My 15th Post!

I am writing this post with sleepy eyes. So if I make grammatical errors, please forgive me. And if you want me to recollect my day for you, give me a second to clear my mind. Yeah, so coming back, my day was quite a blur. It had its usual ingredients; office, looking for story ideas, making calls and writing mails and of course maggi. Yeah now as I am going to tell you something cool so I am totally awake. Today I am writing my 15th blog post! It is quite a feat considering before this marathon began, I hadn’t written a single article in past 6 months!

Those months just passed by, thinking how I didn’t have the time to write. But once without wasting my brain cells on cribbing, I got to it, it was all simple (actually not very simple. I have to really have to scratch my head to think about the next post). One post a day is quite a task. But once you get to do the thing you want to, without the, ifs, buts and other lot of jazz, the task gets really straightforward. I think when there are no two ways, words automatically get typed and sentences are automatically formed.

So cheers! to all those who have read the blog and to me too for writing it. I hope I improve on it everyday.

On the job

Yes, I always thought I was a journalist. To go out and report on issues that matter was and maybe still is my dream job profile. But I think the definition of journalism and a journalist has changed. How should I react when at a press conference of India’s biggest snack brands, the ‘journalists’ don’t even notice the brain behind the brand? The main focus for them was the brand ambassador, the ex-prince of some random place and now a Bollywood star. Are we of the same breed of scribes?

Some 30 news channels had arrived at the event. This number was far less than what were present at the ex-CM’s press conference during Maharashtra state election results last week. The ‘journalists’ before the event were crowding the snack counter, taking their pick! They munched on several packets till the actor arrived, which was almost after an hour!

After the speeches were made praising the greatness of the brand, the question answer session began. In the next few minutes which passed, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “aap kispe qurbaan hona chahenge, kareena pe ya lays pe?”, “kya lays aapko lazy feel karvata hai?”, “aapko apni yeh nayi hairstyle kaisi lagti hai?”, were some of the many questions thrown at the actor. The marketing head stood forgotten next to him. She just nodded and smiled on. Maybe even she didn’t know how to react.

As the round ended to my relief, the actor got down from the pedestal. He was nearly attacked by the journalist junta. However, the marketing head looked pretty happy with this event and peacefully came down to answer a few questions of some minority reporters who were waiting for her. I totally shared her feelings. The empty hall with the majority reporters and the great actor gone looked quite pleasant.

Few moments and a million observations…

As soon as the train halted at the station, some footsteps found their way towards the staircase leading to the road. Some were however not so keen on reaching home, so their hands found their way to their pocket to take out some money. That’s how some men ended up at the food stall where they slurped away their nimbu pani or the all time favorite coca cola.

In the next few minutes the crowd at the station thinned. Only then could the station be seen in full view. The people left behind on the platform were those who were waiting for the train to arrive. Most of them had found their way to pass the next few minutes till they could be see the big yellow light approaching them. One man in white was animatedly explaining the guy sitting next to him about the realty space. His ‘kasam se bolta hun’ could be heard even from quite distance. His aggression made other people around him listen in. Other men were fanning themselves newspaper and few just looked bored and disoriented.

But there were two people who were totally engrossed in their conversation. He was holding her face, looking down into her eyes. She was holding those hands but was not talking. He was trying to tell her something but her eyes didn’t look every convinced. She looked down and then away. Just then the next train arrived and the station was full of people again. And everything and everyone disappeared in front of my eyes.

Writer’s block or just sleep deprived eyes…

I seriously don’t know what to pen down today. Sometimes I feel, I should write about my life but it is so random that it will take quite a while for me to comprehend it first before I put it down in words for you. Sometimes I feel, about writing about the book I am trying to read since the last few months but it makes me realize the pace of my reading has become inversely proportional to the pace of my life, which is not a very delightful thought. So moving on, I even thought about writing on my boss but don’t you think it’s a little too risky! And I have already written down about my family and colleagues. I am still thinking about what to write tonight. So please come back tomorrow to read more. Till then good night… yawn!!

Rustles of a late night stroll...

A late night stroll on the suburban streets of Mumbai made me see and notice things that I usually overlook in the crazy mornings of the city. As I took my path back home, I saw streets littered with dry golden colour leaves. The street lights were making these leaves glow in the darkness. The trees above these fallen orphans, were casting long shadows on the street. The sound of the passing autorikshaws was echoing through the night. Shops on both sides of the road were shutting down for the day. The sleepy shopkeepers pulled the shutter down to come back again tomorrow for another long day. Most of the windows of the houses above these shops were dark; the only light that was present was of the dancing Diwali toran lights which were still hanging from the windows. And at this time, a couple was taking a walk, enjoying a peaceful and calmed down city street and the golden light shining above…

Some faces in my office…

Biblical beauty: she strides into the features bay at 11 am in the morning, smiling and waving at anyone who acknowledges her presence. This biblical beauty of the features team is a one man army of a personal finance show. And with handling this immense responsibility (which includes dealing with two other difficult people), she manages to also counsel two ‘juvenile’ boys of the neighboring news features desk everyday. Sometimes you see her talking to strange men who have sent her several emails from different email addresses but is actually the same person who desperately wants to come on television. And sometimes you see her sipping the nth number of tea cup in anna’s canteen. This always cheerful and happy girl brings a smile on the faces of the distressed souls of the features team.

The rural journo to be: A person, who was destined to be reporting on the poor and the helpless of India’s rural heartland, ends up on a career show. This, pretty much sums up this Bengali girl’s story. But hopefully she’ll crack it someday. Till that moment of glory arrives, she will stay our very own extendable hand. The name comes from her uncanny ability to sense food around her. From nowhere she’ll come right next to you if she sees something remotely edible with you. This girl’s story is full of contradictions but will talk about that later on.

A Buddha that can scare you: a fragile girl comes up to you seeking help. She looks helpless, unsure and even confused. You would think of her as a sweet, docile and a soft spoken girl. But the facet that is relatively unknown is that she can be quite a tigress if she wants her work to be done. She not only cracks the show every week but also cracks a whip on her team mates if everything is not under control. Even without slightly raising her volume, the sternness in her voice will make her team mate scurry away to finish the pending script or an unfinished edit. But I would like to end it by saying she is an angel at heart who will always lend a ear to your daily whining. But there is one condition, finish your work first!

The book of life...

It is something that we write everyday. Word by word and page by page the chapters of the book called life are filled up. But unlike the author of the book, we most of the times don’t have control on the next word that’s printed or the next sentence that’s drafted. Sometimes, the sentence construction just turns out to be perfect but there are times you’d rather wish to erase what is already inked. But every uncertainty is worth living and every mistake adds to the experience of life. The beauty of penning down this book down lies in imperfectness and unpredictability. Each crossroad of life may be the turning point of the plot of the book but it is still worth standing there and wondering about the direction… it is still worth all of it... trust me it is…

Counting the pulse of the state…

One of the counting booth of the Mahashtra state elections looked like a rugged maidan from a distance with just a tent like structure in the middle… but once you approach it, you could see men in khakhi doing their duty. The tent was guarded like a fortress with policemen protecting it from all sides. People passing by saw it with some curiosity and some reluctant respect.

Some kids tried to jump the bandobast to take their everyday short cut to the school till the security shooed them away… most children scurried away at the threat but one thin dark girl showed a little bit of courage… she didn’t find the vote counting more important than her Maths test and she made that clear to the policemen… Making a dirty face at the policemen, she grumbled along her way back about her test after she was caught sneaking in.

The policemen found the kids amusing but then went back to their intense debating session… anticipating result was maybe their way past time. You would hear excited whispers about the possibility of the outcome of the election. And ‘Engine challi ahhe’ (Engine being MNS symbol) was one thing that was coming out of the discussion…

But then a sudden, unexpected call from a senior reporter to reach the ex-CM’s home brought this fascinating visit to the counting booth to an abrupt end.

Life along the tracks...

Slowly after a few jerks, my Mumbai local started moving towards its destination. The train took the same route like everyday, winding through the slender metal tracks. During the one hour of my journey, the life along the tracks came to life…


Small hutments, some made of metal sheets and some of bricks were waking up to the morning sun. Children had started trotting outside their homes, ready and excited for the new sunny day. However, some citizens of the world close to the tracks were still fast asleep on the rickety beds outside their homes. The clothes hung on the wire close by provided for a good sun protection. The shadows of the clothes fell on their faces, letting them snore peacefully.

The life along the tracks was interesting. One of the interesting people I saw was a small girl in a maroon frock. She was standing near the wall which separated the tracks from the road. With a huge brown stick, she was trying to remove or recover something from the tall tree which had grown close to the wall. But by the time I could figure out what the object of fascination was, the train had already moved on.

And as the train moved ahead, the sun was moving further up too. I could see women already engrossed in morning chores, their hands busy with washing clothes and cleaning their habitat premise. The construction workers in their fluorescent orange uniforms were hammering away making new tracks for the squeezed Mumbai local traveler.

But slowly the life along the tracks started disappearing as the train approached downtown. Strong concrete structures replaced wobbly huts. As the train ultimately reached its destination, the huts, the children and the small girl in her maroon frock were far left behind in their own world while I moved towards mine.

'Balwadis' go the branded way!

Step into a neighborhood pre-school and you wouldn’t be able to relate any of what you see to your childhood memories. The swanky school office, the air-conditioned classrooms, and the expert teachers will amaze you. It will intimidate you but also welcome to the world of branded pre-schooling.

The pre-school market in India currently stands at around a whopping Rs. 394 crore. The last few years has seen a growth of almost 28.3% per annum. The new generation of pre-schools like Kangaroo kids, Euro kids and Globetrotters boast of a splendid infrastructure, well trained teachers and a fixed child teacher ratio. These professionally run pre-schools are replacing the humble balwadis in the urban towns.

Lina Ashar, Chairperson, Kangaroo Kids says, “When I first started out in 1993, there was no market for pre-schooling but today parents understand the importance of pre-schools.” Ashar feels that this change has been due the social and economic changes India has witnessed in the last decade. “Both the parents are working but they don’t want the child to be with maid, they prefer the kid to be at a pre-school with other kids,” believes Ashar.

The child is supposed to develop by 80% in the first five years of his life. The pre-schools in through their syllabus concentrate on developing the gross motor and fine motor skills of the child. The gross motor skills mean coordination of the limbs which developed by jumping and hopping while the fine motor skills are about finger eye coordination, hand to mouth coordination and so on.

All of this doesn’t come cheap. The average fees charged by these branded school is about Rs. 50, 000 per annum. But the parents don’t seem to be complaining too much. It is because maybe with both the parents working, the household income is almost double too. Kamal D’Mello who sends both her children to pre-school feels the fees is worth the expenditure. She says, “The teachers are very accessible and I can go and monitor my children anytime of the day.” However there are parents who feel that the fees is too high but they are still ready to spend that extra buck. “It is expensive, but then the syllabus is well researched and the kids get to do a lot of extra curricular activities too,” feels Karyn Felsinger whose two year old son goes to a branded pre-school.

And it is not only about educated upper middle class. The aspiration level of Indians is rising across the board. The business houses are eager to cater to every segment of the society that is ready to spend extra for his/her child’s education. Shri Krishna, CEO of Birla Edutech which also runs a pre-school chain called Globetrotters feels the want for a better future has percolated to lower levels of the society too. “Today, I don’t have a pre-school chain for the lower segment of the society but I would love to have it one day because now they have the ability to spend too,” he elaborates. Rajesh Bhatia, MD and CEO, Treehouse Education too feels, “Education has an aspiration value to it. Families in smaller towns also want the best for their kids.”

Maybe twenty years back, at two years a child would be just learning to walk and talk in the confines of his home but today this tiny toddler is not only on the way to realize a million dreams for his parents but also carries a burden of being a consumer of a multi-crore industry.

The Big, Fat, New Year Feast!

Frenzied assignment of duty, repeated supply checks, urgent instructions flying all over the place and a dedicated workforce in action. One would imagine a setting like this at a factory but it is actually a Gujarati household bracing itself for a huge new year’s feast planned in the evening. The commander in action is the 45 year old Gujarati housewife. In her synthetic printed salwar kameez, she was ordering her family members, the house help and the disgruntled cook to get her work done. The mission was not only to feed 40 people with a delicious meal (which was not good enough for her) but also to make the occasion memorable. So the responsibility to achieve the target was on the paid help and the unpaid one (which in this case were the poor souls called the family).

The daughter was made to go out to shop for ingredients and then the husband was send behind her to check whether the task was getting done correctly. She was also made to climb the ladder to put up the toran on the door and then after five minutes was told to remove it. The son did the climbing up to the old attic to take out old, rusted, cob webbed utensils. The continuous bickering of the cook and the arguments about the food and table arrangements made for the background music. Excessive cleaning was taking place simultaneously. Bed sheets were changed, mattresses were replaced, and the furniture was polished with a wet cloth. Corners of the house which the inhabitants don’t see or even bother to visit were cleaned up. Sigh! So much for the right impression on the guests… Truly Atithi Devo Bhava.

The door bell finally rang at 8 pm which began the welcoming of the first of many guests to arrive. With a little bit of apprehension, the door was thrown open to them. They walked in with a beaming smile, wishing the family, Saal Mubarak. Mr. M was wearing a silver shirt with grey stripes and Mrs. M was wearing a green silk sari. She had neatly tied up her hair to draw the junta’s attention to her new diamond studded earrings. Slowly after them, the door bell kept ringing and guests kept streaming in. Strangely every sari looked similar as if they all had bought it in bulk from a wholesale market. The ladies met each other with enthusiasm and the men too looked pretty pleased with themselves. The first half an hour of the gathering was exclusively devoted to the feet touching ceremony. One could see a few people massaging their backs after the ritual was over.

Discussions and arguments about who is the tallest cousin or which is the most affordable housing destination could be heard from the living room, while the kitchen was heating up with the debate over the number of puris required for dinner. By the time dinner was served, the tiny toddlers were half asleep in the last bedroom of the house. Everyone took at least two servings of everything which made the woman of the house beam with happiness and satisfaction. Slowly the guests started taking leave, thanking the host family for the good time and the appetizing food. The lights of the house finally went off at 12 midnight after the lady of the house retired to the bed with a smile.

Diwali’s temple visit

The street leading to the temple of a faraway suburb of Mumbai was glittering with the light and activity of Diwali. The hawkers on the street were all frantically trying to make a sale. The yellow bulb hanging on each of these stalls, made the puja articles shine like yellow and red mirrors. Agarbattis, garlands, flowers, religious books and many more small and big things were scattered over these stalls.

Middle aged women were thronging these stalls trying to make their pick. Some of them who had their children along were busy multi-tasking between scrutinising the items on one hand and pulling the disinterested children from running away on the other. The shopkeepers eager to convince the customers were explaining each item’s ‘USP’. One could hear aggressive sounds of bargaining even from a distance. Some women just glanced through the articles with some curiosity and then moved on to the next hawker. Eventually, everyone headed to the temple at the end of the street.

The temple premise was as full of activity as the busy street outside. The temple, decorated with colorful bulbs and flowers made the atmosphere truly festival like. Small children were scurrying around in their new clothes; women were praying, chattering and gossiping. The temple priests were busy preparing for the arati. They hurriedly moved in and out of the small backdoor of the temple which was restricted to the aam junta. In the corner of the temple, was a tiny old woman in a light blue saree. She with eager eyes was constantly wishing everyone who passed her; Jai Shri Krishna. One wouldn’t know why she was doing that till someone dropped a few coins in her hands. She would then carefully put the money in her pouch and continue with the routine again.

People entered the temple barefoot, closed their eyes for a few seconds praying to the closed doors (as the doors were still not open for the arati). They would then look for the known faces the crowd and suddenly start talking about their Diwali dinner plans and the shopping done. One could even overhear them talking about the recipe about the secret chatni recipe. But once the temple doors opened for the arati, everything was forgotten. Women pulled their children from the courtyard towards the temple and forcibly put their palms together for the prayer. Though the children looked rather unhappy and confused, they followed the instructions. The chattering of the crowd and the tiny old woman’s Jai Shri Krishna drowned as the high pitched arati and the ringing of the bells begun.