What’s in a name?

The Bard asked that question lightly and moved on. He never dealt with a Government official telling him that his name was invalid did he? I tried explaining to the man (Government official, not Bard), that this was how my parents had named me but my application for whatever was rejected. That spurred me to write this piece. Actually I have been writing it in my head for many decades now. It is only thanks to my friend and torturer Anu, that it is being typed out now.

Let me share with you my experience of names gleaned over the last 300 years of my life. Hey, that is how old I feel most days! I freely admit that the only research I have done is into my own experience, not of any voluminous tomes or internet searches.

A name is something that uniquely identifies you. In India, it usually carries a Given name and an additional name that is either the place you belong to, your father’s name or your occupation or your caste. “Your” here means your dynasty or clan, not necessarily of you personally. So if you had a forefather born in Parlakhamadi or Thuamulrampur, then that was your surname or forename, whether you can place the village on a map or not. Some communities place their surname(s) before their given name(s) to show respect to their place of origin, father, occupation or caste. Thus, theoretically, names could have a variety of forms and lengths. And to me this variety is what made the world an interesting place. 

Then along came technology. And regardless of current Indian claims, it came from the “West” – west of India that is; first from Europe and then from the land of freedom and promise – America as it is breezily called though it only comprises a part of the Americas. This land (USA, if you are still wondering), promises a lot, but on the name front forces you into a standard format – given name, middle name if you insist, surname – all having to fit into 40 characters or whatever the latest technology demands. No other format is accepted and tolerated. This rigid, non-varietal view is what made that bureaucrat in Gujarat tell me my name is invalid. 

Actually I am a chilled out person and wouldn’t care how my name is mangled. However, no one has a right to tell me my name is invalid. What did he raise objection to? My name followed the classic (where I come from) format of village name followed by given name. The village name (which I have since legally shortened) is unpronounceable and bewilders every spell check. That may have irked my Gujarati friend who preferred surnames (not forenames) that are simple such as Patel or Shah. He also insisted that my father’s name should be my middle name. If I really wrote out my name the way he wanted me to, I would spend most of my life just writing it out on one form or the other – it is that long. He is not alone – try to fill out any online form. There are limited characters for Given name first, followed by Surname, with a grudging middle name squashed in. 

Here is what I ask of the world – why does technology dictate how our names go? Why kill the variety that our names bring to the world? And let us go back to basics – what is the purpose of a name? It is to identify a person uniquely. How does it matter to anyone if I write my Given name first or my Surname first? All you need to add is a field that asks, “How would you like to be addressed?” or “In what sequence is your name written?” or “Which is your first name and your second name?” I just don't like this automatic assumption that my first name is my Given name and my second name is my Surname. In my case, it is most certainly not. 

I ask this confident that there are a lot more people than just me who face this problem. There are many communities in Southern India and East Asia who write their Surname before their Given name. If the population of India and China is about 2.5 billion to 3 billion, then I guess that there are at least a billion people who don't follow the standard format of Given name, middle name, Surname. Isn’t that a large enough population to want to cater to? I tried explaining this to Facebook, but I got a standard response on how a name has two parts – the first name is the given name and the second name is the surname and that is that. So Facebook continues to call me “Kv” incorrectly, confusing all my friends. 

In an ideal world I would like to use a single name – one that does not connect me to a place or my lineage or my caste; one that highlights me as me. However, I do agree that it could become very confusing since others also have my name. So I am likely to get tagged with a description which would, over time, become my Surname. (I would still insist on writing it before my name.)

In another piece I will explain the evolution of my name. 

5/Dec/2014

Democracy on the roads

As I sat in the bus, cordoned off from the sounds around me by the AC, I marvelled at the traffic in this city. It was once the garden city - a retirement haven. Today it is full of cars and houses and people. And these people are rich, expecting the privileges of the rich. They buy the best car there is in the market, never mind the cost - it could be 30 lakhs, 60 lakhs or a crore even. They have the money and they will have the best. And every house has so many cars, they park on the roads along with the pariah stray dogs that roam the streets. BMW, Audi, Mercedes, Porsche, Pariah - all same. It is politically incorrect to say Pariah these days - you call those dogs mongrel or native mixed breed or some such thing. At night these dogs, whatever you choose to call them, rule the roads. During the day, the same roads are clogged with cars. No one rules the roads in the day. They just lie back majestically and allow the cars to stand, with very little movement. 

As I sat in the bus, I wondered at these people. In the arrogance of their wealth, they buy these cars and behave as if they own the roads. The pay scant attention to basic courtesies of human society - they have the best car that money can buy, so they have to forge ahead. Who cares for the rules of the road that lies docilely below? Who cares for the law of the land - the lawmaker can be bought off with money, down to the last one of them. And so they drive, or rather urge their sarathis on. Take that little gap, go across the divider, mow that scooter down. Never mind that you are sitting in a mega chariot too big for that little gap. What ensues naturally is chaos. A chaos known as a friendly sounding traffic jam rather than by the name it really is - a traffic snarl. A snarl that engulfs you and lets you  chug along slower than the cyclist who whizzes past on the pavement. A snarl that is the great equaliser on these rueful roads. You turn up the AC a notch higher or change the setting so it gets colder insider. You believe that the rolled up windows protect you from the smog outside. Believe away.

You move ahead slowly - a kilometre takes a good 30 minutes. It doesn’t matter that your car, your vehicle costs thirty times that of the tiny one next to you. You all move at the same pace. You wince as your driver in front ignores the great potholes and splashes merrily through them. You groan as you think of the physio’s bills as the ache in your neck, your back slowly picks up. Not so your car that ambles along. Right beside that ancient Ambassador that should have retired a good twenty years ago. 

As I sit in the bus, I think that these roads are the best equalisers we have. The truest expression of democracy there is. All are same - you in your expensive Porsche and you in your Maruti 800 of 1997 vintage and me in my public bus. Maybe I actually have the edge. My bus is driven by someone who really wants to get ahead. And he doesn’t care to have anyone come in his way. So he manages to actually go faster than the general traffic around him. 

I wonder - all these people with money, why don’t they use their wealth and influence to improve the roads and the traffic so that they at least enjoy these toys they buy? Is it that they don’t want the rest of the us to enjoy it? Can they be that petty in their wealth? Or is it that they are afflicted by apathy just like the rest of us? Ah democracy - how many ways do you make us equal?

December 2017

The Nix by Nathan Hill

The Nix by Nathan Hill was a very satisfying book. The problem with reading a book like that is that everything else pales in comparison for a while after that. The book is some 650 pages long - so daunting at first glance and difficult to hold while lying down. And it starts slowly - so it took some staying power to go with the flow. It covers the life of the narrator, who is the author probably, for about 30 years. The story is told from various perspectives and includes an interesting period in the history of the USA - the student riots in the late 60s, anti-Vietnam, hippy, free sex used interchangeably with free love. The book is a commentary on the endemic corruption in the country, women’s rights (their absence really!), consumerism, environmental issues, etc. over time. It focusses on small town life, campus life in Chicago and briefly goes to New York. We get a glimpse of a small town in Norway which left me wanting more. 

Many of the lines in the book found resonance within me. And showed again that geography doesn’t really matter - we human beings have something at our core that is common globally. Or it could be just the English speaking human beings!

The book ends well - not too neat, but with enough spaces for happiness. As I near the end of a book this size, I usually go slower in my reading - I don’t want to be disappointed. This book left me satisfied. 

It has been a long time since I read a book that has been so leisurely in dealing with all the characters and going off into various tangents before bringing the many threads together again. I did get surprised several times at the turns the book took. 

I wouldn’t define the book as un-put-downable; more like it was a pleasure to come back to each day. I look forward to the next one by Nathan Hill. 

February 2018

Gifted to me last year for my birthday

Tradition!

Hi XX,

I read your piece on Karwa Chauth and would like to share my thoughts with you. 

I grew up in Madras where Karwa Chauth is not observed, but there is a similar festival called Varalakshmi Puja observed sometime in August. I am not sure if the women fast, but all married women do the Puja and then invite other women to their house in the evening. My mother never did this Puja and was constantly badgered by my aunts and blamed everything that went wrong in the house on the fact that she didn’t do the Puja. Finally mummy gave in and started. So I am not sure that all the women do it out of choice. 

She told me not to see it as a religious event but as a fun gathering of women – just like you mentioned in your article. That was when I asked about widows. I noticed that no widows were invited for this function – so I asked my mom – and she evaded the question like many other questions that I asked.

She stopped doing the Puja when my dad died. After a couple of years one of her friends invited her over for the Puja and she went over. She came back very upset. While she was invited, she was not included in any of the activities and had to sit in a corner. 

The reason I am explaining all this is this: Hindu festivities involving married women are usually discriminatory. They are not fun for all women. And the women usually don’t have a genuine choice on whether they want to do it or not. If a woman really has a choice and does it, then no one would have a problem with it. However, most women give in to pressure, usually from the in-laws, and do these rituals. 

Tradition is good, but it is not written in stone. We need to have the courage to move with the times and modify our rituals accordingly. Just like we done with our clothes or food. 

The second point is this: India has a sex-ratio of 927. The juvenile sex ratio is even more dismal – 911? This clearly points to a preference for the boy child. I always thought that the West Coast of India was leagues ahead in this and treated girls equally. However, if you look at the juvenile sex ratio on the West Coast, the trends are gloomy and show a downward trend. The fact that the sex ratio reflects how the girl child is treated means that this fact pervades everyone’s household and family – mine and yours. It needs us to change our attitude towards boys and girls and be very careful about the messages we pass on to the next generation. 

A ritual where one spouse prays for the welfare of the other is fine if it were not always the female spouse praying for the male spouse. In that one ritual the message is that the female has no identity without the male. If we need to change for the better, both should observe this ritual – then the message given to their children is that both value each other equally. 

If we look at how these rituals are observed across India, there are a lot of variations across castes. However, that is another debate. The way rituals are observed are also changing with time – this I learnt speaking to my grandfather and my mother’s aunt. I found that surprising initially since the usual response to a question on why a ritual is done a particular way, is “that is how it is”. So for the longest time I thought all this was written down somewhere. However, that does not appear to be the case. Which means that we can also modify rituals to reflect today – like for Diwali a lot of people use candles or electric lights instead of mud lamps with oil and cotton wicks. 

October 2017

Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, a sour spinster aunt went to stay with her two lovely nieces (princesses actually) and their (fairy) grandmother. None of them knew what to expect and all were excited at the thought of this unusual family gathering. The (fairy) grandmother was less fairy and more grandmother - all cliches, with white hair, rounded spectacles, a stoop and a shawl in any weather. When she wanted, she turned into a fairy - beautiful and straight and proud and created magic - in the kitchen, usually, but sometimes without. 

The nieces were small (figuratively speaking) and petite and cute like puppies and kittens usually are. In reality they towered over everyone and knew their mind and did they speak it! Do I need to describe the sour spinster aunt? She was round and short and wore loose clothes and of course spectacles. Her redeeming features were the twinkle in her eye and a booming laugh that could be heard two streets away. She had an easy sense of humour and a deep sense of irony and these saw her through her boring life. 

On the first day everyone wanted to please everyone else and so it passed quickly. There was ice-cream and waffles and French fries and every forbidden food amidst much laughter and giggling and hugging. The nieces pretended to study and the aunt and the grandmother were happy that peace reigned. They all happily watched as much TV as they wanted to. 

As expected, all that ice-cream in that cold weather ended in a fever. The atmosphere became a little stretched. The nieces couldn’t understand this new world where there were no rules. The sour aunt spread her sourness. The fairy retreated and the grandmother emerged. The smiles were strained. No one slept well that night. And it rained non-stop. 

The next morning the tired parents returned to a topsy-turvy order. Fatigued, they set things right and fell asleep to wake up at noon. Everything was back to normal. The nieces grumbled, but they knew this was the way their world should be. Rice and roti and vegetables and sambar and rasam and curd for a meal was just as it should be. The TV firmly switched off was right when exams were not too far away. Children should study and play - but each had its place and could not take over the other. 

The sour aunt sighed with relief that the house still stood. The grandmother receded and the fairy came up again. All was well with the world. It was normal. Two tired parents sat with their children while they did their homework. Outside it was Sunday and the world partied; not they; they had a destiny to fulfil. 

December 2017

I stayed with my nieces for a couple of days. When I was leaving, the younger one Anjali, asked me to write a story for her. This is that story :)

An honest review about Kabali

I will go and see a movie because it has Rajnikant in it. I don’t need it to have much else. Just let it have the man, his mannerisms and his lines and I am entertained. However, I hope this is his last movie! I said that after Lingaa as well and I say it again.

Kabali has a story – a good one really. It is set in a milieu that many Indians don’t know much about. It could have resonated with migrant communities from across India who go to a strange land and help to build it up and yet have their rights routinely being trampled upon and being treated as “outsiders”. 

After the expected start, what I realized was that the Director seems to have been overcome with awe at directing Thalaivar. Most of the actors, and there are really too many of them, seemed clueless. It was typified by Dhansika, who acts as Yogi, a contract killer who turns out to be Kabali’s daughter, repeatedly asking, “Ennapa?” (What, dad?) In the movie she is asking him to gauge his mood and thoughts, but to me it sounded like she was asking him to tell her what to do next since the Director certainly didn’t seem to be helping her. The same is true for Dinesh Ravi as Jeeva – every time the camera pans to him, he seems to come alive; else he is totally without expression. Perhaps a good Editor could have salvaged the movie still, but that doesn’t seem to have happened either. The one person who seems to have enjoyed himself as much as Rajnikant is John Vijay as Amir. 

I read several reviews which mentioned Radhika Apte for her performance. Again, all I saw was this vivacious lady wearing the most beautiful saris and smiles, spout motivational lines to Kabali. She looked reconciled to the situation and hence avoided the confusion that Dhansika and Dinesh Ravi had etched on their faces. 

Rajnikant was himself – of course his on-screen performance is a mix of Billa, Muthu, Annamalai, Padayappa, Baasha et al. They are all alike and yet have a little something added on. His age showed clearly on screen. His movements are much slower, but his style remains. I remember going as a wee lass to see Billa after pestering my dad endlessly. That good impression continues. I was entertained by Kabali as I was by all his other movies. I wait for his lines – each movie throws up a new bunch of them. Kabali didn’t have as many funny lines as some others did. But it had my personal favourite – Thalaivar joking about his dark skin and how it doesn’t matter. Acting? No, I don’t watch a Rajni movie for great acting – I watch it for non-stop entertainment.

One thing that struck me was Dhansika’s role. I think this is a first for a Tamil movie in the last three decades at least – a female lead who is a contract killer, has short hair, wears pants, and is generally badass!! Yes, in other Tamil movies there are female leads who have short hair and wear pants – but somewhere they meet the hero and then they “reform” – they become good Tamil women – definitely growing their hair out and moving on to a salwar kameez if not to a sari. 

Kabali has good music – both the background score and the score are catchy and Neruppu da will be hummed for some days to come.

My advice as a fan – Rajnikant should retire gracefully at this point. He is already a Legend. He will continue to remain one for me and thousands others like me. He shouldn’t tarnish his image by doing more films like Kabali. When they show one of his old movies on TV, I still sit and watch it. But with the newer ones like Enthiran or Kochadiyan, I change the channel without a pause. He may still want to act, but then he has to choose the right movies. News reports say that his daughter Soundarya approached the Director, Pa.Ranjith after Rajnikant appreciated his previous movie, Madras. I guess paternal feelings are strong, but really Rajnisaar will be better off going with his own instincts – his last three movies are sufficient examples.  

Will loyalty take me back for one more Rajni movie? I guess it will, but really, I hope this is the last. At least of this genre!

India's Daughter - My take

Dear XY,

I am going to share my thoughts with you about “India’s Daughter”.

Let me first give you my feedback on the film before getting into anything else. I totally liked the film. It is difficult to enjoy the film, but that is because it is so well made. It relies on a narration of events and keeps away from hyperbole; given the topic, that is in itself impressive.

The film goes over the life of Jyoti Singh, whom we all know as Nirbhaya, her gruesome death and its impact on India. Many people are interviewed through the movie including 

• her very strong mother, 
• her supportive father, 
• her tutor and friend - Satyender, 
• the driver of the bus in which the rape took place, Manish Singh
• the parents of two of the rapists, 
• the wife of one of the rapists, 
• two Supreme Court Lawyers who fought on behalf of the rapists, 
• the police officers in charge of the investigation,
• two of the women who took part in the protests at India Gate
• Kavita Krishnan
• Sheila Dixit

The film captures all of them speaking calmly about the events. While Manish’s interview has been blown up out of context, Satyender’s interview has not been mentioned at all in the press. The two sets of interviews were in total contrast. One young man has had little education and opportunity and his views reflect what many of our politicians openly state. And the other young man is educated and has used that education to his advantage as is clearly reflected in his views. Watching the documentary clearly brings out this contrast. 

Manish comes across as lost and defeated. He says things in a monotone and it is clear that he is parroting what he has heard others say. In no way does he come across as a representative of India! Or as a person whom other would-be rapists are listening to!

The shocking thing in the film was to hear what the two lawyers had to say. I was really stunned. My parents’ families live in the 16^th century, but even they would not have such views. I was also surprised that these men actually aired their views with such confidence. I would have thought that yes, they would hold these views, but would try to tone it down in front of the camera. I wondered how the women in their families survived. I would have loved to hear from their mothers, sisters, wives and daughters. I still think it would be a great interview idea – especially with their mothers.

The pleasant surprise was the parents – both were strong and yet positive. They had not become bitter because of this disgusting incident. Their question, as must be that of all rape survivors and their families, was why justice takes so long? Why in the name of justice does the rape survivor have to live through her hell repeatedly? And India doesn’t have an answer to that does it? Is anyone even trying?

I am very rarely patriotic. I prefer to live by “Vasudaiva Kutumbakam”. I always think of myself as a global citizen. Yet watching the spontaneous protests around India Gate, I felt pride that I live in India. Here is a country and a city known for its apathy, and here were all these people out on the streets, in the terrible December cold, braving police action, protesting. Name one other country where this has happened on this scale. And name one other documentary that has highlighted this. 

I have been a feminist since I can remember. IRMA was the first place where I felt obvious discrimination. And I have always fought it. In 1994, I underwent a gender-sensitisation training and I was filled with hope that in twenty years things would change. A film like this highlights the fact that we have miles to go before we sleep. That we are still preaching to the converted; that yes, change is happening, but at such a slow pace that it is unacceptable; that the backlash to the change is happening faster than the change itself. The increasing rates of violence against women in India could point to a growing understanding of the issue or the need to protest or even point to the backlash to the change.

The situation of women in worsening though – a good measure of this is the Juvenile Sex Ratio which has actually been declining over the last four decades; even in states like Kerala which have traditionally had a positive sex ratio. What this says is that India values its women less and less with each passing decade. This is shown in obvious behaviour in some parts of the country where a woman is treated as less than human. In other parts of the country, lip service is paid to politically correct statements, while technology is used to quietly eliminate the female foetus. 

These are all things I have not thought of in many years. The film made me sit up and think. It made me realise that all is not well with this country; that economic growth will not automatically do away with gender inequality; that I need to do something, contribute in some way to easing this problem. Of course, I am a nobody. But I do believe that the ocean is made up of many drops and each drop counts; that I have to do my duty, my bit, regardless of the result. 

The film steers clear of party politics making the very strong statement that this is really above all that!

XY, you had posted on Facebook that this film is part of a conspiracy to degrade India at a time when it is doing well; that this Government is not being allowed to function.

I believe that this film would have been equally banned by the UPA as well, for very similar reasons. And that would have been a mistake as well. A ban only serves to highlight the object. And in this case, the ban actually did a disservice to the women’s rights cause, because the debate moved from the issue at hand to conspiracy theories.

I am sure there is a global conspiracy to downgrade India. But don't you believe that this country is greater than all these petty efforts? Do you seriously believe that a film made by a foreigner will cause other countries to look down on India? One German Professor is racist and you believe that is “global” response? Come on, you are more intelligent than that!

I don't believe in conspiracy theories in general. I believe that if you work hard, it shows and the world respects you. If you consistently take positive steps it is bound to show you in a positive light.

 I believe that India is losing respect because of the shenanigans our so-called leaders indulge in at the national and global levels and have been doing so for at least two decades now!

Yes, it would have been great if an Indian journalist had made the movie – but the fact is s/he didn’t. So let us not be racist and say that the film is bad because it is made by a white British woman. 

Yes, tourism numbers have been going down. Not because someone is trying to degrade India but because of the reality that India is unsafe and disgustingly dirty. 50% of tourists to India visit Agra and the Taj Mahal. I went there last year. I was thoroughly put off – you are harassed on all sides and the garbage was simply everywhere. A zone around the Taj Mahal has been sanitised, but then foreign tourists do go beyond that.

In Goa, numbers have been going down because of the garbage and the looting by taxi drivers. Sri Lanka and Thailand offer the same experience at a comparative price, in much cleaner surroundings and with politer service providers. While language may be a problem in Thailand, Sri Lanka is simply perfect. I felt ashamed on my return from there!

Put aside emotion. In today’s world of technology, is it possible to ban anything? Didn’t the GOI make complete fools of themselves by trying to do so? A dignified response would have been to say that we are not obliged to respond to every dog’s bark☺. The film would have died a natural death or it would have been watched by a bunch of toothless feminists like me. This has nothing to do with NDA and UPA – the State made a mistake in banning the film. Full stop. 

Remember Salman Rushdie’s Satanic Verses? It was his worst book! (Yes, I have read all his books.) And yet because of the fatwa worldwide and the ban in India it sold way more than it should have. Why didn’t we learn from that?

XY, watch the movie – if only to see how much more this country has to progress; if only to feel pride in our live democracy; if only to watch Jyoti’s parents and learn how a girl child should be brought up; if only to see how there are positive young men like Satyender out there. Just watch it da. And then rant against it.

20 March 2015

Further reading – Google Nandita Haksar in Navhind Times and Madhu Trehan in Navhind Times

The Devotion of Suspect X by Keigo Higashino

This is a very satisfying murder mystery. It kind of happens in reverse, which you will understand once you read the book. Perhaps because it is translated from the Japanese to English, the language is a bit heavy, and I had to pause between each chapter. The story is about a single mother and her daughter who kill the mother’s ex-husband when he harasses them too much. A neighbour who is interested in the mother helps them to cover up the murder using his mathematical brain to work out all the alternatives precisely. He coaches the mother and daughter as to what they should say when and how they should behave. The twists and turns the story takes took me by surprise. And I hope I don’t give away anything by saying this, but the ending really is heart-rending. True love can make us do some far out things!

The book also gives an idea of life in Tokyo and goes beyond the cliches and stereotypes about Japan. Overall a book I would recommend for those who like murder mysteries.

I was reminded of the Tamil movie Papanasam and the Hindi movie Drishyam while reading the book. 

Afzal the Goat

As told to me by friends, with some masala added :)

While going to Panjim that morning, we saw a baby goat sitting by the main road and looking around quite placidly. The zooming traffic didn’t seem to bother this kid who seemed quite interested in what was going on. It is unusual to see a baby animal by itself and we would have stopped to enquire if we had had more time. Since we were in a rush, I soothed my conscience by thinking that the owners are probably around which was why the kid was sitting demurely rather than bleating and rushing around aimlessly. 

In the evening, as we drove back home, I wondered if the kid would still be there and I knew that if it was still there, we would have to stop and rescue it. My husband and I were quite tired and I was kind of hoping that it had gone home by this time. However, it was still sitting there, exactly where I had seen it in the morning. And now it was bleating as well – I couldn’t hear it over the sound of the traffic, but I could see its tiny mouth open and close continuously as we inched closer to it. Reluctantly I pointed it out to my husband and asked him to pull up. Between us I don't know who has the bigger heart when it comes to animals. I thought I was bad till I met him! I actually prefer animals to humans and so it is natural for me to notice them as we travel each day.

We had to make a steep turn to the other side of the road to get close to the kid. As we brought our Scorpio to a halt, I could hear the piteous bleating and I got down without waiting for the vehicle to stop fully. The kid was wrapped up in some kind of cloth bandages which had gashes of red on them. I was feeling terrible to see the poor mite in such misery. I went up to the kid slowly so as not to startle it. Patidev also joined in and pretty soon we were surrounded by a crowd. We didn’t want the kid to move thinking it to be seriously injured – so we kept our distance and were discussing what to do when a boy pushed through the crowd and reached out and touched the kid. It bleated even louder then, but before we could react, the boy had pulled off the cloth from the goat. We saw with relief that it was snow white with a bit of black on its nose. The boy explained that he had seen the goat in the morning and thinking it would feel cold had wrapped it up in some spare cloth – which had been used to wipe red paint! I guess we are so used to expecting animals to be mistreated, that we had jumped to terrible conclusions immediately.

We discussed with the crowd about the origins of the kid amidst many jokes about tender mutton kababs and the like. No one seemed to know where it came from. On the back of the kid something was written in black, probably with a piece of coal. I was by now cradling the kid in my arms and I tried to read the word, but whichever way I turned, the script was unfamiliar to me. I would have loved to take this little beauty home; only our three dogs would have made all the tender mutton jokes come true. 

The only option was to take the animal to the International Animal Rescue Centre and then hope that the owners would come forward to track him. The crowd agreed with our decision and we headed back to our Scorpio. A car slowed down seeing the crowd and then stopped by us and asked us if the kid was ours. We explained what had happened and asked if they knew to whom it belonged. The driver said that he had seen a house with many goats in his colony but couldn’t remember which one it was exactly. He offered to call us the next day with the details as he was headed to the airport just then and could not delay. So the kid, named Pichku, by then by me, was all ours for the evening. 

I put him onto the back seat of the Scorpio and offered him some water in a bowl. Thanks to our dogs, we are well equipped to deal with minor animal crises. Pichku sniffed the bowl, turned away, thought better of it and came back for a drink of water. He must have been tired after being out the whole day. I was wondering whether he would eat some biscuits when the input-output process of all babies was completed – he peed on the seat! We had been a little worried about him till then; this simple natural reaction made us burst out into laughter and we were sure he was in good shape. Goats eat anything; Pichku proved this by eating the biscuits and then trying to eat the wrapper. I had to quickly grab it from his mouth and got a bleat of disgust in return.

We dropped him off at the IARC after convincing them that we would definitely come back the next morning for him. In our experience these things always sort themselves out and we were not too worried. There was, of course, always the option of tender mutton kababs!

Sure enough, the next morning, the car driver called us to say that he had found the owners and gave us their address and phone number. We decided to surprise them and land up unannounced. We went to IARC and picked up Pichku who had apparently slept through the night quite peacefully. Pichku again did us the great honour of peeing on the seat. We reached his house and as soon as we opened the car door, he jumped out bleating as loudly as he could. This was obviously a home he recognised. An elderly lady and a couple of children came out and thanked us for bringing him back. She said that the badmaash always strayed from the group, but usually came home by evening. 

While we were relaying stories about Pichku, suddenly one of the children piped up, “but can’t you read, his name is written on his back – Afzal!” Another mystery solved and another animal rescued. So life goes on...

13/Feb/2015

Lucknow, with friends...

19/Apr/2018

Leaving Goa is becoming more and more difficult and it is not just because of the terrible airport. I usually try to focus on the return when I experience so much joy. This time, however, I was quite excited about the trip. I was on my way to Lucknow, a place I had not visited so far. I had worked with an organisation (many years ago), that had 14 offices in India (if I remember right). I had visited 13 of those offices - the one that I hadn’t was in Lucknow. From whatever I had read and heard, Lucknow was going to be quite an experience. I was slightly apprehensive that in the current political climate, maybe not all positive, but I was willing to put up with that.

The flight first took me to Delhi and then on to Lucknow. From polite Goa I was plunged into the heartland of aggression for an hour and then hopefully into the land of tehzeeb - the byword for politeness in India. 

In Goa, I live in a village called Pomburpa. On one side, I have only one house next to mine. On the other three sides, forest and fields. I have gotten used to a deep silence broken only by the owl hooting at night. And in the day by the oriental magpie robin. I kept telling myself that I was travelling to the most densely populated part of India. I should be prepared for the cacophony and chaos. That was true enough when I stepped out of the airport. Every car was honking and nobody was paying attention. The noise hit me along with the heat. I steeled myself for what was to come and got into my Ola taxi.

I was headed to the Cafe Frangipani which had received good reviews on AirBnB. Thanks to technology, I could relax while the phone propped up next to the driver showed the way. After some time I realised that something was wrong. I hadn’t seen any people in a while - sure there were a few other cars on the road, but not the jostling crowds I had expected. The map showed that we were on NH27. It appeared to be an elevated expressway that went around the city - so it was a long time before we took an exit and finally saw some people. 

There was a shamiana and some debris in front of the Cafe that indicated that I had just escaped a, probably, loud and raucous celebration. I walked in to find that a jazz concert with musicians from Brazil had just ended! And the surprises that Lucknow would throw at me continued. 

I had friends waiting for me there. And we were all hungry. Google maps showed us a promising place called “Desi Lounge” less than a kilometre away. As we walked slowly to the restaurant, I asked my friends, “Where are all the people?” And it struck them as well that the roads were very empty. As we walked, delicious food smells wafted out of the many houses. That could explain the empty roads! My friend suggested that we just walk into any house and ask to be fed; given how hospitable people are here, we would probably get a hearty meal. 

A little ahead we discovered the market; and the people; and then restaurants. We went into Desi Lounge and were stunned speechless. There was a birthday party in full swing for a screaming four-year old boy. The music system was on full volume wishing him a happy birthday through a Bollywood number. The cake was just about to be cut. On one side were a few women who were draped in gorgeous saris - heavy with zari work. On the other side a few men; I can’t seem to recall anything about them! Luckily, once the cake was cut and the song ended (after playing thrice at least), the group subsided around a table. Other than the piercing screams of the boy, we were not disturbed any more. 

The food when it came was superb; my mouth is watering as I type this the next morning. We had ordered Mutton Biriyani, Aloo dum Lucknowi (apparently the Banarsi is the spicier version!) and two chapatis. The waiter brought four instead. When I pointed that out, he smiled very sweetly and said, “They are hot, why don’t you enjoy them?” I fell in love with Lucknow at that point. I don’t know what I am going to find but this was a brilliant start. We ended the meal with gulab jamuns - they were so sweet and so delicious and so big, that we had to leave them unfinished. 

Coming back, we decided to take an electric vehicle home. The driver was clearly stoned and made for interesting conversation. The vehicle was apparently Chinese and could do 110 km after being charged for 3 hours. He pointed out that we Indians can’t do such innovations since we are so stuck in our family loops that we do no work. He told us that his hobby was “maarpeet” - violence. And when a dog barked insistently at the gate of Cafe Frangipani, asked us if he should eliminate it. We said a hurried no to him and went inside laughing. 

Our hosts had promised us an air cooler in the room and I was looking forward to some coolth finally. However, that was not to be. After asking a few more times the cooler was wheeled in, but it didn’t have any water in it. After asking a few more times, one of the staff brought a bucket, half full of water and painstakingly poured it into this massive water cooler through a tiny hole on top. Obviously that makes no difference, but I didn’t have the energy to do any more that night. 

The less I say about the room and my sleep, the better. And this morning I was given a really bad cup of coffee. It was made in a Madras filter and served in a davara tumbler, but was clearly just muck from the Gomti river. On AirBnB, one of the reviews said that Cafe Frangipani served the best coffee in Lucknow. 

Let me see what this day brings. 

20/Apr/2018 

After a restless night, I was up by 8, unable to put up with the mosquitos, hard bed and heat any longer. Right next to our room was the cafe. It was air-conditioned and cool. I sat there till about 10.30 working away since I had nothing else to do. Then I had breakfast - one large super aloo paratha. And worked away some more till my friends woke up at 11.30, shocked that they had slept so much. Clearly they were very tired - one of them had worked till 2.30 in the morning. 

Eventually we left the guest house at 3.30 and I was starving. I like to be fed every 4 hours - and we had passed 5!!! We hired an Ola cab for 4 hours 40 km. The taxi driver was a taciturn chap called Nafiz who spoke only when spoken to and then reluctantly, in monosyllables. My friend had put together all the suggestions received from his family and friends onto a word document and split it up day-wise, so that we now had an itinerary for each day. Today we were to explore Chowk - starting with, what else, food. 

Our first stop was Idrees Biriyani. When we got there, close to 4 pm, they were washing up the haandis. Ever optimistic, we asked them if there was even a little bit of biriyani left. No such luck. We then literally went around in circles before deciding to look for Tunday kababs - on the map it looked quite close, but the driver insisted it was a long walk. Finally he agreed to drop us off at the closest point. From there it was probably 200 m away. We confirmed on Google that this was the original one and walked in to some amazing smells. 

All they served was kababs and parathas and a lurid orange shirmal and heaps of chopped onions. My friend kindly asked on my behalf if they had anything vegetarian. Several heads turned in shock at that. The waiter, Dilawar, was quite flummoxed as well. I just shook my head in embarrassment and insisted it was ok. Dilawar lowered his voice and told us that the kababs were made of, you know, beef. We all shook our heads vigorously and agreed that we definitely wanted it. 

In a couple of minutes we were served with 3 plates of steaming hot beef kababs. I tentatively put a small piece in my mouth - I was astounded. Such a flavour of tastes burst onto my tongue, I was delighted. 

Normally I am a vegetarian. Many years ago, I had started eating meat - probably as an act of rebellion against my father. When I told him, he calmly asked me, “When there is so much else to eat, why should you kill animals?” That ended that bit of rebellion in me. Over the years, I have discovered that I still like the occasional beef and mutton. I find chicken quite tasteless. I am not able to eat pork and sea food of any type. I avoid eating meat for the most part, but when beef was banned, I had to start eating it again. And then I had decided that in Lucknow, I would taste everything. Excellent decision.

We had made good progress with the kababs before the parathas arrived. They were served hot and melted along with the kababs in the mouth. We then ordered a shirmal and I didn’t quite take to it. 

Sated, we stepped out and noticed that we were in the middle of a market selling clothes, perfumes and jewellery. Too happy to need to do shopping, we moved on to the Bada Imambara. On the way we stopped at the Rumi Darwaza - an imposing structure. My friend knew all about it and explained that Rumi here was not the quotable quotes guy, but it referred to Rome!!! Fascinating to listen to and think about how in 17something, there was a link between Istanbul and Lucknow and how they exchanged ideas, including that of architecture.

We were quite tired after we went around the Bada Imambara. So we just sat in the car and drove past the clock tower and the Chota Imambara, getting out to take some pictures and admire the structures. Both places need much more time - they were really exquisite structures.

We searched for Nazarana Chikan shop which had been highly recommended to us, but gave up amidst the hundreds of Chikan shops. Last stop was Sree Lassi corner where we downed rich lassis and packed up some choley bhature for dinner. 

I am still to see the kinds of crowds I had expected. Mall de Goa on a Sunday has more people!

We got back to the guest house to find that our hosts had done nothing to move us to the AC room that they had promised. I waited for over an hour before asking them when it would be done. Of course it would get done in ten or fifteen minutes. As time passed, I was getting increasingly tired and decided that before I lost my temper, I would book another hotel and move out. A friend had suggested Lebua. The booking was made in minutes. We ate dinner - and we all wished we were hungrier, so that we could appreciate it more, but even then it tasted so good! 

And I was off to Lebua. While I was going through the check-in formalities, something made me pull out my Travel Another India visiting card. I was promptly upgraded to a bigger room. I reached the room and fell asleep almost at once. What a relief to wake up in a quiet, clean room!

21/Apr/2018

Today we were to explore a lot more food. We realised that Sanatkada was on the way and decided to stop there. What a good decision! Sanatkada is a craft shop that has procured craft from around the country, mainly textile based; they have some beautiful fabric as well as home textiles and clothes. There are two women managing the store - Nagma and Nasreen. Both are very knowledgeable about craft and it was a pleasure to browse the shop and be able to understand what one is buying. 

My hotel, Lebua had blocks with beautiful designs displayed all over. The restaurant had a particularly superb collection displayed. The door handles at the main entrance were made of these blocks as well. I had assumed that these were used for printing as in Rajasthan or Gujarat. So I asked Nagma and she explained that these are used to print on the fabric before chikan embroidery is done. The dye used is washable; so once the work is done, the print disappears and all one is left with is the beautiful shadow work embroidery. 

The NGO arm of Sanatkada is the Sadhbhavna Trust. They work with women who have been through domestic violence. One of their team, Meena, came out to talk to us. She herself had had acid poured on her face. She was looking for financial support for women who are in jail - their family and friends have abandoned them and often they simply languish because they are forgotten by everyone and have no resources to seek help. Sanatkada also stocks some beautiful books about Lucknow and its culture. It includes a set of posters on feminists of Lucknow, a book of the same and a set of coasters. I had to get all three - I doubt I will put down a cup of coffee on Attia Hossain’s face, but I would love to display these prominently in my house. I could have spent a lot more time there, but then we had to move on in our quest for excellent food. Our destination was Aminabad. 

Our driver dropped us off at the entrance to an underground parking lot and told us to call him when we were done. The area was full of shops, covering much of the road - so it was a good idea to walk; if only it were not the second half of April and the temperature was not 40^oC! Google Maps showed Pandit Chaat to be about 650 m away. We followed the Map till we faced a row of shops where a street was supposed to be! Then we went back to the simple method of asking someone where Pandit Chaat was. We had overshot the place and so had to turn around. In doing that we realised that the shop we were standing at was simply called Laal Khamb - meaning Red Pillars - and sure enough the pillars were painted red. It was a haberdashery selling a bewildering range of laces and borders. Our tummies growled and we couldn’t browse there any longer. 

Pandit Chaat was just setting up for the day. So we went in search of Prakash Kulfi - the choices were simple - on a stick or in a plate or with sugarfree. I had half a kulfi on a plate while my friend had the same but with falooda. That was a bilious yellow noodly substance. 

We came out to quite happy, to a push-cart selling chikan work!!! I bought a kurta here at the same price I had bought a hankie in Sanatkada - but what a difference in quality of work! The push-cart owner opened out everything he had despite our pleas to stop. Finally we just walked away rudely while he kept up his spiel. 

Panditji was waiting for us - we started with golguppe. The flavour was light, tangy and tart altogether and we had several plates before ordering a plate of tikkis. I noticed that people had literally sprung up all around and the tikkis were vanishing fast. The surroundings were filthy with dozens of flies, but no one seemed to mind. We shared a plate of tikkis, licked out the leaf bowl it was served in and carried on. We were looking for Wahid’s Biriyani next. However, the heat got to us finally and in about 100m we decided to just go rest. I slept for 3 hours straight!

In the evening I went looking for Buttercup Bungalow and Tea Room. It sounded so quaint and lovely. I should have know better. I had some dry Red Velvet cake and a disgusting Kahwa tea before wandering out again. The owner was a young woman - I asked her if it was safe to walk around. She told me it was best to take a taxi even if it was close by. I noticed that the streets had no one walking. This was called Mall Avenue. There were a few people loitering around but they were all men. She pointed out to her house just 50 m away and said that when she goes home, her father sends a guard to walk with her - after all, this is Lucknow. The house opposite hers belonged to Mayawati. That explained things a bit more. I thought I would walk a bit, but I decided to be safe and called a rickshaw to go Ganjing. There is a street called, of course, MG Road, in Hazratganj. And loitering around there in the evening is called Ganjing. And it is THE thing to do in Lucknow. Apparently. The street reminded me of Brigade Road in Bangalore only about six times as wide. Unfortunately, the metro work was going on and the entire street was being dug up. 

For old time’s sake, I walked into the Khadi store - and met with supreme indifference. Again I noticed that there were no single women walking around. There were a few women walking in pairs, but for the most part there was at least one man in each group. I was a bit scared, but didn’t want to go back to the hotel. So I attached myself to random women through the rest of the evening. (My friends were visiting an uncle - I refused to go along.)

Maybe it was a false feeling of safety, but I did feel it. In this way, I went to Ram Asrey and had another plate of tikki - this was even better than Panditji’s. I think there was peas masala added to it. Walking back I got tempted into buying two pairs of jazzy slippers for Rs.300 each. Ah well. 

And I took the rickshaw back to my hotel - I met with a lot of stares and realised that actually there were not even many two-wheelers on the road. I got a bit stressed and was quite relieved to reach the hotel. I would really suggest that when you visit Lucknow, you have at least one other person with you. 

22/Apr/2018

The last day of my stay in Lucknow - I spent the morning working! On a Sunday! Anyway, work over, I took an e-vehicle to Ganj again. I wandered around window shopping - though it was immensely hot. I was waiting for my friends to join me. I finally gave up and went into Royal Cafe. We had this on our list to have basket chaat. I ordered one and sat back waiting and waiting. The chaat was massive and delicious. I think I need to use the thesaurus to find alternatives to delicious. And very filling! I hadn’t made much progress when I realised I couldn’t eat any more. So I read a magazine and offered the chaat to my friends to have when they reached. Between them, they couldn’t finish it either!

We were supposed to go buy itr or perfume, but the shop we had on our list was closed. Google Maps was again showing us roads that didn’t exist and the shops were marked in the wrong locations. It was just too hot to bother. Final stop was Moti Mahal for imarti and rabri. Imarti is what we call Jaangri in Madras. Did Jaangri come from Jahangiri? We ordered one plate - we were very full, but had to eat this. The waiter tried hard to convince us to order at least have a piece each since a plate would only have two pieces. I am glad we refused resolutely - the imartis were very large and very very sweet. The rabri took the edge off, but it was still too much. 

Next stop Sewa Chikan. The Self Employed Women’s Association in Lucknow is one of the oldest NGOs working with women, in India. So it was of interest to me whether I bought anything or not (ha ha!). The Map showed it in one place, the auto driver took us to another place. Neither was the original. After searching on Google a lot more, I found that the outlet would be closed on a Sunday. So we abandoned all hopes of shopping and went to see the Residency and its Museum. 

The Residency was built by the Nawab of Oudh in the 1700s and then given to the British. When the first war of independence took place in 1857, it suffered a lot and was destroyed. Around 3000 English people had gathered there for protection - not pleasant to think about what happened to them. So many of the buildings are in ruins - which adds to the beauty and poignancy of the place.

There is a Museum which has lithographs from the late 1800s which show a different Lucknow - very detailed etchings. They brought the era alive for me. I was comparing those etchings with the photographs I had taken - very interesting.

We sat for a while on one of the benches and watched the scene. We could imagine its splendour during its peak. And the sack that happened in 1857. In a way it reflects what happened to Lucknow itself. 

On our way back, the taxi driver took a few “wrong” turns and we got a rapid Lucknow tour. Parts of it are like Lutyen’s Delhi with wide avenues and graceful buildings. Even the newly constructed Government buildings blend in and are definitely not chrome and glass. The traffic is noisy with everyone honking, weaving in and out and trying to go first. There are very few people on two-wheelers or walking. I didn’t see too many public buses. There is a metro that everyone is proud of since it is seen as a sign of “development” and “progress”, not a waste of money for a city this size. Then there are cycle rickshaws, e-rickshaws, auto-rickshaws, and taxis through Ola and Uber. All the rickshaws rip you off since you are a tourist. I am yet to see the crowds I expected in Lucknow. I guess I just didn’t visit the right places.

At breakfast I saw a wide range of pickles laid out. I tried the raw jackfruit one - quite nice. And I finally got a good cup of coffee. But hey, who comes to Lucknow for its coffee? 

The End.