A kaleidoscope of men, matters &moments that make the madness & magic of Mumbai
Daddies’ girls’
It is often said that the first man the daughter falls in love with is her dad; or that girls look for their fathers in the husband they choose. For most girls their dad is her real ‘hero’, there is, apparently, just something about Daddy. He is her ultimate role model.
One evening while this reporter was walking around in her society’s garden with her two-year-old nephew, two school-going girls were reading out stories from their books to each other.
As they were very young they were finding difficult to read, but they were very keen on understanding the stories from the book. One girl was around seven and the other was bit younger than her. Instead of playing in a well-maintained garden which had several recreational sports, the girls were interested in reading books. A rare scene though as children these are often hooked either to computer or cell phones.
Getting curious this reported asked the older one, as why they were reading and not playing, which is more joyful act for their age. Prompt came the reply, “daddy has gifted me this set of story books which I want to finish reading, he says, it is important to read good books. So I prefer reading them when I get time after my studies”.
All this while the other girl who must be around six years, pointing towards her books said, “my papa also has gifted me these books on my birthday.” When this reporter asked the older girl, “Is your Dad a teacher, does he teaches you to read? Her reply was, “no, he is a doctor, he cures patients”. “Oh really! That’s good, replied this reporter to her. Interrupting our interaction quickly the younger girl announced proudly, “you see, my papa, he is an engineer!”, she patiently waited for our response to her statement. We smiled backed at her. Indeed this brief interaction with these small girls does bring out the fact that fathers have a profound impact on their daughters’ lives. Indeed a father’s influence in his daughter’s life shapes her self-esteem and confidence.
Long live books!
Being a literary enthusiast, it was an eventful week that went by. News of a literary festival evokes excitement and a strangely high dose of adrenaline for some. For others, it is a congregation of bookworms with geeky spectacles and distant looks in their eyes. For yet others, it is a meeting place of quirky individuals who discuss anything and everything under the sun, even something as miniscule as cockroaches, with such fervor that it would seem as if they are about to come up with a permanent cure for all of earth’s troubles. But unfortunately, their passion might not prove enough for it, just yet. But then, there they are, with fire in their eyes when they speak and a passion so rare that it makes one smile. To each his own.
For this writer, the fest had some high points and some absolutely yawn-worthy ones as well. But what seems more important was the Festival Founder’s surprise at witnessing such a huge turnout at the opening ceremony itself! When asked about his comment on it, he said without a
moment’s thought, “Oh, boy! We have turned popular.” Truth be told, I myself was delighted at the crowd that had been drawn. Be it serious topics or seemingly breezy ones, there they were- people, young and old- all set to have an “intellectually stimulating” time.
I smiled. Something told me that times are changing. In spite of the so-called all-conquering invasion by the digital age, many had stepped out with a book in their hand or their personal libraries in their e-readers. That they were willing to come together and talk about books, fiction as well as non-fiction, cleared my mind of the apprehensions I had about the death of reading.
Not all autowalas enjoy Yo Yo!
This reporter was travelling in an auto rickshaw from Goregaon station late one night after an exceptionally long day at work. He was in for a pleasant surprise when auto he hailed had one of those old music systems installed. New autos do not have those anymore but they were a big craze in the 90’s! What was an even better treat was that the auto driver was playing old RD Burman songs. When this reporter asked the driver of his unusual interest, he said, “I don’t understand why people play Yo Yo Honey Singh songs. I enjoy listening to old music.
It keeps me entertained in this tedious traffic!” This reporter then headed home with a lovely tune caught in his head, wondering why all auto drivers do not see the advantages of installing a music system.
The good times!
After a long day of work, this reporter was walking to Churchgate railway station from Nariman Point. She does this every night, and at one point on the way, she crosses a lane occupied with families that live on the street. This day, it was Navratri time and garba music was generally playing around every corner. When she passed this lane, she was surprised to find it deserted. It seemed quiet odd that about
twenty homeless families should have suddenly shifted to a new location. Walking a few more paces, she came across a group of people randomly dancing to old Hindi music. They were dressed in old but
shiny clothes and were clapping and moving in circles. Realizing they belonged to those 20-odd families, she went and stood near the group, watching them for a while. One young woman approached her and said, “We are having our own garba night, would you like to join us?”
Tail piece
Just heard, Dawood Ibrahim wants to return the title of “Don” to protest against rising intolerance. Really proud of him. Chhota Rajan is one step ahead of Dawood in patriotism. He returned himself to protest against the growing intolerance.
Contributed by: Chitra Sawant, Divya Nambiar, Swapnil Rawat, Eeshanpriya MS Complied by: Qasim Mehdi
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Not so ‘Swachh’
One can trust Mumbaikars to not let any area remain clean and pristine. This reporter had visited the Shivaji Nagar police station in Govandi several times in the past two weeks after the rape and murder of an 11-year-old girl.
Shivaji Nagar is a huge expanse of slum. Its old police station is an obscure, ramshackle building, which has now become a beat chowky. The police station on the other hand was shifted around a year ago to a new building a few minutes away. When this reporter reached the six-storey building, she was impressed with the building’s facade. Very few police stations in Mumbai have such good, clean, and airy premises. But as soon as this reporter entered the place, she noticed that all the nooks and corners were painted red with the spit of Mumbai’s tobacco-chewing denizens. Such people have acted like free, voluntary painters for Mumbai’s infrastructure. Only their work doesn’t really look very good or sophisticated. On one of her visits, while this reporter was in one of the corridors of the second floor, waiting for an officer she noticed a man who was one of the staff members. He was going about his work from one floor to the other, when at one point of time he came to a spot near this reporter, leaned towards a corner already stained red and spat!
This reporter noticed that in the opposite corridor, there was a washroom for the male staff, which can very well be used to spit. And yet everywhere the walls were stained red. This reporter couldn’t help but wonder at how obstinate and obsessed people can be; and more ironically what would happen to the ‘Swachh Bharat Abhiyan’.
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