Mumbai Magic

You know it's the monsoon when...(3)

2009-07-04T01:58:00.000-07:00

...everything's covered in blue!

Motorbike parked in Sion - it was covered last evening to protect it from rain at night.
.Goods Tempo with blue tarpaulin lashed down.

Slum colony in Bandra
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Make-shift blue roof at cinema complex

Verandah cover to protect the daily washing

This morning I saw a pav-wallah on a cycle, his bread was covered with a blue sheet. The temples have blue coverings. Shop awnings are blue. I saw an apartment block where the whole terrace was covered in blue. In Dharavi, there is a street where 4-5 shops do nothing but sell these blue sheets.

Keep your eyes open and you'll see bright blue just about everywhere!

You know it's the monsoon when... (2)

2009-07-01T01:48:00.000-07:00

... the horses are suddenly excited because of the cool weather.

Dawn riding at the Mahalakshmi Race Course

Riding in the summer was hot and sweaty even at 6:30 am.

After the first showers, during the riding class, our instructor said "Aaj ghode fresh hain... mausam thanda hai na."

Indeed they were up to more tricks than usual... (prancing around, tossing their heads.. and the more badmaash ones bucking and almost throwing off their riders).

As for me, I enjoyed the cool, almost cold breeze at dawn.

You know it's the monsoon when...

2009-06-27T20:23:00.000-07:00

...the sea is a sullen brooding brown even when the sky is bright blue.

The tip of Malabar Hill, where the curving Backbay begins

The rest of the curve - Backbay Reclamation

Photos from the Club floor of the Trident, Nariman Point. What an amazing view!

I visit the Wholesale Market at Vashi

2009-06-20T07:10:00.000-07:00

- By Deepa Krishnan

Ever since the wholesale market moved from Byculla to Vashi, I've been wanting to go there. On a recent trip to New Bombay, my friend Satyen took me to see what is officially called The Mumbai Agricultural Produce Market.

Exterior view - one small section of the market.

Even before we went in, I realised I was going to see a big market, but as we kept driving along, I realised that this market was literally endless! Nothing had prepared me for the sheer scale of what I saw.

The agricultural produce market covers all of 170 acres (hah! and I had originally believed I could explore it on foot!). There are a staggering 3700 godowns, 1500 commercial blocks, 4 large auction halls, 2 giant warehouses, and 5 large wholesale market yards. Apart from this, there are big processing centres - a vapour heat treatment plant, ripening facilities, cold storage facilities, an export facilitation centre and so on.

To me, it was like seeing a vast new exciting trading town, where trucks trundled in with every conceivable type of agricultural produce from the country. I could see hundreds of farmers, in their white Gandhi-topis. There were many women too, in their traditional Maharashtrian sarees. There were literally thousands of workers, transporting bags of produce. It was only much later, when I saw the website of the market committee, that I discovered that this is Asia's largest regulated market for agricultural produce.

As we drove around, Satyen pointed out to me that there is not one market, but five different markets. Market I is dedicated to spices and condiments, sugar, jaggery and dry fruits. Market II is where trading in foodgrains (rice, wheat) and pulses takes place. Then there's the popular "kanda-batata markit" - The Onion and Potato Market, which was the earliest to be set up. Other than these, there are two more markets, the Fruit Market and the Vegetable Market. For a "city girl" like me, it was like getting a glimpse into an alien world.

After the first few minutes of driving around, I gave up trying to grasp it all, and just enjoyed the atmosphere of the place. At the vegetable and fruit markets, I couldn't resist getting out of the car and clicking a few photographs.

Gujarati housewives at the wholesale vegetable market

The first thing I noticed were some enterprising housewives, who had come to buy their weekly store of vegetables at wholesale prices. Satyen explained that some housing societies had formed groups, so that they could come here to this market and purchase in bulk for their needs.

Weighing scales on truck

I walked around to the backside of a truck to see what was happening. Jackfruit was being unloaded from the truck. Before the unloading, it was being weighed in a basket. This is a regulated market - that means that the weighing instruments are provided by the market, and there are fixed rates for the people doing the unloading.

Green chillies inside the vegetable market

The chillies come from Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka. These men were waiting with their stock of chillies, looking for buyers.

Old man in 'Gandhi-topi' examining brinjals from Bangalore.

I think he was a retail shopkeeper who had come to the market to buy his stock, because behind him were all the other vegetables that he had purchased, tied in plastic bags.

Several women were in the market, haggling over prices.

Some of them looked like local shop-keepers to me, while others looked like they were buying for their own use.

Mango crates amidst hay in the fruit market

This man had purchased two crates of mangoes, and paid someone to carry it to his truck. The 'hamaali' or labour rate per 'peti' (box) is Rs 2.5.

Mini-truck leaving the market

This smaller truck was loaded with gunny sacks of various vegetables, and was leaving the market to go into the city. The 'hamaali' for one gunny sack is Rs 5.

Vegetable seller leaving the market with small amount of stock.
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Mid-sized trader leaving with his stock
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Over 12000 tonnes of agri-commodities arrive daily into this market. The produce is sold by auction and the prices are noted and managed by the Mumbai Agricultural Produce Market Committee. It is the committee's responsibility to ensure that sales do not take place below the minimum price fixed by the government. They are also responsible for ensuring fair measurement and weighing, and fair charges for labour.

I wanted to spend more time, talking to people - traders, labourers, shopkeepers, and buyers...I wanted to understand how the pricing system worked. But it was nearing noon and the sun was getting fierce. My driver Mariappan had cleverly retreated to the local canteen (that's him in the white shirt and black trousers, standing in the shade drining chai).

So I finally called it a day, and sank gratefully into the coolness of the airconditioned car. As I dropped Satyen back home, I said to him, "I'm coming back again to Vashi! There's so much still to see!"

Want to come with me?

My Mother

2009-06-11T21:57:00.000-07:00

- By Janaki Krishnan

It is Mother's Day today. The morning newspaper is full of pictures of celebrities proclaiming their mothers' role in their lives.

At the Oscar awards this year, A. R. Rahman, while accepting his award, declared that he owed it to his mother and to God. 'My mother is here with me today', he said joyously.

Whenever I hear these kind of things, I remember my mother. Although she is no more, I feel that my mother still lives with me every moment of my life, in my thoughts, words and deeds.
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She was a workaholic who spent her entire life in the kitchen ungrudgingly, ever ready to offer a cup of coffee, a crisp dosa, or tasty home-made snacks, to whoever came into the house. But even as she did her chores, she passed on her moral, spiritual and ethical ideas to us children.

Unlike other ladies of her generation, she was neither orthodox nor religious. She never observed any fasts, nor was she a regular visitor to temples. On festival days she would take us to the temple, but for her, the home was her temple. She had a picture of God on a small wooden stand in the kitchen, where she would light a lamp in the evening. She would make us children say "Swamee, Nalla Buddhi Taranamey" (Lord, give us the power to discriminate between right and wrong).

She believed that a righteous life, performing ones duties towards family and society was all that was necessary to please God. She had tremendous control over her desires, whether it was food, sarees, jewellery or other comforts. She ate very simple food, and had a limited wardrobe, and minimal jewellery. She had the habit of saving, out of which she made a gold chain or a pair of bangles for my sister and me.

I have a long list of attributes for my mother - soft-soken, neatly dressed, lending a helping hand to the poor and needy, bravely facing odds...she had a detatched attachment, and an all embracing endearing look. She was not highly educated - her schooling stopped at standard eight, but she was a living example of sterling qualities.

Motherhood as I understood from her, is 'Practise what you preach.' Do what you expect your children to do. When your children watch you day in and day out, your qualities get passed on to them unconsciously.

Horsing around

2009-05-26T09:43:00.000-07:00

- By Aishwarya Pramod

Last week, I went for a 5-day camp at a riding school called Japalouppe, two hours from our house, on the Mumbai-Pune highway. It was amazing.

Right to left: Me in the blue T-shirt, Kim, Shamin and Prasamita.

We are standing outside the Japalouppe Office where we registered for the camp.

My friends were all first time riders but I had some experience with riding horses earlier. I stopped riding a few years back though, and I wanted to get back to it. Going to this camp was the best way to do that.

My first glimpse of horses at the camp

Japalouppe is a large and very beautiful farm. Apart from horses, they have dogs, cats, goats, and geese. Each day began at 6 am with the first batch of student riders (me included) having a one hour long riding session.

After our lesson we would have breakfast (sandwiches, sheera, pancakes, paratha and poha on different days). We learnt about the breeds of horses at Japalouppe, colours of horses, face markings of the horses, grooming, saddling and taking care of horses. We spent the afternoons lazing about in our dormitories or at the machan, and playing with the dogs.

Tyler, the basset hound

The evenings would see another round of riding lessons, followed by a cold water bath, dinner and finally, bed.

One morning, instead of riding we went on a trek through the path of a dried waterfall - it has water only in the monsoon - to the top of a hill. We were accompanied by some of the instructors and two of the camp dogs. At the top we had breakfast - chutney sandwiches.

Another day we went to a stud farm - a place where horses are bred. Every stall in this stable housed a mother and her foal. We saw a foal drinking its mo's milk, and another one following its mother around wherever the stablehand took her. We met a friendly stallion called Fact Finder - he seemed to love being petted and fussed over by all of us.

On the last day of the camp we had to demonstrate our riding skills to our parents who had come to take us back home. I was happy to see amma, appa and paati (my grandmom) at the show. Everyone showed off what they had learnt during these five days at camp. We got Japalouppe T-shirts to wear during the show.

I rode Little John, the same horse I'd been riding all through the camp. He is extremely calm and good-natured. Also tall and very goodlooking.

Me and Little John.

Isn't he amazing?

Riding demonstration.

All the students did walking and trotting, and some cantered. Two students with more experience did show-jumping.

It was an interesting yet peaceful week. Away from Mumbai, in a farm, I relaxed in the company of good friends and some very lovable animals.

I met a lot of great people at the camp and I'd love to keep in touch with them. I'm sure I'll meet some of them again at Amateur Riders Club in Mumbai, since they're also members there like me.

I also want to go back to Japalouppe as soon as possible! I can't go now in June, because I have to stay to see my college admissions through - but the very next chance I get, I'll be off!!

Agninakshatram

2009-05-04T10:34:00.000-07:00

- by Janaki Krishnan

Today is Agninakshatram. From now on, for a month, the Sun is at his best, and it is the season for making papads, pickles and masalas for the year.

The terraces of Bombay's apartments are filled with papads drying in the sun. Housewives gather in the afternoons, and exchange recipes. They proudly declare how they got the best varieties of small green mangoes for pickling, at the cheapest price. I too enjoy the papad and picking season - especially after my retirement, when I feel the day has 48 hours.

This year after finishing my mango purchase (not proud, as I could get only second-grade ones!), I turned to vegetables for inspiration - beans, okra, lotus stem, and bitter gourd. When salted and dried, these make excellent fried snacks. They don't involve much labour, and they're tastier than the rice vadams and karuvadams. I made a batch of salted fritters, and sent them to my daughters.

Besides pickles and salted fritters, this is also the month when I buy my year's supply of tamarind. Tamarind is a must for all South Indians who cannot have a proper lunch without rasam or sambar. We buy the entire year's stock during summer when the prices are low and it is available in plenty. The tamarind is then de-seeded, dried, and stored in tight containers, along with salt.

This year, as I sat deseeding the tamarind, my mind wandered to a scene 60 years ago...and I had a flashback, like we see in the movies. My sister, my brothers and I are sitting around a big pile of tamarind, removing the seeds. My brother sneaks a piece of tamarind into his mouth...and the rest of us are quick to shout...."Amma!!" Of course, my brother too gets his chance to shout when someone else eats a piece. When it turns into a fight, my mother steps in. "Don't eat too much", she says, "Or it will weaken your bones".

These days, things have changed. With greater awareness about health, the consumption of pickles, fried items and tamarind comes with a warning. Cholestorol, blood pressure and diabetes have become familiar terms, frightening everyone. Besides, working women, whose tribe has increased since my childhood, hardly have time for such tasks. In their homes, readymade bottled pickles - Priya, Bedekar, and others - rule the roost. As bottled tamarind paste is available, nobody wants the headache of soaking, crushing and extracting tamarind essence for sambar. Women who balance career and home, and have to multi-task all the time, do need these conveniences.

But oh! The joys of retirement! With unlimited time at my disposal, I find a new interesting task every day. Buying the vegetable, cutting it, cooking it, and drying it, takes the better part of the day. Then comes the pleasure of frying and tasting the first batch...and the satisfaction of distributing it to family and friends. Their words of appreciation bring a warm glow to my heart. The next day, its is another vegetable's turn, and the process goes on all through summer! Silly, you may think...but perhaps when you retire, you will understand these slow pleasures. Until then, enjoy the readymade stuff!

(Posted by Deepa on behalf of Janaki)

Postcards from Kerala - Day 4

2009-05-03T21:51:00.000-07:00

Lobby of The Brunton Boatyard, Cochin.

We had booked 1 night at this lovely hotel, but ended up staying 2 nights. The rooms are large, with interesting old furniture. Both our rooms had large sitting areas, old four-poster beds and great views of Cochin harbour.

On our very first lunch overlooking the sea, I spotted a pair of dolphins making their graceful way into the harbour. I was jumping up and down with excitement: "Look, Dolphins! Oh my god, Dolphins!!!". The two guys were more interested in the wine list.

I bought several spices for my kitchen at this co-operative store run by women. And I bought jewellery as well, an onyx necklace and a pearl necklace.
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We watched an excellent Kathakali performance at the Cochin Cultural Centre. They enacted Putana Moksham (The Salvation of Putana), a story where the demoness Putana tries to kill the infant God Krishna by feeding him poisoned milk from her breasts. Instead, Krishna kills the demoness. The photo above is from the section where the demoness appears as a gentle-woman and deceives the household into letting her suckle the child.

Mandatory Chinese Fishing Nets photo. Our guide explained how they work. Simple but effective engineering!

Postcards from Kerala - Day 3

2009-05-02T20:35:00.000-07:00

We were still at Coconut Lagoon, Vembanad Lake. This is the 6:00 a.m. kalaripayattu practice session we watched. There was much groaning from Pramod and Marco at having to wake up early but they did it.

The martial arts performance was interesting. There were warm-up exercises first (a Japanese couple who were watching this with us participated in the warm-ups, but we didn't). After warm-ups, the two kalari practitioners demonstrated several fighting techniques and moves, using hands, sticks, knives, swords etc. Many of the moves are long intricate sequences - and several of them require very high jumps into the air.

I dragged Pramod and Marco to a 7:00 a.m. pre-breakfast birdwatching session. We saw 31 species of birds in an hour's time. I was very pleased because this is the breeding and nesting season, so I could see breeding plumages of several birds which I had not seen before. The two men suffered in stoic silence.
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We took a smaller boat and went for an hour's cruise on the narrower lanes of the backwaters. It took us past small villages. Every house on the banks of the river had little steps leading to the water. Little kids were bathing in the river, their mothers were washing clothes or doing the dishes and keeping an eye on the kids. Many men, women and children were fishing with simple sticks for rods - we guessed the afternoon's catch would be cooked and eaten for dinner.

Private plunge pool at our villa. Perfect way to end the day.

Postcards from Kerala - Day 2

2009-05-01T19:20:00.000-07:00

Two days at Coconut Lagoon, on the banks of the glorious Vembanad Lake.

Our first sight of the lake - so big it looks like the sea! From this jetty, we took a boat to the resort.

Houseboat ride on the lake - the 'must do' Vembanad experience. As you cruise, the views are incredible - beautiful waterbirds fly past the boat, the water slaps against the wooden hull, and the breeze lulls you to sleep.

Lunch inside the houseboat - catch of the day (karimeen fry), sambar, poduthual, bitter-gourd fry, rice, yoghurt, papadam and pickle. A most delicious meal, cooked on board by the friendly crew. I fell asleep on the wooden bench, listening to the sound of the waves.

Postcards from Kerala - Day 1

2009-04-30T23:16:00.000-07:00

Four magical days in Kerala. Deepa, Pramod and Marco.

Here's Day 1, at Marari Beach Resort, Alleppey.

The beach was private and very quiet. There was a security guard who walked the stretch - maybe because the sea was a little rough and they wanted to keep an eye on the few guests who were in the water.

The three of us spent some time sitting under the tree - but soon realised it was better to sleep! So we got ourselves some beach towels and spent a blissful 45 minutes snoozing under the tree. I saw a kite flying overhead.

Pramod and I wake up - and a classic Bollywood pose is born!

My kitchen knives

2009-04-26T09:59:00.000-07:00

- By Deepa Krishnan

When I first set up my kitchen, I bought a set of five steel knives from an upscale lifestyle store. There was a lovely chunky wooden holder (you know, the light coloured wood that you see in Scandinavian furniture?). The knives sat snugly in it. The darn thing caught my fancy.

I brought the knives and the holder home, and set it up on the kitchen counter. When the sun streamed through the window, the knife handles gleamed satisfactorily. Ah, Deepa, I told myself - you have quite the modern kitchen!

Five years have gone by now - and guess what - the knives are still sitting in the holder. We don't use them at all! Instead, my maids prefer these - the 10 rupee handmade knives from Zaveri Bazaar.

These knives are made by hand. A blade is inserted into a wooden holder, and bound with thin wire. The blade is then sharpened on a grinding stone. The nicer, bigger ones cost twenty rupees.

It's not just my maids who love these knives - I do too. They are excellent for slicing vegetables; and even the trickiest tomato is no trouble at all. I think it's because the blade is really thin and flexible. T-chak! T-chick! In minutes the carrots and beans are all neatly sliced!

My food-writer friend Rushina is a big fan of these knives too. I remember a couple of years ago, I was walking in Bhuleshwar with her and she said, "Deepa, you know, these are really great for vegetable carving." That's when I bought these for the first time, and now I'm hooked.

The knives are incredibly sharp when you buy them. But they lose the sharpness in a couple of months, because they're really thin knives and I don't think the metal is high quality. When we've used them for a couple of months, we take them back to the knife guy, and have him sharpen them again.

In spite of the need for sharpening, they're really lovely to use, and we've switched over completely to these. Next time you're in Zaveri Bazaar, or at your local market, buy yourself one of these. Oh, and if you need to see how sharp the knife is, ask them to demonstrate that neat paper-slicing thing they do! It's fun to watch!

This khus thing

2009-04-12T03:59:00.000-07:00

- by Deepa Krishnan

Just opposite Mangaldas Market, under the shadow of the Jama Masjid, there's a little attar shop. My friend Shoba wanted to buy sandal extract, so I went along with her to have a look.

I have never bought attar in my life - actually, I've never bought any perfume at all, apart from the mandatory deo - so I was a complete novice. Shoba seemed to know what she was doing though, so I stood quietly watching while she talked to the shop owner.

He was young and good looking - and with the kind of acquiline face and glossy black hair that belonged in the movies. Once he figured we were really going to buy something, he warmed to us and gave me a tiny smile for my camera.

While Shoba tried different extracts and essences, I tried to read the labels on the crystal decanters. What interesting names they had - Jannatul Firdose, Kasturi, Estanbul Gulab, Black Musk, Tea Rose, Mogra, Majmua, Ajab...

The one that interested me was a dark coloured liquid on the back row - Ruh Khus, or Soul of Vetiver.

I know what khus is - have you seen it? It is a sort of long aromatic grass. We've got khus incense sticks at home - the smell is woody and smoky. For those who are not big fans of floral essences (like me!), Indian vetiver or khus is a good alternative.

Khus is widely used in India, and not just in perfumes. In the summer months, it is woven into mats, and hung on the doorways of houses to keep the sun away. Water is sprinkled on the mats, and when the breeze blows through it, it keeps the house cool and fragrant.

The most interesting thing I've read recently about khus is how the Konkan Railway has used it to safeguard the rail track against soil erosion and mudslides.

The Konkan Railway runs between Bombay and Goa, on the foothills of the Western Ghats. Of the 740 kms they cover, one-third of the route has been either tunnelled or cut through the hills. There's also heavy rainfall here in the monsoons, so keeping the tracks clear of mudslides is critical.

On the Konkan Railway website, they've actually written two pages of stuff explaining why they picked vetiver for their embankments:

1) It is easily available all over India.

2) It is cheap and easy to establish as a hedge.

3) It can be easily maintained at little cost.

4) It withstands wide range of climates – from 300 - 6000 mm rainfall and from 15 - 55 degrees temperature. Moreover, it can withstand long and sustained drought for more than six months.

5) It is totally free of pests and disease, and does not serve as an intermediate host for pests or disease of other plants.

6) Its strong fibrous root system penetrates and binds the soil upto 3m depth.

7) It is perennial and requires minimal maintenance.

8) Over a period of time it helps in changing the PH of the soil from about 2 to 8 i.e. from acidic to alkaline.

OK, I'm thoroughly impressed! Not just with khus itself, but also with the Konkan Railway (just when you think everything is going downhill with the government, you find out they're doing some very cool stuff).

Anyway - I'm off now - I'm going to get some vetiver for my home garden!

Celebration

2009-03-30T08:19:00.000-07:00

- by Deepa Krishnan

Today my daughter went out with friends, to celebrate the end of her 10th Standard CBSE Board exams. For a month now, the exams have ruled our household. But no more! As I write this, we are (...sigh of pleasure here...) reverting to the old ways.

Right now for example, I'm watching television. It's not like we didn't watch TV this past month - but today I'm watching it in a happy mindless sort of way. I don't have to turn down the volume, I don't have to feel guilty about having a good time while my kid is slogging her butt off. Sigh. It's nice, even if there's only some really crappy stuff playing on HBO.

And you know what the other nice thing is? We can order in. Without thinking about upset tummies and food poisoning and missing exams! Yayy for the greasy little pleasures of life!

Nendrampazham - King of Bananas

2009-02-20T09:35:00.000-08:00

- by Janaki Krishnan
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Food is one area where my husband and I are poles apart (although our horoscopes show samasaptakam, or perfect agreement between our stars!).
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While I am a foodie, my husband believes that one should eat only to live. Recently, he had a minor surgery, after which he was advised to eat a nutritious diet with plenty of milk, vegetables and fruits. This is where the Nendrampazham came to my rescue. The only fruit that my husband eats with delight is this king of bananas, a big yellow variety that is also called 'Rajali Kela' in Mumbai.

Rajalis from Vasai come into the city, but the Kerala variety is sweeter

Unlike the usual small sized bananas, this fruit can only be eaten plain if you have a strong digestive system. The popular method is to steam cook it, so that it becomes an ideal food for the sick, the elderly and for young children.

For my husband, I often cut the banana into 3-4 pieces and steam it with jaggery. It takes just ten minutes to cook, and everyone loves the taste. The pleasure of unwrapping the banana with your hands and tasting the caramelised jaggery is simply heavenly.

Bananas in a kadai with water and jaggery.

Ready to eat!

My younger granddaughter likes to have bananas sliced into thinnish circles, and stir fried in ghee. She eats it with a fork, Western style. But my older granddaughter loves banana chips. These are made using the raw version of these bananas, by slicing it very thin, and deep frying it in oil.

Nendrankkai - the raw version of Nendrampazham

My mother was an expert in making banana chips (and my father in distributing it among his office friends). As a young girl, whenever we heard a hissing sound coming from the kitchen, I was sure that my mother was busy making chips. The hissing sound comes at the last stage of making these chips, when salt water is poured on the chips before pulling them out of the oil.

That is what differentiates the traditional home-made chips from the ones we buy in Matunga market. In the market, the salt is added later, after the chips are taken out of the oil.

Home-made Nendrankkai chips

There are many more ways to enjoy this versatile banana. Sarkaraupperi is made by deep-frying raw bananas, dipping them in a jaggery syrup and then dusting it with dried ginger.

Sarkaraupperi is served at our weddings. After the first spoonful of payasam is served, this is the second favourite.

No food is wasted in India, even when it is available in plenty. Dried banana is powdered, stored, and later mixed with milk and water for use as baby food. My Christian friend makes sweet and salty bhajias using ripe bananas. Even overripe bananas, with the skin blackened, are turned into halwa using jaggery and ghee.

Banana varieties in Matunga Market

Nendrankkais are also used to make many Kerala specialities - erisseri and kaalan are my favourites. Even the skin is cut into tiny bits and converted into a tempting side-dish. No wonder this banana is called 'Rajali' - it is truly the King of Bananas!

Valentine, Schmalentine

2009-02-14T03:32:00.000-08:00

- by Deepa Krishnan

At breakfast yesterday, my 15-year old daughter put down the newspaper in irritation.

"What's all this fuss about saving 'Indian culture', anyway?", she said. "Shouldn't we be more worried about poverty and hunger?"

She was referring to the ongoing brouhaha over Valentine's Day. The press is full of it - there are those who say festivals like these are foreign transplants, which destroy Indian culture. There are those who stoutly defend the right of people to adopt whatever culture they like, whether it is Western or otherwise.

It's not just Valentine's Day, but also other Western influences that irk many Indians. Many of us are bewildered by Bollywood videos of near-naked women gyrating to 'disco' songs. Where did these come from, we wonder, these images that are almost soft porn? Take a look at this one - Isqh Khudai, Rab ne Banai. While the lyrics are in Hindi, the setting is undoubtedly Western. The actors toss down tequila shots, the music has strong Western influences, and there's not a salwar kameez in sight.

Parents and teachers are also coping with the spread of McDonalds, the increasing absorption with skinny bodies, the new mall culture, the alienation of children from their traditions, the growing incidence of divorce, the popularity of chat sites...somehow, all of these are perceived to be the results of the increasing influence of the West (read America).

My husband looked up from the sports section that he was reading.

"I can see why they want to stop this Westernisation", he smiled. "I half want to stop it myself!" (this from a very liberal man who loves jazz and the blues and thinks no party is complete without scotch whisky!).

"Oh?" I said, quite amused. "And why is that?"

"Cultural exchange is great", he said. "But this is all so one-way! How come so little of Indian culture gets exported in the other direction?"

I thought it was a very interesting perspective. If the West celebrated Indian festivals the way we celebrate theirs, perhaps people wouldn't feel so threatened? Perhaps if Holi became a popular world festival, we'd learn to take Valentine's Day in our stride!

Anyway, this whole conversation went on and on, the three of us argued the merits of preserving and documenting culture, the rate at which cultural change happens today, historical trends, and all sorts of other interesting things. Finally, we all agreed, like the sensible family we are, that change is inevitable. We must change with the times; adopting some changes and ignoring some.

Last night, my husband boarded a flight for Chennai, where he is spending this weekend with his parents. Today is Valentine's Day. I haven't wished him, and he hasn't wished me. Looks like I'm not changing my ways on this and neither is he!

No Valentine-Schmalentine for THIS couple!

Living in 'magical Mumbai'

2009-02-11T21:26:00.000-08:00

That's the title of my recent interview on CNN.com. I was pleased as punch, of course.

The interview on their website is part of a TV series called My City My Life. In the TV series, Anil Kapoor takes viewers on a tour of Mumbai.

If you squint really hard at this picture you can see me at the bottom right!

The link to the interview is here, in case you want to hear me air my views on 'aamchi mumbai' and what makes it magical to me.

http://edition.cnn.com/2009/TRAVEL/01/30/mumbai.localview/index.html

- Deepa

Living alongside Slumbai

2009-01-23T21:38:00.000-08:00

- by Janaki Krishnan

Mumbai's slums have been attracting so much attention these days that we should probably rename the city Slumbai.
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We have been living in Sion for the last 35 years - in an area where there is a large slum population alongside middle class residential buildings.

Our side of the street

Slums on opposite side of same street

This is a large slum area, a part of which has extended to the street opposite our house. Unhygenic surroundings, early morning brawls for water, blaring speakers during festivals...these have become a part of our life.

But living near a slum also has a positive side to it. It is a symbiotic relationship, where we depend on each other for many things in daily life. We also learn many things from each other.
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As a working woman for 35 years, and as a senior citizen now, I have come to depend on my maid and cook, both of whom live just outside our building. Both belong to the Maratha community (Bhosles) and have been instrumental in my learning colloquial Marathi. They have also helped me understand their way of life - festivals, rituals, crafts, etc - all of which take place just outside our house on the street. My cook has now become an expert in South Indian dishes.

My maid's house is one of those on this street. Her grandson is at the door.

The menfolk in the slum outside our building have different types of occupations - security guard, pujari, carpenter, plumber, bhajiwala, postman...they are all ready to help us if we need it. Even at midnight, I can walk through our lane without any fear. When I need drumstick leaves for my 'rice adai', they quickly climb the tree and get them for me. When we need something heavy moved, they lend a helping hand, without any payment. I remember the time when my 10-year old daughter was hit by a car. One of the men from the houses in the slum carried her to a cot on the pavement, and revived her with water.
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In turn, I think they find us beneficial too. Living near us provides employment for all the women who want to find work, without any commuting. Some mothers send their children to me for help with schoolwork. We contribute towards community festivals. We help in filling forms and writing letters, and also in finding jobs for young men. In times of water crisis, my maids fill their water pots at my house. In emergencies, we provide first aid. These are not extraordinary acts of social service, but the day-to-day exchange and accomodation that comes from having slum dwellers for neighbours.

Over the course of the past 35 years, these daily interactions have allowed us to also become part of their extended community. Although the dividing line between have and have-not exists, it has definitely blurred over the years. Another phenomenon I have observed is that a spirit of equality has emerged, very different from the traditional attitude of servitude and humility that the poor still display in villages.

My maid's neighbour, a confident and assured lady.

Having slums nearby has also opened my eyes to the lives of people who have far less in life than I do. A lesson that all of us can learn from watching slum dwellers is that of sharing and co-operation. A cup of tea is shared by half a dozen people. When a mother goes to work, other women mind her children. On festivals and occassions, even the poorest houses celebrate. In fact, the best thing to learn from the slums is their vibrant, happy and carefree attitude. I often wonder how they have so much fun and laughter when they are not even certain of where the next meal is coming from.

My maid's daughter Kartika, always smiling

2009 starts well

2009-01-12T18:23:00.000-08:00

I've been silent for nearly 3 weeks. A lot has happened. Mainly, my dad went into surgery for what we suspected was throat cancer, but fortunately it turned out to be benign. He is well now.

Daddy at our room at Jaslok Hospital. He is going to be 80 in April.

We are all immensely relieved and deeply thankful to Dr. Prabodh Karnik, our ENT surgeon. It was interesting to meet with Dr. Karnik - he was clear about the problem, the potential issues, and what he was going to do. I know some people prefer reassuring white lies, but I prefer knowing everything. That way I can be prepared and not feel like something cluelessly tossed on the waves.

I am also deeply thankful to Dr. Ravi Ramakantan, one of Dad's students, for his solid support throughout the three weeks. Ravi, you have been wonderful to us.

Sunrise outside dad's hospital window on the morning of his surgery. At the time, I didn't know how the day was going to turn out.

The hospital experience made me realise yet again how fortunate we are to have family around us in times of crisis. My sister, mother and I were all together, and our presence brought much confidence and strength to my dad.

Little bed where I slept at night, next to dad

My sister ran around doing all the paperwork - hospital bills, check-in, check-out. She made sure her policy covered treatment (tons of calls and faxes) and got us really good rooms at the hospital. I handled the doctor visits and kept track of the treatment. Together we were on top of things, and it kept mom from getting stressed out.

We all drew strength from each other. While the surgery was going on, my mom and I were in our hospital room, waiting for news. We could talk to each other, and keep ourselves from brooding or worrying.

Sitting area of the hospital room (it was a suite). My laptop in the corner. Mum slept on this couch at night.

Small table where we had our meals. My copy of 'The Last Mughals'.

All through the 2 days, we felt like we were all pulling together in a crisis. I cannot tell you how much strength that gave us. When finally the doctor gave us the good news, we had a mix of emotions. Relief, gratitude, joy...Mum said "Let's go down and celebrate!". We called my sister to give her the news, and then we went to the hospital cafetaria and celebrated, Mumbai-style, with hot batata wada!

I watch a hockey match

2008-12-21T05:39:00.000-08:00

Last month, my husband and I went to the Mumbai Hockey Association’s stadium to watch kids from Akanksha Foundation play a match.

A glorious bright Sunday.

My husband is a huge sports enthusiast, and has been speaking to Akanksha about helping with their sports initiatives. So we went to take a look at some of their efforts.

It was just a local match, so the stands were empty except for a few of us who came to cheer the Akanksha team. I found myself enjoying the sense of space.

Some of us Akanksha supporters under the cool pavillion

Scoreboard at the Mahindra Stadium

The match started out with high hopes, but as the game progressed, there was much moaning and agonizing over every lost goal (the other team had much better, more seasoned players!). The samosa-walla provided a very welcome diversion.

Five rupees for two samosas. Extra chutney for free.

As everyone queued up for samosas, I realized once again how much I like going to small local club-level competitions. There is something homely and warm about cheering for players who you know. It’s even nicer when you know the people in the audience and can exchange “expert” comments or wisecracks. Compared to “big league”, serious, competitive sport (NBA Playoffs, cricket matches), I find that this sort of almost intimate sporting experience is much more satisfying for me.

To tell the truth, I am not a big fan of commercially organised sport. I’m not sure why - perhaps I don’t like the like the advertising and sponsorships and media frenzy. Or perhaps I don’t like the way huge numbers of sports fans become polarized, especially when games are played across countries. (Did you watch the Olympics? Surely people don’t need MORE ways to pit themselves against each other and prove that “we” are better than “them”?).

But I suspect the real reason that I don’t like organized sports is because I understand all too well that sports is a substitute for war. When I watch an India-Pak match on TV, or football hooliganism, it reminds me that humans are an aggressive, unattractive, jingoistic species.

Of course, it isn’t as black and white as that. Games teach us how to cooperate with each other to achieve common goals. They teach discipline and hard work. They help us learn how to handle defeat.

More important, they teach us how to overcome odds. On a recent trip to Masai Mara, we were on a long dusty drive between two villages, when I saw a long-distance runner on a training run. I don’t think he had access to fancy equipment or expensive coaching, but he wasn’t letting that stop him. When we passed him, running alone under the vast Kenyan sky, he raised his hands and smiled a broad smile – it was both a greeting and a victory sign. To me, this is among the most attractive features of sports – that it is a great leveler. Rich or poor, urban or rural - if you have sporting talent, that’s what really counts.

In India, where gross inequalities are embedded into the societal framework, sports can offer a new ray of hope for poor children with little or no access to the benefits of an English education.

And of course, sports can create a new sense of self-worth. As the first match drew to an end, I watched a new team of boys from Akanksha get ready for the second match. As they kidded around, showing off their moves, I couldn't help thinking how happy they looked. Some of them didn't have the right shoes, or the right socks or ankle guards, but their smiles were bright and they were on top of the world.

The Akanksha motto "Aspire. Achieve. Be the Change."

Cuisine tour photos

2008-12-10T23:39:00.000-08:00

I always love it when I get photographs in my email. The latest ones in my collection are from Katie and Allyson, two guests of mine, who sent pictures of their recent cooking session. They were part of a group visiting Mumbai on business, but they stayed back a couple of extra days to do some private tours.

The cuisine tour was led by Arundhati, who is a wonderful cook, and whose lovely apartment was the venue for the cooking. Arundhati has published a very nice cookbook (that's her in the centre, signing autographed copies of her book for each of them).

The cuisine that Katie and Allyson tried was South Indian - a Tamil Brahmin meal, to be precise. Before the cooking session, they went to Matunga Market to look at a traditional bazaar and to understand the basics of Indian cooking. Freni, their guide for the tour, explained different ingredients and spices, and also the ayurvedic /philosophical classification of food in India. They also bought banana leaves, to use as plates for the meal.

After the bazaar walk, they went to Arundhati's house, where Katie and Allyson both tried their hand at making vadas and dosas. I was there as well, because Arundathi lives almost next door to me, so it was easy for me to join in. Arundhati did most of the cooking, but it was fun for me to watch Katie and Allyson experiment with Indian cooking techniques and compare it with their cooking back home.

It was a very pleasant afternoon, with great food and lovely conversation. The menu, in case you want to know: Masala Dosa, Lentil Vada, Coconut Chutney, Sambar, Coconut Rice, Vegetable Rice, and Kesari. We all ate too much, I think! The coconut-rice was absolutely divine, and the tamarind in the sambar gave it a special tangy kick that we all loved. (The shallots and spices in the photo are some of the other ingredients for the sambar).

Arundhati brought out a photo album of her traditional religious house-warming ceremony, and we discussed the costumes and rituals. Arundathi's teenage daughter (who was Chief Taster for the day!) and 20-something son added to the family atmosphere.

Katie and Allyson had done city tours with Mumbai Magic before that, but I think they enjoyed this one more. I think it's because it was very much like visiting friends; they could go to someone's house and really see what life in Mumbai is all about. When the tour ended and the goodbyes were said, I was very pleased with myself for organising it!

Hair secrets

2008-12-09T11:39:00.000-08:00

- By Janaki Krishnan

Kerala women are known for their long, lustrous black hair. Their secret? Traditional hair care methods.

I remember my childhood days in Matunga, when Tuesdays and Fridays were "oil bath" days. We children would gather in the bathroom, and take turns to sit on the large stone seat in the centre. My mother would massage til oil, heated with pepper and cumin, into our scalp. It was called neer-piditham - both cumin and pepper are belived to have heating properties, and were meant to keep us from catching cold. There was always a lot of rush-rush-rush on oil bath days because all of us had to get ready for school.

The oil was washed off with a home-made shampoo - we would pluck tali leaves and grind that with shikakai to wash off the oil. If the leaves were not available, then the kanji starch from the previous night's rice was used with shikakai.

As I grew up, I had neither the time nor the inclination to look after my hair. In fact, I've never shared the common belief that long thick hair is an important aspect of female beauty. Maybe it's because I've never had long thick hair! My usual retort is that you can either grow grey cells, or you can grow your hair! And I usually conveniently point at my youngest sister, who is the brainy one in the family, and has short hair.

But at the age of 70, I became a little worried as I experienced severe hair fall. It was then that I spotted, in a Tamil magazine, a recipe for a hair oil that guaranteed dark, long hair. I've adapted that recipe to my needs, and now my hair care routine includes this oil. I do feel that the hair loss has stopped.

Here is how my recipe works:

In a pan, collect the following: shoeflower (you can use both the leaves and the flower - if you don't find the flower, just use leaves), fenugreek, curry leaves, pepper powder and cumin powder. Heat the ingredients until the leaves become a little dry.

Add coconut oil and heat over a low flame. When you see oil bubbling (usually a white froth forms), then switch off the flame.

Let the oil cool, preferably overnight. Strain and store in a cool place. Apply on your scalp 30 minutes before a shower.

The original recipe I saw in the magazine also had henna leaves in it. But I don't want my hair to change colour, so I don't use henna. Also, henna has cooling properties, and it's easy to catch a cold when oil is infused with henna.

Another aspect is the pan itself. Traditionally, a heavy iron pan is used for heating hair oil. The oil is left in the pan to cool overnight, it is believed that the iron reacts with the oil, adding some of its properties to the oil.

So now you have it - my secret recipe for hair care! If you do try it, let me know the results!

Finding the magic

2008-12-08T23:39:00.000-08:00

On Saturday we went to this new club called Magic, in Worli.

Very nice if you want a quiet sophisticated place for a couple of drinks after work. High ceilings, and tasteful decor. Cocktails were very decent, although my husband swears there was no alcohol in his Jack Daniels ("How come I'm still standing after so many rounds?!").

The trouble with Magic is that after 10:30 p.m., the teeny-boppers take over and the music gets downright terrible. There were six of us, and not one of us liked the music. Admittedly, none of us were teenagers, but honestly, even teeny-boppers shouldn't have to put up with that kind of house music.

By 11:30 we decided enough was enough, and made a quick escape to Worli Sea Face. There were several cars parked already, we found some space for ours. Families were out strolling, there were couples, and groups of friends. The pavement had been dug up. "Perhaps they're doing it up, like Marine Drive", said Rajeev.

There was a half-moon glimmering on the water. On the horizon, we saw ships, and a curve of land glittering with light. I clicked several photos, but none of them did any justice to the moon or the waves or the cityscape.

At midnight, a coffee vendor came along on a cycle.

"Kaunsa coffee hai?" asked Roopa. What coffee is this?

He showed her a branded sachet. "Instant hai", he said, in an accent that placed him firmly as a first generation migrant from UP.

He served us coffee in little plastic cups, at 5 rupees a cup. As he walked away wheeling his cycle and calling his wares, Roopa said in a very matter-of-fact way: "Kuch-na-kuch kaam dhoond lete hain sab". (Everyone finds one way or another to make a living). "Look at this guy, he's chosen to walk here at midnight selling coffee."

UK Government amends travel advisory

2008-12-03T20:05:00.000-08:00

"We no longer advise against all but essential travel to Mumbai", says the new advisory from the Foreign Office dated December 2.

They also say "Mumbai is returning to a degree of normality. You should however, exercise caution around large public gatherings."

Today at Dadar

2008-12-03T14:18:00.000-08:00

Freni and I went to Dadar today, to cook up a new Dadar Bazaar Walk. My camera was out of battery, so here's what I managed to click on my Nokia E90 phone.

At Phule covered market - crabs for sale.

There were mussels, dried fish, bombil, and all sorts of other fishy treasures on sale. The fisherwomen as usual, had tongues as sharp as their curved fish knives. I was asked if I wanted to hold a live crab. My hurried refusal led to much merriment.

Resting after the day's sale. Note the green and maroon khun!

Outside the covered market - Goddess in Finery (Someone please, please tell me what's going on with the coconut + eyes + jewellery + new clothes thingy. I'm dying to know. Is this Lakshmi? Durga? Some other Devi? )

Another stall - the Goddess obviously has a thing for bright colours! Lots and lots of women were buying things from these stalls. We asked them, but got incomprehensible answers. "It's for puja", they said. All I gathered was that there was a festival this month.

I call him The Yam Accountant.

She was concentrating on making a "veni" - flowers for the hair

Plastic covers for computers and television sets - So it's not just Goddesses who like bright things! I always enjoy seeing how the Indian love for colours transforms even practical things into a feast for the eyes. Near the plastic covers, green bangles (favoured by married women) are stacked in a basket in sets of twelve. The other side of the basket, by the way, had bangles in a deep red.

We stopped for lassi and snacks at a nearby restaurant. I had misal-pav, a brilliant Maharashtrian invention that doesn't get the press it deserves. Misal is a tangy spicy dish, eaten with bread. In my hurry to eat it, I forgot to click a photo, but if you want to see what misal is like, there's a great photo here. The most satisfying part of the misal is when you dunk the last of your chunky bread into the last of the gravy, and polish it all off with a final tasty mouthful.

Sigh. I'm quite certain now. I've inherited my mother's irresistible attraction for marketplaces.