Twenty- five Seven

Dogs that bark

April 4, 2015

Dogs bark but the caravan moves on

This ancient Arab proverb comes to mind particularly since I am in the fishing village of Dubai that has transformed itself into a modern metropolis. It’s amazing how this tiny settlement has achieved the status of a first world city while the fishing village that I come from ( Mumbai) remains a higgeldy piggeldy mess – a huge big conglomeration of villages that continue to remain village -like in its outlook despite its pretensions of being a modern city. Alas, modernity is just confined to a few pockets of urban structures and a few people with a cosmopolitan mind set. The vast majority of our people remain stuck in their narrow outlook with their village-like neighbourhoods.

One of the most irritating part of a village city is the stray dogs on the street. Mumbai’s streets have lots of dogs, ugly mutts of the pariah kind who are looked after by kind citizens who would rather do something for animals than their own kind. There are many of these bleeding hearts, especially little old ladies who have adopted these strays . These dogs who sit by quite harmlessly by shops, flea ridden and indifferent to passers by are a different breed at night time when they suddenly come to life and bark and bark and bark and drive you absolutely crazy!

I actually love dogs and have grown up with one in my home but dogs on the road are another story.

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Cleaning up after a party

April 3, 2015

“Thank you for a lovely evening.”
“Thank you so much for turning up!
“Glad you had a good time.”
“It was such fun to see you.”
“I’m so glad you came!”
Muah , muah , muah and hugs and kisses
Handshakes and goodbyes at the door
Lips curled up in a crinkled smile
The clang of door and I turn inside
Eager to clean the mess.
That shows the party’s great success.

Dirty napkins on the floor
Tucked behind the sofa cushions
Or scattered carelessly on the sofas
Some folded neatly on the table keeping company to the
Empty bottles solemn witness to the revelry.
I spy the pile of dirty dishes
Balancing precariously in the kitchen sink.

And spot the crumbs on table top,
A splotch of curry, a red wine ring
Sticky finger prints on glasses
Their crystal clinking as I pick them up
With drops of liquor gently swirling.

I empty ashtrays and pick up bits
Of crushed and crumpled chocolate wrappers
Wipe flecks of ash and mop up spills.
Plump the cushions,
Straighten rugs and turn the dim lights one by one.

Fill up boxes with leftovers
To keep back in the fridge once more
Recounting oohs and aahs appreciating
Efforts of the days before.

I count the spoons and tie bags of garbage
Placed in bins beneath the sink.
And think of all the jokes and laughter,
We shared the last few hours or more.
Ties of friendship, bonds of kinship
Renewed at this house tonight

Creating memories that linger on
Like the fragrance of the “L’Air Du Temps”.
That clings on to the lipsticked napkin

Wikipedia

Celebrating occasions mean hard work – setting the date, inviting the guests, planning the menu and finally seeing it through. Even though celebrations at home are becoming few and far between with everyone preferring to entertain outside the house with the convenience of staff to help with cooking, cleaning and serving (not to mention the all important clean up), I always find it more satisfying to entertain at home.

Last night we had a lovely relaxed evening over drinks, food and conversation with friends and family. And as I cleaned up after the party, stacked up dishes in the dishwasher, put away the leftovers and finally keeping all the silverware and plates away this morning, I felt gratified and content.

There are over a 1000 bloggers from all over the world participating in this challenge. Do pop in and see what the others are writing. It’s amazing and fascinating to discover how people’s minds work and how the same prompt can inspire different thoughts.
Bombay the city I love

April 2, 2015

Bombay is the city I love – a city that like millions I have come to call my own. Decades ago when I came to this city, uprooted from the quiet leafy lanes of Pune, I resented its brashness, the rush and the noise. How I longed to go back to a life more laid back, when we could cycle to school and relax in the garden. Here in our tiny little flat with its two square foot of balcony with just enough room for the lone potted plant, I felt claustrophobic in a space that smelt of the neighbours’ curry.

But then Bombay became Mumbai and I realised that Shakespeare got it all wrong. Alas a rose by any name will not smell as sweet as Bombaywallahs will aver. Bombay was a city literally paved with gold. Mumbai is a city which has hardly any pavements at all and those that it has are occupied by hawkers and squatters who glare at you when you impose on their space.

Bombay was a city where people stood in a queue and waited for the bus. Mumbai is a city where people rush through red lights, drive on the wrong side of the road and crowd around a bus stop in a mad melee.

Bombay was a city where the summers were still cool and you, as a woman could walk around in shorts in the middle of the road at any time of day. Mumbai is a city where summer temperatures touch 40 and even shorts in the club can elicit long stares.

While much has changed in the Mumbai that was Bombay, there are still some things that are essentially Bombay – like the sultry summer afternoons when all you can do is sleep, the ease with which you can travel by public transport, the brun maska in Irani joints where crotchety owners tell you not to dawdle, the fish wallahs who stink up the lifts with fresh fish delivered to your door, the early morning rush that has everyone working double time, the crows that perch outside your window and caw raucously just as you’re falling asleep, the dabbawallahs who deliver your lunch day after day with surgical precision, the umbrellas that flip over in the strong monsoon winds, the roads that clog up at least once every rains, the Gateway of India with tourists that throng, the walks down Marine Drive that accommodate all.

But above all, there is the spirit of Bombay that exists in Mumbai, a devil may care attitude for all those who come to seek their fortunes in this city by the sea. The spirit that makes people wade through waist high water just to get to work, people who get back on their feet even after a bomb blast, people who don’t give a second glance at any VIP who whizzes past, people who walk purposefully on their way with no time to waste, who cherish a city that’s vibrant 24 hours of the day.

There are over a 1000 bloggers from all over the world participating in this challenge. Do pop in and see what the others are writing. It’s amazing and fascinating to discover how people’s minds work and how the same prompt can inspire different thoughts.

Dogs that bark

Cleaning up after a party

Bombay the city I love