Tears for the Taj

I feel attacked. I feel disturbed. I haven’t slept enough the past 3 days. I am in far away Singapore, a safe haven in today’s anytime-terror world; yet I feel as if I’m still in Mumbai, India.

I have many thoughts to dwell on - the attack, the perpetrators, the sheer insanity of it. But there is one that hovers in my mind, almost like a background to my whirling thoughts these past 3 days - The Taj.

To a lot of foreigners, outside those who’ve actually stayed there, it may sound like just another hotel. They don’t realise what the Taj means to me & I’m sure, to so many others in India & in Mumbai specifically.

The Taj at Colaba is in my mind, the first & foremost Indian architectural wonder. Unlike all the British raj built structures like the Rashtrapati Bhavan, VT, India Gate, Victoria Memorial or the many splendid buildings that were passed onto us, this one was built by an Indian to (kind of) show the bird to the Brits.

The interesting thing is that I don’t recall reading this or learning about it from anywhere. When I grew up, it was a different era; India went from self-imposed autarky to suspiciously sniffing liberalisation. Further, I went to school in Delhi, steeped in babu-dom & the shadows of government buildings everywhere. I learnt of another big city called Bombay, a place that my father went away to for half the week on work. A place that didn’t have winters, where it rained a lot, where people went to work on trains & relaxed at the beach on weekends, where they had a hotel called the Taj.

Appa always stayed at the Taj or the Oberoi. Though he liked both, the clear favorite was the Taj. Once, after eagerly browsing through the splendid photographs of the Taj magazine he brought back, I remember being completely awed by its architecture, the domes, the spires, the jutting-out windows with perches for kabootars. It didn’t feel like as if anyone actually stayed there - it looked like a splendid cross between a musuem & the Rashtrapathi Bhavan (ok ok so one person stays there, but that’s not much!). To partly confirm this & to partly show off my new found knowledge I asked - ‘Appa, do you stay at the old Taj?’

He stopped what he was doing, gave me a broad grin & said ‘No, not every time. I go on business trips every week, the old Taj is meant for a luxury vacation’.

‘But have you ever been inside’, I asked, slightly disappointed.

‘Of course. I’ve even stayed there a couple of times, but its very expensive’

Cut to many years later, I started working & was to make my first trip to Bombay (yes it was still called that then, & yes I’m that old!) & got to know I was to stay at the Taj. Being fresh plankton in the corporate food chain, I was doubling up with someone in a room in the ‘new’ wing. It was pretty snazzy, mind you & I did walk to the old wing & gazed at the wide staircases, smelled the old wood, chandeliers & the carpets. But I always felt as if I’d missed something in life by not staying there.

Over the years, I never got to stay at the Taj as a guest. I moved to Mumbai & have been to the Taj on numerous occasions. I’ve been to the restaurants, the disco, the coffee shop, the various banquet facilities attending company conferences, even the business centre. I have a particularly fond memory of a birthday celebration at the Sea Lounge. But I’ve never stayed in the old heritage wing.

Until twenty days ago.

Being now based in Singapore, I needed to stay in a hotel on my most recent visit to Mumbai. In the intervening years since my one & only stay at the Taj new wing, 2 small events had happened; Bombay became Mumbai & I had struggled up the corporate ladder to become a respectable vertebrate.

Alas, the Taj was yet unreachable for me to stay in. However this time I was accompanying a ‘blue-whale’ of my company & since he got to stay at the Taj, so did I. But again, it seemed, at the new wing.

But being the accompanying fish to a blue-whale has its advantages; I was upgraded to the heritage wing 2nd floor. And that too a harbour-facing room. You should have seen me - I was grinning from ear-to-ear & excitedly messaged the wife & a few of my friends.

I still recollect vividly walking along the wide central staircase, into my side of the corridor, looking down & up the strange but elegant ‘well’ that separated it from the row of rooms opposite. My room - 246 I think - was magnificent; a four poster bed, mirrors encased in white, a tiny enclosed balcony that jutted out for a stunning view of the harbour. Next morning I awoke to a surprise - sunrise in Mumbai! Having always stayed in the western suburbs, I have only seen sunsets & always assumed that one never could see a sunrise in Mumbai. I felt blessed.

Breakfast was at the Sea Lounge, bringing back memories of the day not-so-long-ago when I sat in celebration with my wife, on the very table in fact.

Writing this, I suddenly realise so many odd things that happened on that visit that I never remembered until now. For dinner, I wasn’t sure what Jim (the big man I was accompanying) would like to eat. So I got a list of all the restaurants at the hotel - the Zodiac Grill, Shamiana, Golden Dragon, Wasabi & Masala Craft. Earlier, charged by the sunrise, I took a walk along the Gateway promenade, down to Radio club, turned towards causeway, passed Leo, Mondy’s, Regal & back. Over the last 2 days, I feel as if I’ve done this route in a dizzying mix of blurred camera images, satellite maps in news reports, & heard these very restaurants as sound bytes, pictures & news reports. Ironically, despite all the excitement around this trip, I didn’t carry a camera.

And to top it all, on that very trip, I got to know of my new role that would mean no more trips to Mumbai for now; it was as if the grand old hotel was telling me ‘I let you in once, young man, but its not going to happen again too soon’. I’m grateful. Many years from now, when my son asks me if I have stayed at the heritage wing of the Taj, I too can say ‘yes I did son’.

Where do we go from here?

To say that the Taj is ‘iconic’ is too small & mild; it means far more than that & somehow the term does not do justice to it. In my profession, its the fashion to term anything & everything as an iconic brand, therefore diminishing the stature of some things by associating the same term to them. eg, would we call the (other) Taj as just iconic? Similarly with the the Taj at Colaba. Its got a certain aura about it, an aura of contrasting textures; grand, awe-inspiring yet comforting, solid. It seems to say, ‘I have stood long before you came here, & don’t worry, will be here long after you have gone’. Its a legacy. Mine, yours, ours. A legacy & a symbol of the society we want to live in. The terrorists have struck at this, our legacy. It has trembled, crumbled in some places, groaned but has stayed on its feet, keeping its promise of being there for us.

Now its up to us. We need to stay sane. We need to stay calm & think objectively, with clarity. We need to make sure that never again do we have someone mock & threaten our legacy in this or any other manner.

Have you tried getting directions in America?
In defense of the humble shop-keeper & why we need to keep Americana at bay

I’ve been reading daily about the growth of organized retail. A few folks think it’s a good thing – it will mean lower prices, more efficiency and ultimately benefit the common man. Others feel that it will result in widespread shutting down of the marginal retailer – small, independent and representative of the Indian entrepreneurial spirit. I just read a joke from the western world (must be England) – why are Indians bad at football? Because if they get a corner they’ll open a shop!

I’m not here to argue either side of this argument. However I do protest the onset of Big Retail. Why? To answer that you need to think about the question posed in the title.

I really wonder how people find their way around in America. Assume you are to go to someones house for dinner one night. Unless detailed and careful directions are given (which they usually do) its quite likely that you will find yourself wandering around like a lost puppy. Which explains the rise of GPS based systems as OEM on cars, the frenzy of Internet map sites and the general obsession for preciseness in American life (can we do a 4 way video-conference to discuss our potential response to ABC competitors threat? And please, we need a detailed agenda and a pre-read of all discussions two days prior).

Have you ever paused to think why this happens? Not the stuff written in brackets – that is a malady I still need to think about and analyze another time; but the obsessions with directions.

Obviously no one likes to be lost. The reason I’m sure lies in the complete absence of approachable and accessible shops along the road. In Tamil its called the ‘potti-kadai’ (literally trunk shop) quite aptly. Back then when tobacco was OK, he usually vended cigarettes & biri’s and paan. Gradually over time he’s added many more product lines – candy, small sachets of almost all consumer products and the most profitable cell phone cards. But he’s retained the one service he always provided – providing directions.

No matter which part of the country you are in, no matter what kind of terrain it is, no matter what time of the day it is, you are almost sure of finding one of these guys to guide the directionless. You want to solve the mystery that is Bengaluru’s confusing ‘main’ & ‘cross’ formula? No problem. How about Chennai’s unpronounceable Tam names? And Delhi’s phase 2, gate 4, pocket 6, extension phenomenon? Mumbai’s tricky road names – Mahadev Pandurkar marg & B.G Phadke street just off SV, Linking & WE highway? And Calcutta’s strange mix of college,Little (opposed to the elusive big) Russell street, Shakespeare Sarani co-existing with sundry Mukherjee, Basanta Roy & Bannerjee nestled inside the Lake, Ballygunge & Tollygunge areas. How on earth can you ever find an address with such a motley coda of addresses?

Enter the friendly neighbourhood shop-keeper. He knows everything. Not only does he know the address asked for, he’s also likely to know people concerned. It’s always been a fascination for me, but doesn’t every youngster approaching the paan-walla near his house fear that he’ll be found out sooner or later? Guess these guys know how to maintain confidentiality – will block of future custom I’m sure.

Anyway, he know’s who you are and he knows where you live. Kind of acts as a watch guard too.

But in America they’ve done away with this tribe completely. The Wal-marts and 7-11’s and the strip malls have annihilated the mom-&-pop shops on America’s high street. Ever tried going into one of those concrete monsters to ask for direction’s to Pappu’s house no. 3, pocket C, Phase 2, DB Apartments extension, Mathurapur? And you think its going to be any different at the Indian version?

So lets think about this entire retail thing once again, shall we? For the sake of finding ourselves if nothing else.

Pigs can fly and I took a ride on one

The Roger Waters concert and what it meant to me & what it meant to be there

Firstly the songs he played

In the Flesh, Mother, Set the controls for the heart of the sun, Shine on you Crazy Diamond,
Wish you were here, Have a cigar, Southhampton dock, The Fletcher memorial home, Leaving Beirut, Amused to death, Dogs (from Animals), Breathe, Time, Money, Us & Them, Brain Damage, Eclipse, Another brick in the wall, Comfortably numb, Vera Lynn, Bring the boys back home

One of life's little ambitions has been realised today. They say that there are many influences that go to shape one's life;I can safely say that one of them is Pink Floyd in mine. I'm sure I am not unique in this . fact is, there were another 10 thousand folks there at the MMRDA ground who obviously felt similarly.

As far as back as I can remember, I was always sure that the real creative genius behind the band was Roger Waters. Back then these things mattered somehow. It was important to know that it was Lennon (& then McCartney in that order) who were responsible for the creative brilliance of the Beatles; Ian Anderson for Tull. Likewise it was Waters who wrote everything on most albums. Thus it gave him a special place in my impressionable mind.

And he's stayed right there ever since. The dark, angst-ridden lyrics about insecurity have kept me engaged all my life.I remember having an LP of the Dark Side handy at home (courtesy my uncle - thank you mama for doing this great service to me!I remembered you at the concert and wished u were (t)here) and playing it often enough since I was in the 5th class. Actually i also have the films division to thank for actually drawing me into Floyd-dom. There was a documentary feature on insanity or some such on doordarshan. And the brain's descent into instability was vividly showcased (though in black & white on our Bigston TV since this was pre-Asiad days) through animated graphics and accompanied by the appropriately weird airplane-crashing sounds of On the Run. Clearly visual aids help in magnifying the power of a song. But in my case it wasn't MTV that did it - it was plain old DD!

Many years later i went on to discover the mysteries behind the wall, the sad and subliminal Wish you were here (oh can there ever ever be a more universal lament for a loved one, a friend, a moment.....i think not), the protest filled the Final Cut, the under-rated early works consisting of Atom Heart Mother and A Saucerful of Secrets and of course the supremely well crafted Animals.

I saw the Wall concert soon after it happened in 1990. Not live but on my VHS player. In those closed-economy days, it wasn't available easily. I got it after getting in the good books of some Floyd-freaks (like me) in the U-special, who obviously were better connected than i was. These guys had relatives or some such benefactors in the UK who would zip the video (VHS mind you) across to New Delhi. I was given it under trust that not a scratch would happen and that too for just a day. Fortunately I had the facility of making a VHS copy (courtesy the temporary luxury of 2 VHS players in the house) and I promptly did. This had the unexpected impact of raising my profile instantly, as I now was in possession of THE video.

Roger Waters was sensational - mantling and then dis-mantling an actual Wall in Potsdamer Platz, with a phalanx of singers coming and going. The flying pig, fireworks, the syringe in Comfortably Numb and the final court room sentencing - I had never seen anything like this. This wasn't just an album with some songs; it was cinema, animation, drama and opera all rolled into one.

Of course I resigned myself to the fact that I would probably never get to see Roger Waters perform. After all, he was getting older and with every passing year getting shorter he would never seem to find the time, and beyond a point wouldn't play live. Maybe a song or too at a live-aidish do. Fat chance of me seeing him. But I hung on in quiet desperation (in an Indian way). Then in 2002 he came to Bangalore. I booked my air-ticket and got ready to rock on some really high priced tickets. But unfortunately I had to host a close friend flying in from the US of A (he worthy of a wish you were here, if you know what i mean) and so I gave it a miss, thinking that Waters was not to be in my life.

But he came again, 5 years later. 63 years old. But rocking as good as I remember in that video. Wonder what this guy eats? He's more sprightly than a lot of people I know; I doubt I could have lasted 3 hours on stage, forget about singing and playing the bass guitar.

As i said earlier, one of life's little ambitions has been achieved today. I saw the pink pig fly; it floated by me and I flew into the sky with it.

Its been quite a while since i last made an addition to the blogging world. A long while actually - after the initial sense of elation, i've slipped into laziness.

But its a new year, 2007, and i guess now is a good time to forget the laziness of 06 and start contributing.

So whats up in my world so far?

We rung out 2006 in comparative solitude, away from the big city (mumbai) that i reside in. Had some friends over at this guest house in Khandala. In order of activity, we did the following :

Chatted, ate, drank, ate, played uno, slept, ate, did a mini-trek up a modest hill, ate, watched India submit at durban, slept, read, drank, marvelled at ms sherawats acting ability (truly i joke not) in watched pyaar ke side-effects, played uno, slept, ate, drank beer, ate, slept, drank, lit a bonfire, sang, drank & drank & drank, went for a walk at 1 am on 01/01/07, slept & slept & slept, ate and departed

Boring really.

But in the midst of all of this we talked about common friends, about our regular lives & careers, about the merits of a 1 cr paying job (we debated hard about the de-merits, but really came up with nothing, which wasn't surprising), about future career choices.

now this was fun!

Thank you all for making it a relaxed, fun and memorable new years eve.

Mumbai Nightlife

Just saw this news bulletin about night-life in Mumbai. And how its dying or actually is dead, depending on your point of view and inclination. Further, it is said that this is the first sign of ‘impending death of the great metropolis called Mumbai’; or is the last heaving gasp before it rolls over and dies. Again depending on your p.o.v.

Here are my two bits of musings on this issue.

Musing 1: When does a city die? Does it depend on when restaurants, pubs and other assorted nightspots shut down? Or does it depend on the decay and slow ebbing away of a deeper emotion that is central to the city?

Lets take a living entity, a human being say, Homo Sapiens. When does a person die? Is it

• When he / she is prevented from moving about and doing as they please, i.e their freedom is curtailed
• When he / she stops breathing
• When he / she loses the will to live
  

Now, most p.o.v’s I have heard about Mumbai’s demise fall in the first category of curtailed freedom. Whereas we all know that it’s the latter two that really define death.

Why is it that the life of a city is dependant on whether pubs stay open all night? What is the great sanctity and ceremony to the all-night pub that its bandied about as a symbol of a modern, liberated and forward thinking society? I’m sure these facts can be corroborated, but I’m not sure whether even major western cities allow pubs and bars to stay open all night. Agreed, that there are designated ‘night-life streets’ in Amsterdam, Bangkok etc, but I think we all know their area of specialization which necessitates nocturnal business hours (I wonder if that industry is hiring consultants to figure out optimal use of available capacity, but that would be musings for another time).

At a physiological level, it has been observed and proven that the relationship between alcohol consumption and the utility gained from it is inverse beyond a point (or beyond a few pints, depending on your favorite tipple). The laws of marginal utility sets in rather fast depending on your age, sex, your body’s tolerance levels and your profession; more stressed you are (who isn’t, I may politely inquire, in this great metropolis), the faster the utility gained is likely to turn negative. Hence my submission is that given a start time of quaffing 9 pm, a 1.30 curfew is quite sensible.

However, listening to all the urbane young men and women who purred on screen ‘to chill and let pubs remained open’ I now realize the real reason why pubs in Mumbai need to remain open later than 1.30 am. It’s the damn traffic.

By the time folks finish work, its about 8 pm or so. You head home, get a bite to eat (I hope so, else we shall see a spurt in gastric ulcers), then you spruce up, splash on the cologne, put on party wear, and then head out. By this time its easily 9.30 pm. Traffic again will be heavy, so by the time you reach your chosen destination, it will be 10.30 easily. Then you wait up for your friends, and we all know that its bad Indian custom to start drinking or eating ahead of your guests / fellow eaters. Further we all know the old Indian custom of arriving fashionably late; by the time the quorum at the table is attained, it will be 11:15 minimum. By this time, there will be a surge of orders that need to be catered, leading to some delays in fulfilling said order. By the time quaffing commences, it will be 1130 pm. An average, polite Indian will linger over his / her drink for at least half an hour; so by the time you start ascending the alcohol-utility curve, its pack up time. At the height of the curve, you feel invincible and feel that you can go on and on; and so the clamour for the pub to stay open.

So, why is it that we assign such importance to calls for pubs to stay open? Don’t u see the writing on the wall – its all the traffic that is leading to such levels of dis-satisfaction. That, or the fact is that the BPO industry has tipped over and there are young people wanting a drink at the end of their long day at 4 am in the morning. I suspect that’s not really the case, because I am told that at 4 am it is possible to catch a drink. But the kind of place where you can won’t have fancy ambience, DJ’s or PYT’s.

Which brings me to musing no. 2……I think this city potentially dies many times a day. I witness its death on my daily commute from a prominent suburb to South mumbai, morning and evening. I have seen the journey time increase from a sedate 30 mins to a minimum of 45 mins in the morning. And in the evening, a 45 min commute now takes a minimum of 75 mins. The time frame for this doubling of commute time – 4 years.

Sitting in a car upwards of 90 mins is sheer torture, not withstanding FM radio, ipod, reading light, reading material or su-doku. It’s a sheer waste of my life. A life so wasted that I think a part of me dies commuting. My driver endures more. He stays really far off. Commutes by train for about 2 additional hours he spends chauffering me around. So he spends nearly 4 hours going from point A to B to C to D (and E for lunch, F for agency etc etc). How does he stay sane? Well, I think he reaches office and sleeps most of the time, has a good crap (he can’t be regular with the work timings I keep, let me assure you!), plays carom (he’s the champ at work I hear), does cross-words (I discovered that there are Hindi crosswords, which is quite fascinating and liberating in a way).

If I were to ask him about Mumbai, he moans and cribs about things. Mostly general stuff; but I don’t think I've heard him write an obituary on Mumbai.

So what I’m musing……is that this city went comatose some time back. Quietly. Only, quite a few of us are so engrossed and caught up in what we do for a living that we didn’t notice.

Revival will depend on whether we shake ourselves awake. Soon.