Today morning as I woke up and pulled the curtains to get a kiss of sunlight I saw Senior Subramaniyam standing on his window with a broom in his hand. Our windows are diagonally opposite to each other and though I cannot look into his room I can see the person standing at the window. "Must be a new way to greet the sun," I thought and smiled at the old man. He looked at me and as though reading my thoughts began cleaning his windowsill. Queer.
Later during the day, I had another encounter with him. I was standing for the elevator on the ground floor after I returned from my grocery shop after buying some goodies. I saw old Subramaniyam was already standing there. This time I did not smile as I was reminded of the broomy morning greetings. "Hello dear, my name is Subramaniyam. I am the secretary of this building," he said in a way as though the Subramaniyams were the be all and end all of this universe. I gave a meek smile in return which fail to impress him in any way. Either he felt sorry for the morning gesture or did not like my lack of interest at that point in time he turned away and fixed his eyes on the lift indicator.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Mumbai Madness
Mumbai is strange. I know this statement has no novelty in it but this is the only conclusion that I have drawn after staying here for a year now. Uniformity prevails in every city throughout its population and places but not in Mumbai.
One can see contrasts that one cant fail to notice. Be it the local trains or the streets or even my neighbourhood the strangeness of the place seems to get hold of you.
Neighbours...hmm...since I have mentioned the word let me tell you about some of them. Since I hail from a small town, neighbours have always been an integral part of my life. Be it standing on the doorsteps and gossiping with them or experimenting with a new recipe ( which you do not trust has turned out to be good) and sharing with each other (to get the feedback), my neighbours and me have known each other quite well. But the concept of neighbours turned out to be entirely different as soon as I stepped inside my building. I looked at the name of the residents at the reception trying to see my floormates. Well, let me tell you, till date I have only known their names (apart from little details that I have gathered with my peeping skills).
The Subramaniams
They are the first family I encountered after shifting to my current address. A typical South Indian family with a senior citizen and wife, his two sons with their wives and a kid. It's quite funny to know that the elevator in my building has some South Indian music playing 24x7. When I asked the receptionist he said that it was courtesy due to the major population in my building being South Indians especially Tamilians. The Tamilian tune playing in the elevator was fine with me had it not been extended to my flat. Then I discovered that the Subramaniams were not satisfied merely with the elevator song. They played different Tamilian tunes everyday in the morning at a loud volume to entertain themselves (and maybe to give some Tamilian taste to their neighbours). Phew! I was not very happy but since I was a newbie in my building any kind of interference may not have been welcome. So I decided to keep my mouth and door shut most of the time. But it was not only the music that was pouring into my living room everyday. Our kitchen windows being adjascent even the smell of their recipes was flooding in my kitchen. This was intolerable because have I didn't have much liking for idlis and dosas............ (to be continued)
One can see contrasts that one cant fail to notice. Be it the local trains or the streets or even my neighbourhood the strangeness of the place seems to get hold of you.
Neighbours...hmm...since I have mentioned the word let me tell you about some of them. Since I hail from a small town, neighbours have always been an integral part of my life. Be it standing on the doorsteps and gossiping with them or experimenting with a new recipe ( which you do not trust has turned out to be good) and sharing with each other (to get the feedback), my neighbours and me have known each other quite well. But the concept of neighbours turned out to be entirely different as soon as I stepped inside my building. I looked at the name of the residents at the reception trying to see my floormates. Well, let me tell you, till date I have only known their names (apart from little details that I have gathered with my peeping skills).
The Subramaniams
They are the first family I encountered after shifting to my current address. A typical South Indian family with a senior citizen and wife, his two sons with their wives and a kid. It's quite funny to know that the elevator in my building has some South Indian music playing 24x7. When I asked the receptionist he said that it was courtesy due to the major population in my building being South Indians especially Tamilians. The Tamilian tune playing in the elevator was fine with me had it not been extended to my flat. Then I discovered that the Subramaniams were not satisfied merely with the elevator song. They played different Tamilian tunes everyday in the morning at a loud volume to entertain themselves (and maybe to give some Tamilian taste to their neighbours). Phew! I was not very happy but since I was a newbie in my building any kind of interference may not have been welcome. So I decided to keep my mouth and door shut most of the time. But it was not only the music that was pouring into my living room everyday. Our kitchen windows being adjascent even the smell of their recipes was flooding in my kitchen. This was intolerable because have I didn't have much liking for idlis and dosas............ (to be continued)
Saturday, November 29, 2008
The unheard screams are deafening
Tulika Haldher
22:30, Jaipur
The war in Mumbai has finally ended after three days of continuous struggle. But the the silence that prevails is equally frightening than the mayhem that went on. The CST station is buzzing with life even after the horror story but there seems to be an eerie silence that is dominating all the noise. The people are frightened as if waiting for something to happen the very next moment. The mouths are shut but the eyes continue to talk. Questions, terror, anger. They have it all.
A visit to the lobby of the Trident tells another story that is very similar. The huge hall has a carpet of blood. The walls charred with a thousand bullet marks. The blood can be cleaned, the walls repaired and life will move on as usual. But what's dead will not come back. The laughter that echoed in these halls, the wishes that were given during a celebration, the promises that were made to the beloved just before the attack, are dead forever.
The Taj palace and Tower stands tall. A few blemishes, some broken walls and unrepairable funiture. The victory is visible on its face. But it came at a heavy price. I saw a picture of the pigeons flying amidst the smoke in the dome. Ah! Pigeons. Such a beautiful sight in front of the Taj. But now even the pigeons are not looking beautiful. Every movement they make seems like a warning for something worse to come.
They call it the infallible city. But somehow the spirit of the city seems to be dead. Amidst the silence, there are screams everywhere. Screams that speak of the thousand losses, a million broken dreams and infinite promises that were never made. The unheard screams are deafening...
22:30, Jaipur
The war in Mumbai has finally ended after three days of continuous struggle. But the the silence that prevails is equally frightening than the mayhem that went on. The CST station is buzzing with life even after the horror story but there seems to be an eerie silence that is dominating all the noise. The people are frightened as if waiting for something to happen the very next moment. The mouths are shut but the eyes continue to talk. Questions, terror, anger. They have it all.
A visit to the lobby of the Trident tells another story that is very similar. The huge hall has a carpet of blood. The walls charred with a thousand bullet marks. The blood can be cleaned, the walls repaired and life will move on as usual. But what's dead will not come back. The laughter that echoed in these halls, the wishes that were given during a celebration, the promises that were made to the beloved just before the attack, are dead forever.
The Taj palace and Tower stands tall. A few blemishes, some broken walls and unrepairable funiture. The victory is visible on its face. But it came at a heavy price. I saw a picture of the pigeons flying amidst the smoke in the dome. Ah! Pigeons. Such a beautiful sight in front of the Taj. But now even the pigeons are not looking beautiful. Every movement they make seems like a warning for something worse to come.
They call it the infallible city. But somehow the spirit of the city seems to be dead. Amidst the silence, there are screams everywhere. Screams that speak of the thousand losses, a million broken dreams and infinite promises that were never made. The unheard screams are deafening...
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