Hyderabad Blues

For long my acquaintance with Hyderabad was through history books about rich but miserly nawabs and their fabulous wealth and eccentricities especially onthe dining table on one hand and on the other the famous telengana movement in 1946. In more recent times, that view was moulded by high dowry demands [no I never thought of marrying a telegu girl at any point in time, I could have been richer] for nice boys in the marraige market. Fortunaltely though in the last few years I have had first hand experience of the city especially its various hotels, convention centres and other things that make up modern Hyderabad including the latest addition, the new airport. After savouring these modern delights in this medieval city, I am firmly of the opinion that if one has to see India's city one has to move out of Delhi and Mumbai. These two cities are old matrons surviving on borrowed make up. If you erally want to see the real beauties of the future look beyond to Hyderabad, Bangalore, Chandigarh, Surat, and perhaps even Chennai which is suddenly grown into beauty in middle age [some women do that trick on you].

Of course, the old Hyderabad looks as beautiful and as dirty as ever, Charminar is as majestic and Golconda fort as awe inspiring and Hussain Sagar as beautiful. But this time old and new culture had a new meaning for me. I discovered the most beautiful heritage building Chiraan Fort in Secundrabad which had been converted into a fantastic restaurant and bar complex. It was the most beautiful bar that I ever visited [and I have visited many]. Built on the model of what seemed to me the Falaqnuma Palace, this place was just out of the world. And to top it all although it was a club, they allowed non-members like me to enjoy a drink and if u are from Delhi or Mumbai a full bottle of beer at Rs 100 in a heritage builing in mid town is almost as good as free... After so many surprises, the only surprising thing left for me was that I did not get drunk.

The Child of the Nation

I was completely disappointed today when I opened the newspaper. There was just this little quarter of a page advertisement from the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting commemorating the birthday of Jawahar Lal Nehru, while the whole paper was either full of pictures of scoundrels who had managed to get tickets for the forthcoming polls or full of bigger scoundrels who had not managed to get tickets... A couple of broadsheets tried valiantly to market Children's Day.... But it has clearly not reached the stature of Valentine's Day or even mother's day...
It is a sad day for our democracy that on the eve of elections, we forget the one man who fought everyone else within and outside his party, tolerated ridicule from colonoial masters and the world but stuck to one point that has made India what it is: Universal Adult Suffrage. And this was at a time when in the other large democracy people of colour were not allowed to vote and in other smaller democracies women were still fighting for their right to elect their representatives. Of course, in most countries of Asia and Africa people did not even know that there was a system through which they could actually elect their own representatives.
My humble suggestion is that the birthday of the first Child of the Nation, Jawahar Lal Nehru should be declared as the univesal suffrage day and all of us who never vote take a pledge to respect our demicratic right and cast our vote in all elections. Thus making sure that we do not fritter away one of the most prized legacies.
It is also a bit sad that on Children's Day children have to go to school while on Vishwakarma Puja they are forced to take a holiday

Like Father, Like Son!

I am not particularly obsessive about cricket nor am I very fond of Bengali heroes. I therfore am not sure why I am makng this entry on cricket and on a bengali connected with cricket. But there you are.
Once upon a time, many years back a father would take his son to practice sessions. The father, I think was a member of Cricket Association of Bengal. The indulgent father was ridiculed by his friends and acquaintances on his one obsession, to make his son a test cricketer and play for India. Those were the days when the economy and polity had ensured that the otherwise cocky Bengalis had lost their self-confidence. While people made the right noises in front of the father, when his back was turned, they smirked at the overambitious father and the impossible dream that he had. Of course, as they say the rest is history.... If the father was dogged in his determination, the son was the top dog of Indian cricket for many years.... if the father carried the onus of the son's success, the son carried the onerous task of the country's success; if the father wanted to establish his son as a famous Indian, the son wanted to put his country as the world leader in cricket... Both of them carried out their tasks with grit and determination and at the end succeeded. One is still a young man, the other past his prime. His son has given him enough to enjoy for the rest of his life... I think, like Martin Luther, Chandi Ganguly too had a dream, but unlike Luther, he was able to fulfil it in his lifetime and sit back to enjoy the fruits.
If you think Saurav Ganguly was great as a cricketer, captain and a leader, please do remember to give some credit to Chandi Ganguly.
As they say in Hindi
Baap Ka Beta/ Sipahi Ka Ghora... Kuch nahi to Thora Thora!

Jai Maa Kaali

I remember as a child, every Bengali family of repute and ill-repute would have a very gaudy and hastily framed photo of Maa Kaali reclining on the puja box or adorning a wall to be worshipped with vigour especially by the elderly in the family. The design and printing were quite basic probably crude: the goddess was painted in garish blue with several hands holding arms, a chain of skulls around the neck as garland, a severed head in one hand standing with one foot on the chest of supine Lord Shiva, the divine consort, her decency covered artfully by her long hair. The garishness of the colours or the gaudiness of the whole concept did not affect the devotees. These pictures were usually designed along the lines of calendar art of that time.
I also remember, the bahurupiya who came calling every now and then, painted in blue, with a tin tongue sticking out of the mouth and long tresses of jet black hair on the head dressed as Kaali - it was a bit scary to see a man dressed like that but nonetheess awe inspiring and definitely a good business idea on part of the bahurupiya. Of course, as a budding intellectual, I also knew early that this was one of the roops of Maa Kaali - the destructive roop.
After so many years it was rather fun to see the gorgeous Hiedi Klum dressed exactly as the Kaali depicted in those early calendar art posters. I thought it was a cool idea to resurrect something many my age have grown up with and perhaps forgotten in course of their life's journey. Of course, hindu groups in the US were quick to protest this "insult" to their deity [I doubt how many of them are Kaali worshippers who remains till today a deity local to some parts of India notably Bengal]. I think it was very thoughtful of the now ageing model to pose as Maa Kaali - the ultimate symbol of feminism in my part of the world. One vital element of that motiff was missing - lord shiva, the divine consort lying at her feet. It would have been great if Seal could do that for us. I guess just as Heidi was painted blue, Seal would have to be painted white [for Lord Shiva for some strange reason, was always white in those photos I remember].
Thank you Heidi for reviving a childhood memory after fuelling several middle age fantasies. What will it be next time? Sheronwali Mata?