Category Archives: Culture

Memories of Orissa

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A selection of thoughts and feelings from a recent trip to Bhubaneswar and Cuttack in Orissa, where I was

  • Awed by the granite structure of the Sun Temple at Konark, and awestruck when told that these were mere remnants and that the erstwhile main structure was more than double the height of the existing temple
  • Amazed at how each of the small dots, on the rim of each of the twelve twelve-spoked wheels of the chariot that is the temple, corresponded to exactly three minutes
  • Irritated at the mindless enthusiasm shown by everyone, including my friends, for photography – much more so than at the Taj Mahal: both the enthusiasm and the corresponding irritation. Clicking one picture for memories is acceptable, but going to a monument or scenic location does not transform you to an advertising model worth GBs of photos to be forgotten in a week
  • Struck by the realization, accompanied by a curious lack of surprise, at the Jagannath Temple at Puri, that God’s blessings can be bought, and that perhaps purchase was the only way of obtaining blessings there because you needed a ticket to reach the sanctum sanctorum. Which, as a philosophy taken to the extreme, would mean that the rich would become richer and the poor poorer. Not a sustainable belief by any means
  • Disappointed at the basket of sweets I bought because the 3-4 different items on the top didn’t reveal the fact that below the top layer there was only one kind of item (possibly the cheapest) that filled the basket
  • Drawn to stacks of brown sweets – fried layers of flour, coated with white powdery sugar that soon turned our fingers sticky and lick-worthy – at a roadside stall
  • Hungry but happy, as we sat on the floor eating tongue-scalding steamed rice and thick yellow dal and several side dishes from leaf-plates and earthen cups. The sale of this food, which was brought out from the temple after puja and which seemed to be meal offerings to the deity, was by itself serious business for numerous authoritative-looking raucous-voiced people
  • Visited by nostalgia at the sight of sewing machines in a handicraft shop at Pipli, where the old man explained that he and his wife had themselves made by hand all the bags and wall-hangings displayed in the shop
  • Intrigued, at the Buddhist Stupa at Dhaulagiri, by the sight of small boxes that served very effectively as printing cabins for quick photographs. The Stupa per se was hardly impressive but the printing set up intrigued me enough to take a picture and post it here:
Printer Setup at Dhaulagiri

The intriguing printer setup at Dhaulagiri: the little black object in the centre is a Canon colour printer!

A Visit to Britannia, Mumbai

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It was nearly a year ago that I went with some colleagues for a birthday lunch at Britannia in Mumbai. The experience was so enjoyable that I not only ended up writing a review and submitting it on Zomato but also winning the weekly ‘Write for a Bite’ contest. The review is available on the Zomato site.

We went with a vague sense that the birthday boy would “treat” us (meaning, he would foot the bill) but as the food vanished from the plates, someone came up with the idea that the group should treat the birthday boy. The idea quickly found support, and so we returned with lighter pockets and happier minds!

Here is what I had to say on the restaurant:

An old-time restaurant where a stately portrait of H. H. Queen Elizabeth II watches over you as you tuck in, a place that sports old-fashioned signs telling you to “not argue with the management”, Britannia is a homely Parsi restaurant. A bunch of us went for a birthday celebration lunch the other day and came back satisfied.

I must confess that I entered the place with a mild sense of apprehension, since my friends had told me that you get very good non-veg fare at Britannia, implying that the veg fare could be less than charming. However, I was in for a pleasant surprise, which immediately endeared the place to me: the ‘berry pulav’ at Britannia is a must-have – it looks and tastes different from every other rice dish, as the warm flavor of rice brings out the tart taste of berries.

My friends say that the ‘sali boti’, a spicy meat dish with crisp fried potato shreds sprinkled over it, and the ‘kheema berry pulav’ are stuff they would like to have again. We ordered each of the three desserts on offer, and while they come in small servings (which is good if you are watching your calories!), each one had a strong individual look and taste. The ‘caramel custard’, delicious without being too sweet, turned out to be my favourite after sampling all three.

As would be clear by now, variety is not the hallmark of the place. The entire menu fits on one side of a large-ish card. Indeed, I found it interesting that the menu card was placed below the glass topping of the tables, making for a very convenient choosing process. The seats are closely placed and the service is decent, and the place is not too harsh on the pocket. Of course, Britannia does not offer high-class fine dining, but it never promises to! All in all, an affordable and homely place where you will enjoy going with friends and family rather than with colleagues.

Note: Copyright for the restaurant review is subject to Zomato ‘Write for a Bite’ contest rules.

On the Biscuit Trail, Sightseeing (Notes on Hyderabad)

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“I have orders for fruit biscuits from Karachi Bakery,” said my friend, as we set off from the guesthouse to the venue of S’s midnight wedding. “So do I,” said the third member of our party. By then, yours truly was torn between curiosity and the need to feign awareness.

“Karachi Bakery? I can tell you where that is,” said the otherwise reticent man who drove our car, suddenly becoming loquacious in describing the location of the apparently famous shop. So I was the ignorant one. But only for a minute longer. My friends soon told me how S used to bring those biscuits to their hostel whenever she came back from home, and how they all used to “just love it.” The next day, these two friends skipped a part of the post-wedding puja in order to trace Karachi Bakery and buy huge quantities of the said item. All this was why I decided to stop there on my way later from Salarjung Museum to Begumpet.

On Nizam Shahi road, the huge blue and pink signage of the bakery stood out, and the crowd in the store, engrossed in Christmas purchases, reminded me of Mumbai. The matter-of-fact way in which I was handed a sealed packet of fruit biscuits and a piece of the same to taste was a mild letdown: I had expected, quite unreasonably in hindsight, that such a famous item would evoke a sense of awe in its handlers. Nevertheless, I could see that customers in that particular section of the shop were reassuringly enthusiastic.

The welcome that the biscuits – square shaped cookies with tutti frutti and cashewnut– received at home was little more than lukewarm, perhaps because they were poor competitors to the thick home-made jaggery pudding prepared the previous day. The tales of visits to Golkonda Fort, Charminar, Birla Mandir and Salarjung Museum found more enthusiastic audiences.

To whoever would listen, I repeated stories that the guide had narrated, of the intriguing history behind various features of Golconda Fort, including how sound was transmitted from the gateway at the entrance and the reason behind the name of the fort. We could see that although large parts of the fort were destroyed by Aurangazeb, the existing structure was deemed worthy as a film setting, for we came across a full-fledged team shooting a movie and two youngsters repeatedly trying to record a short amateur dance video.

At Charminar, it was the apparent lack of functional purpose of the building that bothered our party initially. A little like the Gateway of India, said one of the viewers. But the bangles and pearls at Laad Bazaar made up for that.

At Birla Mandir, I was amazed by the devotion shown by the crowd as everyone chanted “Govinda, Govinda” in a peculiar and catchy rhythm. The whiteness of the structure stood out in stark contrast to my memories of temples in Kerala made of dark granite. The art exhibition at the adjacent Birla Science Centre complex was worth seeing but hardly attracted visitors, who were more interested in watching the show at the planetarium and the huge skeleton at the dinosaurium, and in exploring the interactive science exhibits.

Salarjung Museum was huge and well-maintained. The various forms of Arabic calligraphy caught our attention, including the Tughra style where the letters are used to form the shape of an animal, bird or object. We stood captivated by the Veiled Rebecca, a life-like and delicate depiction of a demure woman, sculpted in white marble. In several rooms, the utility items and ornaments of the royal family reflected taste and indulgence, craftsmanship and lavishness. We returned from the museum having covered only the central block, leaving the eastern and western blocks for another visit.

Back home, most of the Hyderabad saga was forgotten amidst the holiday season. But I was in for a pleasant surprise when I casually offered the fruit biscuits to a friend. “Karachi Bakery!” he exclaimed, in instant recognition, although the biscuits were no longer placed in their original box. Here, now, was a very memorable brand! Going on the biscuit trail in Hyderabad was worth it, after all.

‘Life of Pi’ – A Fantastic Spectacle, and Two Questions

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A children’s fantasy that anyone would enjoy watching – this is my take on Life of Pi, the recently released movie based on Yann Martel’s Man Booker Prize winning book of the same name.

Directed by Ang Lee (of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Brokeback Mountain fame), Life of Pi narrates the story of a 16-year-old boy named Pi Patel who is marooned in the ocean with an adult Bengal tiger Richard Parker. While being a tale of determination and survival, Life of Pi is also a tale of empathy and humanity: Pi not only manages to keep himself alive on the lifeboat for several months, he also ensures that Richard Parker survives the ordeal.

The narrative of the tiger with a human name and the boy with a quasi-animal name (Pi is short for Piscine, not the most common of first names even if the surname were something other than the very Indian one of Patel) hardly deviates from that of the book.

The movie is very well-acted, with Suraj Sharma and Irrfan Khan etching the roles of the younger and older Pi respectively, with the right amount of drama and sensitivity. The tiger is a brilliant feat of animation, especially in the life-like way in which minor movements such as twitching whiskers and heaving breath are captured, given that most of the scenes involving the tiger did not use a real tiger. Check out this link for more on how Richard Parker was brought to life. The special effects, such as the flying fish, the phosphorescent sea and the dreams of Pi, are surreal, and the sounds add a dramatic touch. Through most of the movie, you don’t notice how the time passes. Even Pi’s sense of wonder at seeing the luminescent ocean seems believable.

And yet, there are elements that could have been done better. The English dialogues are incongruous in most places – it is difficult to imagine a young Tamil dancer and Pi speaking to each other in any language other than the local language of the place in India, which is anything but English. There is also too much time spent on existential questions and on faith in God. If the movie was meant to be a fantasy, why engage the rational mind for so long while enthralling the child in us with a marvelous spectacle? The situation brings to mind children’s books which have big colorful pictures covering most of the page, with the detailed story written out in tiny font at the bottom which only the parents are expected to read.

It also seemed odd that the audience needs ratification from a Westerner that this is a fantastic story. The story would have been just as powerful without someone on-screen having to express incredulity. The saving grace here is that Pi himself, when he recounts the story, is not looking for such approval. The Westerner listening to the story expresses his admiration only because he thinks that is expected of him.

That aside, there is an interesting scene that, to me, captures the gist of the movie and what it tries to convey. (The movie clearly has something it stands for, it is not contented being merely a children’s story.) As Pi describes his experiences to the representatives from the Japanese insurance agency, they tell him that bananas don’t float on the ocean. Really? I clearly remember a scene where the orang utan moves towards Pi’s lifeboat over a few bunches of bananas. But then, that scene was part of Pi’s narrative, so just like the Japanese agents, I too am unsure of whether to believe Pi or not.

Something that struck me as the movie progressed was that, for a boy of 16 years, Pi is inordinately conscious of the importance of Richard Parker in helping him survive, by being a ferocious carnivorous wild animal that he has to be wary of. Pi is also aware that both he and Richard Parker are cast away on the ocean, clueless and unexpectedly, and that he is responsible for the tiger’s survival. But then he has been philosophical from the beginning.

The poignant question of what it means to be human, as opposed to being savage or animal-like, was something I remembered hitting me as I read the book, and it comes across in the movie as well. For those who haven’t read the book, the idea would be even more striking.

In the end, as the names of the cast float upwards on the screen, I am left with two questions. Was this movie meant for adults or kids? And do bananas float in seawater? Neither one takes away from the fantastic spectacle though!

‘A Passage to India’ and Other Books

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‘A Passage to India’ is a novel set during the later days of British rule in India, and I had expected it to be yet another, perhaps a little less clichéd, description of Indians and the Indian way of life as seen by an Englishman writing from his country or at most, writing based on his visits to India. But I was in for a pleasant surprise. E. M. Forster describes, in a nuanced and sensitive manner, how Indians and Englishmen got along with and sometimes did not get along with each other, as they inevitably came into contact.

The plot  in ‘A Passage to India’ is far from vast. It can easily fit into a short story – Aziz, a widowed Muslim doctor, offers to take Adela Quested and her future mother-in-law Mrs. Moore on a trip to visit the well-known Marabar caves in Chandrapore. Inside one of the dark caves, Adela imagines that someone tried to attack her and assumes without doubt that her invisible attacker was Aziz. He is arrested and tried in court, but before the trial is over, Adela realizes that she was mistaken and withdraws her complaint. Yet, the damage is done and many lives have been affected irrevocably.

The author leaves unsaid, but makes amply clear, that while these are important events in the lives of a few Indians and Englishmen, they illustrate merely another instance of the impossibility of true and trusting relationships between two groups widely separated by not just geographical and cultural barriers, but also the more divisive chasm that distances the ruler from the ruled.

For instance, open-minded Englishmen such as Mr. Fielding (whom Aziz gradually starts to think of as simply Fielding) might become friendly with Indians, but their English wives can never really mentally get past the distance. For all their determination to see the “real India” and their friendly disposition towards Aziz, Adela and Mrs. Moore are never truly at home in India.

Indians in the book are not blameless either, for they hold stereotyped views of the Englishmen and English women. With the caveat that what comes out in the book is perhaps the English stereotype of what the Indian stereotype of the English is. (The book is nowhere as convoluted as the sentence you just read, so do not let my analysis dissuade you from reading it.) In short, ‘A Passage to India’ is an eminently readable story, one of the rare books that make me wish I had read them earlier.

What I like best about ‘A Passage to India’ is the way Forster narrates and implies, but never brings himself into the story. In comparison to the two other books that I happened to read recently, ‘A Case of Exploding Mangoes’ (a historical thriller based on the death of Pakistani President General Zia ul-Haq) and ‘The House of Blue Mangoes’ (a mostly lifeless account of the lives of three generations of a family based in South India), ‘A Passage to India’ is a refreshing piece of work. It is as a novel should be – the characters are so important to you that at least for the period you are with them, you fancy that you care for what happens in their lives, you want to know how things turn out for them. In this respect, the book reminded me of ‘The Mandelbaum Gate’ by Muriel Spark.

The book that I am currently reading is just as powerful. ‘The Finkler Question’ (Howard Jacobson’s Man Booker Prize winner that is witty and sympathetic in equal measure) brings up severe issues with a gravity that is as unbelievable as it is real. Because that’s often how life is, a curious mix of the comical and serious. Julian Treslove is just another guy next door till he is mugged one night on the way home, and a phrase uttered by his assailant (a phrase which he isn’t even sure he heard right) changes his outlook to life. From the outside, there is no break in the flow of his life, but mentally he is a changed man. Not impossible, I suppose.

-~-

P.S.: With all this mention of books, it is very natural to wonder whether this consultant (yours truly) has been “on the beach” far too long. But the more pertinent question is whether this consultant has been on far too many flights…

The Complicated Question of Mumbai vs Delhi

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Which city do you like best, aamchi Mumbai or saddi Dilli? Ask this question to anyone and they will have an opinion, even those who have not seen either place. Having spent time in both cities, let me be presumptuous enough to offer my take on the evergreen topic of Mumbai vs Delhi.

  1. Definition: land of business vs land of babu-dom
  2. Pace of life: quick and busy vs slow and easy
  3. Pollution: no visible dust or smoke vs “quick, I need to get a mask!”
  4. Traffic: escapable using the local train vs you’ve got no choice but to sit and curse away your time
  5. Auto rickshaws: black and yellow vs green and yellow; and the latter run on CNG
  6. Auto rickshaw drivers: charge by the meter vs fleece the passenger in direct proportion to his/ her ignorance of Hindi
  7. Capriciousness of auto wallahs: Ah, now that’s one parameter where both cities are equally exasperating. You are lucky if the place you wish to go to matches the place the auto wallah wants to go to.
  8. Temperature: uniformly comfortable throughout the year vs always hotter or colder than you’d like it to be (No wonder then that people from Delhi find Ahmedabad’s winter “pleasant”, as I complained in this post on what I dislike about winter)
  9. Rainfall: flooded roads vs desperately waiting for the rains
  10. Culture: “this city is for everyone, literally” vs “this is my city, what are you doing here?”
  11. Suburban train: dirt cheap (no pun intended) but efficient vs posh but inefficient
  12. People: mind your own business vs “I’ve got all the time in the world to stand and stare”
  13. Rent: resign yourself to the reality of effectively giving away an iPhone each month vs take comfort in the fact that you don’t give away even a smartphone each month

P.S.: The genesis for this post lies in a question: which city is better, Delhi or Mumbai?

My immediate answer was that I did not know enough to comment. For instance, I didn’t know till about three years ago that the h in Delhi was silent. And yet, my answer was not fully true. For one, you don’t need to know much about something to form an opinion. (Think of some of our dear politicians. Or some b-school graduates.) Indeed, if I could form an opinion of Istanbul without as much as stepping foot on Turkish soil, why not on two cities in India that are no longer alien to me? (In case my fairy godmother with her magic wand is reading this, Istanbul is one city I’d like to spend some time. Orhan Pamuk just has a way of weaving reality and dreams so closely that you forget to distinguish between the two.)

Moreover, I was ineffectually trying to be diplomatic because the questioner happened to be from Delhi and I am, if anything, mildly in favour of Mumbai. There, I have given away my opinion, if it wasn’t already clear! But I dare say Delhi is beginning to wield her old-world charm on me.

Kyra in Kerala – a Summer to Remember

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Summer is here, with sunshine, mangoes, and memories of school vacations. Here’s a post that raises a toast to summer days!

This summer I have a friend coming to stay at home for a week – Kyra, an exchange student from Italy. She is making the most of her term break by visiting Kerala, well known among tourist circles as ‘God’s Own Country’. The epithet is apt, partly because Kerala has one of the most pleasant climates in the world.

Here, my favourite time of the year is neither winter nor summer but that peculiar windy season from late October to early January. Even as I write this down, I can hear the wind rustling through the green fronds of swaying coconut palms… Yes, this coastal state in South India is humid but once you get over the initial surprise, it becomes bearable, because your skin and hair will thank you for the humidity. Not many may care about that, but Kyra does and so do I!

Kyra enjoys the outdoors, and so we plan to hit the beaches and the backwaters. We’ll first go to Alappuzha where a houseboat on the backwaters is the best place to listen to the gentle lullaby of the waves. I am sure Kyra will enjoy “kappem meenum” which is Malayalam for “tapioca and fish”. Somehow the English translation makes the dish seem far less mouthwatering than it actually is. If we are daring enough, we will try a dash of toddy, which is the alcohol made locally from tender coconut.

And then on to the beaches, of which there is an abundance in Kerala. Kovalam is one of the most talked-about beaches and offers good seafood as well, so that’s our destination. My (slightly biased) opinion is that beaches in Kerala are more beautiful than those in Goa or Dubai. I hope Kyra agrees!

Two days there, and then we go to Kochi where nature meets modernity in a port town that also has a naval base and an international airport. There my plan even includes getting Kyra to buy and wear the kasavu mundu, the traditional off-white coloured gold-bordered two-piece attire of Malayali women! The next day we will be off to Thrissur to watch a traditional temple dance performance, known as thaiyyam, during the temple festival near my house. Thaiyyam is markedly different from typical dance performances, and I’m sure we will both enjoy it.

Before making her plans to come to Kerala, Kyra asked me about the weather here. And this is what I told her: Kerala is not a hill station (unless you go to Munnar and give the beaches a miss). But that doesn’t mean you avoid the place in summer. Instead, arm yourself with protective gear from the house of Lakme Sun Expert, pack lots of cotton clothes, and then have a blast!

I also told her that Kerala is a place unlike anywhere else in the world. If you don’t believe me, check out this video titled ‘Your Moment is Waiting’ from Kerala Tourism. It portrays quasi-natural experiences that a tourist has in Kerala, far removed from the loud sounds and flashy images typically shown in tourism ads. While your own experience as a tourist could vary widely from that shown in the ad, it is very much possible to find inner peace and get in touch with “the real you” in the calm environs of Kerala.

P.S.: The motivation behind this post is an IndiBlogger contest sponsored by Lakme India. Lakme is a brand I admire, and more importantly, one that I trust. The latter quality is especially important for a cosmetics brand. To know more about Lakme and the contest, check out http://www.facebook.com/ilovelakme

P.P.S.: Half of the contents above are fictional, but I am not saying which half!

Nostalgia Needs No Dialogue – A Review of ‘The Artist’

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Here’s my verdict of The Artist : nostalgia simply works.

At first sight, there is no reason why Michel Hazanavicius’s The Artist should make waves. It is not a starry-eyed romance of the Slumdog Millionaire variety. It revolves not around news-making issues such as terrorism or physical disability, but around a narcissistic actor’s unreasonable aversion to ‘talking pictures’. It is not a racy thriller or a poignant biopic. And yet, there is something poetic and beautiful about this nearly-silent black-and-white movie that manages to be emotional without being sentimental. Indeed, The Artist succeeds because it speaks simply and directly of one man muddling along through changing times, which is exactly what we are all doing.

George Valentin is a flamboyant and unapologetically narcissistic actor of silent movies who enjoys immense popularity. When Peppy Miller, a chirpy and relentlessly optimistic extra, grabs his attention, he tells her, “If you want to be an actress, you need to have something the others don’t.” Soon, however, in his recalcitrance against acting in talkies, Valentin’s heyday is over. How he deals with this along with Miller forms the rest of the story. In case you are yet to watch the movie, please bookmark this blog post, watch the movie, and come back here to see if you agree! (I am, of course, taking for granted that you will watch the movie. And, needless to say, that you will come back to read the rest of this review.)

The most endearing aspect of the movie, apart from the lovable doggie which follows Valentin everywhere, is the story itself; to this the well-etched and equally well-acted protagonist does justice. What I liked best about Valentin is that even in the midst of sorrow, he does not lose his panache. When Miller says that she watched his movie which very few others did, he asks whether she wants a refund, making us wonder whether he is being sarcastic, humorous or self-pitying.

The story works for several reasons – it is tragic enough for us to relate to, but bright enough to hold our attention till the end. It is perhaps a good example of “a tragedy with a happy ending” as the Guardian review of The Artist quotes. But there is more: the movie with its absence of colour and the early 1900s setting harks back to times when life was tough and ordinary people still endured. I strongly suspect that for a beleaguered audience looking for something fresh, and more importantly, something refreshing, nostalgia is a highly welcome emotion. Very subtly, yet very effectively, The Artist provides nostalgia in dollops. For those interested in finding out more, the Guardian review highlights several instances through which The Artist pays homage to older movies.

I also enjoyed the highly dramatic acting – Miller running to Valentin when he wakes up from his coma, the dog running to the policeman, Valentin clutching a film reel while lying by the charred ruins of several other reels, and so on. Today, in the quest for realistic portrayals (a la Hollywood) and over-the-top song-and-dance shows (think Bollywood), this theatrical element seems to have gone missing from most movies, almost as if movies have forgotten their roots in theatre. Perhaps, unlike their counterparts from other countries, French movies still retain this naturalness of story-telling. Which might explain why another French movie, A Very Long Engagement, is endearing in its own right. And then of course, when you make a movie about movies, you are in home ground. (The excellent Malayalam movie Udayanaanu Taaram is a case in point.)

In terms of technique, even an amateur reviewer of movies (such as yours truly) would be able to discern interesting aspects in the depiction. For instance, as Valentin sinks into obscurity, he is shown sinking into quicksand in a self-produced silent movie. In the more intense days of his depression, even his shadow leaves him, only to rejoin him later. Before leaving him, Valentin’s wife asks him a question that is at once reflective of his obstinacy and of her indignation: “George… Why do you refuse to talk?” Did she mean talk to her, or talk in movies?! Such instances abound in The Artist.

I found it amazing that if a story is well-depicted, you hardly miss dialogue. Or colour, for that matter. I happened to watch the silent black-and-white Charlie Chaplin-starrer The Kid very recently – while we are on it, this is a touching movie that makes you constantly wonder whether to laugh at Chaplin’s antics or cry at the pathetic situation of the child – hence the silence element of The Artist was not completely new for me. But the amazement remains.

Of course, despite my rave review, not everything is perfect in The Artist. There is ample room for criticism, be it the excessive focus on just one person or the unnecessarily overdone lack of dialogue. But for now, I am still in that delicious hangover where I am considering watching the movie again, so the criticism will have to wait. However, if you have read my scathing take on 3 Idiots you would know that I am not one for freely ladling out praise!

All in all, this is one movie not to be missed. Nostalgia is sometimes worth it.

<Personal opinion disclaimer applies.>

P.S.: If I had enjoyed (and not completed) reading Ulysses, I might have gone ahead with my cheeky tribute to James Joyce by calling this post ‘A Portrait of the Artist…’, but I still haven’t forgiven Joyce for Ulysses.

P.P.S.: Ulysses is definitely good, especially the parts that are comprehensible. So if it’s on your reading list, do not let the above statement dissuade you as much as the sheer thickness of the book might.