Maximum city review

A book that hits you just like the overpowering stench that emanates between mahim and dadar from open train doors.Suketu Mehta's Maximum city brings into our clean pristine shuttered Mumbai lives,the grisly reality that we roll up our car windows against.
The glass partition that separates us from the spit splattered streets, the overflowing garbage, the lives that flourish in the shanties is rolled down and how.
Its a book that opens up the can of worms that Mumbai is and overturns it, leaving you to inspect your life in this teeming metropolis.
It is in much parts voyeuristic, and takes you deep inside the labyrinth that makes up Mumbai's murky underbelly.You are led through back doors of beer bars , front doors of brothels,the killer minds of the ganglords and the crowded lives in the slums.
The only negatives being,the experiences at places seem disjointed - the author seems to want to cram in it all from bollywood to bar dancers. And at places you recognize a clear attempt to shock and sensationalise.
Barring that, its a must read for every mumbaikar - only if you can stomach it, that is

Do you lose your sense of humour as you get older?

Shucks, does anyone still use shucks? Either I am getting older and as a consequence am losing my sense of humour or am losing my sense of humour and as a consequence getting older…


Really people should stop putting up all those flowery wisdom quotes and inspiration stories…

is there anything as beautiful as words?

a draft of last beautiful by robert sloan...the link is
http://robinsloan.com/last-beautiful

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I rode my bike to the beach on the last of the beau­ti­ful days.

Timon had to lure me out of the house. As a rule I’m unim­pressed by the sun, and I have this the­ory that beau­ti­ful days are totally over­rated. We all go crazy when the clouds part and the ground shim­mers. Every­body gets dis­tracted and scram­bles out­side as if it’ll never be nice again.

I’m not cranky! I just have a deep faith in the future, you know? There are beau­ti­ful days behind us and beau­ti­ful days to come—so relax and play some video games.

But it turns out my faith was unfounded, because Sat­ur­day, March 27 was, in fact, the last beau­ti­ful day.

On Sun­day, the sky over the city was gray-​​​​green. Mon­day was worse, and the week that fol­lowed was a cage of dark clouds that trailed cur­tains of cold rain. There was light­ning. It went on like that, week after week, month after month, all across the city, the penin­sula, and the headlands—the sun sim­ply refused to shine. And today, about a mil­lion of us are still stuck liv­ing in a weather non sequitur.

Some­thing fun­da­men­tal has changed; some­thing impor­tant is broken.

But I’m not just talk­ing about the sky.


The thing that sucked about the last beau­ti­ful day was that I didn’t get to spend it with Kate Trudeau.

Back at the begin­ning I lied: it wasn’t Timon’s coax­ing, exactly, that got me out of the house. Rather, it was the under­stand­ing that Timon is friends with Lacey Pell, and Lacey is friends with Kate Trudeau, and Lacey was def­i­nitely com­ing, so Kate Trudeau was maybe com­ing. I mean, they’re really good friends. She was almost def­i­nitely coming.

If this sounds ridicu­lous, it’s because it is. But I’m in a quasi-​​anti-​​relationship with Kate Trudeau, which means that we made out twice, hooked up once, got angry at each other 1.5 times, and were cur­rently trav­el­ing through some sort of roman­tic nether­world. Don’t look back, Orpheus.

There’s a spot in Golden Gate Park where you’re cruis­ing down the green-​​cosseted road and you make a sharp turn—there’s a wind­mill on your right—and sud­denly, there’s the ocean, so big and bright it messes up the color bal­ance of your eyes. It’s wide and white and waves are crash­ing and you can’t believe it’s been there all this time. And, espe­cially if you are coast­ing towards the pos­si­bil­ity of Kate Trudeau, it feels like the newest, biggest, great­est thing in the world. Like: wow, who invented this, and why didn’t I know ’til now?

But Kate Trudeau did not in fact come, so I spent the whole day pre­tend­ing to be inter­ested in Lacey’s new job and play­ing quarter-​​hearted fris­bee with some dude named Chad. Really, I was barely there; my spirit was out can­vass­ing other beaches, other streets.

home....

Broken pieces of yellow sun glinting bangles on the floor
A book of self deprecating poetry on the shelf
Dreams of grandeur wrapped in stained satin
Trust which gathers rust in the attic
Unclean looks stashed away in the bottom drawer
Laughter that made its escape as cerulean soap bubbles through the open window
Sorrow that is stored in barrels in the cellar
A patchwork quilt of emotions lies on the settee
An empty coffee cup with lipstick marks and a veiled sigh
A cesspit where conversations have run dry
Waiting that lies coiled over the threshold
A tarnished nameplate that adorns the closed door
Mind your step
Welcome home.







In Musing Mode is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.

Hmmm....pondering pondering...

Only after the last tree has been cut down.
Only after the last river has been poisoned.
Only after the last fish has been caught.
Only then will you find that
money cannot be eaten.

Prophecy of the Cree Native American Tribe

Are we losing our sense of self in the name of globalisation?

So have you received a mail lately that extols the virtues of growing up in the eighties and your eyes mist over with nostalgia? Do you find yourself wondering; is his blackberry better than mine? Are quite a few people you know either into Buddhism, Art of living, Vipassana, Yoga, Meditation or some other spiritual quest?

Guess you must be somewhere in your thirties and living in a metro if you answered yes to one or all of the above.

You must be one of the many, dwelling within the closed confines of a new order – You communicate mostly through sms and Facebook. You feast on reality shows and download podcasts. You watch the MUFA, PUFA content on oils and fried snacks. Your next vacation is no longer at a holiday home. And catching up with friends is now meeting at bars and pubs over drinks, with loud music playing in the background.

You shop at supermarkets, spend your weekends at malls and queue up for the latest release at the multiplex. You carry hand sanitizers in your bag, credit cards in your wallet and the hanging sword of EMI’s on your head.

Welcome the new breed living in post liberalization India. The shift from chawanprash to cornflakes has been a phenomenal one, just 10 -15 years’ post liberalization and we have had the boom of satellite TV, the credit card craze, high penetration of mobile phones, steadily increasing internet users and Indians traversing the globe like never before.

We are all now on the quest for smaller, better and faster. Just Google it, is the new just do it. No more research or fact finding for that truly accomplished feeling. Will it be a Samsung, Nokia, Motorola, iPhone or Blackberry? And will it be Pizza, Sushi, Khowsuey or a Gelato? Global trends, global exposure, too much information and too many choices are gradually eroding our identity.

Indian urban cities will soon become a homogenous fairy tale, just like every pizza hut looks the same anywhere you go. You will have the same retail chain of Departmental Store, Book Store; Supermarket, Restaurant and Coffee house which ever metro, mini –metro or even a tier 1 city you visit. Everybody now watches the same YouTube videos, forwards the same posts and uses the same Facebook applications. Conversation with anyone across the world is easy, we are all heading towards the ‘one’ culture of consumerism.

Just as human bodies, animals, plants and eco systems evolve over time so do societies. And India is now an evolving society grappling with the ills that come with fast paced growth. People are grappling with stress that comes with a fast paced lifestyle- living beyond their means and looking for newer and innovative means of entertainment to satisfy their limited attention spans. The overall quality of life has improved, but time is the new luxury in short supply to develop, sustain and maintain deep and lasting relationships. Hence the increasing need for answers and the spiritual quests, as the wants and the choices endlessly mirror each other into infinity.

The fabric of our society has started fraying at the edges. If we don’t wake up to this phenomenon in time, our local bhajiwala’s, fishwali’s, doodhwala’s and the kirana store wala who still know us by our first names, will be displaced by impersonal, swish, automated and sterilized environs of a supermarket. Too much of TV and internet is going to make us isolated and obese just like the Americans. Independent lifestyles, higher disposable incomes and more options are already leading to an increase in divorces, while the concept of a joint family is being edged out to make space for super kids and super moms in nuclear families.

Times indeed are a changing with many everyday rituals and old ingrained habits vanishing just like papads and achars left to dry on terrace tops. The disposable mentality has hit us with zip locks and aluminum foils. Remember recycling at its best, getting sweets from your neighbor neatly wrapped in a used plastic milk bag. Where are the traditional kid’s games? When was the last time you saw kids play Kabbadi or Lagori? When was the last time you saw friends just hanging out at building compounds or neighbours catching up over the day’s happenings?

Time we started somewhere. Let’s nurture our languages, traditions and customs. Patronize and bring alive our traditional cuisine, arts, crafts and games. Let’s spend more time with our parents, relatives and friends and less with mobile phones, television and the internet.

Let’s learn from the mistakes of the west. Let us always be the answer and the meaning that foreigners come in search of. Let’s not get caught up in the same mindless rat race of smaller, better, faster, richer and smarter. Let’s keep our values intact and ensure we pass them down to our children. Let’s not push them into the rat race and on the knife’s edge of a suicide.

Let our rich culture, traditions and heritage shine through the gaps of change.



In Musing Mode is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.

Musings of the day

We are all one universe inter-connected in mysterious ways, and I just figured it is called facebook.

Oh crap! – Two most succinct words in the English language and they connect perfectly with how I feel right now.

It all started with a goldfish bowl with two little listless fish in it. I hate this whole fish bowl and aquarium thing that people have a thing for. Can’t stand the poor fish swimming away in circles for our viewing pleasure. So was completely against the idea of having them swim around in circles in a fake foliage fish bowl at home.

After many a debate on the right and wrongs of keeping them at home, we finally decided to keep them. And for all of four days through everything one was aware of two small little red gold fish swimming around in circles. Eventually we got around to naming and observing them.

In this small little fish world, there was a bigger fish and a smaller one, where the bigger fish was constantly bullying the smaller one, who kept scurrying to whatever corner one can find in a circle to hide.

Anyway the point I am getting to is the smaller one died today!....a little dead fish in the universe and you feel…oh crap...you don’t even realise you get attached to these little things and before you know it…they are gone…..damn…I am never keeping a dog...