A heavy dry smoke rises up from slowly burning cotton waste. As it catches my eyes it stings and I squint in an attempt to see beyond the screen of smoke. Befoe me an open kiln is layered in mud, soft clay posts and cotton waste has been set on fire. As the soft clay slowly hardens, the narrow by-lanes of Kumbharwada outside are piqued with activity. Inside, the light from the door leads me to a dimly lit room where a middle-aged Rajabhai is sitting intently fashioning a garden pot on a slow moving potter's wheel from a lump of blackish clay. From day break to sunset he works continuously rarely stopping for a break. At his feet, a young boy stamps on moist clay, preparing it for Rajabhai and other Kumbhars.


[Kumbhar on a break]

[The potter's wheel]


Kumbharwada, where a community of potters has been staying for many generations, is emblematic of the pressures on livelihood in Dharavi,Mumbai. The Kumbhars, a community of potters from Saurashtra in Gujarat, were first relocated here from South Bombay in 1932 (after two previous relocations, always to the northern edge of the city as it was defined at the time). They found a swampy, uninhabited district with plenty of space for their kilns and houses. Many years later, about 1200 families now live in Kumbharwada and most of the free space in the area has been taken up by kilns for firing the traditional earthenware pottery that the community makes for a living. There is no further room for expansion. The potters themselves are well aware that to be competitive in the long term, they must fire modern ceramics rather than earthenware. But such projects are unrealizable without the infrastructure or space for new kilns. Also bank financing is not easily available to people who have no collateral and therefore the Kumbhars must look for investment capital within their restricted family groups. In the meantime many of the younger generation are turning to new occupations such as carpentry, diamond cutting and even the merchant navy, as plastic is replacing earthenware as a material for many of the articles produced here.




Mumbai city is the natural stage for such collisions between traditional community livelihoods and the new urban reality. When I ask Ramjibhai about such a change he only turns to me and says, "We are all but clay in the hands of God and he is the only one that can shape change."







You could also read my Dharavi related - Shadow City - A look at Dharavi.

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The multi-faceted Auto-Rickshaw - beyond them being a safety hazard of sorts to I find them quiet cool.

As seen in. Ahmednagar, Maharashtra

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Alas, I've fallen victim to the Silly pic meme which seems to have enraptured the Indian blogosphere - all thanks to Saket and Sakshi.

So here goes

[Picture courtesy Nick]

This was taken at the La Meridian, Pune the time we infilterated (Yes-Men style) a seminar on Indo-French agricultural co-operation. [Yawn !!]. Anyways free food and drinks awaited us. We made full use of all facilities ... burp !

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From Mumbai to Chennai and from Kochi to Kolkota, the creative industries of India entice and inform a population of over one billion. In this crowded, colorful world, innovation is often born out of necessity and scanty resources, and can result in the very clever or the completely ridiculous. The question now arises that are the best and the brightest advertisers in India really the guys working in AC buildings behind their Macs or the street artists who dream up exciting graphics which are then rolled out on walls, banners and posters in India everywhere. An Indian street is cluttered by examples of iconic vernacular graphics and commercial art. They come in many forms from personalized bodywork of vehicles to local advertising hoardings; from political posters to lavish Bollywood publicity hoardings. The result is a celebration that is a reflection of the religious, political and cultural diversity of India. That is the uniqueness of India's urban landscape: it is a visual gallery of art, if only we take the time to look.



[This is one such example of such an highly evolved and stylised poster. It reads - "Ashok Talkies, Alwar PRESENTS 'The World Famous' Magician O.P Sharma Sr./Jr. If you notice the poster moves from Devanagari to English add to the finished form "]


[Kolkata's football fever is alive and well and it's symtoms are stewn over the walls of the city. ]






[The beauty of it is that if the paint wears out all you need is a fresh coat of paint]

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I took this picture on a rainy day in Konark. We had set out in the morning to see the famous Sun Temple of Konark, a World Heritage site no less. Sadly the Sun Lord didn't seem to be at home. I'm sorry to have missed him for my cameras sake but than again I left him a note.

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The ceiling fan rattles, clicks and sways as it cools the chai in the chipped porcelain cups that lie below. A boy, barely 15, in a torn banyan and lungi walks up to our table and slides two glasses of water across the marble top. He then heaves out a sigh as he walks away to the next the table - the occupants of which have called out to him with a sharp hissing sound and swift movement of their hands. The Cafe is a L-shaped institution with chipping walls, rotting sets of table and chairs and checkered flooring tiles hidden under at least a few centimeters of dirt. It is filled mostly with men, they slurp greedily at their cups of chai, munching aggressively at their meat filled khari. Another boy sneaks in from the back entrance walks up to our table and helps himself to the glass of water on our table before he is hastily shooed away by the head waiter, who then flashes us an apologetic smile and walks away in a hurry. These are the musty, yet strangely comfortable confines of one of the many Irani establishments among pearl shops, jewelers, hawkers, panshops, temples, dargahs and mosques that line the roads that ingress the Hyderabad's Old City.


[Josh drinks his tea in the " The Desisive Moment"]


[Hastily shooed away after a glass of water - see post]

I had arrived in Hyderabad a few hours earlier on the morning flight from Mumbai and like many visitors arriving at Hyderabad airport I was immediately drawn into the ambience of the city. The crowd gathered at the airport is perfervid, like a large extended family. Meeting people or seeing them off is a ceremony laced with tears, fragrant with red roses. A woman, old and bent, waits to welcome a grand-daughter with a garland of jasmine. One man embraces another, unabashedly wiping away his tears with his white head scarf. For tears are part of the ritual, and rituals of caring and sharing are so common in India and why should Hyderabad be any different. This is my first trip to Hyderabad and it's a short one at that, a mere 12 hours before my train, The Konark Express leads me on to Bhubaneshwar.


[Hyderabad Street]


[Mindspace]

As our auto-rickshaw speeds across Hyderabad encountering only scanty Sunday morning traffic, the skyline changes slowly from ugly rectangular concrete blocks to that of white domes and minarets. The city sprawls among the smoothly sculptured rocks of the deccan plateau and straddles the Musi River. The change is only complete when you cross the Musi and you find yourself in one of the best bazaars in Asia, Hyderabad's ancient commercial center. At its heart is the Char Minar, a magnificent 400-year-old granite arch with four soaring minarets and wide arches opening out on all four directions.



["Life is often a up hill journey" Hyderabad street reminds me]



Cities, like people, have souls and as in many an Indian city, Hyderabad's soul is caught between two worlds - one old and one new. The new may be shiny, bright yet is concrete, ugly and plain where as the old may seem tired and beaten yet it has a hidden shine. The inscription on the old bridge that spans the River Musi linking the old to the burgeoning new city says, ''as safe as a pearl in its oyster,'' referring to old Hyderabad; yet sadly how long will the oyster protect this pearl. Beyond the frayed images of the past is the beauty of the forgotten, where the spirit of this place is still visible. You find it's old spirit walking down the glimmering Lad Bazaar, famous for its colorful bangles studded with semi-precious stones, the bangle-wallahs smile cheerfully and bow their heads as you pass by . Or as you sit at the steps of the Mekkah masjid and observe kind elderly men playing chess keeping one eye on the chess board and the other on their grandchildren as they play cheerfully among the pigeons.


[ChuddiWallah at Lad Bazaar and below are his wares]





[A Family shares a light moment at the Mekkah Masjid]


[Blind Man's treasures at Hyderabad's Chor (thieves) market]



I'm a little tired now, may be some chai and khari will soothe my nerves and help me "relax and have a Char Minar" or at least help me construct one in my head where the old and new meet and live in harmony and where I can feel safe as a pearl does in the confines of its oyster.





[Click on the any of the images to view them larger]

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