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.