Hundreds of people with carelessly folded jeans and dirt splattered feet scramble around and scuttle their way to their respective platforms. Just outside Andheri station you see umbrellas grazing against each other and move in a mad hurry – red, yellow, fuchsia, Bollywood prints with Rekha peeking in her classic Umrao-Jaan pose, distasteful leopard print, boring stripes, exciting dots and if you happen to go in the usual office hour then mostly black. A whiff of “cutting-chai” holds your attention albeit for a few seconds before you glance at the train time-table blinking green in a distance and decide to rush to the fastest one you can jump onto – and it takes you so easily to almost the other end of the city.
For a small town girl like me who apart from my peacefully perched idyllic home in Simla, have only been a fan of the wide smooth Delhi roads, found the very idea of a local train incomprehensible. I could not understand why one would need trains to travel in one city. Was Mumbai really that big? Or the traffic really that bad? After starting work here I realized, the reasons are both and more.
Local Stations, apart from making sure you reach work on time and being the cheapest mode of transport available, ends up giving you a whole new perspective if you are perceptive enough. It’s this heady mix of class, culture, vada-pavs & burgers to the very soulful blind singer who comes in your coach & the fashion designer who struts in with her Louis Vuitton bag. Never before have I seen people so different from each other, share a space so comfortably and actually though occasionally manage a conversation too.
From “Chinchpokli” that still fascinates me with its name to “Bandra” where I love to hop off to head for some shopping – the stations of Mumbai have a flavour to it that I have not seen anywhere else. Two in every three people will guide you if you are lost, one in every three faces will have a warm smile, chances are your wallet will never be stolen from your bag and even if you do manage to drop it, your credit cards & license will be duly returned somehow, by some strange stroke of mumbaiyaa luck.
It is a place where you would be able to survive – whether you are young or old – eager to open up or clamped in a shell – there is a warmth in the musty salty air that melts you down – there is a life to the sea that you gaze at and a music to the rain that mostly bothers you. And there is always that station that gives you the utter independence to go anywhere you feel like going.
The city may be moody - it rains, it pours, it shines, it whines – but the local trains must go on.
Its Mumbai: Admit All.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
In Mourning
Lizzy lost his tail. He is uglier than before. Something I didn't think was even possible.
Lizzy had become an essential part of my cluttered room.
Now its Lizzy without a tail. I saw him scuttering across the room to hide himself under the bed - this was the same lizard who would flaunt its meaningless existence by crawling across my walls as if he owned it.
Poor Lizzy must be so ashamed. And traumatized.
This blog will maintain prosaic silence for a short while to mourn Lizzy's tail.
While I will silently pray that I don't step onto the now-detached rear end of Lizzy.
Amen.
p.s: Does a lizards have a soul? If Lizzy dies will his spirit haunt my room? Will Lizzy die of humiliation? Does a lizard think?
Oh no, we are back to that same question. Its a vicious cycle.
Err, also... do those tails grow back?
Lizzy had become an essential part of my cluttered room.
Now its Lizzy without a tail. I saw him scuttering across the room to hide himself under the bed - this was the same lizard who would flaunt its meaningless existence by crawling across my walls as if he owned it.
Poor Lizzy must be so ashamed. And traumatized.
This blog will maintain prosaic silence for a short while to mourn Lizzy's tail.
While I will silently pray that I don't step onto the now-detached rear end of Lizzy.
Amen.
p.s: Does a lizards have a soul? If Lizzy dies will his spirit haunt my room? Will Lizzy die of humiliation? Does a lizard think?
Oh no, we are back to that same question. Its a vicious cycle.
Err, also... do those tails grow back?
Friday, September 07, 2007
Living with Lizzy
Does a lizard think? I have an ugly little lizard that looks like a miniature dinosaur, if not uglier, living in my room – at night it likes to roam around the floor – I am now petrified of walking around without my slippers lest I step onto it - not because I don’t want to kill it but because the thought of a lizard coming in contact with any part of my body – especially my pedicured feet, makes me squirm and send that uneasy feeling down my neck - you know the kind when you feel water trickle down your spine! Eeeeeeks!!
So I have been watching this lizard just explore the walls of my room and sometimes the ceiling too – and I wonder what that damned creature must be thinking. I call it Lizzy now. I might as well have a name for something that has been sharing my room with me for the past one month. I’ve tried chasing it away – it just comes back… and because its so tiny, creepy and slimy, it just comes back from anywhere goddammit!
What must go on in the mind of Lizzy? Whether he likes the cream shade of paint of my walls? Or which house guest of mine should he petrify next by its visual presence? Or whether the switchboard is warm enough for it to go sit on it and warm its hideous arse on a cold rainy evening?
What does Lizzy eat? Fly poop? Fly kids? Yucky Lizzy has no taste.
Where does Lizzy sleep? Below my bed? Over my head? Lizzy go away, make haste!
How does Lizzy screw? Does he stay on top? Lizard sex seems so boring, so chaste.
Why does Lizzy live? Why inhabit my room? And make it look like such a waste!
Dirty dirty Lizzy! He is a dirty ol’ lizard. He is tiny with a curious little head that stays raised for some odd reason – I haven’t been near it enough to analyse the shade and texture of his unsightly skin – I’m sure it must have little beady eyes – snoopy poopy seedy beady eyes of a villain!
Egg shells don’t drive him away. I am going to try peacock feathers next. He doesn’t do any harm so to say, its just that his mere presence is disturbing and is driving me up the wall (up the wall….haha!). But seriously, any lizard who manages to make me write about it AND christen it – must be destroyed!!! But how? I prithee tell me…how? Must I commit bloody murder? But I can't… and not because I don’t want to…but because the thought of being close enough to kill it is killing me!
What should I do of dirty Lizzy? Lizzy is a plague that has taken over my walls. Lizzy is a creature who is a descendant of the evil dinosaurs. Lizzy is a laid back lizard that roves around my room. Lizzy is a curse to make me think about what a lizard must think? Or does a Lizard think? I don’t know. Go ahead, think about it. And tell me if you can think of anything.
P.S: Lizzy the Lizard is up for adoption. Roomie anyone?
So I have been watching this lizard just explore the walls of my room and sometimes the ceiling too – and I wonder what that damned creature must be thinking. I call it Lizzy now. I might as well have a name for something that has been sharing my room with me for the past one month. I’ve tried chasing it away – it just comes back… and because its so tiny, creepy and slimy, it just comes back from anywhere goddammit!
What must go on in the mind of Lizzy? Whether he likes the cream shade of paint of my walls? Or which house guest of mine should he petrify next by its visual presence? Or whether the switchboard is warm enough for it to go sit on it and warm its hideous arse on a cold rainy evening?
What does Lizzy eat? Fly poop? Fly kids? Yucky Lizzy has no taste.
Where does Lizzy sleep? Below my bed? Over my head? Lizzy go away, make haste!
How does Lizzy screw? Does he stay on top? Lizard sex seems so boring, so chaste.
Why does Lizzy live? Why inhabit my room? And make it look like such a waste!
Dirty dirty Lizzy! He is a dirty ol’ lizard. He is tiny with a curious little head that stays raised for some odd reason – I haven’t been near it enough to analyse the shade and texture of his unsightly skin – I’m sure it must have little beady eyes – snoopy poopy seedy beady eyes of a villain!
Egg shells don’t drive him away. I am going to try peacock feathers next. He doesn’t do any harm so to say, its just that his mere presence is disturbing and is driving me up the wall (up the wall….haha!). But seriously, any lizard who manages to make me write about it AND christen it – must be destroyed!!! But how? I prithee tell me…how? Must I commit bloody murder? But I can't… and not because I don’t want to…but because the thought of being close enough to kill it is killing me!
What should I do of dirty Lizzy? Lizzy is a plague that has taken over my walls. Lizzy is a creature who is a descendant of the evil dinosaurs. Lizzy is a laid back lizard that roves around my room. Lizzy is a curse to make me think about what a lizard must think? Or does a Lizard think? I don’t know. Go ahead, think about it. And tell me if you can think of anything.
P.S: Lizzy the Lizard is up for adoption. Roomie anyone?
Coffee-Soda on the Rocks
So I was trying to take a power ‘noon’ nap, when these memories from the past just flashed in my head. I think it all began with my craving for something to drink – I didn’t know what – so I was weighing my options in my head, wondering what is available in the refrigerator and will that be better than freshly brewed aromatic tea? – And then Red Bricks came to my mind.
Red Bricks was our little space in this inconspicuous corner of Kailash Colony in Delhi – a space that made sure that each one of us there has our own little private space to hold, to keep and to return to almost every evening. Large couches and warm wooden tables along with smoking and non-smoking zones, good music and happy hours discounts were all that we young-perpetually-broke college-goers could ask for. The red bricked walls were covered with framed posters of a thousand retro musicians. There was a corner to put up your own personal post-its and there were 4 shelves full of books (including the very curiosity inducing manuals of the kamasutra and monthly magazines like Rave). The menu was fantastic – or at least I felt that way – it had an assortment of coffees and teas (reason enough for me to fall in love with any café), and then had its famous oregano-cheese grilled sandwich – and a 20% discount to everyone from my college – it was our little haven, a respite from the fancy-shmancy baristas and mochas of the world, and a place where no one would kick you out even if you just ordered a coffee, picked up the newspaper and sat playing chess with a friend for hours.
It was my land of escape – when I needed my space – and hell, do I need my space all the time or what – when I had to get out of the kich-pich of the PG I lived in, or the zingbang of college activities or when I simply needed some time to sort out my own little insignificant personal problems that seemed so monumental back then. It was a place you would meet the boys – it was a place where little Friday night concerts would happen and the smog would take over the whole population flocked there for utter indulgence – it was a place where everyone had kissed at least once - it was the only place you wanted to be when an India-Pakistan match happened - it was a place that somehow gave you a sense of ownership and pride.
I have spent entire Saturdays there – downed 4 mugs of coffee and 2 plates of fries along with one good book and maybe a stray game of chess with a boy whose name I never asked. I have had this unique drink there that I have never seen anywhere else till date – this coffee soda thing with lots of ice– strong coffee with soda and the frothy thing that accumulated on top, there would be these 3 coffee beans joined at the hip – it was so strange and it was so fuzzy-fizzy and it was so nice. I miss that soda coffee thing. I miss just having an unassuming little inexpensive warm den to spend time in – I miss Red Bricks and my life back then. It was great while it lasted.
Red Bricks was closed down because of some legal problems when I was in my final year of college. We all mourned it heavily. We all missed it crazily. Something was just taken away form our lives. The coffee-soda drink was snatched away from mine. And never again have I had the opportunity to see so many cute guys just sitting lazily waiting to invite you for a game of ludo. We tried to find a substitute. We found something very remotely similar in Village Café – but it wasn’t walking distance from where I lived and I couldn’t sit there till 11 at night – and it was expensive and eventually became shady.
And then college ended, we all moved to new places, new campuses - NCC became my new friend for chai, Zaika was the roadside favourite for cold coffee – but Red Bricks remained irreplaceable – and the soda-coffee inimitable.
Some things in life…well, never have to change.
Red Bricks was our little space in this inconspicuous corner of Kailash Colony in Delhi – a space that made sure that each one of us there has our own little private space to hold, to keep and to return to almost every evening. Large couches and warm wooden tables along with smoking and non-smoking zones, good music and happy hours discounts were all that we young-perpetually-broke college-goers could ask for. The red bricked walls were covered with framed posters of a thousand retro musicians. There was a corner to put up your own personal post-its and there were 4 shelves full of books (including the very curiosity inducing manuals of the kamasutra and monthly magazines like Rave). The menu was fantastic – or at least I felt that way – it had an assortment of coffees and teas (reason enough for me to fall in love with any café), and then had its famous oregano-cheese grilled sandwich – and a 20% discount to everyone from my college – it was our little haven, a respite from the fancy-shmancy baristas and mochas of the world, and a place where no one would kick you out even if you just ordered a coffee, picked up the newspaper and sat playing chess with a friend for hours.
It was my land of escape – when I needed my space – and hell, do I need my space all the time or what – when I had to get out of the kich-pich of the PG I lived in, or the zingbang of college activities or when I simply needed some time to sort out my own little insignificant personal problems that seemed so monumental back then. It was a place you would meet the boys – it was a place where little Friday night concerts would happen and the smog would take over the whole population flocked there for utter indulgence – it was a place where everyone had kissed at least once - it was the only place you wanted to be when an India-Pakistan match happened - it was a place that somehow gave you a sense of ownership and pride.
I have spent entire Saturdays there – downed 4 mugs of coffee and 2 plates of fries along with one good book and maybe a stray game of chess with a boy whose name I never asked. I have had this unique drink there that I have never seen anywhere else till date – this coffee soda thing with lots of ice– strong coffee with soda and the frothy thing that accumulated on top, there would be these 3 coffee beans joined at the hip – it was so strange and it was so fuzzy-fizzy and it was so nice. I miss that soda coffee thing. I miss just having an unassuming little inexpensive warm den to spend time in – I miss Red Bricks and my life back then. It was great while it lasted.
Red Bricks was closed down because of some legal problems when I was in my final year of college. We all mourned it heavily. We all missed it crazily. Something was just taken away form our lives. The coffee-soda drink was snatched away from mine. And never again have I had the opportunity to see so many cute guys just sitting lazily waiting to invite you for a game of ludo. We tried to find a substitute. We found something very remotely similar in Village Café – but it wasn’t walking distance from where I lived and I couldn’t sit there till 11 at night – and it was expensive and eventually became shady.
And then college ended, we all moved to new places, new campuses - NCC became my new friend for chai, Zaika was the roadside favourite for cold coffee – but Red Bricks remained irreplaceable – and the soda-coffee inimitable.
Some things in life…well, never have to change.
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