mumbai-local

[mumbai-local]

The Mirror Shaped Hole in Our Hearts

So this is it, this is where we get off.

There would be no Mumbai Mirror in our palms on weekday mornings, and even though we’d get it on Sundays and it would have a ‘strong digital presence’, we know they’re just ways to say ‘shop’s shutting, go home.’ For something that we spent no more than ten minutes on every day, it’s going to be a tough loss to digest. If you too have a hole in your heart, let me measure it for you.

At arguably one of the peaks of its 15-year life cycle, Mirror, the ‘compact’ daily from the Times Group, would break stories from IPL 2009 in South Africa that would read like nothing filed on the sports pages of The Times of India (TOI). Mirror held this cut-throat exclusivity as a filter for its news every day, across beats, to build a distinct voice for itself. The parent company, Bennett, Coleman and Co. (BCCL), would routinely fly separate correspondents to the same events, whether at Jamaica or Dunedin, and it was also common for the competing correspondents being friends and even sharing hotel rooms while despatching reports. The cumulative impact of TOI and Mumbai Mirror (MM), bundled together for distribution, years after Mirror’s 2005 launch, was a telling blow on competitors, most remarkably Mumbai’s oldest tabloid, Mid-Day.

At arguably another peak, MM had an extensive, snappily designed 16-page edition dedicated to the 2010 FIFA World Cup, put to bed hours after the main edition, which in itself would be of 56 to 64 pages. All this free-flowing newsprint, a continuously expanding market and most importantly, reams of full-page adverts, seems to be an obscene tale from another era.

To think that Mirror, from those highs, faced such a nosedive is ironically like one of the Bombay stories it loved telling. We know the arc well - the rise, the reign, the plot to bring it down, the fall and the end. It’s almost as if the ghosts of all those exclusive stories - of fallen industrialists, flopped film stars and failed society doyens - that Mirror unabashedly broke day on day, plotted this. BCCL attributes this closure to ‘the pandemic, lockdown and unprecedented economic crisis’ but we as Mirror faithfuls, take this as with a sack of salt. 

This seems more of a jettison, and while not much is public as the BCCL empire isn’t a listed company, it’s safe to say the Jains wanted bleeding pets off their green books. There were reports of BCCL facing a consolidated net loss of Rs 451.63 crore in FY 19-20, a bungee jump from the net profits of Rs 484.27 crore in just the previous year.

Net-net, it’s this: Even before the ‘C word’ took the world economy down in 2020, the ‘bad news’ vibe was strong, and it must not have taken Mirror employees, adept at joining the dots while reporting on Bollywood’s love affairs, much time to update their LinkedIn profiles.

Hence, it’s intriguing that the official statement by The Times of India Group on this would mention a thing such as ‘the economy now officially in recession’. I’m no pink paper reader but to think that a behemoth such as the Times, running entities such as Medianet and Brand Equity Treaties and verticals such as Times Internet (which has brands such as Cricbuzz, Gaana and MX Player in its portfolio), is hurting from an ‘import duty adding to newsprint costs’... seems a wee… bit dodgy, much like Mirror’s famed ‘tailpiece’ blind items - you could only speculate the truth. But hey, what I’m sure of is this - that one primetime anchor going by the initials 'RSS’ on the Group’s alleged ‘news’ channel Times NOW, has not even mentioned the word ‘recession’ in a very long time, let alone cover it. 

So to find out why the most profitable media house in the country with annual revenues of $1.5 billion and an average of over 30 per cent returns on investment in previous years did not want to ride out Mirror’s losses, you’d probably require a seasoned Mirror reporter, ideally from its film or crime beats.

But if you have been a reader of The Illustrated Weekly of India, Indrajal Comics or Times Crest, you are again disappointed, not surprised, that the owners have once again pulled the plug, but this time it’s on Bombay’s boldest voice. And no Saamna, you can’t come close.

In just April last year, MM was the only single edition newspaper to be among the top five newspapers in India, quite a feat given its perennial label of being a sibling to the older TOI beast. This younger one, and every younger sibling from Prince Harry to Hardik Pandya will agree, remained feisty, unabashedly self aware and delightfully anti-establishment through its lifetime, owing to the mother who raised it, the venerable Meenal Baghel.

Some credit this to ‘the nature of the beast’ that tabloid culture is - a naked, annoying, indelible aspect of big city life. But we - and by we, I mean those who got to work with Meenal - know that as the handler of this beast, she fed it meatloaf with one hand and held a whip in the other. That’s how the beast grew stronger every day and mauled the mighty.

The beast emboldened us to ask uncomfortable questions of our society and culture, and not in a Republic-reporter-chasing-Rhea’s-car manner, but in a civil, restrained one where Oxford commas and em dashes had pride of place.  

It made photojournalist Sebastian D’Souza jump out his seat next to mine on the night of November 26, 2008, and dart out with his camera when we heard gunshots within metres of us, only to return with this photo.   

It made us have the bravado to pick up the phone and call anyone in the country for an exclusive quote. “I’m XYZ from the Mumbai Mirror,” we’d say, not from The Times of India. 

Mirror broke stories that stirred us in those ten minutes or less. Stories of blacklisted contractors winning road repair contracts using their wives’ names, of unscrupulous builders who’d unflinchingly steal lifetimes’ savings of retired peons, of principals who’d be sacked for exposing sexual harassment scandals, of everything adulterated - milk, water, air.  

Trigger warnings be damned - don’t like, don’t read if you can dare. While TOI and other dailies touched upon the city’s underbelly, Mirror thrived in it. It kept on showing us what’s under that flyover while we glided to work over it - the blood, gore and heartbreak. Wait, it literally did a story this year on cancer patients living under a flyover (and they promptly got help). Of course, there was gloss and fun and those ridiculous non-news about Kareena Kapoor juggling ‘work with motherhood’, but those were just the mixers to the other potent stuff. 

You know what the real loss for Mumbai is, right? That most of these stories just won’t be reported in print. And no corrupt contractor or conniving criminal may lose sleep over a Sunday paper or a publication with ‘strong digital presence’ exposing them.

The other ‘happy to see Mirror go’ could be Bollywood’s A, B and no-listers, who, once upon a time, would get palpitations if they’d see incoming calls from a certain Vickey Lalwani. “Dibakar, give me a story! Give me a sensational story! Mumbai Mirror has circulation of 750,000. Make it exclusive, okay?” 

But I doubt they’d be too happy too - after all, if Mirror’s calling you, you’re hot currency.  

(That said, there is a negligible number of people who are elated to see Mirror go, and they’re fans of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. It so happened that on the morning of the launch of the much anticipated last book of the iconic series, Mirror carried a spoiler on its front page. ‘First things first, Harry Lives.’ Ouch. Younger siblings, after all, can also be incredibly cheeky and embarrassing at times. But we cannot do without them.)

In July 2019, I had asked Meenal, the finest editor I will ever work under, about just how she found the energy to run a tabloid compact like this every single day for so many years. “As long as the good days outnumber the bad, I keep going,” she’d replied. It was a fair way to convey how she and her team (me gratefully being a small part of it from 2005 to 2011) worked. We went out to battle every day and slept well every night, and the lakhs of readers, in return, gave us a high. 

Now, when the dreaded ‘last edition’ is probably being wrapped around a vada-pav somewhere in Mumbai, all of us - Meenal, us former colleagues, the readers, the haters, the Mahinder Watsa fan club, everyone - will have our heads held up for knowing that the Mumbai Mirror era indeed had way more good days… well, even bloody good days, than the bad ones.

At least we won’t be shaking our heads and eye-rolling while looking at the front page of that old flagship broadsheet daily.

[mumbai-local]

Let’s walk away

Let's walk away sometimes, shall we?

Let's land up at a bus terminal in a big city before it wakes up, our backpacks not carrying what we're walking away from. Let's catch that first bus up the mountains, that one which stops at several stops and makes us squeeze in with villagers and their fowl. That one in which, after a dozen hours, we're the odd ones out and it's still trudging on. Let's get off on spotting a nondescript eatery in a nondescript hamlet and have the finest tea of our lives. Will it be better than the one we had before daybreak on that railway platform which looked like it was drawn by RK Narayan? We'll have time to settle that.

Let's wander, shack up, stroll, sit and stare, shall we? Let's read TinTin, Tinkle, Archie, that old Nat Geo with active volcanoes, that old Stardust with hideous outfits, that old Sportstar with the Kumble poster, the time when more athletes wore specs. We could read till the sun goes way up or way down... your legs resting on mine, mine on yours. We'll sneak peeks at one another when one's not looking at the other, shake our heads, smile faintly and return to reading.

Let's drive, take turns, sing aloud, take about-turns and laugh, shall we? Let's listen to Rahman, MJ, Jack Johnson, Kishore, Lucky Ali... lots of goddamn Lucky Ali. Let's pass over rivers, pass by sheep, pass under clear skies... pass several hours without words. 

Let's look at the wrinkles on old farmers' faces, let's touch barks of banyans, let's listen to winds slipping in through windows on moonlit nights, let's taste fruit skins to check if they are edible, let's smell the damp earth while lying down on it.

Let's be bored, distracted, irresponsible, careless, shall we? Let's find nooks with views of valleys, place detailed orders of coffee to hippie owners of cafes who smile as if they knew we were going to catch that bus here... and return with our mugs to find us asleep with travel guides on our chests.

Let's cry with abandon, laugh till we cry again, run till we must lie down on warm roads and play till our limbs hurt.

Let's walk away sometimes, shall we?

[mumbai-local]

Churchgate station now sports a Gandhi mural like none other in the city! Gotta love the Western Railway authorities for this, relevant statement in today's times! [Photo via SkyscraperCity/]

[mumbai-local]

Hi

Let’s get straight to it, Flipkart fucked up. And I wanted stuff too. I couldn’t get any of it.

A 2 TB Hard drive

A new pair of shoes

A backpack

And I was disappointed. As fuck, I might add.

But since the day of the “Big Billion Day” Sale I have seen nothing on my newsfeed except...

[mumbai-local]

When IPL ran into the Pro Kabaddi League

We heard it all when Pro Kabaddi League recently ran into its brattier brother

Malay Desai

One is a seven-year-old from the wealthiest of sporting families ever and another is a newly born from a labour of love between industrialists and sports entrepreneurs. The former, the Indian Premier League (IPL), a gold-chain-and-glares strutting, sports car driving brat, revels in the attention it gets every summer, and has indulged in several vices after his father was sent to London; while the latter, the Pro Kabaddi League (PKL), is just stepping out of its nappies. Here’s what happened when they ran into each other in a parking lot:

Jaipur Pink Panthers owner Abhishek Bachchan with U Mumba's Jeeva Kumar. {picture credit Ali Bharmal}

PKL: “Hello big brother, what a pleasant surprise! Good to meet you..”

IPL: (looks down from over glares) “Who you?”

PKL: “Um, I’m Pro Kabaddi League! I arrived in July remember – Patna Pirates, Bengaluru Bulls, U Mumba.. I play this ancient Indian game called kabaddi where..”

IPL: “Oh right! Amitabh Bachchan, Sachin, SRK and Aamir attended your birthday.” (removes glares and sizes him up)

PKL: (blushes) “Well my folks had to make noise for everyone to know of my uniqueness! Anyway, I’ve been wanting to get some tips on growing up from you.. you’ve seen so much in seven years..”

IPL: “Sure kid. But wait, what uniqueness?”

PKL: “Oh! I’ve been conceived to revive our indigenous sport of kabaddi. I’m this game where seven men face off without any gear, use tactics, reflexes and mind-body co-ordination to win points. It’s like chess meets wrestling! And there are..”

IPL: “..there are auctions and multi-city franchises playing each other at home and away, and your first League was won by a team from Rajasthan owned by a Bollywood actor. Very unique, I agree.” (wears glares)

Virat Kohli, from West Delhi, of the Royal Challengers Bangalore. {picture via blog.lenskart.com}

PKL: (sheepish) “Um, you were saying?"

IPL: “Here’s what you must know, bacche. Life will be starry at first, with many people watching you and your telecaster uncle pampering you. You’d be the next big thing in newspapers and your family might plan a sibling..”

PKL: “But.. but I’ve just arrived!”

IPL: “That’s how we roll bro. Don’t worry, if a sibling happens, it won’t get as much attention as you do. And besides they’ve already planned to make you play twice a year. Your next show’s in March 2015 I hear?”

PKL: “Yes, with grand-uncle ICC World Cup 2015 playing in Australia. I don't even..”

IPL: “They’ll work something out. Anyway, things will get difficult when you have teething issues such as franchisees going bankrupt, court cases for defamation, sponsor controversies and worse, fixing. My teething troubles turned out to be a bloody rot and I underwent a root canal and replacement. *shows fake golden teeth* You had cheerleaders on your birthday?”

PKL: “Nope, didn't need any with Abhishek mamu entertaining by the sidelines.. giving more expressions last month than he has in his entire career! Back to growing up, I’m told my family is this bunch of passionate men of integrity who really want to see me flourish. So why are you scaring me?”

IPL: (chuckles) “Not scaring, just preparing you. Thing is, there are many ‘sports enthusiasts’ who want to kill the golden goose. And even those happy with its eggs, want to make a dozen omelettes out if it. Okay, let me give three pieces of advice – don’t do anything to land a power-hungry step-father, don’t do bratty things like rave parties and lastly, ban towels from your playing area.”

PKL: “Not sure I got all of that, but thanks! Wish I’d be as cool as you some day!”

IPL: “Believe me, you don’t want to be!”

(Soon after, IPL roared out in an Audi for its interim court hearing and PKL cycled out for its practice session)

*

[The column appeared in The Golden Sparrow magazine on September 6, 2014]

[mumbai-local]

You Are How You Travel

Subway systems across the world are filled with peculiarities of commuters. I reminisced my metro experiences in a cross-section of foreign cities and wondered where our #MumbaiMetro will stand

Over two decades after some #Bengali men including cricketer Arun Lal proudly alighted the Calcutta Metro in a moment from Miley Sur Mera Tumhara, #Mumbai has finally got its own Metro rail system. It may not be underground, nor does it span across the city but it will still evolve to be another prism through which we’d know more of our city’s idiosyncrasies, chivalries and character. Meanwhile, I decided to open my travel diary and dig out the sights, smells and sounds of cities that got the metro rails long before we did.

  Moscow & St Petersburg, Russia

Envisioned as a gateway to a nearby palace, which never got built, Moscow’s Kropotkinskaya bears opulent marble columns

  If the ‘first subway system of the Soviet Union’ does not sound intimidating enough, try stepping into one of Moscow’s escalator tunnels. They are dimly lit, filled with cold gusts and are so long, one feels like a miner going to work. The stations, some even two levels down, however are nothing less than underground palaces. Arched columns are commonplace, murals depicting Russian art are worth gaping at, and the ornate chandeliers and mosaics bear proof of this being Stalin’s most extravagant architectural project.

Kiyevskaya station of Moscow is where many commuters change lines, and are greeted by lavish lamps and gold-rimmed archways

Non-Russian speakers will surely be confounded with the 12 lines, ‘deep-level’ stations and their names which could range anywhere from 10 to 18 alphabets. Fortunately while buying tickets, I figured that holding up fingers to indicate ‘number of rides’ does the job.

Russia has a massive reading culture, and I was heartened to see commuters across ages immersed in Kindles and books; and to spot coin-operated newspaper vending machines. Little wonder then, that Novosibirsk, a Siberian town recently celebrated Pushkin’s birth anniversary by offering free Metro rides to those who could recite at least two verses of the iconic poet’s works!

Moscow’s metros witness a massive reading culture. Several commuters carry Kindles and there are newspaper vending machines in passages

Busiest station: Arguably, Okhotny Ryad, which connects two lines and is where most tourists alight for the Kremlin.

Minimum fare: Rs 69(40 Roubles) for one trip on one line.

****

Buenos Aires, Argentina

The yellow ‘subte’ carriages of Buenos Aires, Argentina are similar to those in Kolkata with huge open windows. The commuters, however, are less smug

The yellow ‘Subte’ carriages of this South American city are similar to what Arun Lal stepped out of in Miley Sur. The trains of Buenos Aires, much like its buses are like a group of old men at a tavern – brash, often loud but quite regular. The system completed a hundred years last year but has done little to enrich or preserve its history, but for a heritage carriage connecting the tourist centre of Plaza de Mayo to a Peru station.

  The Buenos Aires Metro is now over a 100 years old, but hasn’t preserved its old charm, but for this heritage carriage on one short ride

The commuters are probably the least smug than those in any cities we're talking about, and many of them went out of their way to guide me. There are similarities to Mumbai’s local trains too, in asking ‘bajas?’ to know if a fellow is ‘getting off?’ and in vendors and performers, though some of them come with saxophones and portable speakers.

  The routes are neatly named from ‘A’ to ‘H’, and some have evolved to be more polite while others believe in barging in. It is also worthy to note stations named after South American countries – Venezuela, Uruguay and Bolivia.

In Buenos Aires, Argentina, there aren't as many wall murals as in Berlin, but wherever there are, they are vast

  Busiest station: The French-styled Retiro, a business hub and a junction for long-distance trains.

Minimum fare: Approx. Rs 8 (1.10 Pesos) for a single ‘viaje’ (journey)

*** 

Hong Kong, China

After my sole trip to what I believe is China’s only city with a soul, I have been calling Hong Kong ‘what every city must aspire to be’ in conversations. For starters, hear this – its MTR (Mass Transit Railway) system has a 99 per cent on-time rate, ferries 50 lakh people every weekday and critically, earns its owners neat profits.

Commuters talking on phones and Bollywood film posters are common sights in Hong Kong’s Metro stations

  The MTR is a handy window to look at HK’s rat race culture, where most commuters appear in a perennial state of tearing hurry. I spotted enough of immaculate suits and branded accessories (many restrain from driving because of costs) to make me feel someone might break into an impromptu Board Meeting.

Most noticeably, virtually everyone in the wagon is glued to an iPhone through Bluetooth devices or earphones. Reportedly they have announcements nowadays at escalators to ‘not look only into your phone’.

The only signs of colour in HK’s grey world of MTR were that of students with eccentric Angry Birds merchandise, which was an obsession in 2011… there’s probably a new wave now. The sushi takeaways and mini malls at exit passages too lend some character.

  This sign at a Metro station escalator is one of the many reasons why I call Hong Kong an ideal city

Hong Kong has a large Filipino population, and it is a common sight in the evenings to find Filipino women sitting on Metro bridges – playing cards and chatting

Busiest station: Admiralty, a transit point from Kowloon to Hong Kong island.

Minimum fare: Approx. Rs 25 (3.3 HKD)

*** 

Berlin and Hamburg, Germany

Looking up metro maps aren’t what many honeymoon itineraries are made of, but this April, my adventurous half and I had a breezy introduction to Berlin’s Underground i.e. ‘U-Bahn’. Our first impression was its ease of use, (despite the lack of English signs) as also the almost criminal adherence to punctuality.

A subway car in Gorlitzer Bahnhof, leaving for Warschauer Strasse, the busiest junction of Berlin, Germany. Germans share a love-hate relationship with their ‘U-Bahn’ system, especially in winters. [Pic: Laura Bultmann] 

The U-Bahns, along with Germany’s trams and buses, make for an integrated network of transport but the interesting characters are usually found in trains. On our multiple subway trips in Berlin, we ran into guitar players, beer-drinkers, cyclists, hipster teens and druggies (we heard incidents of drunk speeches but didn’t witness any). More importantly, the sights of pregnant women, prams and wheelchairs made us wonder if Mumbai can ever reach that level of inclusivity. While the homeless picking up beer bottles (to claim a deposit) are a common sight in Hamburg, wall murals and graffiti define Berlin’s metro surroundings.

Germans have a love-hate relationship with BVG, the parent company of U-Bahn, thanks to incidents of frozen tracks and power cuts. But the best nugget of trivia? The German term for ‘ticketless travel’ - ‘Schwarzfahrzen’, comes from the Yiddish word for ‘poverty.’

Public display of affection, bicycles on trains and graffiti-lined walls are all features of Berlin’s ‘U-Bahn’ system

Busiest station: Warschauer Strasse in Berlin, named after Warsaw, sees over 85,000 passengers daily. It’s most packed on weekend nights thanks to the city’s buzzing nightlife.

Minimum fare: Approx. Rs 121 (1.5 Euros)

*** 

Prague, Czech Republic

Tourist brochures flaunting this Bohemian capital’s swish sights may disagree, but I felt most of Prague today has a Soviet, third-world hangover. Assuming it’s one of the biggest tourist destinations in Europe, I expected a classy subway system but it turned out to be a poorer cousin of Moscow’s underground palaces.

The same escalator tunnels hit me, this time only dizzyingly steep and with sidewalls lined with ads. I later read that the escalator at Namesti Miru station was the longest in Europe, requiring two-and-a-half minutes to go one way. The escalator discipline of standing put on the right (so hurried commuters can climb up from the left) is something Mumbai Metro must make mandatory.

Steep, long escalators are a distinct feature of Metros in Prague, Czech Republic. The longest one in Europe is here too

Prague may lack the articulate frescoes that its former Soviet rulers have preserved in Moscow, but it has managed to retain propaganda art of the Commie era at a few stations. Unlike U-Bahns, which have a language barrier but are still commuter-friendly, Prague’s Metro could be a harder nut to crack, especially when every second person you bump into turns out to be a tourist.

Busiest station: IP Pavlova, named after the Russian psychologist who introduced to us ‘social conditioning’ to us.

Minimum fare: Approx. Rs 70 (24 CZK) for 30 minutes

*** 

Singapore; Taipei, Taiwan

I club the two Asian tigers here because they are both a couple shades more humane than their more aggressive Chinese cousins such as Beijing and Hong Kong. The fashion savvy ways of Singapore’s folks in MRTs (Mass Rapid Transit) will catch us desis’ eye, with hot pants and Gucci bags aplenty, and there are chances you too might pick up something you don't need as many exits are attached to shopping centres.

The Taiwanese on the other hand, are exemplars of courtesy. The Taipei MRT has evolved to be a calming, clutter-free experience thanks to norms such as not talking on phones (there are many signs urging us to text, or talk softly); several commuters wearing face masks if they have a cold (some girls wear masks if they haven’t applied make-up); music performances in wagons are prohibited, and so is eating or drinking.

The Taipei Metro urges those who have cold or communicable diseases to wear masks, though some girls wear them when they don’t put make-up on. Also, it is against norms in Taipei’ Metro to talk loudly on the phone. Those commuters who do take calls talk softly, almost with guilt. [Pics: Fabian Schweizer]

Sexual harassment in trains isn’t just a Mumbai thing, as this appeal in Taipei’s Metro suggests. [Pic: Fabian Schweizer]

  Another note from Taipei if you’re a city planner – the coin-operated bicycle stands near stations and offices make for a delightful culture.

  Busiest stations: Zhonghua Fuxing in Taipei sees well over a lakh footfalls a day; In Singapore, the City Hall MRT station is such a popular centre, it finds a mention in the country’s edition of Monopoly.

  Minimum fare: Approx. Rs 40 (20 NTD) in Taipei; approx. Rs 35 (0.73 SGD) in Singapore.

 ***

[This is a longer version of an article which appeared in Mumbai Mirror, June 22, 2014 - read it here]

[mumbai-local]

New Home

Our new home has a smell. It first approached me when I was stepping in after a long day outdoors, barely a fortnight after we had moved in. Now, every time I step in, I look for it but never too much, just a tad before my hand reaches out to the nearby switchboard. (It’s still a bit alien, like many other things; my hand gropes over the wall, sometimes flicks the wrong switch before hitting the right one.) The smell, however, is consistent, reassuring.

How can one describe such smells? Could it be a blend of the foods we have stocked in the kitchen with the moisture of the plastic tank in the loft? Could it be that of our own selves and our clothes, or of the walls and furniture? It could even be a mix of all these, but of the previous tenants.

Our new home is also a bit edgy. Every now and then, we brush against an impolite corner of a cabinet or get an unwarranted bump from an open door under the kitchen platform. It’s like although the crème walls and light brown tiles of the floors have accepted us wholeheartedly, some rebels are still resisting our presence. Hope they get used to it soon.

But our new home is also a comfort zone – that sweet spot of a cricket bat, that perfect window seat in a long-distance train, that quiet little rock over a mountain overlooking a valley. It’s the space where she lies down on her back, rests one leg over the other and sways them both left-right in a motion so subtle, you won’t notice it from far. She’s just reading, not listening to foot-tapping rhythms, but her feet can already feel the music of comfort.

It’s the space where we’ve made new acquaintances, who stay with us, watch us all the time. The swaying orange curtains, which beam with a flourish when they greet the morning sunlight, bearing the shadows of the grills outside the window. The one drawer of the drawing room TV cabinet, which stores our essentials, and doesn’t jut out a vengeful corner even when we don't look at it while throwing in miniscule things – keys, coins, railway tickets. The shower knobs, sliding windows, that hook in the kitchen which does nothing but hold a dreary green plastic bag through the day, the bag we hang outside our main door at night for the milkman to drop milk in the morning.

Calling all this a ‘1 BHK’ is such a farce. I don't get people who have been living in owned homes in this city who introduce them like that. It’s like calling someone bones-soul-flesh.

And you know the best part about this home? It made me realise that same first fortnight, when I visited my family home I grew up in for 28 years, that it has a smell too. ***

[mumbai-local]

The man with the loud TV

Recently, at a loud silver jubilee gathering of my uncle and aunt, #thegirl and I ran into an elderly man in a monotone shirt. He was uncle's former neighbour, someone I must have last met at least 14 years ago. His hair was more white than black and his face dark, as if his under-eye patches had illegally taken over his cheeks' real estate.

After initial greetings, I was ready to step aside, when he began a small conversation, asking her what PR meant. Then another with me, perhaps knowing my eyes weren’t exactly seeming intrigued about this chat. He then hurriedly rummaged through his mind and brought back a minuscule memory about me – a tiny, forgotten capsule about how I used to mime a neighbourhood boy’s granny calling him home. "Aye Gotooooooo!"

He was right, I used to.. but this was not comical anymore. It was rather the only point of conversation he could use to grab my attention back, get me to listen to him for a few moments more, make him feel relevant at that celebration of togetherness, a feeling he had been mourning from long, as I later found out. “He’s alone…” #thegirl told me as we moved on to chat with other folks, this time with renewed interest.

Then yesterday, we knocked on the unkempt door of Flat 102 in a building in Andheri, just another of our attempts at finding a home on rent. “Uncle akele rehte hain,” we were told by our broker. And alone he was, smiling and buttoning his shirt over a full-body vest as we stepped inside. We made our quick peeps into his bedroom and kitchen, knowing fully well we won’t opt for this flat (that split-second decision you make on simply glimpsing the place for the very first time) when he began speaking about his children.

“They’re insisting I stay with them,” he explained, and I don’t recollect if he was talking of his son or daughter. One of them was abroad, he apparently said, then adding more, telling us why he wants to give this house on rent.

I couldn’t hear him well because of the very loud volume of the news channel he was watching. The TV, his sofa by the window facing it and the cabinet adjacent to it seemed like they’d been there for ages, with him, growing older. As his mini-speech continued with a few courteous smiles as interjections from us, he suddenly picked up the remote and lowered the volume of his TV.

“Thanks, we’ll get back if…” or something we said, stepping toward the door. He asked twice if we wanted to have chai-coffee or water. “No thanks, we must head,” we replied, shutting the door, then the old second door, the news channel still audible. “Another lonely man,” #thegirl pointed out as we stepped down the stairs (me not having to think why ‘another’ although the anniversary party was now a few weeks old).

It was then that I realised that this elderly man need not have been getting deaf to listen to the TV so loudly. Sometimes, and I strongly suspect it was in the case of that man in Flat 102, a loud television channel, especially reporting the news, fills up your drawing room with human voices and fools your empty self to believe you are still relevant. And if a young couple comes knocking on your door, hopes and dreams sitting evidently in their eyes, it may feel like Diwali morning.

No wonder he forgot that his TV was still on… and still playing loud.

***

[mumbai-local]

Helps that this airport watchdog is pretty lean and tall. 

[mumbai-local]

Free health tips anyone? [Last one reads 'Don't drink water during meals.']

[mumbai-local]

Trusting The Guardian on this whole picture. 

[mumbai-local]

When reading, writing and 'light refreshments' were the thing to do. #Bombay #History 

[mumbai-local]

Every year during the Ganesh festival, thousands of public pandals prop up in #Mumbai. Many of them have themes, conceptualised to give opinions, spread awareness and talk about socio-political issues. My feature in Mumbai Mirror.

[mumbai-local]

More pages from the 'Bombay Guide' of the 40s I spoke of earlier. Top left is well, an ad (the publication was from the Army). Second ad from the late Kodak - listing four cities that don't exist any more. Yes, i mean cities.

[mumbai-local]

Have hit upon this treasure, an 'information booklet prepared by the Hospitality Committee in Bombay' for newly-arrived soldiers of the CBI Theater, World War II.

Basically, a tourist guide for Bombay in the 1940s. Will post occasional gems from it!

[mumbai-local]

"A toy train ride was never in the scheme of things but when I read up about the Kangra toy train, I knew I had to squeeze this one in"

Lovely article. Gotta love toy trains!

[mumbai-local]