Mesmerising !

Watching Kathakali (story play) performance - the native dance of Kerala - the God's own country, in India - can be an experience of a life time.

There are many tourist places in Kerala, where special shows of Kathakali are organised for people interested in art and culture of the state.

Having a leisurely holiday in Fort Kochi this December, I  also decided to experience it.

On the advice of our lovely host at the homestay, I booked the show.

While booking the tickets, my original thought was to give my friends from Europe, travelling with us, a surprise gift; and open a window for them from where they can get a glimpse of Indian culture.

However , it turned out to be a memorable experience for me as well.

The two and half hour show started with the make up art that plays a huge role in kathakali - a ballet dance form native to Kerala state.  

I always thought the Kathakali dancers wore huge colourful masks, but I was wrong. It is the intricately done make up that takes about two hours to metamorph the artistes and there are no masks.

Even the swollen jawline that gives the impression of a mask is arduously cut paper strips stuck to the jaw.

The colours used on artistes' faces are all organic derived from various stone that after rubbing on another stone produce colours such as red, yellow and black. 

Each colour has its own significance. Green denotes goodness, white simplicity, black demon, and so on.

Kathakali dance can be compared to ballet or opera in which the actors narrate a story. The training for the dance form is rigorous and goes on for at least six years before the artistes learns the art of talking without even opening their mouths.

Kathakali performer do not speak when performing but narrate the whole story through the gestures and expressions. 

The house was full and the make up was complete after about an hour. The men , yes the artistes are generally men , were ready in their new avataars. 

Then came the guru (master) who apprised us about the nuances of this age-old tradition of story telling. He familiarised the audience with the importance of eye movement in Kathakali and the gestures for different dialogues. 

One of the artistes came on the stage and demonstrated all those movements under the guidance of the guru. 

Finally , it was time for the performance. The intricate makeup and paint on their faces, huge and glittery headgears and dramatic frock style dress with tutu and layers of scarves around their neck created a enigmatic scenario on the stage.

Since the story acript had already been handed over to us, it was easy for novices like me to grasp the story.

The time flew - two and half hours were over without us realising it. We were all sitting mesmerised and in trance still trying to get the overwhelming experience seep in.

A few glimpses that I could catch are here to share the bewitching experience that I had. 

The Maharaja experience of Air India

Some people feel travelling by Indian national carrier Air India is comfortable and nationalistic. The government servants are forced to travel by Air India. They love it simply because they don't have to pay or it.

I generally travel by other low cost carriers like Indigo, Vistara or Spice Jet because I normally have to pay for my tickets, unless it is work related.

However, unfortunately I reserved Air India this time for my personal trip this time. And no guesses , I had a nightmarish time !

It started a day before my flight. I tried to check in through Air India mobile app and I was not surprised that it crashed every time I clicked  on check in, the app would crash.

After wasting more than half an hour for a job, which I am able to accomplish on Indigo app in less than a minute, I failed to check in.

Scratching my head,  I tried calling the customer  care, which I was fortunate enough to connect after an hour. I at least could get my seats blocked.

Before I could celebrate my successful mission, I received a text from Air India that my connecting flight has been rescheduled. It meant I needed to change my first flight in order to be able to catch the other one. 

Another nightmarish time started when I tried to call the customer care, again. Anyway, another flight was booked. However she said she would not be able to email me the new ticket but I can get it at the check in counter.

The customer care executive warned me to reach the airport two hour on advance because of this flight change. I, being a nervous traveller, followed her instruction. And she was right ! 

What I went through at the check in was hilarious, ridiculous or it can be termed irritating as well. 

The Air India counters were at utter chaos, and it did not surprise me. The staff was giving stickers to every passenger to stick it on their bags after writing their name, address, phone number, email id etc etc. 

People started following the instructions. They would peel the sticky paper, stick the sticker on to their bags and throw the peel anywhere on the floor. No one guided them and they kept littering the whole area. These stickers started to fall off by the time the luggage was put on the carrier. 

There was confusion at its best. 

Our turn came and the flight change was enough to baffle the young man sitting at the counter. After struggling for about 15-20 minutes, he had to call the floor manager 'Madame Anju' - a small-framed lady with a feisty temperament. 

Throwing her problem over us, she asked the young man to give us the boarding pass for just one sector and go through fresh check in for the second sector, to which we put our foot down.

The normal practice is that when one books a long flight wih a break, one gets two boarding passes and the luggage is booked to the final destination.  Air India wanted its passengers to suffer due to its competencies.

We stood for our rights and demanded two boarding passes. The struggle on their part continued. The customers behind us started feeling jittery and the manager was also called to rescue the young executive and the fiery lady.  

Eventually, we were given the two boarding passes. 

However, yet again Air India did not give me a chance to feel victorious. I got a text that my connecting flight has been rescheduled to its previous time, thus increasing my waiting time to 2 hours.  We had to get up at 5 in the morning only because of this rescheduling and now once again we were back to square one. 

So, this was the Maharaja (princely) experience for us in our very own Indian airlines Air India 

The Indian way of air travel

Off late, I have been travelling a lot for work and getting ample opportunities to objectively observe the behaviour of fellow passengers.

Having studied psychology, I anyway enjoy observing people.

Today, I was compelled to write after my short but torturous 55-minute journey from Delhi to Lucknow via Indigo.

I am lucky to get a vacant seat next to me most of the times. However, today it seems, was not my day. A rather healthy man (can't say fat or those who are bulky will mind) was stuffed in the middle seat.

First, I wanted to ask him to spare some of my space, which his obese bulges were invariably occupying, but soon I decided otherwise. I started observing him.

He sat as if he was the king. While I shrank (even with my kind of slender physique) towards the window, whereas the poor passenger sitting on the isle seat crossed his hands close to his chest.

Now this guy in the middle rested his hands on both the arm rests. With a smirk on his face, he looked victorious and I am sure he must have felt comfortable.

Expectig courstesy may have been asking for too much!

55 minutes passed and by this time I was feeling amused by the little pleasures of my co-passenger. I had decided that I have to share this experience with my friends at large.

Meanwhile, the flight landed. The wheels of the plane touched the ground with a thud sound, which got lost in the clink-clank of unfastening the seat belts.

Indians have a few funny habits, especially when travelling by air. Their unrestricted souls force them to not wear seat belts when they are driving on the road. And the same free soul compels them to unfasten their seat belts the moment the aircraft touches the ground.

Another funny habit - Indians can't survive without staring at their phones every two second. However, they leave all their important calls, especially related to business and work, for the take off and landing.

All the million dollar deals are done just before their flight is taking off and the airhostess is shouting her lungs out to switch off the mobile phones.

The phone seems to be linked to their heart beats. They start making calls the moment they start getting signals at the rimw of landing.

The clink clank of seat belt, and the chorus of 'hello' 'hello' 'where are you' are so synchronised that if it is quiet in any journey , I will feel suspicious and weird.

Now, even the airhostesses have given up and they don't react to this actions, which comes to these passengers involuntarily.

By the time the plane reached the bay, barring me and a couple of other lazy ones, all the passengers were standing with their luggage in their hands.

Yes, they had already opened the overhead bins and taken out their huge over size bags; and were waiting to get out of that jail. Some of them had already started pushing others because they wanted to be the first one to get out.

Anyway the doors open and the steps were arranged and by this time many passengers were at the door.

Now, the shuttle came to ferry people to the arrival lounge and in a hurry to get back to their business, again there was a race to take the first bus. At least 50 people were already in the bus like sardines, hanging till the door.

Waiting for the next shuttle is so not VIP like! Isn't it !

(If there is any award for those who get out of the plane first and get the first shuttle and then get the first trolley and reach the conveyor belt first,  no one will be able to beat Indians).

So,  we 10 people were the last one to take the last shuttle. We sat lazily in the bus and reached the arival lounge only to find those who were rushing, to have been desperately waiting for the luggage to start coming in. 

Of course, those who know the value of time, were standing at the point where the luggage pops out of the conveyor belt with their trolleys blocking the way for others.

Meanwhile, standing on the other side of the belt (the less privileged one) I spotted my luggage and walked out, while some of those who were the first to get out of the plane were still waiting !

PS: It is just a candid observation (check the photos which I took when the plane had not even reached the bay), so please friends don't take any offence.

My Muse in Chhatisgarh...

I had been looking forward to travelling to Chhatisgarh state as this was my first visit to this part of India.

Due to busy schedule of work I couldn't see the beautiful surroundings but remained restricted to the city area. I was a bit disappointed but soon I consoled myself with a promise to be back solely for tourism purpose.

However, during the work I found my muse - Lakhi Narain Sahu Lemon Tea Wale (Lakhi Narain Sahu who sells lemon tea) at the City Central Mall.

This is no ordinary tea that Lakhi had been selling for more than 7 years. It is a special Masala (spicy) Lemon Tea.

One sip and it felt like I am having haajmola (tablets made of a variety of herbs and spices to help digestion). I couldn't refrain myself from asking Lakhi what he uses in the tea.

The liat was long and it had almost everything what my mother used to put in Buknu (an old Indian spicy powder for good digestion , which is now becoming extinct).

He boasted that his tea was no ordinary drink but a health drink and Lakhi charges a high price keeping the raretity in mind. One miniscule plastic cup for 10 Rs.

A seasoned salesman he keeps the Masala , he uses for tea, ready to sell the moment a customer praises his tea. The small packet of Masala coats 50 Rs. 

Lakhi , an easy tea seller doesn't sit at the Raipur Railway Station as he says there he would get lot of men (he meant cops) who would want his tea for free.

"Even a dig would want my tea for free," he says. So he is happy to sell less but to class customers who understand the beauty of his tea and can savour the taste and are ready to pay for his unique recipe.
I was so enamoured by Lakhi that I had to get his permission to photograph him. Poor guy ,he was flummoxed when I asked him if I can take his photo. Fumbling , he said I don't know.   So I showed him my mobile camera and explained.

So,  he posed and then asked me to show hoq he looks. Happy with the result, he smiled and I smiled too as I was happy with my muse. I left the place with a promise to have his tea next time whenever I am in Raipur. I also told him to give him some publicity by sharing his work on all social sites.

So please guys and gals make sure that you have this special lemon tea by Lakhi if you happen to be in Raipur. And also give him loads of like so that we can promote our very own organic tea!

The Taxi Tale

Mention Kolkata and the first thing comes to mind is yellow Ambassador taxis. Perhaps, this is the only place in India where Ambassador cars are used as taxis.

I landed in Kolkata today. I could have taken radio taxi. The airport is full of those posh counters for air conditioned taxis. But I consciously settled for Kolkata's signature transport.

The counter read, Pre-paid Taxi - Kolkata Police. I thought its safe and interesting!

So the ride began....

It was pouring outside. And the driver was reluctant to pull the windows down to let me get some air. So I insisted, and he relented.

After using the electronic button for 10 years to pull down the car windows, it was fun for me to try the rusted handle. I opened my window at the back also. Water was coming inside from the windows which were down.

Then I realised that the driver was not using the wipers, though it was chucking down. I asked if they are working - a quiet man, he just shook his head. After a while he turned on the wipers. The wipers started moving in slow motion. They made no difference to the cats and dogs falling on the windscreen.

I had decided to have this ride with all my awareness.

I noticed that at each traffic light, he switched off the ignition, irrespective the stop was for less than half a minute. The reason I could not understand.

So I heard each sound and analysed it. Every time he shifted the gear, it made a cranky sound. When he started the ignition, I could feel as if the whole chassis had been shaken. The reverse gear was the worst for which he could manage after 4-5 attempts.

The interiors of the taxi were more or less similar to those of black and yellow Premier Padminis which we see on congested Mumbai roads. The glove box had a huge pad lock. There was a hole where the music was supposed to be. Each panel of the door had the vehicle registration number painted crudely on it.
 
Simply in love with these yellow monsters, I asked the driver if the construction of metro (not the famous Calcutta Tube but the sky train) would affect this business, he, with his expressionless face, just shook his head, which I could not make out was for yes or no.

So this quiet driver misses the turn where I had to get off and we had to take an extra km to drop me at y destination. When the car came to a halt, with a lot of gurgling and shaking, the driver speaks now: "madame will you not give me anything as we had to take a long way to come here?"

In normal circumstances, I wouldn't have given anything thinking I have already paid for my ride. But since the ride was so amusing and I enjoyed it thoroughly, I decided to make his day. I paid him 100 Rs. only for the reason that he had made my day with a memorable ride!    

    

Kite Runner by Khaled Husseini

Kite Runner by Khaled Husseini

 It is a story about guilt, regret, repentance, war, devastation, love, innocence, jealousy, and various human emotions.

Set up in the backdrop of a culturally rich Afghanistan, Kite Runner is the tale narrated by a little boy who grows in an affluent environment.

Amir admires his father who is a rich and courageous man, respected in his community. However, Amir does not get the kind of encouragement he expected from his father. The father loved Hasan, the son of their servant equally. Sometimes he had more praises for Hasan than for Amir. The father found Amir too timid and wanted him to become as brave as Hasan.

Both Amir and Hasan grow up in Kabul flying kites and playing together in pomegranate orchards. While Amir would fly kites deftly, Hasan would run to get the kites he brought down.

On one occasion, which was a big kite festival in Kabul, Amir wins by cutting the last kite in the sky. For him, this victory was more important as it gave him a chance to earn respect in his father’s eyes.

Father did appreciate Amir’s achievement.

Exhilarated, Amir asks Hasan to bring the last kite that he had cut. Hasan runs. When he does not return for long, Amir goes to look for him. What he sees shocks him. Amir freezes. Another rich kid of mixed race is sodomising Hasan while rich kid’s friends were watching and holding Hasan.

It was revenge. In the past, this rich kid had tried to bully Amir but couldn’t succeed as Hasan stood as a wall. The rich kid felt humiliated and vouched to teach Hasan a lesson.

Shock freezes Amir. He wants to save Hasan but is unable to dare.

Amir comes back to his father and pretends to be unaware of what Hasan has gone through. His life with guilt starts from this day.

Hasan goes into his shell. He wants to recreate the relation he shared with Amir but fails.

Amir does things to get rid of his guilt. He quietly gives all his money and an expensive watch, which his father had given him as a birthday present.

Father finds out and, thinking all the gifts were stolen, asks Hasan and his father to leave the house.

Time passes. Amir is happy to get undivided attention of his father but dwells in guilt when alone.

Afghanistan sees the emergence of Taliban. Soon, there is exodus. Amir and his father also leave.

They end up taking refuge in the US. Life changes its course.

Amir’s father works hard and sends son to good school. Amir becomes a writer and marries an Afghani girl Soraya, settled in the US.

Father dies. Amir and Soraya are unable to have children. Amir thinks it is a curse and God’s way of telling him what he deserves for not coming to the rescue of Hasan.

After father’s death, Amir receives a letter from his father’s best and closest friend Ali. The letter had another shock waiting for Amir.

After the death of Amir’s mother, his father had slept with Servant’s wife, who gave birth to Hasan.

Father also lived in guilt and therefore tried to give all those comforts and material things what he gave to Amir. What he couldn’t give Hasan was dignity and the family name.

Ali in his letter asks Amir to go to Afghanistan and bring Hasan’s son to put him in some orphanage. Hasan’s parents have been killed by Taliban.

Amir goes back to Afghanistan and sees Hasan’s son is serving as one of the objects for a militant, who is the same rich boy who had sodomised Hasan.

After much torture and violence, Amir is able to bring Hasan’s son to Pakistan.

Thinking that this may be the chance to repent on what he did to Hasan, Amir now wants to adopt his son. Fighting too many legal battles, he takes Hasan’s son to the US.

It takes long for Hasan’s son to adjust to a new and normal life but eventually he does smile!

(The way the story has been narrated is amazing. I felt transported to Afghanistan, Pakistan, and to the US as well. I lived every emotion with the characters. I cried in their pain and smiled in their happiness. It turned out to be the best-written books I may have read so far. I was compelled to write, though it may spoil the reading pleasure of those who have not read the book and want to read it now)

A journey that was....

I have been to Varanasi many times. This visit on 17 June 2015 was dedicated to my sister and it was a sort of my present to her on her wedding anniversary which was on 18 June.

Fond of road journeys we started our drive in our humble 10-year old Santro (Hyundai). We had barely driven 3-4 km when the obstructions started.

Wrong news given by media that the flyover on Lucknow-Sultanpur road has become functional, was the first block. The flyover was neatly barricaded.

We reversed and took another route bypassing Rae Bareli and Pratapharh, as suggested by a few of our very good friends. The road was bad, as expected in Uttar Pradesh. However, the excitement of taking my sister to a place she has not seen dominated and we reached Varanasi in the afternoon.

The tiredness vanished the moment our host informed us about the plan they had chalked out for next two days.

Before leaving home I had requested a friend of mine to make our stay arrangement and also make some arrangement for Ganga Arti and early morning darshan of Baba Bhole Nath or Kashi Vishwanath Temple.

I was pleasantly surprised to see the methodical planning that the hosts had done.

By evening we were ready to go for Ganga Arti. Lekhpal Chhedi Lal Srivastava was there dot on time to accompany us to the ghat (river bank). From Civil Lines (where we were staying) to Gudaulia (Dashasvamegh ghat). Throughout the way, he kept explaining as to why Varanasi could never improve, despite being the constituency of the Indian Prime Minister, at present. He also told us about places on the way and which area is known for what. It was interesting and enlightening.    

Since we reached the ghats a bit early, Srivastava suggested we should go for boating.

There, Srivastava handed over his charge to Rajesh Kumar, the tourist police, and told us that he would meet us near our car when we are finished with our business at the ghat.

Rajesh Kumar was waiting for us to guide us to the boats and come along with us. Boating was pure fun. Rajesh Kumar narrated the history behind all those magnificent structures at each of the 84 ghats.

Boating in Ganga was not new for me but the experience was different to all the previous ones. We spent an hour there - taking photos, listening to Rajesh and enjoying the strong splashes of water that the speed of the boat created.

The river Ganga was at its prime beauty due to strong breeze causing big waves.

There are 84 ghats and each ghat has a story to tell. Rajesh Kumar could tell us some. He told us why the Kashi Karvat temple was named so. He gave the history of Raja sawai Maan Singh Fort and Chet Singh Fort. He told us about the Observatory in one of those forts. He also narrated the saga of old musical instruments that are stored in one of the forts.

The life at the banks of Ganges was rejuvenating. There were cricket matches being played with proper running commentary. 

Rajesh also showed us the replica of Nepal's Pashupati Nath Temple which is built and managed by Nepalese pujaaris. 

Our guide Rajesh Kumar, the tourist police also told us about Raja Harish Chandra Dome, whose descendants are still living in the huge house. Even today, the family survives on the wood from Manikarnika ghat, which is a Shamshan Ghat or burning ghat, where Hindus get their last rituals done.

He did not forget to show us the famous Assi Ghat, from where PM Modi started his Swatch Bharat Mission. Earlier the steps were buried under the mud but now they are clean and people come and sit here. Even in the early morning the ghat is used for cultural activities. 
     
Soon, it was time for Ganga Arti. We took our seats at the VIP section. We were told by our hosts that even the Prime Minister Modi had seen the Ganga Arti from the same place. We felt privileged!

In my mind, I thanked my friend again.

I have witnessed the Ganga Arti a couple of times in the past. But sitting specially for it made a difference in my perception. I could see how young the pujaaris were who were doing the Arti. I could see how a variety of Arti, one with dhoop, the other with multiple diyas and one more is used with different recitations.

I was also surprised to see that the religious recitations were not recorded but a person sitting behind the pujaaris was singing whilst also playing the harmonium.

The whole ambience seemed to have transcended us to a different world, which was surreal and far away from the madding crowd. The experience overwhelmed my sister and tears started pouring down.

I understood what we gain when we get a VIP treatment. One gets time to feel.

It was now time for dinner and we had decided that in Varanasi we will be having local food with Banarasi flavour. Our good old friend Srivastava once again helped proved wonderful. He advised us that we go to Keshari Ruchikar Vyanjan, a restaurant about 100 metres away from the ghat.

The food was simple but yummy, especially Banarasi aaloo curry.

Satisfied, contended, happy, well looked after, and tired in a nicer way, we called it a day.

Next day, an early morning visit to Kashi Vishvanath temple was listed in our itinerary.

Another Lekkhpal, a quiet and disinterested one, accompanied us to the temple.

I remember that in my last 4-5 visits to Varanasi, as an ordinary citizen, I could never dare visit the temple, despite my longing. The long queue easily deterred me.

However, this was not the case this time. Peacefully we entered the precinct of the temple and I, it seemed for the first time, had a real darshan of Baba Bhole Nath. Touching the Shivaling was out of question as it is barricaded with iron bars. Yet, at least we could see it.

Feeling the presence of God, I am not sure. What I could feel and see were hordes of army men- anywhere you see in the temple, its their camouflage staring at you. They continuously keep patting every devotee to hurry up and give others also a chance - quite a mechanical way of worshipping, which at least did not infuse me with a religious feeling!

The solace was that it was my sister's wedding anniversary and she along with her husband started the day with a visit to Baba Bhole Nath. I saw God in her faith and happiness.

The 'must do' of Varanasi would not have completed if we had left the place without the unique breakfast, so ethnic to Banaras!

We all had some mouthwatering Lassi and some sumptuous Kachoris before bidding adieu to the oldest living city in the world!  


   

Toffees in the Till

Toffees and small chocolates costing 1 or 2 Rupees have, off late, become synonymous to money in India.

These small sweeties have now officially found a place in the tills at every counter of retails outlets, be it a super market or a corner shop selling daily utilities.  (see photo)

Every time a customer pays the bill and the retail outlet needs to return some petty change, the person at the till seriously and authoritatively hands down these toffees instead of giving back 1 or 2 or even 5 Rupees.

Sadly, customers accept the practice without questioning the logic behind it.

I, being a fighter for my rights, have questioned it every time a retailer has offered me this barter, and refused to accept it.

This Saturday, the man at the till at Spencer's tried the same trick with me; and I thought this is high time I should share my amusement with the world.

I asked the guy, 'what if I pay him for the groceries I had bought, in the form of chocolates and toffees, will he accept that?

He, with conviction, shook his head in negative.

My next question was obvious. 'Then how do you expect me to accept sweeties in place of my hard-earned money?

The boy looked at my with weird expression. I could read the question in his eyes - "Why would you not accept the common phenomenon which everyone has accepted in India?"

Alright!

I will accept the toffees in place of my money, which is rightfully mine, if insisted upon.

But, I have my condition: The shops too will have to accept when I pay for my purchase in toffees and chocolates.

I can imagine myself going out of home with my bag full of toffees and chocolates next time when I go for shopping at any Indian retail store.

Reminiscing my Dhaka Trip...

The visit of Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi to Dhaka reminded me of my journey to the country in 2012:
Sharing here what I wrote then....

My journey to Dhaka (Bangladesh) in a small 78-seater Turboprop aircraft, run by Kingfisher Red, was anything but travel to a foreign country. No water! No food! Expecting alcoholic drinks would have been asking for too much!

In a half-hour journey we (another journalist from Patna and a representative from UK-based organisation WaterAid) landed at Shahjalaluddin Airport in Dhaka – the capital city of Bangladesh. A very basic but neat and clean airport gave us much needed respite after witnessing the filth and mismanagement at the international airport back home in Kolkata, India.

Our hosts (WaterAid Bangladesh) had made proper arrangements for the pick-up of all the guests and whilst waiting for the courtesy car we were looked after by `Airport Help’. The lady in-charge (Airport Help) Arju was charming and gave us some useful tips for shopping in Dhaka. She also helped me get the money exchanged at a higher rate than what my colleagues from India could manage with their own efforts.

Finally, we were on our way to the hotel. The traffic on the road was self explanatory as to why the pick-up car was late. I remembered that the very first line in our invitation mail was a warning about Dhaka traffic jams and we got a glimpse of it.

What I noticed was that every car had `Bull Bars’ at the back and at the front. Fair enough, as the traffic was bumper to bumper and the buses, which were not good enough even to be sent to the scrap yard, drove with no consideration to other vehicles. The auto-rickshaws painted bright green looked like mobile prison on wheels with grills covering its windows and doors. We were told that this system started about five years ago as there were cases of mugging and snatching of bags. Now, though the situation has improved the grills in the auto rickshaws are there to stay.

Rubbing shoulders with buses our vehicle arrived at our hotel - Asia Pacific Blossom located in a narrow lane in the diplomatic quarter, close to Canadian Embassy and a school run by French.  This area is known as Baridhara and is full of plush high rise apartment buildings.

At the hotel entrance we were greeted by our journalist friends from Sri Lanka and soon other colleagues from Nepal and Pakistan joined us.

We journalists, from Bangladesh, India, Nepal, Pakistan and Sri Lanka, had gathered in Dhaka to attend a meeting of WASH Media South Asia Forum.

This forum is a network of a few dedicated journalists from South Asian nations, who are writing on Water Sanitation and Hygiene issues (the acronym for which is WASH) in South Asia. Through our writings these journalists try to make the voices of poor and marginalised people reach the policy makers. These poor and marginalised people are those from the South Asian nations, who even today, do not get safe drinking water and remain devoid of proper sanitation facilities.

It was in February 2011 we met for the first time in Kathmandu (Nepal), courtesy - WaterAid offices of Bangladesh, Nepal, India, Pakistan and Sri Lanka. These regional WaterAid offices identified journalists writing on WASH and related issues in their respective nations and congregated them in Kathmandu for a workshop.  The idea was to strengthen the efforts of the journalists and raise the issues in a concerted manner. In that workshop it was decided to form a forum and raise the water and sanitation crisis in South Asia in an organised way so that it can have an impact on governments, which have made commitments at various national and international platforms to ensure water and sanitation for all.

The forum Wash Media South Asia was born and we returned to our countries with stronger resolution to use our writing for raising the voices which remain unheard.

In a year this small group of about a dozen journalists from these five south Asian nations have written more than 2,000 stories in different magazines, newspapers and online media, focusing on plight of people who have no sanitation facilities and who do not get safe drinking water.

The meeting in Bangladesh was the second meeting of these journalists and the next step of the forum. The aim was to review the work we did, share the problems we faced and also to formulate strategy for future.

We checked into our rooms, which were more like suites and were bigger than the apartments some of us live in. After a quick rest when we all gathered for dinner we were greeted by the hotel chairman (owner) Mr Mir Mushtaq Ahmed Robi. A fine gentleman, Mr Robi shared some of his fond memories of India with us. He travels to India regularly for business and medical purposes.

At dinner it was time to catch up with old friends and get the latest gossip. However, we called it an early night as everyone was tired after long journeys and the meeting too was to start quite early in the morning.

We had a highly interactive and productive meeting in which many important decisions for future planning were taken, such as we decided to produce a scrap book of WASH stories written by the forum journalists. A trip to Dhaka’s biggest slum ‘Korail’ was also organised by our host which gave us a glimpse of water and sanitation status for urban poor in Bangladesh.

Korail is the biggest slum of Dhaka which is located around Gulshan Lake on 90 acres of government land. Since all the 16,000 families living in this slum are illegal residents, they neither have proper drinking water nor have toilets. Some residents have made toilets which are perched on stilts and are connected to the small shanties with narrow and delicate bridges. The pipes carrying solid and liquid waste from these ‘hanging toilets’, open directly into the Gulshan Lake.

It was not a shocking site for those who have seen Dharavi in Mumbai, which is Asia’s biggest slum. Nonetheless, there were a few things which did draw my attention – like, the slum was self-sufficient as it had shops selling practically any conceivable item required in a house from medicine to vegetables or like every shop had a television set or a transistor radio and lastly the smiling faces – it seemed like people living there have accepted their lives the way it is and have no complaints.

No complaints even form the shutterbugs. The trip to Korail was definitely a treat for any journalist, especially if he/she has interest in water and sanitation. It was though a bit tough to click people’s plight on their faces but we could not resist and eventually the journalistic temptation overrode our humility. We clicked till the camera battery refused to cooperate.

However, during the workshop there was a completely different issue than water and sanitation, raised by the Country Representative of WaterAid Bangladesh Mr Khairul Islam, which left me pondering.

He said we all work on issues, which are critical for South Asian nations yet gathering journalists in any of these South Asian countries is a real ordeal. He was referring to Visa problems the journalists, especially from Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh and India face in obtaining Visa for any of these countries. The moment these journalists specify their profession in the Visa application, the embassies of these South Asian nations become apprehensive of the intentions behind the visits.

Mr Islam had to personally assist the Pakistan journalists in getting their Visas for this meeting and in my case I mentioned my profession as Consultant (the safest and most ambiguous profession) in the Visa form.  This is not the first time it happened with me, I had to hide the fact that I am a journalist even when I travelled to Sri Lanka in the past.

The journalists from Sri Lanka too were allowed to attend the meeting only after they gave it in writing that they would not produce any stories related to their visit to Bangladesh.

Back home in India too, the situation is far from rosy. The journalists from Bangladesh and Pakistan shared their humiliation that they had to go through when they came to attend an International Conference on Global Sanitation that took place in Mumbai last October. There were special announcements for Pakistan and Bangladesh journalists (during the sessions) to go to the lobby where the police was waiting for them. (The two countries one of the Visa condition is that they must report to the police every day. However, these journalists attending the Global Sanitation Conference were exempt from this).

Mr Islam appealed that along with water and sanitation crisis, the journalist should also raise the critical issue of obtaining Visa for these countries, especially Bangladesh, India and Pakistan, whenever they find a platform to do so.

The heavy discussion though left a bitter taste yet working on a bigger issue of water and sanitation, we moved on and once again focused our attention to the crisis of safe drinking water and proper sanitation facilities, which million of people are facing in South Asian countries. Dedication to an issue means following it despite all odds and we scribes have resolved to do that.

After fifteen hours of hectic participatory exercises of a day and half, we were rewarded by a shopping trip. WaterAid organised a mini bus for ten of us from Pakistan, Sri Lanka, India and one of WaterAid colleagues from even UK, who were interested in seeing the city life in Dhaka.

This leisure outing enabled us to have a close encounter with Dhaka city traffic at peak hours. We covered about 10 kms in more than an hour. By the time we arrived at Basundhara Mall, most of us were drained off energy to shop. But as we entered the Mall and saw and intricate and exotic handicraft of Dhaka, we were rejuvenated enough to lighten our purses.

The long way (courtesy traffic jams) gave an opportunity for some light moments also and to me some insight how our neighbours observe us. 

The journalists from Sri Lanka were candid in criticising the Indian media (especially in sports reporting) for their brazen ways of reporting about cricket. “I find it weird how the Indian media puts a cricketer on a pedestal should he do well but then is too quick to knock him off the same pedestal should he fail to live up to people’s expectations,” said Chandani. “We in Sri Lanka want to see our players winning but we maintain silence when they do not perform,” she added.

From cricket the conversation shifted to film stars and to India’s most celebrated star Shah Rukh Khan. Colleagues from Pakistan recalled their memories of seeing a huge crowd standing in front of his house just to have a glimpse of the star.

This gave our colleague from Nepal to take a dig at the frenzy of Indians about their film stars. “Why are people so crazy about film stars? In Nepal if a film star passes from the road, no one even gives him/her a second glance,” said Laxmi from Nepal.

Whilst we were engrossed in our friendly criticisms and leg pulling the time had come for us to say good bye to each other with a whole lot of promises for future and resolutions to stay connected.

We were booked in the same carrier Kingfisher which made us `sit, relax and enjoy the kingfisher experience’ on our way to Dhaka. The flight from Dhaka to Kolkata was two hours late and at least ten passengers were set to miss their connecting flights. I was the only lucky passenger, who was booked in the same airline for my onward journey and kingfisher made all efforts to give me that Kingfisher experience. I was driven in a car with an escort for the immigration formalities before boarding the same aircraft again, which brought me from Dhaka to Kolkata. 

The Real Policing

The police are supposed to be used for maintaining law and order.
Not in the state of Uttar Pradesh!
Here police constables can be seen carrying vegetable basket behind the wife of a police officer, or escorting the officers' children to school or even helping the saheb's family in their general shopping .

I spotted this young constable (photos) pushing the shopping trolley walking a step behind the family of some bureaucrat.
At Spencer Mall in Gomti Nagar.

He was attentive and running from shelf to shelf picking up stuff for the family, which included an old lady, a young woman and a middle-aged man.
All of them appeared healthy enough to walk (escalators were not working at that time) to the first floor.

However, the feudal mentality compelled them to carry a slave with them. Who would have been better than the poor constable - maybe his first posting!

The family is not the only one, its the pattern in the state where bureaucrats misuse the security they get or the official vehicle they get to perform their duties.

I hope the Chief Minister Akhilesh Yadav takes notice of this trend. I hope he does something to check the misuse of government property.

After all, it is the money of the common man that goes into the maintenance of government vehicles as well as into the salaries of government employees!

Have Gandhi's teachings lost relevance!

A man named Ravindra Singh Gandhi was carrying 300,000 Rupees, each currency note having the face of Gandhi. 

Trying to cross a railway crossing, he was hit by a train. He did not die on the spot but fell unconscious. However, his bag was opened because of the massive jerk and the money he was carrying got scattered around.
People around, instead of saving the man, started collecting money. By the time the railway police came and took Gandhi to hospital he was dead.
Read the full story here:Link

The news is shocking and it must make every human stop and ponder if we have lost all humanity!
Gandhi taught unconditional human service. all controversies aside, Gandhi as a human even helped leprosy affected people. He became Mahatma owing to his selfless service of humanity.
Every office in India displays Gandhi's photo.
Every now and then in seminars and workshops or even on national days like Republic Day and Independence Day, on his own birth anniversary on 2 October, we call what Gandhi taught us.
Unfortunately, his teachings remain restricted to a lip service by many. When it comes to translate what he taught us in actions, we so miserably fail.

Is money so important today? Do we care more about material than human? Does human life so cheap that money can undermine it so easily? Have we become ruthless and insensitive? Has the greed and lust for money made us inhuman?

Gandhi's death has left many questions, which, we, as humans, must try to explore the answers of...

My Mother & Me Mother

I don't buy the idea of celebrating these special days as everyday is special for people who hold special place in our lives. Yet this mothers' day I felt compelled to share my thoughts with people who care what and how I feel.

Like any other person my mother, Urmila Pande nee Bajapi, was an inspiration for me. Her strength was unmatchable as she could work for hours at a stretch without any break. She used to be the in-charge of the kitchen in all marriages in our family and would single-handedly feed hundreds of guests. She was courageous as she was not scared of stepping out in our garden, with low boundary walls, in the dark.

Her sacrifices were exemplary. She would not let people even realise when she did something for them. Her cooking is remembered by all those who ever got lucky to taste her food, even today. She was an extraordinary seamstress. I have yet to find a tailor who could stitch such flawlessly fitted sari blouses as she did. Every girl who got blouses stitched from her faces the same problem what I face today.

A voracious reader, she finished all the books in a library in Unnao city. She had to join another one. A well-read woman, she could converse on any issue - be it politics, spiritualism, sports or movies. With her elephantine memory, she remembered all songs but unfortunately she could not sing - the only remorse she carried with her even to her deathbed.

She never complained as I never saw her brooding. I recall playing Four Corners with her in the Aangan (courtyard) of my big ancestral house in Unnao. All what I know about mythology is due to her. I was fortunate to have her as my mother who would narrate stories every evening when I impatiently waited for the dinner to be ready.

She never insisted that my sister or me should work in the house or learn cooking or get habitual of household chore. She never asked us to wear any particular dress as we were free to wear whatever pleased us. I remember that after watching the film Bobby, I asked her to stitch the same mini skirt and the polka-dotted blouse with a knot, as Dimple Kapadia wore in a song, and she did. It was exactly the same.

Today, she is no more in this world but she is always with me, living inside me.

I have inherited a few traits from her although I cannot match all her traits.


I have two children who are my lifeline and I couldn't have possibly succeed in facing the vagaries of life if they were not there. Today, they are grown up citizens and make me feel proud of them everyday.

What I learnt from my mother, I tried to execute a little of bit of that in my life when I became a mother. I read my children stories almost everyday. I stitched fancy clothes for my children. I tried to cook good food for them, which they remember.

Yet, I will always regret that I couldn't do enough or as much as my mother did for me, for my children.

Therefore, today, I take time to salute to these six letters which make a meaningful word called 'Mother'!  
     

Care for a drive?

While reading a story about Royal couple Kate and William's baby, I was scanning through the photo gallery. It came as a pleasant surprise to me when I saw Prince Charles driving his car with Camilla sitting next to him. Similarly, the Duke was driving his car and Prince William his; and all of them were wearing seat belts as well.

Photos courtesy: The Telegraph UK



I couldn't believe and reviewed all the photos many a times. Then I was informed that until recently even the queen used to drive her own car.

The genesis of my surprise is the common practice in India, and more so, in the state of Uttar Pradesh, where driving your own car is seen as quite low.

People buy the most expensive luxury cars and hand them over to their smelly, unkempt and uncouth drivers, most of whom learn driving on the job. Sometimes they even get their driving licences by bribing and not by taking an examination.

Such drivers then enjoy the power behind the wheels, while the owners (sometimes the whole family) crams at the back seat and feels 'great' about being driven.

Such people see those, who drive their own cars, with a different kind of eye glasses.  

There are people, who, when the car stops, wait inside, for the driver to get out from the driving seat and come to the other side of the back door for the 'sahab' (officer) to get out.

There are others whose drivers start honking when they are more than 200 metres away from home, so that the slave working for them can come running to take the small bag from madame, in which she is carrying green coriander, maybe.

Living amidst such high and mighty 'super class', when I saw the pictures of the Royal family members driving their own cars, it amused me and made me think.

Keeping a driver is not a big deal in India, where untrained drivers (majority of them) are available at as less as 3000 Indian rupees for a month.

Yet, driving your own car is real stress buster, unless one is in a stressful job and would prefer to avoid the stress of driving on congested Indian roads.

And I think the Royal family and so are many others, understand it and want to enjoy and have fun behind the wheels. 

Some memories to share...

Amidst the hustle bustle of daily life, professional and personal commitments, and a few mundane tidbits, I suddenly realised that I have been away from all those friends and well wishers, who boost my morale by reading, appreciating and sometimes criticising my writing.

I still am not getting time from my schedule, so thoughh of sharing some photo memories with all of you.

I hope you enjoy them and share your views here ....

Keep smiling
Until we meet again !

PS: all photos were taken at Alibagh, about 150 km from Mumbai, at one of my friends' farm house.

Bullet train or no train !

Bullet train or no train!

Malkangiri is quite a big district of Odisha state. It houses one of the biggest dams – Balimela on the river Sellar (I hope the selling is correct as I could see everything written only in Odia language, which I can understand a little bit but cannot read), in Chitrakonda area.

The sad part is that the district has no railway line and therefore obviously there is no railway station. Anyone coming to Malkangiri has to travel at least 3-6 hour by road (depending which route you are coming from). If you are coming from Hyderabad, the nearest railway station is Bhadrachalam Road (300 km south of Malkangiri), which makes it at least a six-hour drive. If you are coming from Bhubaneshwar direction, the closest railway station is Jypore (about 110 km north of Malkangiri), which makes it a road journey of minimum three-hours. 

Since I was going to Malkangiri via Hyderabad, I had to travel 300 km by road.

The travel underlined yet another paradox in India. Prime Minister Narendra Modi, the moment he was seated on the coveted chair, started talking about high-speed bullet train. His declaration sounded more like a blabber, when I recently visited Malkangiri for a training programme.

I was surprised to find that there is no train connection to this district.

Why is it so that all politicians – the moment they reach a high position – start making such absurd announcements?

In a country where even after six decades of independence, there are places which have no railway links, such as Malkangiri or the whole area in North East, talking of bullet train sounds so rattling.

Take this sample Mr Prime Minister : 

The Indian train system comes to a halt during winters when there is fog. We have not been able to evolve and use devices which can help trains carry on with their regular schedule in thick fog.

Even when there is no fog, Indian trains do not run on time, ever!

Our air system too goes topsy-turvy in poor visibility. We have not been able to install devices to enable landing of aircrafts in fog.

Notwithstanding, we have sent the spaceship to Mars and are getting accolades from the world; and now we are talking of introducing a bullet train.

What surprises me is the fact that Modi comes from a humble background, so why does he not think of first streamlining the existing system and infrastructure before introducing the ‘world-class’ facilities?

First make our trains run on time, irrespective whether there is fog or not.

First make proper arrangements for flights to take off and land in fog.

First introduce trains to places like Malkangiri!

It was heartening to hear Modi announcing rail connection to North East during his recent visit. However, let's see if this announcement converts into a concrete plan or remains restricted to yet another populist announcement!