Elephant Mania at Lalbaug

I was driving past Lalbaug today, and here's what I saw: Complete and Total Elephant Mania!

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They were assembling several more elephants in the compound nearby (at least 7-8 more). I think they're going to place them all along the road. If you go over the Lalbaug flyover, you'll get a great view of all the elephants being lined up. So hurry! Find some excuse to drive on that route!

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Looks like this year's Ganesh Chaturthi is going to be very grand indeed. Lalbaugcha Raja is truly going to be a raja!

Fabric Therapy

Let's face it - spending two hours examining silks of various colours and shades can be very, very therapeutic.

Don't believe me? On a dull rainy day, when you're feeling down, head over to any of Mumbai's large covered fabric markets. Settle down in one of the many little shops, and watch as the magic unfolds. Service is unfailingly excellent, and the men at the stores have endless patience. Oh and they also have surprisingly good taste, and an expert eye for colour. They'll help you find exactly what you want.

You don't need more than 500 rupees in your pocket, so this has got to be the cheapest therapy ever. And I promise, you'll come out of market with a little jaunty something in your walk!

My personal favourite is Mangaldas Market, where there are rows and rows of little shops, housed inside one larged covered bazaar. While we were inside the bazaar, it started pouring outside. The rain made a pleasing tattoo on the tall roof; I felt snug and dry as I examined yards and yards of fabric.

The nicest thing about Mangaldas, actually, is that you can have a thali lunch at Rajdhani after your little shopping expedition. This is the 'original' Rajdhani; the first restaurant that was set up before it became such a popular chain. It is just across the road from Mangaldas and is airconditioned, thank God. These days they have a guy in a turban to open the door.

By the time we finished lunch, we were in that pleasant daze that only good shopping and great food can bring on. Honestly, this has got to be among the best ways to spend a rainy afternoon in Mumbai! Go on! Try it! And if you need motivation, here are more pictures from my Fabric Therapy session.

Ganesh Festival - to each his own

It is mid-July, and the city is getting ready for the mega-festival of Maharashtra - Ganesh Chaturthi. As the festival draws closer, more and more large idols such as this one will become visible in makeshift sheds all over the city.

The Ganesh festival means different things to different people. At its basest level, it is just another opportunity for fun and frolic, and an excuse to keep away from any kind of productive activity for the two weeks of the festival. On the positive side, it is an opportunity for people in every building and locality to come together. Groups are formed throughout the city, collections are made, and streets are swept clean. Youngsters participate in bringing and decorating the idol, distributing prasad, and finally immersing the idol.
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In many Maharashtrian families, this is the time when sons and daughters living afar get together. Although it is a religious occasion, it is also a happy day of family togetherness.

For the ritual-minded, the Ganesh festival offers the opportunity for the purification of the mind through various prescribed methods - aartis, keertans, pujas, namsmaran and other practices, done according to Vedic ritual. At the big common Ganesh mandaps (tents), serpentine queues of people to receive the blessings of Ganesh are a common sight. The biggest of these queues is the Lalbaugcha Raja (pic below). The Wadala Ganpati of the GSB community, the Ganpati at Matunga decorated by the flower sellers, and the one in Tilak Nagar (whose mandap is usually a replica of some famous ancient temple) also draw huge crowds.

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Among all the noise and merrymaking of the festival, there are also a blessed few who see the real Ganesha. In meditating on Ganesha, these seekers do not focus on his form, or his fondness for sweets - they focus instead on his Real nature. For them, he is Satchidananda (True Knowledge and Bliss), Parabrahmaswarupa or Omkareswara. Through such meditation comes Self-Realisation, and the seeker becomes one with the Eternal Truth.

If you're in Mumbai during August/September, you can join us in celebrating this festival. For two weeks, you can enjoy the colour and gaiety of the processions and the tents, or attend the evening aarti. On Visarjan day (the last day of immersion in the sea), you can join the entire city as we bid goodbye to Ganesha, and ask him to come again soon next year!

Some things should not be forgotten

- by Deepa Krishnan

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My friend Shoba was in Bombay last week, and she invited me to a book reading at Crossword. It was Robin David's 'City of Fear', set in the backdrop of the Godhra Hindu-Muslim riots.

I don't particularly like book readings. I speed-read most books, letting the story and the mood come to me in flashes. Except when I'm telling a bedtime story, the idea of s-l-o-w-l-y reading a book aloud doesn't hold much appeal.

But Robin David's reading held my interest, mainly because it was a first person account of the 2002 riots in Ahmedabad. What better way to experience it, than by listening to the author tell it in his own voice?

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The book reading at Crossword. Robin David is in the centre, in black

City of Fear is set in Guptanagar, a Hindu area of Ahmedabad. On one side of Guptanagar is the Muslim locality of Juhapura. Robin and his mother live in a house on the border of the two localities. As communal riots erupt, the area is placed under curfew. Robin is Jewish, and therefore an outsider to the Hindu-Muslim conflict, except for one little technicality - he is circumcised.

The fear and anxiety of living in a curfew area come through beautifully in the book. Robin worries about running into a mob, about having his pants pulled down, about being hacked to death. He quarrels with his old friend Jayendrasinh, a staunch Hindu, who refers to Muslims as 'those bandiyas' (referring to their circumcision). His Hindu barber, with whom he has a long-standing relationship, turns hostile after failing to understand the difference between Judaism and Islam. His Parsi friend witnesses the stripping and brutal killing of Geetaben, a Hindu woman with a Muslim husband. Even walking through the neighbourhood is difficult for Robin - groups of people cluster outside houses, eyeing strangers with suspicion. He makes it a point to wave to familiar faces, so that he can pass safely.

In the charged atmosphere of rioting Ahmedabad, Robin is unable to stay secular - he must take sides, just to survive. As relationships fray, and old friendships are betrayed, Robin and his mother leave their home in Guptanagar.

City of Fear is more than just a first-person account of how riots dehumanize people. Robin manages to weave several other threads into the story. He writes about the devastating Gujarat earthquake in 2001, just a year before the riots, and how it damages his house. It is this double-whammy of destruction, one natural and one man-made, that drives him from his Guptanagar home. When he moves with his mother to a small apartment in a 'safe' area, they have to leave behind not just old memories and bric-a-brac, but also their dog Ora. Living in the apartment is particularly difficult for Robin's mother, who develops a fear of heights after the earthquake.

Another recurring thread in the book is the concept of home. Where does Robin belong? Where do the Jews belong, in a country that doesn't even know they exist? Robin tells of their family's repeated migrations to Israel - they come back every time, convinced that they belong in India. Guptanagar is their home, but the riots destroy that sense of belonging. In leaving Guptanagar, they lose more than just a home.

The book also is a painfully honest account of Robin's life, his girlfriends, his relationship with his mother, and his awareness of his body's defects (he is hemiphelgic, one half of his body is not quite in synch with the other). At times, the navel-gazing can be a bit tiresome, but that does not detract from the appeal of this very readable book.

At the book reading, someone asked Robin why he wrote this book. "A lot of people say we should forget the past and move on", he answered. "But some things cannot be forgotten. They should not be forgotten." As someone who lived through similar riots in Bombay, I couldn't agree more.

The Ash Gourd and I

- by Janaki Krishnan

The sight of tender green ash gourd piled up at Matunga market brings back many old memories. The elavan or the ash gourd has been a constant part of my life, through childhood, marriage, motherhood and old age.

My connection with the ash gourd started in the forties, when I was a kid studying at SIES School. For lunch, my mother used to make delicious molagootal - a bland preparation of ash gourd, yam, drumstick, beans, and carrots. The vegetables were boiled with salt, and to this was added tuar dal and coconut paste. We ate it hot with rice and ghee; and sometimes spiced it up with vadu-manga (tender mango) or lemon pickle.

The ash gourd was also the staple vegetable for my mother's other Kerala speciality, olan (made with ash gourd and pumpkin).

After my marriage, I lived in Kerala for a year. I was always fascinated by the sight of giant sized white gourds, tied together and suspended from the wooden ceiling in the living room. Since we lived in a remote village with no access to markets, people stored ash gourds for use throughout the year. I learnt then that the giant ash gourd or kumbalangai can last upto 6 months without spoiling.

We came back to Mumbai from Kerala. When my first child was born at Bhatvadekar's Nursing Home in King's Circle, I remember my mother standing by my bedside with molagooshiyam, a preparation of ash gourd, moong dal, salt and pepper, garnished with coconut oil. I used to gulp down mounds of rice with the molagooshiyam, enjoying the divine aroma of fresh coconut oil and pepper.

But it was only at the age of 40, when I undertook a Nature Cure course, that I understood the medicinal qualities of this wonder vegetable. Naturopaths prescribe a glass of raw ash gourd juice in the morning on an empty stomach for eliminating toxins in the body. It is especially recommended for people with chest and bronchial congestion. It is easily digestible by both children and the elderly.

In my sixties, when I visited my grandchildren in Chennai, I saw yet another use for the ash gourd. Huge mounds of ash gourds were heaped on the pavements of Chennai for sale. These were bought by people to ward off the evil eye. Shopkeepers ritually circled their shops holding these gourds, and then smashed them on the ground to dispel evil.

Now in my seventies, I have invented new ways of continuing my affair with the ash gourd. For dinner sometimes, I cook up my own version of a spicy ash gourd sabzi. I saute onions and tomatoes with green chilli, add capsicum and ash gourd to it, and throw in a little bit of garam masala for taste. It is absolutely delicious with hot phulkas.

In these days of inflation and soaring vegetable prices, I am happy that my dear ash gourd, tender and green, is available in Mumbai throughout the year. A two kilo gourd costs just twenty five rupees.

Long live the ash gourd!

(posted by Deepa on behalf of Janaki)

I lead a double life

MINT, the Wall Street Journal's partner newspaper in India, interviewed me recently. The story appeared today. It's called "I lead a double life", and it is about five people, each of them juggling an offbeat passion with a regular career. I was one of the five. They figured I was a good subject, since I have a mainstream consulting career as well multiple tourism businesses.

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This is the photo that appeared with the article. For once, I look like a "successful banking technology consultant". And what's more, I look suitably entrepreneurial, don't I? The kids running next to me are guides on the 'Mumbai Local' tour.

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This is what the article said about me:
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From 9 to 5, Deepa Krishnan, an IIM Calcutta graduate, is at her day job, as a successful banking technology consultant. But after work, she lets her passion for history and architecture take over. “I found most tourists in cities were given cookie-cutter tours. They were actually clichéd and unimaginative impressions. I thought I could be more specific with my city tours through proper story-telling, and create a cultural mosaic that people can identify with,” says the 39-year-old Mumbaikar. Krishnan organizes city walks in Delhi, Mumbai and Chennai through her three websites: www.mumbaimagic.com, http://www.delhimagic.com/, and http://www.filtercoffeetours.com/.

But for Krishnan, the toughest part about being in a job and indulging her passion was learning to negotiate the grey zone between family, work and passion. “When my daughter was little, I had to set my ambitions aside. I had to choose not to do this as my family may have suffered, but now that my daughter is 14, I can juggle both. In fact, my daughter and mother also write for my blog,” says Krishnan, who sometimes works 12-14 hours a day to stay on top of things.

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Just for the record, when my daughter was little, I had absolutely no ambition for a second career, or for anything offbeat. I hadn't even heard of responsible tourism. So the "I had to set my ambitions aside" is poppycock. What I said to the writer was that its easier to find time for multiple careers when you don't have a young child; and that I wouldn't have done it when my daughter was younger.

The Naming of a House

- By Janaki Krishnan

Naming your child is no longer brain-racking, since there are readymade lists available in the market. But finding a suitable name for your own house still remains a personal domain unconquered by marketers.

In my native Kerala, where a Brahmin house is called a muttom, naming a house is easy. A house on the eastern side of the road or temple is Kizhakke Muttom (East House), and the one to the south is Thekke Muttom (South House).

But it is not always that simple. For most people, the name of the house reflects their dreams, aspirations, principles and leanings - social, emotional and religious.

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My grandfather, a lover of trees, named his house Thoppil Muttom (The House Among the Orchards). At Thoppil Muttom, the luxurious growth of trees - coconut, mango, jackfruit, arecanut, chikoo and orange - would actually hide the very existence of the house in the centre. It was like living in a green forest. Of course, he could also have named it after one of the perennial Himalayan rivers, because the well in the compound never ran dry, and was a regular source of water for neighbouring houses even in the driest years.

The urban scene has its own interesting variations. In Chennai, my daughter lived in a building named Oyster Opera - perhaps the owner considered it a precious pearl along the Besant Nagar beach!

Several houses and buildings in Bombay have names that reflect their owners' glory. In Matunga, our landlord Maganlal Popatlal Shah built three buildings, and gave them to his three sons. He made sure his grandchildren would remember him, by naming the buildings Magan Vihar, Magan Nivas and Magan Kunj !

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An emotional attachment to one's place of birth is natural - but very few people who come to Bombay are able to go back to live in those surroundings. No wonder one of my relatives in suburban Goregaon named his home Bilwadri House, in honour of the presiding deity in his village, Bilwadrinathan.

Housing societies where people of all communities live prefer secular names. The complex of three buildings where I now live is called Tribhuvan Society (Three-Buildings Society). The Air Force Quarters at Sion has named its two buildings Engineer and Mukherjea, presumably after some meritorious officers, to ensure that their memory remains alive. A residential building near Sion Fort has called itself Sahas (Courage) - perhaps indicating the owner's willingness to fight against all odds!

Since ultimately, what we all desire is a happy, healthy and peaceful life; the real winners in the popularity contest are names like Shanti Kunj, Paradise, Sukh Sagar and Anand Nivas. I am sure there's one of these names in your neighbourhood!

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Sago Story

I finished my meeting in Nariman Point by 12:30. I was starving, but the next meeting was in Worli at 1:00. There was no time for a sit-down lunch, and I really didn't feel like eating the usual vada-pav or bhelpuri.

"Let's stop for a minute at Babulnath", I told the driver. I had Dave Farsan Mart in mind.

Dave is pronounced Duh-whey, in case you didn't know. Farsan is the Gujarati word for tea-time snacks. Dave Farsan Mart is a little hole in the wall outfit, but God, their farsans are delicious. As usual, there were people at the counter, buying stuff by the kilo.

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I bought myself a plate of sabudana vada. Well, I say plate, but really, it was a cup. With two piping hot vadas, and a pale green chutney. By the time I got to my next meeting, I was smiling a happy smile.

These days, I've been having a rather passionate affair with sabudana. My maid makes brilliant sabudana khichdi for breakfast. I'll post photos here, soon as I find them. They're here somewhere on my PC.

Woohoo, I'm on national TV!

This morning NDTV 24 x 7 covered Mumbai Local, a new tour that I launched this season.

It is a tour with a difference - because it takes tourists out of the comfort zone of private cars and airconditioned buses. On the Mumbai Local tour, tourists get an inside view of Mumbai by going on our iconic red BEST buses, black-and-yellow taxis, and of course, our famous local trains. The tour starts at the Gateway of India, and covers all the "must-see" places in the city - but in a way that's guaranteed to show you the "real" Mumbai! To round it off, it includes tea and snacks at Swati Snacks, where tourists get an introduction to Mumbai's special brand of fast food.

The guides for this tour are special too. They are a group of teenagers, from Akanksha Foundation, who we trained for 3 months to do this tour. Akanksha helps children from disadvantaged families, several of them from small chawls and slums. I've been supporting Akanksha through donations, but I figured asking Akanksha kids to become guides on this tour would be a better than just offering financial help. Here's a tour in progress:

The two girls on the right are guides. They both come from poor families, but have completed school, and are now in college. I want these teenagers to show visitors the city as they see it everyday – home to both the rich and the poor, alive and vibrant, and constantly on the move. I'm hoping that seeing the city through the eyes of these young guides will give tourists an insight into the true spirit of Mumbai.

For the guides too, the tours are an opportunity to meet people from different parts of the world, to learn new things, and to see the world a little differently. There are five guides - four girls and one boy - the tours give them an opportunity not just to earn pocket money or supplement their family income, but also to learn how to handle a wide range of situations. They are growing increasingly confident with each tour, so I am personally very happy.

NDTV interviewed me as well, and I spouted some nonsense about the tour - I didn't fumble, thank God. They told me later I was "a natural". I should've dressed for the interview, of course, instead of showing up in my oldest T-shirt and cargo pants. I thought I'd play it cool, you see? So there I was, on national TV, faded Tshirt, streaked kajal and limp hair, and looking like a small sized blimp. Sigh. So much for playing it cool. I don't dare post a photo, but the video is here on the NDTV site.

Spotted in Chor Bazaar

I went to Chor Bazaar today, and spotted a couple of shops selling old coins. Among the most common coins were the "ONE ANNA" coins of the East India Company.

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I don't know a thing about coins, but I figured they were fake (note the variations in the Om symbol). Besides, the coin in the centre has 1939 minted on it. I thought the Company Sarkar was abolished in 1861 after the Mutiny? We asked for the price of a single coin, and the man said Rs 50.

The other interesting thing I spotted in Chor Bazaar was brass milk cans. This photo is from a set of three cans; I was tempted to buy all three and turn them into interesting planters for my potted ferns. Asking price: Rs 1200 per can. Should I have bought them?

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Another store was selling metal armour (who buys these things anyway?) I stood for a minute and looked at the design of the armour. Are those trousers? How do you pee if you wear these, for God's sake? Or maybe battle is about holding it in while you slash and cut your way through to the nearest toilet.

All in all, Chor Bazaar is quite interesting. I keep discovering new things every time I go there.