Going Down the Travelled Road

“Often a star
was waiting for you to notice it. A wave rolled toward you
out of the distant path, or as you walked
under an open window, a violin
yielded itself to your hearing. All this was mission.”- Rainer Maria Rilke                                                                                                          

Doors and windows hold a special fascination for me. I think, at first glance, like its inhabitants they too lend a city, a town or a home its character. Just imagine stepping into this concrete jungle we call Mumbai and all you can see around you is a sea of towering 4D-rectangles whose sides are etched with endless smaller rectangles, the innumerable rows and columns of windows. A mosaic in geometric shapes, lit or unlit, depending upon the time of the day. Unplanned, uncouth, unstoppable- devoid of any beauty or architectural planning- they seem to be just springing up and growing by the day.

Somehow, I always feel that windows or doors can say a lot about the place, the home or the person who lives there. In Mumbai, the most precious commodity is space and that kind of justifies the uses to which a window is put to in this city- to dry clothes, to store odds and ends, to nurture plants, to dry pickles and papads, and even extend and convert them into puja niches or study spaces. Or, for some lucky ones, to just enjoy the sea-view or the rains!

We have always heard the saying that when one door closes, another opens. But, as Alexander Graham Bell put it, “We often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.”

An open door can stand for invitation, welcome, opportunity, a reason to explore or simply a sign of carelessness. Similarly, a closed door can stand for closure, seclusion, privacy, mystery, departure, safety or can be a sign to stay away.

A window can be our link with the outside world; it lets in the sun and shuts out the storm. It is our corner where we can sit, relax, introspect, dream or just watch the day go by. It is our source of life as it brings in the fresh air, sustains us and our plants, invigorates our minds, gives wings to our imagination, be our means of communication, lends the room its character, gives the room its view.

As Ingmar Berman put it, “I’m very, very lazy. I like to sit in a chair and look out the window and do nothing.”

I like doing the same too but, for today, let me just step out of my favourite corner by the window and do a visual tour of some other doors and windows, some well-known and some lesser known, that I have come across during my travels to other towns.

 Epitome of Simplicity: A door in Hridaykunj, Mahatma Gandhi and Kasturba Gandhi’s home in Sabarmati Ashram from 1918-1930. It was from here that the famous Dandi March began on 12^th March 1930.

In Memoriam: A small window on the landing platform from where steps descend through five storeys to a step-well or vav in Adalaj, near Ahmedabad. This step well was built by Ruda, wife of Vaghela chief Virasimha, in memory of her husband.

Nakashi : Engraving on a niche at the Jama Masjid, Ahmedabad . This yellow sandstone mosque was built in 1424 during the reign of Ahmed Shah I.

The Prisoner’s View: The Bridge of Sighs connected the dungeons with the trial room in the Doge’s Palace, Venice. As the convicts were taken across the enclosed limestone bridge this was their last view of Venice through the two small rectangular windows with stone grilles. Lord Byron made it famous in the lines, “I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs; a palace and a prison on each hand.”

O my Luve’s like a red, red rose: The Great West Window in St. Giles Cathedral, Edinburgh,is dedicated to Robert Burns, Scotland’s greatest poet. In keeping with the thematic content of Burns’ poetry, the lower panels are in vivid green to depict the natural world, the middle panels with human figures depict human unity and the top portion depicts a sun with a heart like love blossoming into a rose.

I am the Gate: Porta Sancta or the Holy door, St. Peter’s Basilica, Vatican. The brass panels, made by Vico Consorti, replaced the original wooden ones in 1949. This door is opened by the Pope in the beginning of the Holy Year, once in 25 years. It was last opened to the pilgrims in the year 2000. It represents Jesus, the Good Shepherd. It is also known as the Door of the Great Pardon.

The Gates of Paradise: This ten panelled gilded bronze door, sculpted by Lorenzo Ghiberti in mid-15^th century, depicting scenes from the Old Testament is one of the three doors to the octagonal Baptistery of St. John or San Giovanni, located opposite the Duomo in Florence. Now the original pair of doors, post restoration, is displayed in the Museo dell’Opera del Duomo and a replica adorns the east entrance to the baptistery.

Welcome to the Abode of God: Sculptures of Ganga and Yamuna on either side along with dwarpalas at the doorjamb of the entrance to the remains of a 6th-7th century AD Shiva temple at Malhar, Chhattisgarh and also a 11th century AD Vishnu temple at Janjgir, Chhattisgarh.

Home Sweet Home: A beautifully decorated and bright entrance to a house on a street in Edinburgh.

Jewel in the Crown: Standing atop a volcanic rock and dominating the city’s skyline is the Edinburgh Castle which has a long history during which it has served as a fortress, a royal residence, a military garrison, a royal treasury and a prison. At its entrance, two of Scotland’s mighty heroes, William Wallace and Robert the Bruce, stand guard. It houses one of the oldest buildings of Britain, Saint Margaret’s Chapel, and the Crown Jewels of Scotland.

The Great Wall of India: Kumbhalgarh, a 15^th century fort built by Rana Kumbha of Mewar, has the second longest perimeter wall of 36 km, after the Great Wall of China, which incidentally is 21,196 km (honestly, no comparison). The architectural credit goes to Mandan. The fort is situated on the Aravalli range at a height of 3600 ft near Udaipur, Rajasthan.It houses many Hindu and Jain temples apart from the royal palaces. It is also the birthplace of Maharana Pratap. The fort has seven fortified gates with names as varied as Aerat Pol, Ram Pol, Hanuman Pol, Halla Pol, Vijay Pol. The main entrance is Ram Pol, and what strikes the visitors is that it is in the shape of the gigantic feet of an elephant.

Hey, how old are you? Inside the Westminster Abbey, in a vestibule leading to the Chapter House, is a small wooden door which has been scientifically dated to about 1050 AD. This is the oldest door in Britain. It was probably a part of the original church of King Edward who died in 1066 AD (canonized by the Pope as St. Edward the Confessor in 1161) and later reduced in size and re-used in the present Abbey.

The Kaleidoscope: Nestled among the lush green forests in the Aravalli range, on the eastern bank of  Lake Pichola, is the Udaipur Palace, a symbol of power and pride for the Mewar dynasty. The palace was started in the mid-16^th century under Udai Singh II when they shifted their capital from Chittorgarh to Udaipur. The beauty of this palace is breath-taking and each mahal has its distinct style and décor. But what caught my attention were the doors and windows in it. They come in so many shapes, colours and sizes that you are left completely dazzled.

The dwarf’s door: An interesting feature is the size of the doors inside the Udaipur palace.You have to bend low to enter. Why would the mighty rulers of Mewar choose to make them so small and narrow? Narrow passages, winding staircases with small entry and exit doors would slow down the enemies allowing those inside the palace to get time to fight back.

My favourite : While walking on the streets of Rome, I loved this window and so clicked it!

Welcome to the Vatican Museum: As you approach the entrance door to the Vatican Museum and you look up, who are they looking at you from above the arch? They are none other than Michelangelo and Raphael sitting beside the coat of arms of Pope Pius XI, who had commissioned the structure on formation of the State of Vatican in 1930s.They epitomize Renaissance sculpture and painting as they sit there with their tools of art.

Is that Diagon Alley?  Victoria Street is a picturesque, winding, cobblestone lane that connects the Grassmarket with Lawnmarket in the Old Town of Edinburgh. Its steep slope and a graceful curve adds to its beauty. The street is lined with the old stone buildings with their brightly coloured facades and glass paneled doors and windows. They house shops selling interesting artefacts from food, wine to magic props and souvenirs. This street is supposed to be the inspiration for J.K.Rowling’s Diagon Alley, the fictional shopping area for the wizards in the Harry Potter series.

The Lost Abbey: As you step out of the Palace of Holyroodhouse to explore the gardens of the royal residence, you cannot miss the ruins of an Abbey (Holy +rood meaning Holy+ Cross) built in the 12^th century and home to the royals for many centuries. Its vaults still house the remains of many a king and queen. The skeletal frame of this once magnificent structure still holds the ground, not ready to let go of its once renowned grandeur. The body may have long gone but the soul still remains as we look up at the empty outlines of the abbey’s magnificent doors and windows.

DS

 

 

 

We, the People

Chaudhury Sahab, the postman has delivered this daak.

Chaudhury Chandrabhanu examined the colourful daak placed on the silver plate before him. He picked it up, closed his eyes and picked up the card with both his hands, brought it close to his nose and smiled. He had seen the name of the sender and knew it was an invitation from his old friend Shahbaaz. He quickly opened up the flap and pulled out the card inside and as he was reading the same, the smile slowly vanished from his face. His wife Minu, sitting on the sofa and knitting what looked like a sweater asked, “What happened? Why are you looking so upset?”

Shahbaaz’s daughter Shabnam is getting married next month and he has sent an invitation only for the reception. There is no invitation for the nikah. It is an insult to me and I am not going to Lahore just to attend an invitation for a reception.

Why don’t you speak to him once? Maybe there has been some mistake. Such mistakes happen in wedding where there is so much confusion.

Chaudhury Sahab did not react to Minu. After an early dinner, he hit the bed but found it difficult to sleep. Shahbaaz was his childhood friend and they grew up together in Lahore…went to the same school and college. They were inseparable and played in the college hockey team together as well as in many demonstrations against the colonial rule. Around 1920, when both the friends were participating in the Khilafat Movement, Chandra’s father decided to wind up his business in the city and move to Delhi. The senior Chaudhury was a pucca Arya Samaj follower and understood the political winds early. With his business acumen, he was able to quickly re-establish his grain business in Delhi and constructed a huge kothi  a stone’s throw from Gurudwara Rakabgunj. He fell ill and passed away in 1936, just before commencement of the Berlin Olympic Games. Chandra took over the business and made it even bigger in the next ten years. However, the separation was cruel for the friends but they kept in touch with each other with regular letters as well as a trunk call on special days.

Next morning, Chandra woke up early and after his glancing over the newspaper which was full of political news of British planning to quit India and such rumours were gaining ground especially after the Naval Mutiny at Bombay. However, the inside pages were the ones which were scary…..stories about people fighting each other on religious lines. The country which was on the verge of independence was facing the prospect of two nations being born instead of one. Chandra, put down the newspaper and booked a call for Lahore and then got through.

Shahbaaz, many congratulations on Shabnam’s marriage. This is very good news. I got the card yesterday. What does the groom do… is he from our old mohalla?

No Chandu. The boy is from Hyderabad and comes from a good family. I hope bhabhijaan and you are coming to Lahore.

Shahbaaz, I do not think we are coming. I am actually very upset with you.

But why…what have I done?

How dare you send me the invitation for the reception only. What about the nikah… are we not invited for it? How could you send me this half an invitation? Have you forgotten that I was there for your wedding, I was there when Shabnam was born, I was there to give my shoulder when your abba passed away…. I thought you considered me a brother as I did to you. But today, you’ve broken my heart by making me just another guest at the celebrations.

Chandu bhaijaan, I am very sorry. I, too, was feeling upset when posting the invitation but then seeing the conditions prevailing in the country when neighbours are up in arms in the name of religion against people with whom they have lived for ages, people with whom they shared so many happy memories. The conditions have reached to a state of no return. So, I thought that you and the other friends who have gone far away from Lahore for a better life would not even accept my invitation.

Shahbaaz, my brother, how could you even think that I would not want to participate in Shabnam’s wedding just because I happen to be of another religion. She is like my own daughter and I have such beautiful memories of her as a little baby and then she had turned into a pretty girl by the time you all came down to Delhi to our house for the vacation.

I am so happy Chandu that you are still the same. We will be really very happy to have you join the full celebrations from mehendi to reception. With you around the house, I will be so much relieved of managing the madness all alone. Please bring bhabhijaan along with you. Consider this as a personal invitation and, of course, the card is on its way to your address.

Chandu felt happy as he put down the phone. He took a couple of days off from his business and went around the city to meet his old college friends who had settled down in Delhi, far from their beloved Lahore. He knew all the others would have also got half the invitation from Shahbaaz so he took upon himself to be latter’s emissary to ensure all the old friends came together for Shabnam’s wedding. The friends readily agreed that this would be good chance to visit Lahore one last time before mad people tore down the essential fabric of the land.

A day before the wedding, the train from Delhi rolled into Lahore station. As the five friends and their families got off, Shahbaaz and his wife, Rubina, were waiting there with garlands for all. As they put the garlands, they held each other tight and everyone was in tears. They would not let go of the hug and the other people on the station gave a bewildered look as they saw some well-dressed people with flowers round their necks and tears flowing from their eyes. Shahbaaz and Rubina were inconsolable, as were the others. They, finally, got on to the cars outside and drove to the palatial house of Shahbaaz, a place the friends knew so well. As they stepped out of the cars, Shabnaam came running towards Chandra…. Chachujaan…and she wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheeks. She had forgotten in this excitement that the mehendi had not yet dried. But no one cared. This was one such moment no one wanted to miss…they all wanted time to travel back or stand still for now.

I am so happy that you have come….my favourite Chachujaan.

The guests were ushered into their respective rooms. The festivities in the haveli now looked complete. After a while, there was a knock on the door and they were asked to join others for lunch. It was a massive spread of food and sherbets but Minu was finding it a bit awkward there. Then a lady of the house stepped forward and said,

Bhabhi, we have made a special vegetarian thali for you. Every item on your thali was made on a separate chulha and no garlic or onion was used. Even the utensils on which they have been served are new.

Thank you, Fareeda. I knew if anyone would remember my food habits, it would be you. How are you?

I am fine Bhabhi. I am sure you know by now that my husband divorced me recently and now I stay with Shahbaaz Bhai here in this haveli.

I am sad to hear that Fareeda. I did not know about it at all. Please sit with me and eat. I don’t mind your eating the Mughlai cuisine. I do it every day for Chandra just cannot get over his Lahori palate and everyday he makes the khansaama prepare the food that this city is so famous for. And after eating it he will always complain that it does not taste the same. It must be the water of this city which gives the food its distinct flavor.

Later, Minu retired to the room and Chandra joined her.

People in the house are so happy seeing us all here. I think they did not expect us agreeing to come to a Muslim shaadi especially as there are talks about riots spreading in almost all the corners of the country.

Yes, I am also very happy that you asked me to speak to Shahbaaz. It cleared out all the fears and misconceptions and look here we are enjoying every moment of his happy coming together.

People have really changed lately. All the politicians have been feeding them with wrong messages and turning brothers to killers and butchers.

I met Fareeda at lunch today.

Yes, I knew. Shahbaaz had told me about it once but I did not tell you

I know about Fareeda and you. You wanted to marry her and she too was agreeable. Her father had come to your house at Lahore but your father did not give his consent. Was it the main reason why he decided to move out of Lahore?

That’s history, Minu. All that you have heard is true. I did not have the courage to go against Chaudhury Sahab then but I have no regrets. I do not believe people have changed now. People have had their divisions then as they have now. The only difference is that earlier the differences were personal but now they are communal and mostly instigated. The same will be the situation fifty or even hundred years from now. We seem to have forgotten how beautiful this land of ours was. First, it was the goras who ravaged this country and soon it will be our own people. They did it for purely commercial and imperial reasons and we will do it for reasons we shall create to gain and hold on to power. I am reminded of the beautiful lines from Iqbal’s poem…Saare Jahan se Achcha, where he says:

मज़हब नहीं सिखाता, आपस में बैर रखना।

हिन्दी हैं हम वतन हैं, हिन्दोस्ताँ हमारा॥ 

Shabnam’s marriage went off well and the celebrations were such that the locals thought the nation had won its independence and the whole city was illuminated and crackers filled up the sky all night long. The guests from Delhi stayed back for a couple of days more and then boarded the train from Lahore station. Shahbaaz and Rubina were there to see them off. Once again the farewell was as teary as was the welcome. The passengers and the people at the platform prayed earnestly for the iron wheels to reach their destination safe and sound for the news of attacks on trains was becoming a common story.

SS 

 

 

 

 

 

Dance of Demos

Wake up, you idiot…how much longer will you sleep?

I opened my eyes a wee bit and said, It is still dark outside. Why are you waking me up now?

You need to wake up early, take your bath, say your morning prayers, wear a fresh set of clothes and eat a healthy breakfast.

But why? Don’t you know that I am no longer in service and do not need to go to office. I am my own king now.

You idiot, this is not about you being a king. It is you, who will decide the fate of the next king.

This is getting out of control and who the hell are you to tell me what I am supposed to do. I have not given this authority to anyone except my better half and even she never wakes me up nowadays. I opened my eyes fully and saw someone sitting on my side of the bed wearing strange set of clothes. He appeared to have a flute in one hand and a peacock feather tucked on this forehead. It did not take me long to recognize and I quickly straightened my back and sat up.

God Bhai…how come you are here today and I have not understood why you are waking me up when it is only 4am now.

Don’t you know what date it is today?

Yes, I know… when I slept, it was 19^th of May so today has to be 20^th of May and I do not remember anything special happened on this day for me to get ready to go to a temple and start saying my prayers in reverence.

Arrey, you thankless fool. How can you forget that today is the day you are to go out and cast your vote and fulfill your duty as a proud and responsible citizen of this glorious country.

Ha ha…what a joke God Bhai. I am not voting this time.

May I ask you why?

You see, the candidates for most of the parties have multiple police records and you want me to choose between who has the lesser number of cases or whose crimes are less heinous?

I thought you would not pay much heed to such trivial matters especially after having worked in insurance industry all your life. Don’t you always say that only those who work hard and sincerely will have audit queries against their names. Those who don’t work, they will never have such issues. The police cases for politicians are like your audit blots on you. Because they work for the welfare of the people, those against them will file police complaints to stall them from doing good work. So you must actually check who has more cases against his name to choose the right candidate.

Dear God Bhai, how do you expect me to vote for people who have not even done their matriculation? These illiterates have been ruling the country and no wonder they never pay any heed to education which has gone to the dogs completely.

Do you remember the school debate you participated in where the topic you spoke for the motion was, “Education is an impediment to progress”? You spoke with such passion and credibility and landed yourself the best speaker prize. You had convinced the judges by stating that those who are highly literate and educated, they never dare to challenge the existing order which leads to impasse and subsequent decay. These politicians embody the spirit of new dynamic India which is on the move. Standard certifications and curriculum would have made them boring and stagnant. Moreover, you need to tell me what good has your education in school and college done. All that you learnt in Algebra and Trigonometry are a waste…all the Rise of Modern West and Opium Wars chapters in history are of what use?  Anyway, with the new syllabus and theories on Indian History, your graduation and post-graduation degrees are already questionable as the texts and tutorials you did have now been all been proven to be complete trash. So young man, just do as I say…Vote karo!

I am not convinced God Bhai with your arguments. These people who seek our votes are like ghosts who appear and then vanish into thin air afterwards. Most of them are not seen till the next elections and the winners are rarely seen taking up any worthwhile issues in the parliament. All they do is thump the desk or walk out. In short, all that they promise is never fulfilled. I am, in fact, reminded of a forward on FB that went like this:

A male mosquito tells his wife: Darling I will hunt a lion for you. The female mosquito says… Ok, fine. Just go to sleep. Male mosquito now says that I will bite an elephant and bring his blood to you. The wife sleepily says…Sure love, now go to sleep. The male mosquito keeps promising to his partner many things and finally says, Honey, I’ll do anything for you. The infuriated female now shouts back and said, you silly @#$@#$...how many times have I told you not to come home after biting a politician.

Ha ha…good one and pretty apt. But this is the situation all over the world. Politicians do lie and lie a lot more during elections but they also do some good. Can you say that there has been no improvement in your life or amenities that have made your lifestyle better? You should thank the politicians for that.

Someone said that thanking a politician for the roads and bridges is like thanking the ATM machine for giving you your money. After getting taxed nearly fifty percent of my hard earned money, all the politicians end up doing is giving away things as free from rations to bus rides. None of them comes back with a report card or an expense account statement and tells me what happened to all the monies I paid. So please let me sleep well and spend the day watching some nice K-series or a Malayalam movie. That gives me pleasure as against going out in the blazing sun, waiting in a serpentine queue and then pressing some button, not knowing who is controlling the boxes.

If you have so much problem with the politicians, why don’t you jump into the fray and bring about a change. It is no point cribbing and being critical of the situation. You should take the plunge and do good to the country.

That’s a good one, God Bhai. Everyone knows that you are the biggest politician, right from the days of Mahabharata till date. You know about everyone, you control everything and yet you are wanting to give up your work for now these people are beyond your chakravyu? Not me, dear God, it is you who could have ensured order and good life for people. Yet you chose to ignore and let these people take the gullible populace for a ride, year after year, election after election. We now have a world where the poor are very poor and the rich are very rich and a majority of politicians are now the new gods on land. How come you do not set these people right? You could have ensured peace, honesty and happiness on the planet but you chose to shut your eyes to all that is wrong.

Oh, now the blame is on me! Yes, I control the universe but I also let people do their part, be it good or evil. But you must remember that if there were no evil, there would be no God. Who would pray and seek redemption and salvation if all were living a peaceful and happy life…None! We can go on with this argument indefinitely but there is one more choice that you have. Go out there and press the NOTA button which will give a message to the people and politicians that none of the candidates are coming up to your expectations and you are giving them a thumbs down sign.

That is not a bad idea. I did consider the same but it seems they only put the indelible ink on the index finger. If they allowed the NOTA voters to put it on their middle finger, I would happily vote and send out my message strongly in the social media. I am sure a lot many like me would be willing to do the same. It is possible that by the next elections, the NOTA is the biggest vote bank that forces the politicians to think and do a course correction. Since, you seem to be so interested in my country’s elections, why don’t you go out and vote for me.

How can I? it is your name on the voters’ list and only you can cast your vote.

Here, take my voter card and vote on my behalf. The poll officials will never be able to detect the difference. Look at this voter ID of mine… I am certain my parents would have sought for a DNA check to get a confirmation that I am truly their biological son! The same is with my PAN, Aadhar and Driver’s license. And then you are the biggest bahuroopi….you can  turn day into night in the blink of an eye…ha ha!

Now that you have woken me up completely, one last question to you God Bhai…why are the elections called the Dance of Democracy.

That’s easy. The politicians with their musical instrument called been or pungi are the charmers. The snake dancing to the tune are the issues and causes they espouse. The hordes of people watching the show in a state of hypnosis are the demos or the people. It is not the snake that is actually swaying but this crowd unknowingly which is dancing to every move the charmer and the snake are making. Finally, at the end of the show, the charmer politician packs the issues and causes into a case along with all the money that comes from the thrilled crowds and vanishes only to appear again after years at the same spot.

Is that the reason you too have a flute always in one hand and a chakra that keeps going round and round hypnotizing the gullible public. They keep expecting more from you and you vanish after a quick darshan here and there.

Ha ha…good comparison my friend. Time for me to ‘vanish’ as you put it and for you to listen to Sachin Tendulkar’s AI generated voice, which is nowhere close to his own, asking you to cast your valuable vote.

SS

Bom Bahai Diaries 3- Vasco ka Nama

Sir, in the last travelogue you made me a philosopher and a lot of people seemed to have enjoyed the blog. I have a burning desire since childhood of being a king and living a regal life. During my school days, I would always take part in plays but never got to play the role of a king that I desperately longed for. How about you making me a feel like a king, even if it is for a day?

Let me think Vicky… king…ruler…emperor..mmmm… I think I can do it. Stand still as I cast my magic spell…. Abracadabra…gilli gilli choo… here I lay on thy head the crown and anoint you King Manuel the Great and I shall be your court jester, Vasco, the man who discovered the sea route for you in the Far East.

Sir, what you have put on my head is not a crown but a colourful cap.

Please understand my noble king…this is no ordinary cap… this is the cap of the royalty of Portugal something which only the special ones like CR7 are entitled to wear. For you this may appear to be a cap but to the people outside, it will be seen as a magnificent jewelled crown befitting your stature. It shall bring forth to you, honour, love and fame that comes with it.

I believe you Vasco, but hope it is not a repeat of Emperor’s New Clothes in modern times.

Never my King…Never! Now let me take you to your impregnable fortress at Bandra.

Castella de Aguada or "Fort of the Waterpoint", was originally called by the Portuguese builders Forte de Bandorá (or Bandra Fort). It was built by the Portuguese in 1640 as a watchtower overlooking Mahim Bay, the Arabian Sea and the southern island of Mahim. The fort guarded the northern sea route into Mumbai Harbour. This sea route, a large estuary, was later reclaimed from the sea in the nineteenth century. During the Portuguese rule, it was armed with seven cannons and other smaller guns as defence. A freshwater spring in the vicinity supplied potable water to passing ships, thus lending the fort its name. Today, very little remains of the fort but it is a great place to spend the evenings, watching the sun set and the cultural functions that happen at the amphitheatre.

Picture courtesy: Internet

As we were coming out of the Bandra Fort, there was a big crowd outside one particular house. His Highness asked me, “Vasco, what is happening there? Why are so many people standing there and not looking at the sea on the other side but facing a house? Are they waiting for some divine appearance?”

My lord, that’s no ordinary house. a lot of the royals of today have built their palaces near your fort, in the hope that some of your name and fame will rub onto them. The one that you are talking about see is called Mannat and belongs to King Khan. This kingdom is spread far and wide and people overseas revere him as well. He always speaks from the epiglottis and also stammers. Once he was asked to loudly proclaim that he is a King and he ended up saying….”I am ka ka ka ka…Kiran”. He eventually ended up simply saying,” My name is Khan, and I am not a King.” His palace is aptly named Mannat or Wish. Earlier it was his Wish to build an empire and now it is the Wish of his subjects to wait day after day for a glimpse of the King.

There are many kings and queens around this place. See the huge palace over there… it is called Basera or the residence. Here lives an Empress who can only be seen in the priciest Kanjeevaram sarees and she has conquered age. When she comes out in the open, she looks more like Queen Nefertiti. Your highness, I must tell you a PJ if you permit me. You see, a couple of years ago, the whole world was in the midst of a pandemic. People were asked to stay indoors to avoid contact and prevent the disease from spreading. The ultimate Emperor of India, the Shahenshah, got infected and hospitalized. No one in his family had been infected, so an investigation was initiated to find out the circumstances of his infection. The enquiry committee could not come to any definite conclusion but in one corner of their report there was an observation by one of the investigators that the only person who the Emperor could have possibly come in contact with was the guard outside the Empress’ palace. The investigator lost his head and the file was lost forever…..He he he..

Vasco, that’s a silly and a sick joke and understand the insinuation contained in it. S I must respect your role as a court jester, shall laugh a little now in public and keep the best for later!

Sir, there are many such palaces of kings and queens in this area. And that one there is the house of the Khan Bahadur of India…Salman Bhai. He lives in Galaxy Apartments.

What, the Super Khan Bahadur lives in a flat? No wonder he will find people shooting at him to scare him away from this pigeon hole and drive him into a palace that matches his true stature.

Now my good lord, let me take you to your place of worship… the Basilica of Our Lady of the Mount.  This is one of the most revered places built by Jesuit missionaries from our part of the world. While to the outside world the church is undergoing renovation, thou shalt have access to it as in times when the place is completely adorned and illuminated, just as it should be when the king himself makes a pilgrimage to the place.

The Basilica of Our Lady of the Mount is colloquially known as Mount Bandra and Mount St Mary Church. The basilica stands on a hillock, about 80 metres above sea level overlooking the Arabian Sea. Every year a big festival of the nativity of St Mary, also known as Holy Marymas or the Bandra Fest, is celebrated here on the 8th day of September: the auspicious occasion of the birth of the virgin-mother of Jesus Christ. Pope Pius XII granted a decree of canonical coronation to the shrine's revered Marian icon on 21 October 1954. The shrine attracts people from all faiths who plead for favours while others come back to express their gratitude.

Although the current structure and edifice of the shrine is just 100 years old and was rebuilt in British Bombay, the history behind the current statue of the Blessed Mary goes back to the 16th century, when Jesuit priests brought the statue and constructed a chapel in what was then the Portuguese East Indies. In 1700, Sunni Arab pirates raiding the area were interested in the gilt-lined object held in the hand and damaged the statue. In 1760, the church was rebuilt after the Maratha invasion of Goa and Bombay, and the statue was substituted with a statue of Our Lady of Navigators from the St Andrew's Church nearby. Legend has it that a Koli Christian fisherman dreamt of the statue floating in the sea, and as prophesied in the dream the statue was, indeed, found there the next day. The Koli fishermen call the statue as Mot Mauli, literally meaning the "Pearl Mother or the Mother of the Mount". The statue was reinstated and is enshrined in its place of honour in the basilica.

Are you feeling hungry My Lord? I know of a wonderful place with Portuguese décor and food that makes you hungry and crave for more.

Yes, Vasco, let’s go and see another of my subjects and how they serve food to royalty.

Your Highness, please do not expect any special treatment here. This is Candies and a food place in a villa with multiple floors. There are many areas which are airconditioned and then there are also cool spaces under an open sky. The food here is marvellous , both modern and traditional.

As we entered Candies, King Manuel was happy to listen to some peppy old music with lovely, young faces all around We ended up eating the specialties of chicken roast and steak with some fresh lemonade. The king took some time off from relishing the food to admire the pictures and memorabilia of Beatles and the décor which appeared very much akin to his kingdom. With a fully packed tummy and happiness in mind, we came out of the Villa at Bandra where, if you go after 8pm, you can get a good discount…happy hours for food!

Vasco, can we shed this charade of royalty and jester and get into our normal world where you are the real master and me thy friend?

Yes…sure…stand still as I do the backward spell… Abracadabraa..gilli gillicho oo… now give me back the colourful crown and welcome back Vicky, my friend. Now what?

Sir, enough of Portugal… I am also giving away the ownership of these Bombay islands to the British even though the weddings of my two Catherines of Bryganza at home are a long way off. Vasco…no Sir, I mean, my throat is getting parched. Let us go to some nice place for a drink to celebrate the success of our third day out. I know a great place called Toto's. It is among the tiniest drinking holes you would have been to but the pub with a Volkswagon Beetle hung from the ceiling beneath which stands the bar, great music of the 70s playing and a full house whenever you go.

Vicky was right and it seems all the people serving there were well known to him. They found a place for us to stand comfortably and hold our mugs, enjoy the music and soak in the happiness of the people and place. I must admit, Vicky is the asli King when it comes to knowing about the little bylanes and hidden, yet wonderful, places to eat and drink in the city of Bom Bahai and admire the cutest heritage railway station called Vandre.

SS & Vicky

The Hobbit Goes South: Itadakimasu

 “I’m moving to Chennai.”

“What will you eat there?” “Ooooh, you better get used to idli dosa.” 

I was quite surprised to hear these standard statements. On a more general note, I quite like idli, dosa, vada, and uttapam. Not only are they overall healthy but different places have distinct preparation styles and flavours. Having lived in Hyderabad for close to three years, Chutney’s holds a special place in my heart. 

Back to the topic of this blog. After one month here, I love the food scene in Chennai and have decided to cover places of my interest for your interest (and also to dispel a looming myth)! I read a quote by J.R.R.Tolkien:

“I am in fact a Hobbit in all but size. I like gardens, trees, and unmechanized farmlands; I smoke a pipe, and like good plain food (unrefrigerated), but detest French cooking; I like, and even dare to wear in these dull days, ornamental waistcoats. I am fond of mushrooms (out of a field); have a very simple sense of humor (which even my appreciative critics find tiresome); I go to bed late and get up late (when possible). I do not travel much.”

I realised that if I modified it a little, I fit the criteria of a hobbit perfectly-

“I am in fact a Hobbit in all but including in size. I like gardens, trees, and unmechanized farmlands; I smoke a pipe, andlike good plain food, but detest French cooking; I would like, and even dare to wear in these dull days, ornamental waistcoats. I am fond of mushrooms (out of a field); have a very simple sense of humor (which even my appreciative critics find tiresome); I go to bed late and get up late (when possible). I like to travel much.”

And so begins the journey of a Hobbit down South…

In the first of this series, I want to talk about an unassuming, yet absolutely delightful Japanese restaurant called Dahlia. People in Chennai need no introduction to it, but for people new to Chennai this may not show up on your ‘must eat places in Chennai’ list that often. 

A colleague of my father told me about this restaurant before I came to Chennai. I was instantly curious and so I read about it. Naoki Yamauchi, one of the owners of Dahlia, was a 10-year-old boy living in Osaka during the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He worked in Kochi as an exporter of tuna and cuttlefish from India to Japan and had to travel to Japan via Chennai because there was no direct flight. Revathy Nagaswami, the co-owner, was a sociology student, Japanese interpreter and a vegetarian to this day. She had been trained in Tokyo and met Naoki at work as an interpreter. Naoki liked to cook and wanted to open a diner in Chennai recognizing the need with several Japanese engineers coming to Tamil Nadu for ancillary parts following the opening of the Maruti Suzuki plant. He became friends with Revathy’s father over common interest of cigarettes and coffee. It was Revathy’s father who suggested that they become partners and establish Dahlia and together started this establishment in 1993. When he passed away, Revathy took up the position as the partner in running the restaurant. When Naoki’s wife passed away in a car accident, he found peace in Buddha’s teachings. He lost his only son to the Tsunami in 2011. Naoki’s daughter lives in Japan. In 2023, Dahlia completed 30 years of serving true Japanese cuisine in Chennai, making it an iconic restaurant and part of the city’s heritage. 

Reaching Dahlia using Google maps and actually entering it are two different things, almost like reaching the Mines of Moria but not being able to enter it without the password. Don’t get me wrong, it is centrally located in Nungambakkam High Road but only ‘a friend may speak to enter.’ I have been there thrice and found the gate shown on the maps to be always closed. So, you need to walk past the Lord of the Drinks (I did not realise the pun here until I started writing) and reach a rather shady gate which leads you into what is possibly a complex of sorts. Once you enter you will see a glow sign with the red letters DAHLIA in both English and Japanese. You cross that to reach a turning and then go up a short flight of stairs to finally come to the restaurant. 

The working hours are from 12-2:30 pm and the 6:30-9:30 pm with the last order being taken at 9:00 pm. If you plan to go on a weekend, it may be best to reserve in advance. Of my three visits to this place, I could only eat twice because the first time I had no reservation! Ironically, there is a Korean food store just in front of it. Having been turned away by the Japanese, I shamelessly entered the Korean store and bought the ramen packets, happily satiating my K-hunger. 

Dahlia is a quaint restaurant. On entering, you find an old lady in sari at the billing counter. Above her station is a wall-mounted TV playing only Japanese channels. The seating is both at dining tables and also the more traditional arrangement where you sit cross-legged on cushions with low tables. We chose the latter but found that you can also hang down your legs and sit there if you choose to. What caught our attention was the décor- origami everywhere, traditional Japanese paintings and scrolls on the wall, shelves with Japanese books and two wall clocks- one running by India time and the other showing Japan’s time. The colourful origami balls and cranes that hang down from the ceiling were made by the staff for Naoki a few years ago when he fell ill. Each scroll tells a story and is changed by Revathy and Naoki with every season. You can still spot Revathy, flitting in and out of the kitchen and Naoki quietly sitting at one of the tables. You can appreciate the ambience till the food is served, then that will be the only thing holding your attention!

The lady, who attended to our table on both occasions, is sweet, caring, and willing to teach the best way to eat the food including using chopsticks for the uninitiated. Her suggestions have been impeccable and, personally, I would go by that even in future. The experience starts with her bringing you a wet tissue roll to refresh yourself. This is followed by a complementary and unlimited wheat tea, a cool and refreshing drink that has a subtle smokey flavour that is said to help with the digestion. 

The California Maki and the Tenjiku Maki were simply one of the best that I have had. The menu has a wide collection of sushi, maki and sashimi. The wasabi paste is freshly prepared here, and you can make out the marked difference in the taste and texture from the insta-worthy, fancy Asian places coming up in every city since the onslaught of K-dramas. I confess that I fall in that category too and have been to some of these places but that also makes me certain of the superiority of Dahlia over any of these other restaurants. Good, tasty, authentic food, and nothing else. 

For main course I had the pork Tonkatsu ramen bowl both the times because it is simply and mouth-wateringly good (pardon my choice of words but that is the only way to describe). The portions are large and if you have had starters, it may be prudent to order a one by two portion. 

The lady at the billing counter writes the bill in a neat yet firm handwriting, almost never seen in today’s age of computerized bills. The price is very reasonable for the quality of food. I will go back to this place again and again. It is a place I would not mind going alone to have a meal and feel the warmth of the ramen and the people working there. It is the perfect example of cultural collaboration, another rarity today. If you are in Chennai, find a little time and visit Dahlia, for a taste of Japan, where the only fancy thing is the excellent food. 

Until part 2, Sayonara 

Yours,

Hungry Hobbit

Bom Bahai Diaries 2: Of Faith, Food and Filosophy

One evening, Vicky enthusiastically called to declare, Sir this time we will go to Mohammad Ali Road to have Nalli Nihari and what better time than the evenings of Ramadan when the main street and every corner in this part of the city looks like a beautifully adorned new bride.

Hmm.. I quite like the idea. Let us do it. The third of the original Three Musketeers however said, No, I will give this place a miss. It is so crowded and suffocating there that you can hardly eat in peace with the maddening crowds pushing and jostling and at times people even wiping their oily hands on your clothes.  

The Vasai local reached Churchgate sharp at 4.50pm and within ten minutes, the Goregaon local arrived. We were pretty ecstatic to have reconnected after almost a month, which seemed straight out of a Manmohan Desai movie in which, out of nowhere, two strangers suddenly realise that they both have identical moles on their left bums… Bhai…mera bhai!And off we hopped onto a Kali-Peeli (Mumbai taxi) to Minara Masjid at Mohammad Ali Road to explore and enjoy heritage Mumbai.

As we got off the cab, we saw the beautiful masjid full of people, offering their evening prayers in unison. It looked so serene and divine that I could not help saying, Vicky, I always admire the people who undertake a rigorous month long fast, from dawn to sunset. That, according to me, is faith and that by doing so the faithful believe that they come closer to God and his blessings. Faith is something that is beyond the realm of science and reasoning. Vicky looked at me and smiled. He said, Sir, we are also one of the faithful. Otherwise how else can someone explain our landing up at Mohammad Ali Road every year at Ramadan without fail. Hmm … Vicky, you’re talking pretty deep…hmm…

The 250 years old Minara Masjid is one of Islam’s oldest places of worship in India. The masjid contains 21 tombs and is said to be the resting place of several Sufi saints. The masjid is an architectural marvel and during the period of Ramzaan comes alive even more with the road being illuminated with lamps of all types that brighten up the mosque and the streets. As the Iftar starts, the place is buzzing with hordes of devotees and an equal number of food lovers that walk the lanes to eat some of the best street food anywhere in the country. You name any food and it is readily available here… freshly cooked. The aromas of the dishes fill the air and the weak hearted may suddenly feel lost and suffocated in the din of the place. For the foodies, this is the ultimate paradise….keema parantha, tandoori kebabs, rolls, baida roti…the list is endless. This is the melting pot of humanity where the rich and the poor, the faithful and the foodie all come together in showcasing unity in diversity that is the true tehzeeb of this land.

Vicky, do you know after whom this famous street is named? Vicky once again looked at me and the music connoisseur that he is, said, Sir, Bob Marley once said, Life is one big road with lots of signs. So, when you are riding through ruts, don’t complicate your mind. I agree with Bob that things like who, what, why, which, where and when only complicate life. We are here to enjoy the food and not to worry about street names and their origins. 

Hmm..Vicky, deep and right thoughts indeed but since I have done some homework, allow me to share with you something about this road as we have some time on hand before they start serving us food at restaurants. Having lived in the city, I, too, have wondered who Mr Mohammad Ali was…was he one famous cook who brought the month-long festival to this part of the town because the other person with the same name I knew was The Greatest Man in boxing gloves who could float like a butterfly and sting like a bee. Funnily, there is an ongoing dispute whether the road is named after Nakhoda Mohammad Ali Rogay or Mohammad Ali Jauhar. Mohammad Ali Rogay was a philanthropist and trader from Bombay who participated in trade with the early 19^th century with China and a prominent leader of Konkani Musalman community. Muhammad Ali Jauhar (1878-1931), on the other hand, was a prominent freedom fighter, member of the Khilafat Movement, President of Indian National Congress in 1923, founding member of All India Muslim League and one of the founders of Jamia Milia Islamia apart from his work to expand the Aligarh Muslim University. So, I once again agree with you Vicky that names do not matter, it is the matter that matters and here what matters is food and Noor Mohammdi beckons us to quickly grab the seats lest we miss the first serving of Iftar.

While we waited to be served, I gave Vicky one more piece of simple advice. The Japanese way of good living is called Ikigai which recommends that you should not eat to your full stomach’s capacity. In short, always eat light and stay healthy. Vicky once again looked at me with amusement and said, Sir, if we wanted healthy food, we should not have come here in the first place. Forget anything about going light here, Sir. Not eating brimful of Nalli Nihari and Haleem at Noor Mohammadi is like missing out the goodness and the real light in our lives.

Hmm….Vicky, mere shagird, that’s deep…very deep. You are sounding far too philosophical today and now let’s order the food we’ve come for. 

Noor Mohammadi is an iconic restaurant in Bhendi Bazar on Mohammad Ali Road. Started in 1923 by Rashid Abdul Karim of Moradabad, the restaurant completed a grand century recently serving authentic Mughlai and Nawabi cuisine. The interiors are quite modest but here you never look at the walls, the ceiling and the heat of the missing air-conditioner. You come here not for luxury but for good food and that is something you are never disappointed about. The present-day owners claim that it was their grandfather who brought the famous Nalli Nihari dish to Bombay. This is also the food joint where film stars and culinary artists come to enjoy the delicacies with fingers dipping in the slurpy gravy that no soap can cleanse in one go. Sometime in 1986, Sanjay Dutt came to the restaurant and declared that he was also a great cook. Based on his direction, a new chicken dish was made and later christened as Chicken Sanju Baba and added to the age-old menu. You can also find an original painting by one of Noor Mohammadi’s patron, MF Hussain apart from multiple awards decorated in this place where the prices are reasonable and the food simply outstanding.

After enjoying our gastronomic delights of Nalli and Haleem with tandoori roti, our stomachs now felt being stretched to almost its fullest. We decided to wrap up our early dinner here at NMH. With the evening setting in and every street being illuminated, it was now the time to take a leisurely walk around the khau galli to see the variety of food being served there. I warned Vicky in Robert Frost’s lines twisted to suit the mood, the lanes are narrow dark and deep to which he promptly replied, yes Sir, the streets are crowded and illuminated with endless places to eat. Hmm…todayVicky really seemed in the groove with some serious philosophical repartees...hmm. Without arguing much we walked around and saw the place bustling with life and energy. Vicky remembered his college days when they had little money in the pocket and all they could afford was goti kebab (you may check the dictionary for the translation) and, on a good day, a roll each. 

We, finally, went over to the sweetest place in this area, Usman Suleman Mithaliwala’s shop. This is a must go place when at Mohammad Ali Road. You will find a gold medal in a frame but could not make out for what they had won the same. The spread of sweets there was just phenomenal but what caught my attention, as it does every time I come here, is the making of the giant size malpua. I could see Vicky’s tongue drooling and said, Buddy, all good things in life are short and sweet. Vicky said, not always true, Sir. The malpua here is very sweet and very big at the same time. So let us take a plunge into this boiling kadai to enjoy the sweet malpua with rabdri. 

Hmm.. Vicky, do I see a halo behind thy head?

Suleman Bhai, a young bakery assistant from Poona came to Bombay in early 1930s in search of work. He started his small outlet outside the Minara Mosque. Slowly business picked up and a full-fledged outlet was established in 1936.The ‘Usman’ in the shop’s name was added as a mark of respect for his father. For close to 90 years, this family run sweet meat shop has been delighting its customers without fail. All their items are unique but for once even Vicky said that he could not eat anymore. The shahi tukda and their firni or kheer in mud vessels are some of the sweets to die for. Vicky suggested that we have their other special sweet called Aflatoon. This is an original sweet made by Suleman Bhai out of mawa, eggs, sugar, rawa, ghee and dry fruits that is kept in a desi oven. He named it after the Greek Philosopher Plato but also means maverick. Seeing Vicky in an Aflatoon avatar in his thinking like Plato today, I somehow avoided eating the sweet lest he move into an even a higher plane of philosophy.

Iftar is meant to be shared and not had individually. I remember when my office was in Lower Parel, not far from here, one planned evening of Ramadan would bring all the fasting folks here for a super meal. This tradition was something we all looked forward to and continued for many years till my office moved elsewhere. Today, both Vicky and I were apparently having fun while eating the ambrosia and yet at the same time were missing our families in all this celebration. Instead of enjoying the festivities any further, we quickly packed the best of food and sweets we had had and some more as well and went towards the station to catch the first train home. Both reached home in good time and enjoyed the sumptuous food with our loved ones. Ramadan Mubarak!

SS and Vicky