothing else to read right now, and there are some books I keep going back to for no apparent reason). There are these lines that say something to the effect that the protagonist hasn't lived anywhere long enough to really belong. Beautiful lines, but I can't find them in the book right now. I felt a sudden connection to those lines. I have been so far for so long from the one place I ever belonged, that I no longer feel that sense of belonging. Go figure. And then I switched cities so often that I never grew roots. Same country, and yet such stark, in-your-face difference in cultures. That is a story for another day. I remember a time when people lived in a place for so long and left it even for vacation at such long intervals that they knew everything there was to know about a place. The people, the galis, the sabji mandis. Everything. I don't see that happening now. I think that is a good thing about small towns. Or bad.  I am now beginning to think Bangalore is going to be the place I eventually grow roots in. I will know this place like one knows home. It is not Bombay, so it is not even difficult. There are days when I have my doubts. But then one evening after a crazy day at work, I return home to an overkill of green and the aftertaste of a heavy shower. This is where the auto stops. In front of the gate of my building.

And suddenly I feel all my doubts melting away.

My two bits

A couple of very chic and intelligent women from my college - Nidhi Varma and Sumana Sethuraman - are on their way to do something interesting for those who never have enough or right clothes and accessories to wear to work. And for that they need insight that only the brilliant women who read this blog can provide. Of course I massaging egos - your and mine :D On a serious note, I have known them for years, and I know these girls mean business when they talk fashion.

Join them on Facebook or on their blog. Go vent your "I don't know what to wear to work" frustration and trust Nidhi and Sumana to come up with the perfect solution for you.

I believe I can fly...

... But I am not sure if I will be able to touch the sky. The ride is not that high.

In 60 days or so, I shall be zooming around the rain washed streets of Bangalore in my brand new metallic grey Activa! And I already feel liberated! Old readers (meaning me mainly) of this blog would know about my irrational fear of driving four wheelers, especially in this city of mad drivers. They would also remember how much I am capable of justifying public transport, and how I believe more in etiquette training for auto drivers than I do in buying a vehicle. Of course I justified it all by telling myself I was at least eco friendly, if not independent. But I am beginning to realise that switching off extra lights at home is more eco friendly and convenient.

So now that I have taken all the fun out of my big buy with all that explanation, let me go celebrate my Saturday night in the usual manner. Cheers to the new beauty! More when she is delivered, no pun intended :D 60 days, no less!

P.S. If you can do it in Bombay of all places, Bangalore should be a cakewalk. And that is exactly what made me do this. Thank you, girl. You have done your good deed for the year, you have saved a whole lot of auto drivers from dying of deprivation, or whatever it is they die of when one barges out of the auto refusing to pay a penny extra, and the ride ends in a street brawl every other day. R thinks this Activa is going to be the reason for a happier world :D

The Auntie Chronicles/ The Goddess of Small Things

Because I couldn't decide which one of the two headings was more accurate.

(If you are still pretending to be the kind of wife that doesn't need to be responsible for anything around the house (like I had been until a couple of months ago), just close this tab!)

(In almost 7 years of REGULAR blogging, I have finally managed to churn out my most boring, mundane, I-had-cornflakes-for-breakfast-it-is-a-sunny-day post EVER.)

Of late the quality of my posts has gone down the dumps? Why? I haven't had much to say. And things that I want to say are either already said on someone else's blog or I don't have the time (I have surprised myself at how often I have said this recently. Am I complaining? Hardly!) or the patience to write. Life has been awesomely and brilliantly busy of late, what with loads of interesting work, stuff around the house to be taken care of, so much of it carried over to weekends, and all the shopping and planning to do this month - an anniversary and a birthday (not mine!) and Fathers Day (call me cheesy, I celebrate everything) and a long overdue visit from my sis - I simply love June! R has been very busy at work, and I am finally beginning to understand what people mean when they say that handling both home and work isn't easy. However it is definitely not rocket science. I think we are managing quite well. So far so good!

One of the most awesome things in the world is to reach office in the morning and realise you are the first person to walk in. The first cup of office coffee in such amazing, and such unlikely silence is definitely the best way to kick start to the day. Highly recommended! There was a time when reaching office that early was a regular thing. Primarily to escape the rush hour crowd in the local train. But it's easy to do that when you have a bowl of steaming hot oats (yuck!) and a cup of chai waiting for you on the dining table when you decide to bless the world with your freshly bathed, awesome smelling self :P But now mornings are a rush - with R deciding to take on the world by cleaning every corner of the house early in the morning, and the overcome-with-guilt me try to match up by pretending to be very busy making chai. LOL! A word of gyaan - refusing to boot the laptop in the morning helps! No Facebook. No blogs. No gmail. Not that early in the morning for sure! Sigh! When did I grow up? :-)

I have a saviour for my morning rush - the new maid. Parbati. This girl from Nepal. I feel bad for her - she has just moved to Bangalore from her village in Nepal. She can't read time, speaks broken Hindi, and looks like the quintessential kanchi. I wonder just how lost she must feel in the big bad world. Tells me though that her husband helps her in the kitchen. Men have evolved. Such a pleasant far cry from Ma quietly listening to her domestic helps' woes of a drunkard, violent husband every other morning, quietly because those women didn't seem like they particularly wanted to change anything. That said, if Sholay was made in our day and age, I would have told my kids "beta so jao, subah subah fir Parbati didi aa jaayengi". Seriously! No matter how much I plead with her, be stern with her, she will always, without fail, come before I can even think of getting out of bed. And once she is in, the busy body starts turning the kitchen upside down, and I am not sure what I was thinking when I decided to live in a house with an open kitchen. While this is blessing in disguise on weekdays, it can be such a pain in the wrong place on a weekend when all you want to do is sleep in late. And she can't cut vegetables for peanuts. And I must tell you than bhindi torn from the centre doesn't taste half as good as one that is cut well. She is worse than me! I still like her. I must be crazy!

Has everyone watched Rajneeti? Prakash Jha, my dad, and R are all from the same school. So my otherwise hardly-movie-watching dad (That's new though, he has spent many afternoons doing back to back in Regal and Metro) saw the movie on the Friday that it released. And I, of the FDFS fame, the only one in my extended khandaan that still believes in the wonders of FDFS, hasn't seen the movie yet! Surprisingly, I am not depressed about it. Where is the time? But this Saturday I will have to. I really can't lose my identity in this mad rush of life (big words, no?), so what if my identity is primarily defined by the number of Bollywood masala movies I have seen on the first weekend. There is Rajneeti and Toy Story, and I am waiting for IHLS. And I missed Well Done Abba and its DVD is almost never available on seventymm and Big Flix. So I have a whole lot of back log to catch up on.

I finally managed to finish 3 seasons of Frasier, and I am glad I did. Even Niles is coming around now, I quite like him. Never thought I would, when I saw him in the first season. Which reminds me. Has any one of you watched Heroes? I started, and I couldn't survive the first couple of episodes. Am I missing something? What's the the fuss about?

I read something in the newspaper today, and I am raving mad. Most of the times it doesn't take much for people to drive me there, but this one I think is not one of those small things I over react at. I read Jeffrey Archer's interview in Bangalore Times this morning. And unless it is proved that this is case of yellow journalism, I am not going to read his books again. And no, this is not an excuse for not reading his books because I don't understand them. I don't remember if I do, because the last time I read Jeffrey Archer was in class 10. I think someone forced it upon me, I have never been so fond of suspense thrillers (that's what he writes about, right? See how much I know about him?). Except maybe Daphne Du Maurrier. Not sure if I will manage to survive her now too. See Mr Archer? You don't like India (I guess you are secretly afraid we will drive you back to your high and mighty phoren country, the Englishman that you are.), I don't like you. Case closed. Give me an Indian writing in English. Or Enid Blyton. Any day.

Which reminds me. I managed to finish all my Malory Towers. All the books I had that is. One of these days I will go book shopping again. Any recommendations? I already told you my preference, so. It was fun to revisit Darrel Rivers and group again. I never knew that the second series of Malory Towers was released last year - with Darrel's sister Felicity taking the lead. As is the case with all sequels, it is not as good as the first series. But the characters are nearly the same as Darrel's batch. The names are new though. So it helps. I liked it. There's nothing to not like.

Have you been watching the soccer WC? I prefer Indian Idol! But I gave in to the pressure after my FB homepage was full of self confessed "soccer freaks" (that only remember they like the game during WC - I think they watch it for the WAGs. I know all the abbreviations, see?). Then of course are the genuine ones. Some of my friends. They bunked/ reconsidered taking university exams because they had matches to watch all night. I say this passion for soccer in Indians comes from the lack of pressure to win. Cricket has been disappointing recently. Anyway coming back to succumbing to the pressure of watching soccer. I tried last night. But slept off. In a match between Italy and Paraguay, even I know who will win. Not Paraguay by a long shot, right? Let me go check. Ah! It was a draw. What do I know about soccer?

Am I the only one who has extremely annoying relatives on Facebook? The ones who dispense random gyaan that sounds like the back cover of the cardboard bound registers we used to scribble math sums on in school? Quotes on leadership and other such trivial matters in status updates. It gets annoying, doesn't it?

While we are on relatives (and friends), I have a new pet peeve. Why can't a married woman be low without being asked if she had had a fight with her husband? And why can't she fall sick without people asking her or secretly wondering if she is "carrying". Don't get me wrong, my fights with R make me miserable. But it helps that our fights don't last longer than a couple of hours. And no, we don't pretend to be the samajhdaar couple that doesn't sleep without resolving the fight. When we fight, we fight. And we are secure enough to know that neither of us will run off in the night if we don't resolve the fight before sleeping off at night. That said, if I am upset for a couple of days at a stretch, slim chance it is because of a fight. And if I am unwell for over 3 days, please be aware that I am absolutely non-immune to running noses and violent coughs. And much as I want to have kids, I am not "carrying". Yet.

Why can't we enjoy monsoons and pakodas and chai and all the bliss that comes with it without running the risk of catching a cold/ coughing for an entire week/ getting stuck in traffic for hours/ auto drivers demanding the moon to take you home (YOUR home, you dirty people!). Not that I have to deal with auto drivers too often now. Just saying. So the other day I was galivanting in the scorching heat, when the weather suddenly took a turn, and it rained. And the next day I was coughing and sniffing and considering going on sick leave. I didn't. But I remembered another era. When a bunch of us would take internal exams, then sit at a friend's house till 2:30 am, and then ride all the way to Mahabaleshwar on bikes that didn't have gears (to start with), and back, all in a matter of 15 hours. During the crazy Maharashtra monsoons. 15 hours of being drenched on the road. On bikes. I can only imagine how the wheel of the world would stop turning if I did that now. 2 hours, may be. 3 is good too. Not getting drenched and going on abnormally long drives in the pretty red ride we have - that would be something! We are getting old. OK R would not like it if I said this about him on a public forum - he is still my young and dashing Ranchi ka Rajkumar ;) I am getting old. Am I complaining, still? Not in the least :-)

Speaking of weather, I have been unbelievably lazy the last few days. I have been going through the motions of getting up, getting dressed, getting to work, cooking, and all that. But at the back of my mind I can only think of sleeping. Sleeping like there is no tomorrow. Sleeping at the risk of missing the little pleasures of watching the little maid of Nepal/ Mr Frasier Crane/ life in action. And I am not the only one. At the entrance of my office building, I see 3 dogs every single day. They don't move. I am not kidding you. You can do a hop, skip, jump, and they will just about open their eyes, look at you sleepily, and go right back to sleep. Ok now I am talking non sense.

Speaking of office buildings, is it just me that finds these sprawling tech parks a tad bit obscene, to say the least? I mean I am all for a comfortable office to work in. But the amount of land that is wasted on making these sprawling campuses in a country where wealth is not justly (that's a word, I just checked) distributed at all, for people to code comfortably, or make pretty PPTs, or whatever. It's all good. But whatever happened to that thing called practicality? Usability? Usefulness? I don't even particularly like the sprawling building societies, but I don't think I will be able to help living in one of them. I can avoid working in suburban tech parks. So far I have managed quite well. I like to be in the middle of all the action. Know what I mean? It is more about perspective I guess. The same contrasts make sure I am always in awe of Bombay. I respect Bombay for the same contrasts that I dislike Bangalore for. Do I have to think fairly all the time? Or at all? Do I even need to start explaining that I am right? Of course I am!

Coming back to my love for Bangalore (I mean it. This city is by far the best I have lived in. Even Bombay had its faults. I live in a house/ city where I can get pin drop silence when I want to, just when I want to. That says more about Bangalore vs Bombay than anything ever will), the weather is magical. My sister is coming here in a little over 2 weeks. And I have a birthday to celebrate and plan for in exactly 1 week+1 day.

Life's good? Couldn't be better!

:-)

P.S. - Did you actually read this load of crap? You must really love me!

Time and Distance...

... Was never my favourite chapter. R finds it funny that I use all kinds of units to measure distance. Time. Auto meter. Everything except meters and kilometers.

How far is the store?
Two minutes from here.

I have some work in Church Street.
Wow that's 80 bucks from here!

You get my point. But today I found a brand new unit for distance. It used to take me 15 songs to reach work when I worked out of the Bannerghatta Road office. Now the office has moved closer.. It's only 5 songs away from home :D :D

Yayyyy! This was long overdue. Finally!

The green green grass of home..

That's a quintessential rainy Bangalore evening for you, mark the stark contrast. How can I not love this city? I so do! Never mind the tech parks!

Bangalore

After being hung on to Bombay like an obsessive lover, I think I am finally coming to terms with the fact that Bangalore is home. For now. I don't know where home will be in 10 years time, or whether home will be just a bend in the road or the real destination. But for now I am glad I love Bangalore. Yes, I do!

When I moved here last year, I fell in love immediately. But soon the realities of life struck. And the heat (apart from other things)... The only good thing in the Bangalore I knew was its weather, and come February, that too was done and over with! The city had no history, no culture - only tech parks, engineers, and all things frivolous... Or so I thought! Why did I care so much about that? I think because I didn't want to let go of Bombay. And also because Bangalore was too hot and I had too much time to start with and suddenly work was snowballing!

But I have been reading this book called Multiple City the last couple of days... A completely well timed gift I bought for myself last Saturday. And I know now Bangalore has more than just tech parks. It's really been around. From the Victorian times to when the cantonments got set up, to call centres and the booming outsourcing business. I have extremely strong views against outsourcing, always have. First it was a matter of principle (life does seem that much simpler when you are 21!). And then it became something I hated because I was stuck in a sad situation where outsourcing was a nice sounding, nice looking garb for laziness and intellectual masturbation, and they called it "having international clients". But it was only a situation I was stuck in. When you put some thought and perspective to it, outsourcing may not be for me. But it sure has done a great deal for the economy, and consequently, for mavericks like me. A History teacher in school used to always say that when something happens in one country, the rest of the world can't stay isolated from the aftermath. Starting from battles of power to technological advancement. And somehow this made a lot of sense to me as I flipped through the book.

I still don't know how much the book made me love Bangalore again - my first reaction on reading about Ranga Shankara was that if Bangalore has really been a breeding ground for some of India's best theatre talent, why is it that Ms Nag had to draw her inspiration from Prithvi Theatre? But I think I say such things only because Bombay was such a welcome change from Pune and my student days. And I was lucky I met some really awesome people in Bombay. But do I want to go back and live there? I don't know, really! But I do know that I like Bangalore for what it is, in spite of tech parks and rude auto drivers (ya OK so I can't get over them, kill me!), and IT folks, and not too many opportunities for people who define career as something that pays money and is fun, and isn't necessarily going one step ahead in the same direction year after year after year. You win some, you lose some! The idea of local trains can only be romanticized when you look at it in hindsight. I love Bangalore. There. I said it! And this time around, it's a decision I have thought through :D

P.S. - My newfound love for Bangalore might just have happened because this weather that I am so madly in love with, is back. And right now, in this little colourful place that's completely mine, I can hear the sound of the rain (and the generator :P) and I can feel the kind of emotions that only this city and its "cool wind in my hair" (and this shivers it sends down my spine on rainy nights) can evoke. I am madly in love. In spite and because.

Friday Learning

Dharti Yeh Gol Gol Kyon Hai Jee

Duniya Mein Talam Tol Kyon Hai Jee

Chamchma Khilkhila Jagmaga Gum Bhula

Seekh Le Khush Rahene Ki Ada

Awara Rahi Gumshuda, Banke Kyun Ghume Lapta

Muskura Mere Dil, Le Zindagi Ka Maza

Awara Rahi Gumshuda, Banke Kyun Ghume Lapta

Here's a learning from all the stress of the working week that's ending today (Yayyyy!). To deal with an adult life full of eccentric maids, lazy watchmen, free spirited dhobis, friends that betray, foes that cling on, the terrible, terrible global warming, power back up that doesn't help keep the house temperature controlled, meal waali aunty that DOES fall victim to terrible cooking at times after an unbelievably high expectation setting, traffic jams, rude auto wallahs, relatives that WILL interfere in your life and expect you to "listen to them" even when you are on the wrong side of 26, work, clients, the bane of modern day existence - alllll the wires in the house - TV, AC, music system, phone chargers, modem, laptop chargers (and that's not all), the pile of bills that make their way to the letter box at the start of every month, AND PMS, one desperately needs at least one of two virtues - patience and/or sense of humour, in unmeasurable amounts (and a husband that's the non controversial Gautam Buddha and the extremely non violent Mahatma Gandhi rolled into one helps too :D).

I have accepted defeat with my patience, but dear Lord, don't let me lose my sense of humour. Please don't let me lose my sense of humour - it makes the world look funnier than it really is :P I need to survive adult life as it is... I am NOT Dominique Francon!

After OD-ing on conversation with my favourite person in the whole wide world (R, who else?) and comfort food (for free that too!) and a really nice email from a client, I am back to being cynical, talkative, narcissistic, a little more in love, and very, very happy :P :P

Kadmo Ko Zameen Pe Tikata Chal

Jeevan To Dhoka Hai Tu Khata Chal

Kya Bhala, Kya Bura, Kya Khota, Kya Khara

In Sab Mein Atkeega To Jee Nai Payega

Awara Rahi Gumshuda, Banke Kyun Ghume Lapta

Muskura Mere Dil, Le Zindagi Ka Maza

Metropolitan Existence (Actually not quite, but whatever)

Bombay - crowd, people falling from narrow local train doors, sweat and sweat shops on Grant Road, the town-'burb divide, bright lights, apartments. A city where one is strained to find green patches, but water is in abundance - rain, water logging, and sea... Mumbai is a city of contrasts, probably like every other Indian metropolitan. But what is unique here is that the culture changes from the station to the mall hardly 100 metres from the station, from the West to the East. A moment of peace, quiet, and time to oneself is difficult to find. And yet almost every other person staying here hundreds of miles away from home, is lonely. Every face in the crowd travelling to work every morning is struggling to find an existence, an identity, and yet they are happy. Everyone is. Every penny is difficult to earn amidst smart ass Gujjus and rude autorickshaw drivers. A city where almost everyone wants a pound of your flesh and is very, very honest about it. And in spite of the millions people make here, the struggle keeps them grounded. They might own a sea facing apartment in Bandra, but they will still have no qualms eating the rasta khaana at Bandstand. Bombay is a city of businessmen, business, and money. Almost everything one does in this city is an attempt to make those few extra bucks. By hook or by crook.

And then there is Delhi - where there is culture, there are good roads, and there are bad people. Ok, bad is an overstatement, I agree. But there's something about them that drives me away. No, they are not rude. Far from it in fact. But the money in Delhi comes from years of political power games, huge inherited lands in nearby Punjab and Haryana, and generations of business at Chandani Chowk. So it's easily available. There's no struggle. So there is time and intent to show it off too. Yes, there is hardly any struggle and there are hardly any apartment blocks that mark the quintessential middle class existence. And there are students. Hordes of them. Probably the only people in Delhi that mark the existence of the huge middle class. There are markets. In every colony, every locality, every single road. Because Delhi might not "earn" so much on a monthly basis, but spend they do. And how! And Delhi is about clothes. The kinds and at costs one is hard pressed to find in most other cities in India. But if Bombay has the sea and the rains and the huge and happily surviving middle class (that I love by the way. I want to belong to this class for the rest of my life, for the sheer practicality of our existence.), Delhi has Chandani Chowk, where you see the rarest combination of oily aalu parathas and McDonald's, a church, a temple, a mosque, and a gurudwaara, all surprisingly close to each other.

Yes, I like Delhi. But not enough to spend the rest of my life there. And I love Bombay. But not enough to accept the existential angst and struggle that's such a part of life in Bombay. I honestly believe that Delhi, Bombay, and Calcutta (even though it finds no place in this post because of the number of years it's been since I last went there) the only real cities in India. Because of the contrasts. Every other "city" I have lived in/ visited so far are lame, wannabe cousins of these 3. Yes, even Pune. In spite of all my love for it. But that said, I would still stick with a wannabe cousin than live in the quintessential big city. Because I am a small town person. Have always been. Will always be.