DesiClick

Dubai Chronicles

2012-02-08T10:09:00.000-08:00

Kimberley's Afternoon - Mirdiff, 7 Feb 2012

Landscape, near Dubai Creek - 7 Feb 2012

Atul Panase, Artist, Illustrator - 7 Feb 2012

Dubai Mall, 6 Feb 2012

2012-02-02T21:51:00.000-08:00

Raymond - among the last few coconut pickers, a dying traditional trade, Goa,

Lotoulim village

2012-02-02T09:10:00.000-08:00

Ash Wednesday, Loutolim, Goa

At the Heart of Kumbh Mela

2012-01-31T21:42:00.000-08:00

At the Heart of Kumbh Mela

Allahabad, India brings to mind images of the Kumbh Mela, one of the grandest spectacles on earth. Allahabad or prayag as it’s called in the sacred Vedic literatures is steeped in myth, religion and spirituality. One cannot think of the present day city, without attaching it’s more prominent past. According to legends, the gods once fought a great battle over the kumbh (pitcher) containing the nectar of immortality. In the scuffle, four drops of the nectar spilled onto the earth, splashing on the ground of Allahabad, Nasik, Ujjain and Haridwar. A huge mela (fair) is held at each of the cities, attracting vast numbers of Hindu holy men, especially the naked saddhus and nagas, or militant Hindu monks.

70 million people gather at the Ardh kumbh mela, Allahabad, this January 2007. On an auspicious day, around 10 million arrive to bathe at the confluence of the two hindu rivers, the Ganges and the Yamuna and the mythical river, Saraswati. I am part of this spectacular event of the hindu calendar. I am a microscopic fly, in this microcosm of the Indian society and i am here to witness it all.

It might be a spiritual quest, the fear of displeasing the Gods, a life-long wish, or simply a curious traveler that brings one to the ganges. Millions of people from all walks of life arrive here during this six week long spectacle. *The enormity of the crowds, has a life changing effect on oneself. It makes you reflect your purpose of being. It makes you humble. More true or least one returns with a change of heart and mind. Im reminded of a song by Joan Osbourne, "What if God was one of Us?" and it's lyrics lure me deeper into the mela. I scan through people, their smiles, their hearts, through the waters of the ganges and now as i rest on their face. i hope for the heavens to burst open,and the Gods stage a dance for me, i am tickled by the thought of this wandering mind of mine and i am hopeful. I hope to be enlightened by my encounters. Join me in this endeavour.

My travels, bring me in close conversation, with the hearts and minds of the Indian soil. Every trip is an eye opener. Every journey presents questions to what really constitutes it's varied landscape and its people. The Kumbh Mela is an amalgamation of it all and more. From the ascetics of the himalayas, to the religious leaders of the Sikh and Hindus, who set up huge akhada's(tents) and shelter a many pilgrims, the sadhvi's (women sadhus) who set up camp for the women devotees, the nagas, the most militant of them all also the rockstars of the mela, who emerge from their remote dwellings all over the country, pandits to perform the religious rituals, the hare krishna clan, the rural poor, the city slick, the politicians, journalists from all over the world, beggars, lepers, numerous barbers, flute sellers, travellers, tourists and the plethora of police all throng here against all odds, and an opportunity of a lifetime.

Saffron is the ubiquitous colour of the mela. I buy myself a saffron scarf and merge one with the crowds in body, mind, soul all of it. No direction holds and you resign and flow one with them, like the universe has an ulterior plan. You are the millions that comprise this huge gathering. You are part of Gods mightiest celebrations.The cacophony of sounds, smells, colour all scream at you. The blaring loudspeakers announcement of a lost child is drowned by devotional hymns, chanted by the various processions. The dance of a storyteller, as he narrates life’s philosophy’s in the form of interesting folklore is a true piece of Indian art. Small groups of women are seen dancing away within their respective tents, to the drums of musicians, and a large audience to it all. Preachers of various religious sects, distribute pamphlets of God and life, of health and cure, of love and wisdom, giving passerby's a sense of belonging and direction which most are in search of. Another extreme form of divinity, or rather eccentricity is a young boy who, sliced his hand with a knife from one side to the other, a form of sacrifice and a way of earning their bread, stands in the middle of the crowds. The hand bled, as his friends collected money from the audience it gathered. I take a break and share tea with a very loving family, who've travelled long distance on foot and who've invited me to their village and share their excitement at having me visit their home. Such are the people you meet, a smile and a conversation are the easiest to get around. Most travel for days, against all odds and in the most uncomfortable or tiresome journeys. Most are also the elderly, who's last wish before they rest in gods hands, is a chance at salvation, by bathing in the holy waters of the Ganges.

Further still my attention is drawn to crowds moving in my direction. An elephants trunk nearly sweeps away my camera. A high ranking sadhus arrives, maharajah style, on an elephant draped in silk, with his entire entourage. Drums and singing ring through the air and devotees dance away as if in a trance. Such a spectacle is always accompanied by crowds gaping in awe and seeking the holy man’s blessings. I stand and watch as i drift into the past.. and imagine gold coins being distributed to the kingdom. Sadly, The sadhu smiles at me, pauses and waits for his photograph to be taken. Stranded helpless in the crowds is a senior sadhu.. I help him find his ashram by reading the signange on every tent, owing to his failing eyesight. He had lost his way early that morning on his return from the Ganges. A few minutes of searching, and posing as a lost journalist, I sought the police’s help and got their immediate attention. We reached the facade of the baba’s ashram, Hungry beggars, pilgrims, poor families, children line up for the afternoon meal. Free lunch is generously distributed to everyone and anyone. The well-to-do spiritual leaders, aided by donations, are always willing to help the lesser fortunate, and food is distributed in most camps.

My most memorable moments are at naga baba Toofani's camp. The Jim Morrison of the Naga's. He smokes, rolls, laughs and does so with great elan. A body of steel and smoke. He hails abuses and invites me into his tent. Such notoriety is what they are known for, he is quick to add. I soon find myself seated among his assistants. They offers me a smoke. we are quickly joined by two women phirang(foreign) and smoke fills the air. My lens is blur. Im in a haze. He skillfully introduces us all as he switches from hindi to angreejee, an englis that extends itself to a few country names and smoke brands. Hidden behind or rather swinging in his own accord, was a Switzerland dude, stripped of all his passport and money he lives on straw and hay in toofani's camp.

A naga sadhu of his own kind, of the 21st century. He had played a small role, in a short film and took great pride in doing so. An enterprising mind, he made a business propositon,to buy me a videocamera, live with him, make a film on him and we share the profits. The Nagas are considered the most Holy and revered among the Sadhu sects. The term "holy" however, can sometimes be a misnomer since not all India's Sadhus are seekers of God. The unmistakable dress (or lack there of) does impart respect among the faithful, but it is a known fact that some Sadhus are criminals wanted by police for murders, rapes, swindling or trade in contraband and narcotics. Naga baba’s are known to be loud, abusive brash crash thrash.. say it all.. but Toofani lived upto it all and yet beyond.(he had a soul) My next visit sees him in a plastered foot. Visitors smoke in and out to check in on him.. as he narrates the incident in absolut toofani style. On the auspicious day, after the morning ritual of bathing in the ganges, on his return, an angry horse ran lose.. and fell on his foot. Toofani had his way of gathering an audience and dramatizing life. I did not have the nerve to photograph him in pain. He was at his all time low. The doctor claims him to be an unusaul case. 13 injections wouldn’t work on him, when one would bring a sick animal back to it's feet. Such was the man of steel and smoke. What was also remarkable of Tofani is, he never asked for any offering of food or money. These hermits, usually live a life in seclusion, and shun contact with the world.They renounce all earthly pleasures in an attempt to attain spiritual enlightenment. I bid farewell and promise to return with pain killers and fruits. An afterthought, no medication in the world would bring him relief, he was all beyond it all. They have their own cure.. and life goes on. I hope to meet him someday again.

No other experience, could prepare me for what the kumbh had to offer. The quirky, strange, believers, non-believers, gods, demons.. the lost, the seekers.. all brush shoulders with one another. All march as if in a trance, towards the magnetic Ganga, flowing since the Gods roamed the earth. Nothing comes in ones way when one has decided to unite and give all.. sacrifice all.. to the mother Ganges.

My last evening at allahabad. i watch people carry out their religious rituals at the bank of the ganges. An old man walks unsteadily, towards the banks, I watch him ready to make a run to give him a helping hand. The sun drenched the Ganges in liquid gold. The old man.. looked almost godlike. i watch him conduct the ganga aarti so lovingly and with such grace. He did not seem to mind my presence and instead invites me to be a part of the religious ceremony. As I watch the sun set in his eyes, he lit the diyas(lamps) placed in paper boats and leaves them into the waters. The Gods have descended. It’s a theatrical experience. i wait and watch, as he turns towards me and touches my feet,as if seeking blessing. It was the touch of enlightenment. It was my answer to that spiritual quest I hope to find. My answer to: what if god ws one of us Joan Osbourne. It is that spiritual moment, that transcendental second which a writer need to let be special and not speak much about.But i also would like to add, that when u are looking for something, the universe conspires to make it happen.

For those of you who'd like to experience the spirit of the Kumbh Mela.... make a decision to travel to Allahabad in 2013 for the Maha Kumbh Mela. Hope to catch you there.

Mario Miranda and his world will never die

2011-12-14T19:19:00.000-08:00

It's been a sad sunday morning with the news of Mario Miranda's demise. One of India's finest cartoonist. i have grown up watching his illustrations/cartoons and have lived much of Goa through his works of art. Little did i know all the while.. that much of the village scenes of Goa in his artwork are based on the village Loutolim.. where my grandparents lived..and where i have a home now. It's a treasure you've left behind Mario Miranda. You will be greatly missed.

2011-05-04T21:37:00.000-07:00

nothing like some freshly baked home styled bread!

zeneli's world of books and antiques

2011-04-07T02:11:00.000-07:00

Zeneli and I - we finally meet, Thivim Bodiem

One of the pleasures of photography is its power to pause time, to create a memory of something before it disappears. well, these images I captured as i walked through the village, Bodiem, with zeneli.. not sure how much will still be standing by the next monsoon..

2011-03-17T10:30:00.000-07:00

sebastian feast, loutolim

2011-01-26T11:09:00.000-08:00

altar girl, sebastian feast, Loutolim...

is this me looking through the rear view and analyzing my childhood and the religious drill around me, that is in question through these images..

not much has changed.

what was heartening to see is girls too given a opportunity to participate in the religious ceremony and be altar girls. some things must change.

mackerel sky

2010-11-21T04:30:00.001-08:00

so it goes.. when the sky turns all the colours it can at sunset.. it ensures a good catch of fish the following day..especially 'da Bangadas' or so my dad says as he watches the sun set on vaddo beach, benaulim

the land of the big white cloud

2010-11-19T07:59:00.000-08:00

'jugalbandhi' @ Vaddo beach

2010-11-17T01:47:00.000-08:00

i am at the vaddo beach, that's close to benaulim. the marmalade evening sky refuses to call it a day.. maybe the sun chose to stay back for the evening at Art Escape. i know im gonna love having decided to come here. must thank darryl for this. Baul musicians from Bengal, take stage..as do young guns from the rock music scene in goa do their little thing but then grow comfortable into the rhythm. Remo gets into the groove as well and he and his flute fuse all of the rhythms together... it's not east meets west music or anything of the sort.... it was music of the souls.. lives.. it was energies.. passion..and it was an evening 'meant to be'. it felt good. i was part of it all. reminds me of the book.. celestine prophecy, though most of it was fiction.. this was for real, i enjoyed every moment.

Documentary work

2010-11-13T03:50:00.000-08:00

A home stay - Goa

2010-10-10T22:15:00.001-07:00

an aesthetically designed homestay - goa

quotes

2010-09-09T01:01:00.000-07:00

" I take pictures in order to see the world" Wolfgang Tillman
"If your pictures are not good enough you are not close enough" robert capa
"photography is trying to touch eternity in a way, it's a big word but maybe that's what photograhy is about. To eternalize things to conserve things for a second coming"
"I only know how to approach a place by walking. For what does a street photographer do but walk and watch and wait and talk, and then watch and wait some more, trying to remain confident that the unexpected, the unknown, or the secret heart of the known awaits just around the corner." alex webb

a writer's home in moira

2010-09-05T05:17:00.000-07:00

an artist.. writer.. creator.. a dreamer...... her home echoes with love. art. dogs. cats. paintings. red oxide flooring. all things beautiful. sunlight visits shyly and hides beneath the writing desk. the gentle four legged's follow me everywhere. im never alone. the animal farm is far from complete. it awaits, someday.. an elephant. it is the owners dream. I hope this dream comes true. thank you venita. your home is lovely. i did not say my goodbye's to your cats. guess i'll have to be back

(a photo shoot done for the Times of India... these are images that i love.. taken between the shoots)

conceicao m. costa

2010-09-05T00:18:00.000-07:00

Conceicao M. costa. is my sweet neighbouring grand aunt. she is among a large number of folk in goa

who take comfort in their old age in the company of god. I spent a few moments with her.. one evening..

it was a blessing indeed.. aunt tedolin passed away a month after the image was taken. i still remember her enthusiastic smile and her morning-evening greetings everytime she would pass by my home..

Portraiture: magic realism

2010-09-02T02:45:00.000-07:00

Photography ought to be seen as a species of magic, but we have lost our innocence. And so we see it as an aspect of reality. There is no art by which to reproduce the lineaments of reality. Each human face will always be unique in skin, flesh and features. Any attempt at exact reproduction loses the contours, the three-dimensionality and the living quality of the individual face. What photography achieves in portraiture is not a reproduction, but a refiguration, a translation from one dimension to another.

Portraiture is the dialogue of light and the face, in the dimension of memory. That is why the portrait is not the person. It is an abstracted memory, enriched by time. Three principles make portraiture unique: light, the subject, and time. Of these three, the most alchemical is time – the magic mercury, the fifth element, the quintessence. It is the constantly transforming and preserving substance of portraiture. Time acts with the shutter speed. It acts with the speed of light that travels to the subject, from the subject to the camera, and from the photo to our eyes.

There is an internal time also at work, from the first mental encounter with the image to its interactions in the vast realm of memory. A realm perpetually impinged upon by desire, loss and life's infinitely shaded experiences. Time weaves a spell around the image – preserves it, changes it. Portraiture keeps the subject in its time and yet projects it into ours. Portraiture is always time travel. It is a time travel that keeps all the secrets of its time concealed behind the subject. It freights over to us only the image, mute with all the passions of life. Silent stories stare out from those eyes. They will no longer look upon the light or dark of our day. And yet they look at us as through a transparent medium, beyond even death.

What is the true nature of that almost mystic medium? There is a hint of immortality in all portraiture. The subjects live, in another dimension, alien to us. They live, but they are motionless. Time has gone from them, yet still they persist in time. They live in an enigma. Does their image differ from the memory we have of them? Is memory truer? Portraiture suggests a parallel memory in the universe, in which all things persist.
Photography touches us so mysteriously because we have an intuition that all things are remembered in some invisible place beyond dreams, where everything that was exists in a universal, divine amber. Many wonderful notions ought to flash past one's mind in the presence of these people upon whom time has wrought an enchantment. Portraiture ought to remind us that we live between two enigmas, birth and death. Photography is the dream, the interval, which we take to be the real. And yet secret tears flow behind these portraits. We too will be like them. But we have lost our innocence. Otherwise, these images ought to start in us a new philosophy of living, a new simplicity, and maybe even a new happiness. (by ben okri)

lil' elsa

2010-09-01T01:49:00.001-07:00

elsie rodriguez, loutolim goa

Im reminded of Mario Miranda words ‘ deers used to roam our backyards’. his love for animals esp. his dogs is well-known from his cartoons on Goa. This photograph is a few minutes away from his home. fox, mongoose, cobra, monitor lizard still roam the land. Peacocks almost seize to exist except near forests areas. Hope the love and respect for animals and the wild.. do not totally destroy all of the land.

saudades

2010-08-27T07:23:00.000-07:00

a closed home in loutolim. the front gates ornate work, almost seem to join hands in pray and hope to relive the past, the days it has been witness to.

Saudades - im not sure if my caption is befitting the image.saudades - is a latin word (meaning

loneliness solitude) but in time developed a different meaning. few languages in the world

have such a meaning, making saudadea distinct mark of the portuguese culture. it would mean

a desire and longing for the past. definitely not the present.. something which belongs to a time

long gone. In his book In Portugal in 1912, A.F.G. Bell writes, "The famous saudades of the portuguese

is a vague and constant desire for something that does not and probably cannot exist, for something

other than the present, a turning towards the past or towards the future, not an active discontent

or poignant sadness, but an indolent dreaming wistfulness"

(will continue to explore it's context more in visuals)

the little champ!

2010-08-26T22:41:00.000-07:00

the sky was cast. the wind grew still. the 400 year old rachol church, stands between two narrow mud roads that would disappear into soft green fields. a village boy, enjoys his game of ball. he throws it high into the air and follows it wherever it roams. the gorgeous church facade is only it's backdrop. nature gives in and lets the evening unwind into another blissful scene of the goan village.

The Hymn Book

2010-08-25T07:28:00.000-07:00

at the loutolim church. this image was taken after a funeral service..

can you spell 'India'

2010-08-24T23:23:00.000-07:00

these are students, 7 years of age, at a village primary school, advalpal, goa. the school has around 70 students, the challenge the teachers face is getting the students to school, firstly, making sure they attend, then hoping they complete their basic education. if it's not for the passion and dedication the teachers put in, schools would have shut down long ago. i asked them what the word on the map in large letters was (india), confused at my question they smiled and disappeared behind the school gates..

grand aunt - rosemarie

2010-08-24T07:40:00.000-07:00

it was a 'shot of the moment'. i visited my grand aunt onerainy morning to wish her greetings on the 'harvest festival'. she opened the folded wooden kitchen door. this is what it looked like! a light seemed to emanate from within her. we dnt speak the same language. yet,there was this understanding of what the moment required each of us to contribute

Best of Goa - the coffee table book

2010-08-16T01:34:00.000-07:00

excerpt from the book 'Best of Goa' a cofee table book published by raintree media,

'Goa is like the famous local sweet 'bebinca', rich, warm, succulent

and many layered. you cannot hurry a bebinca, they say. Goa has been long in the making as well'

remo fernandes - musician and songwriter

Emiliano da cruz, singer and musician

Mario Miranda, renowned cartoonist

Wendell rodricks, Fashion designer

Bruno Coutinho, former Captain of Indian football team, winner of

Arjuna award,2001 for excellence in sports

Sarto Almeida, Architect

Maria Arora Couto, novelist

Prajal Sakhardande, Historian

Claude Alvares, Environmentalist

Bonderat, a celebration of the Divar Island

goa unwinds , baga beach

Goa - Untouched

2010-08-15T22:54:00.000-07:00

goa. there's a silent pause as i think of words that would come close to describing what i feel about her. the land. it's people. her villages. my home. my folks. yep, it's true they say, people make the land. right now. both seem to change. i'd like to put into visuals what memory holds.

the home of selena abrancho

rosario gomes's football gear. age 55, taleigaon

cedrick vaz, football enthusiast

angelina fernandes. cotombi

resila fernandes, village youth

a village scene, loutolim

sweet water fish at the local pond, loutolim

an evening with cousins noel and benescio

harvest time

summertime

a wedding in the family

home of mrs. dias

janice's room

janice, a budding violinist

village time

my grand aunt, brings in my birthday gift

fransisco vaz, a hearald reader

back to where i belong!

2009-08-12T23:29:00.000-07:00

I touched Goa, bag and baggage,in august 2008, it's a year from today. This is me at my first adventure, at the gorgeous Mahdei Forest.

it's been a year.. or rather 12 months since i decided to let go of mumbai.her trains.her crowds.the maddening deadlines at work, potholes. i have somewhat surrendered to a yogic sense of living. it's done me good. For a while though. My journalistic instincts got me back into reading lives, observing and photo documenting life in and around Goa. Small freelances of travel,features and documentary photography, keeps me good. it's been 12 months of adventure. This is where my heart is, my thoughts are. This is where i knew i always would come back some day. t's homecoming!
As i write this, there's a mild honking below my window. Further down, a gorgeous green brown slender snake crosses the narrow pathway.. a passerby watches patiently, not the motorbike though. I shall take off for a bit.. Will watch it slide away gracefully into the greens.. it's the monsoon's here! and there's much to explore! ciao!

Lives We Touch

2009-07-20T02:11:00.000-07:00

This is a series of images taken for a corporate's CSR (Corporate social responsibility)activties. For me, it's been a journey into villages, people's lives, their hopes, needs... and initiatives the corporate has taken in bridging the gap between those whose lives need change and being the one who can engineer that change.
i fondly recall Adosena Fernandes. a resident of the old age home. it's her touching words that make my journey as a photojournalist all the more rewarding. her words 'my family never visits me, but you do and without failing'. she joined hands and thanked natasha the company volunteer and me during one of our visits. If that is all it takes to bring a smile and some joy to someone's life, i shall do it time and again.

Asmita and Ashwini lost both their parents recently..in the span of 6 months. They were brought to the company's notice by the village's former sarpanch. The company lost no time in reassuring the girls and restoring their confidence and constantly staying in touch with them. Ashwini moved back to school with the financial help that was provided. Asmita is now employed in the company's dispensary. The girls had never imagined such a change. Today, they smile away confidently looking at a secure future.

Balu Sawant's life of darkness has just about gotten changed forever when the company's team assessed his situation and decided to try and bring electricity to his door. Balu Sawant lives with his family in the forests of Shigao. From his house, one can see and hear wild animals place often, which is his biggest worry. He did not have enough funds to pay the electricity department for an additional line to his home and lived in darkness for 35 years. Today, his daughter enjoys the basic comforts brought about by electricity and sews away passionately, a hobby which she hopes to turn into her future. Balu Sawant smiles with a sense of relief. He says, “my cattle are now safe from the wild.”

(image above-boys at their chai adda) i had visited this village of Shigao, south Goa and had stopped for chai at this tea stall at the heart of the village. While in conversation with the youngsters at the stall, i learnt that one of them owned the tea-stall, the others were friends who'd hang around daily. To my surprise they had also learnt of the driving school and looked at it as a great opportunity to grab some skillset, and work within or around the village area.
the company set up Manav Vikas Kendra, a driving school as well as a developing centre. Driven by the need to create an employment opportunity for the youth living in the villages in the vicinity of the mines, the boys are trained, then get employment as drivers and even get financial assistance to run their own transport services. Instilling confidence in the youth, the training programme provides a livelihood and a career.

The company invests hugely on building and making schools near the mines. Financial aid has helped improve the school’s infrastructure, provide drinking water facilities, school bus, uniforms, school shoes, books, and extra coaching facilities to students who need that extra help.

A school in Pissurlem, had the sarpanch of the village approach the company for help in every possible way. Their requirement stretched from drinking water filters, sanitation, school uniforms, bags, textbooks to coaching classes, school buses etc. The company took care of every possible need thus making education available easily.

Dr. Edgar Silveira is well known for his collaboration with Dr. Redi of the Redi village, Maharashtra. His enduring smile, humour and warmth has made him approachable by anyone who lives in the villages around Redi mines. Health care, especially amongst women and children, are of much concern in rural villages in India and the dispensary's operations have been much awaited.

Dr. Mallikarjuna Rao of Sandur village, Karnataka, is nothing short of being called a Dev (god). His small little dispensary is overflowing with villagers at any given point of time. Over and above it's his, infectious smile and attitude that have people surround his clinic almost like a village square of sorts, for comfort and conversations. His only request to the company is a hospital in the area as the nearest hospital is a long distant journey away.

Master Mayank Desai born on August 23 2004, is afflicted by Cri-Du-Chat syndrome, the first case in Goa of its kind. The syndrome gets its name from the characteristics of infants born with the disorder. The infant sounds like a meowing kitten due to problem with the larynx and nervous system. Since the 25th of June 2007, the date of his first diagnosis, Mayank has shown great improvement.
"My son who was unable to walk since birth, was taken to various places, including GMC, SETHU, etc. But finally I took him to ashadeep and within six months he has begun standing up and making efforts to walk. This is a ray of hope for me and my family" says mayank's mother Mrs. Suchana Desai.

The company offers immense support to the Old Age Home belonging to the Missionary of Charity, Carombolim, Goa. Around 70 women are cared for here, by the dedicated followers of Mother Teresa. The company's trust visits the home every month and the employees have become the extended family of the elderly women here. Medical help, financial aid in infrastructure and support to help them cope with loneliness and make them feel loved and cared for.

In Mother Theresa's words, “We can do no great things, but only small things with great love.”

For the Love of Casa de Goa

2008-07-24T09:48:00.000-07:00

(images better when vewd large)
Goa's Colonial Homes
Grace her Land
Like Monumental Gods
Her walls echo the strains
Of a distant Fado
A song that must have no end

The architectural facades
Musical Floral Carving
Exquisite Furniture,
Religious Paintings, Azulera Tiles
Port Wine and Corredinho
Speak volumes of Her Passion for Life and it's Civilsation

Today as she drops her guard
Her poise, impeccable
She gestures in silence
To a passionate traveller or a mere paasserby
to reiterate her glorious past
And translate Indo-Portuguese Legacy into the pages of history
this is my small contribution..

The One Prayer, I'd Make to The Lord
Is, Thankyou, I have a Home Called Goa

Books, stacked away in silence, Almost waiting to exhale
To Unfold stories, Of Portugal Love and War

visiting a Goa home, Is like One Big Warm Hug
One can never have enough
..(esp the food, it's vindaloo and feni)

over the years, one notices
there are more photoframes on the wall
than people living

everytime
I turn my back
And leave the shores of Goa
i return, only eager
To learn more about Her
And Her Glory days

What Stares us in the Face, Is not what we have Built
But what we have Destroyed

Abandoned by the Family, On account of Ghost sightings
As one enters the imposing structure
One can only hold one's breath
And drift away into the grandeur and regality
That echoes through the walls
Of this Gorgeous Wealth Of the Past

Fading away Gracefully
It stands abandoned, due to a murder in the house, Raia

A graphic representation (a breath of Fresh Paint)
(L to R) - the balcao(sitting area), natural dye-wash of purple paint
wooden door frame with paintings of the natural world
Imposing wooden door

my journey continues..
through Goa her history
her land their conquests
the portuguse homes
their fado's
vindaloos sorptels and sorro..
More i dig into her..
I can bet u
Im her biggest fan

E so amor, pao e vinho ( it is love, bread and wine)

2008-05-15T00:00:00.000-07:00

uncle francis, aunt angela, priest from the church of 'The Saviour of the World' , aunt joaquina

A BIG FAT Goan Housewarming Celebration! ....and here I AM!

A housewarming celebration is a big event. It's like a mini bandra fair or a carnival of sorts. It brings together relatives, far and wide, cousins second cousins.. neighbours and neighbours family too, the village priests and priests and nuns within the family, the husband and his carnival of ship buddies back home in goa, the wife and the bandwagon of same age mums and same age kid friends, school teachers and the young guns football friends.. the grandparents inviting all their loved ones,and the whole village and next door village descends. voila! My Big Fat house warming . Im exhausted.

If that's a sneak peek into the invitees only! let me now dig a little into the pre celebrations nitty gritties. crisp invitations personally being hand delivered to all much in advance. So that invitees could start on their arrangement of gifts, a new outfit for the special occasion which is quite the norm, no fish to be bought for that day.. half day from work for the few who are locally employed, wives bring out their irons in advance to straightening out the last sleeve of the youngest kids new suit.. bows all tucked in wooden laced cupboards.. all the cousin footballers finally slide away their jerseys and like men in black, dress for the occasion as if gearing to walk down the isle.

Crisp laced curtains rise up in salutation to the Lord, a glossier frame of Leonardo da vinci's Last supper takes it's place over the dinning table. Bright yellow washes of paint.. brings in the portuguese touch and its joie de vivre. While the lazy dog, displaced, wanders around sniffing for hopeful familiar territory's, finally takes his coveted seat back, though on wet paint.. and creates his own hollywood walk of fame. Thus immortalized in new beginnings.

Alas, a very interesting fact one will almost always come across, is the day chosen for such auspicious beginnings. It mostly coincides with a wedding anniversary or a birthday or a feast day in the village. Considering we are in the Land of Celebrations, there's always two or more coincidental events to raise a toast to and it's party from there all the way.

Preparations for a lavish spread take centre stage days before. The most prosperous looking pig is cut. who will be sliced and diced into portuguese exotic preparation of vindaloo and sorpotel. The biggest size kingfish in the market is bought no matter what the price... and put to bake in the oven.The mayoniesse is blended and mixed with diced vegetables to fill tiny canopy's or tarts. Women folk of the village with their years of experience in sweetmeats like bibinca and dodol are seen behind huge pots... stirring away in the dark kitchens..smoke touches the roof, advertising the upcomming celebrations in the village home.

Assorted smells of vindaloo, aromas from the sweet making, fresh veneer, mingle and fill the air. You revel in the moment.. as you move from one room to the other, one generation to the next, conversations to gossips, goan sing song voices to whiskey aged voices.. high pitched violins to south americanised accents, basking cattle watch u in bewilderment.. crazy bombay ducks never had it better.. Lets moo on..
Im loving it all.. i shall stop. Let memory take me there.

Guests congratulate adrian and lidia on the housewarming day as well as their wedding anniversary.

The guests make their arrivals days earlier. Like me. I actually quit my job, not that the celebration was the only draw, also it was that time of the year, time for home comings. So here i am, resignation flung into the wind, it apparently visits the editor's desk.
Turn page.
I take wings. I soar up and over the arabian sea. As regina spektor belts out loud on my ipod, 'I went flying out of my window, went flying out of my window, it feels so real nice, it feels so real nice." The western winds drift further south.. and circle atop aunt angelina's chimney, destination arrived. Like Dorothy from 'The wizard of OZ', i arrive in with the furious wind..atop a coconut tree, in time for celebations.

The priests had a little vision of strange happenings on the eve of the house warming.. but port wine accompanied, they all drowned dizzily away. Yellow white balloons float around, tiny feet follow them everywhere, i follow big huge trays of fish tarts and prawn pattice.. The moustached cowboy guitarist and his violinist daughter's flowery attire robbed the garden of all it's beauty. How dare! But their music made up for it all. Step 1, step 2.. Mama eu queiro.. feet tap to portuguese music.. and goan mando's. Couples on the floor.. kids tap dancing on balloons, And belo beer raised to toast the couple. Jack daniel's raise the men off their seat.. and the house does a jig like never before. Cheers! cadiza-za-za-za-za-za....

there's a lovely portuguese song im reminded,

"Uma casa portuguesa fica bem
pão e vinho sobre a mesa
E se à porta humildemente bate alguém,
senta-se à mesa co'a gente.
Fica bem esta franqueza, fica bem,
que o povo nunca desmente.
Uma alegria da pobreza
está nesta grande riqueza
de dar e ficar contente. "
ina portuguese house, all is well. bread wine awaits you on the table and anyone who knocks on the door, is welcome to join all the people. It is well, that frankly all is well, that people never denied. there's joy in poverty, that's a great wealth in itself and to be happy.

A catch…from the land of fishy tales

2008-05-02T23:42:00.000-07:00

What’s amazing about a holiday in Goa is that you don't really need to plan your day. It just happens. It sucks you in and you will love every bit of it. Such is Goa, and I'm going to let you in on one such adventure that happened this summer.

The village of Loutolim, in South Goa wakes up one Saturday morning to empty out its pond, to collect the sweet water fish. This traditional form of fish farming (aquaculture) has been in practice in most Goan villages for many years. These village ponds are auctioned by the village panchayat for fish farming and the highest bidder gets to keep it for three years. The best thing about this kind of aquaculture is that a combination of a few varieties of fish is allowed to grow for a period of 4–6 months in a single sweet water pond. This year it was Uncle Caitano Vaz who won the bid and my trip coincided with this annual fishy event.

Here I am, in the midst of it all, watching the rising sun, camera in hand, waiting for the day to unfold itself. In this village of Loutolim, a simple tradition of fish harvesting takes shape of a cultural event. For me, the excitement has just begun. In true Goan style, the village crowds around the pond to witness Uncle Caitano, the mission-in-charge, wade in for this year's catch. With his feet planted firmly in muddy waters, he is accompanied by a few other fish trapping enthusiasts who have been up since 5 am draining the pond. Rohu, Chonak, Pitol and Katla are amongst the much sought after freshwater fish harvested here and locals flock to buy their share of the catch.

A little into the day and one can see silver streaks of tiny fish doing a nervous hippity-hop on the surface of the pond, drawing the attention of eager fishing nets. The fish dance entertains onlookers. From the road above, they yell directions and suggestions to the fish trappers about the fish's probable escape route. Passersby stop to watch. Some trappers make their way deep into the pond and proudly show off their catch, no matter how meagre, to the cheers of their friends and neighbours. Kids stop playing and rush into the scene, some with their toy fishing hooks others with fish bowls or plastic bags in the hope of finding a gold fish or another small pet with fins to whisk home. Further down, a young boy is thrilled as a turtle swims past his legs and disappears amongst the weeds. "Eat more fish, and grow a big tail, and when you grow up, you can enter the pond," shouts Uncle Francis at the incorrigible kids.

US-returned Terrence, all eager to help, brings in Kingfisher draught beer, fish patties and samosas to keep the fish trappers going.

Sweat trickles down muscular Fernando's back, his holy scapular drenched in it. He crams beer down his gullet and breaks into a smile, brighter than the morning sun. Rejuvenated and feeling like the king of good times, Fernando darts back into the waters and in true filmi style nets the catch of the day, the gorgeous katla.

Like folklore, one hears the fish take in its last few gasps of breath, its bulbous eyes seething with anger, throwing curses at the locals and promising revenge in its next life.

Back home, the womenfolk wait in their bulkaon (front entrance to the house with a small bench), as baskets of glistening fish make their arrival. The cats are happy, the dogs smell something fishy. We all return, lotus from the pond tucked in our hair and round our necks... the joy of victory. Ambottik, a special deep orange tangy gravy is made, to celebrate the occasion. We sit around the table under the divine grace of the Last Supper adorning the wall.

Our very own Lord, Caitano, takes centre stage at lunch. In true Biblical style, the village has been fed. The loaves of bread and fish divided amongst all. And to the joyous raptures of the opening of a wine bottle we grace our afternoon meal with a prayer, orange ambottik, red wine accompanied. Alleluia!

(If you are in Goa during April-May, you could get lucky to experience such an village event. What's more, the people of South Goa are so hospitable that a traveller passing by is most certainly invited for a complete Goan meal of fish curry rice.)

A vision of hope

2007-07-16T11:30:00.000-07:00

The visually impaired and their dreams are challenging the educational board?
How equipped is our educational system to this aspiring new generation?

The conversation slows down a bit, as Pawan,Vilas and his friends read my footstep from a distance. Vilas works at the telephone booth and is an ex-student of the S.I.E.S while Pawan who is currently in his 2nd year B.A at S.I.E.S. Pawan, a young man with the white cane like his friend, Vilas, but unlike him, belongs to a new generation of visually challenged. Armed with high aspirations and career goals, they enter the higher educational stream but what meets the eye, is a sense of loss of direction, growing technology needs, changing industry needs, and urgent need for specialization. What facilities does the educational board offer them? Are there specialized courses chartered to optimize their skills and ready them to face the industry today?

Dr. Sam Taraporevala, Director of Xavier’s Resource Centre for the Visually Challenged introduces me to a new device called zoom-ex. Dr. Sam who is visually challenged himself, adds, not too many of these approx. Rs/-80,000 wonders are in Mumbai and definitely not yet in any institute. Zoom-Ex folds up like a tripod and fits in your laptop bag. The Zoom-ex Portable Scanner instantly scans by photocopying the pages, while text-to-speech reads text. The Zoom-ex technology is new and expensive, and as for Pawan and a lot others like him, who are not yet aware of it’s existence it’s access is yet a far cry.

Dr. Sam's team, shares his spirit of challenge and adventure. At the Computer Resource Centre for the Visually Challenged, Sandeep’s college T-shirt reads, ‘It’s not just a college, it’s a way of life’. As the voice enabled software reads aloud, “Around the world in 80 days”, Jules Verne, to Sandeep, he is lost in words and adventure. A wave of positivity fills the air and students here have jumped into the technology bandwagon. Jatin an ex-xavierite, working at Johnson & Johnson is busy typing away at Google through JAWS(Job access with speech) he talks about his pursuit in MBA and adds on about a friend who is at the TCS and is a computer software engineer and a bunch of other guys on equally challenging careers. More and more visually impaired people have been entering the IT industry and call centers and other computer related fields. Institutions like the National Association for the Blind ( NAB), Xavier’s Resource Centre for the Visually Challenged, the Helen Keller Institute and also a huge contribution by corporate’s like Global Telesystems Limited (GTL) and others have ensured advanced computer training to bring in qualified visually challenged people into mainstream. GTL also organizes the annual chess tournament for the visually challenged and announced the launch of a chess software for the blind “Talk 64” to enable the visually challenged to enhance their playing skills.

Sarita Sachdev, more than a volunteer is a great mentor to the visually challenged students at S.I.E.S. She adds that colleges need to streamline their academic courses for the visually challenged into more career or job specific courses, which is not the case. Pawan adds, many of his visually challenged friends have an inclination towards psychology and look forward to a career in councelling but the advance course requires experiments and lab work, which they are debarred from taking up. The Bombay University needs to make small changes in this direction, so bright students don't lose out on opportunities and a career. Mahesh Umrannia, left his B.A and is pursuing his degree in music from the mumbai University as well as is attending a course in physiotherapy. His sister Lata, alike is pursuing her B.ed, both visually challenged have left no stone unturned in their qualifications and hope opportunities come their way. So while there are great success stories yet at a basic level our educational institutions have a bigger role to play and a lot to put into action. What is also important is corporate sponsorship, to bridge the gap where the educational institutions fall short.

Pawan has been short listed in the Guinness book of Records in the sports category of valley crossing. His dream is to enter the IT industry and has taken his first step in that direction. Kusum from Ruia’s wants to pursue journalism and is also curious to take up photography? But how many Pawan’s and Kusum’s do our colleges bring forth? What about the rest who are disillusioned with no direction and compromise on their dreams!

Neha is in her FYJC and it's her first day at the Xavier's college. It’s the beginning, of another journey, another career and another professional in the making. Pawan has a message for her, 'Don’t lose hope, and plan your career early in life, so one does not sway or give in easily'. It’s also not just graduation but a career that needs to be paved. There are questions to be answered, needs to be met.. and it needs to be addressed now!

Rum rummy ramabai

2007-06-01T04:46:00.000-07:00

‘Rum, Rummy, Rammabai’ is not the title of an offbeat Bollywood flick but stands to be the true story of thousands of migrant workers in the city of Mumbai. Living lonely lives in this crowded city of demand and desires, the Young and the Restless immigrants find comfort in the arms of these 3 words. Together it does also spell disaster. And the birth of the world’s deadliest disease, AIDS.

I wait in the corridors of the Ngo Jagruti Kendra, to join their staff during one of their visits into the migrant areas. As I await, two young men, in their early twenty’s lost and clueless arrive asking for Mr. Shinde, the staff in charge of the AIDS cases. I soon learn, one is affected by the virus, the other is a concerned friend. What is heartening is the awareness effort seems to have reached and they arrive at the onset of the disease hoping for better chances of survival.
I walk down the bylanes of Jari Mari, Taar Galli, and Anna Sagar with Shinde to meet some of the HIV affected cases. Munnabhai, a migrant worker, is all smiles, as he gets a glimpse of us through the volumes of scrap that blocks the façade of his workshop also his home and a shelter to the many he’s taken under his wings.
They arrive to the city of dreams, in search of employment. He is what an NGO would classify as a single migrant worker. Lack of local sources in rural areas, of income force single men and women within the age group if 15-49 to migrate from rural areas to urban city’s in search of employment, away from their families. Backed with hope, job opportunities in the city family to feed, they hunt for any means to earn a living. They live in the slums, or at their work/gala’s, in unhealthy and difficult conditions and make their colleagues their family. Majority, around 90% come from U.P. These lanes that I walk by, are shelter to close to 50,000 migrant workers,, most of them absorbed in the scrap industry the area is known for, also garment and construction industries.

Their days spent in sweat and toil(scrap of every imaginable sort), their nights spent in adda’s typically the breeding ground for alcohol, games, and women. Like one of them casually mentioned, ’haath pair dhooneka, nikalneka adda’ That’s their evening, eyes sore under blue prints, and libido cravings in search of you know what. According to studies, a high rate of HIV + cases are found among this strata of migrant workers.

Flip side of the coin. Take the case of Yogesh. Age:28, migrant since 10 yrs. A migrant worker, with a difference. But also spreading a unique disease, hope and awareness. Yogesh belonged to the grassroot of society/slums. In his own words,’ Maine logo ko nazdeeki se dekha hai, jaana hai, pehechaana hai. Iskeliye main uun taak pahooch saakta hu, aur wo mere taraaf”. Just like the other migrant worker he used to shy away from the mention of the word ‘AIDS’. It was until the organization, Jagruti Kendra, active in this area for the last 20 years and instrumental in the AIDS awareness programme that myth and fear has replaced acknowledgement and acceptance. He took the bold step of becoming a volunteer and educating himself on all aspects related to AIDS. He was trained by educated staff and doctors of the NGO about the disease. Yogesh made it his personal agenda to fight the negativity that accompanies the disease. He held group discussions, organized street plays and brought new and young immigrants under his wings and trained them himself. He also, had a camp for the elders, wherein money was gathered to buy optical glasses for the elders. He adds.. madam some cost 3000/- also, but hamne kar dikhaya hai.

Today, I am accompanied by Ranjit. Age: 22. Migrant worker 5 yrs. I meet him at his gala where he works with the 15 immigrants. He is immediately allowed by his in gala leader to accompany the NGO and me to help a recently HIV affected young migrant. The trust, confidence and acceptance on their faces is work put in by Jagruti Kendra over many years and taken forward diligently by these boys. Today they are an enlightened bunch. No fear. None are ignorant. Ranjit is a part time volunteer and spends his evenings educating the new immigrants. He says everyone is willing to hear and learn. He laughs as we tell him, he’ll will be in the papers for his good work, and adds he has done nothing yet. They hold street plays which is more effective than T.V. Adv… adds one of the younger workers from behind the shed.

Also, shankar, age 56, migrant worker: 40 yrs. Today, HIV Positive. A hero in his own way. He stumbles as he walks to open the door for me. His wife too busy working the kitchen and caring for the father in law. He volunteers to be photographed to help spread awareness. He is also a T.B. patient. But is ready to battle it out and be a role model to others. Also meet shubhash to my left, whose proudly displays his award for social welfare for the last 25 yrs. he single handed, fought J.J. hospital and other noted hospitals and the police and got an HIV patient admitted in his fina stages in a govt. hospital. The boy, adhav works in the nearby gala and is a volunteer towards the cause of HIV himself.

Finally my mind seeks relief… from the most important point Yogesh makes to me and the Ngo colleagues as we leave him. Madam, aaj, mei akeele he, logo ka madat kar sakta hu. Akele. Mission accomplished. It’s the birth of a new generation of immigrants. The birth of Hero No.1 and a new movie that needs no ending. What our society needs are more Yogesh’s. And a single person can make a difference.

Split! the way to be!

2007-04-25T00:15:00.002-07:00

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Struggling within..
Garreth on vocals, Mel, Shekhar and Aviv on guitars and Nigel on drums... together they form the band, Split. A bunch of aspiring musicians, who meet up at nigel's den to put together their passion for music, share their musical differences and find a common voice, within not so common a genre in the city of Bombay. Today, they've grown into individual musicians and a focussed band. They challenge the Indian rock scene with their very own brand of original lyrics and compositions. They've stuck to their guns over the years and stage performances covering music from the chaos of their minds and the rhythm of their soul. Doing covers are passe.. they are a band any rock punk alternative music freak would love to be audience to. They are a voice, waiting to be heard, louder, now than ever. A music genre, a platform, Bombay struggles to give in easily to.

One way or another.. gonna get ya , get ya
It's their faith, focus and drive that keeps them alive and kickin in a city flooded with bollywood music and the likes. Music is what they breathe, just that it does not fill their pockets the same way. Anyone who's watched their performance will be taken aback with the ferocity and passion they deliver at every gig. Their talent and originality is finally being acknowleged and much appreciated among the known names in the industry. Their consistency in Bombay's rock scene has secured them a devoted following. Their lyrics are packed with emotions of their daily struggles and alongside, that of the city they live in. In a compact performance of a few minutes, they put in everything they've got. Blaring their hearts out as you watch them bleed, they take you through a journey from the deep ravines of their innermost souls.. Anyone living the moment, especially in Bombay, with it's traffic woes and railway nightmares knows exactly where that comes from. The city's chaos, clogs one's existence, sends spiral brainwaves to your already messed up mind, and these bunch of musicians have found just the right way to vent out their frustration. Bravo! Must the politicians learn a thing or two from their own city youth. I hope the chief minister of Maharashtra is summoned to one of their performances, or maybe his son, and the youth of tomorrow can ensure themselves a recognizable platform. Well man, that's how it works sometimes.. as long as one does not have to sacrifice their beliefs in doing so..

'one more minute and something will explode
and whose gonna take credit for the blood that will flow'
lyrics from Pig Society, credits: Split

That's split, from me to you! Honest to every word they pen, and i stand by them for that!

But what's next for split?
Yes, an album, a recognized platform, some money to keep their art alive and sponsors, sponsors, sponsors for the same. The journeys been tough. The road ahead, tougher. Any one out there listening? Your comments much appreciated! i wish them luck and a godfather of a sponsor....cheers! signing off! vazo.

buenavista-mustread

Rock Star Baba

2007-04-19T09:16:00.000-07:00

I stop to have chai next to one of the Akharas at the Kumbh mela. A sadhu of a higher initiation emerges from one of the camps. He is seated on an elephant and is followed by a jubilant procession, singing his praises. Devotional chanting fills the air. I watch the crowds gawk as the Maharajah raises his right arm to bless them all. My camera zooms into the elephants tired eyes and i can see the reflection of a thousand pilgrims waiting to catch a glimpse of the spectacle. From under her belly, i hear a Naga hailing abuses, incidentally at me. This is my first encounter with the holy men and i am nervous. Im offended by his offensive language and turn my back on him. I soon realise i am at the Juna Akhara-the Naga sadhus camp. Close to 30,000 Naga sadhus reside here during the month-long kumbh mela. Well, curious as I was, I hung around and finally decide to make my foray into the territory of the Nagas.

He calls himself Toofani Baba. I call him the 'The Jim Morrison' of the Naga's. He smokes, rolls, laughs and does so with great élan. A body of steel and smoke. Living wild and hailing abuses are what they are known for, he quickly adds.

I soon find myself seated among his assistants.Two young boys, of age 9 and 12, are busy filling their chillums. I am asked to join them in smoke. Two women foreigners join the camp. Smoke fills the air. My lens is blur. Im in a haze. Everyone around me is floating slow in a thick cloud. I sit, uptight. Upright. I clench my camera and stay in focus. Toofani Baba skillfully introduces us all as he switches between hindi and angreejee. Hidden behind a curtain adorned with psychedelic images of Gods and Godesses and dreamily silhouetted in smoke, is a tourist from Switzerland. Stripped of all his passport and money he now takes refuge under Toofani Baba's camp. Alongside and oblivious to his surrounding is the rock star,Toofani. Rolling away on his so called throne of blankets stashed with money under them, he is the king of his own world.

He tells me, he too had a short stint in a bollywood flick. He had enacted the part of a sadhu, took the crew into the secrets of his world. He takes great pride in his achievements. He does'nt stop there. He convinces me into shooting a documentary for him wherein he'd be the star. He'd unlock the doors of his life to share it with the world and we share the profits. A tempting business propostion. My imagination goes a riot. i see myself with a camera dug deep, a many hundred feet as Toofani goes into samadhi... and refuses to get out of it. I grow old. Mice chew on the film. i am reminded of the notoriety this group is known for.

The Nagas are the warrior sadhus. Their ascetic traditions date back more than 2000 years. They were raised as an army to defend the weakened religion and never gave up their creed. The Nagas are considered the most Holy and revered among the Sadhu sects. The term "holy" however, can sometimes be a misnomer since not all India's Sadhus are seekers of God. It is a known fact that some Sadhus are criminals wanted by police for murders, rapes, swindling or trade in contraband and narcotics. They smear their bodies with vibhuti the only armour against the low temperatures at Allahabad.
Naga baba’s are known to be loud, abusive brash crash thrash.. say it all.. Toofani lived upto it all and yet there is a charming streak about him.

My next visit sees him in a plastered foot. Visitors smoke in and out to check in on him.. as he narrates the incident in an 'Absolut Toofani Ishstyle'. On the auspicious day, 19th of january 2007, after the (shahi snan) morning ritual of bathing in the ganges, on his return, an angry horse ran lose.. and tripped on his foot. Toofani had his way of gathering an audience and dramatizing life. I did not have the nerve to photograph him in pain. He was at his all time low. The doctor claims him to be an extraordinary caes. 13 injections wouldn’t work on him, when a single injection would heal a sick elephant. Such was the man of steel and smoke. What also was remarkable about Tofani Baba, he asked for no such offerings of food or money. Most hermits, usually live a life in seclusion, and shun contact with the world.They renounce all earthly pleasures in an attempt to attain spiritual enlightenment. They live on people's generosity. Some of them, market savvy enough to draw huge crowds and indulge in luxuries and also service to the needy.

I bid farewell and promise to return with pain killers and fruits. An afterthought, no medication in the world would bring him relief. They have their own cure.. and life goes on. I hope to meet him someday again.

Electronic Blessings

2007-04-14T11:33:00.001-07:00

Namaste! There is an inner conflict of traditional versus modernity and to what extent it goes as i pen this travelogue.

So here I am. Bringing to you, centuries old traditions, of the Ramlila, as enjoyed by our forefathers without tampering it with modernity or the current state of affairs of the 21st century. But, would that be me, stressing one side of the story, seeing the world through the eyes of a purist, only order no chaos.. that would be absolutely absurd to a benarasi youth, but his grandfather lives with it's thoughts, oblivious to all. i need to come to terms with this contradictions of sorts. I, let you alone be the better judge.

'Those Good Old Days' a phrase one often hears, in context to the simple, unadulterated, lives our forefathers lived and reteirated to us time and again. In time, we too reminiscent the past and it's cherished memories brings a smile to our face. Such is the beauty of the Ramlila of Ramnagar, Benares that i came to witness. It relives the Glory of the past, every year during the septmember-october period. The Grand Ramlila. The most traditional and grand of of them all, is the performance carried on for 31 days, at Ramnagar, marked by detailed dialogues and impressive enactments. Ramayana, is Ram’s journey, and Ramlila suggests this journey literally. im transported a few centuries beyond time. Im stuck in the past, my entire being, except of rmy mobile which does not want to lose connection. I am now in Ramnagar.

The open maidan(grounds) where the Ramlila is held, is sprinkled by a handful of the audience. It's much to early and scorching heat. Dust winds give it that sepia look. I take the backstage to where the performers are preparing themselves for the Grand Finale. i am welcome and get a nod of approval, my presence accepted amongst the midst of Gods. Most of the main actors are children. Sita is played by a boy. (above in the red saree next to Ram) The main characters are usually child actors and are understood by most of the audience as svarup, (in likeliness). They are initiated into the play two months in advance, where the learn the verses and are looked upon as real Gods. On the performance days the make-up of the swarupas (studded with stars, sequins, mica, etc.) might seem odd to a westerners eye, but for the devout every thing is perfect and the visit a blissful pilgrimage! The child actors, stoic appearance, their dignified poise and patience with which they play their part is particularly noteworthy and full of praise. i am about to surrender in all when a loud voice summons the arrival of the Gods amongst us mortals. The crowds gather in a hurry. The child Gods must always be seated on a high rise elevation, above the rest of the janta (audience or spectators) The main actors, mainly Ram, Sita, Laxman are very young, of age 12-15. An entire day is spent, meticulously dressing the young Gods, Devotees, high preists and specialised make-up artists all consider it a priveledge to be a part of this celebration. The actors are carried on backs of the helpers, who place them gently on their respective throne, above the maidan grounds,for all to seek blessings and be a part of the experience. Sita seated on her throne, is guarded by her own caretaker, who fans her be her side and is at her service, while Ram and Laxman, have their own special place in the kingdom..

Locals and Hindu devotees, all crowd up around the Gods in hope to seek their Lords blessings. bamboo barricades are created, to keep the crowds at a distant. Pilgrims, locals devotees all reach out to touch Ram’s feet and seek blessings, including the local police on this auspicious day.

Thousands of sadhus arrive here to be part of this month-long recital proceedings. Men, women and children follow the course of the processional performance, accompanying Rama from his exile to his triumphant return to Ayodhya to partake of the joy and glory of Ramarajya. Visitors are plunged into the rich and lively experience of the Ramlila with its svarupas, effigies, masks, Ramayanis, Vyasas, gods, goddesses, demons and monkeys; with its theatrical gimmickry and spectacle and marvels; with its thronging, surging crowds. Performers and spectators are part of a seamless ceremony.
As it's neares sunset, the Lord of Gods await the arrival of the Maharajah. The maharajah, of Ramnagar, had started the tradition many years ago, and it is being carried out in the same amount of devotion and spirit like that of the yesteryears. For a brief moment the maharjah takes over. As the maharajah arrives, im summoned by his bodygaurd to pack my camera, photography is forbidden. Suddenly i realise i am governed by the laws of the Land. i turn to the effigy of Ravana that pierces the skies. Sun bathes the open grounds with it's wramth, almost af if lights from the heaven grace the start of the final act. As nature sheds it's bright clothing for the dark nights, the maharajah adresses us all and the performance begins.

The auto rickshaw driver, flashes the light, signalling it's time to leave. There is darkness everywhere except for the few petromax lanterns that surround the performers. As i move towards the city, i come across varying versions of enactment. Some drowned in loud speakers blarring into the night, as the effigy burns away. Interaction with God less, the distraction more. It's significance diluted and drama of another kind takes place.

it's the co-existence of two worlds. And so they must be.
What took me back to these pleasant moments of my travel to ramnagar, is a phone call. A friend who visited the ramlila later, calls in with a special message. A message from God, Lord Ram had enquired about you, has you in his prays and has sent his blessings. i am thrilled. This is my ramlila. Most precious to my heart.

With a Little help from Jagruti Kendra

2007-04-12T08:44:00.000-07:00

Jagruti Kendra, is an NGO started in 1989. Initiated by the church, it includes today people of all faith irrespective of cast, creed and gender.
The main objective, is to create awareness and organizing people for action. Main issues involve, domestic violence, marital dispute, dowry, drug abuse, eviction and demolition of houses, due to illegal encroachment, lack of basic amenities, corruption in public food distribution system etc.
Jagruti Kendra extends it’s service to two lakh people with the help of well equipped and dedicated staff. Mahila Madal a platform to bring women together was formed and women started being a part of the effort on their own and through word of mouth. That itself is a big step in the effectiveness spread through the organisation.

Darshana, mother of school going children, a girl and a boy. They live at the Khadi No. 3, Siddharth Housing Soc. kurla slums, next to the airport. Her daughter studies in St. Jude’s school it is the last day of school and summer holidays begin.
Darshan along with other women, approached the Jagruti Kendra 8 years ago. Their concerns involved, poor drainage, water problem, cleanliness of the area and housing issues. The small square foot of property that they bought or rented over12 yrs ago, is the property of the airport. The property had been illegally sold to them of which they've been clueless and the people involved have disappeared a long time ago. They've been facing evacuation at the hand of builders lately. They formed a Mahila Mandal group to address the issues and find solutions as also help other women stand up for their own rights. A development scheme, was put into plan. The low lying area raised, leveled, drainage constructed and it has bought some amount of order and cleanliness. The staff put a lot of time, energy, and efforts to bring the women out of their houses who have closed them up in fear, illiteracy and suppression. Today, they are an enlightened lot, know their rights, know how to bring dignity to their meagre existence, and stand up and fight for their keep .

Kanchan, and her mother, Darshana, are cutting and cleaning the edges of rubber rings, required for industrial purpose. These rings arrive at their homes, so most of the people in this area are engaged in such work, especially the women of the family as it involves working from home. They are paid Rs.50 for a 1000 rubber rings per day.

Jesenta is just back after an operation from the hosptal. she is having lunch provided to her by her neighbouras. She struggles to walk to the door but greets us warmly. She is in her later 40’s and lives alone in the 3.No khadi area next to the airport and the airport land. She went abroad for 2 years to earn a living, but returned not wanting to go back. She joined the mahila madal group and has been a part of it for 10 yrs. She needed help with her living conditions and a job. Jagruti Kendra, absorbed her, as staff and she has been with them ever since. Since she is not married her only mental and financial strength, her security and family is the committee. With their help, and financial credit soc. she raised the foundation of her house, which had damaged and destroyed her belongings during the flood and hampered her general health in all. Jagruti Kendra helped her with moral support, concessions on hospital bills, with her recent operation. Each member of the staff sat accompanied by her bedside through her sickness. Her neighbours are more caring and concerned today. She survives on love hope and support from neighbours and her organisation. In her own words, I never believed I could get, so much help and love from anyone. She is indebted to them for life.

Volunteer stella, is retired but continues to help the organization. She has been them for the last 16 years. She is among the oldest of members. She is in charge of a few slum areas around the airport. One of them is the 3.No khadi area. She is welcomed by smiles, as she moves through the gallis, of the slum area. The women in the sum area, treat her like family. And look forward to her visit and to share their woes and concerns in all aspects of life. She is their pillar of strength. Stella above in the photo being greeted by the poor families.

Africa still beats within me

2007-03-13T06:08:00.000-07:00

Each time I put pen to paper, some words pick up wings and take to flight while others pound the earth with their feet, kicking up dust leaving all of Savannah, unsettled. So let me share with you an experience ever so memorable...

Kenya, the naked land that stretches endlessly, holds an extraordinary charm about herself. Her secrets, well hidden, beyond her grasslands, waiting to be explored.

Come August and it's that time of the year to witness the wildebeest migration. The wildebeest throttle the Savannahs in their multitudes. Choking every conceivable land with their grazing, strutting, playing around or merely just lazing in their sun stroking their beards, begging to be a part of your picture frame.

So are the zebras. Black-white stripes in hurried motion, playing tricks with your eyes. Racing to keep in pace with your vehicle, they approach you to form a line, waiting to cross; zebra crossing takes on a literal meaning!

As we dash into the vast expanses of Masai Mara, an eerie wind sweeps right past us, a sudden chill brings us to a grinding halt. Silence sucks the air. We feel the presence of a big cat. It's our first encounter with a carnivore. Behind a hidden bush we spot it - a lioness with a fresh zebra kill! She devours her prey greedily, her muzzle all bloody. A vulture silhouetted against the now fading sky watches patiently.

A short distance ahead, we are stopped by a mixed party of Griffon's vultures and white-backed vultures. We watch the drama unfold - as one pulls desultorily on the carcass of a wildebeest, the other vultures play the watch and wait game.

More excitement awaits us! A passing vehicle tells us to look out for cheetahs in the vicinity. The moment we having been waiting for has finally arrived. My heart races in anticipation. The sun is setting but our hopes are high. Cushioned under the comfort of tall dry grass are two cheetahs, so close, I can almost reach out and touch them. They are unperturbed by our presence, wrapped up in their chores of licking each other's face intently.

A rare encounter with the elusive hartebeest is the next surprise. Since this species is not found in Indian forests, we stop to have a good look at their elongated muzzles stretching out against the blue-green tapestry of the Savannahs.

At lake Nakuru, a most amazing spectacle awaits us. Every inch of the lake is crammed with flamingos. The sky, the waters and even the air breathes pink. The fabulous pink birds pick up their skirts and moved on gracefully. Tiptoeing with the elegance of a ballet dancer, the birds shy away from me as I approach them with my camera.

Scattered amongst them are white pelicans, their bright white plumage stands out against the sleepy grey sky. On the waterfront, three rhinos march right ahead of us, turned to have another look at us, and our cameras follow them every step of the way. All this set to the background of the flamingos made it even a prettier sight. The purple-necked heron with its neck tucked high above the plains of Amboseli poses patiently for us. The magnificent African fish eagle, all gleaming white and chocolate brown, stands still till we pay our respects and moves ahead. We spot a group of yellow-billed hornbills on the trees as well as the ever so gorgeous secretary bird! Ain't ever seen a secretary so pretty, who blushes and does a disappearing act!

It is time for a little introduction to the tribes of the land. Tall, wiry men wrapped in bright red clothing with magnificent headgear dance near the fireplace. Their heavy voices are in sync with each other's intonations, while one shrill voice breaks the rhythmic chants. They jump higher and higher and higher... as though suspended on trampolines. The women's bodies gyrate to the rhythm and we join in to do our little jig.

An early morning sighting was a pride of nine lions - two lioness and seven cubs. Bathed in the first light of day, the two cubs play gleefully and are joined by the lionesses. "Hakunamatata" so did they dance to this musical note as each lion walked carefree, the 'lion king' way, only to stop and stare curiously at you. And with all due respect, we bow down till they all pass our way. We were blessed with this sighting on the last day of our journey.

Kenya sinks into you so deeply that its memories stay afresh for the rest of your living life. As Kuki Gallmann, author of 'I Dreamed of Africa', describes so amazingly, "It still has what most of the world has lost."