Munnabhai!!!

The Return of Munna bhai has the perfect “chemical locha” to rule the box office for quiet some time. Munna bhai with a Gandhian ideology is very good as an exercise to the eyes. Yogesh can now go to the theater instead of the beach for his everyday visual pleasure. All the models in Mumbai are cat walking at the petrol pumps and streets, boycotting the ongoing India Fashion Week. This feeling is accentuated if you are lucky to get a first row seat in the theater and have to exercise your neck through the three hours.

In his “Second innings” Munna gets into a “chemical locha” with Bapu. Probably at a time when he will be welcome wholehearted in the country. We will soon find ourself under the "Jahnvi" spell getting over the "Pareenita" spell. Watch for the “Latt” (String of hair falling over the eye; correct me with this description if I am wrong) the next time you take the streets in your town.

Worth the ride to the theater if one wants to just switch off continuous commentary of the brain and get into the GOOD MORNINGGGGGGG MUMBAiiiiiiii mode.
The movie is also certified by BOSCO MARTIN GONSALVES – The movie made us laugh so it’s a good movie.Picture courtest: www.bollywoodmantra.com

The trawlers are liberated!

As we celebrate our 60^th anniversary of independence… the fishing community is liberated form the annual fishing ban on the 15^th of August in GOA. The trawlers are ready to venture the sea and conquer the oceans! The Goan soul will be treated with fresh sea fish in a couple of days. The masts are high and the flags are up!

The Mystical Valley

The spell of the mystical valley haunts me everyday!

The people!!!
The place!!!
The landscape!!!
The village!!!
and finally The Apples!!!

Hi Charming!!!

Probably the best picture i have taken in the last two years.

Pleasures of Sangla

Having spent two days at the newly forming “Mall” of Sangla, arguing, abstracting, and analyzing it thoroughly, through the lenses of our newly acquired knowledge of “Urban Design”, Sorabh and I decided to explore that part of Sangla which according to ‘Rinku’ would change our perspective towards this place. Rinku was our virtual companion throughout the trip. Having a Perk or a Munch had become a must in Sangla without which the day was never complete, so we picked our ration of chocolates for the day and began our exploration. The three kilometers trek to Boning-Saring was a completely mesmerizing experience. Hidden amidst the greens of the valley was a whole different world of Flowers.

Flowers of all kinds, big and small, tiny and huge, in groups and single, all bright and colorful, leaving the traveler completely cheerful!

Role ON Role OFF!!!

Once upon a time in the dept. of urban design there was a lecturer called Vikas who lectured his students of a service started by “Konkan Railway Corporation” where the Truck traveled on the Railway Tracks.

This is Konkan Railway’s “Role ON Role OFF” Service.

Lovely Sunday morning, 5.30 a.m.

The previous day night Goblet of fire adventure was a bit boring. Harry’s special effects and the story in general was no where close to keeping me awake at 12am.

Thought my dream world would be more exciting, desperate to enter into it I shut the computer and within seconds I left this world behind. Must have traveled all the continents, seen at least one UFO and meet many beautiful young girls before I woke up to this lovely Sunday morning.

Mornings are best time for me. But today’s night was also special. Santa had come to my room and left a gift on my messy table. I felt like I was actually in a dream land.

Wrapped in a news paper was a small packet with a post it notes stuck on it, Hello dear Anup, A small gift… It took me a while to come out of my thought process and realize that the packet was actually for me and not something the girlies had forgotten the previous day night.

Gayu had been waiting the whole night sitting on the edge of my bed while I was with Harry, her enemy for the night I am sure. I dint even realize when she kept this packet on my table and left the room. Out of the packet popped out a lovely green frog.

Hey beautiful thank you very much. U made my day!!!

... people!!!

Every person in his or her life time undergoes a self imposed house arrest once in a while. I am presently undergoing this phase as I sit and “thesisize” day in and day out in my ten square meter white cell, provided to me by the SPA correction center in which I got my self enrolled. The cell is a comfortable one, a bed, huge cupboard for a single person, a computer to connect twenty four hours to the virtual world. Huge desks, piles of books, sheets of papers, some artifacts and a bull of the wall, a mirror, the fisherman – a perfect blend of science and art, and my dearest gift lay silent in their designated places. The continuously hissing cooler is the only talking companion, whose presence is felt every time the power cuts off. The computer does its duty rather well singing continuously. The transparent bottle which contains the life support fluid – WATER – seems to be always empty. The bottle is only cheater in the room which keeps drinking my energy drink while the others are doing their job meticulously. The sun rises and sets giving way to the moon in the darkness as life continuous indifferently.

In this indifferent setting three times in a day I treat myself religiously to the sight of people!!!

Twenty Meters of Pleasure!!!

The weather is absolutely mesmerizing outside. The rains are poring and the breeze is blowing. The trees are swaying and wires are waving. Vinu and I could just not resist ourselves and we ran outside of our rooms to the terrace of our “Form Ke Pathshala” - as Sorabh calls it - to get completely drenched in seconds. Soon we were in confrontation with the breeze which tore off our thin cotton shirts with ease. What a pleasure it was! I would never regret even loosing my most precious cotton in such a tussle. At the same moment when I was at heaven on the terrace of SPA hostel, a person on the street, with a bag full of vegetables was navigating desperately through the sea of parked cars on the footpath. He was trying to find a place to protect him form the breeze, dust and rains. Being on the footpath with the compound wall twice his height on one side, negotiating innumerable hurdles of parked cars, potted plants and garbage bins would have been like being in hell for him at this moment.

So inhuman we have become in the name of security I thought. Our design of just a twenty meter long compound wall of each house along the street had created hundreds of meters of hell for this person walking on the street in this beautiful weather.

How difficult would it be to convert these twenty meters of individually created hells into twenty meters of pleasure?

What if the wall had a tree having a sheltering canopy, instead of an exotic species, under which one could momentarily feel protected from the sun and the rain. A small niche or a bench carved out in the same wall where one could take a momentarily pause. The Entry gate recessed, with a few flowering plants with fragrance, forming a canopy over the entry giving instant relief to the person standing outside till he is welcomed in the house. Neatly parked BMW’s and Lancers and the entire exotic cars one could dream, framed within the plot freeing the footpath.

It would be a different experience to have uncles and aunties on their morning walks plucking flowers planted along the compound wall for their morning puja, greeting the owner in gratitude. School kids sitting on the bench built in the compound waiting for the rickshaw to come. Girlfriends waiting for their boyfriends under the corner tree their favorite landmark.

In today’s rapidly changing world if the vegetable vendors and doodwalas have gone, the courier person, the delivery boy, and the internet service provider have come. At least one of them visits us every day.

A hundred architects, engineers, and contractors can create two thousand meters of pleasure for all of us. That’s a whole two kilometers. Can we take responsibility to create these pleasures? Could this be a new urban experience which allows us to enjoy the rains, the sun and the breeze whenever it comes in whatever situation?

Tracing the Lion

The guy goes… Hi Tambdi (the sound echoing in the room)!!! Drops his khaki sack on the table and shouts… “Rama ek chai dena yar”. These are among the few words this “South Indian” can speak to perfection. Florescent and what ever color one can imagine after that is what he wears. In shorts all the time, feeling the breeze on his muscular legs and riding a bike in style is how he makes his appearance. Always accompanying is a gadget just about a foot long, with which to captures whatever strikes the mind. While on mission exploration this “Terrorist” is draped with key chains, earphones wires, Discman, mobile, and all hanging and dangling gadgets one can imagine, resembling a perfect human bomb. For this techno savvy anything that is not made in India is made in France, for that’s where he would love to be if not in India.

A charmer to perfection, he would be for you before you uttered it to him. The Man females would die to be with. Lovers are who he loves, to the extent that he would make Parks for them. A laugh and not a smile is what you get form him always. While a pizza from Domino’s is what he relishes the most, Wada pao and kapa pao is what he nourishes on, the most. Printing is his passion; he tames “the Screen” to perfection, and the sun is the identity with which he signs his creations.I first met Arima – The Lion, nine years ago at the college of architecture, and since then I have been enjoying every moment sent with him. Arima began his architectural practice in Pondichery soon after completion of his course in Goa. Welding staircases, sandwiching saris between sheets of plastic, augmenting funds and arranging for constructions, is how he began his work.

Firdaus’s Ari…, Tambdi’s Kali…, Sonia’s Areemaaa..., Dionne’s Charisma…, for all of us The Architect, is today a part of Mancini Enterprises Pvt. Ltd. and spells his name as J Thamizharima – The Tamil Lion. The first article of the firm’s work was published a few days back in the Economic Times of India. Arima is thrilled with this accomplishment and why shouldn’t he be. It has been a benchmark achieved within no time. The work speaks for itself and needs no explanations.

The Conqueror of creation is on the move; the lion has begun his Rule!!!

Mai zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya…

Comesum was the buzz word of the evening. Suppressing my ego having denied to eat at EGO I joined the white and pink flowers of the night for a dinner at the railway station. Being a small towner railway stations are places I rarely associate with. My association with the station is limited to a few visits in a year. The visits are mostly for receiving or being received by someone. But this evening at the Nizamuddin station had to be different.

The sodium vapor lamps lining the roads were brining bright, the young entrepreneurs of various kinds were winding their shops after the days work. The screams of the taxies and rickshaws had ceased and they were now resting along the road in a disciplined manner. A few were still screaming with a gesture more of a social service then an intention to make some fast money. The men in red were few. Their beige piece of cloth usually covering the heads or hanging on the shoulders was now below their backs. The station was undergoing rejuvenation. Screened itself in shyness with metal sheets, to change into a new avtar, was the otherwise extrovert station building. A silence, unusual of a railways station, prevailed everywhere. Juxtaposed against this setting was a whole different world.

Comesum was brightly lit with hundreds of yellow and white lights, another set of young entrepreneurs were at work here. A giant air filled moving doll, scared more tiny creatures then it entertained. The Charlie teased the older and welcomed the younger. While the evening beauties got their hands stained the more enthusiastic got their face framed. A young band played live at another level. The artist in red sung with a flair. Requests were being made and songs were being played. What a contrast it was.

While the songs continued my eyes were fixed on a Black family. Black only because they were all dressed in black. The three of them were seating on a table placed against a silver clad column. I could only see their backs, but it did not really matter. Some strange kind of affection among them had drawn my attention. While in conversation they were enjoying the live music over dinner. The boy in his mid twenties leaned forward to listen to what The Gray Haired Man had to whisper in his ears. With a nod of his head he called upon the lead singer and requested for a song to be played on behalf of the old Man for his Lady. The band gathered in a huddle discussed the song among them self and the Red Indian singer of the evening holding the microphone began with style: Mai jindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya…

The song was to be a gesture of the life they had experienced and the three were enjoying it thoroughly. I was mesmerized by the choice of the song. The aura of it was so powerful that it made the ordinary evening an extra ordinary experience.

Dada’s Adda

The corner in Dada’s house has a simple book rack fixed on a wall. Made of just over half a foot wide planks nailed firmly together, the square book rack mounted at the level of a window sill is as tall as a child in his early teens. The books well arranged according to their size are placed above an old newspaper on each shelf. Most of them are dressed in translucent clothing made of plastic, the rest are dressed in brown with their names on the side. They are of all kind no racism or classicism here. Right from Sunil Gavaskar’s “Sunny Days” to The Nancy and the Hardy. Tin-tin, Archie, Panchatantra and Chandoba, they all are here. Nani Palkhivala sits in one corner with “We the Nation” while Tukaram finds place for him in the other, in between is all the grammar, prose and the encyclopedia. While the science tricks them all the art challenges the science. There is all the drama and the mellow-drama. On the wall adjacent to this “installation” is another installation. A simple shelve is mounted here on which are the Gods, some “framed” the others breathing free, and a lamp which sometimes burns and at times not. This is the adda where I have spent hours and hours of my life.

Getting to this Adda is never easy though, Dada my uncle lived right next to my grannies house. Every time I go there, my first visit to dada’s house during my period of stay is always a mental trauma. I am scared of my first encounter with him but he is the one I am so madly waiting to meet. And always half of the time is spent in deciding what would be the best time to reoccupy my adda in the house.

Dada’s house has a long veranda on the ground floor with plants forming its railing on one side and two long backless benches placed against the wall on the other. On this wall are windows closed most of the time or have curtains drawn on them. In the center is a dark brown door, which is like a “Buland Darvaza” of a fortress which I have to break open. Ringing the bell I wait for the doors to be opened. Inside is the living room where I feel no one lives. It has a few sofas and a television, a fan mounted on the ceiling made in wood. The sudden transition form the bright tropical outdoors to the indoors makes this room perceived even darker. I briskly cross the room making no gestures of helloing anyone there at all towards the stairs hidden behind the door. The single flight of steps with the risers as high as the treads have red cement flooring on it. The flight of steps just about three feet wide is enclosed by walls on all sides. Ascending these steps is like a journey to light. I love this transition.

Having walked up the steps, a door -always open - takes me to the true family space. In this space is my adda in a corner. This long room is placed exactly above the spaces I dared to cross. The ceiling on which the fan was mounted is the flooring on which I walk now. The wall in front has a series of doors opening on to a long balcony which brings in soothing defused light. On the right are three beds arranged in a “C” formation. Behind the bed is a desk with a music set and drawers filled with all type of music. The walls have posters and exercising equipments and everything you want to have. Every person occupying this room has personalized his own space. On the right are two cane chairs and stools with a low table in the center. Sitting here I gaze at the book rack. Deciding who I should play with today or just watch them conversing among themselves. From one of the doors emerges Dada. I am not at all scared of him now and we continue talking mostly silent for hours and hours. Dada goes on with has witty jokes in between and I keep listening.

The corner books shop at Barista I find too open. The People tree book store resembles more of this place. Is there any learning for us here?

In the Ice Land…

Considering that I am an Aries, with fire as the ruling element, my affinity to ice and water is no wonder. Opposites attract after all. This could be one of the remotest reasons for my strange attraction to ice and water every time I see it. My intimate relation with ice began while I was as young as 5. Summers are the best time for me. All the kids have holiday then and I go on my month long vacation to Cacora (not any longer though). When there I anxiously wait for anyone in the house to come and take to my favorite place. All sorts of acting skills acquired over time come to play in this mission. Convincing someone or the other I finally board the two-wheeler in style and begin my journey to heaven on earth. Crossing the railway line watching at the heaps of iron ore at the station on my right, we take an immediate sharp left to enter a tunnel like space with a never ending 5 meters high wall on one side and the railway fence, double my height, on the other. I hear the sound of the falling waters. A tiny door on this wall opens onto a huge volume – my grandfather’s ice factory.Inside the factory its all cool… on my right is water waiting to get transformed into ice. On my left is the heap of ice slowly transforming back into water. In the center is the magic chamber, filled with salt waters and a maze of gas filled tubes, half submerged below ground where water is transformed into ice. The large volume is negotiated through a series of levels on the floor plane. While I love the levels my grandfather hates them for he has to climb them up and down hundreds of time in a day. This is the public area of the factory. “I” sell ice here. Crossing this space climbing up and down five steps are where the giants sit. These giant machines maintain the magic chamber. On the right in this space is the cooling tower which makes the falling waters sound. And in the center are three chairs and a small table. One of the chairs is for me. Here as a child I have learnt my first lessons of accounts, management and marketing. Dividing a single ice block into half, one forth, one eight, and one sixteenth, and the price in the same manner. Discounting for regular customers and overcharging the unique.

An overnight stay in this Iceland is an experience in itself. Early in the morning while the sun is half asleep the ice-cream man is in full action. 4 or 5 of them sit in front of the magic chamber and begin the final stage in the process of preparing the ice-cream which had begun the previous night. Having brushed my teeth I wait anxiously to have the first ice-cream of the day which obviously I get for free. Just outside the tiny door is the ice crusher which crushes the ice blocks bringing snowfall in summers in this tropical place. This activity is well synchronized with the arrival of the fishing trawlers kilometers away and takes place even before sunrise.

By 7 in the morning all the drama is over and I come back home for my coffee after the ice cream. The ice factory is now closed. My Grandfather had leased the factory and the lease is over. When I last saw it the roof was collapsing. A Mall or a theater in Curchorem might soon replace it who knows, to create a new drama and a new experience. But for me this will always be my ice land and that’s the reason Sonal why for me laying on the heap of ice after a jog placed outside the hostel compound is more exciting then any thing else.

Sandeep’s Panorama

The short cut to Cacora from Madgaon passing through Chandor is beautiful. A panoramic shot taken from one of the turns on this road would be the gift for Sandeep I thought. Sandeep is still waiting for a copy of the picture below.

Every time I go to meet Sonia or Laxmi I take this road. Beautiful people live around beautiful places. Having crossed the narrow alleys of Madgaon, passed by the Arlem factory, marked by the gaze of the passer by on the Plastic waste sculpture in the making by the people of Madgaon this short road begins. The road makes its way through meadows and pasturelands. Dotted on it are places of human creation.

A chapel rises on a small mount. It has a boat with a tall mast mounted on a pedestal in front of it, may be symbolizing the fishing community. In the monsoons I cross the drains and the swales listening to the music of water and treating my self to the spectacular view of the lake filled with lotus and lilies. Just next to it are the mining trucks getting themselves cleaned for the next days work. Then comes the railway crossing and the old city of Chandrapur today’s Chandor, filled with houses built literally over centuries. They are hybrids in true sense with layers and layers of history manifested in their creation. Kevin Lynch would be happy to come to this place as for once he has not been lynched. Then comes Cacora which welcomes me with a shower of iron ore dust. Passing through this shower I halt at my grannies house next to the temple, waiting to go back after having met Laxmi and Sonia. The place is fast changing. What Sandeep sees today and what I experience now is not what it would be ten years after. The seeds of urbanism have been sown. The road is in the making.

Ian McHarg wrote in his book Design with Nature, “…when cities are built upon beautiful, dramatic or rich sites, their excellence results from the preservation, exploitation and enhancement rather than obliteration of this genius of the site. Where there lacks intrinsic drama excellence can be created by buildings and spaces. When a city contains such excellent creations, then these enter the inventory of values, the genius loci.” What the urbanity would be like is for us to decide (or not to decide), for it is our urbanism after all. One day some of us would be making beautiful buildings in this place. How many more entries can we add to the inventory of values would be our test. In the mean while Sandeep can make a choice of whether he wants the picture now or after ten more years… ha ha.

The Cricket Craze

Seated in the library of the archi block of SPA I was trying hard to concentrate on the book in hand. An amazing book, titled townscape was today putting me off to sleep. Probably I over ate the Greenpeace pulao and raita for lunch. While I was about to go for an afternoon siesta on the dining table the librarian announced "shayad ek wicket gir gaya". With an astonished look I wondered how he knew that, only to realize that one could clearly hear the roars and the Mexican waves of the Indian supporters at the Firozshah Kothla ground - the venue for the first India v/s England one day - which I wanted to watch desperately. Since then my ear muscles were constantly strained only to catch the slightest variation in the decibel levels in the air from which I could guess the match position. With the book in the hand I was imagining being inside the stadium lost among the thousands cheering and screaming to glory. The thought was relieving and this situation continued for an hour till the librarian announced once again "shayad India jeet gaya". On that note I left the library and managed to get a bus instantly that would take me straight to my hostel room where I could check the detailed score card over the internet. I entered the first hostel gate which is a longer route but I enjoy walking that path since it takes me through the residential clusters where very often I see young boys and girls playing which gives me a great pleasure. I become a participant in this drama by kicking the ball or catching it if it happens to come on my way. To my amazement a group of kids were playing cricket in one of the courtyards today, and the young batsman hit the ball straight in my direction as if the intention was to relieve my thirst for the cricket match. I caught the ball in a spurt and returned it to the bowler, receiving their acknowledgements I passed the scene only to be treated for another one. What a good day it has been so far. Right now I am seating in front of the computer with the score card open on the rediff website...

The pre monsoon melody

While I was reading McHarg “…where you find a people who believe that man and nature are indivisible, and the survival and health are contingent upon an understanding on nature and her processes, these societies will be very different form ours…” I got a chat message drawing my attention to the breeze outside my room. The mood that I was in, I had locked my self in my room closing all the doors, had put all the lights off, changed the desktop screen color of my computer to white and reading in that light. In that situation I opened my balcony door and stood there in the balcony. At that moment the drama of nature began. First came the breeze which made the beautiful paper lamps in the balcony sway in delight. Then the lightening followed and lit the amazing Gulmohar tree outside my balcony giving it a magic touch. The orange Gulmohar tree – my forever setting sun – glowed to glory. My scientific mind was now waiting for the thunder which had generated the lightening. And within no time it made its appearance. The orchestra had now started to rock. The rain started to sing its song and I was flowing in it. Standing in the balcony I was enjoying every drop of it that fell over my body. While many did oh ho in disgust over this shy song of the rain I said ah ha form within my heart and believed that there are thousands of people still who believe that man and nature are indivisible.