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The Internet is just a world passing around notes in a classroom –
Jon Stewart

On the Wall : Ilusory Irony !

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The mention of the word Maya, gets me philosophical !

All of the world is Maya. Thats what i knew. I thought of Maya in great awe, and uttered ‘MAYA’ with an air of respect, and a circle of awe. Until a couple of days back.

‘All of the world is Maya’, i have read in the epics. Everything is but an illusion and everything is taken from HIM, says the Gita.

Realisation that the world has moved on from there, caught me by surprise. Completely. That for sometime, i thought of myself as a lost soul getting off a ship that was moored in the middle of the Indian ocean for a million years !

Actually, this poster sent me scurrying for knowledge.

And i returned with understanding that Maya is the name of an animation software. Aha !

But think of the irony. The poster that advertises to make you an expert in animation, by studying Maya….is stuck on top of another that announces the death anniversary of a gentleman !

Maya ! Huh !

Javas transformation from coffee to software gave didnt excite me. One bit. I hope Maya stays illusory !

Aching Thigh !

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For, here i am. With aching thighs. And a knee which announces a flex of the leg with a sound that is getting louder by the day. I still can walk. And run a kilometer or two. Thank all the Gods above for their big mercies.

But frankly, the ultimate strength lies in sitting with your backside close to hard surface. But not on it. Yes, In my mind, to squat is to have special prowess. And No. I am not kidding.

At another of those dull days, i wait, with my laptop bag strung across my shoulders. I wait by a Mumbai highway, for a friend of mine to pick me up.

There is a family that waits alongside me. The weight of the world seems to be on my shoulder, as the friend calls up every 7 th minute to tell me he is 5 minutes away. I yearn for a chair. I cant sit. Forget my backside, the thought of placing the laptop bag on the mud and dust of the highway, is non existent.

And then, i hear the lady of the family standing next to me tell her husband that her legs ache. And the next minute, she sits down. I mean, she squats. And there she was. In that position for many more multiples of ‘7 minutes’ till my friend finally showed up and i left the place !

Her sitting position was perhaps the most hygienic possibility. That you almost sit. I mean, your backside, gets as close as possible to a surface. The knees bend. The calf muscles touch the thigh. And you are not standing. Well, by those definitions, it definitely was sitting !

Phew. I wonder how many of you can do that. Many of my cousins who live in the rural hinterland, sit in this position with ease. For hours on end. I guess their daily morning routines give way for practice too.


But the fact remains, that if the next bus / train / friend doesn’t show up on time, i am going to walk about fiddling my finger and running my hand through imaginary strands of hair. While some chap will squat elegantly, right in front of me ! For hours on end !

And i would swear to myself that the next post on my blog would be on inadequate infrastructure !

And here is the icing on the cake.

You know, I try and go to a gym. And the instructor asks me to squat and get up ! 20 repetitions. And charges me for his supervisory act. I know i am missing something.

For, here i am. With aching thighs.

The written word moves !

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That’s the vehicle that i spot often. Near home. A mobile book store, which for some reason, i thought of as a library. For English & Marathi books. It has a generator, a computer, a young boy and of course, some books.

Plus, they advertise a number. A Toll Free number. You need a book, well, you just dial a book and it would be home delivered.

Now, that was a first.

For all the years of metro living, everything used to get home delivered. From grocery to DVDs, to letters, credit card statements to Chicken Curry. But books…. Well, perhaps the magazines from the corner store. But books ?!?

I didn’t see them being home delivered. And that included the ones that went out of the door, borrowed by friends and other visitors, exploiting my inability of saying http://healthsavy.com/product/cialis/ ‘no’ ! And i used to awaken with hope each day, that perhaps that day, i would see a book coming back home ! But thats another story.

To spot this mobile book store was heartening. And to actually spot people frequenting the van was even more !

With TV, Internet, audio books and such other ‘advancements’, there is a strange impasse in the world. I think. An impasse that’s big enough to obscure the joy of smelling fresh pages, of curling in a corner with a book, of looking up a dictionary, of debating a point with a friend and just soak up thoughts & adore styles !

This mobile book store seemed to bring a whiff of fresh air ! Mobility takes a new meaning ! The written word moves ! On wheels !

Getting Real @ Kala Ghoda !

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I am at the Kala Ghoda festival. The sun is just setting. A whole lot of ‘post its’ and small chits on a make shift wall stand out. From a distance, my wandering eyes rest on them for a minute. A few feet shuffles later, i mingle into a a crowd swarm just outside this stall. ‘Letters to Pakistan’.

Messages intended for Pakistan. For who in Pakistan, is not known. But headed in that geographic direction. Hand written scrawls to meticulously crafted chits, they are all there. They catch the breeze and flutter. The chits seem to battle for freedom. The glue continues to beat the breeze by holding on to the chits.



In this melee, messages catch the eye.

‘We will kill you’
‘When i become President of India, the first task in my mind i will distroy Pakistan’
‘A failed state like Pakistan is a state of loosers. India rocks’.

And so on. A sigh escapes my lips. So much hate. In young and old alike. My fresh eyes & tired soul search for messages of peace. Outnumbered, they sure are. But present.

‘War doesn’t determine what is right. It only determines what is left’ says one
‘War is expensive. Peace is priceless’.
‘Lets fight terrorism together’.

And so on. I read on. Searching. Browsing. Smiling. Hoping. Wondering.

Two young girls are reading with interest too. Animated chatter pervades. Between them. They read. Comment. Giggle. Make strange expressions that seem to be extensions of shrugs and something else.


They look up. Read. “Arms are for hugging. Make love. Not War’. They read that aloud. Again. In unison. Roll their eyes. One tells another, ‘get real guys’. The other giggles.

‘Get Real ?’ I wonder. I feel like a dust ridden statue in a museum attic. Especially so trying to map out youngster speak. ‘Get Real!’ That was some expression.

In sometime they are gone. Their conversations peppered with ‘Get Real’ many more times!

‘Would you want to write sir !?’ I hear another young girl ask me. Giving me a pen and a small chit of paper. She mans this stall.

‘Sure’. I say.

Steadying my hand is an effort, as the words flow into paper. I write : “We were separated at birth. Must we stay that way?”. I want to write more. Thinking of Hindi films where reunions of lost brothers happens in village festivals.

An echo from a recent memory rides high in my ear. ‘Get Real’ And that girly giggle. I stop. I contemplate. Should i hand over what i wrote ? I wonder how many more would laugh at what i have written.

Contemplation reigns.

Our history lessons are distorted. The media accentuates problems. Less said of politicians on both sides the better. Our armies bristle with aggression. War suddenly seems to be a video game and terrorists are characters that run on code. Toy guns or otherwise, children grow up with hate. And of course, poverty continues to soar and scores die and suffer.

I hear people dismissing what i wrote. But suddenly it doesn’t matter. I tell myself, ‘get real’. And hand the paper over to this girl who mans the stall. She promises to stick it somewhere.

I walk away. ‘Get Real’ stays in my mind.

Earlier posts on Kala Ghoda Festival are here. Here. Here.

Frill Thrill !

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The glitter quotient energises! Like this Mumbai taxi. Whatsay ?!!

The glitter quotient, with fluorescent stickers, especially, of an omni present ‘Deluxe’ inscribed is a easy to spot ! That ‘Deluxe’ is a decoupled word from actual reality, is another matter though. The glitter will get you to believe & hope for a BMW feel ! If you are relatively new here.

But more importantly, it is the fancy glitter drops that keep my attention riveted. High on fluorescence, movement and therefore, definitely attention grabbing. I wonder if there is any other part of the world this level of glitter quotient exists on the rear !

And this of course, was a ‘just married’ car ! Now, i have seen so many different cars with wedding decorations ! Fluorescent violet balls hanging on a thin strip of cellophane tape, all around the undercarriage, was something new indeed.

Wonder whose idea it was. The brides ? The grooms? In-laws? Relatives ? Friends with vested interests ? Or was it a friendly neighbourhood taxi driver with extra ideas hanging in the air ?

Who cares. It added to the colour to the road !

And of course, some private moments to the couple inside. Those dangling, moving, violet balls (that moved ever so violently with every pothole), caught every body’s attention. Nobody looked inside the car !

Perhaps that was the idea ! What an idea sirji !

Not nought !

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My mind hasn’t moved from the Kala Ghoda festival. Here are two pictures. The first one of an old man. And the other of a set of young men and women ! They spoke to whoever who cared to listen. I did.

The first gentleman, recited a poem. About politics, and how corruption is fuelling a rot of everything. And he recited it with no microphone in hand. No set audience to watch his recital. No arc light to focus on him. And no expectation from anybody around. He just stood in middle of a busy section of the festival, and read his poem.

People walked by. With insensitive disdain. Worse still, not caring to notice what was happening just as they milled around. Some stopped for a second, with ‘whatever is this man saying ?’ look. And moved on. This gentleman continued his recitation.

I counted four people, who stood there and listened. A powerful poem, i thought.

The gentleman though, didn’t seem to think much of the four people who stood or the four hundred people who walked around. He completed. And walked away.

The power of poetry and the passion in the recital http://pharmacy-no-rx.net/propecia_generic.html kept me awake that night.





At another location, there was street theatre, happening. In full swing. A small crowd had gathered. There were a set of young men and women performing. Urging people to stay awake and vote the right kind of people.

Again, no microphone, no fixed audience, no arc lights, no rosepowder. But just humans and powerful performances.

Coming in the backdrop of noises and sounds of various decibel intensity, this indeed was some performance ! To keep an audience who were just walking by, glued to what was happening there was no small task.

And as i left that place, i shook my head in wonder. There after all were people who did things, because it was the right thing to do and that it needed to be done.

Not for appreciation. Not for praise. Not for money. Not for themselves. Not for their loved one. Not for 5 minutes of fame. Not for today.

But just to ensure, that everything doesn’t come to nought !

Long after they stopped speaking, their words and their spirit continues to echo in me. I wonder why !

Kala Ghoda Festival ’09

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The Kala Ghoda Art Festival of Mumbai beckoned. Kala Ghoda ( Black Horse ) is the name of that area. (Named after a statue of Prince Edward astride on a black horse, which incidentally is long gone) .

Read the details of the festival here.

A festival, to my mind, is a swarm of people, a riot of colour, a ring of happiness, sounds of cheer, loads of music, tonnes to see, and of course leaves you with a ring of joy. That’s what happens at the Chitrai festival in Madurai.

That’s what happens at all festivals. That’s something that was abundant at the Kala Ghoda Festival too. Make no mistake though, each has a different character and ring to it !

Here are some pictures from the Kala Ghoda festival !

The Entry Arch !
Art out of bottles, buckets and such other ‘water carriers’ ! The amount of plastic and waste that we use seem to be going sky high !

We seek to look upto the sky for some answers !

This stall both educated and appealed to the people with toilets at home. And sought to remind that there are many without that facility. And what a way to do that ! This one stayed with me.
The stage backdrop

A clothes stall with puppets in front.


Of course. The symbolism was hard to miss. As i stood outside, looking at other sights, the missus was inside !

A flute vendor


I wonder why they don’t give some flute lessons along ! The chap plays flute so well, that you are tempted to buy it with the hope that the magic is in the flute. And that you too would be able to pull off such mellifluous music from thin air.

Alas. When the flute comes to my lip, all it could produce was a vague gust of air and some strange sound that was almost like a fire alarm.

A wire made man walking a narrow strips !

Art from metal was captivating ! And captivating was just not the word. I stood there for a long while. Just to revel in the ingenuity of the human mind. And wondered why we seem to go in tangents so very often.


There are faces on the wall. They seem to be saying something. And that’s there on all walls of the world ! Aren’t there !?!

Empty well arranged bottles that had a people squinting, jostling and keen to look at what was inside ! And all the jostle had more people jostling to take a look ! Curiosity value gets some takers ! But this Osmosis was quite a sight !!
A kathak performance that we watched. Enthralled. Standing. Jostling. Yet, eyes rivet ted on the synchronous movement of legs, arms and body, to create a delight for the eyes and the ears.

And when we walked away at the end of it all, there was no mistaking the thrill that was there in our hearts !

Triple C Dawn !

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Listen to the Exhortation of the Dawn!
Look to this Day!
For it is Life, the very Life of Life.

In its brief course lie all the
Verities and Realities of your Existence.

The Bliss of Growth,
The Glory of Action,
The Splendor of Beauty;
For Yesterday is but a Dream,
And To-morrow is only a Vision;

But To-day well lived makes
Every Yesterday a Dream of Happiness,
And every Tomorrow a Vision of Hope.

Look well therefore to this Day!
Such is the Salutation of the Dawn!

The snap is mine. Clicked on Eastern Express Highway, Mumbai. The content is written by Kalidasa. Copied and posted shamelessly.

Well, each line made me relive a peaceful and serene dawn on a drive. And my very thinking of that sereneness made a difference to my today ! And prompted me to post.

Break Down Tale !

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So when your car has a break down, it gets towed. And that’s not the only time it gets towed. It also happens when you park in the wrong place. Or when a inventive car thief spots your fancy car. Or when you run out of fuel. And such else.
But that’s besides the point. For whatever reason it has to be towed, towing brings to my mind, a large truck or such other vehicle which pulls. That’s my understanding of towing !



But, what you find below, is another form of towing. A very Indian innovation. For Indian readers, this is a no brainer that is seen every day ! The vehicle that’s ahead is the one with a break down !


The ‘technology’ is pretty simple. The power from the autorickshaw in the rear, gets transferred to the one at front. Through that outstretched leg and the Mumbai air. And of course, using that big toe. ( I am told by knowledgeable sources that it requires some skill).

So, maybe this is ‘toeing’ ?!? Of course, This indeed is ‘Toeing’ !

So, the next time, somebody is going to ask me to toe his or her line, i wonder if its that big muscular hulk pulling from the front, or is it that toe that’s working on my behind !!

Huh ! So much for a break down !

On The Tree : Full Circle !

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So there. So much for balloons. You have them in many varieties. In so many different shapes, sizes and colours. And of course, the ‘balloonwala‘ of my childhood time used to carry a rich paraphernalia of multi hued balloons and all sorts of contraptions that made noise !

He used to announce his presence with a sort of a whistle. And to every parent in the neighbourhood, that was like a medieval battles conch, announcing the commencement of war !

But those days are passe. The modern times that we live in of course have balloons that fly you ! Hot Air balloons they are called. The only heat in the balloons that i am used to is the one coming from my own breath !

There is one memory thought, that is evergreen. It was kindergarten. My class teacher brought a set of balloons to class, and set a raving cat amongst feisty pigeons. A fight ensued over a particular balloon of bright red colour.

And she separeted us saying , ever so sweetly, ‘its not the colour of the balloon that gets you higher. Its whats inside’ ! And was i floored !

I didn’t make much of it back then. But that conversation stayed. And many years later, made much sense. Of course. Of course ! That was a profound statement.

And then, the MBA happened.

On a hot summer day, after a listlessly ‘hot’ case study discussion punctuated with ‘it depends’, the prof remarked,

‘Gas will get you only so far. You need something else to get any further…like some colour ‘ !

I stared at him. And thought of my Kindergarten teacher. Life seemed to have come full circle !

This post concludes the three post series titled ‘On The Tree’ !