Random Expressions

It is the second consecutive year when, on this auspicious day, I am in a new town, without a consistent source of internet to type out a full-fledged message. But the solace is that I am breathing the same air, in the same city, as where the Queen of Melody resides.

It’s amazing how another year has gone by. And yet, in this added year, my love for that perfect voice hasn’t diminished one bit. Only, as I am away from music, the love has grown fonder, and deeper. I miss listening to Lata (Mangeshkar)Didi’s songs, and hope to be re-united with them soon, once my luggage arrives from Delhi. Still, whenever and wherever I can snatch those precious moments, I do try to listen to her. One such instance was when I travelled to Nashik, I put on my own CD in my colleague’s car, and listened to a bunch of marvellous Lata Mangeshkar-Madan Mohan combine songs.

Here’s wishing Lata Didi a very happy, peaceful, wonderful and melodious birthday, and praying to Almighty for her long life and health.

Happy Birthday, Lataji!

I am back to what I am best at - travelling the road. This time, it’s the interiors of Maharashtra. Pune is an old haunt, but this time it felt a tad too far off as the Volvo bus driver decided to pick up anyone and everyone to fill up the empty seats, before leaving Mumbai. The early morning journey ended in early noon.

Pune to Nashik followed immediately (since the bus had consumed the time I had reserved for there). Been used to the rugged Uttar Pradesh terrain, the route surprised me. It was lush green and weaved through little hills and hillocks (the ghats), passing through vast stretches of open and lush cloud-kissed lands, uninterrupted by man or nature. “What Switzerland? Why don’t our film-makers shoot here?” I wondered aloud. It was just the flawless location for a mesmerizing love duet!

En route Nashik, after one meeting at Sangamner, we saw a signboard of Shirdi. ‘Is it nearby?’ I asked. It seemed so. Since it would be late in any case for Nashik, we decided to pay darshan at Shirdi. It’s a typical temple-town, with all its infrastructure and business centered around Sai Baba’s Temple. We got a lovely darshan…that too on a Thursday, the day considered auspicious to the sage.

We started for Nashik after the sun had convincingly risen in some other part of the planet.

I fell in love with Nashik the moment I saw it. Wide roads, pretty clean and without any rush. It’s the ‘Pune of some fifteen years back’, my colleague remarked. A ring of mountains nestled the quaint town. The air was fresh and vibrant, and it must have helped my lungs, for I had a very deep sleep that night (it could also be due to the immense fatigue, as that day we did a whopping 9-10 meetings, in a row, one after the other - and by the end of which, another cup of tea or coffee would have made me throw up).

We stayed there for two days, and returned on Saturday late evening. It was a fruitful visit. And adds one more town in my long list of places visited.

That’s where I pitch my tent, in yet another career and city move. I came here a couple of weeks back, and since then, I am caught in an immense whirlpool, where time is suddenly so short and distances so long. Yet, somehow somewhere I connect to this place. Perhaps, the dreamy layer is still to peel from my eyes, till then I am thoroughly enjoying, even if it means getting stuck in traffic jams that are longer than the entire journey that I would ever have made while in Agra!

It probably started off in June. It was simply a chance and off-the-cuff remark to a friend, over a cup of coffee, when I had come here for a visit: “Someday I wish to unravel the mystery behind what makes Bombay tick”. And also, finally comprehend the seemingly complicated criss-cross of trains and their impeccable schedule which everyone swears by. Looking back, it seems right then some machinery up there in the heavens started to heave into motion to hurlte me into - what Priyangini called - the ‘melting pot’. I landed here on an early morning flight on the 5th of September.

The start was anything but auspicious - my baggage went off on another flight, my pant ripped rather embarassingly getting entangled in a metal side-strip of one of those old Padmini Premier taxis and the guest house booking wasn’t confirmed.

The past two weeks I am absorbing a lot - at my work place and of the city as well. Whenever I get time, I grab the opportunity to roam about and learn my way through (which I realized is not a very easy task). I have done the touristy thing of visiting Gateway of India, strolling on Colaba Causeway and having a leisurely evening at Bandra Bandstand, watching the sun set into the deep grey sea.

My immediate concern is getting a house. And a decent one, at that. More importantly, without it pinching my pocket too much. Though the last seems to be a near-impossible task to achieve. The going deposit rate is anything above Rs 1 Lac, for a decent 1BHK accomodation in the far off suburbs.

“Rs 1 Lac??” I had stared incredulously, my eyes popping out, my tongue sticking in disbelief and the piece of a sumptuous sizzler choking my throat, when Priyangini had informed me of the same. “Are you serious?”

Apparantly, she was. And very correct as well. I had heard of ridiculous deposits, but this was way beyond my imagination. Strangely, anyone that I speak to makes me feel like a stupid little idiot who has just woken up to some given and expected fact of life. In Bombay (or Mumbai, to be politically very correct), no one bats an eyelid in talking about these huge deposits or even asking for it.

That’s why perhaps all my Mumbaiya friends, to whom I had informed of my imminent shift, had conveniently forgotten to mention about this crucial piece of information.

Welcome to reality, buddy, I told myself. Had I known this earlier, I would have reconsidered my decision to shift here. Err…would I have? Well, as of now that question lies in the realms of a hypothetical stratosphere, hence why get into it!

Anyways, the dice has been rolled. And I might as well play the game to my best possible manner. Which I am very serious about. I have to win!

Ganpati Festival is on - and the entire city wears a lovely colorful look. Here’s wishing all readers a very happy and prosperous Ganesh Utsav.

(My apologies for being erratic here, and not replying to comments. But rest assured, I read them all voraciously.)

Mehtab Bagh is a finely laid down garden, right opposite the Taj Mahal, across River Yamuna. From here, one gets a beautiful view of the monument, while resting in a shaded and cool atmosphere. The garden, built in a typical symmetrical style that Moghuls patronized, is said to be built by Shahjahan as an extension of the Taj Mahal only. However, some say that he had also kept this space to build a replica of the Mahal, but in black marble. These are more conjectures, than facts.

Feast your eyes:

(From Top To Bottom)- 1. The Taj Mahal across River Yamuna, 2. As seen from the shrubs of Mehtab Garden, 3. The well-planned and laid down garden and 4. Aadha-Taj: Seen through a rubble in the park, which people claim to be the site for the Black Taj Mahal

Photographs by Kislay Verma & Deepak Jeswal

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The gypsy is ready to move on. The tent has been folded, the bags packed and the caravan ready to trudge to yet another new place.

I left Agra - and my job - in the early evening of 31st August, and drove down what is probably - at least till now - the last drive on NH-2. This time I humored the stubborn ‘auto’ drivers, and smiled at the obstinate bus-drivers who wouldn’t give you way even if you blink your car blind and honk yourself to deafness. It took more than the mandatory four hours on that highway, but what the hell, I might not see it again for a long long time.

The last few days went in a daze. The city burned itself in a silly fight and curfew was imposed on several areas. For me, it was deja vu all over again. The last time I had left a city (Kathmandu, for the uninitiated), it was clamped down by curfew, although for a vastly different reason. It seems whenever I have to leave a town, it bleeds itself in pain!

Memories! They are a strange lot. Just when I thought I had nothing positive to say about Agra, other than its gargantuan wonder in marble, I seem to recall all its plus points. Here is what all passed my mind when I hit the bed the night of 31st August, in my own bed in Delhi, but my heart wandering in the curfew-stamped city 200 kms away:

• Sadar Bazar - a vibrant and vivacious market place, which could be a setting for such romantic novel that can only be written for a small town. It’s Sunday crowd, in their best and brightest dresses, the row of eateries right in the middle, the blazing neon signs, and that small lane filled with the most sumptuous chaats and gol-gappas - all its aromas tickled my nostrils and memories!
• The area around Fatehabad/Shamshabad Road, where I stayed for past one year. Wide open roads and lesser traffic, I took to the locality the moment I saw it. My open and spacious flat, in a gigantic white structure (which is also visible from Google earth, yes it was pretty large!) is a place I will miss for long.
• Pacific Mall - a place I visited nearly every Friday evening to catch the latest release at its in-house multiplex - Fun Cinemas. Sadly, I tried to visit it a day before leaving, but the place was closed down due to the civic unrest in the town. Hours spent there, generally whiling away time, in its atrium, or cruising by the aisles of Big Bazar are moments to cherish.
• The amount of heritage that Agra holds in its folds is indescribable. Before the unrest began, a friend and I visited Sikandra, Itmaudallah and that superb garden just opposite Taj Mahal - Mehtaab Bagh. What a serene location, with the Taj smiling benignly across the river.
• The slow and languid pace that often irritated the big city boy within me, but what I would love to return to. Even though the city was maddeningly rushing on its M.G. Road, not even stopping by to accomodate the car that would have been stuck due to some reason, there was still a paradoxical slowness that appealed.
• Sonam Bar (Shooters Club) at Agra Cantt and Jaiwal Bar (at Sadar Bazar) are firmly etched in my mind. Despite alcohol being costlier in UP (as compared to Delhi), it was the old-fashioned look and feel of these bars and restaurants that will haunt me for a long time.

There are more, and I will return to them sometime later, just the way I did so with Nepal. My next destination is not undisclosed to many readers (I have, after all, literally shouted over the emails and chat and forced it over whoever was interested, or not interested, to listen!).

It’s a new place, a new job and a new life. The gypsy will set his tent again. But for how long? Only time can tell. And of course, this place too.

Till then, au revoir Agra!

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