Thursday, May 14, 2015

Can read; will fight hunger!

First generation learners @ Imlee Mahuaa School
When we give a child the gift of letters, we prepare them to never go hungry in their lives.

A letter came on email today, which filled me up with so much joy. 3 years ago I had traveled all the way to the Naxalite hit Bastar District Chhattisgarh, to meet Prayag Joshi at his school run by an NGO Trust, dedicated to teaching children their 4 Rs, where even the Government of India fears to run a school. Let me take you to this letter straight away.

Dear Julia,

How are you? Hope you are doing well.

I am happy to share with you the Annual Report and photographs of the work we did at Akanksha Public Charitable Trust during the year that just went by (you could use the links at the end of this message to view the Annual Report and other documents).

We have had an encouraging and satisfying year at Akanksha.

The 11 children whom Akanksha supports for their formal education in Chennai have progressed well at their respective schools. We expect to add another 3 to 5 children in Chennai and 50 children in rural Chhattisgarh to this program during the next two years.

At Imlee Mahuaa School, we watched our 60 children play, explore, learn and get insights from a variety of games, experiences and work. Some of the older children eagerly took on the challenge of engaging with their course work without being ‘taught’ by the adults and some even started participating in running the School.

Our educational experience was rendered especially joyous by various steps that we took during the year to free ourselves from many structures, rules and givens that we’d constructed for each other at School. It was also enriched by the variety of interactions that we had with many people who visited us in Balenga Para and with those whom we met during our excursions away from School.

This year, our children started saving up the scholarships they received from the School in their own Public Provident Fund Accounts. They expect to use these savings for higher studies, entrepreneurial pursuits and other important purposes in future.

Of course, the encouragement, support, and contributions that we have received from you and others like you over the years has made all this possible. Thank you very much.

All of us will be very happy to hear from you and have you over with us again. So do write to us and come and visit us whenever you can. 

Bye now.
Warm regards.
Prayaag

Links:

a. Annual Report  Click HERE:
b. Photographs Click HERE:
c. Audited Financial Statements  Click HERE-
d. Audit Report  Click HERE
e. Minutes of meetings of the Board of Trustees Click HERE-

Click here for Imlee Mahuaa School on Facebook:

Prayaag Joshi with hs kids in Nainital

Friday, May 08, 2015

Missing from earth but not my memory

L-R: Rustam ji Taraporevala, Julia Dutta, Erica Taraporevala





The one missing from the picture above is Sengupta aunty. 

The beautiful, vivacious, talkative, forgetful but forever young lady, Anima Sengupta, mother of my school friend Erica Taraporevala just left planet earth on 7th May, 2015.

The last time, I met her was when I wined and dined with the entire family at their lovely residence, at Nagar Road, Pune, two years ago. Sengupta aunty and I engaged with talking about the days, we all lived very happily in the LIC Colony, Borivali, Mumbai. We recalled, while her daughter and son-in-law went to bed upstairs, about the times when in that colony was a little town made of Bengalis who had come to live from different parts of India and of course Bombay. Did I remember, Bhattarji uncle, and his pure Bangal accent and the way he made us laugh? Of course I did! When he related the story of the young boys playing in the football field had gathered with mock show of fearlessness, rolling up their sleeves and tucking in their lungis (football was played in lungis, the national dress of Bangladeshi men in the 50s) to fight against establishment, but no sooner had the police come to lathi charge them, they fled so hard that some of the boys even went bottomless, because, their lungis had dropped off and they did not even realize it!? And just as in those days, we all laughed so much, Sengupta aunty and I cracked the night air with our giggles.

And of course the time, she went to Juhu beach and the naughty wave came forcefully in and grabbed her set of Made-in-London dentures, the whole set, leaving her toothless but not humour deprived. Sengupta aunty and my maternal aunt, my mashi were very good friends and often when school broke and I returned home to a snack before dinner, Sengupta aunty was in our house chatting with my mashi.

“My God, Mrs Shyam, it is late!" She gasped, "Erica must have come home too. Let me rush back!”

This time too when we met, we talked of the past and memories filled like never before. Talking to her made me realize that she filled up a void in my heart - when she and I talked, it was just like when I lay on my diwan in the drawing room and my mashi sat after dinner on the sofa and we chatted about this and that, people from the past and incidents etched in our minds.

That luxury is now lost. The moments of togetherness as niece and aunt, are gone forever now. Sengupta aunty was a great story teller, and so is her daughter, Erica Taraporevala.  Like mother ; like daughter.

And I, will always miss the closeness of that hour when we talked, just like I talked with my aunt, my mashi. The door to that story in my life is forever closed now.

Goodbye Sengupta Aunty! I know you are having a great time out there, meeting up and talking about the past on planet earth with all those who left before you, from Borivali LIC Colony Bongo Samaj!

Ebar janai propam!

R-L: Sengupta Aunty, Rustam ji Taraporevala, Persis, Erica, Mrs  Freny Ginwala , Natasha.




Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Fuck Off Y'all, Delhi LGBT community!

Yesterday, malicious, malign rumours around my personal life with my friend were spread in the LGBT community in Delhi in order to destabilize my ongoing relationship with my partner of fifteen years and my newly acquired friend on Facebook, with whom I am engaged in LGBT activism on Facebook. While we both respect each other and are fond of each other, we were hit by a bolt of malicious propaganda of the profile of my partner, the reason being, the supposed sudden knowledge of my ongoing fun and frolic with my friend which did not go down very well with my partner.

But the point is everyone else knew about it and the engagement proved that while on the one hand, we talk of regressive laws like Section 377 IPC, on ground, when two people of the same sex are engaged, all the world rejoices with them. Hence FUCK LAW! STOP SHOUTING and GO DO IT, if you want to!

The LGBT community in Delhi must know that their joy in destroying friendships and relationships between people of the same sex only reflects the instability of their own. And that like all relationships, it is very hard to break a partners who have been together, for a long time. Also, since we do not follow the normative way of life, it is possible for us to have more than one friendship with anyone. We are not monogamous, patriarchal and strictly limited within boundaries.

In my case especially, having moved and evolved over many relationships, my horizon is large and I care two hoots for words like marriage etc. If I can live a committed and loving relationship for 15 years, I can include one more same sex person to my relationship without having to go through marriage.

Having said that, if I so wish to enter the institution of marriage, I will do so and I will see how the Indian Court can stop me from doing that.

I say, STOP trying to prove you are a friend, when actually you are a dimwit, immature carrier of tales. And STOP harming people you love, or profess to do so!

Get the hell out of my way! You are neither loved nor respected any more by me! So Fuck Y'all!



Photo credit HERE

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

1857 St John’s Church and the Sepoy’s Mutiny

St John's Church, Meerut
For one who likes to get away from the city on weekends, the only belonging I had in my possession is my camera and a will to visit Meerut for St John’s Church where the 1857 Sepoys Mutiny began, sparking off, as it were, the fight for independence for India, from the British, although it took another 90 years to get it.

Meerut is famously associated with the Indian Rebellion of 1857 against the British East India Company.The famous slogan "Dilli Chalo" ("Let's march to Delhi!") was first raised here. Meerut cantonment is the place where the rebellion started when Hindu and Muslim soldiers were given rifle cartridges rumoured to have a coating made of cow fat.

The revolt, which catapulted Meerut into international prominence, started in March, 1857 at Barrackpore, Bengal. Sepoy Mangal Pandey shot and missed two Europeans, failed to kill himself, and was hanged. By April, the fire of Pandey’s Uprising scorched north India and reached Meerut, the second-largest East India Company garrison. Here, Europeans and native sepoys were evenly balanced, with a little more than 2,000 on each side. The European cantonment was separated from the ‘native lines.’ Close by were Sadar Bazar and Lal Kurti Bazar, the latter named after the red uniforms worn by Company soldiers. On 24 April 1857, Meerut’s commander, Colonel Carmichael Smyth, paraded 90 Indian sepoys of the Bengal Cavalry, hired mostly from Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. He ordered them to fire the new Enfield cartridges: 85 refused. The cartridges were covered with paper that had to be torn off: Muslims believed the paper was greased with pig and Hindus, with cow fat.

All 85 were stripped of their uniforms, imprisoned for ten years and shackled - this was a major humiliation. The rebels were from the 3rd cavalry: they owned their horses, and were the upper-caste elite. If they could be shackled, what could others expect from the Company?

The Imperial Gazette of India, V.17, pg 263 – 64 (see Here) from the Digital South Asia Library, states that Meerut City, which was the administrative headquarters of Meerut District, had in 1901, 62, 700 Hindus, 50, 317 Muhammadans  and more than 4,000 Christians. Of the total 78, 740, population 39, 389 lived in the Cantonment.

On Sunday, 10 May 1857, Kotwal Dhan Singh Gurjar opened the gates of the prison. These soldiers, along with other imprisoned soldiers escaped prison and declared themselves free, revolted, rushed to (Click to see St John’s Church Here ) and attacked and killed several of the British authorities to take the city in their control. This marked the beginning of a widespread revolt across northern India as these soldiers marched towards Delhi. 10 May is still celebrated as a local holiday in Meerut. Indeed, while the killing and burning happened largely in the cantonment area, the civil area people had no idea of all this, until, at 7 pm, as they came towards the St John’s Church for the evening Service, they saw burning bungalows and were alerted that something major was going on in this area. All the people who died from the European side are buried in cemetery at St John’s Church cemetery, just a few feet away from the church itself. See HERE 






MUST READ: The Mutinyin Meerut by Tanushree Poddar







In case you want to read more on Meerut, please read below.

Thank you Wikipedia 





The ancient city of Meerut at one time a part of the Maurya Empire, 322 – 185 BCE had the 6th Century Ashoka Pillar in sandstone, at Delhi ridge, next to the ‘Bara Hindu Rao Hospital’, near Delhi University, was carried to Delhi from Meerut, by Firuz Shah Tughluq (r. 1351–1388); it was later damaged in a 1713 explosion, and restored in 1867.One of Asoka’s Edits, in Brahmi, is now in the British Museum. Meerut had been a centre of Buddhism in the period of Mauryan Emperor Ashoka (r. 273 BC to 232 BC.), and remains of Buddhist structures were found near the Jama Masjid in the present day city.

After the archaeological excavations at ‘Vidura-ka-tila’, a collection of several mounds named after Vidura, in 1950–52, a site 37 km (23 miles) north-east of Meerut, it was concluded to be remains of the ancient city of Hastinapur, the capital of Kauravas and Pandavas of Mahabharata, which was washed away by Ganges floods.

Meerut also contained a Harappan settlement known as Alamgirpur. It was also the easternmost settlement of the Indus valley civilisation.

In the eleventh century AD, the south-west part of the district was ruled by Har Dat, the Dor Raja of Bulandshahr who built a fort, which was long known for its strength and finds mention in Ain-i-Akbari. He was later defeated by Mahmud Ghazni in 1018. A prominent local landmark, the Jama Masjid, dates from this period and is said to have been built by Mahmud's Vizir. Shortly after its capture the city was regained by the local Hindu Raja and part of his fortifications, built for the city’s defence, survived until recent times. The first big invasion on the city came later in 1192 AD, from Mohammad Ghori, when his general Qutb-ud-din Aybak attacked the city, and a much worse fate lay ahead for the district, which came with the invasion of Timur in 1398, during which the Rajputs offered a tough resistance at the fort of Loni, where he fought the Sultan of Delhi, Muhammad Tughlaq. But, eventually they were all defeated and all the 1,00,000 prisoners his army had taken in since his invasion of India were massacred, according to Timur’s own accounts in Tuzk-e-Taimuri. Thereafter he went on to attack Delhi, where he again massacred the local population, and returned to attack Meerut town, then ruled by an Afghan chief, Ilias, and took the city in two days, leading to widespread devastation, before heading north once again.

The city then came under the rule of the Mughal Empire and saw a period of relative tranquility.During the rule of Mughal Emperor, Akbar the Great (r. 1556–1605), there was a mint for copper coins here.During the decline of the Mughal Empire, after the death of Aurangzeb, the city came effectively under the control of local chieftains, the Saiyids of Muzaffarnagar in the north, the Jats in the south-east, and the Gujars along the Ganges and in the south-west. The city saw Sikh and Maratha invasions in the 18th century, with interruptions by Jats and Rohillas. Walter Reinhardt, an English soldier, established himself at Sardhana and some parts of the district came under his rule. Upon his death, they came into the hands of Begum Samru During this time, the southern part of the district had remained under Maratha rule. In 1803, with the fall of Delhi, Daulat Rao Scindia of the Marathas ceded the territory to the British. The city was made headquarters of the eponymous district in 1818.

The United Provinces, in 1903

Meerut was also the venue of the controversial Meerut Conspiracy Case in March 1929, in which several trade unionists, including three Englishmen, were arrested for organising Indian-rail strike. This immediately caught attention back in England, inspired the 1932 play titled Meerut Prisoners, by Manchester street theatre group, the 'Red Megaphones', highlighting the detrimental effects of colonisation and industrialisation[29] Electricity was brought to Meerut in 1931. In the 1940s, Meerut cinemas had a "Don't Move" policy during playing of the British national anthem.[citation needed] The last session of the Indian National Congress before Indian independence was held at Victoria Park in Meerut on 26 November 1946. It was in this session that the Constitution-making committee was constituted.

The city and district also suffered from communal (Hindu-Sikh) riots in 1984 and (Hindu-Muslim) riots in 1982 and in 1987, during which the Hashimpura massacre took place, in May 1987, when personnel of the Provincial Armed Constabulary (PAC) allegedly shot dead 42 Muslims, the trial of the case is still pending. In 2006, a fire at a consumer electronics "Brand India" fair in Victoria Park Stadium killed at least 100 people, with authorities already confirming 45 fatalities, although a specific figure on a toll was difficult to put and was predicted to be much higher.

Mythology

Meerut was founded as Mayarashtra (lit. Maya's country) by Maya, who was the father of Mandodari, Ravana's wife in the Ramayana.Meerut was the capital of Maya.Thus the city is also known as 'Ravan Ki Sasural' literally meaning "Ravana's wife's home". There is an old Chandi Devi temple in the compound of Nauchandi ground. It is believed that Ravan's wife Mandodari used to come here to worship Goddess Chandi and since then every year a fete (Nauchandi Mela) is held in sacred days of Navratri (also called days of Goddess).


     
          

Thursday, April 02, 2015

Out of Vogue!

Vogue Designer Eyewear Brand Ambassador Deepika Padukone
Only a month or so ago, after much negative publicity meted out to film maker Leslee Udwin for her film India’s Daughter, Vogue India has launched its empower series starring Deepika Padukone and 98 other women in a Ad film called My Choice, made by Homi Adajania. The video which has gone viral has lines that have been repeated over and over again, in the last two to three years, with regard to women’s choices around her body, her mind. The debate on women’s body and choices has been central to the women’s movement in India, and has been gaining force and strength in the last few years. It is clear that women in India want to break out of the shackles of male controlled patriarchal domains in private and public life.  

The film made for the consumption of HNI consumer in urban India, with purchase power, is a poor representation of women in India. While it might be said with some certainty that women in India have come out in the open and are leading from the front, when one actually goes to see, the percentage of such women is a minuscule amount as against her male counterpart (See HERE) Moreover, she is still battling regressive attitude from both genders against herself. In any case, she has fought to come up front and continues to fight for herself, even after that. We can certainly say that she is struggling to make her place in the workforce and become visible in public spaces. She is empowering herself. Despite this, it is not as if she is not fighting her own doubts, about herself.

The truly, autonomous, individual woman, is yet to emerge here in India. Be that as it may, there are many highly empowered women in India who are from the film industry even, who could have featured in the Vogue India ad.

Deepika Padukone, has always come across as a wimp. Whether in private life or on screen life, she has not made a Statement for herself, which could have made the vast many women in India hold her in high esteem and emulate her as a role model. Thus, choosing her for the ad, was a mistake, because, she fails the test in marketing the idea of an empowered Indian woman. At best the ad will bring to the fore, the issues women face in India, by giving it a celebrity endorsement. Whether male attitude changes positively towards women, our need as Indian women to claim back ourselves in every sphere that affects our lives, becomes critical.

I would say that the film has done far more for Deepika’s flagging image in the filmy world than it has done for Vogue India. The lines are clichéd and have now become used and abused many times over. I wish the film made one single statement, instead of so many words, blurring one into the other, creating a sense of euphoria. All bubbles, no substance.


Saddled with one after another film that failed the Box Office, in fact her PR Agency has tried to make much ado about the exposure of her cleavage in Finding Fanny (check on Twitter @HotDeepikaPadu )so that by using negative publicity, the film could muster up money. The strategy failed and she has come across an actress, who continues to use her body and her love, for publicity and to make her films run. Given this background, sadly, Deepika must climb the first step to self empowerment. And Vogue India, must apprentice a few more years in India, so that she is not blissfully clued out of what is the real Indian woman.






Also read

Radhika S in TheHindu

Sudhir Srinivasan in The Hindu 

References:

Women in Labour Force in India: HERE


Vogue Eyeware Brand Ambassador: HERE

And HERE

Image credit: HERE

NOTE: Views expressed here are the author's only.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

NH10 - When Crime is Not Crime

                                                          Film review NH 10 







Let me start from the end. My favourite actress Deepti Naval does what a #khap matriarch will do.

When Meera (Anushka Sharma), finds the sarpanch’s (Deepti Naval) home in the dark night, she collapses into her arms. After all, she has been running through the night trying to find someone to report the murder of two people, a girl and a boy, she has seen only a few hours ago. Her husband, (Neil Bhoopalam), who is lying almost dead, needs help, but the police station will not have Meera’s Report. Totally exhausted, she faints in Deepti Naval’s arms and is kindly carried to the bed and is taken care of, only until she discloses that she has seen this grown up girl with her husband being beaten and killed and buried in the dark, by four men and she needs to report this in order to find help.

Within seconds the sarpanch turns foe and to Meera’s great surprise dashes out of the room and locks her in. Meera has intervened in something that is private and personal to the sarpanch and the people of that village. Meera is now a criminal in their eyes.

“She was our daughter; what we did is what we had to do.” The sarpanch, the khap matriarch’s judgment is final.

In a gruesome tale of violence that literally begins at the very start of the film, honour killing, a tradition followed by the khaps in India a couple is murdered because the boy and the girl had the guts to fall in love and marry outside the community, by none else but her brother, uncle and people from the family, with full consent of the women in the house, the oldest being, Deepti Naval.
Meera and Arjun are Corporate honchos who decide to go on a weekend visit outside Delhi where they are employed. Not that Meera does not face discrimination and sexist remarks on the corridors and conference halls of corporate houses, who see her success as something that has come to her easily because she is a woman, but when she is out with her husband she can see that her body is the target of many abuses like randi, written on the wall of the ladies rest room at the local dhaba, which means in slang language ‘prostitute’.

It is at this dhaba, that she and her husband encounter the four men dragging the screaming woman and her boyfriend/husband into a SUV and driving off. Arjun is anxious to follow, although Meera is not, but as fate would have it, they were destined to see, like the audience, the gruesome death of the couple, in the hands of her family.

The darkness of the night and the foggy weather in northern India, where the film was shot, makes for a difficult run, but finally, Arjun and Meera face as gruesome an end, or almost!

Meera, comes through as a powerful woman figure, fighting patriarchy, or maybe just fighting for her life and Arjun’s in the midst of moments of deep helplessness. Yet, will she be able to save Arjun’s life, who is now flirting with death himself, or if not, then will she join the criminals too, by doing unto them, what they have done to her own husband and the couple they killed beside the highway, NH 10?

If you can stomach violence, blood and gut wrenching screams without throwing up, then watch the movie.

If you can’t then, do so, because you must know what crime, which is not thought of as crime really means to the khaps. You will know, why there is no remorse for taking life, because, given individual(s) fails to follow the rules set by a highly patriarchal society, where norms must be followed and taboo is taboo which results in death if not followed, there is NO Crime bigger than disobedience to the rules.

And law is in the hands of the community not the state.

Does Meera, follow the same norms then, to kill without remorse or to kill for revenge.

Director Navdeep Singh, a masterpiece this! Three Cheers to you!




Cast
Anushka Sharma as Meera
Neil Bhoopalam as Arjun
Darshan Kumaar as Satbir
Deepti Naval
Tanya Purohit Dobhal as Satbir's wife





Saturday, March 07, 2015

India's Daughter - Watch the film


To Watch the film  Click Here

India’s Daughter, the BBC Nirbhaya documentary which has been widely acclaimed as one of the best documentary showcasing the rape and the aftermath of the 2012 December 16, act that shook the world and brought hundreds of thousands of women and men to the streets in India and abroad, was not given clearance from the Indian Censor Board to be released for viewing in India. Our Government’s objection was ignored by BBC and they uploaded the film on YouTube, which shortly was blocked out over the Indian skies. But lakhs of Indian had seen it already and a few more saw it on Vimeo. Friends and family living abroad, sent the film in mp4 version and we downloaded from Dropbox. A civil disobedience movement had begun on the internet space which would again take the shape of what happened in 2012 in Delhi.

Delhi, the capital of the country has a new title: Rape capital of India. And why not? Every 20 minutes there is a rape, disclosed or undisclosed in the city and its NCR area, covering Gurgaon, NOIDA and Faridabad.

Some philosophers have said, that it is the cumulative lack of social consciousness of this country which has caused this to happen.

Historically, India is enmeshed in the caste system and it is our tradition to keep the untouchables away from the mainstream of our society. This disparity has continued until today, when another split in our society which has been caused by globalization has created the divide between the rich and the poor to widen. If the untouchables of yesteryears have enormous anger towards the educated and the more privileged sections of our society, then it is not far from the hatred and anger that the poor have towards the rich.

We are a society living on the pretense of being humane, compassionate, loving and philanthropic. Indeed, the truth is, we are hoarders, anti-humane, non-compassionate and an utterly selfish country. All we think about is ourselves, our family and our near and dear ones.

Hence, not only among the Dalits, but the poorest of the poor in our society, the upper caste, class, is the one which is held with the most abhorrence. The unequal distribution of wealth and the divide between the haves and the have-nots have reached a critical mass.

There will be explosions and karmic holocaust throughout this country. Rape is not only a dastardly act of power, but as the film reiterates, it is an act of violence against women by men, who feel no remorse at all.

We must only blame ourselves for this. We have a history that goes down to many centuries which stops us from seeing our own faults.

How can anyone call India a safe country? It is not!


To read Ratna Kapur, Professor Jindal University, India Click Here

Monday, March 02, 2015

Book Review: War Room - The people, tactics and technology behind Narendra Modi’s 2014 win

There is no power in heaven and earth that can stop an idea whose time has come.

I say this because the idea of ‘Indianness’ – the deep feeling of belonging to a country which is our motherland, is one of the motivating thoughts that pushed many high-tech Indian professionals to take a break from their careers to support and ensure that Narendra Modi, who to them symbolised the Indianness they so much felt with, was for sure the candidate they wanted to see win in the 2014 elections in India.

Politics is a lot of serendipity. You are in the right place and the right time and you’ve got the right message, and it either connects for you, or it doesn’t.” – Jon Huntsman Jr, American politician.
Indeed, for a man saddled with the infamous Godhra Riots and wearing the saffron non-secular and often berated body of thoughts that are synonymous with bigots like RSS, it was hardly possible to inherit an India, with its multitude of peoples and diversities, unless there were many other factors that came into play, prior to the 2014 elections.

In his riveting book, War Room – The people, tactics and technology behind Narendra Modi’s 2014 win, Ullekh NP states that the campaign for Modi, followed the American – style Presidential Elections. More than two years ago, at the back end of the BJP Offices a war was already afoot, making Modi the most preferred candidate for the PMO, in India.

The figures were well known – the Digital cascade had already happened in India; it was known that 65% of the electorate were under 35 years of age and 35% of these were first time voters, in the age group of 18 – 21 years. The SmartPhone users were growing at an unprecedented number in India, than it had done in any other part of the world. And almost all of the 65% of the electorate were on mobile devices and certainly on the internet. They were young, hungry for change; they needed jobs and to get onto the fast track. They were tired of seeing men – and women, with grey heads and bulging paunches whom they could not identify with, and they were very tired of corruption. They had put all their eggs on a young Leader, Arvind Kejriwal who promised a corruption free society, in Delhi, but had been lead down by his resignation in 49 days, after being elected as CM in Delhi. They might have enjoyed an elite Rahul Gandhi, but he was too much of a Mamma’s boy and could hardly be considered a PM candidate, even if all his party people, to please his mother, Sonia Gandhi said so.  Moreover, after having one highly educated but nonvocal puppet – down – Sonia Gandhi’s – string, as PM, they certainly did not want another ‘Madam’s’ boy around. They wanted to make sure that their choice made the difference in India and they were the Change Leaders of India. Their voice resounded on Social Media, and even before the war was won on ground, the Modi Wave had swept the Digital space to a landslide victory.

It was strategy, excellent communications, use of technology to the hilt to reach far flung areas of India, with new ideas like ‘Chai par Chacha’ and Piyush Pandey’s ‘Abki bar Modi sarkar’, catch lines and deliverables, that caught the imagination of the youth which eventually saw a change maker who promises to take India on a growth path like never before. It is in this background that Narendra Modi, who once helped his father to sell tea at railway stations, came to power.

Ullekh NP, gives us a well researched, absorbing and gripping tale of the war room that finally caused Narendra Modi to win, not only the 2014 elections in India, but also a humongous number of die-hard fans from very educated and technology savvy communities across the world. In his book, he draws the readers to a fact that might change the way, elections are fought hereafter, by the path laid out by Modi in his war to win the most coveted thrown by any seasoned politician. Also, he brings to the fore, Narendra Modi’s resilience and his will to make a Vibrant India, just as he did Vibrant Gujarat. Needless to say, he is taking his ‘Make in India’ and Invest in India, very, very seriously, Ullekh NP tells us.    

“Years after War Room is published, people will refer to it as a book that told the story of India’s most spectacular elections in May 2014 in all its subtle and magnificent details.” – Chitra Subramaniam, Award winning Journalist and author.

For me, as a Digital Marketing professional, the book is a case study that will go down as a must-read for anyone interested in the fast-changing, technology driven, new media that is threatening to displace mainstream media, just like Narendra Modi did the fuddy-duddy, Congress. Which is best amplified by false pride of only a senile mind like Mani Shankar Iyer, Congress Leader who said on 16th January, 2014 at a high level party meet, “I promise you, in the 21st Century, Narendra Modi will never become the prime minister of the country ...But if he wants to distribute tea here, we will find a place for him.”

Alas! He has had to eat his own words and I hope he is selling idli-dosa on the streets of Chennai, by the now defunct, Amma’s grace.


About the Author: Ullekh NP was born in the family of politicians in Marxist hotbed, Kannur, Kerala. He is a journalist and a commentator based in Delhi. He has worked with Economic Times, DNA, India Today. Presently he is with Open Magazine. He writes on politics, public health and corporate affairs. He covered the 2014 elections from badlands UP to Orissa’s hinterland, from Modi’s hometown Vadnagar to the capitals power corridors. He witnessed firsthand, the ‘Modi Wave’ that started from the Ghats of Banaras and finally engulfed the entire nation.

Publisher
: The Lotus Collection (An imprint of Roli Books), M-75, Greater Kailash II Market, New Delhi – 110048 Phone: 91-011-40682000 Email: info@rolibooks.com, Website: www.rolibooks.com 
Price: Rs 206



Friday, February 27, 2015

Not this; not this.

Stillness pervades all. Beneath the ripples, the waves and the turbulence on the surface, deep underneath is stillness that never moved, was never a participant nor ever will be anything but what it is – stillness.

Neti Neti - not this, not this – the only reality in a world of constant movement, the waves and the ripples and the stir, the impermanence of everything which is transitory and shifting, there is though only one truth, deep down beneath all that is moving, it a stillness that never moved. Nothing brings us closest to this truth than the constantly moving Ganga in Rishikesh.

Water is life; water is therapeutic. When we watch without disturbance, water falling or moving, it brings our mind to stillness. Not like it never was there, but because when the ripples of thought and waves of upheavals rest, there is, and ever will be only stillness.  


Be Watchful.


Friday, February 20, 2015

Sleeping with Mummy’s

Chhana Chatterjee's home
When I was a student in Bombay, our home used to have a little visitor from the neighbourhood. Named Shompa, she was 3 months old when her father or mother came to drop her at our place for the whole day, while they went to work. Shopma was an unplanned child and her elder sister was already 10 years when quite by chance, Shopma’s decided to visit planet earth. My aunt, who loved babies, was overjoyed to have Shopma around and I too took much pleasure in this little bundle. One of the things I remember about her is that after her feed, you had to place in her hand, her mother’s handkerchief which turned out to be her ‘security blanket’. As soon as she held it in her little hands, she fell asleep. The procedure was the same, if she cried for some reason – once you placed her ‘security blanket’ in her hand, she became quiet.

Only very recently, I came across another experience with ‘security blanket’ when a tiny little cat, picked up from near the garbage on the road, exhibited similar behavior.

Chhana Chatterjee’s home with his single mother is in the Suburban Bombay. He is the size of a tiny white ball, resembling the Indian dahiwala’s ball of makkhan, which translates like this, for those who do not know the terms, dahiwala – man who sells milk and curd at the local market; makkhan is the equivalent of home-made butter, got from churning milk cream. If that too is too difficult to imagine, then just settle for a very large snow ball, fluffy and soft. Yes, that is Chhana Chatterjee! 

Little ChhanaChaterjee with Otto
Leave that as it may, the cute little story I began to tell you was that little Chhana Chatterjee, sleeps by himself all alone in his basket, because, Otto, the black and white larger cat, you saw in the picture up there, sleeps with his mother on her bed, making noises all night, to wake her up and play. Not a very nice thing to do, because, his mother works all day and needs her sleep in the night, but Otto, who has slept all day, is ready to play at night! And if you are sleeping with Auto’s mother, God save you!

Suddenly in the middle of the night, you might just have a gentle paw spread right across your face, trying to wake you up. Never mind the ill manicured and smelly toes - Psssst! Hope his mother is not reading this – you are most likely to jump out of your skin and not only your bed and let out a sharp loud cry that can split the night air and tear it to fragments. Thank God it is Bombay, you say, where the night never sleeps nor the sound decibel ever gets low.

But, no matter what, Chhana Chatterjee continues to sleep because; he has what Otto does not have. And I will give you a fraction of a second to tell me what it is.

The ‘security blanket’ of course!

Snuggled under the T-Shirt, which has been worn by his mother and therefore has her smell, little Chhana Chatterjee sleeps on. The moment his mother puts the T-shirt over his ‘home’, even if the lights in the room are glaring and can make you blind, for Chhana, it is night! Until the T-shirt is taken off, or rather the ‘security blanket’ removed, Chhana Chatterjee is cozy and fast asleep! In his mind, he is sleeping with Mummy’s.

Just like Shopma with her ‘security blanket’ in my student days in Bombay! Aren't human beings so much like cats?







Acknowledgement - Thank you Debika Chhaterjee for providing the real life photographs

Thursday, February 19, 2015

Old wine tastes sweet, sometimes.

Visiting a place you have left behind or people you are no more in daily contact with, because they are no more a part of your life, causes both a feeling of happiness as well as sadness. Let me explain.

Many moons ago, I came to stay in a city which was buzzing with life. Over the years, it made me, molding me from raw and ready clay to a finished good ready to take on the world. The city was Bombay.

I can’t say I was ever in love with the city – who can really be, if you have come from the laid back life of a small town, picturesque and beautiful. Yet, the cement blocks of which I was going to see a lot in later years as well, grew in me and the people became my family. Yes, they say, in Bombay, you do not need your family; your neighbours make up for your family.

After thirteen years, I escaped to another place, close to Bombay, where the quality of life resembled what I had left behind, long ago. So, why did I return to Bombay after eight years out of it?

I longed to be in the hustle bustle of daily life, waking up at 5 am to take a train at 7 am to reach my work place at 9 am! Five years and I was done.

One day, I sat and calculated the number of hours I was on the road and it worked out to be like this: Out of 12 months in a year, I was only living 8, because the rest of the time I was travelling! It hit me like a bolt from the sky and I said to myself – Hey! I am not going to live like this anymore.

Just at that time, love came knocking at my door and I opened it to find that I was already flying out to another place, a place I was going to call my home.

Fifteen years in one place, changes you, for better or for worse. But it has contributed more to me than I can measure. Delhi is my jaan, my love, my life now.

Returning to Bombay, only recently, I realized that I was tremendously happy to be there and it almost seemed that I would return, just like I had many years ago, after living 8 years in a place which gave me, ease and a good lifestyle.  But early came a few warnings!

Friends and family I left behind years ago, were lukewarm.  They were also busy – Still! Even over the weekend, they did not have the time to meet. I understood! Isn't Bombay the place, where you promise to meet friends almost every week but can make it only once every other year? So why blame them; I am forgotten not because there is a problem with me, but because, life is so fast, it is like the old cassette we used to have, where you overwrite and everything is wiped out. So too me.

And there were a few new associations which were so warm and welcoming that I almost stayed behind. But good providence and past experience warned me of the devil within and the carrot that always hangs before a donkey, before it makes another enormous mistake!

I think that creative upheaval is a very positive thing and it pushes you beyond yourself to achieve new dimensions. This is exactly my point of view why I upturned my life so many times for a new place where I could start from scratch once again. But this time, I was shy of it.

It is indeed hard to create your stability with a city. It takes years to do it. And once it is cemented, then, it is foolish to ruffle up everything and start all over again.

There might be a home for me out there, but really Bombay, I am done with you and while I enjoyed my years with you, indeed, you are only old wine that tastes sweet, sometimes.



Photo credit HERE  

Saturday, February 07, 2015

Saving Snoopy

Honeymoon holidays are not always about romance. In fact, quite often it may turn out to be one where you become a mother immediately.

When my partner and I decided to visit the place we wanted to set shop and home, we went to the northeast of India to mix pleasure and business together. It was early March. The wind was strong at that time of the year with occasional rain even. One day, staying over at a family friend’s place, we woke in the night with the sound of a puppy crying. Shivering in the cold, we found a small creature looking like a tennis ball, yelling at the top of her voice. She was cold and miserable and very hungry. She had also lost her mother, because she had been wondering around.

We instantly picked her up and I got busy trying to find her something warm and something to eat or drink. She was a little baby and I was not sure if she would drink anything outside of her mother’s milk. But be that as it may, I quickly warmed up a little milk and fed it to her. She drank up the milk as if she had not eaten in a long time, but within half an hour she also brought it all up. And again began to cry loudly.

I knew my sleep was gone for that night and I would have to hold the baby in my arms till dawn. And it was exactly that. Every time I closed my eyes, she would begin to cry softly gradually progressing to loud yelling. When my eyes were open, she would nap in my arms!

Thus began a story with Snoopy, our little hill dog. The next day, we both went to look for her mother all around the neighbourhood. But, alas, no, we just could not find her. And so, even as the growing romance was sharply interrupted by a baby on hand, I became a mother!

When we, a family of three, settled down in a house, rented out to us, overlooking our shop called “Grub”, we had the most wonderful neighbor called Wilty Aunty and Uncle. They had retired from Kolkata and returned back home to build a lovely English style house with a large garden. Snoopy found her grand parents in them.

Wilty aunty’s daughter lived with her husband and two daughters in Italy and her son, an Air India pilot, lived in Mumbai. The couple had many relatives in the place they settled down in and rarely bothered to busy themselves with the lives of their children. But I heard a lot about them.

Wilty aunty had lost her father early in life and her mother went out to work, leaving her in the care of her pet dog. Indeed, it is the dog that looked after her, while her mother returned every two hours to visit her as a baby in the care of her dog. And so, Wilty aunty knew a ‘dog language’ which Snoopy picked up easily. You should have seen them when Snoopy got a bath in Wilty aunty’s bath tub.

The two would enter a tub that was filled with warm water and Wilty aunty would start to give Snoopy a bath. And the whole bathroom would be splashed with water. There inside would be Wilty aunty struggling with Snoopy and outside, a fully wet Uncle would stand with a stick to scare Snoopy and try to manage her. But, it was useless. Snoopy would jump out of the tub and throw herself on their carpet to wipe herself dry, while there ran a wild couple behind her, trying to throw the towel on her. The loud screams from all quarters nearly brought the house down!

“Be careful,” she warned me, “those boys who live in the rooms below, will kill Snoopy and have a hearty meal. They eat dogs.” Wilty aunty warned.

I could hardly believe what they said, but we all got very cautious thereafter. But Snoopy never became their lunch. Nor her grandparents ever failed to keep a watchful eye over her.


And I continued to be a mother.