Desicritics Author: IdeaSmith

The Bandra-Worli Sealink Opening

IdeaSmith — Thu, 2 Jul 2009 03:38:08 EDT

The much awaited Bandra-Worli sealink opened yesterday. In the unlikely case that you don’t know what I’m talking about (in which case, what are you doing reading this post?), this is a bridge built across one of the bays between the islands that comprise Mumbai. It connects Bandra reclamation to Worli seaface and has been predicted as the solution to easing up the daily traffic snarls from the western suburbs to town.

The sealink has been a long time in the making, having faced some setbacks and delays as well. It has been a part of the grand plan for Mumbai for so long that it has almost made a mark in local lingo by now (Yeah, I’ll get a promotion by the time that damn sealink gets made, maybe then I’ll be able to afford a car too!).

Most Mumbaikers have seen its grow, inch by agonizing inch on the horizon, from each direction. Just last year, I looked out at the impressive seaview from the window of a friend whose Mahim flat faces the then under-construction sealink and said,

Whatever is taking them that long??!! There’s just another inch to go!

After much fanfare, the sealink was inaugurated by Sonia Gandhi last morning and thrown open to the general public at 7 a.m. There will be a Rs.50 toll to traverse the sealink but that becomes functional only as of next Monday. So for the next few days, you can expect most Mumbaikers to derive full paisa vasool rides, riding Mumbai’s first ever sealink.

Quite fortunately (for me) I had an appointment in town that same morning. Fortunate I say because I (like many suburbanites) detest the painful commute into town, even less by road. What a stroke of luck to have a reason to go into town on the very day the sealink was inaugurated!

So I nagged dad into turning off into Bandra reclamation, shushing his incessant doomsday prophesies that the sealink would only add to commute time and what was so great about that damn bridge anyway, it’s taken long enough to come up and blocked Mumbai’s strained resources as it is.

In a few minutes, I was ready to jump out of the car and dive for cover as we ran smack-dab into the middle of the kind of traffic that makes road-rage seem like a pardonable offense, not punishable by law. I think every Western suburbanite must have been on that road to Worli today, whether or not they wanted to go to town!!!

I actually saw a few cars take U-turns and head back out, presumably to get to their destinations, the old-fashioned Mumbai way.

But as we inched forward and the high beams of the sealink came into view, my spirits surged and even my father ceased his complaining and grudgingly took out his own phone to take a picture.

We passed an impressive-looking toll-naka. Oh okay, I know there’s nothing impressive about a toll-naka, I’ve seen the one at Mankhurd and what about that huge one leading out to Mumbai-Pune expressway that I passed, not three days ago?

It still was a momentous occasion, for we were on the brink of breaking new ground. As we passed, I’m rather afraid to say that the insofar well-laned traffic just sort of melded into itself and became one sea of cars going helter-skelter. The road curves a bit before it touches the sealink and the lanes just sort of get lost in each other. The authorities are just going to have to do something about that if they don’t want to face choke-ups every morning just before the Bandra end of the sealink.

Very near the sea, I saw a flock of crows flying around frantically and wondered aloud,

Why are there so many birds around? What are they so agitated about?

Dad said that perhaps there was an colony of nests in that place which had so far been pretty secluded and undisturbed. Displacement was a sobering thought to start the trip on, but well needs must.

Once we actually got closer and closer to the sealink, I could feel the anticipation electric in the air. Cars slowing down, audible gasps, people zooming their camera lenses and phones, excitement was rife.

I can’t even begin to describe what the journey was like. I am sure, in a short few days I’ll become as accustomed to it as the regular train and road commute. But today, this first trip was special. It was the realization of the great Mumbai dream. We were riding over water. All my hitherto unvoiced fears that the bridge would give way were blown away in the cool breeze. The bridge is rock-solid (not at all like Lakshman Jhula, ma, you can stop worrying, it won’t sway in the wind) and it would otherwise feel just like riding on a concrete road, except there’s the sea on both sides.

What an odd feeling to turn to one’s left and see Mumbai, the city, the familiar buildings and roads on the horizon but on the wrong side and from so far away!

I saw a media van pass in the opposite direction on the clear Worli-to-Bandra lane, with a journalist standing out of one of the windows holding a mike, and a cameraman standing out of the opposite side shooting her. It was a funny sight and I'm only sorry I didn't have a chance to shoot it.

The image below shows the proud and cheering workers who were lined up to watch the first few travellers on the sealink. What a moment of glory it would have been for them!

The couple in the Qualis next to mine were carrying balloons and traversed the entire length of the sealink with their balloons held aloft and flying out of the windows. Viva, the spirit of Mumbai!

We touched terra firma again at the Worli seaface end. I’m rather afraid this means the end of those long, wonderful soujourns ending in masala milk and sandwich. With the incoming and outbound traffic to the sealink, the seaface is bound to become thoroughfare and lose the charm it has.

We’re losing a few lovely spots and the traffic problem may not really be solved. But the experience of riding over the sea is something every Mumbaiker should have. This link has been far too long in coming. In the larger picture, perhaps easier access will level out some of the differences of Mumbai’s very own caste system?

I can’t tell just yet. My head is still spinning with the adrenalin rush of yesterday morning. I really feel like I’ve been part of a grand day in Mumbai’s history, almost like the fall of the Berlin wall. It is a big thing for this city and as a Mumbaiker, I feel really proud.

Movie Review: Bolt - Animals Are People Too

IdeaSmith — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 10:10:16 EDT

I’m not a dog-lover. In fact I am not even an animal-lover, though I could fairly tolerate a cat’s company. It’s not that I have anything against them, animals just never touched me. I’m a people-person, not an animal-person.

But what if animals were people too, just on fours and oh, with paws and fur instead of fingers and hair? Hmm. My animal-loving friends tell me that every pooch, every kitten, every bird has its own unique personality, just like human beings.

I’m convinced now that I’ve seen Bolt. Bolt is a white dog who adores his mistress Penny, frolics and chews a carrot-shaped toy and chases his own tail. He’s a dog like any other – with one difference. He thinks he’s actually a SuperDog with special powers like an iron-bending forehead, a fire-shooting glare and a SuperBark that can blow them all away (a special genetic contribution from his ancestor, The Big Bad Wolf, one supposes).

How does a normal well-fed dog with a loving owner come to suffer such delusions? Bolt, it transpires, is the star of a television series and the entire world that he sees around him, is an elaborately constructed set with actors playing every role. All so that he genuinely believes in the character of Bolt the SuperDog and acts accordingly. Method acting at its finest.

Bolt is a 3-D movie. Yes, the kind where you get to wear multi-coloured spectacles while watching! You can imagine how much that adds to a story about a dog with great powers and even greater imagination.

John Travolta provides the heart-warming, sometimes whiny, sometimes growly voice of Bolt. Penny, Bolt’s ‘person’ is played by Miley Cyrus. If you listen carefully enough, you can discern the shift in Penny the TV star and Penny, Bolt’s doting owner. During the shooting, when Miley began laying tracks for the scenes where Penny plays with Bolt, she imagined herself playing with her own dog and spoke as she would at home, with a Southern accent. So Penny naturally speaks with a drawl. But while shooting for the TV show, Miley was asked to record without the accent, so the actress Penny delivers her instructions of ‘Bolt, zoom zoom!’ on a crisp note.

When I first saw the promos detailing this story, I thought it was a tad contrived. But the nice part of the movie is that the story actually begins after Bolt accidently gets out of his set and what happens to him in the real world.

The story had a chance to go the ‘Babe in the city’ way with a smirking look at the mistakes of the uninitiated in the big, bad world. Instead, it took a strong bouquet of characters and carried a simple plot with style.

The bad guys are just circumstances (or circumstantial as in the case of Penny’s slimy Hollywood agent, but aren’t all TV agents supposed to be that way?), the good guys leave you wondering if it would be too much of a sin to give them a good kick now and then. Just like human people. We meet Mittens, the smirking New York alley cat, extortionist bully of the neighborhood bird community and expert in the matters of men and dogs. There is Rhino, an exuberant Bolt-groupie hamster energetically running around inside a plastic ball who alternately provides comic relief and the Yoda for Mittens’ hard-bitten cynicism.

And then there are the pigeons! Ever wonder what pigeons keep going on about while they goobgoob at each other from telephone wires and window parapets? Here’s what - they complain about bullies, they play tricks on people, they gossip about people (and dogs) walking about and in Hollywood, they even pitch movie ideas to any stars that they inadvertently bump into!

In all fairness, Bolt is exactly the way I see most dogs. Sweet, sometimes irritating in his antics, pretty lovable but nothing remarkable in himself. The other characters of this story are what make it really special and worth every minute of it.

*Bolt will premier at the multiplexes tomorrow, finally a good movie after the long wait! This movie was brought to me by The Social Media Catalyst.

Poetry: Inspiration

IdeaSmith — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 10:38:01 EDT

I found this in a round of spring-cleaning, scribbled on a sheet of foolscap paper and dated 20 February 2002. This is from my character-building days as a back-bencher, doodling and scribbling away my time. All of us (at least the non-achiever types like me) had our own versions of 'The Wall'; this one is mine. I know it's on the verbose side, but go easy on me, I was younger, I was learning to write and what the heck..I was bored. :-)

Fresh sheet of paper - hairthin lines stretching across in severe uniformity
It begins at my fingertips
That quiver...the slightest tremor
Oh, that urge to reach out and touch the untouched
and leave my imprint on it.

I remember this from three
the tempting wall, the gleaming new desk
the forbidden blackboard...and my own face
Mud and crayons and food and chalk and graphite and ink

Sophistication came with age
Now I sully sheets of paper with ink
and still my own face with pigmented chemicals
Not forgetting those camouflaged moments...
...a footprint on a clean sidewalk or a freshly washed floor
scratches on the wall

Ah, that irresistible urge,
The allure...the undeniable craving
to smear the uniform
to taint the pure
to colour the plain
to fill the space with motions of me...

In the violent outfling of my arms to disturb the air - I call it dance
The soaring crescendos of vibrating sound waves
The scratches of my stylus on this carte blanc
I succumb to the urge
give in to the temptation - from white flow the colours
I reach out and create...

I am inspired.

A Grey Hair Or Two

IdeaSmith — Mon, 1 Jun 2009 08:36:02 EDT

I found my first grey hair last month. I started screaming. I don't know what surprised me more, the grey hair or my reaction to it. I always thought I'd age gracefully. I always imagined that I wasn't vain. I guess I had also assumed that I would be doing all this because I didn't expect to grey early.

Let me explain. I wasn't a pretty kid; buck teeth, acne and a figure resembling Olive Oyl Oh, forget it! The one thing that I did have was nice hair - straight, silky and a glossy black. I figured I had inherited just the right set of genes for a change from parents who started greying quite late. Puberty and those magicians called orthodontists took care of the aforementioned issues but your first impressions of yourself tend to stay. Inside my head I was always the gangly girl with bad skin and great hair.

Hair, my lovely hair, has been my crowning glory especially these past few years as I learnt to 'maximise my assets'. It curls easily, it waves well, it bounces, it rebonds smoothly, it colours nicely and it always looks good. I've sported dozens of different hairstyles in the past ten years, everything from shaggy bangs to fringes, asymmetrical bobs, flips, almost-crew cut, sheet-over-my-shoulders and what not. My hair is a statement of my personality - versatile and free-spirited.

Most of all, watching my parents look good and better, year after year, I assumed I'd follow their footsteps. But here I am not even thirty yet and I'm turning grey!!! Life is not fair. :-(

It was late evening when I started inspecting those suspiciously coloured specks in the front locks of my hair. My mother suggested that the light was just catching on the gloss of my hair and I may have even bought that. But masochist that I am, I brushed my hair thoroughly and finally unearthed a completely unapologetic long strand, entirely grey in colour. Not even a nice silvery grey or even a smooth white, just a dull grey.

Last week at my hairdressers', I explained my tail of woe about the grey attack. My mind-reader/stylist paused mid-brush and said,

Actually its not one strand, there are two. You are not the only one.

I knew he would say that so I wailed,

But the others have premature greying in their blood!! Or they don't take care of their hair! I've always been good to mine!

He shrugged and asked,

So what do you want to do about it? Colour? Tint? Hightlight? Treatment?

And suddenly I knew I didn't have to think to say,

No. Let it be as it is.

I guess I just realised that my hair was always at its best when it wasn't fussed over (just like me) and there was no reason to start now. Greydom, I'm just going to have to make room for you in my life.

Maybe I'm allowing myself the comfort of believing that it is stress-related and that I may have some control over the process by cutting out stress. Maybe I'm afraid it will just get worse. Maybe I'm ashamed of being so vain. Or maybe, just maybe I'm going to age gracefully. :-)

Wish me luck, it isn't as easy as it sounds. I know that now.

Too Many Questions & Not Enough Trust

IdeaSmith — Thu, 28 May 2009 09:23:43 EDT

This occured to me the very first time I saw The Namesake but laziness and other such things kept me from blogging about it right then. I've just finished reading Jhumpa Lahiri's book. As an aside, it's a lovely story, the book even better than the already excellent movie.

You know what was the most striking aspect of the story for me? The contrast between the relationships in the two generations.

Ashima (Tabu) and Ashoke (Irfan Khan) meet each other under the scrutiny of their parents eyes. She decides in a few minutes that he is the one for her, because she likes his shoes. Which prompts her to speak confidently in the following conversation,

How will you manage all by yourself in America?

Will he (darted glance at ...) not be there with me?

The couple takes off to foreign shores, in those heydays before the the internet, email and affordable ISD. They start a life together based on complete trust in each other, something that is never spoken about but expressed in their everyday actions.

Like any two human beings, they take time to adjust to each other. When Ashima shrinks Ashoke's sweater in the dryer and he reprimands her for it, she doesn't protest but goes away to weep by herself. He stops and soothes her by singing a silly song. There is a sweetness, a gentleness in both of them, encapsulated in that sequence, that touches the viewer.

Gogol (Kal Penn) and Moushumi (Zuleikha Robinson) on the other hand, are a modern day couple. They date in the privacy of a restaurant and their own apartments. They talk, intellectualise and laugh together. We are taken to their bedroom on the night of their wedding. Right after making love, he asks her how many lovers she has had before.

Their relationship is one that a lot of us could probably relate to. The common backgrounds, the yuppie couple lifestyle they lead, the friends-as-well-as-lovers implications. And yet, for all their conversations, their marriage has started off on trust being questioned and ends with it being betrayed.

Do we really know how to relate to each other anymore? Or have we just had so much of freedom (too much of a good thing) that it makes us sick with paranoia now?

I see the gentleness of Ashima and Ashoke's love in a lot of couples of that generation and the one before them - our parents and grandparents. People who've probably never said 'I love you' to each other but are completely happy in each other's company. And I've said 'I love you' to a lot of people but at the end of a decade of dating, I don't know a single person I could stand for more than a few days.

I don't remember any man ever having treated me with as much trust and gentleness as Ashoke treats Ashima. And I also have never trusted any man so unquestioningly.

Maybe we're just a generation of too many questions and not enough trust.

* I read this book on my flight back from the South trip. And on the cover was written, 'The greatest journeys are the ones that bring you home.' I stay hopeful.

Getting Drunk

IdeaSmith — Sat, 2 May 2009 13:37:40 EDT

A few thoughts on alcohol...

Don't drink and drive!!

Yes, I really do believe that! I don't endorse rich brats mowing down pavement dwellers in their inebriation.

Okay, public service message done, I'll proceed with my more mundane thoughts on inebriation. Every drink is unique as is every experience of drinking. For some of you who're too smart to fall for another one of this world's vices, here's a dose of vicarious pleasure.

Getting drunk on...

...a glass of wine is like sex on a first date. Not exactly wrong, just inacceptable...at least to admit to.

...a can of beer is like being caught while on a one-way, the wrong way. Idiotic to get into but just move on, will ya?

...a vodka drink is like wearing Jimmy Choos in the wrong size. You're wobbling anyway so it isn't even like it makes you look good, why not get something that's more you?

...a shot of tequila is like being booed offstage. You have my sympathies, but only for the first time.

...a breezer is like like wearing dark glasses at night. I may be kind to you alone, but in public, I soo don't know you!

...a drink of rum is like taking up a dare to walk the length of your window ledge. No one will respect you any less; in fact you'll get a jolly pat on the back (and an elbow in the ribs) for trying it in the first place. Besides, it was fun, wasn't it? ;-)

...a liquer is like a bad case of acidity. You're advised to stick to tea and lemonade.

While on all this, you can share my favorite poison here. And when I combine alcohol with my bigger vice, this is what happens.

Manguide: How Alcohol Is Like A Man

IdeaSmith — Sat, 2 May 2009 09:09:53 EDT

Alcohol is like a man. In its many variations, delightful or otherwise, it mirrors the vagaries of my favorite vice. Here's how.

Breezer - This is the boy you grew up with, the one who sat next to you in fourth grade and helped you with your homework. You don't really stay friends (unless you are a part of Orkutoholics Anonymous) but if you bump into each other at a party and don't have any other choices, he'll do to while away the time.

Liquer - Sweet, comforting, ladylike, can this one be anything other than the gay guy? This is the snazzy, sharp-dressing man-loving man who'll understand you better than any of your boyfriends ever will. He'll even understand why you just have to rush through a fun lunch with him, when you spot one of his sex (especially a particularly rough one) at the bar.

Beer - This is your buddy. A guy, who even though he's straight, you can lounge about with minus make-up and in your PJs. He's comforting (as much as a straight guy can be, anyway), he makes you laugh, he won't mind if you throw up occasionally. You can fall asleep next to him but you won't be sleeping with him, if you get my drift. You'll also never fall in love with him.

Wine - The charmer, the one who woos you with chocolates and poetry. He's most likely to bring you flowers on a date and also why women love to be spooned. He'll slip up on you covertly like a sudden waist-hug from the back or a kiss at the nape of your neck. If you're going weak in the knees already, stay away from this one. What's the catch? No matter how much time you spend with him, you'll never be able to tell when the power balance shifts and exactly when you'll be at his tender (and cruel) mercies. And if you aren't careful, you'll be the one waking up alone with a pounding headache.

Whiskey - The older man, deep, slightly mystifying and occasionally scary. Only if your tastes run to that type.

Tequila - The Bad Boy. The guy every woman must date at least once in her lifetime. He's rough, he's bad news right from the start and he's irresistible! Take a chance and ride with him at least one night of your life. You'll wake up feeling like your head is split right in half and your insides are screaming to take off to different galaxies. But you'll never forget the experience and all the other moments of life will seem like background music in comparison.

Rum - The man you'll finally want to come home to after you've gone through the rest. He's subtle, something you'll mistake for weakness if you come to him too early. He's potent, also sometimes misunderstood for roughness. But if you take it slow and easy, you'll find he's just as good with fruits and chocolate as he is with coke. And finally, he's in a class of his own if you've gone far enough to get him on his own. Fall in love with him, he'll be just the right mix of steadiness and adventure that makes a perfect man.

* But remember, metaphors apart, NEVER drink and drive. It's plain stupid, no matter who you are, no matter who the guy is, no matter what the drink is.

At The End Of The Lane

IdeaSmith — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 07:46:19 EDT

The Raja family took the flight out today. Uncle has retired so they're moving to the house they bought in their native city awhile back, in anticipation of just such a time. They leave behind a spacious flat on the top floor of a building at the end of a leafy, shaded lane, a company flat in description but home for nearly two decades to a family I've known well.

On our mantlepiece there was a family photograph that was shot in the Rajas' living room by uncle. We had a new party-for-two-families on their sprawling terrace one year. When a powercut during late class stranded me in a deserted college building and I couldn't reach my parents, I called aunty and she said, "Come over, I've made pulao." I've spent innumerable Sundays lounging around in front of their TV set, drifting in and out of conversations with uncle-and-dad and aunty-and-mum, playing Uno with their daughters and napping in their bedroom.

After the weekly tutorials I'd go over to their house next door and meet my parents for dinner there. The 'Neglected parents association' was formed one evening after a gripe session of how the younger generation never wanted to spend time with them anymore - resulting in a monthly (if not more frequent) movie/dinner/outing plan between my parents and uncle-aunty.

During the July 26 deluge, the worst ever rain in Mumbai and the only natural calamity I've ever had to face, I couldn't cross the water-logged areas to get home. So I turned around and waded down a dark gulli, the water level rising with each step, even as my fellow-traveller urged me to pull back. I trudged on because I knew exactly where the road would stop sloping, I knew we'd make it to the building without drowning. I knew this because we were going to the Rajas' place and I've been going there for years.

We said our fond farewells yesterday. I know we will keep in touch. Uncle and dad are buddies, an unusual friendship for both of them, typically shy South-Indian men. Mum and aunty will continue their phone updates of health, TV, movies and unwed daughters. Priya, the baby of the family left for the US ages back. And her elder sister messaged me last night:

All the best to you, babes. Though we are not best friends, we have a different relationship. Keep in touch and come down to see us soon.

I know. This is a relationship that goes beyond an individual's common interests with another. It is bigger than any of the pairs in our two families. It is a familial bond and it binds us all together. We will stay friends and family.

But the top floor flat in the building at the end of the lane is second home no more.

Comic: Zen And The Art Of Ice-cream Cones

IdeaSmith — Tue, 21 Apr 2009 10:06:52 EDT

(Click on thumbnail to view full comic on a new page)

More idea-toons here.

IDEART: Peacock

IdeaSmith — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 06:58:01 EDT

This is the first of a series of posts on my artistic experiments. I realised that since each work is a story in visual form, I can write a post about it too. This is one of my recent success stories. I've only worn it twice!

~o~o~o~o~o~o~

Purple was an unusual colour for a background. This was a pretty dark shade, almost a brinjal-like shade so light and bright colours would show well. However unlike black that has a solid personality of its own and pretty much offsets anything that contrasts it, purple is a more - shall we say - malleable colour? The combination of colours you choose, sets the tone for how you interpret purple.

For example, teamed with vermillion and gold, it would cue royalty, the way monarchs of old would wear it. You'd imagine velvet (purple) edged with rich brocade (the other colours). On the other hand matched with hot pink, it would be more funky-punk. Line up purple with black and you have futuristic, especially if edged with silver.

I decided to try a different tack. I've always been fascinated by the peacock's spectrum of colours. Vibrant blues, indigo, violet, green, turquoise and yellow. It was probably a bit of a risk putting all those against a purple background since purple does belong to a related colour-family (on account of the blue but different because of the red in it).

The garment is a thin cotton vest that I bought off the roadside. The fabric was thin enough to absorb all the paint and stiffen when it dried, which was ideal since I was painting across the whole front and it would lose appeal unless the entire picture was on display.

I'm not great at sketching animals so I decided to focus on the vivid colours instead. There was no sketching involved here. I just lined the peacock's head in thin white line (which was subsequently coloured over) and went splash-dunk into a riot of colour (my favorite technique). I think it came out pretty well.

For each feather, I started with the outer-most colour (Fevicryl no.12 Light Green) and then painted over with each inner layer in the following order - Fevicryl no.32 Cerulean Blue, Fevicryl no.352 Pearl Metallic Gold and Fevicryl no.46 Bamboo. I touched up a few of the feathers with Fevicryl no.305 Pearl Blue so the sheen in the colour would catch the light. The plumes and eye were done in Fevicryl no.301 Pearl White while the beak was Fevicryl no.355 Pearl Metallic Bronze.

I have a dusky skin tone which normally looks sallow with such a dark colour but since it is matched by the feather highlights and contrasted by the bright blues and greens, I think I carry it off well. I team it up with jeans, usually a dark blue. The last time I wore this, a gusty wind swirled around making me feel like I really was welcoming the monsoon.

Garment: Loose waist-level vest

Material: Thin cotton

Background colour: Purple

Paint colours used:

Fevicryl no.12 Light Green

Fevicryl no.46 Bamboo

Fevicryl no.32 Cerulean Blue

Fevicryl no.301 Pearl White

Fevicryl no.305 Pearl Blue

Fevicryl no.352 Pearl Metallic Gold

Fevicryl no.355 Pearl Metallic Bronze