The Grand Buildings of South Bombay

Last month while in Bombay, my wife and I managed a few times to mix errands with opportunities to walk around South Bombay - mainly in the Churchgate, Fountain, Oval and Colaba areas. What struck me, was her wonder at the magnificence of the architecture all around this place. Most of the buildings are Centuries old, badly maintained, but still beautiful. The High Court Building, the Rajabhai Clock Tower, the Prince of Wales Museum and of course Victoria Terminus, are all grand and awe-inspiring. Even though the streets around them are dirty (filthy would be a better word sometimes), with potholes, open sewers and obstructions, it still is as good a place to walk around in, as it gets in this city. As one radiates out from this area, the contrast in the architecture and layout provides a hint of the glory that was South Bombay.

During this holiday we took a trip to a hill station (Matheran) which is a couple of hours drive from the city. We went there by rail, but decided to return by car. As we drove back, we got to see the expanse of this mega-city coming in from the Northern outskirts. Initially, it was just an unbroken vista of slums next to swamp land, but as you start to pierce the outer skin of the city, the structures start to rise higher. Barring a very few though, most of these are just concrete blocks, punched-in in various places to make way for doors and windows. Most are a uniform grey, as if they have never been painted, and look like the sort of buildings that a child of two would sketch. You feel your eyes skimming around, desperately seeking a single spot of beauty amongst this unrelenting drudgery. The buildings rise up like broken old men, struggling to stand up, and threatening to keel over.

As we came closer into the center of this sprawling metropolis, the chawls start. This is a mass of communal, dormitory style buildings, with shared balconies and toilet facilities - unpainted, un-maintained and with permanent scaffolding to prop them up. They are festooned with masses of clothes hung out to dry, and the pressure of the people crammed within seems to expand the walls of the buildings themselves. These buildings are intertwined by alleys and small roads, every inch of which is occupied by shops, hawkers, pedastrians, dogs and rubbish heaps.The new flyovers speed you through this area, which otherwise would take forever to traverse through.

Even further in, one starts to see the Old Bombay. The skyline is broken by modern(ish) skyscapers, with grilled windows, where everything from childrens bicycles to cooking utensils are stored, to make more space within the apartments. A few decent looking buildings stand out amongst the sprawl of concrete clutter, and these tend to serve even more focus on the urban boxes that surround them.       

I saw this city with new eyes this time, and what struck me the most, was the tiredness of the structures. Most buildings are over-populated and badly maintained, and the overarching theme seems to be one of no pride in where a Bombayite resides. It is as if the entire population of this city is transitory, and hence have no vested interest in maintaining their respective residential areas.

Contrasting this with the pre-independance colonial buildings, I could not help but think that Modern India has failed its people. All we have managed to do is build brick and concrete blocks to shelter our people, and renamed structures that we cannot hope to replicate, with names of Indian heroes. I am sure that those same heroes would be ashamed to have the buildings built by their enemies, named after them.

Take for example the old Victoria Terminus or what is now called the Chatrapatti Shivaji Terminus. The original structure (which is a protected building) is awesome, but the extension looks like an old factory or warehouse. The irony is that these old structures were built with slave labour. By Indians under occupation when the British ruled the country. It is almost as if the British knew that they would soon be leaving, and wanted to leave their legacy for future Indian generations to wonder at.

Free India could only match it with cement boxes, huddled together in an unending and decrepit vista of ineptitude. After three centuries of rule, the free men of India could not raise themselves above the level of the hutments they had existed in. And when their eyes did eventually gaze skywards, all they saw was a series of hovels, one stacked on top of another.  

We shape our buildings; thereafter our Buildings shape us - Winston Churchill

Dubizzle Sizzle

Over the last year I have been successfully purchasing stuff that I want from the US. Wider choice, and a significant price difference, very often compensates for the waiting and the shipping as one can get good deals at a considerable discount. However other than the waiting time for the shipment to arrive, I realised that there were other downsides as well. 

Last September I had ordered a pair of runners from the US. Unfortunately I got my shoe size wrong and I landed up getting a pair too big. It was between mine and my son's shoe size, so I could not even pass them on to him. He has been the unwitting beneficiary of such misplaced adventures in the past, much to his delight. Anyway in this case I was looking at a total loss. What would I do with a pair of oversized expensive running shoes? Anyway a few weeks later, after unsuccessfully trying to palm them off to people that I knew, I got a brainwave. I had opened an account with an online auctioneer, and so I decided that I would try and put them for sale on Dubizzle. 

My view was that the probability of success was marginal at best. However, I had nothing to lose and could afford to be patient. Sure enough there was total silence for a few weeks, no response no calls, nothing at all. Then to my absolute surprise, one day I got an SMS enquiring for the shoes. I was so excited that I immediately agreed to the small discount that was asked, and a day later, was in possession of money enough to cover the cost of the shoes.

This initial success spurred me on to put a music system, that I had got gratis (when I had bought my TV) and which I had no use for, on sale too. In less than a day, I get another SMS of interest. I called up the gentleman, who turned out to be a fellow countryman, and we arranged a drop off the next evening.

What transpired then, is funny in retrospect, but was quite irritating at the time. The caller was staying in a hotel studio in a congested part of town. As was expected, I got a parking spot quite far from the hotel, and then had to wait in the car, as he was running late. After a fifteen minute wait I get a call to tell me that he is already in his room. He rattled off a room number and asked me (to put it gently) to come to his room. Now this is a music system in its original packing, though not very heavy, it was bulky and not light either. I could imagine myself walking throught the foyer of that establishment with a carton on my shoulder, looking like a porter, and being refused entry.

To save myself from that embarassment, I asked him to come down to the lobby to meet me, with the unstated intent of completing our transaction there. He reluctantly agreed. I opened the boot, lifted the system, put it on my shoulder and make my way through the traffic to the hotel. This is mid-October, and as hot and humid as it gets. By this time I am sweaty and irritable, and wondering how I will recognize this man. As I reach the entrance to the hotel, a small man standing on the pavement puts out a cigarette he has been smoking, and calls out my name. With grateful relief I am about to put the carton down, when he gestures for me to follow him and without a by-your-leave, walks into the hotel. There I am, bent beneath the weight of the carton, behind this small little man who behaves as if he is doing me the biggest favor in the world by purchasing this music system from me. He breezes ahead, while I am hunched-over like a coolie and desperately trying to keep up. All this while he is rattling on about his position, title and work, and how he flies in and out of the country all the time, etc. etc.

I think something exploded in my head when he did not even have the courtesy to keep the elevator door open for me. The carton jammed between the closing doors of the elevator and I was stuck, half in and half out, cursing under my breath. As I eventually stumbled into the elevator behind him, I wanted to snap at him, but for the life of me could not think of anything snappy. You know - something witty or clever, even sarcastic would have done, but all I could manage was - "I am a Vice President myself you know" !! I could have kicked myself for saying that. But the reaction was akin to me having put an electric prod into this man's you know what ......

The deal was for a relatively small amount and so the gentleman must have thought that I was in dire economic straits. And being a petty bureaucrat must have thought that this was his time to shine and impress me with his power and wealth. Anyway, to cut to the chase, the transformation in him when he realised that his initial perception of me was misplaced, was almost comedic. His thrust out chest collapsed, he bent down slightly at the waist, and immediately grabbed the carton off me and started calling me Sir. To cut a long story short, the transformation from arrogant to obsequious was so marked that I could not but remember it.

And that brings me to the crux of this article, as to how arrogance pervades all strata of society. I think that ego and attitude are evident at all levels, but at a certain level it is not only money and education that differentiates relative position, but nationality, caste, tribe, birthplace and gender hold even more sway. But what has become increasingly apparent to me, is that in most cases this ego is just skin deep and like the proverbial balloon, is a pinprick away from bursting.   

I have, apart from the incident above, tried to live my life according to the dictum espoused by Sun Tzu "Pretend inferiority and encourage arrogance".

2012 Predictions

It seems that we (i.e. humanity) have reached our final destination. We are into the year 2012, which supposedly is the last in the Mayan calendar. There are (I have been told) many other cultures and historical documents that also refer to this apocalyptical year as the end of humanity, the world, the universe.

Last night my wife was telling us about some of the predictions for this iconoclastic year, which included:-

· the appearance of a second moon,

· natural calamities (earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanic eruptions etc.),

· war,

· disease,

· crime,

· discovery of other life in the universe,

· others.

Not being immune to this propoganda, a couple of weeks ago, my daughter told me that we have a year to live as the world would end on 21'st December 2012!! I am not too sure whether she mentioned the precise time, but it was a very specific date. She was quite calm about it, and hence I asked her as to why she was not sounding scared knowing that we are all to die? It seems that she has a child's ability to partition her mind, and believe in two opposing ideas at the same time.

George Orwell called it Doublethink! It is an ability to continue to believe in something, even though all observable and logical facts around you prove the opposite, the act of simultaneously accepting two mutually contradictory beliefs as correct.

So I wonder what date will be the next that will be picked on by the doomsayers, when we all safely pass into 2013?

But what completely stumps me, is how anyone can give repeated credence to anyone, who makes such fallacious predictions that turn out false?

The first soothsayer, was the first rascal who encountered a fool - Voltaire

Mumbai Reflections

So we are back from our holidays in Mumbai - tired, exhausted and a little worse for wear, and me with a running nose. Better a running nose I say, than a running stomach! I hardly feel refreshed to start work again, let alone a new year. But a holiday in Bombay, especially during winter, is always like this. Weddings, Navjote's and Parties galore, filled with the 3 F's (Family, Friends and Food).

The holiday did not start on an ideal footing though. Our bags were late in coming out on to the carousel, (the priority bags came after the normal bags). The baggage carousel was empty of passengers when we reached it, post immigration, but by the time our bags came out, we were fighting for standing space, forget about positioning our trolleys. I could not help thinking that there was some mischievous 'Babu' (Indian bureaucrat) who takes vicarious pleasure in turning things around to teach us all a lesson. India does that to you - so many things go wrong, Murphy's Law is so evidently manifest everywhere, that it removes any thoughts of coincidence, and plants the seed of intent. The car ride from the airport to home took more time than our entire flight in from Dubai. The roads were completely gridlocked, and it was a wonder that we reached our destination at all. 

But after that things started to change. The weather was wonderful, and the water shortage which was a threat, thankfully never really materialised. That meant that we could take a shower every day, instead of a bucket bath and feel like we did not need another that day. Our fair colony was absolutely inundated with NRI's, and like the migratory birds that we are, saw a mass exodus this past weekend. But during the time that we were there, there was a whirl of parties, dinners and get-togethers. The children enjoyed and made lots of new friends (my son included). We did manage to visit the Museum, which was lovely, and also did a bit of walking in and around South Bombay which was even better.

The holiday was interspersed with a break to Matheran with friends. This is a hill station a couple of hours away from Bombay. I was last there almost 25 years ago, but due to the fact that it is untouched by cars and pollution, the place has stood the test of time rather well. However the same cannot be said about the hotels and the facilities. One overpays for the value one gets, as is the norm in India, and our hotel by any criteria was extremely basic. Food was excellent though and made up for any other discomfort.  

After three weeks, coming back to Dubai feels like a different world. One gets so used to the noise, dust, people and traffic, that their absence comes as a revelation. Suddenly one is transported into a quiet, clean, and efficient world, where things work as they should, fighting and shouting are not the norm, and the air is eminently more breathable. But the best, as always, is the first bath after coming back, the sheer luxury of a good strong hot shower to wash off the dirt and the dust which the puny shower (due to low pressure) in Bombay, can never do. In fact one luxuriates so much, that the water wastage becomes almost sinful.  

And as I soaped myself, I smirked at the fact that only a visit to Bombay can make me enjoy something as simple as a bath!