its a beautiful night
the world sleeps
and travels in a dream!
the nocturnal slumber opens up a new world
of myraid colours, exhilarated feelings ,
a journey like none other,
a world alive until the next small jerk
and the eyes open to the dark hours
only to find another world
just as real, chaotic or sultry
unconscious of the surrounding silence
a soft breath makes all the difference
and gives light to existence!
Saturday, August 28, 2010
An Ode to the Bombay Cabbie- contributed by Ryan Gazder
Exactly a week ago, I was headed back to Bandra from Cotton Green.
I was slowly ambling down the lane after leaving Wadia Baug,
an old Parsi neighborhood nestled amidst pristine greenery that breathes life
into the suffocating industrial boroughs of central Bombay.
Inclement skies above me enshrouded the evening sun with darker shades of
evergreying cloud, and soon the wispy rays of sunlight surrendered to
a torrent of sudden tropical rain. This was when I decided it would be
wiser to hail a passing cab rather than brave the onslaught alone.
Being where I was, I simply took it for granted that the makeshift
taxi-stand outside the colony would send forth yet another symbol of
all that is everlasting and symbolic of my city; the forever
black-and-yellow Fiat, complete with white-clad driver, elbow sticking
out and a beedi between his fingers. And so the sound of an engine
down the road signaled that my universal cab-hailing gesture (in the
monsoons this is usually akin to a frantic hand wildly gesticulating
from beneath an umbrella) had been acknowledged, and I'd soon be
rescued from the rain. Along came the taxi and for the very first time
in my tryst with the city, I hopped into a cab that wasn't a Fiat. As
I unwound from a relaxed afternoon lunch at my aunt's place, and eased
my bag into the Santro, as potholes and puddles & passersby passed us
by, an inevitable realization dawned and a conversation ensued.
The driver was from a remote village in the North, his
great-grandfather had come here at the turn of the century to work in
a mill. He was followed by his grandfather and his father, and then
finally the prodigal son, whose fortunes died a few decades ago when
mills started their decline. Today, ghosts of this once-upon-a-past
dot the central boroughs of Bombay like foggy whispers of a time that
was yet silently haunt a place long forgotten; amidst ruins that echo
the toil and industry of nameless faces who share a closer, more
intimate relationship than you and I in an anonymous city that forever
screams for release from the memories of its burden. A Santro, is
something I kept remarking to myself. And to think that yet another
evergreen symbol of one of Earth's greatest cities is now under the
hammer of time, soon to be replaced by the next generation of cleaner,
greener, more efficient cars. Going, going, almost gone but not quite
yet, the Premier Padmini still lives and is the heartbeat of the city.
Let's shift perspective a little. Think of a starship visiting Earth's
largest and busiest cities. Any intelligent alien civilization dawning
upon cities like Bombay, London & New York wouldn't be wrong to
observe the surface of these cities and assume that the dominant
life-forms in these cities are respectively made of metal,
black-and-yellow, black and yellow... that they swallow whole
two-legged bipeds, move around a bit, and spit them out again! How
ironic that we humans, master-marauders and plunderers of the planet;
the most dangerous species to walk this solar system in sheer
destructive capability alone, are relegated to mere cab-food as
observed by our celestial neighbors!
Back to terrestrial reality, a very uplifting conversation ensued
between the cabbie and me, talking about his aspirations for his
family. He was the first one in generations to actually bring his
family to live with him in Bombay, rather than visit once a year.
Starting life as a cab-driver who paid daily rent to a cab-owner,
he toiled and saved for a better day, till he bought his first cab and
found freedom. That freedom from the cab owner was just another mask,
for his fate was now sealed to an even larger, more ruthless,
faceless, tryant; the co-op bank. But of course, as all good stories
have it, his happy ending was that he now owns four cabs (driven by
his blood-brother and 2 cousins), is educating both his children in an
English medium school, has taken out LIC and Mediclaim policies
covering himself, his brother and both cousins in case of calamity or
misfortune so their respective families are protected from loss of
income... and the list goes on. I observed with a smile as he reached
across to the passenger side, and how the fancy digital meter had to
be cranked clockwise to reset the fare, a modern twist reminiscent of
not-quite-invisible rituals that are ensconced in our collective human
consciousness and that of this city. Here was someone who had every
right to live in and struggle and earn his daily bread as you or I.
And he toiled his daily routine with a conviction of reality laced
with fortitude and compassion for those around him. He was beaming,
and he had a smile, and achieved so much, yet knew his journey had
only begun... and as the rain pelted the windshield, my journey had
come to an end.
Yes, I've lived in and have been visiting Bombay ever since I was
born, and grew up, moved away, and kept coming back. The city has its
own magnetic allure and in one aggressive canvas paints a dance that
amalgamates the essence of India and all we have to offer. So this is
where I was, in a new icon of an old and ever-changing city what
testifies defiance to the platitude, "the more things change, the more
they remain the same."
I was slowly ambling down the lane after leaving Wadia Baug,
an old Parsi neighborhood nestled amidst pristine greenery that breathes life
into the suffocating industrial boroughs of central Bombay.
Inclement skies above me enshrouded the evening sun with darker shades of
evergreying cloud, and soon the wispy rays of sunlight surrendered to
a torrent of sudden tropical rain. This was when I decided it would be
wiser to hail a passing cab rather than brave the onslaught alone.
Being where I was, I simply took it for granted that the makeshift
taxi-stand outside the colony would send forth yet another symbol of
all that is everlasting and symbolic of my city; the forever
black-and-yellow Fiat, complete with white-clad driver, elbow sticking
out and a beedi between his fingers. And so the sound of an engine
down the road signaled that my universal cab-hailing gesture (in the
monsoons this is usually akin to a frantic hand wildly gesticulating
from beneath an umbrella) had been acknowledged, and I'd soon be
rescued from the rain. Along came the taxi and for the very first time
in my tryst with the city, I hopped into a cab that wasn't a Fiat. As
I unwound from a relaxed afternoon lunch at my aunt's place, and eased
my bag into the Santro, as potholes and puddles & passersby passed us
by, an inevitable realization dawned and a conversation ensued.
The driver was from a remote village in the North, his
great-grandfather had come here at the turn of the century to work in
a mill. He was followed by his grandfather and his father, and then
finally the prodigal son, whose fortunes died a few decades ago when
mills started their decline. Today, ghosts of this once-upon-a-past
dot the central boroughs of Bombay like foggy whispers of a time that
was yet silently haunt a place long forgotten; amidst ruins that echo
the toil and industry of nameless faces who share a closer, more
intimate relationship than you and I in an anonymous city that forever
screams for release from the memories of its burden. A Santro, is
something I kept remarking to myself. And to think that yet another
evergreen symbol of one of Earth's greatest cities is now under the
hammer of time, soon to be replaced by the next generation of cleaner,
greener, more efficient cars. Going, going, almost gone but not quite
yet, the Premier Padmini still lives and is the heartbeat of the city.
Let's shift perspective a little. Think of a starship visiting Earth's
largest and busiest cities. Any intelligent alien civilization dawning
upon cities like Bombay, London & New York wouldn't be wrong to
observe the surface of these cities and assume that the dominant
life-forms in these cities are respectively made of metal,
black-and-yellow, black and yellow... that they swallow whole
two-legged bipeds, move around a bit, and spit them out again! How
ironic that we humans, master-marauders and plunderers of the planet;
the most dangerous species to walk this solar system in sheer
destructive capability alone, are relegated to mere cab-food as
observed by our celestial neighbors!
Back to terrestrial reality, a very uplifting conversation ensued
between the cabbie and me, talking about his aspirations for his
family. He was the first one in generations to actually bring his
family to live with him in Bombay, rather than visit once a year.
Starting life as a cab-driver who paid daily rent to a cab-owner,
he toiled and saved for a better day, till he bought his first cab and
found freedom. That freedom from the cab owner was just another mask,
for his fate was now sealed to an even larger, more ruthless,
faceless, tryant; the co-op bank. But of course, as all good stories
have it, his happy ending was that he now owns four cabs (driven by
his blood-brother and 2 cousins), is educating both his children in an
English medium school, has taken out LIC and Mediclaim policies
covering himself, his brother and both cousins in case of calamity or
misfortune so their respective families are protected from loss of
income... and the list goes on. I observed with a smile as he reached
across to the passenger side, and how the fancy digital meter had to
be cranked clockwise to reset the fare, a modern twist reminiscent of
not-quite-invisible rituals that are ensconced in our collective human
consciousness and that of this city. Here was someone who had every
right to live in and struggle and earn his daily bread as you or I.
And he toiled his daily routine with a conviction of reality laced
with fortitude and compassion for those around him. He was beaming,
and he had a smile, and achieved so much, yet knew his journey had
only begun... and as the rain pelted the windshield, my journey had
come to an end.
Yes, I've lived in and have been visiting Bombay ever since I was
born, and grew up, moved away, and kept coming back. The city has its
own magnetic allure and in one aggressive canvas paints a dance that
amalgamates the essence of India and all we have to offer. So this is
where I was, in a new icon of an old and ever-changing city what
testifies defiance to the platitude, "the more things change, the more
they remain the same."
Street Smart!
During the zillion cab rides around Mumbai, I have closely observed many cabs and cabwalas alike. I always found it strange when my father made petty conversations with cab drivers when I was a child, inquiring about where they were coming from , which part of Uttar Pradesh or Bihar. As he would say he was from village X he would immediately remark that others coming from village Y were all ‘tadipar’ or escaped convicts.
It was only after a few more years that I discovered a similar tendency, to make little conversations with cab drivers, these mostly took place during my journeys from home to my Italian classes at Worli, n then from Worli to VT to Times of India building where I worked in the international sales team.
This was at a time when the cabbie scene was changing drastically in Mumbai. There were some comfy air- conditioned, phone a cab services opened up , moreover , the old defunct fiats were now being replaced by newer cars in the market such as Maruti Suzuki models like Van, Alto, Zen, 800, Wagon R etc. This change was gladly welcomed by passengers and drivers alike. Though the drivers had to take car loans and work harder to repay the loans and maintain these cars, they did admit that they could now drive tirelessly for more hours, as they no longer had to use the painstaking hand gear. The passengers were also thrilled to use the newer cabs and I was no exception.
One of my first rides I recall was on one rainy morning at 7:30 am from SV Road Khar, I spotted a Fiat Siena cab from a distance and a confident looking man with a reddish brown beard. I knew that instant I had to take it. I felt privileged to sit in this rare cab just as the driver was proud to own it. After finishing an Italian grammar exercise quickly, and clearing my throat to satiate my curiosity I started bouncing my set of questions at the cabwala. I found out his name was ‘Patel’. I called him Patel Chahcha out of respect for an older person.
Aap ne ye kabhi li? When did u buy this car? Enthused he relied, “I was one of the first to buy the car after receiving the letter from the Mumbai police although I had more time in hand. I jumped at the opportunity and bought the Fiat Siena at Rs. 6 lakhs down payment.” I was amazed! I could not resist asking more questions. It’s a wonderful car I remarked! “Yes it is. I bought this car and I got another letter from the traffic police saying that this car cannot be permitted to be used as regular cab as this is a luxury car”. Patel Chacha pointed out to the traffic Police that the notice did not state which models were not permitted, it only stated that the cabs that have been used for more than 26 years had to be replaced within a given time and hence he had sold his old Fiat Premier to buy a Fiat Siena. The police demanded a handsome fine before they could allow the cab to run on the roads. He paid the suggested amount to free himself from more hassles. The traffic police then made a correction and issued a new notice to cabwalas, stating the car- makes that were allowed to replace the defunct old Fiat Premiers. I was spellbound by his story but he had more to share. Patel Chacha went on to say that he had select customers every day. He only drove those who called him. He finished his duty by 5 in the evening. He also gave me his mobile number, if I had any emergency or needed his services, he would be happy to ply if he was available. I saved the number on my mobile phone and thanked him.
The next few days I was on a roll to use more new cabs and continue small talking with cab drivers. I sat in a Maruti Alto a few days later from Worli to my VT office. When the cab driver started a rather amusing conversation with me. We were passing a crowded busy area called Kalbadevi when the cab driver pointed out a spot and said, “ I picked up a young boy about your age from here this morning. He worked with ICICI Bank had a wheatish complexion. His mother was educated and a retired IAS office. The boy did stop for a smoke though. I dropped him till Andheri”. I said to myself, “Fantastic the cabwala turns cupid”!
It was only some days later I took a Maruti Wagon R. the cabwala drove quiet fast as it was 11 in the night and the streets were empty. At Peddar road he asked me “madam I hope im not driving too fast?” I replied, “Fast is fine but please drive safe!” He replied , “Madam I have to drive safe, I’m more worried about my car I still have to pay Rs. 1.5 lacs of car loan!
These were some of the most striking of the many endless conversations I had with cabwalas in Mumbai in the year 2009. I was amazed at the wisdom among these men who had come all the way from North and Central India to make a living. Who drive day and night to support their family. They are happy to drive in a New India with free roads and new cars but only wished for more tolerant political leaders in this city.
It was only after a few more years that I discovered a similar tendency, to make little conversations with cab drivers, these mostly took place during my journeys from home to my Italian classes at Worli, n then from Worli to VT to Times of India building where I worked in the international sales team.
This was at a time when the cabbie scene was changing drastically in Mumbai. There were some comfy air- conditioned, phone a cab services opened up , moreover , the old defunct fiats were now being replaced by newer cars in the market such as Maruti Suzuki models like Van, Alto, Zen, 800, Wagon R etc. This change was gladly welcomed by passengers and drivers alike. Though the drivers had to take car loans and work harder to repay the loans and maintain these cars, they did admit that they could now drive tirelessly for more hours, as they no longer had to use the painstaking hand gear. The passengers were also thrilled to use the newer cabs and I was no exception.
One of my first rides I recall was on one rainy morning at 7:30 am from SV Road Khar, I spotted a Fiat Siena cab from a distance and a confident looking man with a reddish brown beard. I knew that instant I had to take it. I felt privileged to sit in this rare cab just as the driver was proud to own it. After finishing an Italian grammar exercise quickly, and clearing my throat to satiate my curiosity I started bouncing my set of questions at the cabwala. I found out his name was ‘Patel’. I called him Patel Chahcha out of respect for an older person.
Aap ne ye kabhi li? When did u buy this car? Enthused he relied, “I was one of the first to buy the car after receiving the letter from the Mumbai police although I had more time in hand. I jumped at the opportunity and bought the Fiat Siena at Rs. 6 lakhs down payment.” I was amazed! I could not resist asking more questions. It’s a wonderful car I remarked! “Yes it is. I bought this car and I got another letter from the traffic police saying that this car cannot be permitted to be used as regular cab as this is a luxury car”. Patel Chacha pointed out to the traffic Police that the notice did not state which models were not permitted, it only stated that the cabs that have been used for more than 26 years had to be replaced within a given time and hence he had sold his old Fiat Premier to buy a Fiat Siena. The police demanded a handsome fine before they could allow the cab to run on the roads. He paid the suggested amount to free himself from more hassles. The traffic police then made a correction and issued a new notice to cabwalas, stating the car- makes that were allowed to replace the defunct old Fiat Premiers. I was spellbound by his story but he had more to share. Patel Chacha went on to say that he had select customers every day. He only drove those who called him. He finished his duty by 5 in the evening. He also gave me his mobile number, if I had any emergency or needed his services, he would be happy to ply if he was available. I saved the number on my mobile phone and thanked him.
The next few days I was on a roll to use more new cabs and continue small talking with cab drivers. I sat in a Maruti Alto a few days later from Worli to my VT office. When the cab driver started a rather amusing conversation with me. We were passing a crowded busy area called Kalbadevi when the cab driver pointed out a spot and said, “ I picked up a young boy about your age from here this morning. He worked with ICICI Bank had a wheatish complexion. His mother was educated and a retired IAS office. The boy did stop for a smoke though. I dropped him till Andheri”. I said to myself, “Fantastic the cabwala turns cupid”!
It was only some days later I took a Maruti Wagon R. the cabwala drove quiet fast as it was 11 in the night and the streets were empty. At Peddar road he asked me “madam I hope im not driving too fast?” I replied, “Fast is fine but please drive safe!” He replied , “Madam I have to drive safe, I’m more worried about my car I still have to pay Rs. 1.5 lacs of car loan!
These were some of the most striking of the many endless conversations I had with cabwalas in Mumbai in the year 2009. I was amazed at the wisdom among these men who had come all the way from North and Central India to make a living. Who drive day and night to support their family. They are happy to drive in a New India with free roads and new cars but only wished for more tolerant political leaders in this city.
Monday, August 9, 2010
A cosmic dance
it was rather ironic that i had to travel a few hundred miles
cross the shores of my country, in order to discover my own eternal friend, my breath
the roots of this journey had been laid at home
but i had to make this journey in order to seek my guru, my breath
the voiced that echoed this eternal truth was also from my homeland
we co-incided in the arabian land on a purposeful day
and discovered that we had met before
the voice speaking the divine reality was my father of a previous life
who took me through many cosmic journeys within this journey abroad
to understand my divinity , to reflect my self, unravelling the secrets of the universe
the secret was nothing, but the present moment, the here and now
and you are no one but a God , who has travelled through many lifetimes to master physical reality
thus forgetting yourself, creating a physical god who is in reality a powerhouse of energy
a powerhouse waiting to give its infinite energy to the billion magnets below
the magnets only had to align themselves close to iron bar
the billion magnets are us, the path is being with your natural friend- your breath
and fly with it, it will give you wings to fly, your soul will fly in this sky
to experience oneness with the self and the universe
cross the shores of my country, in order to discover my own eternal friend, my breath
the roots of this journey had been laid at home
but i had to make this journey in order to seek my guru, my breath
the voiced that echoed this eternal truth was also from my homeland
we co-incided in the arabian land on a purposeful day
and discovered that we had met before
the voice speaking the divine reality was my father of a previous life
who took me through many cosmic journeys within this journey abroad
to understand my divinity , to reflect my self, unravelling the secrets of the universe
the secret was nothing, but the present moment, the here and now
and you are no one but a God , who has travelled through many lifetimes to master physical reality
thus forgetting yourself, creating a physical god who is in reality a powerhouse of energy
a powerhouse waiting to give its infinite energy to the billion magnets below
the magnets only had to align themselves close to iron bar
the billion magnets are us, the path is being with your natural friend- your breath
and fly with it, it will give you wings to fly, your soul will fly in this sky
to experience oneness with the self and the universe
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