Twenty- five Seven

Waving the white flag

September 26, 2022

Mumbai’s traffic is horrendous for cars. It is equally horrendous for pedestrians. In case you don’t know it, our streets are paved with gold especially for those who occupy them as vendors or squatters. Mumbai’s real estate prices are rising higher than the skyscrapers and are coming up faster than the old buildings that are falling down. With just an island to build on, we really have option but to go up.

So for those who can’t afford a place to stay, a spot on the pavement is nothing less than a gold mine.

And with pavements encroached upon by squatters and vendors, pedestrians have no option but to walk on the roads hoping it’s their lucky day and they don’t get bumped off by speeding cars.

But my story today is about crossing the road which is equally fraught with danger since the traffic signals at pedestrian crossings never work. At least the one I have to use on one of the busy arterial roads of Mumbai which is busy all day and night.

There are four pedestrian crossings on this road since it also has two schools and a hospital apart from towering skyscrapers and shops. So this is a busy road not only for the cars that use it as a connector between North and South Mumbai, but it is also a lifeline of the neighbourhood.

There have been one or two fatal accidents which ensure that the pedestrian crossing near the school works during school pick up and drop off time but for the rest of the time the light just blinks yellow warning you that the cars are NOT going to stop leave alone slow down . As a matter of fact, the motorists particularly speed up in order to get the green light at the major traffic junction a 100 metres or so down the hill. Which is why, for people like me crossing the road can be a chore. Not only do I have to wait for 10 minutes or more, but when I get that lull in the flow, I have to make sure I get across 40 feet in less than a minute. And this is a road with two way traffic!

The other day, after waiting for 10 minutes, I realised that the traffic was simply not going to slow down . It was 10 am and everyone was in a rush to get to the office. I would possibly have to wait for half an hour till all the office goers had reached their destination. And I too had other errands to do in yet another direction.

Suddenly it struck me that I had a white cloth bag with me so I lifted it up and waved it like a Peace Flag. Surprisingly, a police van that was also speeding up to catch the signal came to an abrupt halt. Perhaps they were startled to a halt. But following their example, all the traffic stopped at the pedestrian crossing on both sides of the road because everyone was shocked at this little old lady waving a white flag and crossing the road.

I was so pleased with my success that I didn’t notice that the road was soon closed of all traffic to let a VIP convoy zoom past. In my glee I waved my flag to the convoy as well !

Ciao
Mistaken Identity : Ghagracholi and Golf

September 26, 2022

Wisdom comes with age.

Or so one would have thought.

My experience last week had me thinking otherwise.

My tailor, with whom I’ve had a turbulent relationship, needed a prod. After all, his promise of getting my garments done in one week was now stretching into the third week and I needed to get Ms Papaya’s ghagracholi ready in time for Navratri. So I scrolled through WhatsApp and punched in his name.

To my surprise there were two entries for Naveenbhai Tailor that popped up in my list of Contacts. I wondered who the second contact was because the DP looked decidedly like a golfer. I zoomed in the picture and sure enough there was Naveenbhai from Kalbadevi seriously addressing the ball with perfect stance and a perfect concentration. Used to seeing him slouching over his sewing machine, I did a double take and showed it to Prima Donna who was travelling with me . I thought perhaps her younger eyes would see better and help identify the person in question.

But she was equally startled and both of us began thinking of how Naveenbhai the Tailor from Kalbadevi could possibly be playing golf?

You see my imagination knows no bounds.

Did he like many enterprising Gujeratis make trips abroad for business? Or was he visiting relatives in New Jersey ? Did he actually play at Bedminster ? Did he play with President Trump?

Unable to bear the suspense, I decided to catch the bull by the horns and messaged Naveenbhai the Tailor and asked if he was delivering my garments as promised and also if he played Golf. He replied in the affirmative to both.

Now I was even more flummoxed, so I asked Naveenbhai the Tailor playing Golf to identify himself.

I was shocked when he replied that ‘he’ was my husband’s cousin and the DP was the picture of her brother .

I still didn’t get it and politely replied that Naveenbhai was my tailor and stopped further interaction. I didn’t for a moment think it was my husband’s cousin especially since we aren’t remotely connected to any tailor. Actually, I was stunned by the sheer coincidence of it all : imagine me and my tailor’s wife sharing the same name and, even more surprising, her husband’s cousins having the same names as my husband’s cousins. Even by Ripley’s standards this was something I preferred not to believe

But stranger things are known to happen and for a few days I was completely distracted by images of Naveenbhai playing golf at Bedminster and downing beers with celebrity golfer’s on the 19th hole.

Then suddenly, a few days’ later, it struck me that perhaps it could be my cousin-in-law. Could I have mistakenly saved the cousin’s number under the wrong name? Was Naveenbhai the Tailor who plays Golf actually my husband’s cousin? It turns out that it was.

I was immediately contrite and embarrassed. This was a serious gaffe. In Indian society, a husband’s sister has a special status and imagine mixing her up with a humble tailor ????? I then sent off a series of messages to Naveenbhai the Tailor who was playing golf, aologizing profusely for my mistake. Luckily, the cousin-in-law has a sense of humour and graciously accepted my apology and bumbling explanation.

I promptly renamed the contact and I hope my brain fog clears up and I don’t make such mix-ups again .

Ciao and have a happy week .
International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples

August 9, 2022

Did you know that just a few 100 miles out of Mumbai is a kingdom of the indigenous peoples of Maharashtra? Jawhar still boasts of a Palace and the district still abounds with Adivasis or Tribals.

A village called ABJE

Tired and jaded by the modern world, many urban Indians are thinking about farming. Hoping to have a more sustainable lifestyle, they are returning to their roots. Or rather, they are returning to the land. But farming is not easy and the rosy dreams of becoming a self-sufficient happy person can soon remain castles in the air. About 120 km away from the busy metropolis of Mumbai is the sleepy village of Abje. This village, in Palghar district, is a village of Aboriginals or Adivasis. Their land is protected and cannot be sold or bought by non-Adivasis. There are just a few tracts of land belonging to non-Adivasis.

Non-Adivasi lands command a high price and one has to be really careful to check land titles etc before buying.

My father-in-law bought some land from the village of ABJE and it has been in our family for more than 50 years now. Despite being so close to Mumbai, progress has come slowly to this village. There is electricity, a local school, and a basic healthcare centre. They also have a woman in the local governing council ( Panchayat). This is not really strange because it is the women of this village who actually wear the pants. The men are too busy fishing in the half-dried river and getting drunk on the local hooch. Much has changed in the village since FIL bought the land but the scenery is much the same as it was when our family first entered it.

A visit to our ‘farm’ in Abje is always a welcome change from our routine Mumbai life. Apart from the regular visits to keep an eye on things, we often have to run to the land to sort out some minor issues.

Like the unscheduled visit in 2010 to sort out a boundary issue.

My father-in-law bought the land from the only non-Adivasi family at that time, Old Man Patil, the designated law officer for the village. For several years it remained wild, with a few 100 teak tree saplings and two paddy fields that we cultivated each year during the rainy season.

Busy with his regular city job, Hubby Dear had little time to devote to this farm project that was actually his father’s dream. It remained so for at least 25 years. But now, with Patil’s sons grown up, we had to ensure that our land was clearly demarcated and the boundaries clearly defined because one fine day our manager called up to inform us that Old Man Patil’s son had overnight encroached into our property and marked off what he claimed was his with some dried thorny branches to mark out ‘his’ land well within our boundary.

Land disputes are common and take years to be solved. It took us quite a few visits to the village for us to negotiate a mutually acceptable solution.

The villagers are simple people but they are not stupid. Television has brought them up to speed with their city cousins and are shrewd negotiators.

From time to time we still visit our farm which now has a dilapidated structure with several trees around it. We have now made a rough motorable road to access it but during the rains it becomes I have a prayer on my lips that the tyres don’t get stuck in the mud.

They have abandoned their traditional bamboo and wattle huts for stone and cement and have discarded their loincloths and scanty clothes for fashionable city wear but the inigenous peoples still retain a certain innocence that distinguishes them from the other inhabitants of the village

Unfortunately during my several changes of blog identity, I have lost the photographs .

But on this day of International Indigenous People, I am glad that we still have a tenuous link to these original inhabitants of the land.

Ciao