Dearest Bummy,
I write this today, not knowing the place you shall grow up in. I am not as confused as before and indeed have a reason to stay here, but then life has taught me to “never say never”. Saying that, I am sure that no matter where you are, reading this letter would make sense for the society around would then too fit in just aptly.
There’s another thing I am sure of, that where we live there shall be a sea nearby and it would definitely be a frequented spot. The sea personifies me, and thus it is but natural that I give you an early introduction. Armed with little buckets and scoops we shall build castles, watch them being washed away and then build them again. The salty air will sting the eyes, the sea gulls might scare you even, the shells will be our first treasures and we shall there learn ‘not giving up’. I shall also introduce to you then a concept that seems very simple but trust me will play a big role in your life. I shall introduce you to “buckets” and how, all through your life people will try to fit you into one bucket or the other.
I hope you inherit my gift of gab, but I certainly do not hope you inherit my reclusive nature. For then it would be very difficult for people to bucket you, you see. For the world I am an extrovert, because talking comes naturally to me. Also, because they do not know that Ambiverts like me exist. For them the buckets are labeled as only Extroverts and Introverts.
Similarly, you can either a feminist or not be one – the balanced approach where you refuse to give into male bashing or “I don’t need a man in my life” theory – just cannot be true. I cannot be traditional, the one who knows how to dish up a traditional recipe or drape a saree and yet know her salsa and gulp down evil mojitos in a jiffy. Remember what I told you about “tradition” earlier? I cannot have raag Malhaar on my Ipod and then go and zumba to Gangnam style. I simply cannot have a mush side when I am all sarcastic when I deal with my loved ones. I cannot have sambar as my comfort food when I swear by Bengali food as a daily affair. Remember what I told you about “comfort” once?
I simply cannot believe in dating and yet not have faith in marriages – for here both the concepts are confusingly intertwined. I cannot be seen dreaming of being a stay at home mom when I am supremely ambitious and competitive.
The ‘cannot(s)’ however my dearest come from those around me, who themselves are unable to live a balanced life and thus they create buckets. Sadly today all types are bucketed, the middle path that Buddha taught us, is only good for discussion at a posh meet-up.
Your teenage will worry you when you don’t fit into buckets. I wouldn’t save you then, for I want you to learn through your own finger burns about how shallow this entire thing is. You will be lost in your 20s and turn to ask if there’s anything wrong with you (like people say – as you do not fit into any buckets as defined by the society). I shall then open a Wiki page that reads “harmful side effects of smoking”, fix up an appointment with a gynae to counsel you about smoking and then ask you if you want to share a smoke with me and know how “weird” people tagged me? (Or probably still do, as you read this letter)
You shall survive, for you are my daughter and do just fine. However, in the process I want you to create two little buckets of your own. One filled with those names that have always striven to ‘bucket’ you and the ones that don’t. The latter will be much lighter than the one Jill went up the hill with, but trust me the latter will help you lead the most wonderful life.
They will be those who should be on your speed dial, with whom there’s no gender divide, you shall tuck you in when you are drunk, be the Whatsapp group that helps you go through a bad day and who shall welcome your dumb moments with the same grace as your achievements. They shall be the one for whom you are just ok for whatever you are!
However, remember my little one that there’s more to them than that. Whenever this bucket tells you something which hurts you or is not very sweet, do not react thinking they have changed sides! Take a step back and think, for their point outs will always be true (well most of the time!) and will help you be a better and humble person.
They shall be your shield and your mirror – appreciate them for that!
I have been lucky to have found my bucket be filled with such a few names and thus, when people who have always termed me as ‘weird’ wonder why they don’t bother me and how I am so at peace with myself I thank those names and send a prayer.
Tell them you love them, hold them close, appreciate them and always be there for them, for this is a bucket that shall never let you tumble and fall. As for the rest, note them down in your little black diary, for someday they shall help you decide the kind of person you should not be!
Now, let’s build some castles shall we?
Buckets full of love and cuddles,
Amma
Tag Archives: memories
Leaving Behind Better Kids For This Planet ….
I am actually writing this post in haste. No, wait! I am actually writing this post in rage, in frustration and in complete anticipation of the back lash that “Who am I to comment on parents, when I haven’t raised a kid?”
So roll your eyes and bring out the tomatoes, but just make sure that they are in bucketful, for I just attended a La Tomatina this fall and thus the squish will not bother me much.
Kids – ok how do you define them? Well here is how I go …
Curled up toes, eyes closed tight shut,
When looking innocent is the symbol of the cult,
Fairies and pixies, flowers that talk and the house with a candy door,
Who said there is a limit to which your imagination can soar?
Letters to Santa, wishing on eye lashes,
The love for dirt and the fun in the splashes.
The urge to grow up but the belief in forever having your way,
When a good story over meal could make your day!
Yet all I see around today are reality shows where you need to thrust a hip and rock your bosom – even when at 5 you have little idea of what it symbolizes, crack jokes that make me squirm but the parents who face the cameras are in splits, the sequined tube dresses replacing the comfort shorts! And now little dolls that can give a 2 year old the Breast Feeding experience.
I wonder if I am old fashioned when I pick out story books filled with fairies for the kids I still read to, I wonder if I am teaching them all wrong when I urge them to get dirty instead of rebuking them for spoiling their mascara and eyeliner (all on a girl aged all of 3 years!) - I wonder if I am conditioned the wrong way?
I may not be a parent ever – but then should I not worry? I may be a parent without an umbilical cord connection – but then isn’t that all the same thing? I may be juvenile when I shudder at the thought of a 2 year old knowing what suckling is instead of stork delivering bundles and Santa gifting little puppies – but then am I wrong to worry?
I still remember the day when I discovered about Tamanna’s fascination over make up – all I wanted then was to hold her close and still want her to smell of baby powder. I wanted her to realize why I said it was all too soon when I took away her box of rouge. I wanted her to understand the joys of the times when it is ok to wear skirts with hairy legs and not be bothered about facial hair (all feminists at bay please – I would like my daughter to groom for herself, so you need not take out your knives at me accusing that I am one of those because of whom girls think that it is important to shave to fit in!) I just wanted her to know that blissful times do not last for long and thus she should wear the dirty tee, have a few bad cuts and learn to smile with a broken tooth – till the time it all doesn’t matter.
There’s so much time left to play the grown up games, the little feet attempts from a young age – but then that is a game right? Putting on Mamma’s lipstick, trying to walk in her heels – that doesn’t mean we get them baby heels or teach them how to line the lips for a perfect pout at 6 right? We can teach them all about “good touch and bad” without telling them about what “groping” and “lewd jokes/remarks” are all about right?
I want to know the difference between cuteness and ‘acting beyond age’ – I want to know if I am the only hyper one who finds it disturbing when little kids act like Moms and it shows their urgency to grow up and ripen before age. Also, how instead of picking them on our laps and telling them it doesn’t suit babies, we go on to make ads reinforcing the belief that when kids act grown up they look cute?
I wonder if this really doesn’t raise a single eyebrow apart from mine? -
A child who doesn’t live his/her childhood to the fullest, is he/she to be blamed for not knowing the joys of being a kid? Should we then put him/her under scrutiny in later years for not urging their next generation to live carelessly (when they themselves do not know what it means?) Is the era of information overload so powerful that it is eating up the belief of “birds and bees” and “tooth fairies”? Why is it that today a dance class is to get an entry into a reality show, a cricket camp only to discover the “Sachin for tomorrow”, a play date considered to be a waste of time, imaginary cooking only to cultivate habits of being a good daughter (in-law) and yes friends only allowed till they help in your studies. Why not just let them be? Am I missing out the point here of raising kids?
If that is the case, am glad that fate has left a big red looming question mark on my forehead when it comes to bearing children, for then I wouldn’t have to ponder much on this saying I read somewhere and I consider it so apt for our times:
“In our urge to leave behind a better planet for our kids,
We are forgetting to leave behind better kids for this planet”
I couldn’t agree more to this piece I found on Google Images (no copyright claimed)
Letters to My Daughter – Part V
Dearest Bummy,
Yes, I know I had this conversation with you last night in my head, like the numerous other ones, but I have this urge to pen this down. I don’t know how much of an example of a traditional mom I will turn out to be, but I just want you to know that we pull along just fine without having to have an exact fit into defined roles. All I want to tell you today, is that there are choices to be made in life and there are traditions to follow – they both should be as per your comfort and should always be something you pick for yourself and not to gain acceptance by the world around you!
Remember the time I explained to your about “comfort”? Well today let us take on “tradition” 
“Tradition” they define as a custom or ritual handed down from one generation to the other, what started in the past and continues till the present. “Tradition” as I have learnt, is knowing all that the society is made up of, and then choosing what you want to follow depending on the beliefs that make you up. I have never been the traditional daughter the society would have loved to cite as an example, yet I am just as human as the one who fits the shoe. Bummy, I have come to realize that it is much better to not wear the heels that cause you blisters, than to wear and feel that this shoe wasn’t cobbled for you, yet try to keep up the gait, because the world might think low of you. Strangely Bummy, the times we live in (and shall continue too) we try to bucket people into two categories who are either traditional or not. For the rest like me, sweety there’s a struggle – not for us, but for the world to categorize us and their inability to arrive to a conclusion.
So while wearing a skirt and jacket walking into the meeting room is seeing as “progressive women power”, then sharing a smoke with the colleagues is taken as “modernity” the just opposite happen when you walk in wearing a saree. You are of course expected to be NOT at ease, I mean come one, you are either a western-culture-influenced short skirt wearing girl, who wears saree only during special occasions or you are the saree clad one, who never prefer to show off her legs! Balance and tradition do not go hand in hand – or so we have been made to believe in recent times.
Tradition differs from class to class, yet another tough aspect of life that you have to gulp. A woman construction worker smoking a beedi or walking into the country liquor store for a nip bottle will not draw as much attention as you would, saree clad with your Davidoff in hand. Strangely, if there are gender defined shoes which the society tags for the argument pertaining to “tradition” it should be equal across all classes right? How I wish, that Utopia was true darling! Here, it is almost as if we have taken for granted that those with little “means” are corrupted for tradition and the “good girls” are only from families that have permanent house walls!
Tradition they say demands a lot, I have been however raised to believe that tradition has a lot to offer. All it demands in return, is your appreciating the customs that makes it up and then choosing the ones that you feel are attuned to your mindset (for the rest that don’t suit you, it demands a little respect. What might be your choice, may not be others but that doesn’t mean we do not respect them! Right?)
Clothes don’t define what your roots are, your actions do. Your piousness in society standards don’t define your traditional morals, your respect to the world around you does. In order to uphold traditions you need not wear a saree, be a teetotaler or remain a virgin till you marry – for you must always remember that the first man/ woman to set these standards also had a choice – the choice to adhere to these or not. If they made their own choice, why can’t you? I adorn a saree, because nobody ever forced me to wear it, I was given the option of loving it or not. Your Apa*, never encouraged traditional clothing for children, for the simple reason that his little girls couldn’t run in flowy dresses. Thus, it is true that your mother never owned a single piece of salwaar kameez, till she entered college and wanted to wear one. I was never asked to pray, for faith has always been a personal affair in the family. ‘S Mashi**’ comes from a different faith and yet she is the daughter of the house. ‘A mesho***’ comes from a different faith and nationality, yet we all gather and wish them on Durga Pujo, for that is the tradition which the old lady set for the house. Tradition baby, is like your taste of “salt” nobody can ever define that for you. However, you need to try different cuisines to know your taste. Thus, tomorrow when I introduce you to art, music and culture lessons, do not think it is for the heck of making you a traditional girl, but mainly I want you to discover what you really want, and what will pay your bills and what will be your passion!
I don’t know how to answer your question (in case you ever ask me to) if I am traditional or not? How can I answer when I don’t know it myself. I learnt the rituals of Durga Puja not because I am traditional, but mainly because I found them fascinating – the stories, the smell, the chaos and yes the fun in doing things together. I learnt cooking not because I was told I need to learn it to feed my man, as the tradition goes. Instead, I was told that everyone should learn to cook to be independent – Ama**** hates it if she hears that one chooses to survive on “Maggi” because who wants to cook a lavish mean for one self? I learnt to drape a saree, not because it is the most traditional piece of clothing around me, mainly because I love the elegance it provides me and the self-confidence it oozes out! I do not smoke in front of my parents, not because of traditional demands (heck, then I would not have even told them!), but mainly out of the respect for somewhere I know they don’t like it.
There’s a difference in me not allowing you to do things till a certain age and then after an age despite my not agreeing to your view-point, letting you make choices. I want to guard you till you are old enough to know that there are choices to be made. The world is a tapestry filled with traditions, I want you to pick and choose them. I don’t want you to abstain from anything for the argument of tradition, for trust me what is tradition in this part of the land, is not in the other part of the world. So traditions too come with their anti-thesis. It is up to you to decide which is the shoe that goes with your personality. Google, will be there to throw up answers, to provide you with all the information, however remember Google cannot make you a person. There are no buckets in which you need to be categorized when it comes to “traditions”, I don’t want to leave behind any legacies mandating you to follow. Yet, I want you to know my history, know the family you come from and then decide for yourself.
In the end, I am sure once you adorn a saree and give a sweet smile there will be an aunty who says “Ki misti ghoroaa meye”***** – for the world loves to categorize you, it is a fascination they live by and it often feels good to oblige them, till of course you know at heart where you belong!
Loads of Love and Strength,
Amma
*Apa - what kids in the family call my father
**Mashi - Bengali addressal for mother’s sister
***Mesho - Bengali addressal for maternal aunt’s husband
****Ama - what kids in the family call my mother
***** - To Translate it means “What a sweet and lovely traditional girl”
Mumbai Mondays 18 – Drops Of Sunshine On A Rainy Day, Is What Mumbai Is All About!
I have been putting this post off for a very long time. The reasons have been parents visiting, flu attacking, work piling – basically unending. However, to me this perhaps is the best round up post for the year gone by that I can ever write. Today as it pours here in Mumbai, I decide to write about the sunshine this city bestows on me.
Mumbai has always been a blessing, for this is the city that I am not ashamed to admit that has made me who I am. It gave me the inspiration to pick up the pen when I had lost out on life. It gave me my first experience of death and how to deal with the loss of GM, a life which I still don’t know how I am coping up with. It pushed me to Hyderabad as if to renew the unspoken vows me and Mistah had committed to each other and we did, marvellously that too *touchwood*. Nobody can take that away from you Mumbai, that even in a lost sea of faces I assume my individuality the best when I am with you.
Mumbai has infact been like GM to me – soothing me, helping me philosophise, making me understand the bigger goals of my life, picking me up from dump and urging me to fly. Hyderabad, on the other dad is like Baba – showing me the brutal facts about my life on my face, with no pretences and then telling me with a firm face that there’s no running away and that I have to deal with it. Moments like those, just the way I have spoken to GM in my head, fought with her for leaving me without a warning, I have craved for Mumbai too. I remember going for the night drives on the ORR at Hyderabad near the airport (we used to jokingly call it going back to the Flintstones ers) – try to make myself believe I was at the beach that lined my old house in Mumbai. The effect though soothing, even in my dazed state I knew I was just trying to fool my own self.
Mumbai has always been the point from where I start again after I give up. To think of it I have no womb connect with this place, yet there’s that invisible foster hand that soothes me each time. I found Tamanna here and then when I had to let her go Mumbai showed me why I was not ready and how it was for the best. Now, after I am back in its own miraculous way it introduced me to PGCAI or in simple terms to the group that shall help me bring my little one home. Last week I had the first meeting with the founders of the group and it was such a wonderful one that before we knew we had spent 3 hours chatting as against our initial plan of a quick 30 minute coffee grab. The best is that I shall soon start working with a nearby adoption centre and so I have two years to have on hands experience and decide. Mumbai, does it yet again – where again will you have the option to try out mentorship and decide whether you are ready to be a parent.
Last year the pangs of separation were worse because of the discovery of Fibromyalgia and Degenerative Spine Disorder. (I don’t want to go in the details, my survivor story is up here) The worst was that I thought I had hit a dead end and would never bounce back. The only good thing that came of the fear was the fact that I worked my ass off at ISB and grabbed the ISB Award at the end of the year, a thing I feel I earned after tremendous hard work! However, inside I knew I was broken. Even when I came back here I felt that I would never give myself a fair chance in life again.
Mumba Devi smiled perhaps as I said this. Soon after I came here I met a wonderful lady who showed me what living with spirit is all about, a friend called in to say that Purple Pact can be registered, found another wonderful group and yes I found myself the best doctor ever! So were the rainy days over – nah! The pain stayed with me, the Salsa levels 3 and 4 remained a dream as I had to pull out and I became haunted by the thought of becoming obese (yet again!).
There’s something in the air here that refreshes me, there’s something about the Asian Koel that follows me ever since GM left, there’s something sweet about the salty lashes of the sea here that makes me never give up. So began yet another challenge of living with pain but defeating it. How could you let your dreams die, the city echoed. Yes, you cannot be cured but who said you cannot be healed, she reasoned.
True to that I took up yoga in my own feeble efforts, music therapy and color therapy. Found myself a healer, a darling one that too. Slowly, I began forgiving life for telling me NEVER for a lot of things. I read a lot, accepted my situation and started my own process of healing. I wouldn’t let the ghosts of the past affect me. Browsing through this post did make me sad and then this too – would they never come back I asked myself?
I made a pact with myself 2 months back that this post is an appreciation of that very pact. I am proud to say I can buy myself a McD sundae (that is the goal I set for every little promise I make to myself). After they threatened me surgery last year, made me give up everything I love – running, dancing, swimming, travelling, rolling in sand, I stepped in here, the city took one look at me and said “Woman you are not going to live in with me with that face!”
That was it, 2 months later here I am, with my research almost done for my next single title. Have my debut book paying me a good royalty *touchwood*, got a story in the Chicken Soup series, have a story lined up for a collector’s edition with the names of Javed Akhtar and Sashi Tharoor. The nonfiction manuscript of 700 pages is all set for print and shall hit the stands soon. NOW for the best part, after what seemed like ages am returning to the track – got my running permit for MUMBAI MARATHON 2013. I might not be a big deal for millions of others out there, but for me who wakes up with extreme muscle stiffness, who can’t bend beyond a point still, whose first step after a long sit down is still the most dreaded one, who courtesy fibro fog still throws the milk in the garbage and the empty carton back in the fridge and not to forget the excruciating pain, this means the world. Yes, I strongly feel that my resolve to always spread smiles, to surround myself with a job I love and to always count my strengths whenever life throws a cloud burst at me helped me. The lovely friends, the parents who know have taken up to research more about the condition and yes my back bone – my Mistah – can I ever thank them enough? No!
I miss GM today and her special name calling, can’t still mourn her for I know I have got her fiery spirit. Yes, but the time to rejoice is lined with restrictions. Needless to say the Mistah is freaked out and doesn’t approve of the decision to run, but then the man has a simple theory, do not give up because I do not approve, give up if you feel I make sense. So the pact is that I’ll keep doctor informed of every little discomfort, will NOT run if the training session is bad and yes even if I make it to the D day I will not run to win – if I feel after a while this is not for me, despite the preparation I’ll pull out stand by the stalls, hand out the others water and happily watch the parade.
This is my little sunshine on an otherwise cloud burst morning! Didn’t I tell you Mumbai rains always make me smile!
I know this is not a usual Mumbai Mondays post, but then Mumbai Mondays is all about Mumbai and me right, even Mumbai mush! 
<3
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Mumbai Mondays is all about seeing Mumbai and its surroundings through my eyes. It’s my take to introduce you to a city and its surroundings which I love, as I see it – alone and often with friends (we call ourselves the Mumbai Mad Caps). It’s a thread that goes live every Monday. I cover places randomly and welcome suggestions too. You can find more posts about Mumbai Mondays here.
Mumbai Mondays 16 – The ‘other’ face of Mumbai : Part III
The ‘other’ face of Mumbai is a multi-part series of all those places that though little spoken about, are (in)famous and form the integral part of Mumbai. The silence about these places to me seems like an attempt of the childish mind – that if not spoken they shall disappear. Sadly, the reality is different. Thus, when it exists I sought to explore it, in my own way. The other parts of the series can be read here and here.
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My heart was heavy after I left Kamathipura. I did not realize that such a short visit would leave such a huge impact on my mind. I questioned a lot of things including my own life and whether all that I was doing was really enough. I questioned the attitude we display when we discuss our surroundings - conveniently ignoring the existence of such treachery and gruesome life. A silent prayer I offered, I recalled a book I read in recent times called Karma and realized that all that we really read in fiction and be touched has happened somewhere, sometime.
The sudden ruffle on my road caught my attention and I was told that I had entered “Mutton Street” in Muslim Mumbai or more popularly known as Chor Bazaar. I have heard about Chor Bazaar ever since I had stepped my foot here, however the people around me refused to me there citing “safety” reasons. An extremely popular flea market that sets up stalls from 3 AM at night and sells mostly pirated and smuggled goods, is one of the most popular ones in India. From old Bollywood posters, to expensive vintage items you can find it all here. However, just in case lady luck is not too pleased with you, so shall go home to realise that your “steal buy” is fake and when you come back the next day to complain, the seller will be no where to be seen.
The market is on all days of the week, but follows a special timing during Fridays – the day of special prayers in Islam. Housed just behind a mosque , when the chants of Azaan fill the air, you feel as if you are on the streets of a Arabian land. Yes, the smell of biryani filling the air and flaring your nostrils, making your stomach rumble does add to the feeling.
Yes, it is the same story of flea markets all across the world. So, what sets it apart? For me, the stories surrounding it holds the charm.
The timeline says that this market has been in existence since 1840 and then owing to the noisy sellers it was known as “Shor Bazaar”
(the Noisy Market) . However, it was colloquially re-christened as Chor Bazaar courtesy the concocted British pronunciation of the original name and also the influx of stolen goods. Coming from a city which still houses the British influence to the core, this story seems very believable to me – however not exciting.
Is that all that that place holds, I asked Jitesh. He smiled at me. Already 2 hours into the tour, he had started to gauge my mind and habits when it came to discovering a nook and corner.
“There’s a legend here“, he said smiling, almost teasing me to beg him to tell me.
“And you are keeping that away from me?” I huffed, feigning anger.
Giving a child-like teasing smile he continued to tell me that the legend goes that if you ever lose anything in Mumbai (materialistic!) you can find it back in Chor Bazaar. Interesting concept right? Jitesh also informed me, that it follows a story of the Victorian times. It was said that when Queen Victoria landed in Mumbai, her violin went missing. She was very upset and thus the King set out his soldiers to recover it. The soldiers found the violin in this very market – thus the name Chor Bazaar stuck to it.
Seeing me smile at the recount of this episode Jitesh asked me to speak my mind. I told him that it reminded me of the lore that makes round about the “Queen’s Necklace” – the popular name to given to the Marine Drive stretch of Mumbai. It is said that while taking a walk down the Marine Drive Queen Victoria was pleasantly surprised and the fluttering lights across the bay left her speechless. That night it is believed that she asked the King for a necklace that would glitter just like the Marine Drive. The word spread and people started referring to the stretch as Queen’s Necklace.
I would have happily believed the two lore(s) and lived in glee if Jitesh did not point out the fact that Queen Victoria never visited Mumbai. I was shocked and taken aback, but when the library at the Asiatic society confirmed this fact, I realized the power of hearsay and that “Chinese Whispers” do make up good stories.
It was as if the heaven’s cracked up seeing my shocked face, as midst rain we moved towards Dhobi Ghat.
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Mumbai Mondays is all about seeing Mumbai and its surroundings through my eyes. It’s my take to introduce you to a city and its surroundings which I love, as I see it – alone and often with friends (we call ourselves the Mumbai Mad Caps). It’s a thread that goes live every Monday. I cover places randomly and welcome suggestions too. You can find more posts about Mumbai Mondays here.
Mumbai Mondays 15 – The 'other' face of Mumbai : Part II
The ‘other’ face of Mumbai is a multi-part series of all those places that though little spoken about, are (in)famous and form the integral part of Mumbai. The silence about these places to me seems like an attempt of the childish mind – that if not spoken they shall disappear. Sadly, the reality is different. Thus, when it exists I sought to explore it, in my own way. The first part of the series can be read here.
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As I started my journey with Realty Tours, all that played on my mind were the images of the slums that I had ‘Google’d’ or those glimpses which I had seen during my daily commutation to various parts of the city. However, I was surprised when my guide told me that we weren’t heading straight to Dharavi and instead I was in for some pleasant surprise.
This is how I was led to the city’s (in)famous red light area of Kamathipura, that houses the world’s oldest profession. According to the 1991 statistical figures of the Mumbai municipal corporation Kamathipura housed around 60,000 sex workers who did business everyday there, despite prostitution being clearly banned in the country as per laws. In 2001 the same body reported Kamathipura to have a sex worker population of around 8000. Smiles in the corner of the eyes are to be preserved, for a reduction in number no way meant that the sex workers had indeed diminished in numbers – research studies found just the opposite. There has been a radical growth of the business of prostitution over the decade and earlier what was localized to only Kamathipura, now spread all across Mumbai thus reducing the localized number count.
When asked I was informed that majority of the women who take up the profession are unwillingly at the start. They are often brought into Mumbai being lured with dreams of good jobs – a fat sum being paid to their parents as a gesture of assured employment which later converts into debt which they are asked to pay off the moment they are introduced to this profession. The other categories are those who are introduced to this profession as a hands down – unable to protect their kids from the vices that surround them mothers give into the pressures and introduce daughters as descendants to their own regime. Reluctant at first, fate catches up soon with them and the acceptance of it too and thus soon after these girls counsel the other new ones in whom they see a glimpse of their past.
I quote out of my story from A Calendar Too Crowded (Gaining a body to gain a mind) - “A prostitute is doubly penalized - first by being forced into a position where she cannot make her own choices and then by hounded by the State for being a prostitute”. I further wonder there through the voice of the protagonist as to, “Why should a prostitute be ashamed of what she does all her life, but the society is never ashamed of what is has done to her?”
I met up with one, who wondered out aloud why I was there. Whether I had goodies to offer her and whether I was looking for something (!) from her. She inquired about my salary without bashing an eyelid and despite me quoting a miniscule of my pay check, asked me what I did to earn so much? Taken aback I was, but then came to know that owing to the surge of prostitution the rates for a single encounter with flesh (passion doesn’t reside here) vary from as low as Rs. 50 to Rs. 3000. The figures vary depending on age, looks, ethnicity and yes the most obsessive of all criteria – young and virgin! If that disgusts you, let me tell you that young girls aged 9-10 years are the most coveted ones here and people are ready to shell out undisclosed figures to satisfy their pervert fantasies.
Law and regulatory protection did you ask? Ha, then let me tell you of a particular scene that I shall not forget, at least in this lifetime. A young girl barely 20 stood there breast-feeding her child, soliciting clients at a stone throw distance from the police station – all at 9 AM in the morning. The police there apparently are poised to protect the workers from atrocities in lieu of a commission fatter than the pimps. As for sticking to the laws, ah well they were never meant to be practical anyway. For in India ironically prostitution is not a crime, but soliciting clients is.
An anarchy we live I realized as I made my way to Dhobi Ghaat (the journey en route Chor Bazaar is for next week!)
From these windows a powdered face look down at me,
I searched for dreams and joy, but layers of masks are all I could see!
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Mumbai Mondays is all about seeing Mumbai and its surroundings through my eyes. It’s my take to introduce you to a city and its surroundings which I love, as I see it – alone and often with friends (we call ourselves the Mumbai Mad Caps). It’s a thread that goes live every Monday. I cover places randomly and welcome suggestions too. You can find more posts about Mumbai Mondays here.
Mumbai Mondays 14 – The 'other' face of Mumbai : Part I
Mumbai has always held fascinating memories for me. It has been the land of dreams, the land of strength and if I may say so the land where I feel I belong. The whiff of the sea from my old quaint little house in Worli, to the dance classes at Colaba, the karaoke nights at the Marine drive, the theatre evenings at NCPA, Mumbai teaches me how to live. However, is that all that makes up Mumbai? Not really, there’s Bollywood which doesn’t attract me, the page 3 parties where I don’t fit in, the certain kind of money-making snobbery which I can never catch up with and then there’s the dark side which we choose to be unaware of.
Abode to 1 mn people and spread of a square area of 1.75 kilometers Mumbai houses the world’s largest slum at Dharavi. It also gives shelter to one of the biggest sex worker zones in the country at Kamathipura. The open air laundry at Dhobighat near Mahalaxmi is the biggest of its kind in the World, yet lesser known. And then there’s the rooftop view that will not show you the Arabian sea kissing the Queen’s necklace, instead from there no matter where you see, all that shall be visible are tin roofs, and garbage dumps – Welcome to the other side of Mumbai.
The year 2008 saw us showcase to the world Slumdog Millionaire and this resulted in another feather being added to our hats – from being the land of snake charmers to being the land of slums. If I say this to a slum resident he would refute me outright by saying that slum tourism existed from much before 2008, in fact it has now almost been a decade that their children have been taught to keep at bay from the prying eyes of the white skinned and a few colored ones like me.
Accompanied by two friends and a guide I set out on Sunday to discover this face of Mumbai, the one that had heightened my curiosity for a long time now. It would indeed also be the most dreaded tour of my life that I was sure of, for while there was excitement of discovering a lot of new things I was skeptical about whether these tours actually contributed to the never-ending slum cycle across the country.
I chose Realty Tours and Travels as my preferred guide and it was a decision indeed well taken. My guide Jitesh was helping people tour slums and educating them about the true lifestyle out there for about 3 years now. Having grown up in a slum environment himself, when asked these tours were the only opportunity where he could show the world that slums though dingy, dirty and dark are not places that you should abhor. The people living there are just like you and me, constrained definitely, but they still live, work, grow families and harbor dreams. For Jitesh, there was an urge to show the world that kids from the slums too can make a mark and are not all about being dirty rag pickers – thus he decided to tell the story of his own home to visitors and hopes that one day Mumbai is known to be the land of strong people who can survive any adversity instead of being referred to as the preferred slum tourism destination.
Realty Tours shocked me when they said that out of the 40-50 people who sign up with them for these tours everyday, only 1% are Indians. Rest, travel from all across the world and stop here to have a glimpse of the reality Danny Boyle made famous.
This is the introduction to the multi part series of the ‘other side’ of Mumbai that I discovered on a lazy Sunday over 6 hours of travel.
Next week I give you the first hand glimpse of the (in)famous red light area – Kamathipura. For now, a glimpse of the backdrop I set out to study…
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Mumbai Mondays is all about seeing Mumbai and its surroundings through my eyes. It’s my take to introduce you to a city and its surroundings which I love, as I see it – alone and often with friends (we call ourselves the Mumbai Mad Caps). It’s a thread that goes live every Monday. I cover places randomly and welcome suggestions too. You can find more posts about Mumbai Mondays here.
Mumbai Mondays 13 – The "I am Back" post
I am a droplet of sweet water in your salty terrain,
I am the one you craved for in the rains,
I am the pair of eyes when you are lost in a crowd,
I am the bout of energy that makes you shout out aloud,
I guard the dreams in your eyes as my own,
I am the sky where in the clouds you have your wishes sown…
I am the laughter in a child, the guts of the young girl,
I am the buzz of Bollywood and the touch of the Western swirl…
I am there on a gloomy day whispering the words that you hate you hear,
I know for very well that they are all that you need to overcome your fear…
I say, Let the heartbreak come. For, no heartbreak is ever strong to break you down – I teach,
I let you embrace life, like a gush of wind, thus practising what I preach…
I am the early morning walk where you shall find the mosque greeting the temple,
I am the posh car who stops by to suddenly pick up the kids who often on busy roads fumble…
I am the auto ride where the driver makes you feel that he belongs to a different age,
I am the mind which holds lessons of dignity for all professions – now a lost page…
I show you the mirror, I teach you to dream, I help you discover the smile behind each sigh,
I say – You can check out anytime baby, but once here you can never leave for I am Mumbai
I have been dying to put this series up! Mumbai called me back in this Act II Scene II phase of life and I am elated! Mumbai Mad Caps had to be back too right? So many places I have visited in the past few weeks, so many things to write on. A chapter from an upcoming book, which fits in here perfectly, should I test waters?
All I can say is that I am glad to be back and couldn’t ask for more, for Mumbai you are the only one that can make my spirits soar!
My ‘partner in madness’ here we go again!
I am back again to your shore – I haven’t had enough of you Mumbai, I want more
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Mumbai Mondays is all about seeing Mumbai and its surroundings through my eyes. It’s my take to introduce you to a city and its surroundings which I love, as I see it – alone and often with friends (we call ourselves the Mumbai Mad Caps). It’s a thread that goes live every Monday. I cover places randomly and welcome suggestions too. You can find more posts about Mumbai Mondays here.
Dunno why, you surface again and again …
Dear Tamanna,
It feels like ages now that I am typing a post on you. Dunno why today of all days I chose you write this. It was a restless night the last one – you constantly peeking into my thoughts and asking me yet another set of questions, which made me curse Y and made M roll her eyes.
I am sure you remember me – yes I am confident on that, for I think nobody else has been so strict on you. Do you still visit A didi my baby? I think not, but I don’t blame A too, for I know how you have a way to get out of the things you don’t like.
Why this after so many months? Have I not missed you at all in these past 9 months?
Though it might seem that I haven’t, the truth lies deeper. In fact to be blatant I tried to forget you, cut off all ties, for somewhere while leaving I knew that I will not be able to do justice to you, for I wasn’t the formally adopted mother you see.
Then, why does life over and over again and again make you surface before me. Each talk of mentorship makes me go back to my struggle, to see a little girl scribble takes me back to your stubby fingers.
And you know the worst, when Y says he wants both of us to go to Mumbai and meet you, I freeze. Out of fear that he might just discover that I truly haven’t been the mother I promised to be!
The book, I say is my first born, does that mean that you were not my own? I wish I could make you read those pages, which you inspired me to write. The little girl whom I discovered through her drawings or the interpretation of the various ones lying strewn around. Remember that is how we broke the ice, playing the game of what the drawing says?
Today is Saraswati Puja, last year I craved to introduce this day to you, but then GM needed me more and this year you seem too far away to be a part of my stories.
But somewhere in the corner of the hearts, as the chants fill the air and I put my book at her feet, I also put an old school course book beside it, and mentally say your name.
Tammy, I may not have been all that I promised myself and Y to be, but I know that I had tried. Dunno why the questions and your face surfaces today, but the fact that you are always there whenever I discuss my highs and my lows shows how much you have touched my life.
Rants of a helpless confused and caught in between mentor-who-never-was-a-mother this is!
Bhalo Theko aar Sukhe Theko*,
Love
S
* – Be good and be happy
P.S: Uma need I say more?
Leaving on a Jetplane, but I know I'll be back again…
Yes, by this time it’s up here, I’ll be up flying away from this land which is more than my own. I belong here and the madness and the wisdom I know will pull me back. And yes, M too – the best thing that happened to me here!
Till then please Mumbai, be what you are and yes take care of my baby too! It kills me to leave you, but the irony is you teach me to live everyday!
