Twenty- five Seven

Gearing up to #MakeInIndia

February 11, 2016

Yesterday morning as I drove down the Kemps Corner flyover I came across 7 men desultorily painting the bridge . With each man painting only to the extent his hand could reach on either side, it wasn’t surprising that it took so many of them to do the job . What was surprising was that despite their number ,it took them all day to finish the job.
Further down the road on Marine Drive a huge white tent was being put up on the sands of Chowpatty , behind temporary walls of corrugated sheets. In the blistering heat, gardeners were planting petunias in newly painted flower beds.

While returning home on Monday afternoon I was shocked to see a huge ugly statue of a man with an umbrella. To my mind, the umbrella looked like a bomb and the statue looked like that of a terrorist.

The roundabout opposite the Hinduja building has been spruced up in the colours of our flag while three proud cockerels were marching on the grass.

And all along the road were posters announcing the #Make In India campaign where a magnificent lion struts across bearing the message that promises a business opportunity.

The whole city seems to be getting spruced up with dilapidated municipal buildings getting a much needed repair job, road dividers actually being put in place and the nooks and crannies in the pavements being swept clean.

Finally, I could see the might of our MahanagarPalika actually in action.

My favourite though is this colourful lion strutting across a lush green garden in at the top of Marine Drive, truly geared up to #MakeInIndia .

While I am happy that the city is clean and finally livable, isn’t it a shame that our civic authorities don’t bother to do this on an everyday basis? Don’t we, the tax payers of India deserve a better life? Or is that only the privilege of those who choose not to work?

I’m linking this post to Blog Commenting Tribe.
Love is in the air #MondayMusings

February 8, 2016

I’m in the bus again on my way home after an overnight trip to my parents’. Somehow going to Poona always brings back memories of growing up, perhaps kindled by seeing them . Somehow visiting Poona in February always reminds me of a wedding of a family friend that I had attended.

R was the first of my friends to get married mainly because she was older than us by a few years. I was fascinated by her because she was bold , confident and absolutely sure of what she wanted. She wanted a lifestyle before any of us knew what the word meant and she made sure she got it.

So when she found the guy of her dreams, she made sure she married him. Being a girl who wanted a lifestyle meant that she didn’t want to settle for a traditional Hindu wedding the way it was conducted for her parents and grandparents and their parents before them. She wanted something more contemporary, affordable and intimate.

I now don’t remember much of the actual ceremony but I do remember that she had planned to have it solemnised at her grandparents’ home in Poona. This was in the days when wedding planners weren’t on the radar, so she planned everything down to the last detail – tight from the cards which were a departure from the traditional to the menu. But what stands out most is the song which was playing in the background over and over again “love is in the air”

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=325jxJIJkJM#

What is it about February that makes one think of love? Who was St Valentine ? And why is his appeal universal ?

According to history ,Valentine was a priest who helped young Christian lovers get married so he has come to represent love or more appropriately “young love” .
There is something romantic about a tragic or doomed love story and hearts always beat faster when they hear about Romeo & Juliet or Laila & Majnu. Star crossed lovers hold a special appeal like strawberries , cherries and an Angels kiss in Spring , chocolates as red roses .

Next week the market will be flooded with inflated red heart balloons, long stem single red roses and boxes of chocolate ready for gifting to your Valentine.

So is it any surprise that February brings with it the promise of a new romance, memories of an old love and a general feeling that love is in the air?

Linking this to #MondayMusings
Off to Poona

February 7, 2016

Some people may wonder where Poona is because officially it doesn’t exist anymore . If you look on the map , you will find PUNE ( which is NOT pronounced as June but is ” poo nay” ) 120 kms south east of Mumbai , on top of the Deccan Plateau

I’m making this trip by bus since I want to reach as fast as I can without driving at break neck speed In my not so peppy any more Santro. I’ll leave that to the reckless driver of the Volvo bus instead

As I sit in the bus ,I’m reminded of many trips in the past which took as long as 8 hours to cover this diatance. Yes, as Ripley would say,believe it or not . And this was because in the fashion of my father, we had periodic stops for breakfast,lunch and tea: stopping for batata Wada at Ramakants for Batata, Biryani at Taloja, rice at Wadgaon, chikki and fudge at Lonavala. We also had the numerous stops dropping by at various friends and relatives on the way not to mention the pee stops under the trees and the picnics of jam sandwiches and tea.

Besides, the highway as it was then, was a narrow , tree lined two lane road which barely allowed two cars to go side by side. More often than not , it had pot holes and diversions and at some spots was like a slush pond in the middle of the rains. Adding to the risk , were the huge trucks filled to teetering, with ear splitting horns careering down the road. Occasionally there would be a truck or two toppled over by the wayside, its driver cabin empty and its cargo all over the place .

As I whizz past the once treacherous ghats I am reminded of the temple of Shingroba half way up the hills. Just before a particularly steep and sharp bend the traffic would suddenly come to a crawl as truck drivers leaned out of their windows to throw a coin to land at Shingroba’s feet, thus ensuring a safe passage up the hill road.

This part of the journey is particularly fraught with dread as I can never forget the time when our car creaked up only to come to a halt at the top. Then as it hissed and spewed steam in sheer exhaustion , we scrambled out to secure the car with rocks stuffed behind each tire. The car now stationery and safe , my father gingerly opened the bonnet and put a damp rag on the radiator cap before slowly opening it to allow the steam to escape. For the next half hour or so I’d spend in silent prayer hoping that we wouldn’t have to push the car up all the way home or worse still be eaten by the monkeys who stared at us in bewilderment.

Lots has changed since those days . We do the journey in 3 hours or less, sometimes returning to Mumbai the same day.

Picnics are a thing of the past. Our friends and relatives are just too busy and don’t invite us in for a cup of tea if we drop in unannounced and as for a tree to pee? Forget it ! There are no trees lining the road at all.