Post-posting posting

The nation is coming to terms with the internet maxim "If you aren't paying, you are the product" becoming true of WhatsApp, which will start sharing (more of) our metadata (explainer here) come February. People are migrating en masse to more secure apps. Personally though, I am becoming inclined towards a less secure, less reliable and paid network. Why? For the romance of it.

I am of course referring to good old snail mail. Is it convenient? Mumbai has postboxes generously and irregularly scattered around. Are they well used? Well, there is a tea-shop set up in front of the one next to Colaba Post Office, so draw your conclusions from that. All the more reason to support it.

Of course, it takes a while to reach, but I think for longer and more honest messages it's worth being free from the shackles of blue ticks and last seens. Little hand-drawn figures communicate a bit more than emojis, and I like taking a moment to decide which person will like which postcard best. And as someone who stresses out over how to word an email, take my word that this is somehow more natural! Stream-of-consciousness writing and signing off with "Love" are allowed and encouraged.

All this is to say if you want me to round the tea-shop and send you something, drop me your address! (I'm not sure if I'm even getting incoming post, so I'll let you know about that). Or just take a walk and buy some stamps of different denominations. It's a nice feeling.

Mumbai on Screen #2 - Wake Up Sid (2009, Hindi)

Siddharth is lazy and hedonistic. He lives off his father's successful business, but is not at all suited to the job of taking over after him. Enter Aisha, new to Mumbai, set on independence and her goal of becoming a writer. What can they learn from each other? 

Everything about the film is strikingly 2000s - of course the clothes and songs, but also the fact that the leads initially correspond over email and they never kiss. Plus, Sid is an Arsenal fan.

Sid's initial lifestyle is what happens when you are stationary in a city that's always on the move. His friends pass their final college exam, one even moves a little too fast in the romance business. But he stays put amidst piles of pizza boxes and unwashed clothes.

He meets Aisha at a party and the two quickly become friends. He helps her decorate her apartment (which is pretty decent-sized with a sea view, for an assistant's starting salary). She is very clear that he is childish and not her type. That said, I don't think she and Sid are opposites. Her character is, in one sense, an illustration of the difference between childish and childlike. She roams the city with wide-eyed wonder; he is familiar with it, but looks out with a photographer's eye. 

The rest of the story is not the twistiest in Bollywood history. Sid has a showdown with his parents; he moves in with Aisha; he slowly learns to cook and do chores and gets a job at the same magazine Aisha got a job at. (By the way, if anyone knows about English-language magazines about Mumbai like the one in the film, let me know!) Soon he is ready to move out, but Aisha isn't ready to let go. She writes about him as her first magazine piece, saying he was the city's gift to her, her first friend. They embrace on Marine Drive in the first shower of the monsoon, which he had told her was the best thing to see in Mumbai.

Aisha has a clear goal and takes steps in that direction. While I suppose this disqualifies her from being a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, she doesn't really have much of a story arc apart from embracing her preference for old Hindi songs and later her feelings for Sid. There's an interesting moment where her boss, a jazz lover, calls her music tastes childish - this time she is at the receiving end of this jibe. Getting your act together is one thing, but there will always be people you aren't "adult" enough for. That's okay, and you have to stay true to your passions. 

Mumbai works as a backdrop for this kind of story because of the wide variety of ways you can engage with such a vibrant place. There is partying every night, and then there is choosing to document the streets and people as your day job. (Even the parties can either just be getting mindlessly drunk, or they can be where you meet your new best friend or make up with an old one.) And sometimes, your inner child does need to run out in the first rain of the monsoon.

Mumbai on Screen #1 - Nayakan (1987, Tamil)

I am scheduled to return to Mumbai on November 18. Since time is incomprehensible now and that seems a lifetime away, I'm doing a series on Mumbai through films. Send in your suggestions! 

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[Spoilers ahead. Also, warning for brief mentions of sexual assault.]

Nayakan is a fictionalised version of the story of Varadaraja Mudaliar, an underworld don. In the film, he is known as Velu Nayakan. (Nayakan also means "chief".) 

Most of the events take place in Dharavi; some others with Gateway of India and Jehangir library as backdrop. It's the ideal setting for the themes of systemic inequality and capitalist liberalism. But it also poses questions that are relevant everywhere today as wealth gaps increase and as we all reckon with questions about the police's role.

What the film is really about is violence. Velu's origin story is forged by violence: he flees to Bombay from Thoothukudi after avenging the death of his father, a union leader, at the hands of police. He grows up in the slums doing petty smuggling. We are told he is a good person... because he hires a child prostitute but lets her study instead of sleeping with her. (The bar is low for crime dons. Also, he marries her later.) His place as a leader is cemented, again on the back of revenge, when the community protects him when he is wanted for killing the policeman who killed his adoptive father. Being a good person, he financially supports the slain policeman's family and later hires his mentally ill son as an assistant.

That the slum land and people are disposable pawns in the government-business-police game is stated in no uncertain terms. The house of the Seth who plans to build a factory over the slum is obviously in stark contrast to the slum houses, and the slum-dwellers' rightful anger is taken out on it. However, when Velu builds something of a mansion of his own, with his smuggling gains, it doesn't go down badly with the others as he continues to act as an intermediary between them and the cruel law enforcement. He pays for their medical expenses and mingles with them in festivals. 

The spiral of violence continues. He embarrasses some other dons; they kill his wife; his men kill them. Velu is not unaware of this - he discourages his son from following in his steps. His unheeding son ultimately dies in a suicide mission to kill a witness. 

A pivotal scene features a moral conundrum, versions of which we have to deal with even today. A police superintendent, having lost faith in the justice system, approaches Velu to take revenge on the powerful men who raped his daughter. Velu's men do so, as Velu's horrified daughter looks on. A relatively sheltered young woman, she still believes in the courts' monopoly over the right to administer justice. In a scene mirroring Velu playfully chasing his children earlier, he and his right-hand man have a showdown with his daughter, culminating in him hitting her. He explains that sometimes killing is necessary to keep others alive, while she contends that all violence is wrong, and who is he to dispense justice. She clearly personifies a liberal outlook, and eventually marries a policeman to "atone for her sins".

It is a question we still have to grapple with as a society: when violence is built into the system, isn't violence justified in combating it - when peaceful methods fail? Can we equate violence coming from different directions? Crime is a social construct - some murder is sanctioned, some is not. Some murder takes the form of slow impoverishment and this will continue to exist even if police brutality (for example) in its current form ceases, or if there are no outright casteists/classists/etc in the system. That said, this girl did not ask to be in the middle of this, and lose her mother and later her brother (apart from her father slapping her).

Additionally, it is still very much the case that when it comes to the vast majority of sexual violence cases, the justice system is of little help at best and capable of further traumatising violence at worst.

Eventually, the very police officer who tore down Velu's extralegal ambulances and other efforts to help his people, seeks his help in maintaining peace when Velu is sentenced. "Our aims are the same; the only difference is that I wear a uniform and you don't.", he says without a hint of irony. The film portrays this as a sort of reconciliation between the lifelong enemies, Nayakan and the state, but it is quite unsatisfactory to the viewer. Ultimately, Nayakan is released but immediately killed by the earlier-mentioned son of the policeman. He is finally on the other end of the filial thirst for revenge.

"Are you a good person or a bad person?" asks his grandson before the sentencing. He is unable to answer. The film also doesn't take a side. There is clearly an ethical problem with the system we live in. While quietly complying with it can't be morally right, Velu was made an enemy of the state as a mere child. (மான்போல வந்தவனை யார் அடித்தாரோ - Who could have hurt this innocent boy, asks the musical refrain.) Fighting the system was the natural route for him, but it thrust his loved ones into the cycle and took them away, one by one. Was this fair on them? 

The film doesn't provide easy answers as there aren't actually any, at least at an individual level. Really, the only thing to do is to rethink these systems altogether. Over in America, defunding the police has quickly become a less fringe political position. Everywhere, millennials and generation Z are disillusioned with capitalism. Maybe the cycles of violence can indeed be broken in our lifetime. 

Thousands of words

I'm mainly doing this to remember what outside feels like. Also to post the cache of photos I have of places or things that don't merit a full article.

I didn't know until recently that Holi celebrations involved bonfires!

Sunset over Vashi lake.

The lake is surrounded by a path where people walk and jog. In general, as you would imagine, Navi Mumbai is more spacious and less crowded.

Spire of Afghan Church, a stone's throw from TIFR.

The "Afghan" in Afghan Church refers to the fact that it was built to commemorate the British soldiers killed in the Afghan War.

At a Durga Puja Pandal. The atmosphere was a new level of charged and festive.

A random wall in Bandra.

My friend showed me a magic trick in Bandra: a hideaway from which the bustling sounds of traffic are almost inaudible, even though it is between major roads.

Boats!

An art installation in a park near Churchgate station.

The High Court, where I visited the museum. Unfortunately, photography wasn't allowed inside.

From a foot overbridge near Grant Road station.

Inside IIT Bombay - brought pleasant recollections of KFI.

The view from the CS department at IITB. How they get work done is beyond me.

TIFR held its annual Science Day celebration on February 23. It seems like ever so long ago, when schoolchildren and science-loving adults descended upon TIFR from all over Mumbai.

The next few photos are from an exhibition by Khaki Tours, where they tried to recreate pictures painted by James Wales in the 1790s. The exhibition was in a small room (South Bombay things!) with lots of people, so I didn't get great photos. 

Malabar Hill.

Sion Fort.

Elsewhere in Sion Fort.

Belmont.

I hope all of you are staying safe, following doctors' guidelines and finding ways to keep yourselves occupied and upbeat during our time indoors. And again, I hope I can get back to posting newly taken photos sooner than later!

Contagion in a connected world

I am not writing this in Mumbai - I managed to fly out just hours before CM Uddhav Thackeray's new restrictions on Maharashtra kicked in. Domestic flights will stop tomorrow. It really was the nick of time.

It takes something like this to make one realise how connected the world is. Every item you own has passed through so many hands. So many people had to work together to produce your breakfast. And of course we need each other in ways that are less tangible. We need to come together to celebrate faith, or our favourite teams, or protest injustice. And we understand the value of these when they are gone. 

And of course, one comes to understand which services are absolutely essential. Which kinds of labour we label "unskilled" but cannot do by ourselves. I really, really hope we come out of this with a new respect for these people and that ensure their lives are henceforth easier. Even if that means upending the present way we do economics (and politics).

Well, this is a blog about Mumbai. As you probably know, the city is under full lockdown, understandably grinding to a halt with trains halting their wheels. The roads were empty on Friday itself, we even passed smoothly over the Sea Link, on the way to the international airport that seemed a shadow of its usual buzzing self. 

My institute has basically suspended its functioning, with classes happening over Zoom and less formal interactions taking place over Skype and Hangouts. There are some adorable moments like random domestic noises in the background, that many people are relating to worldwide. (Yeah, I don't know how I would get through this pandemic without social media.) It is a new not-normal, and I'm sure we won't go back to an identical old normal. I hope it is the right things that change.

Wash your hands, stay home if possible, treat people with kindness, hope I can get back to Mumbai-related posting soon!

The Dark Horse

Earlier this month was the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival: a celebration of music, dance, drama, literature, visual arts and more art forms across different locations in South Mumbai. 

The immediate comparison, in my mind, was to Chennai's Mylapore Festival, and they sure do share a sense of local excitement and spirit. However, the KGAF is more modern in flavour and attracts a slightly different kind of crowd. 

The main draw was the street connecting the Kala Ghoda statue and Lion Gate, which was filled with art installations and stalls of various kinds. The installations ranged from photographs celebrating the city, to representations of classic childhood toys, to representations of houses. Many incorporated ways to interact with it using technology, such as QR codes with facts and special points to take selfies. The stalls sold mostly clothing, jewellery, art and decorative items. Of course there were food stalls as well, and one thing I was glad to see (and use) was seats in a gallery along one side of the street. 

I also managed to catch a few events: one was a high-production-value Hindi adaptation of The Tempest, in Horniman Circle garden. It was an interesting watch! For starters, Prospero and Alonso were women. One suddenly thinks of the play differently when thinking of it as a mother and daughter who had to leave their home and build a life on the island. Ariel was two spirits, with a playful and agile dynamic. Caliban was foreign and frightening, and drew the most applause. Also, Ferdinand was very jacked. 

Of course, the medium made all the difference: the characters feel more relatable speaking in a conversational, local language. Unfortunately they didn't use this to explore possible themes (colonialism, gender) any deeper than the text.

Also, here is an unabashed plug of Mumbai Maths Circle. It is aimed at school/college students and maths teachers who would like to discuss puzzles and interesting mathematical ideas, with no thoughts of exams. Take it from me, even if I'm biased - maths is great fun! 

The Past and the Pudheel

I must clearly be passing well as a local since bus conductors have taken to talking to me in Marathi. Luckily "dahaa" is close enough to "dus", and "pudheel" (next) is familiar since it is in every audio announcement, but I don't think I can handle anything more complex just yet. 

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Mumbai has many museums - for example, museums for RBI, BEST, CST, Churchgate, Gandhi - but the oldest among them is the Dr Bhau Daji Lad Museum in Byculla. It shares a complex with a zoo, which is definitely a bigger draw! 

One superb thing this museum does is to hold free (no prior registration either) hour-long tours every Saturday and Sunday, in English as well as Hindi and Marathi. They are conducted by trained volunteers. 

Our particular guide was a doctor in training and had admirably committed to using his position to urge his listeners to be observant, historically literate, but most importantly empathetic, in these divided times.

The museum was built in 1862, then known as the Victoria and Albert museum. It was renovated in 2003 by INTACH. (More history here.) The guide pointed out the gentle green used to colour the inside walls, which contrasts well with the bronze and silver exhibits. There are ornate metal decorations everywhere, some painted in near-pure gold paint.

In the centre there is a regal statue of Prince Albert, flanked by the Muses of Science and Art. Accordingly, the exhibits on either side are broadly categorised into practical/technological ones and art/ornamental ones. 

We didn't spend much time on the ground floor; it has more 'typical' museum exhibits: weapons and miscellaneous items from various centuries and parts of India. The guide picked up a couple of things to talk about in depth, rather than a speedy and superficial tour of the whole place, but he went on several tangents along the way! (About gender, communalism and so on. His intentions were undoubtedly good - what is the use of history if not to prevent us making the same mistakes? But I personally would have preferred he instead fill that time with lesser-known facts about the museum or its contents.)

More fascinating for its local flavour was the first floor. It had figurines of the various communities that came to occupy Bombay along various points in its history; also of Indian communities in general. There were maps of Bombay through the ages. It also showcased Indian rural life, from its fields to its professions to its children's traditional games. 

Don't miss his belly.

This is a legitimate profession.

Amma and Appa: Please dress like this sometime.

The museum also has film screenings, exhibitions and talks round the year - will surely catch one of those sometime!