A Time To Reflect

charukesi January 30th, 2006

and browns… The hills so green and alive for most of the year, brown and parched, just like the trees dotting their backs. An hour on the super smooth expressway and then a left just after Lonavala. Happy and bright sunflower beds on one side of the narrow road, sugarcane fields on the other. The railway gate shut, people on motorbikes bending under the long barrier and walking across the tracks, impatient to get on with their journey. The road itself getting progressively narrower and stone-ridden. The drive getting more tiring with each mile, the phone calls asking for directions more and more desperate… You can see the lake on your right? Then you are lost. Turn around and drive back on the same road around the hill till you can see the lake on your left…

And so we turned back and drove again on the same road, cattle crossing, road-rollers and melting tar and all. Tired and hungry, sure of finding lunch where we were headed; the place on the banks of the lake that we had read about on the internet, pretty cottages and paragliding courses which we wanted to find out about. We found the place at last, but not lunch - whose was the cheerful voice who had assured us in the morning over the phone? And upon our insistence ( despair?), an astronomical amount thrown casually at us as the cost of lunch, enough to feed the three of us for the next week…

You know this bit that followed. We turned back and drove again on the same road, too tired and hungry to care about which side of the road the lake was on…

Saturday afternoon blues. And oh, some striking yellows on the way too…

***
This was our miserable trip to Vadivilli lake in Kamshet, entirely avoidable unless staying there for the paragliding. If it is a quiet afternoon by the lake you seek, I recommend Pawna, also in Kamshet… As you get off the expressway and drive on to Kamshet, take a right turn for Pawna and a left (preferably not) for Vadivili.

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charukesi January 27th, 2006

The gift of a daughter - is not enough - it is the gifts that the daughter carries to her husband’s home that matter… As I finish reading Subhadra Butalia’s book The gift of a daughter - ‘encounters with the victims of dowry’, my thoughts are with the countless married women who go through this harrassment every day (living with it and maybe even dying of it some day), unmarried girls who commit suicide because they do not wish to be a burden on their parents, and parents themselves who would rather kill their newborn daghters than bring them up and then face a situation where they are unable to provide adequately for their marriages.

The gift of a daughter is on the one hand a powerful moving narrative, an attempt by the author to reflect on and document her efforts in fighting the dowry evil. It traces the first awakening - from dowry was never an important issue in my life - in the author towards the horror of dowry and the subsequent path she takes to set up Karmika; the indifference that existed everywhere, the hurdles at every step, the hope that sprang up every time a woman stood up for herself and against the system, the despair that tended to be overwhelming at times when she sensed how deep-rooted the practice was….

And on the other, it is the story of many young women - women from different places and different backgrounds, but with remarkably similar stories. Every woman’s story goes somewhat like this - married off by her parents, sometimes with great hopes and dreams about her future, sometimes against her will and better judgment. Living with physical and mental harrassment at the hands of those she had hoped would protect her and love her. And finally dying in a bizarre accident involving only herself and a stove…

***
It is the story with the women as the main characters, only they have no lines.

And then there are the other performers, all of them mute too - her own parents watching in silence as their daughter goes through hell…

She stayed at her parents’ home for six months; then there was a council of the elders of the family and it was decided that she must ‘be returned‘. The family apologized to Hardeep’s husband and his parents for the meagre dowry she had brought, they added more and sent her back. [emphasis mine]

What will society say if we take her back into our home? Who will marry her sisters if it becomes known that the elder daughter is separated from her husband?

Adjust. That terrible word. It is a horrifying truth that every time a harrassed girl comes back to her parents and complains about the ill-teratment meted out to her, the parents advise her to go back and adjust.

Above all, who has the time and energy to fight battles for the dead; the others in the family are alive and it is essential to take care of living and forget the dead…

What was important for him now was his family, his business, his widowed mother. If he kept chasing the case, all this would fall by the wayside, so he had decided that since Hareep was dead anyway he would focus on the living. [Hardeep’s brother]

And even before this, parents and families who believe that it is the right of the groom’s side to demand dowry and their duty to provide one.

The brothers said, “after all she is our sister. Why should we not give everything we can? If they ask, let them; we’re happy to give”

“Do you mean we should send our daughters to their matrimonial homes like beggars?”

And her in-laws watching in silence as their daughter-in-law goes in up flames ignited by them in the first place…

Supported ably by the legal system that is as mute as the others in this drama…

In 1981, a judge actually delivered a statement in a dowry case (Inder Sain vs the state) in which he said (according to the Times of India) that anything given after marriage did not count as dowry.

And indifferent and insensitive.

All too often the judicial process fails them, repeated adjournments dampen their faith and, as time passes and the initial shock of grief lessens, the daily routine of life reasserts itself and it begins to seem less and less important to pursue the case.

And finally, the biggest culprit in this all - “society” - voyeuristic at times when the drama is unfolding in front of their eyes, in their neighborhood, within their own family and indifferent when it comes to reacting and doing something, even saying something. Suddenly then, it is an internal family issue and maintaining friendly and neighbourly relations is paramount, even with murderers…

Why do you bother? It is a matter between the husband and the wife. Perhaps she did something to offend him. [So he set her on fire]

***
All the stories that Butalia has documented here are from decades ago, the 1970s and 80s when the self-bursting kerosene stove was suddenly discovered, and some even older. Sadly, these stories could all be from now and here, from the new century, from this ’shining’ country, this booming economy…

Sadly, nothing has changed…

***
Update : Is the traditional match-making really the best way? Read Uma’s latest post where she lso links to an earlier piece on a rubbishy practice like dowry needs to go.

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charukesi January 24th, 2006

The sun was just beginning to set as Shubha Mudgal wrapped up her concert with a mellifluous dadra, the bright yellows of her sari perfect foil to the dark colours of the sky. We were at the IMG Janfest at St. Xavier’s college this Sunday evening. The evening began with Shubha Mudgal’s deep voice which filled the air and the senses completely. No outside sounds filtering in… No distractions, except the frequent streaks of colour as pretty young girls (from the college) walked past, dressed in their mothers’ best silk sari and jewellery, an occasional stray kite landing amidst the audience, string limply hanging by its side, and kites of the other (avian) variety soaring high above the buildings… And Shubha Mudgal’s brilliant smile that flashed across her face regularly, in evident enjoyment of the music in and around her….

As the sun set and the lights came on slowly in the open-air quadrangle “auditorium”, there was a new magic in the air… Partho Sarathy had started his performance (sarod) with Anindo Chatterji on the tabla… Waiting for Ustad Rashid Khan to perform next, my mind slowly wandered… To force-fed music classes during my school days (needless to say, unsuccessfully) and to stack upon stack of cassettes of Carnatic music everywhere in the house…

(And this is my cue to warn you to read ahead at your own risk : rambly post on classical music ahead)

***
I grew up in a house where the day began to the strains of MS’ Suprabhatam, followed by Maharajapuram Santanam or D.K. Pattammal. And Mali and Ramani on the flute late in the evening, a beautiful way to end any day… And occassionally, when my mother got her way, Pandit Ravi Shankar or Bhimsen Joshi…

Carnatic music to me has always been the more formal, rigid form of classical music, when compared to Hindustani. It was the gift of the privileged, the Tambram with his veshti and her diamond nose stud, the one lucky enough to be born into music. It reached out to the connoisseur, the knowledgable devotee and not the casual listener. It meant December kutcheris in the hallowed premises of Music Academy and Narada Gana Sabha; and the future of young new artists made or broken by a nod from the supreme music critic Subbudu

Carnatic music was about bhakti, devotion, calling out to Lord Rama, often in a language that neither the artiste nor the listener understood. (Very rarely physical love, as expressed by Andal for her imagined husband-lover Krishna). And so, it seemed to me as I sat through concerts, it was a performer singing for the self and not the audience…

As I grew up and listened to more and more Hindustani music, I was drawn towards it - a form that seemed to have lesser distance between the performer (the art itself) and the audience… Music that dealt with not just devotion of the more spiritual kind but more earthy emotions. Calling out to Lord Krishna, the lover with a searing thumri (derived from thumak, or the coquettish swaying gait of a young girl), the fast tempo of a dadra, the romantic light moods of a kajri… Why have you, my lover, been out all night?. Bhajans of Kabir and Meera living on through the centuries…

And drawing disciples from “outside”, predominantly Muslims; Ustad Aamir Khan and Bade Ghulam Ali Khan to Begum Parween Sultana and Ustad Rashid Khan down the years… Embracing more forms than the strictly traditional; even Shubha Mudgal in red in the rain singing ab ke sawan aise barse…

***
Till a decade or so ago when things changed down South… Carnatic music was no longer the bastion of the traditional and the “pure”. I would credit this largely to Balamurali Krishna (truly the “pioneer” in this respect) with his attempts at bringing Carnatic music closer to the people; for instance, his weekly program on television Swara Raga Sudha, exploring one raga every week, and playing popular songs from films based on that raga. (Although MKT or MK Thyagaraj Bhagavatar was the reigning heart-throb of my grandmother’s generation, thanks to his appearance in popular movies of the 1930s!)

And over the years, Yesudas (his name meaning ‘disciple of Jesus’), his rich deep voice combining melody with devotion, Kumaresh and Ganesh on the violin, with magic in their hands and bubblegum in their mouths, Bombay Jayashri’s spirited rendition of Bharatiyar songs in the semi classical style (in contrast to MS or DK Pattammal), the Priya sisters with their short hair and smart looks… New, young, refreshing voices - the future of Carnatic music…

Walking through the Janfest photo gallery at Xavier’s, more thoughts… Where are the new young voices in Hindustani music (except for the odd occasional one)… Musicians have been busy passing on the baton to their own children; keeping it within the family at the cost of overshadowing talented disciples who will keep their name and gharana alive… Rahul Sharma, Aman and Ayaan Ali, Durga Jasraj, Anoushka Shankar…

And finally, the extinction of that supreme experience for a music lover - the jugalbandi; two equally accomplished musicians competing with and complementing each other on stage, while the audience soaked in the music, spellbound. I remember very well this televised jugalbandi between Balamurali Krishna and Bhimsen Joshi many many years ago, each weaving his own spell, each vying for that one level higher, each with his own supporters in the audience fighting over how he had licked the other to a pulp…

***
During the last concert of the evening, Ustad Rashid Khan invoking the name of Shiva why don’t you hear me? why don’t you visit my temple?, Uma leans over and whispers, if only the fundamentalists could listen to Rashid Khan singing about Shankar Bhagwan… Yes, if only…

Related : Mumbai Girl on Krishna Nee Begane Baro and Harini on Where Parvati cannot sing for Shiva

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charukesi January 18th, 2006

If you have been reading my blog for a while now, you will have noticed the sudden and sharp increase in the frequency and numer of photographs I have been posting of late.

I would like to say that I discovered my interest in photography when at the tender and impressionable age of ten, I watched Jaane Bhi Do Yaaron and fell in the love with the idea of having a blast clicking and manipulating photographs. I would like to say that but it is simply not true.

It is a newly discovered interest. I still pretty much point and shoot and sometimes, only sometimes, get lucky. And I have no idea about editing tools; for the first time ever, I tried fooling around with photoshop and produced this - quite by accident.

[Best viewed in large size here]

This photograph was taken on my recent visit to Kakinada…

And now, I want more. I have been planning to do a short course in photography - just don’t know where to start looking. The best advice I have got so far is to just go out there and keep shooting. If any of you have any suggestions, advice, or just rude things to share (strictly with respect to this photography course thingy), now is the time to do so. Any ideas on where I can learn photography formally (and inexpensively) in Bombay?

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charukesi January 18th, 2006

That was quite a Mouthful…

Akshay announces this blog meet up organized by and for metroblogging on Tuesday, 31st of January at 6 p.m. at the Carter Road - Cafe Coffee Day, Bandra (West).

Do drop in - midweek blog meets are bound to be fun!

For more details and to confirm your attendance, please head here right away.

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charukesi January 17th, 2006

Many years ago, when Indian advertising was all about inane, if catchy jingles and cloying family values, along came an ad which caught the imagination of the public like few other ads of that time did. The devil sprang on to your screen every night, rolled his eyes, bared his fangs and urged you to be evil.

It said, it is perfectly fine to want. To desire. And resent when you do not have what you covet. It said, I know there is a child inside you that is unreasonable, go ahead, indulge that child. Go ahead, be jealous, it is ok.

And it said all this without saying a word on screen.

Envy is an emotion that is best silent; it simmers, it seethes, it bubbles just under the surface. It is a look full of longing and resentment. It is a nasty dig here, a casually dropped word there.

It is a fervent yearning for harm to the object of one’s envy. In other words, a stone thrown plumb on the screen of your neighbour’s new tv.

No words said. Just neighbour’s envy, owner’s pride.

Cut to the present. The devil in its other incarnations.

(pic courtesy: agencyfaqs)

Dressed in prim black. Walking beside you. Talking to you. Preaching. Advising you to think.

The devil is not about thought, it is about feeling; feeling powerless in the grip of emotions that are otherwise unpleasant. It is that emotion that gives shape our our need for one-upmanship. It is that truth which lives within each of us, and at our weakest moments raises its wicked head.

It does not walk next to us. Or advise us to think before acting. It is just a green presence in our lives whose influence the best of us cannot escape.

Adults think and act, children do not. Suddenly, the child within us is no longer drawn to the devil. Ondia is no longer about envy but about rationality.

The devil acquired a voice. And in turn, lost its fangs.

***
Also Read

An earlier post on the Onida ad and the devil using the framework of transactional analysis - Giving the devil his due

This interview from the advertising agency and assorted others within the company on the thinking (?) behind the new devil. “What is interesting in the whole approach is that the devil helps us take the advisory route of telling consumers to make a purchase based on facts in a humorous way, so that consumers are not offended,’’ said Sharma.

If facts are all that are needed, then why the devil is he there?

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charukesi January 15th, 2006

Time to ring in the new and throw out the old… for most Indians, it is not the new year’s day but a day two weeks later that marks this phase of hope. Co-inciding with the movement of the sun northward, or Uttarayan; longer days and happier times. Worship of the sun god; thanks for making all things grow and prosper. Watching the pot of milk as it boils over; abundance and prosperity. Traditionally a time for rediscovering and acknowledging one’s roots that lie with the forces of nature. Pongal o’ pongal.

And in the north and west, the tradition of kite flying. I looked on the net and found serious history behind kite flying, but no clear significance behind the associated revelries around Sankranti time. Like many other rituals, has this just come to be? (Do drop in a comment if you know of the significance behind this).

I found many interesting explanations for this fascination with kites : while one source says that kites were not only used in receiving messages but also measuring distances in war times, another claims that people in earlier times used kites for sending messages to divine beings as they believed that gods lived in the sky.

Or does it have to do with man’s desire to fly that has existed as long as man himself possibly has?

Or in more modern times, is it an escape route from the pressures and problems of everyday existence - letting oneself go, through the kite?

Ideas as colourful as the kites themselves…

***
Shivaji park last evening resembled a mild mini kumbh mela; two young girls in similar pink and blue clothes walking hand in hand, the peanut seller doing brisk business, the girl selling balloons lending additional colour to the air, excited shouts and cheering, the DJ one corner belting out zippy remix numbers ceaselessly, brief announcements asking for Pappu (or Bunty or Chintu) to come near the stage, entire families flopped on at the grass, their kites looking as tired as they themselves… I catch myself humming aashiq banaya apne long after I leave the park, slightly irritated with myself for it, slightly embarrassed…

And in one corner of the great big maidan, totally unaffected by the general chaos all over, two budding cricketers stretching out their muscles, eyes full of dreams of the cricket “greats” Sunil Gavaskar and Sachin Tendulkar who started this way from Shivaji Park… Maybe they did their stretches at the same spot…?

And all this under the benevolent eyes of Shivaji Maharaj, he who lends his name not only to this park but also to most buildings and streets and railway stations in Mumbai and Maharasthra.

The kite festival that is part of the Mumbai festival was on in full swing.

Fathers running around and shouting instructions, pretending to be helping their child fly the kite but in reality loath to let go of the string. While the mothers stood by, tired and aching feet and all, holding bunches of colourful kites in their hands. Old men with the string in their hands, looking up at the sky with looks if intense concentration and absolute delight. And children going mad with undiluted happiness, in a way that only children can; not a care in the world.

Those in between with kites of different shapes vying for attention in the crowds of regular diamond shaped bits of paper and colour; the pride on the faces visible and infectious…

And professional kite fliers trying to send up a string of penguins into space…

Mumbai collectively “let go” last evening, as the sky turned from a blazing yellow to a fuller palette of mild yellows and oranges and finally assuming pink and purple tints…

Watching them all gave me a good idea about why kite flying has come to be such a loved sport…

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charukesi January 13th, 2006

Seen the latest SBI campaign? On TV is Chimanlal Charlie and others who have lost bets. Because they did not believe that SBI actually provided the services they heard about. For instance, the third TVC, titled ‘Papad’, has a man rolling out ‘papads’ at home, while his wife watches. His sin was that he disbelieved the fact that the SBI offers home loans that cover moving-in costs.

And on the road are hoardings asking the audience a *bet you didn’t know this about SBI* question. With the answer Surprisingly SBI.

Humour and financial advertising? Potential disaster. But the ads are actually quite funny and manage first level attention grabbing. Full marks for the execution.

But every time see any ads from this campaign, I think - why so much defensiveness? Why surprisingly? It is a well known fact that SBI is the largest bank in India; sure many other services offered by the bank are not as well known, but why would the bank want to scream out that the consumer ought to be surprised by these? In case the idea is to target the young, moneyed, MNC bank-friendly customer, then what happens to the old loyal customers of SBI? Those who always knew. And for whom all this is not surprising?

As for the potential slippery customer, the ads seem to do even less. When I see the ads, I smile, I wonder. And then walk away. Without any intentions of ever banking with SBI.

In this agencyfaqs interview, O&M says that the insight behind the campaign was disbelief. But when disbelief gets translated into diffidence, it can be a PR disaster. As this campaign seems to me.

Update : I had posted this on mediamusings a while ago. After I wrote this, I saw the SBI ads on television a couple of times. And I found them suprisingly good. See, that word again. They are funny, they clearly convey the benefit and most importantly, they are not defensive in the manner of the hoardings…

***
The other thing is the SBI life insurance ad. The one with the two old women going to meet their brother on his birthday, plotting and planning and giggling away like a couple of college kids all the way… And the look of absolute delight on Chhotu’s face, mirrored by the look on his sisters’. Except “Chhotu” is as old as they are… I loved it.

Each time I watch the ad, I wait for the ending. I smile and generally feel happy. An ad for life insurance that talks about life and not death. Great.

Except for this niggling thought. An ad targetted at young people, showing old people and their lives and the promise of a very distant happy future… Feel good, super. Identification, zilch. When you are young and enjoying that heady feeling of “immortality”, how well would such advertising work? For that matter, I wonder about what kind of advertising would work with the target audience for life insurance products?

Would you buy a financial product, especially life insurance, based on an ad that made you feel good? Does emotional appeal work in case of such “rational” products? I am not nitpicking here, just wondering aloud… Traditionalists would argue that for a rational category like financial products and services, advertising needs to be equally rational and informative; more and more we see advertising with humour or emotional appeal in categories which were not earlier considered feel-good-worthy… What do you think - or feel - about this?

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charukesi January 10th, 2006

A recently married friend visited us at home this Sunday; she works in Pune and her husband here in Bombay and they have worked out a clever, if taxing whose-turn-is-it-this-time routine to spend time with each other over the weekends. Well, this time it was hers and so she was in Bombay and in the course of chit-chat mentioned that she was leaving for Pune on Monday morning, if I leave at six, I am in Pune well in time for work.

Ah, the marvellous Mumbai-Pune expressway.

So here are some memories and images from our drives on the Mumbai Pune expressway- most of these photographs taken from our moving, almost-speeding-but-not-quite car. Driving through the tunnels is great fun, wet tracks inside the tunnels from all the speeding tyres, leaky roofs, losing signal on your mobile phone and all. The mark of the mosoons everywhere…

That was a particularly lucky shot. Most often, the picture is fuzzy, the lights dominant, dancing a peppy disco. Sometimes, a mild star wars effect…

I can never forget that early morning drive back to Mumbai from Pune where the driver of the taxi kept waking me up every ten minutes to say, madam, aap so kyon rahi hain? itna accha scenery hai - aap scenery dekho na - why are you sleeping, why don’t you watch the lovely “scenery”? However, there are days when the entire “scenery” is nothing but thick clouds and fog, the entire hillside covered by this magical white blanket.

Driving on the expressway is most fun during the monsoons, the roads washed clean by the rains, vehicles driving slower than normal, the flowers along the sides brighter then ever. Waiting for the rain to stop and then driving with the car windows down, feeling the whooshing breeze on your face, and also those rain drops which have remained hidden so far. Almost unbroken views of lush green hill-side, waterfalls that have magically sprung up in the last one hour…

And stopping for chai and chikki. Watching the kids running all over the place, cranky after the long drive, cooped up inside their vehicles, all their pent up energy suddenly finding release. And the mothers tired and irritated, running after them. Fathers with all their attention on their cars, catching a quick furitive smoke. Or bus loads of travelers alighting for a break.

And wondering about those looming sign boards warning - watch out for falling rocks. How does one watch out for falling rocks? And what does one do if one sees a rock falling - except get out of its way as quickly as possible? I imagine people driving with their necks craned, constantly watching out for loose rocks that might land on the road, or the car…

And suddenly swerving as a solitary scooter rider appears as if from nowhere right in front of you. Where did he come from now? And what is he doing on the expressway, and travelling in the direction opposed to the flow of traffic?

Then you smile thinking of the days of mind-numbing traffic jams on the old Mumbai Pune road through the ghats, what is now NH4. The hugely overloaded lorries with cheerful painted signs on their backs, the scooters and motorbikes weaving their way through the congestion, the never-ending row of chikki shops and the smell of vada pao from all sides as you inch your way through the town of Lonavala, the constant staccato of horns blaring… some peope claim to miss all this on the expressway route… I don’t.

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charukesi January 9th, 2006

Some people never learn - make that some companies. Remember how Reliance mobile had started out in India - with those “dealers” who sold you the mobile phone and then vanished - or if were present, had no clue about handling after-sales queries and complaints? Remember how Reliance called them not dealers but entrepreneurs under the “Dhirubhai Ambani Entrepreneur” scheme? And remember how quickly Reliance had to pull that “entrepreneurship” scheme out of the market and launch their own sales and service outlets?*

Like I was saying, some companies never learn - the always interesting and informative textually informs us that Reliance is planning to sell their phones through vegetable vendors.

“A joint marketing penetration effort by CDMA-based telephony operators ñ Reliance Infocomm and Tata Teleservices Ltd (TTSL), the initiative would involve training of the owners of vegetable and grain mandis to demonstrate and sell the product, and to provide after sales services. Reliance Infocomm would sell its product and services through vegetable and grain mandis, cable operators and farm product vendors, like irrigation pumps and tractor dealers.”

Arrey bhai, yeh mobile ek kilo ka bhaav kitna?

In simple words, no Reliance, selling is not enough. Back-end support is crucial.

***
*In case you don’t remember, here is a detailed article on Reliance’s master-plan and how it boomeranged on the company.

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