Yesterday was Makar Sankranti; I can confirm this by the fact the trees in the neigbhourhood are flowering kites intead of their usual crop of leaves. In Bombay the festival is a passing interest but in Ahmedabad it's absolute war or as this french blogger call it Veillée d'armes à Ahmedabad !

Rishi in Ahmedabad also walks us through the proceedings [with some picture] in his post 'fight in the sky'.

"Birds and clouds cleared the way, leaving a perfect bluescreen for the confetti explosion above. Kites of all colors dotted the sky, hundreds of them, circling and dashing round one another in the annual friendly fight called Uttarayan"
[read more]

How could I miss partaking in festivities such as this, so I headed to the Kite Flying Festival at Shivaji Park. Times of India were the organisers of the festival. The only jarring note was the unecessarily loud DJ, who was a bit over the top....But it was fun all the same.



[An attempt by some Kite enthusiast from Bhopal to fly 100 kites at the same times. I don't know whether it was a record of sorts but it was cool all the same and very popular with the photographers. ]


[Everybody loves the Times of India]


[After a busy day of Kite Flying, a man enjoys dusk at Dadar Beach]

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‘By-cul-laah’, I repeat to myself; it seems to roll off the tongue nicely, a strong syllable ring of some place important. A sense of time gone by seems to bequeath its streets, even though most of it now lies in the shadow of concrete flyovers. I can imagine the partial shadows that once glanced her streets were those from fully branched trees . I tend to romanticize things lost or things I have never experienced or things no one may ever experience again. Others may think this romanticism is misplaced- for how can you mourn something you have never had? How can you yearn for the “Byculla Soufflé"? If you look carefully the past clings on like a phantom in a time machine - may be you will see it or may be you won’t. I went searching for the Byculla Soufflé but I didn't find it today. Lets see what I found:

The Byculla Soufflé - a very Edwardian dish, the pride of the Byculla Club in Bombay; a sweet mousse in which layers of cream are flavoured with different liqueurs - Chartreuese, Benedictine and Maraschino - and set with gelatine. Since the Byculla Club ceased to exist in 1920, to the best of my knowledge so did the Byculla Soufflé; but maybe some reader can correct me.

Byculla Market.


A sabjiwalli at Byculla market, which was Bombay's muncipal vegetable market but then Bombay became Mumbai and they shifted the market wisely to Navi Mumbai [Vashi].You can still find the freshest and cheapest vegetables at Byculla.


Potatoes neatly lined up in jute bags; our smiling salesman here is waiting for you to say yes so that he can weigh them, bag them and the collect the money.


Busy Byculla runs on chai and its the chaiwallah who runs a successful roadside business. Here is a batch of fresh steaming, sweet, strong chai in half-glasses....... Ohh I want some cutting... right now.


The colourful exterior of the Maharaj Jhunka Bhakar Kendriya.... Just look at all the brands on display here- Brooke Bond Red Label [did I mention chai before], Pepsi and if you look very closely- an upside down Coca-Cola crate holds up the pay-phone.
So what is jhunka bhakar? 'Bhakar' is basically a roti made of jawar. 'Jhunka' is a very special dish made out of besan[type of corn flower], wheat, onions and basic spices.
If you interesting in learning how to make a Bhakri The Cooks Cottage gives us a good account here.

~
More Life.


[Byculla has temples, mosques and synagogues.]


"Palace Talkies" - "A continuous babble on and off the screen, music and shouting, the cry of pedlars selling peanuts, flaking rexine seats, the unrestrained comments of spectators – all this jarring sound under the slow light of an aging 42mm projector.
Palace Talkies stands here, painted in a regal chalk white but sadly the films it has been reduced to showing are not all that regal. A dubbed version of Basic Instinct is running, probably a platinum showing.


~
More Magic.


[A diligent accountant]


[Feathers]

That's it for now but if you guys are looking for a larger helping of Bombay go on over to Metroblogging Mumbai.

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No city in India can represent as an approximate microcosm of India as well as Mumbai can. The city’s cosmopolitan essence blurs regionalism across class.

It is a melting pot of India, the best of North and South. Even though some political parties play on the regional insecurities of some of its residents, most residents defy it. An obvious side effect of this diversity is the city's food. The khaana-peena [food & drink] habits change from neighbourhood to neighbourhood. This is a quality of Mumbai I specially cherish and I can assure you so does my palate.

This week I am going to explore the Punjabi cuisine in the city-rich, ghee filled, heart felt, delicious food. An open celebration of all things loud, homely and tasty. Regional identities are proudly protected by most Indians but for some reason I do not seem to fall in this category. Even though I am supposedly Punjabi by nature I do not speak my mother tongue and for that matter neither do my parents. Whenever I mention the fact that I do not speak my ‘mother tongue’ to others I am met with oohs and aahs as if it is a cardinal sin. Possibly the only thing that connects me to my diluted regional identity is its food. There are a number of restaurants which serve Punjabi food in this city but two of my favourites are the ones that serve simple home style food- the famous Guru Kripa in Sion and the Crystal Restaurant on Marine Drive.


Guru Kripa Ka Samosa.

Samosa is the king of all Indian snacks and Guru Kripa is Bombay’s samosa king. There is song ode to Bombay which is quiet popular on Google which goes something like this:

Woh Elco ki pani puri,
Woh Chowpatty ki chaat,

Woh Naturals ki ice cream,
Wah usme thi kuch baat.

Woh Tiwari ki mithai,
Woh raste ka dosa,

Woh Shivsagar ki pav bhaji
Aur Guru Kripa ka samosa.

This eatery located just off Sion circle has become a tourist attraction of sorts. Every morning over 30,000 samosas are made at this virtual samosa factory and dispersed all over the city for consumption. Guru Kripa is said to produce 1/3rd of Mumbai’s samosas available in cinema halls/multiplexes, college canteens, etc

I paid a visit to Guru Kripa last Friday. Here is what I ordered:

“Samosa Chole” (Rs 12.) is their most popular dish.

[This is Mumbai's more famous samosa.Seen here topped with chana (chickpeas), sweet tamarind chutney and a garnish of onions and mint]


Being over indulgent I also sampled their humongous “Chole Batura” (Rs. 32).

['Chole Batura' - spicy chana [chole] (chick peas) with yummy puffed, deep fried batura (type of bread made of super-refined flour). Served with Raita (salted curd) , papad and a garnish of onions and mint.]

Gurukripa also serves favourites like ragda patties, sev puris and bhel puris, south Indian snacks and kulfis with faloodas. The restaurant interestingly does not serve any aerated soft drinks and serves only rich creamy lassis.

So next time you are in Sion and you are feeling a tad hungry visit Guru Kripa for a quick refuel stop.


Ghar Ka Khana at Crystal.


Living alone ? Tired of eating the tasteless food at you office canteen ? Missing your mother's cooking ? Then I have a solution for you. It is the only restaurant that I have been to in Mumbai that servces hot phulkas to your table. There is also rajma [lima beans], baigan-bharta [a brinjal preperation] and alloo matur [patotoes and peas] to die for and all surprisingly easy on the wallet.

One of my favourite shows on television is No Reservations by Anthony Bourdain on Discovery Travel and Living. Mr. Bourdain is a strict believer and I am too of the fact that the best food is served at most non-descript restaurants - the ones on which you need to take a chance on.
Crystal is one of these restaurants where cosmetic measure ( read ambience) accounts for nothing and the only communication here is via the food they serve. The restaurant is located on Marine Drive at the corner after Wilson College behind a well stocked coconutwallah. The restaurant has kept its fifties décor intact with flaking walls and a wood rimmed roof, complemented by a melange of old and new ceiling fans as well as antique table fans.


[Taking in the athmosphere]

The menu is fairly straightforward and vegetarian- sabzis, parathas and some rice dishes; the most expensive thing on the menu is priced 50 rupees and happens to be an unlimited thali.

Here what we ordered.

[Top left: Bhaigan ka bhurta [mashed brinjal cooked on an open flame],Bottom Right: Rajma ,Cente: Dal fry, Raita and an Aloo [potato] and Mulli[radish] Paratha [stuffed bread]. Not in picture: 2 Salted Lassis and hot pulkas/rotis]

Every item was simple but delicious and I left the restaurant with a distinct feeling that I had over eaten yet again.


Here are some of my previous food posts.

• "Owner Eats Here" - A review of the food at Ram Nayak's Udipi Shri Krishna Boarding
• Britannia and Co- Yummy Parsi food.
• A Bombay Breakfast - A look at what Mumbai eats for breakfast, includes a review of Prakash - Shakahari Uphaar Kendriya

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It seems like it is time for my quarterly haircut. How do I know this? Well my raven-coloured hair have grown into a uncontrollable mass of cellulose, which in their moist uncombed state are taking the shape of an ecosystem more diverse than the Sunderbans.

Pali Hill, Bandra, for all its amenities, is filled with barbers the likes of which charge large amounts of money. Alas, this is a burden my light wallet cannot take. I am forced, like an economic migrant, to commute to meet my hair hygiene needs.

A glass store front, rimmed with wooden blue welcomes me. Etched in red on the glass are the styles and fashions the 'Hair Cutting Saloon' deals in. Barber shops in India come in various avatars viz. the corner nahee [barber] who sets up his unpolished mirror and rickety chair under some tall tree or a puccha [brick] barber establishment that employs several such masters of the trade. Scissors, brushes, stainless steel blades, and circular foldable plastic razors are the versatile tools of their trade. Inside men wait patiently on worn-out rexine sofas, hiding their faces behind a local newspaper or a glossy gossip-spilling film magazine. As I enter the men make space for me, bunching up together almost by reflex and one of them hands me an old issue a film magazine.

Stylised posters of popular Bollywood actors and screen starlets adorn the walls. Barber shops often become tiny Meccas to Indian film culture and the sense of style derived from Bollywood or the local cinema. If a film becomes a 'super hit' fans want to emulate their favourite stars' hairstyle. It is a place for music and entertainment as well. No shop is complete without an old pocket TV in a corner or a grungy loud cassette player or a small portable transistor radio.



My turn finally arrives and I am lead by the smiling wrinkled man (who I assume is going to be my barber today) to the chair. I prop myself up sloppily on the chair and stare into the mirror right back at myself. The barber chair is old and is a cross between a "lazy-boy" recliner and a dentist chair. Parallel mirrors have this magically quality of affixing me with a sense of wonder. Myriad images of me, my barber and everybody else in this tiny colourful room give me a sense that I am part of something big, a momentous occasion when a man and his sharp tools are going to rid me of some excess dead tissue. I am woken up from my day dream by tiny droplets of water sprayed from a mobile dispenser. The barber observed my long hair for a moment and then softly whispered into my ears,

"Sahib aap ko dandruff ho gaya hai."
[Sir you seem to have dandruff]

I nodded in the affirmative. He continued talking to me as he now tried with some difficulty to comb my hair into some shape,

"Sahib apko kaise baal katana hai?"
[How do you want you hair cut]

I looked at him sullenly through the mirror as I said,

"Bhai sahib sab kuch kat lo, bilkul gunja kar do"
[Brother, cut it short - real short, just short of making me bald.]

Thirty minutes later, I emerged from the shop satisfied - a presentable man .

[Cross Posted on METROBLOGGING Mumbai]

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As the seasons change the festivals change too and incidently so do the greetings.
Here's Wishing you folks a very
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.


[A banner underneath read "POUR OUT YOUR LOVE "]

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The first time I set my foot in the narrow people strewed lanes of Mutton Gulli, better known to most as Chor Bazaar, I had a fever and a pathogen induced delirium that one associates with such increased body temperature. Yesterday, when I re-visited Chor Bazaar, I realised that my mental confusion and fluctuating consciousness on that occaision was not a side effect of my fever but had merely set in atmospherically in the entrepreneurial magic that weaves together one of the world's most enchanting bazaars.

In the last few months I have come to realise, partly through my blog and the eyes of my camera, the beauty that surrounds me; a beauty that charts common people and even though we drown ourselves in it everyday we seem to miss it and it is all there pristine, waiting to be discovered by a little effort on our part. Yesterday, in search for this beauty [which I miss throughout the week in my insulated office environment] I trudged through some of South Mumbai’s entrepreneurial nerve centres - from Crawford Market through Zaveri Bazaar through Abdul Rehman Marg to Bhendi Bazaar ending my quest some distance away in Chor Bazaar. The result in pictures [as usual] and some words, but mostly pictures is as follows.


[This old lady dressed in differrent cascades of blues rest her eyes and weary feet on the pavement]


[Brass blacksmiths guide molten metals into shapes we can use. Some people play with fire every day.]


[Sparks fly and the mercury soars but people do not forget to smile.]


[All that glitters is not gold - these are not gold bars but loaves of bread.]


[It's a hard life but people adapt and bear the load.]


[Sweet cold refreshment is never far]


(Cathing up on the daily news )

[In the commercial capital of India the wheels of commerce never stop]


[A dazzling array of bangles at Null Bazaar.]


(Now you know what happened to your grandfather's car)

[ A atmosphere of dejection - like two old people in a doctor's waiting room.]


[In a city that wastes nothing, everything has a market as long as you are willing to pay something for it. Junk is a word that does not exist. If it has a use it will be used to its maximum.]

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A patch of green in a sea of grey - the overpowering smell of green grass .
“Oh sweet chlorophyll where am I ?”
There are very few places in the city that can boast of green as their predominant colour. Pheroza Pink may be but green is very rare. What am I referring to here ? Well its the fair green Maidans of Mumbai. ….. there is no spelling mistake here and no disrespect meant to the many fine maidens of Mumbai……what I am talking about is the open green spaces that have survived this city’s onward run towards mass concretisation.


[A Game of Cricket at Oval Maidan.]

Oval Maidan for one: square metres of undisciplined grass and the odd cracked make-do cricket pitches. People of various age groups and of various proficiencies playing the Indian games of games-cricket. Then there are the avid fans of the game that sit there, sometimes in the bellowing sun, watching the lanky bowler swooping in to bowl from the Rajabai Tower end. All this, much to the delight of the peanut-wallah, who sells his salty wares in odd cylindrical cones of rolled up paper for tarnished two rupee notes or shiny five rupee coins. There is also Shivaji Park, which is famous for much the same reason [read cricket] and infamous for the odd political rally and the traffic jams that one associates with the same.


[Venus on the Rise at the Royal Western Turf Club. A Winner he was]

The Maidan I visited on Sunday is so posh that it is not even considered to be the maidan- the Mahalaxmi Race Course, officially known as the Royal Western Indian Turf Club (cough cough …), which off late has been associated with a hot air balloon and an eccentric Indian tycoon with too much money and loads of free time. I had the free time but not quite the money but I still landed up there for the races. I have never been to the races before. As a matter of fact, I have never been to any competitive sport that involves men or animals trying to get from point A around to point A again in the shortest possible time frame. All I know about horse racing is from the movies. Therefore, I imagined it to be a snooty event, where the women were all decked up in their best pearls with funny ostrich feathered hats, sipping apple martinis; and the men I thought would be smoking cigars and drinking bourbon. I am sorry but my imagination sometimes gets the better of me. The Mahalaxmi race course is divided two enclosures-one costs Rs 25 and the other section which is a dinner jacket affair, the entry here is more or less hereditary. Mahalaxmi is definitely one the city’s ever decreasing alveoli, the old woody trees breathing in all the smoke for the lot of us.


[The K.C Adeshir Cup, the winner gets this.]


[Circa 1945 sorry correction 2005. ]



[The World ceases to matter]

Vivid expressions, avid hand movements and a sea people greet me. It is like the trading floor of the Bombay Stock Exchange, only it is Sunday and we are no where close to Dalal Street. White washed stalls on high pedestals line the rectangular quadrangle. Punters on high beach chairs shout out the odds and the crowds respond shouting back, waving their Coles Race Guides with swift movements of their hand. I am getting restless-where are the horses ? In search of the young stallions I go. A television set [was broadcasting live a race] with men sitting around it biting their nails and watching with the concentration of four year olds enjoying the Sunday morning cartoons. I was expecting to see some Sea Biscuit action but scanning the course there were still no ghodas [horses] in sight. I frown and look to my neighbour- he seemed more than energised and steadily swayed in his place, cringing his teeth together, mumbling a number over and over and over again.

“Come number 6, you can do it, Number 6, Number 6.…. Yes number 6.… 6!!!”

There I am leaning against the white picket fence on the edge of what is the race course, hoping to see a race horse or at least a couple of them, with some trippy pagal [mad] guy standing next to me, mumbling the number 6 like it was going to bring him some kind of spiritual salvation. Then all from nowhere, accompanied by a long stringent ecstasy induced shouts from behind me the horses galloped by spraying small outgrowths of grass into the air.


[A Sprint for the finishing line. If you choose to enlarge the picture by clicking on it - you would notice that none of the 12 legs are on the ground. ]


[Number 6 here incidently came last much to the dismay of the guy next to me]

Let your camera be your ticket to the high life. Tired of the aam junta I tried to cross over to the Rich & Famous side of the race course.

Guard [pointing to the camera],“Boss, Aap photographer hai ?”

I think to myself-I do take photographs and that technically qualifies me as a photographer [though not a photojournalist]. I nod in the affirmative and he lets me through. Lets face it horse racing in its Indian avatar is an angrezi [English] hangover and like other English sports it has its traditional quirks. Races horses are first paraded around like a scene out of Passage to India with an Indian adopted colonial feel to it. Once the parade is over they are herded in the starting enclosure and then the commentator takes over guiding the hypnotised crowd with his baritone voice stressing on each word as he spits it out giving an over emphasised tone to the proceedings.


[Some'games of chance' require research. The parsi couple in picture seem to take their research very seriously. ]


[Intense]

Side Food Note : If you plan to spend a Sunday at the races do not leave without trying the Turf club’s heavenly smoked chicken sandwiches. Gulp it down with some Mumbai signature Raspberry Palonji Soda.

That’s my meandering post for the week. Heres to all of Mumbai’s green spaces.

So long and thanks for all the oxygen.

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I'm taking a break from my usually scheduled programming to bring you something new - audio. Not quiet podcasting but sound all the same. Very exciting !!

"The soundscape I'm presenting is typical of a long distance trains in India– where footmen go from carriage to carriage to selling everything from 'sonpapri' to 'garam samosas' to 'newpapers' and 'tinkle comics'."

Listin & Enjoy. I picked this up from Soundtransit and is originally recorded by Maksim Shentelev. If this pans out well I'll try and bring you guys more sound and voice.

The issue I'm having with this is that it starts playing on its own - Any suggestions.

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Fans of the 1977 movie classic, Close Encounters of the Third Kind would remember the strangely menacing mountain that for much of the movie is the centre of much alien curiosity. Yes I’m talking about the Devil’s Tower, Wyoming, USA . Devil’s Tower, from what I can understand from Wikipedia, is a 1267 feet (386 m) Monolith (or more technically an igneous intrusion); which in plain people speak is a giant column of sedimentary rock sprouting out from the earth. It is a hardened magma plug from an extinct and long eroded volcano. Definitely a place I would love to visit.



[Devil's Tower : A picture Henk & Anna on Flickr]

I don’t know how many of you Mumbaiwasis [people of Mumbai] know this but our very homely suburb of Andheri is home to a baby cousin of the Devil‘s Tower - Gilbert Hill.



[I would have tried to get you a better picture but many sides of the hill were simply inaccessible]

Wikipedia Says

Gilbert Hill is a 200 foot (90 m) (the height of a 10 storey building) monolith column of black basalt rock in Andheri, Maharashtra, India. The rock has a sheer vertical face and was created when molten lava was squeezed out of the earth's clefts during the Mesozoic Era about 65 million years ago. During that era, molten lava had spread around most of the Indian states of Maharashtra, Gujarat and Madhya Pradesh, covering an area of 50,000 km². The volcanic eruptions were also responsible for the destruction of plant and animal life during that era.

Gilbert Hill was interestingly much bigger but sadly urbanisation and constant quarrying has eaten away at the edifice of this monolith. The hill has incidentally been declared a National Geological Monument. The hill is home to two temples and is accessible via a steep staircase.

The hill is closed to the public between 12 noon and 4 p.m. I for one, did not know this so I hung around the base of the hill talking to some kids, who live in a slum nearby. Children provide a great outlook of a community- you can tell a lot about where society is going by talking to the children growing up in the society in question. These kids were sharp, inquisitive and very witty. Talking to them was quiet enthusing


[The children were fun to talk to and we had a long conversation mostly on Bollywood and their love for a computer game called Need For Speed. Their favourite actors were Salman Khan and Sunil Dutt. They explicitly mentioned that they don't like Shahrukh Khan.]


[The temple priest on Gilbert Hill]


[She was smilling a minute ago but now is more pensive]

The hill was a quiet reflection of Mumbai, an oasis of green on a 90 metre high plateau of solid rock, surrounded by the man-made sprawls of concrete. The temple priest sat in his chair, the peaceful environ summoned him into a deep sleep. In front of him lay compartmentalized the prasaad.-a prasaad of coconut water, tiny cut coconut and sugary delight. The low flying Brahmani kites adjusted their flight paths as they shrieked past just above head just as a gentle sea breeze blew in the opposite direction. It was as if I had left the city that enveloped me on all four sides; it was just me, the temple priest, the cheery school girl, a few lazing crows and many fearless kites. It was a pleasant 20 minutes of casual thought watching the city around me.





[Gilbert is not the only monolith I've visited. Here is Sigriya Rock in Sri Lanka. If you wish you could read about it here]

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