‘Train to Pakistan’ as a Postcolonial Novel

        A saying as personal as ‘one does not find faults in themself until someone else does’ holds great political relevance too. From the seeds of separation sown into the hearts of the indigenous people by those from the ‘Mother Country’, grew the enormous Indian tree of self-doubt and unease. In the midst of the obvious bias of most historical texts, the brutally frank narration of Indian novelist and journalist Khushwant Singh stands out. His acclaimed historical novel ‘Train to Pakistan’ paints the not-so-rosy picture of the events following India’s partition in 1947. Written with the precision and purpose of a survivor, this novel is chilling.

        The linguistic abrogation in the novel does not only make it relatable to its twenty first century readers but it also better highlights the mental state and notions of its various characters. Urdu origin words like ‘budmash’ (rogue), ‘zulum’ (injustice), ‘punkah’ (fan) and ‘shabash’ (well done) frequently occur during the course of the book. What is obvious is that the way to incite one’s enemy was either by making lewd remarks about their female relations or publicly making assumptions about each other’s potencies. This also serves as the source of some comic relief, especially if the altercation is between village rogues Jugga and Malli.

        The novel gives space and time for the unfolding of stories of some of its characters like the police inspector Hukum Chand, the mischief-maker Jugga Budmash and the ‘religion-less’, foreign return Iqbal whilst keeping with the description of the atrocities of the partition.

        Though set in the fictional town of Mano Majra, the events narrated in the book are real and typical to any other village in Punjab at the time. Setting the mood of the village is the common site of horse ridden tongas and the charpoys in the yards of houses. Most of the residents of the village are farmers with their hopes of a good harvest hung on the whimsical monsoon. Located at the banks of the river Jhelum, this village is prone to flooding and the only warning of an upcoming flood is the one issued by those on the river watch. The residents of this peaceful village are made aware of the time of the day by the periodic passage of the goods train through it. The humdrum affairs of Mano Majra are disrupted on the arrival of a trainload of corpses.

        The words of the mischievous Jugga, though added intending to add comic relief to the text, introduce the new age readers to the notions and mannerisms of their mid-twentieth century counterparts. He says, “There is no fun in marriage, Babuji. Where is the time or place for fun? In summer, everyone sleeps out in the open and all you can do is to slip away for a little while and get over with things before your relations miss you. In winter, men and women sleep separately. You have to pretend to answer the call of nature at the same time at night.”

        Not aware of the reasons and need for separation as well as independence, the villagers are indifferent to it. In the portrayal of their attitude towards the same, Khushwant Singh brings the plight of the native bourgeois to the forefront, thus proving to be one of the few writers with authentic description of the event. Dialogues like “(…) freedom is a good thing. But what will we get out of it? Educated people like you, Babu Sahib, will get the jobs the English had. Will we get more lands or more buffaloes?” strike a chord with the reader and give them something to ponder over. It talks about issues such as the benefits of colonization to certain sects of natives, namely, the educated and the compradors.

        A postcolonial perspective, though a study of the dominance of the coloniser and the resistance of the colonized, the hegemony of the colonisers is not obvious here. The author, instead, chooses to throw the limelight over the ambivalence of the aboriginals toward the partition and this emotion is the main protagonist of the novel. The book proves that colonialism still existed after the foreign colonisers were driven out. It insists that the concept of colonization is not limited to the universal idea of one nation colonising the other but that any group, society or individual exercising power on the other can be said to be a coloniser. At a time such as the partition, any individual with oratory skills is shown to be able to sway public opinion.

        At one point, a hot headed teenager from another village, who no one knows, is seen walking into the Mano Majra gurudwara and motivating his fellow Sikhs to brutally kill the Muslims leaving on trains to Pakistan, so that Pakistan too receives a trainload of corpses. He states, “Do you know how many trainloads of dead Sikhs and Hindus have come over? Do you know the massacres in Rawalpindi and Multan, Gujranwala and Shekhupura? What are you doing about it? You just eat and sleep and call yourselves Sikhs- the brave Sikhs! The martial class!” Such violence under the name of religion also goes to show that the blame of the massacre could not be placed on one group and that all were responsible.

        What is especially interesting to learn is the difficulty of the masses in getting used to the new life they had not much earlier hoped for. Fearing their own lives, the Sikhs of Mano Majra had driven all the Muslim occupants out. But near confessions like ‘(…) since the Muslims had gone, their deserted houses with doors swinging wide open had acquired an eerie, haunted look’ pull at the reader’s heartstrings.

        With its experimental language, eye for detail, surprising climax and unconventional protagonists, this novel is an eye opener. An enlightening read, ‘Train to Pakistan’ not just educates its readers but it also stays with them much after they have turned the last page.  Whether it is taken up by one in order to seek answers regarding the manner or reason of their ancestors’ deaths or by just someone looking for a great read, it informs them of the gore that has been caused in the history of India and somewhere in its subtext, pleads with the present generation to let history not repeat itself. A postcolonial writer writing about the immediate reaction of the colonised country to post colonialism, Khushwant Singh shoulders his responsibility well and sets the tone for other Indian postcolonial writers.

The Popularity of Masterchef Australia with the Indian Bourgeois

        George Bernard Shaw once said that there is no sincerer love than the love of food. One would not be in the wrong to go further and declare Indians as some of the truest examples of this love. ‘Indian’, being considered as one of the major cuisines of the world, is much appreciated. Humble food items such as the samosa, the idli, the pani puri and the gulab jamun have found themselves a spot on the international food map. This recognition of the novelty of these delicacies is not just evident on a worldwide scale, but its presence can be felt within the country as well. With the Indian acceptance of one another’s regional and communal disparities comes, gradually, the acceptance of another community’s food. Inquisitiveness, along with the love of food, drives within Indians an urge to know of new types of food forms from within as well as from outside the country. This can be evident from the increasing number of food shows, and more recently food channels, hitting the television.

        One such food show is MasterChef Australia, a competitive cooking game show produced by FremantleMedia Australia. Based in Australia, this show has an Indian fan base so large that it had two of the judges shoot a commercial just for this Indian audience. Here, one can hear them mouthing words such as ‘namaste’ and phrases like ‘bahot maza ayega’ (it will be fun). The judges are food critic Matt Preston, restaurateur and chef Gary Mehigan and chef George Calombaris, a rather jovial trio. The food prepared by the contestants is judged not just on the basis of taste, as Indians are used to, but also on the basis of texture and presentation. Comments such as ‘the meat is cooked rare’ or ‘the main component does not stand out in the clutter on the plate’ are met with fascination by this audience.

        Though a little baffled by the Australian accent, choice of food and vocabulary, Indian audiences are certainly not repulsed by it. Use of proteins such as kangaroo or rabbit meat though unimaginable to the mostly chicken and mutton eating mind, is intriguing. The omission of scripted dramatic scenarios aimed at increasing Television Rating Points is what sets this show apart from other shows of its kind. With contestants being shown releasing stress hormones only over the success of their dish, this is one of the few shows that restore one’s faith in reality television.

        While talking about the willing acceptance of the show in India, it is essential to mention the dress code of the contestants, judges and mentors on the show. The most common complaint that Indians have with most of the other countries is that its citizens dress provocatively. With the main focus of the show being culinary talent, the contestants, both male and female, are always seen donning a basic tee-shirt and pant attire. The only variation to the crisply ironed suit uniform of the judges is Matt Preston’s colourful neck scarves and visiting judge and host Anna Gare’s bright dresses. The mentors arrive mostly in their formal white uniforms. With the absence of bare skin and cleavage display, the show promptly finds itself a spot in the ‘Indian family programme’ slot.

        Another factor that captivates the Indian bourgeois is the unique Australian vocabulary and sense of humour. A refreshing breath of air amidst the American shows that dominate English channels in India, this show stands out. The camaraderie of the contestants despite the tough competition for the ‘MasterChef’ title appeals to the soft Indian intellect that has been trained to dance to the tunes of the romanticism of Bollywood. What is also evident is the inspiration one gets to try out new recipes after watching the show. Watching even kids executing complicated recipes such as those of cakes and cupcakes convinces the ever experimental Indian middle class citizen to not shy away from doing the same. The general social and political response of this category to globalization has been welcoming and this also proves to be beneficial as far as accepting foreign food items goes.

        One sees on this show men and women cooking with equal gusto. This as a concept is new to the country where the reigns of the kitchen are singlehandedly pulled by a woman, whether it is the mother, the wife or the maid. What is also inevitable is the passion for food amongst the contestants. An electrician by profession is seen just as able to produce before the judges a remarkable dish as a lawyer or a student. This desire of pleasing one with their cooking prowess rings a bell with the country for which food has been the conversation starter and ice breaker for centuries.

        The grandeur on which the show is conducted leaves its Indian audience lusting and sub-consciously comparing its extravagance to its Indian counter-part which is nowhere close to the same. The time and resources put into the show’s being as well as the meticulous eye for detail is obvious. Special mention needs to be given to the set designers for putting up such a commendable set as well as the producers for making the use of such an infrastructure such the contestants on the show do, possible. What is also endearing is the approachable and non-celebrity air maintained by the judges, unlike the ones on most competitive shows. The role of mentoring and guiding the contestants played by them is vital, with their inputs being important value add-ons and not just comments for the sake of keeping with the show’s format.

        The absence of unnecessary movie pre-release promotions like Indian and American reality shows is obvious and the only notable guests invited are from the cooking circuit from Australia and abroad. The time of the day during which the show is aired in India is the comfortable time-slot of 9-10 pm, when most families scout channels for some refreshing dinner or post-dinner time television. The quick succession with which all the seasons were aired in India only helped in hooking Indian fans further to the show.

        Speaking about aesthetically arranged food, footballer Andy Rooney once said, “I don’t like food that is too carefully arranged. It makes me think that the chef is spending too much time arranging and not enough time cooking. If I wanted a picture, I’d buy a painting.” Like him, there are inevitably few people who aren’t fans of what the show offers. But its number of fans is by large more than its number of critics. Cooking maestro and TV personality Jamie Oliver believes that there is always something new and amazing to learn when it comes to cooking and the show’s Indian fans wouldn’t disagree.

        Whether it is an invention test, a mystery box challenge, an immunity test or just the contestants toasting and dining with the judges at the end of the day, the viewers find themselves going through the same emotional roller coaster as the participants. As per American journalist Dorothy Day’s saying ‘food for the body is not enough, there must be food for the soul’, this show offers its viewers just that. Watching the show, an Indian merely looks forward to the day when ‘curry’ is appreciated not just as a food item amongst other Australian foods on menu cards but also as an individual amongst the population of the country.

100 Years of Indian Cinema- My Take

Slovene philosopher Slavoj Žižek has very rightly called cinema the ‘ultimate art’ saying ‘it doesn’t give you what you desire, it tells you how to desire’.  Indian cinema, born in 1913, has been doing just that to its faithful audience for a century now. Introduced in India by Dadasaheb Phalke, the motion picture has not just survived the tests of time and Indian cultural differences but also emerged as a victorious hero admired all over the globe.

Indian cinema has come a long way from the era of silent films spearheaded by ‘Raja Harishchandra’ to its present day alter-ego.  While an upgrade in technology has introduced better light, sound and visual effects, an upgrade in mindset has introduced actual, boldly clad (or unclad) women rightly playing female characters.

But not all aspects of film-making can be said to have changed for the better. As decades passed by, the themes on which movies were made, changed. Romance started to take the place of religion in movies and while comedy was present in Indian cinema right from its inception, comedy film makers started to take themselves less seriously, an act that would probably be frowned upon by the puritans of Indian cinema.

The age old Indian school of thought not only condemned professions in performing arts as taboo and meant for impotents, but also did not allow female participation in the few displays that were put up. The people, a few years later, more open-minded than now, did walk the path less treaded by accepting women on stage indulging in regional folk dances, but the stigma of prostitution was attached to such women. The truth behind this accusation cannot be easily discovered after three-fourths of a century. The evolution of women in cinema is interesting under such circumstances.

The whole country was left in a frenzy following Raja Harishchandra. By 1920 the film scenario in Madras looked promising with Raghupathi Venkaiah Naidu, S. S. Vasan and A. V. Meiyappan setting up production houses for Tamil and Telugu films to be shot here. The many cultural differences in India make it difficult for audiences all over the country to understand, enjoy and relate to cinema of just one particular language. When the Ardeshir Irani produced ‘Alam Ara’ hit select theatres across the country, the naïve audience was drawn to the novelty of the talkie. Producers all over the country took cue to produce movies in their respective regional languages. This was the birth of the various brackets of cinemas produced within the political boundaries of India which exist even today and go on to cater audiences beyond these borders as well.

Music soon became an almost obvious part of Indian cinema with actors having to sing their own songs in the early half of the twentieth century. This trend changed over the years with the introduction of playback singers (and more specifically, Lata Mangeshkar) to Indian cinema.

The trends of films were, more often than not, affected by the socio-political scenario of the nation. Movies on patriotism started to be made in the mid-forties to instill a sense of brotherhood and generate public opinion among the masses, for as American film director Martin Scorsese has said, ‘cinema is a matter of what’s in the frame and what’s out.’ During this period Indian cinema did not just speak out against oppression and exploitation against the Whites, but also reached puberty of sorts with Ashok Kumar’s ‘Kismet’ in 1945. With Kismet, audiences got a first glance of an anti-hero and openly accepted the topic of unmarried pregnancy that the film discussed. The movie went on to be one of the biggest hits in the history of Indian cinema.

This period could be referred to as the Golden Age of Indian cinema as it gave birth to film-makers such as V. Shantaram, Bimal Roy, Raj Kapoor and Mehboob Khan followed by Satyajit Ray, Ritwik Ghatak, Guru Dutt, K. Asif, K. V. Reddy L. V. Prasad and Ramu Kariat. Meanwhile, French film critic and theorist Andre Bazin’s saying ‘the cinema substitutes for our gaze a world more in harmony with our desires’ can be proven right by the well-built Tamil and Telugu actors playing larger than life characters. These actors include N. T. Rana Rao, M. G. Ramachandran, Sivaji Ganesan, Raj Kumar, Prem Nazir and later, Rajnikanth, Kamal Haasan, Manmooty, Mohanlal, Chiranjeevi and Balkrishna.

In the following decades, the film market was completely taken over by the angry young man Amitabh Bachchan and his ‘masala films’ such as ‘Sholay’, ‘Zanjeer’ and ‘Deewar’. Rightfully called a superhero, he showcased an array of facets of his personality, sometimes playing an action hero, sometimes an ill-fated drunkard, sometimes a wronged coolie and sometimes, even a soft-hearted romantic. What was inevitable about Amitabh Bacchan movies were the desirable female actors who worked alongside him, right from the sultry Rekha and Zeenat Aman to the innocent looking Jaya Bahaduri.

Male actors such as Dev Anand, Rajesh Khanna, Jitendra and Dharmender and female actors such as Savitri, Vyjayanti Mala, Nargis, Waheeda Rehman and Sharmila Tagore found a strong audience in the young and the restless. The Smita Patil- Shabana Azmi duo was much coveted by film-makers. The heart-warming comedy of Sridevi and Hema Malini was a refreshing breath of air too. It would be safe to say that was an era of the women as it is also when woman film-makers such as Vijaya Mehra, Aparna Sen, Sai Paranjpye, Kalpana Lajmi, Prema Karanth and Meera Nair came into the limelight.

The nineties was a Renaissance of sorts of Indian cinema with movies without an educative moral and purely meant for entertainment, were made. This was not the set norm. Sanjay Dutt and Govinda co-starred in many a comedy movies together and so did Salman Khan and Karisma Kapoor. The fame of Shah Rukh Khan, Aamir Khan, Madhuri Dixit and Kajol saw an upward trend too.

With six-packs, bikinis and cleavages being all over cinemas in the twenty-first century, there is a notable rise in the demand for gyms and over-all increased health and physique awareness. Whether it is Vidya Balan spearheading the causes, needs and desires of women in her films or Anurag Kashyap, Vikramaditya Motawane, Imtiaz Ali, Karan Johar or Raj Kumar Hirani bringing new topics to be discussed through their films, Indian cinema, like always, continues to give its audiences a thing or two to ponder over. Indian audiences are witnessing for the first time, animation and 3D in films.

While more has changed in Indian cinema than we know, much is still retained itself such as its entertainment value, large audience and the Kapoor family. Now looking as steady as ever, Indian cinema is nowhere close to fading into oblivion and it marches on, typically, bolder than the times.

Scars

Scars, I say, are like people in that they come in every imaginable shape, size, colour and position on one's body (sorry, I just had to)! There's no questioning that. The question to be asked here however is, are they aesthetic at all? On one hand are those who run to the open gates of plastic surgeons to get their scars less pronounced, and on the other hand are those who have it in them to pull a ‘Tina Fey’.

 A couple of months ago I left the hospital with a rather prominent scar on my neck. A neck scar is one thing that I have in common with Elizabeth Taylor and Catherine Zeta Jones, the other thing being our flawless beauty, of course. Now how I ended up with it is an entirely different (and important) question to answer which I can write a book! While I have lots to say about the history of my scar, I find myself at a loss of words when I think of its future. Certain questions regarding it, of which I am both the addressee as well as the addressed, are brought to the limelight every time I face a mirror. These questions being ‘am I going to keep it’, ‘am I going to get rid of it’ or ‘am I going to fidget with the scar enough to let it be visible but not let it seem like I have a problem with it’!

 My other prominent scar is the one I got done intentionally. A tattoo is what I am talking about here and not some evidence of masochism. This tattoo, on my right arm, reads ‘fortitude’ and means courage in adversity. They say your scars tell your story. Sure, together mine tell a wonderful story too. But whether or not I want to let these scars do all the talking, I remain unsure of.

Men

They are inevitable and they are everywhere. It doesn't matter what your job or designation is. You run into them on railway platforms, in queues for payment of bills and sometimes, by mistake, they enter the ladies' washroom at work while sunken in deep thought, before running out abashedly. Men. The ultimate specimens of confusion, humour, annoyance, but mainly, of juxtaposition. True to every top notch product in the market, they are available in various different sizes, shapes and colours. Agreed, objectifying men is wrong. That is one right they hold over us ladies. The point that I’m trying to drive home here is, hate them or love them, but you cannot ignore them. The following are examples of some specific categories of men that I have come across in my almost two decade long existence on this planet.

The Brother from another Mother:

You’re 10 years old and he is the new kid in school. He was rocking the ‘silky smooth hair swept across the forehead’ look years before the Biebs. You are instantly drawn to him. Your girlfriends convince you he’s your first crush, but the voice in your head says otherwise. On Raksha Bandhan day, your art teacher tells boys to draw the sketch of a girl from the class they would like to be their sister and vice versa. You draw unflattering caricatures of one another and thus your story begins. Over the years, he calls you names, teases you to death with boys you don’t even like. He kicks you from under the table in tuition just to distract you as it’s your chance to answer the question. He argues the Bhaji Pav stall owner gave you more Bhajis in your Pav out of partiality and snatches the one in your hand, replacing it with the one that was originally given to him. Years after school too he feels it important that you meet his girlfriend. He updates you on his life from time to time. Looking back, you think of yourself as a fool for complaining you didn’t have a brother (sibling or cousin) close to you in age, relation or distance. You were wrong because you had one all along. It’s just that he was from another mother.

The Resident Heartbreaker:

There’s one of those in every co-ed school. And what too seems to be the set norm is the fact that when you proudly show a picture of him to your girlfriends from other schools, they don’t think he has a morsel of cuteness in him. But that doesn’t matter. In your school, he’s the ultimate jock. He gets given the role of the King in every play every year while others give in to their fate and stand with mount board cut outs of trees and mountains year after year. The other boys refer to him as their future brother-in-law because they are convinced the closest relation they themselves can have with the girls is that of a brother and sister and this jock is going to end up marrying either one girl or the other from class. No, he is not haughty or imposing. But give it some time and another half a dozen girls and he’ll get there. Dating him was kind of a Right of Passage and if you missed out on the opportunity, something terrible is going to happen with you in your future life to come. Now you know why your chappal broke while crossing the road at Linking Road yesterday.

The Man of Your Dreams:

He is the said Resident Heartbreaker’s buddy and you know in your heart that he is a better looker too, but you’re too scared to say it loud in front of the girls. That doesn’t mean you can’t dream about him. Dimples intact and mischievous grin at the ready, you dream of playing tic-tac-toe with this unconventional hero or pray that the paper plane he makes and throws around lands at your desk. Years after school ends too you get juvenile dreams of which he is the centre. Today you may not exactly be in touch with him, but you can without doubt call him a good friend whilst keeping constant tabs on his love life via the internet.

The Rich Spoilt Brat:

This one is a hero in the true sense of the word. He has learned to drive before he’s even of legal age and but of course, drives himself to college. “Oh my God, he was talking about Pokemon in the lab today. How cuutteee,” you hear girls squeak on campus. Everyone knows his name and some girls even know the number on his car plate by heart. He is in the constant company of rugged and sometimes, shady men. If you are a girl who hangs out with him and one of these shady men get too close for comfort, he steps in and like a true knight in shining armour, he saves the day. He is scared of no one. Except his grandmother.

Ode to a Toad:

He is the one you made the mistake of going on a date with. He asks you what you like to talk about so that he could talk to you about that. Everything that comes out of his mouth seems rehearsed in front of a mirror not less than twenty times. In his defence, he hasn’t noticed the awkward silence. So how can we expect him to cover it up? He’s clearly a virgin with silverware and you casually offer to eat the pizza by hand and he gives a disgusted expression that is so strong that you regret saying anything at all. You notice his hands are a little small as compared to his body. But that’s beside the point. The date is coming to an end and he calls for one sizzling brownie with vanilla ice-cream. “Won’t you have one as well?” you ask. To this he replies saying you’re going to share one. SHARE a sizzling brownie? I can have one entirely on my own! Heck, I could have TWO on my own. But for now you just want to pore the one that comes on his head.

The Social Nitwit:

You are really flattered that this one guy at college or work is talking to you for quite a while. He may comment on each of your Facebook activities and you sense something brewing here. But a deeper look may reveal he shares the same level of compatibility with many other girls as well. Now if there is anything at all that I have learned from a chick flick and taken seriously, it is a quote from the movie ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’. Justin Long’s character Alex says, “If a guy wants to be with a girl, he will make it happen no matter what.” Play the same game he is playing and keep your options open.

The One with Suppressed Chivalry:

This category may include even those men who we do not know. There are some men who will let you enter the lift first and act as though they would have to enter after you anyway as they were standing away from the lift. Then there are those who are nice enough to let a woman driver cut them in line at the petrol pump. But they make it look like they weren’t paying attention when they were told to move ahead. THIS category of men, I personally don’t get. What they want to prove by these ambiguous mannerisms is yet to be deciphered. To them I’ll say just this- Chivalry is a good thing, sillies! Why hide it?

And finally… The ONE:

He will come.

Bandra Bandar

They say you don’t realize the value of something till that thing is taken away from you. You realize what a big of a deal it is only when you look at it as an audience. I couldn’t agree more.

Born and brought up here, as a school-going girl, Bandra was the perimeters of my movement. Having then lived here for fifteen years of my life, I was unaware of the hype that surrounded the 'Queen of the Suburbs', something I only recently learnt it was called. Only when I spent a year away from it did I realize what everyone had been fussing about. Now, two years after my ‘Back to Bandra’ movement, I wonder why I was chosen to live where I live, over the million others who would like to take up my home, if put for sale, only too willingly.

Eighteen and jobless (when I say ‘jobless’, I mean ‘activity-less’), I am a most boring Bandraite. I come to know of any event happening at Bandra-Kurla Complex only when I see flashy lights put up on the big grounds from my window. A few years ago I came to know THE Raj Kumar Hirani had moved in my society only when I saw Boman Irani drive in (my claim to fame being we shared a house-help with the Hiranis)! So I’m not the stereotypical ‘Sandra from Bandra’ one would expect a girl living here all her life to be.

Now let’s talk about all that hides behind the glitterati, or ‘Behind the Veneer’, as I say. Let’s talk about the thermocol-eating beggar-child on Carter Road or the English-speaking, burkha-clad other one in its by-lanes. Let’s talk about the sprawling slums behind the Sea Link and let’s talk about the illegitimately built buildings housing Government officials.

Bandra is far from the Utopia it is thought to be. And as a citizen of this suburb (as opposed to an audience to it), these are the things I know form the under-layer that is conveniently hidden and neglected. One can say they understand the true essence of this suburb only when Shah Rukh Khan’s ‘Mannat’ on one side of Bandstand and the vulnerable huts of fishermen and beggars on its other side attract their attention equally.

Something needs to be done to bridge this gap. Then again, one might say someone who has the potential to make this happen must be found. But you really need just one person to start a revolution (a moment to salute Anna Hazare for his recent victory). It could be the vexed wife of a celebrity living here whose house-helps didn’t come to work one day because their houses got burnt down by local goons as a political conspiracy or it could simply be someone who is ‘eighteen and jobless’!

I hope to witness a time when the picture one sees when they hold a magnifying glass towards Bandra is as beautiful as the one they would have seen had they held a rose-tinted glass towards it. ‘Bandar’, the word of which ‘Bandra’ is an adaptation, may mean ‘port’ in Persian. But we all know what it means in Hindi. And till the day comes when we accept what an epitome of paradox this suburb is and work towards diminishing these differences, that is exactly what we all are, Bandraite or not. We are fooling ourselves. We are Bandars.

Mr. Foreigner

Lonely corridor, interrupted sunlight,
Lonely girl, something troubling me inside.
I looked up and saw a stranger's face,
Mr. Foreigner smiling as though a best friend.

My heart did a round-off back hand spring,
My lips turned upwards into a smile.
Unfamiliar yet familiar he felt when he said 'Hey',
Mr. Foreigner didn't realize he just made my day.

Living in an age of calculated actions,
Pros and cons prevent acting on impulses.
Not saying 'hi' suddenly being in fashion,
Mr. Foreigner lifted a troubled girl's spirits.

I don't know who and from where he was,
As easily he disappeared as he had come.
In a five second long rendez-vous,
Mr. Foreigner I almost fell for you.