Monday, February 4, 2019
Bombay
Another Interview, A Documentary Film and Visit to the Museum
Namaste from India!
Anther eventful day rolled around! And by the end of it, I was so drained that I actually missed my visit to Dad and Russel and missed Mass as well. So here is how full it was.
Up at 6.00 am, I blogged, read rapidly through Twitter (I am engrossed right now in a controversy that is raging about the blackface minstrelsy of Mary Poppins Returns that has been initiated by my friend Daniel Pollack-Peltzner's article on the remake and his critique on her powdering her face with black soot). I then called the bread man up for my two broons which I ate with spreads and swallowed with coffee.
By 10.00am, I was out the door and heading to the bus stop for a bus to Bandra Station followed by a train ride to Churchgate and a walk across the Oval Maidan to the Yacht Club near the Gateway of India where I had an 11.15 am appointment with the great Coomi Wadia, conductor of the Paranjoti Orchestra for the past 50 years. I cannot even begin to tell you how fulfilling an experience it was.
Interviewing Coomi Wadia:
I have been seeing Coomi Wadia at all the HGLive operatic performances I have been going to at the NCPA where she is something of a fixture. I also had the privilege of listening to the Paranjoti Choir a few weeks ago when they gave their Christmas concert at the Afghan Church. I found her an absolute delight to chat with--in fact, her account of her early life and her entry into music was so moving that I actually had to excuse myself because I began to tear up! Indeed, her story is so full of poignancy and inspiration that I simply could not get enough of our conversation. Occasionally, she lapsed into Gujarati (but since I understand Gujarati, I had no problem with understanding her at all). Her English is impeccable, but it is interesting to me how in the midst of speaking perfect English with a Westernized accent one still clutches at the language of our mothers when we need to convey information about which we care deeply. Over a lemon soda for me and an iced tea for her, I procured so much valuable information. Plus she is the only interviewee I have met so far who came equipped with programs of her 35th and 50th anniversary brochures for me to take home plus pictures of herself (through the years) and of her choir at their various international concert tours. It was simply amazing. Before I knew it, it was almost 1.00 pm and I had to bid her goodbye--but seriously I could have chatted with her forever.
Off for Lunch to Copper Chimney:
The entire Kala Ghoda area is still closed to traffic and is still hopping as the Festival continues. I could have eaten the street food but I was really keen to sit down in a cool quiet place and have a good meal and I opted for what has become my favorite lunch in the area--the lunch at Copper Chimney. For the Festival days, they have a specially priced buffet--Rs. 500 all you can eat. But they are not having their Rs. 200 soup and salad buffet (which is my preference). Still, I had chicken soup followed by Mince Biryani and Raita, a chicken curry, a delicious lamb (goat) curry, a mixed vegetable dish and two types of paneer (Paneer Badami and Paneer Hariyali). For dessert, I had gulab jamuns and rasgullas--all quite amazing and very good value for money. I did not overeat as I still have the rest of the day to get through.
Watching a Documentary Film on Guru Dutt:
Next, I walked right through the Festival (not as crowed today, being a weekday, as it was yesterday) and made my way to the Museum where I bought a ticket and entered so that I could take in the attractions of the first floor (I have finished covering the second floor in detail).
Only it turned out that the Cinema part of the Festival was being held in the screening room of the Museum and I noticed that there was a documentary film on the great Guru Dutt that was being screened. Now I have not seen Hindi films in a very long time but when I was a kid, we saw a lot of films on TV (as that was the only fare available) and a lot of song sequences during the Chaya Geet shows that were screened once a week. So I am very familiar with the great classic films of Guru Dutt (Sahib, Bibi Aur Gulaam, Pyaasa, Kagaz ke Phool, Chaudvin ka Chand, etc), and I am certainly familiar with the great sound track of those movies composed by the great S.D. Burma using the voice of his wife Geeta Dutt. So you can imagine with what joy I sat through the documentary and how much I enjoyed remembering my teenage self and the pleasure I had taken in such stirring music. It was just fantastic! Also, to hear about how immensely talented Guru Dutt was and yet what a lost soul he was! To hear about his affair with Waheeda Rehman, his failed marriage, the depression that dogged him for years, and his ultimate suicide that he committee at age 39 from an overdose of sleeping pills and alcohol--all of that was utterly heartbreaking. I was so happy that I saw clips again from some of his finest work and took such great joy in them. In fact, I have now decided that when I go back home to Connecticut, I shall try to see all these films in chronological sequence, one after the other, and become reacquainted with his immortal oeuvre.
A Visit to the Museum:
When the film ended, I walked out with dozens of lovers of classical Bollywood cinema and entered the Museum. I noticed that a new special exhibition entitled, "Indian Life and People in the Nineteenth Century" was on and so I headed to the second floor. I found it to be an exhibition of what is called "Company Paintings"--these were watercolors that depict Indians in the throes of their daily lives and occupations in pieces that were commissioned by British officials of the time. They are beautifully exhibited and curated and include items in the collection of the museum that date from that century. A lovely small exhibition that I would urge anyone with an interest in sociology and cultural studies to see.
Next, I wandered into a small exhibition on 'The Mummy'--which brings emphasis to the actual Egyptian Mummy that is in the possession of the Bombay Museum--who knew?? Although the wooden sarcophagus is not in a very good state of preservation, for those visitors to the museum who will never have the opportunity to go to say the British Museum or to the Cairo Museum to take in their treasured mummies, this is a good example of the kind of burial customs and rituals associated with the ancient Egyptians.
The Mummy happened to be in the room that houses the Karl Khandalawala Collection which was also interesting. Khandalawala, a London-trained barrister who did his undergraduate studies from my college (Elphinstone) developed a love for Indian art early in life and began an assiduous process of collecting works of his liking. His small collection comprise small terra-cotta busts, stone carvings from Indian temples, sculptural works in bronze plus larger pieces such as a full-sized wooden altar from Rajasthan for housing an Indian Hindu deity. Accompanying the exhibition of these works are black and white pictures from his life--from childhood to his ultimate acceptance of a position on the Board of Directors of the Museum and his very final position as its Director. I found the entire capsule of his life and its times quite fascinating indeed and in looking at it juxtaposed against the art works he collected, it was even more fascinating to me.
My perusal of the Museum's first floor collection continued with a look at its lovely Prints section where I saw colonial architecture wonderfully immortalized through engravings that results in the mass production of prints. Unbelievably, these are still available for sale by the connoisseur and a few years ago, I had picked up a set of four prints that make up a pack depicting the 'Battle of Mooltan (now in Pakistan) from one of my favorite shops in Bombay, Phillips Antiques. I got them framed in Bombay and they proudly adorn by dining room back in Southport. They are museum-quality and standard and looking at the softly tinted prints in this collection, I felt so proud that I had the foresight to buy these woks while they were still pretty affordable.
Next, I wandered into the Indian Miniature Section which was wonderfully curated. Sets of miniature paintings were displayed according to their style and chronology and by the end of an hour, I learned about the difference in Mughal Miniatures as opposed to Rajasthani Ministaures, about the differences between Kangra Schools of Painting Miniatures as opposed to others,such as Amber. There were actual differences even within the grand Mogul period with miniatures produced during the reign of Akbar (who started the trend of posing for portraitists) differing from those of his descendants (Jehangir, Shah Jehan and Aurangzeb). Really and truly fabulous stuff because it was not just the scene that was incredible, it was the back drop against which they were painted that really caught my eye.
On my way downstairs, I took in the photographs of Old Bombay on the walls in the main concourse and the few small sculpted items in the vitrines on the ground floor.
But all this close examination of Indian miniature paintings exhausted me deeply and I was ready to get home and get some rest by this stage in the day. So off I went in a No. 133 bus from the bus-stop just across from the museum to Churchgate station from where I took a seat in a practically empty first class general compartment to get home. At Bandra station, I got a bus almost immediately and was home within the hour for a hot shower.
When I felt human again, I sat down to a nice pot of tea, wafers and part of my chocolate eclair. I was so relaxed that I simply could not face the thought of getting up and going over to Dad's. So I called and asked him to excuse me as I simply wanted to have a quiet evening at home by myself today. I told him to go to Mass on his own. All as well at home anyway and I was happy. In the morning, I contacted Dr. Derrick D'Lima to get Russel's plaster cast removed. That has been set for this coming Saturday at 10.30 am. Please keep Russel in your prayers. It will be such a relief for him to have the plaster removed after 4 long months--but the rehab will then begin and we can only hope that with the arthritis still problematic in his knee, it will not be too challenging.
I ate my dinner--yes!! Valerie began delivering her tiffin to me again today although I have now told her to send no fried foods and only to supply on Monday and Thursday as I do want to cut down my portion size and calories. I am amazed how much weight I have put on in four months and how tight all my clothes are! Real shame on me!
I watched another episode of Agatha Raisin and quite liked it. Then it was time to take a look at email and respond to very urgent ones before I took stock of my work for the next week--I am feeling overwhelmed!--before I went off to sleep feeling completely drained.
Until tomorrow...
Showing posts with label Kala Ghoda Festival. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kala Ghoda Festival. Show all posts
Thursday, February 7, 2019
Monday, February 4, 2019
Visiting Sewri Cemetery, Doing Another Interview and Presenting at the Kala Ghoda Festival
Sunday, February 3, 2019
Bombay
Visiting Sewri Cemetery, Doing Another Interview and Presenting at the Kala Ghoda Festival
Namaste from Bombay!
It was another scintillating day--but such a fatiguing one! Gosh, I have never felt so drained as I did this weekend. It appears that my physical activity is catching up with me. Still, I am not complaining and I know that because I am making the most of every second in Bombay and drinking life to the very lees, there is a price to be paid.
Awake at 6.00 am, I raced through a blog post and then up and readied myself for my early morning date with Dad. My friend Marianel had presented me with a cold roasted tongue (one of my favorite things to eat), fully salted and cured as only the East Indians know how to do! I decided to carve it up into slices, make sandwiches of it and take it to Dad and Russel for breakfast. With Marianel's homemade mustard (made to a recipe of her mother) the sandwiches were divine with coffee which I had at Dad's. A little after 8.00 am, we were both ready for our annual excursion to see the Dead of the D'Souza family!
Visiting Sewri Cemetery:
Every year when I make my annual visit to India, Dad requests me to escort him to the Sewri Cemetery so that he can pay his respects to the deceased members of his and my Mum's side of the family. And we usually go on a Sunday when there is practically no traffic on the streets. We took a cab and were at the place about a half hour later as we were in the hands of a wonderful paan-chewing driver who knew the easiest and quickest route to get us there.
Having enjoyed rambling through cemeteries in the West (Highgate and Brompton Cemeteries in London and Pere Lachiase Cemetery in Paris), I can tell you that I am always completely taken by a well-kept cemetery. My mind wanders off from the morbidity of death to take in the grandeur of the mortuary sculpture and the peacefulness of the environment. In the old days, one spent so much money creating worthy monuments for those one had loved and lost. Today, we make do with a simple marble gravestone in India--even less in the West. So, I really do enjoy accompanying Dad on this annual venture.
Dad knows the route so well now that he does not even have to consult the route map or the grave numbers. We always start off with the grave of my Mum's side of the family--my grandmother Valerie is buried in the same grave with her sons, my Mum's brothers, Henry and Freddy. I attended all their funerals whilst I had still lived in Bombay, so pausing for prayers at their grave site is a very moving experience. Next, we visit my paternal grandmother's grave--my Dad's mother, Severine. She passed away four years before I was born...not having known her at all, I feel less moved at her grave but eager to know as much about her as I can. From there, we move on to the grave of my Dad's eldest sister, Lily and her husband. He died at the age of 49 leaving her widowed for a full forty years before she passed away too. And finally, we get to the grave of my Dad's eldest brother Egil (who also died before I was born). It amazes me how many people died before they reached the age of fifty in those days and how much longer we continue to live in just one generation. At each point, when we pause for prayers, graveyard attendants come up with a watering-can to sweep and wash off the accumulated debris of a whole year: dried leaves from the gorgeous trees that form a canopy overhead--but, of course, with trees come bird droppings. Those too are washed away. We say a prayer at each site and move on. Dad was not as emotional this time as he has been in past years. I always end up taking pictures of the funerary sculpture that I find mainly at the front of the cemetery where the most ornate Victorian monuments are scattered: weeping angels, Celtic crosses, ivy trailing up urns...that sort of thing.
However, I have to say that this time I found something quite incredible at a grave site. The place was mobbed by crows and squirrels and so I wandered closer to see what the fuss was about. And I found a grave whose headstone was simply covered with freshly placed garlands. At the grave itself were enough food items to cover a birthday party: there was chips and dips, a plate of cashew nuts, another plate filled with Indian mithai, yet, another plate filled with sweets, a plate with two huge pastries (chocolate pastry and pineapple pastry). I was baffled as I had never seen anything quite like this before. The grave attendant told us that it was the grave of a child who had died and whose grieving family had a first birthday party for him at his grave yesterday! That was simply too poignant for words! Poor little mite! It is sights like this that bring us in mind of the absolute misery of human suffering when confronted with the premature death of a loved one.
Doing an Interview with Alfred D'Souza:
Dad and I took the same cab back to Bandra--he had awaited our return by prior arrangement. However, I hopped off at St. Joseph's School on Hill Road as I had an appointment for yet another interview. This time I was meeting Alfred D'Souza, composer and conductor of the famous Stop Gaps Choir and singing teacher par excellence. Alfred was fantastic. Not only was he a gold mine of information but he was so economical with what he said--he did not go rambling all over the place, but stuck with the salient features (which made my life so much easier). Plus, he has such a string of accomplishments that he left me stunned. It was a sheer pleasure chatting with him. In fact, I also had the chance to listen to the rehearsals of his children' choir which had a new young 14 year old pianist that they were trying out for the first time.
Lunch with Dad and Russel:
I walked home from Hill Road past Bandra Gym where I stopped to order lunch for Dad, Russel and me--Chicken Alfredo Pasta (with Garlic Bread) and Chicken Chilly. I told Samir that I would return to pick it up. Then I got home for a bit of a lie-down as I was already feeling tired. I also reviewed my synopsis of my book in readiness for my presentation in the afternoon at the Kala Ghoda Festival. About a half hour later, I got dressed and went off to pick up my food and took it to Dad's.
Lunch was absolutely delicious as Dad and Russel were in the throes of watching the cricket match between India and New Zealand. Russel has become fully involved in cricket again--much to our relief. With fresh fruit for dessert, it was a fine meal indeed.
Off to the Kala Ghoda Festival:
Shahnaz was supposed to go with me but she ended up pulling her back and backed out. I did meet my Fulbrighter colleagues, Michelle and Megan, however, at Bandra Station and together we took the train to get to Churchgate and back. We crossed the Oval Maidan on foot and arrived at he venue where I was quite amazed at the huge scale of the affair.
The Kala Ghoda Festival was initiated 20 years ago and has grown into India's largest cultural festival. It hosts events under several categories: Literature, Children's Literature, Film, Music, Dance, Drama, Heritage Walks, Food and Art. The entire street that is known as Rampart Row is occupied by the festival and closed off to traffic. The festival gets its name from the statue of the black horse that stands at a traffic island opposite Elphinstone College and the Jehangir Art Gallery. In a space that was beautifully festooned with a multi-colored half-shamiana, we walked past security and into an area filled with art installations at which the multitude of people present were posing. There was an array of food stalls and a whole host of one-of-a-kind craft stalls that sold clothing, home goods, hand made paper supplies, that sort of thing. Had I not been so tired, I am sure I would have loved to have browsed through a place where every event was absolutely free. But I could not spend too much time loitering as I had to get to the garden of the David Sassoon Library for my panel discussion which would begin at 4.00 pm.
Participating in a Panel Discussion on Migration and Displacement:
When I arrived in the garden of the David Sassoon Library, there was a session going on. It was, from what I could gather, a book of war poetry that was penned by a very young (16 year old) person on the death of a male loved one (her father?) on the Indian Front. The discussion focussed on Indian soldiers and the travails they undergo both in war and peace times to keep the nation safe. Ten minutes later, when they were done, my session began.
Up until the very last minute, I was not sure who would be on my panel as the program literally kept changing daily. Eventually, our panel was made up of Anita Heiss, an aboriginal poet and writer who has just edited an anthology of poetry by Australian aboriginals that bring out their plight as a marginalized people. The session was moderated by Rebecca Lloyd from Bristol, a short story writer and novelist, who asked questions that the two of us attempted to answer. I was there, of course, to talk about my book on Britain's Anglo-Indians in which I discussed my ethnographic field-research in the UK.
It is amazing how quickly time flies when one is talking books. Before we knew it, our 45 minutes were up and the questions were thrown to the audience. I had to take about 3 questions--all of which were very relevant indeed and which I enjoyed answering.
The best part of all was finding my sixth grade teacher, Aruna Fernandes, in the audience. She was so proud of me, she said, and asked for a picture with me taken against the backdrop of the stage with all the festival information behind me. It was a very good experience and I am so glad I was invited and was able to participate.
Back Home to Vegetate:
However when it was done and after I had a number of people come up to speak to me about my book and my research, I was exhausted and simply did not have the energy to do anything more than think about getting home on the train. Thankfully, Michelle and Megan had exactly the same idea and we walked across the Oval to get to Churchgate. But I was dying for some sustenance and told them about K. Rustom and its amazing ice-cream. And so there was I getting myself a kesar pista ice-cream which was wonderful and just what the doctor ordered. Rustom does these ice-cream sandwiches--placing bars of ice-cream between twin wafers. Megan had rose (which tasted like a falooda) and Michelle had strawberry.
On our way back, we stopped off at Gaylord's, a restaurant I remember well from the days when a friend of mine who has since passed away, Vinod Mehta, and I used to go there for Waldorf Salad--simply the best in the city. I stepped in there when I found myself passing their bakery--I needed bread and I found a loaf, plus a pastry counter with an array of the most mouth-watering pastries. Of course, I got their chocolate eclairs and a lemon tart!
We took the train and a rickshaw back home and all I wanted to do was curl up with a movie. But I also badly needed a shower--so I hoped in and then vegetated. I spent the evening with a gin and tonic and blue cheese on crackers and pistachio nuts. Dinner was the Chicken Reshmi Kebab leftovers with Pau and Waldorf Salad--with just one-third of an eclair (because I might be eating fattening stuff, but I am at least exerting portion control!).
I began watching Grace and Frankie on TV (which everyone has been recommending)--good acting, great cast and the most incredible home interiors as everything seems to be shot on location in some unbelievable California houses that are brilliantly decorated! Then, I downloaded a British detective show called Agatha Raisin which is proving to be rubbish--still, I am not giving up. It is set in the Cotswolds and I am hoping it will pick up. Right now, it seems to be moving at snail pace.
I was too exhausted to move, but I found the energy to brush and floss my teeth and get to bed at 11.00pm. after a throughly stimulating weekend.
Until tomorrow...
Bombay
Visiting Sewri Cemetery, Doing Another Interview and Presenting at the Kala Ghoda Festival
Namaste from Bombay!
It was another scintillating day--but such a fatiguing one! Gosh, I have never felt so drained as I did this weekend. It appears that my physical activity is catching up with me. Still, I am not complaining and I know that because I am making the most of every second in Bombay and drinking life to the very lees, there is a price to be paid.
Awake at 6.00 am, I raced through a blog post and then up and readied myself for my early morning date with Dad. My friend Marianel had presented me with a cold roasted tongue (one of my favorite things to eat), fully salted and cured as only the East Indians know how to do! I decided to carve it up into slices, make sandwiches of it and take it to Dad and Russel for breakfast. With Marianel's homemade mustard (made to a recipe of her mother) the sandwiches were divine with coffee which I had at Dad's. A little after 8.00 am, we were both ready for our annual excursion to see the Dead of the D'Souza family!
Visiting Sewri Cemetery:
Every year when I make my annual visit to India, Dad requests me to escort him to the Sewri Cemetery so that he can pay his respects to the deceased members of his and my Mum's side of the family. And we usually go on a Sunday when there is practically no traffic on the streets. We took a cab and were at the place about a half hour later as we were in the hands of a wonderful paan-chewing driver who knew the easiest and quickest route to get us there.
Having enjoyed rambling through cemeteries in the West (Highgate and Brompton Cemeteries in London and Pere Lachiase Cemetery in Paris), I can tell you that I am always completely taken by a well-kept cemetery. My mind wanders off from the morbidity of death to take in the grandeur of the mortuary sculpture and the peacefulness of the environment. In the old days, one spent so much money creating worthy monuments for those one had loved and lost. Today, we make do with a simple marble gravestone in India--even less in the West. So, I really do enjoy accompanying Dad on this annual venture.
Dad knows the route so well now that he does not even have to consult the route map or the grave numbers. We always start off with the grave of my Mum's side of the family--my grandmother Valerie is buried in the same grave with her sons, my Mum's brothers, Henry and Freddy. I attended all their funerals whilst I had still lived in Bombay, so pausing for prayers at their grave site is a very moving experience. Next, we visit my paternal grandmother's grave--my Dad's mother, Severine. She passed away four years before I was born...not having known her at all, I feel less moved at her grave but eager to know as much about her as I can. From there, we move on to the grave of my Dad's eldest sister, Lily and her husband. He died at the age of 49 leaving her widowed for a full forty years before she passed away too. And finally, we get to the grave of my Dad's eldest brother Egil (who also died before I was born). It amazes me how many people died before they reached the age of fifty in those days and how much longer we continue to live in just one generation. At each point, when we pause for prayers, graveyard attendants come up with a watering-can to sweep and wash off the accumulated debris of a whole year: dried leaves from the gorgeous trees that form a canopy overhead--but, of course, with trees come bird droppings. Those too are washed away. We say a prayer at each site and move on. Dad was not as emotional this time as he has been in past years. I always end up taking pictures of the funerary sculpture that I find mainly at the front of the cemetery where the most ornate Victorian monuments are scattered: weeping angels, Celtic crosses, ivy trailing up urns...that sort of thing.
However, I have to say that this time I found something quite incredible at a grave site. The place was mobbed by crows and squirrels and so I wandered closer to see what the fuss was about. And I found a grave whose headstone was simply covered with freshly placed garlands. At the grave itself were enough food items to cover a birthday party: there was chips and dips, a plate of cashew nuts, another plate filled with Indian mithai, yet, another plate filled with sweets, a plate with two huge pastries (chocolate pastry and pineapple pastry). I was baffled as I had never seen anything quite like this before. The grave attendant told us that it was the grave of a child who had died and whose grieving family had a first birthday party for him at his grave yesterday! That was simply too poignant for words! Poor little mite! It is sights like this that bring us in mind of the absolute misery of human suffering when confronted with the premature death of a loved one.
Doing an Interview with Alfred D'Souza:
Dad and I took the same cab back to Bandra--he had awaited our return by prior arrangement. However, I hopped off at St. Joseph's School on Hill Road as I had an appointment for yet another interview. This time I was meeting Alfred D'Souza, composer and conductor of the famous Stop Gaps Choir and singing teacher par excellence. Alfred was fantastic. Not only was he a gold mine of information but he was so economical with what he said--he did not go rambling all over the place, but stuck with the salient features (which made my life so much easier). Plus, he has such a string of accomplishments that he left me stunned. It was a sheer pleasure chatting with him. In fact, I also had the chance to listen to the rehearsals of his children' choir which had a new young 14 year old pianist that they were trying out for the first time.
Lunch with Dad and Russel:
I walked home from Hill Road past Bandra Gym where I stopped to order lunch for Dad, Russel and me--Chicken Alfredo Pasta (with Garlic Bread) and Chicken Chilly. I told Samir that I would return to pick it up. Then I got home for a bit of a lie-down as I was already feeling tired. I also reviewed my synopsis of my book in readiness for my presentation in the afternoon at the Kala Ghoda Festival. About a half hour later, I got dressed and went off to pick up my food and took it to Dad's.
Lunch was absolutely delicious as Dad and Russel were in the throes of watching the cricket match between India and New Zealand. Russel has become fully involved in cricket again--much to our relief. With fresh fruit for dessert, it was a fine meal indeed.
Off to the Kala Ghoda Festival:
Shahnaz was supposed to go with me but she ended up pulling her back and backed out. I did meet my Fulbrighter colleagues, Michelle and Megan, however, at Bandra Station and together we took the train to get to Churchgate and back. We crossed the Oval Maidan on foot and arrived at he venue where I was quite amazed at the huge scale of the affair.
The Kala Ghoda Festival was initiated 20 years ago and has grown into India's largest cultural festival. It hosts events under several categories: Literature, Children's Literature, Film, Music, Dance, Drama, Heritage Walks, Food and Art. The entire street that is known as Rampart Row is occupied by the festival and closed off to traffic. The festival gets its name from the statue of the black horse that stands at a traffic island opposite Elphinstone College and the Jehangir Art Gallery. In a space that was beautifully festooned with a multi-colored half-shamiana, we walked past security and into an area filled with art installations at which the multitude of people present were posing. There was an array of food stalls and a whole host of one-of-a-kind craft stalls that sold clothing, home goods, hand made paper supplies, that sort of thing. Had I not been so tired, I am sure I would have loved to have browsed through a place where every event was absolutely free. But I could not spend too much time loitering as I had to get to the garden of the David Sassoon Library for my panel discussion which would begin at 4.00 pm.
Participating in a Panel Discussion on Migration and Displacement:
When I arrived in the garden of the David Sassoon Library, there was a session going on. It was, from what I could gather, a book of war poetry that was penned by a very young (16 year old) person on the death of a male loved one (her father?) on the Indian Front. The discussion focussed on Indian soldiers and the travails they undergo both in war and peace times to keep the nation safe. Ten minutes later, when they were done, my session began.
Up until the very last minute, I was not sure who would be on my panel as the program literally kept changing daily. Eventually, our panel was made up of Anita Heiss, an aboriginal poet and writer who has just edited an anthology of poetry by Australian aboriginals that bring out their plight as a marginalized people. The session was moderated by Rebecca Lloyd from Bristol, a short story writer and novelist, who asked questions that the two of us attempted to answer. I was there, of course, to talk about my book on Britain's Anglo-Indians in which I discussed my ethnographic field-research in the UK.
It is amazing how quickly time flies when one is talking books. Before we knew it, our 45 minutes were up and the questions were thrown to the audience. I had to take about 3 questions--all of which were very relevant indeed and which I enjoyed answering.
The best part of all was finding my sixth grade teacher, Aruna Fernandes, in the audience. She was so proud of me, she said, and asked for a picture with me taken against the backdrop of the stage with all the festival information behind me. It was a very good experience and I am so glad I was invited and was able to participate.
Back Home to Vegetate:
However when it was done and after I had a number of people come up to speak to me about my book and my research, I was exhausted and simply did not have the energy to do anything more than think about getting home on the train. Thankfully, Michelle and Megan had exactly the same idea and we walked across the Oval to get to Churchgate. But I was dying for some sustenance and told them about K. Rustom and its amazing ice-cream. And so there was I getting myself a kesar pista ice-cream which was wonderful and just what the doctor ordered. Rustom does these ice-cream sandwiches--placing bars of ice-cream between twin wafers. Megan had rose (which tasted like a falooda) and Michelle had strawberry.
On our way back, we stopped off at Gaylord's, a restaurant I remember well from the days when a friend of mine who has since passed away, Vinod Mehta, and I used to go there for Waldorf Salad--simply the best in the city. I stepped in there when I found myself passing their bakery--I needed bread and I found a loaf, plus a pastry counter with an array of the most mouth-watering pastries. Of course, I got their chocolate eclairs and a lemon tart!
We took the train and a rickshaw back home and all I wanted to do was curl up with a movie. But I also badly needed a shower--so I hoped in and then vegetated. I spent the evening with a gin and tonic and blue cheese on crackers and pistachio nuts. Dinner was the Chicken Reshmi Kebab leftovers with Pau and Waldorf Salad--with just one-third of an eclair (because I might be eating fattening stuff, but I am at least exerting portion control!).
I began watching Grace and Frankie on TV (which everyone has been recommending)--good acting, great cast and the most incredible home interiors as everything seems to be shot on location in some unbelievable California houses that are brilliantly decorated! Then, I downloaded a British detective show called Agatha Raisin which is proving to be rubbish--still, I am not giving up. It is set in the Cotswolds and I am hoping it will pick up. Right now, it seems to be moving at snail pace.
I was too exhausted to move, but I found the energy to brush and floss my teeth and get to bed at 11.00pm. after a throughly stimulating weekend.
Until tomorrow...
Saturday, February 2, 2019
Conducting a Travel Writing Workshop and Dinner with New Friends
Saturday, February 2, 2019
Bombay
Conducting a Travel Writing Workshop and Dinner with New Friends
Namaste from Bombay!
What an interesting day! I have to say that for the first time in a very long time, I actually felt a bit fatigued. But up at 6.30 am for a spot of blogging and brekkie (back to muesli and coffee), I plunged straight into work. I finished reading about two more chapters of my proposed memoir manuscript and then went through my lesson plan for the Travel Workshop I will teach at Narsee Monjee Institute of Management Studies this afternoon. I also contacted Shahnaz to ask if she was interested in some forthcoming NCPA shows and to fix up where we would meet for my appearance tomorrow at the Kala Ghoda Festival. Then I googled the location of the college as I had no idea where it is and when I felt that the only real way to get there was by rick (as the BEST bus sites are useless), I jumped into the shower, dressed and left.
Lunch at NMIMS:
I was lucky to find a rickshaw driver who actually knew where the place was--about five of them did not. The one that did know was actually so smart that he also knew how to dodge traffic to get me there. As a result, I reached far earlier than I had expected. As my class would go from 1-3 pm, I needed to get a bite before it began. A quick consultation with my friend Celia Rodrigues, who had invited me to be a Guest Lecturer in her class, told me about the canteen on the ground floor where I could find something to eat.
So a word about this college: Seriously, I was stunned! I have never been to a college campus like this in India which was a cross between a five-star hotel and a spiffy hospital somewhere in the West. It was all glass and concrete and giant skylight. You climb up a flight of stairs and enter an atrium which reminded me so much of corporate buildings in Manhattan with its artificial trees creating an indoor garden of sorts. Elevators pods on the outside of the building whisked people up and down. The canteen had to be seen to be believed. My NYU students would eat their hearts out for dining surroundings so swanky. There were a number of 'stations'--pizza, pasta and garlic bread at one; South Indian (idlis, dosas, vadas) at another--you get my drift. I settled down with dahi papri chaat (very good) and a chocolate milkshake (very bad) and awaited Celia's arrival. Meanwhile, Shahnaz called to ask if she could audit my class as she was keen to see how I would go about it. The thought of conducting a workshop for 150 students was super-scary to me and I soon realized that there was no way I could actually workshop student writing (as I would have done overseas). I merely gave a lecture in which I gave tips on what a travelogue should contain.
Conducting a Travel Writing Workshop:
I have to say that it was a very good experience indeed. I was introduced by one of the students, then left to my own devices. In a very modern classroom with every form of technology available (exactly as it is overseas), I had a free hand with the use of the internet (except that a firewall prevented students from going into entertainment websites--which was fair enough!). I had a very interested audience of highly intelligent students who happened to be freshmen in senior college. There was one girl who was particularly informed and unhesitant to reveal her knowledge--such a joy to have a student work so well with you! Most students were engaged except for the backbenchers who I do believe I set right early into the class.
Since the class went on for two hours, I did give them a ten-minute break after an hour and then I was back talking about the trials and tribulations of taking a travelogue from a blog to a book.
After the class, a number of students came up to chat with me. I found them friendly, interested, engaged and very vocal--I have to say how pleased I was to be back in the classroom again (it is amazing how much one misses such routine work even when one is on a Sabbatical of sorts).
After the class, Celia suggested she take me upstairs to meet Uma Narain, Dean of the School of Liberal Arts, a Fulbrighter herself and someone who had intended to bring me to her college to give a Guest Lecture. I am now feeling overwhelmed with the amount of field work that I have to accomplish--so I am hesitant to get into any new commitments--and I told her that I would consider it, but I did not commit. It was a pleasure meeting her, however, as she had her Fulbright stint at NYU and we do know some faculty members there in common.
Celia, Shahnaz and I sat down in the canteen for a quick coffee (mango lassi for me) before Shahnaz and I left in a rick. I thanked Celia for what had been a far more interesting experience than I had expected.
Saturday Evening Mass with Dad:
But back home, I actually was a bit fatigued and curled up for a nap as I had a longish evening ahead of me. I had missed Shahnaz's birthday when I was in Goa and thought that I would take her for dinner to Bandra Gym after Mass. She was game and we made plans.
I then strolled off to Dad's where I spent some time visiting with Russel (who was not in the mood at all today) and then went off with Dad for Saturday evening Mass as he wants me to accompany him on his annual visit to the Sewri Cemetery tomorrow morning. After Mass, I parted company with Dad as I climbed up Pali Hill to meet Shahnaz on the crest. She picked me up and we prepared for what we thought would be a quiet evening's dining together.
Dinner with New Friends:
However, as soon as we entered the Restaurant at the Gymkhana, Shahnaz recognized someone who brushed by us--it turned out to be a retired former colleague of her's from Air-India. And before you know it, the two of us were being invited by a group of three Parsis to join them at their table--which we did. They were joined later by another Parsi couple. And so there we were, having dinner with a jolly bunch of people who were very welcoming of us and made us feel fully at home.
The meal, as always, was outstanding. Since we left them to order, one of the members of our party whose name I caught as Gave (although I might be mistaken!) started us off with cheese toast and chicken chilly--superb. We went on to eat Chicken Reshmi Kebabs, Prawns Caldine (because how could I ever bring Shahnaz to dinner and not serve her this nectar of the Gods???) and Chicken Vindaloo with pau (which they toast at the gym). And everything was amazing. Not a meal goes by when someone or the other at the table comments on how great the food at the Bandra Gym is and how reasonably it is priced. Throughout the evening, we met a bunch of folks that were known to someone or the other at our table. Truly, it is a small world when you are at Bandra Gymkhana as everyone seems to know everyone else!
It was after midnight when I got back home after a much more entertaining evening than we had imagined. In the absolutely baffling process of Indian hospitality, no one went Dutch and the entire meal was hosted by a lovely man named Jehangir. I suppose they simply take turns paying when they go out to eat and at some time or the other, your turn will roll around.
I'd had another wonderful day! It amazes me how different each day is for me in India. I now need to prepare for my appearance tomorrow at the Kala Ghoda Festival to which I am truly looking forward as it is my first time attending it. On the way to church, Dad told me that when it had first opened (20 years ago), he and my Mum had actually gone there and attended it! So, you see? In avidly consuming these cultural festivals, I am only following in the footsteps of my wonderful culture-vulture parents! I have also heard so much about this festival through the years (it is the largest in India) that I cannot wait to find out for myself what it is all about. And to be invited to actually participate in a panel discussion is a rare honor. I will be on the same panel as Australian aboriginal writer Anita Heiss and I will be interviewed by Rebecca Lloyd of the UK. It should be interesting.
Until tomorrow...
Bombay
Conducting a Travel Writing Workshop and Dinner with New Friends
Namaste from Bombay!
What an interesting day! I have to say that for the first time in a very long time, I actually felt a bit fatigued. But up at 6.30 am for a spot of blogging and brekkie (back to muesli and coffee), I plunged straight into work. I finished reading about two more chapters of my proposed memoir manuscript and then went through my lesson plan for the Travel Workshop I will teach at Narsee Monjee Institute of Management Studies this afternoon. I also contacted Shahnaz to ask if she was interested in some forthcoming NCPA shows and to fix up where we would meet for my appearance tomorrow at the Kala Ghoda Festival. Then I googled the location of the college as I had no idea where it is and when I felt that the only real way to get there was by rick (as the BEST bus sites are useless), I jumped into the shower, dressed and left.
Lunch at NMIMS:
I was lucky to find a rickshaw driver who actually knew where the place was--about five of them did not. The one that did know was actually so smart that he also knew how to dodge traffic to get me there. As a result, I reached far earlier than I had expected. As my class would go from 1-3 pm, I needed to get a bite before it began. A quick consultation with my friend Celia Rodrigues, who had invited me to be a Guest Lecturer in her class, told me about the canteen on the ground floor where I could find something to eat.
So a word about this college: Seriously, I was stunned! I have never been to a college campus like this in India which was a cross between a five-star hotel and a spiffy hospital somewhere in the West. It was all glass and concrete and giant skylight. You climb up a flight of stairs and enter an atrium which reminded me so much of corporate buildings in Manhattan with its artificial trees creating an indoor garden of sorts. Elevators pods on the outside of the building whisked people up and down. The canteen had to be seen to be believed. My NYU students would eat their hearts out for dining surroundings so swanky. There were a number of 'stations'--pizza, pasta and garlic bread at one; South Indian (idlis, dosas, vadas) at another--you get my drift. I settled down with dahi papri chaat (very good) and a chocolate milkshake (very bad) and awaited Celia's arrival. Meanwhile, Shahnaz called to ask if she could audit my class as she was keen to see how I would go about it. The thought of conducting a workshop for 150 students was super-scary to me and I soon realized that there was no way I could actually workshop student writing (as I would have done overseas). I merely gave a lecture in which I gave tips on what a travelogue should contain.
Conducting a Travel Writing Workshop:
I have to say that it was a very good experience indeed. I was introduced by one of the students, then left to my own devices. In a very modern classroom with every form of technology available (exactly as it is overseas), I had a free hand with the use of the internet (except that a firewall prevented students from going into entertainment websites--which was fair enough!). I had a very interested audience of highly intelligent students who happened to be freshmen in senior college. There was one girl who was particularly informed and unhesitant to reveal her knowledge--such a joy to have a student work so well with you! Most students were engaged except for the backbenchers who I do believe I set right early into the class.
Since the class went on for two hours, I did give them a ten-minute break after an hour and then I was back talking about the trials and tribulations of taking a travelogue from a blog to a book.
After the class, a number of students came up to chat with me. I found them friendly, interested, engaged and very vocal--I have to say how pleased I was to be back in the classroom again (it is amazing how much one misses such routine work even when one is on a Sabbatical of sorts).
After the class, Celia suggested she take me upstairs to meet Uma Narain, Dean of the School of Liberal Arts, a Fulbrighter herself and someone who had intended to bring me to her college to give a Guest Lecture. I am now feeling overwhelmed with the amount of field work that I have to accomplish--so I am hesitant to get into any new commitments--and I told her that I would consider it, but I did not commit. It was a pleasure meeting her, however, as she had her Fulbright stint at NYU and we do know some faculty members there in common.
Celia, Shahnaz and I sat down in the canteen for a quick coffee (mango lassi for me) before Shahnaz and I left in a rick. I thanked Celia for what had been a far more interesting experience than I had expected.
Saturday Evening Mass with Dad:
But back home, I actually was a bit fatigued and curled up for a nap as I had a longish evening ahead of me. I had missed Shahnaz's birthday when I was in Goa and thought that I would take her for dinner to Bandra Gym after Mass. She was game and we made plans.
I then strolled off to Dad's where I spent some time visiting with Russel (who was not in the mood at all today) and then went off with Dad for Saturday evening Mass as he wants me to accompany him on his annual visit to the Sewri Cemetery tomorrow morning. After Mass, I parted company with Dad as I climbed up Pali Hill to meet Shahnaz on the crest. She picked me up and we prepared for what we thought would be a quiet evening's dining together.
Dinner with New Friends:
However, as soon as we entered the Restaurant at the Gymkhana, Shahnaz recognized someone who brushed by us--it turned out to be a retired former colleague of her's from Air-India. And before you know it, the two of us were being invited by a group of three Parsis to join them at their table--which we did. They were joined later by another Parsi couple. And so there we were, having dinner with a jolly bunch of people who were very welcoming of us and made us feel fully at home.
The meal, as always, was outstanding. Since we left them to order, one of the members of our party whose name I caught as Gave (although I might be mistaken!) started us off with cheese toast and chicken chilly--superb. We went on to eat Chicken Reshmi Kebabs, Prawns Caldine (because how could I ever bring Shahnaz to dinner and not serve her this nectar of the Gods???) and Chicken Vindaloo with pau (which they toast at the gym). And everything was amazing. Not a meal goes by when someone or the other at the table comments on how great the food at the Bandra Gym is and how reasonably it is priced. Throughout the evening, we met a bunch of folks that were known to someone or the other at our table. Truly, it is a small world when you are at Bandra Gymkhana as everyone seems to know everyone else!
It was after midnight when I got back home after a much more entertaining evening than we had imagined. In the absolutely baffling process of Indian hospitality, no one went Dutch and the entire meal was hosted by a lovely man named Jehangir. I suppose they simply take turns paying when they go out to eat and at some time or the other, your turn will roll around.
I'd had another wonderful day! It amazes me how different each day is for me in India. I now need to prepare for my appearance tomorrow at the Kala Ghoda Festival to which I am truly looking forward as it is my first time attending it. On the way to church, Dad told me that when it had first opened (20 years ago), he and my Mum had actually gone there and attended it! So, you see? In avidly consuming these cultural festivals, I am only following in the footsteps of my wonderful culture-vulture parents! I have also heard so much about this festival through the years (it is the largest in India) that I cannot wait to find out for myself what it is all about. And to be invited to actually participate in a panel discussion is a rare honor. I will be on the same panel as Australian aboriginal writer Anita Heiss and I will be interviewed by Rebecca Lloyd of the UK. It should be interesting.
Until tomorrow...
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