Category: Yesterday

  • Butter Chicken in Ludhiana: Travels in Small Town India

    Pankaj Mishra

    If one were to go by the title, Pankaj Mishra is hardly the person who can be trusted to write about the “national bird of khalistan”, after all he’s a complete vegetarian, but then this book is about ‘travels in small town India’. From Kanyakumari and Kottayam to Ambala and Murshidabad and Gaya to Mandi and Udaipur and many many more small towns across the length and breadth of India, this is quite a wonderful account of a transforming India..and Indians.(set in 1995)

    While there is an unmistakable cynicism that runs through many accounts, it does not really take away much from the conversations with a wide array of people – their fears, their hopes and aspirations, and how they cope with the changes around them. Television viewing habits, consumerism, big dreams, all figure as a framework for the author to show the ‘progress’ that Indians seem to be making as far as lifestyles go. ‘Progress’, because the author doesn’t seem to be entirely pleased with these changes, and the effects on existing ways of life, but since we also see them through the eyes of the people the author meets, the book manages to retain some objectivity.

    While some would say there is an aimlessness to the travels, I’d say that despite the differences in locales and attitudes, there is a common thread that runs through the book – of humans, their reactions to change, and how in many ways, a lot of things remain unchanged, despite what the superficial would indicate.

    The book worked for me in many ways – I could find glimpses of ‘The Romantics’ (a later work of fiction from the same author, which happens to be a favourite) as his travels take him to Banaras. It also brought about some nostalgia, as it is set in the early 90s, and the changes that the author talks about are something that anyone in the their teens (or even older) during that time, can identify with. These, and the wry humour – especially the part where he’s mistaken for a potential groom by Mr.Sharma in Ambala – that surfaces occasionally, took it many notches above a general travel book..

  • Watermark

    Sometime back, while trying recollect the name of a Chinese restaurant in Koramangala which existed circa 2003, I got stuck. Despite different mashups of the various terms used typically for Chinese restaurant names, nothing sounded right. It was a small mom-and-pop joint and since the net didn’t then feature all the resources it has now, I was well and truly stumped. It was quite disappointing since we’d had many a meal there. It didn’t help that I have this ‘thing’ about remembering such places, events and people. I feel as though I have betrayed them in some way. Yes, weird, thank you. :p  The book, for once, couldn’t help either. I finally got the answer by checking with a friend who’d been in Koramangala long enough. Once I got the name, I even managed to get an image on the net – Szechuan Garden. 🙂

    A few days later, I watched Pakal Nakshatrangal, a movie about a script writer – director played by Mohanlal. The narrative is from the perspective of his son, an author, who writes his father’s biography, and in the process tries to solve the mystery of his death. The movie begins with the demolition of ‘Daffodils’, the cultural hub of the previous era’s intellectuals and the scene of Mohanlal’s many exploits. There is a sequence in which a television newsreader reports this and we can see different people viewing it from different places reminiscing about their experiences there. A group of people connected by a place.

    A place or an event in that place – that means something to a set of people – something only they share. And when they cease to exist, the memory disappears. Its as though whatever they shared never existed. A bit like the Garden State quote that I often end up using “Maybe that’s all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.”

    It reminded me of another Malayalam movie I’d seen a while back. Kerala Cafe, an anthology of ten short movies, with the place – Kerala Cafe, a coffee shop in a railway station, serving as the connection. But more than that entire movie, I remembered my favourite – Island Express, written and directed by Shankar Ramakrishnan. (Part 1, 2, seems unedited, and has incomplete subtitle help!!) [Spoiler] The story is about several people who were in some way affected by the Perumon tragedy in 1988, and their meeting at the fateful place a couple of decades later. Its narrated by Leon, who  lost a lot himself, but makes a photo-book of it after seven years of efforts. I realise that Leon’s phrase, that remained with me long after the movie, is what this thought is all about.

    As time passes, and life moves on, some of us are left holding the memories of these places, sometimes by choice, sometimes because we have no other choice, and sometimes by chance. But there’s no doubt about the transience of it all. Its after all, a matter of time. Perhaps the entire idea of a lifestream – the things I share here, and everywhere else is all about the phrase that Leon uses – ‘a memory with a watermark’.

    until next time, memories without shelf-lives

  • Sikkim Day 3 – Tea, Gangtalk, and the legend of Pawan Chamling

    The alternate plan we chose consisted of the tea estates in South Sikkim, and the Padmasambhava statue in Namchi. Our driver was the same, and that’s when we figured that we still didn’t know his name. Our expectations of a unique local name evaporated at the mention of ’Prakash’. We followed the same route as the day before, this time though, Prakash offered a lift to some lady friend/relative of his. The sign on the road that said ‘Welcome to Nathula and the old Silk Route’ seemed to be mocking us.

    The tea estates were actually more peaceful than Rumtek, as we watched the workers, laden with baskets, moving slowly.

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    httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s7OdfkZfmsA

    The rain insisted on greeting us again, and the tea estates and Namchi were shrouded in mist, just before the clouds opened. The kids didn’t seem too unhappy about having to stop their football game though. 🙂 The break meant that I even tried my hand at doing what  I’ve seen Twilight Fairy and Ashu Mittal do amazingly well.

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    Meanwhile, the mists meant that even the tall, all seeing statue couldn’t have had a view worth talking about. Pawan Chamling made his first appearance as the man who had conceptualised the entire statue idea. Thankfully, he didn’t do a Mayawati. Thereafter, we would behold this name on many bridges and other constructions. To borrow an old Escotel ad line “Only the rain covers Sikkim more than Pawan Chamling does”

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    We arrived late at Gangtok, at about 3, and were famished. We decided to drop in at Gangtalk. Though we initially got a seat inside, we managed to shift to one that offered a good view of MG Marg. By the time we got our food, it was almost 4. It turned out that they had other burning issues to tackle in the kitchen, literally. We spent our time looking at the Bollywood posters on display – Teesri Manzil, Guide, and hey, Karz. I looked at D, and she glared back. There was a raucous group at the neighboring table. A kitty party, we thought, and points were being given for the most absurd cackle that could be generated. If ever a ‘Gangtok Times’ were launched, this crowd would probably populate Page 3. My prayers, Gangtok. The meal was redeemed by a superb Khwa Sye (sic). (Khao Soi) The owners were quite apologetic about the delay, and we saw the scene enacted at many other tables. We were the last set, it meant we had a longer chat. They promised that if we returned for dinner, they would redeem themselves.

    We had planned to catch the ropeway in the evening. We reached there at 4.40, and learned that though the information that it was open till 5 was right, ticket sales stopped at 4.30. We trudged back, to a place where I clicked ’the bull in the china shop’, even as D bought herself a nice handbag, and finally ended up across the street  (from Gangtalk) at Baker’s Café. Mostly for the MG Marg view. We were lucky enough not to get a seat that offered the view, because the other side had an even more splendid view.. of the mountains.

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    Surrounded mostly by foreigners and giggly high school girls, yet another music related nostalgic journey was triggered as I listened to ‘The Power of Love’ and ‘I want to know what love is’. The girls seemed to be enjoying it much, and I wondered whether these songs would always appeal to an age in life and stand the test of time, despite other entrants in the music scene.

    We arrived at Mintokling, struggling for breath, and caught glimpses of  poor Shashi Tharoor also struggling to retain his post. Dinner was at Café Live & Loud, and the chilly pork was awesome. Another place with a great ambiance. They’ll probably remember me too, when they get their internet bill.

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    Reciprocally, D would remember them later at night too, as her cheese pizza retraced its path. I wondered if she  had sampled the massively popular, Danny Denzongpa owned ‘Hit’ beer  (he also owns an alcohol brand called ‘He-Man’) when I was looking at the ‘pure’ Gujarati restaurant across the road.

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    For now, we hit the bed.

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  • Relative..reality

    For some strange reason, I’ve read Pankaj Mishra’s books in reverse order..well, almost. I read The Romantics first, a long time before, and it remains a book I’m very attached to. Its a good book, but I’ve never figured out the exact reason for this strange bond, in spite of making a rare exception and reading it a second time. Maybe it was the time I first read it (a stage of life) or its characters or its title, someday I hope to know, it will tell me a bit more about myself, perhaps. But meanwhile, from The Romantics, I was lured straight to ‘Temptations of the West‘. A few months later, I read ‘An End to Suffering‘, which served as a kind of introduction to Buddhism for me, as Mishra mapped it on to his own spiritual evolution. I finally completed his first book, ‘Butter Chicken in Ludhiana: Travels in small town India’ more recently. Though its title would indicate so, calling it a travelogue would be a gross injustice, as it also manages to recreate the India of the 90’s. So, yes, it is a travelogue, but like many of its ilk, it works in space and time. No, this is not really a review. 🙂

    I’m quite glad that I read his books in the order I did. If I read it earlier, I might have been irritated by the cynicism in the book. But having read his later books, I felt almost as though I was with him, as his thoughts and personality evolved. The book gives you loads of nostalgia triggers – from Baba Sehgal’s ‘Main bhi Madonna’ (i still remember the Magnasound casette cover :D) to mentions of Nonie and Mamta Kulkarni, it draws upon tiny incidents of those forgotten days.

    Many of you may not be able to associate at all with those three people mentioned above, for me, they bring back an era, their importance is relative. I even wondered whether, in future, we will have nostalgia townships, like we have the amusement parks now. The 70s, 80s, 90s re-created in terms of people, music, movies, fashion and all the elements of pop culture that can be attributed to an era. So, when you have those nostalgia pangs, you can call a few friends and take a vacation to bring back a period in your life. 🙂

    A common theme struck me as I ‘moved’ through the book’s pages. Mishra mentions Murshidabad looking towards Calcutta in hope, for job prospects and a better life in general. In many people’s perception, Kolkata is perhaps the worst of the metros on those terms. He writes about the ‘immense cultural vacuum of North india’, and ‘looking towards Bengal for instruction’, and the decline of Allahabad and Benaras. But I realised that for me, those two places were perhaps teeming with culture and history. Again, in Murshidabad, he talks to a person who considers the Babri Masjid as just another mosque, while a nation still burns at regular intervals – the repercussions of an act long ago. The common theme is the relative nature of these things – they means different things to different people, all relative versions of the same thing equally real, when considered from each point of view.

    I remember thinking about progress during my Andaman visit. I saw it in its current state, and can visualise it in the years to come, as tourism becomes a larger factor in the scheme of things, and the changes it will invariably bring in, into a way of life. To quote from the book we’ve been discussing

    Civilisation, however, is on the move, and as E.M.Cioran remarks, nothing more characterises the civilised man than the zeal to impose his discontents on those so far exempt from them.

    When the tourist money flows into the system, it will help the locals afford many things that they perhaps didn’t have access to. But even those who do not wish to change might be sucked into this new way of life because it would be a question of survival. Were they better off and happier before all this happens to them? I don’t know, because after all, even happiness is so relative now.

    Objectivity –  based on observable phenomena and uninfluenced by emotions or personal prejudices, and not the result of any judgments made by a conscious entity. But everything is relative. Things not seen from one’s own perspective don’t seem to matter, and objectivity’s definition would suggest “no one’s perspective”. Maybe that’s why we don’t care for it much anymore?

    until next time, time, space and relativism