Orderly Disorder

Connectivity between eastern and western suburbs is pathetic is Bombay. I remember having read somewhere that Santacruz Chembur Link Road was first mooted way back in 1967. I have no proof of this revelation though and one would need to dig into the Metropolitan Development files to corroborate this. Whether it was first mooted four decades ago or the construction started a decade ago, the truth of the matter is that Santacruz Chembur Link Road remains incomplete adding to the agonies of the Bombay commuter Traffic from Eastern and North Eastern Bombay headed for the western suburbs travels all the way to Sion and then has to pass the snail paced bottleneck of Dharavi to then join Bandra east. Once commissioned and, God only knows when, would save commuting time from the present 45 to 70 minutes to probably 15 minutes as projected the the authorities. The trouble is that there seems no one who can crack the whip nor is there someone who has a definite answer on the completion

Bull's Eye July 2009 I was at the movies yesterday.  The national anthem, now mandatorily shown in Mumbai, version with Siachen as the background is not only breathtaking but a hair raising experience for me every single time I see it. I can literally feel the chilled snowy breeze right in to my face when I stand in respect of the tricolour and one cannot help respect our brave soldiers and officers who fortify and defend the highest altitude war theatre anywhere in the world.  Siachen, which incidentally means Wild Rose or Black Rose, is acknowledged for its ferocious clime with extreme temperatures reaching - 40 deg Celsius and blizzard speeds reckoned to be at 300 km an hour - twice as fast as a Shoaib  Akhtar delivery, never mind that the soldier is perched on a slippery and unfriendly terrain glacier. It has been estimated that the Indian army spends in excess of Rs 5 crores per day in

--> I took an unduly long time to name this post.  Blogging in English language can be quite a challenge for many versed in two languages. There sometimes is a stereophonic cacophony where one part of the brain is humming and suggesting thoughts in English while the other part is streaming thoughts dipped in Hindi. The first title, My Mom's Eldest Brother, cut no ice with me and sounded more like a title of a movie starring a Hugh Grant or a Julia Roberts. The literal Hindi translation, Bade Mamaji , evokes all the warmth and hence this title stays. Hindi side of the brain wins this round. Now English side of the brain writes...... Bade Mamaji must be 85 years old. His eldest was born in 1946, so I guess he must have been at least 20 when he was first father. Well, even if he was 18, he must be 83 years old now. Doesn't matter, I guess, to the story line I am pursuing.  Bade Mamaji and I bond and how. We speak at least once a fortnig

Within hours of touchdown at Austin,TX and a couple of Mexican Martini's down we headed straight to meet our sailing boat enthusiast and skipper - Kevin at the Lake Travis boating pier. Thank God there are no drinking and sailing laws - or at least we do not know about them or rather paid little heed. The weather was just right for sailing- gentle to strong breeze blowing and a benevolent sun casting it's radiant energy on this lovely Saturday afternoon. Kevin was the skipper for the evening with Poonam as his experienced and able sailing mate. Kim filled in with her half baked sailing expertise and Sarika and me being the rookie sailors for the evening.

I had just walked in and occupied the seat vacated by the celebrity’s wife. It was a usual table one would find at any airport lounge with four chairs around it. Its sole occupant was a well dressed lady, probably in her early thirties, or maybe late twenties, long haired and attractive. She sat on the chair with her back to the wall as she directly faced the entrance to the lounge. Having asked for a cup of tea, from the 'not so ready to serve' lounge attendant, I flipped open my phone to send off a few text messages on my impending arrival status to Bombay. My co-inhabitant in the meanwhile, as I noticed from the corner of my eye, was dialing on her phone and her eyes lit up in a mischievous twinkle when she poured in to the phone " Guess who was just sitting with me. ............I am sure even he must be here somewhere". I lost out on the rest of the conversation with my tea having arrived and realizing that I needed to concentrate more on the announcements f

I missed the crackle and the hiss of stylus meeting vinyl.  There was this certain amount of precision and dexterity required to place the needle on the right groove of the vinyl record and then wait for the music to waft out from the seductively rotating black disc of joy. There was a charm and care in gently babying the vinyl back to its jacket, brushing off any specks of dust it may have collected while playing. I grew up in the era of radio, when television had still not invaded family living rooms. Most homes in our locality the radio played softly in the background throughout the day. We avidly consumed music, predominantly from the movies, dished out by Vividh Bharati and the enormously popular and iconic Radio Ceylon. While Radio Ceylon was synonymous with Binaca Geetmala and its sugar syrup voiced Amin Sayani, Vividh Bharati was in pole position with its detailed information on the song, its movie title, singer/s, music director and the lyricist. Vividh Bharati b

A close friend was visiting Kanpur, my grandparents erstwhile hometown, last month. Childhood memories of the good times rushed past recalling glimpses of our summer and winter vacations in Kanpur. Memories of crowded streets, cycle rickshaws, Gun shops, pilgrims to Ganga ji , Naveen market ki chaat and so many more. I wanted a slice of Kanpur and what better than some Kanpur ki mithai . I asked her to get me a box of Banarsi's Motichoor Ladoo's . Promptly, a week later, a box of Motichoor Ladoos's arrived at my house all the way from Kanpur. I had kid's delight written all over my face and I wanted to share it with someone who would relate to Kanpur. I kept a few ladoo's at home and sent most of them in the famous yellow packaging of Banarsi Misthan Bhandar to my mom who was brought up in Kanpur. My mother was overjoyed to receive this special gift of sweetness all the way from Kanpur. Not only did she savour it, she shared her experience of the ladoo&#