Autumn

I am not given to undue inspiration. Yet when the air is thick with mist and mellow fruitfulness and the sun is mild with its silvery spread, my city, Kolkata becomes vibrant with sound of the trumpets, smoke of the incense sticks and religious fervour. Somewhere an entire city loses itself into all that and autumn comes alive to me. Yes, it seems to me autumn has its meaning in Kolkata. For a fact, I know this is incorrect, but nevertheless in my mind, the season is there in me lying in my bed in Kolkata, reading durga puja special magazines and then there are apparel shop owners haggling with the customers, and there is me in Kolkata again, in one of our numerous ‘adda’ sessions.

Autumn used to bring with it a lot more than this. It used to be about clear blue sky, potted flowers such as dahlia, zinnia; long walks in the afternoon, futile philosophising, barred clouds blooming the soft-dying day, song of hedge-crickets, lazy chilly evenings with friends. It was also about hot steaming biryanis, succulent mutton curry and fancy fried fish. It was sort of characterised with a feeling of numbness that seeped into pretty much everything that gave a brief respite from our anxious existences. It would fill our days with a sense of calm and humility, a sense of ‘divinity’, a feeling that there is a power higher than us.

Then there is the cultural aspect of the city that is almost infectious. It kind of presents an alternative, deeper way of life to the people bogged down by uncertainties of everyday life. The staged plays, bengali songs, dance takes one deep into the core of the city’s being and uplifts the spirit. Its lends a character to the poor international city. And it seems the city is not in urgent need of any charity.

The thing that I began to learn from autumn in Kolkata is the utmost need for celebration in life. I learnt the important of seeking happiness at subliminal level to enjoy the true essence of our short lives.

ENDS

Daydreaming....

Daydreaming.....

Let today’s light scatter into myriad images;
A sputtering of colours, beings, nature;
All canvassed into an ever-widening cobweb;
Culling out yet another world through mind’s eye;
Oh yes, here’s my Freud, my spark of creation;
That comes and comes and slowly swallows me.

- Meghna Maiti

Winter

Winter

We know its winter when sting-chill of cold air freezes our hand; a calming blanches of silence presses upon the cityscape; hanging smog creates a white hiatus. The happiest time of the year that lasts a little too long, the days that extends just a little too short a little too quickly- and then seem to stay there indefinitely. The winter of young souls, of freshness, love, youth, romance. The faded shades of leaves rustling in the mild wintry breeze take on the pallor of the season.  The houses remain tucked away behind a protective layer of Gulmohar, Mango and Eucalyptus. This time of the year is covered with colourful vibrancy of youthful music and the sound of guitar strings by the bonfire.

My first memories of winter are woven with various shades of red, blue, yellow colours in the streets of Kolkata. It’s my hometown in the eastern side of the country where winter is pretty cold. All shiny, colourful sweaters, pullovers, jackets and blankets are brought out of the closet.  It’s the onset of the season when vegetable sellers lay a beautiful spread of fresh and exotic vegetables. The time is usually December, January when people go out for long drives in the night along the well-lit, decorated lanes of Park Street. The nights signal the hour to spend quality time with old lovers, the time when all quarrels have to be put to rest. The afternoons are meant to be enjoyed by the caresses of the mild sun. Kolkata's winter taught me the language of heart and expressions of dreams.

Now many years later, in Mumbai, winter is a tad different. Here the drag of winter collapses under the weight of life. The beauty of the serene Arabian sea, cool natural air-conditioning breeze cannot compete with the charms of its raging life-force. It seems at once romantic and short-lived. The mystical winter days here seem more real, concrete and weighty as if it's here to give more stamina to push ourselves even harder to our tangible goals. It’s a fleeting season here, rooted in reality.

Meghna Maiti

Twilight in Mumbai

Every day, I usually take a short break and walk down Kalaghoda road in Mumbai, to take in the essence of twilight. At around six thirty in the evening, when the office space looks melancholic with a bright orange glow, I step out to lose myself in another world. This is a moment when bits of smouldering earth intertwine with mild breeze, and I feel tangled in an ethereal magic.

Everything is burnt orange and red and black, clay-tinged and warm. There’s a mystery disguised as menace, a lull in spite of storm, and the sky gives off a phantom light that makes the tangible look cinematic. The black leaves of the huge trees begin to sway as the bats start hovering above. A number of street-lamps dot the landscape. The place that is so familiar looks celestial, all of a sudden. The chirping of insects mutes the far-out concrete jungle and sharpens the red sky. 

The breeze sometimes chills my spine, even in the dry, unrelenting heat. The entire place stands by itself like a divine cry with decades of longing in it. Of all the cities that I have lived in, none has truly represented the splendour of the sunset as Mumbai. The western part of our country is stifling with its crammed existence and materialism, but with the Arabian Sea and the bits and parts of south Mumbai and Bandra, this part of the country still holds its charms.

Mumbai is a land of glitz and glamour, but it’s not just about business, stock markets or Bollywood. One could argue, geology plays an important part too. Where else do a break from an intensely exhausting workplace such as stock market, can take you to rocks, sea and seagulls as well as the beautiful sunset with changing hues, that is so enchanting and surreal, which could be literally compared with an orange. And we instantly know the people and places here could be the same as everywhere, that there are long shots and bumpy rides, but there’s something always there listening in the distance.

Meghna Maiti

The World after iPhone

September 12, 2012- Mumbai, Churchgate- 10 am: Overcast sky, slight drizzle, high tides in the Arabian Sea. The area is jam-packed with beggars, office goers, businessmen, students, pimps and prostitutes- all careering through at breakneck speed to prepare for another day of money, deals, drug, sex, food. Amidst the chaos and traffic, a young executive of a noted company looks visibly distressed in his fancy car. He flips out his fancy iPhone and holds it up- his face shines with radiance. Incidentally, a young woman trips along the pavement gazing at her iPhone’s updates from friends as John Lennon fills her ears- Imagine all the people living life in peace. You may say, I am a dreamer…….

What if Lennon wakes up and slips into the country of his youth on September 12? He will witness a sort of adrenaline-fuelled journey in American history, when the invitees nip away wind and intermittent rain in San Francisco to see the era’s hottest design invention- 4G-enabled iPhone 5. Stuck in a flurry of ideas and sensations, the iconic singer will feel the eerie presence of Steve Jobs, Apple CEO Tim Cook and rock musician Dave Growl. He too will wait expectantly with the audience. Meanwhile, the newly launched iPhone 5 will take on the aura of timeless femininity with its sleek, delicate, soft features, that not only reflects Apple legacy but also creates a digital human culture embedded in life, construction that seem to be half urban, half religious, and quality of both expert workmanship and knowledge that is secret, sacred and mythic rather than practical and functional.

Much like Lennon, Jobs was a libertarian, seized with burning vision, who however believed the fate of the world depend on the effort of an "individual" who builds or propagates machinery of freedom that makes the world safe for capitalism. Jobs unveiled the first iPhone to the public in January 9, 2007 in San Francisco. The two initial models saw record sales, with hundreds of customers lined up outside the stores nationwide. The passionate reaction to the launch of the iPhone resulted in sections of the media christening it the ‘Jesus phone.’ While Apple is the most popular selling smart phone in the US, Samsung is the global leader in sales. Apple reported its best quarterly earnings ever in January 2012, with 53 per cent of its revenue coming from the sale of 37 million iPhones, at an average selling price of nearly $660. In February 2012, Comscore reported that 12.4 per cent of US mobile subscribers use an iPhone.

Armed with a polished surface and tolerances measured in microns, Apple seeks to position itself on a plane far higher than the drove of expensive luxury phones. What is indispensable is the sense of comfort it exudes when one holds it in his hand and operates with his thumb- almost like a seer who ferries people to the world where humanity is the only religion. The diviner detects on a hunch, when to create a radical device so the world accepts. He imparts it with unique features such as improved version of Siri to help it empathise with people.

A JP Morgan report suggests the release of iPhone 5 could potentially add between one-fourth and half per cent point to fourth quarter annualized GDP growth. However, economist Paul Krugman did not seem to buy the forecast and said that immediate gains would come from the way the new phone would get people to junk their old phones and replace them.

Finesse and subtlety define Apple aesthetic. iPhone 5 is 20 per cent lighter and 18 per cent thinner than iPhone 4S. It is just 7.6 millimeters thin and has white earpods. The device is encased in glass and aluminium and comes in two colours- black and white, with a silver black. The new iPhone 5 is priced at $199 for 16 GB, $299 for 32 GB, $399 for 64 GB (US).

meghnamaiti@mydigitalfc.com

ENDS

Of media & reviews

Of media & reviews

The reaction to a supposedly breaking story in a small newspaper can loosen up “men in tights”.  In an age of mainstream media, where a business newspaper is only valued by its liaisons with top corporates, a big story break in a boutique newspaper can gobble up such monsters, if only for a while. Suddenly, one might hear voices in a lone head and see intense visions.

A snobbish editor from an upstart media house might suddenly yield the low ground to “congratulate” the reporter involved with the story. He may even feign ignorance of the existence of the newspaper and recount how he only heard the news in a conference in the morning when others were talking about it. While another big media-house attributes the news by a national newspaper to a local one and refuses to acknowledge its presence. In this case, the solitary hero is foreign to an era in which it is understood that the world is increasingly interconnected now and big brands are slowly losing their exclusivities.

The reaction is often comical when some senior reporter from the industry comments:  “How could this newspaper fire up the stock?” (The story had moved up stock of a certain company). Such reactions reveal the disillusionment of the savvy journalists. It also points us to a certain sense of disconnect with the reality or an escapist mindset to avoid all complexities of modern media.

The recent trend in the media world is the dispersion of the center- it's natural because the news channels and newspapers no longer offer perspectives, because Indian society itself no longer presents an illusion of unity. Many  TV channels which have been anointed as stars with the maximum TRP (television rating point) or viewership’ turn out to be glorified corporate mouthpieces.

And these two realms of media and viewers become dispersed and discentered because people have stopped believing. Often, the result of such brutal reactions is yearning for a time when news was born out of idealism, a time when fewer questions were asked, fewer assumptions were made.

meghnamaiti@mydigitalfc.com

Paris in its true spirit

Occasionally when my mind is feeling seized, droning and whirring like a broken beehive, I take a trip down the memory lane to the enigmatic, dark attic in Paris of my friend Chantal. When one thinks of Paris, one would not want to remain confined in a dark, cold, threadbare room on the roof- with its unpolished wooden walls, the worn hardwood floors and its quirky owner.

Chantal, whom I had known since her first trip to India years ago, is a psychic by profession and she cures all with troubled hearts and souls. Her makeshift place is kind of a safe zone where weird people from all over the world can come for a night, indulge in a free-wheeling party with some writers and musicians of France, and look forward to- a sense of cultural superiority on the one hand, on the other hand- some healing exercises for the soul, patient ears and drink for the soul.

The music is often heart wrenching, divine, intimate while costumes are supposed to be based on a theme- phantom, prostitute and so on. The idea is to be completely uninhibited, timeless, and open, bohemian as if nothing else matters. Slowly, people with deep level of anxiety pull themselves from the dark corners and join in the drunken revelry.

The food served is usually generous and palatable- cheese with cookies, soup, meat fondue with champagne and wine. The old cinematic clichés of virtuosos spontaneously collaborating in the thick of history and neon cigarette smoke, artistically advancing the genre, applies to Chantal’s parties.

At around midnight, people get all busy in a kind of orgy and dance and speak out their insecurities aloud. Suddenly one might find whispers of advices, several voices like radio waves in different frequencies. It is then one needs to shut all noise and listen to her own voice within.

The windows are opened in the morning and people slowly move out to walk down the Saint De Port road. All these memories are timeless, beyond the realm of modern world, out in the ether.

ENDS

Meghna Maiti