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

Art for art's sake

It is unfortunate how English readers in India increasingly value articles on blatant materialism than simple, earthy things. There is painful bitterness in the entire process, yet, it is fair even to the publication and the writer who regards writing as a business and responds to the demands of the market. It is this emphasis on the importance of money, and the very idea that even the best of the designers and art can be purchased, which is indeed debilitating and demoralising.

The striking juxtaposition of barbarism and civilisation in recent times is quite evident. While on the one hand, we see mind-blowing advancement in science, technology, and lifestyle; on the other hand, we see this degeneration of mind, inability to appreciate the natural and finer things of life. The bull market is almost unbearable, turning life into a mortgage payment, with a price tag on almost everything, including ‘art’. Newspapers and magazines merely try to cater to the popular interests and secure the widest possible readership. For most writers, art is about people who have led a life of greed and opulence. This state of things is traceable to the lack of education, in all senses of the word.

Before things could improve, there could be a period of what many people will call ‘capitalist anarchy’. Bizarre though it may seem, people might then realise that education and emancipation would make them truly human.

Most English newspapers, even the ones who claim to have their own voices, now follow the most commercial route and consider it an indispensable tool for instilling loyalty. The path to success is suppression of individualism and collective good. Newspaper prices are kept low to pull in more people. 

In a sense, this seems to be the only way out. Capitalism is king and pretty much everything is branded. Call it buying and selling of aspirations. Call it free market economy. Whatever it is, there is very little representation of the ‘classic Indian life’.

Meghna Maiti

Wild Spirit

Oh do not touch the wildness; you will not get her;

Her wild, wild spirit hangs low over the seashore,

Like an unstring puppet braving the element;

Flying in face of humanity, baffling the earth,

She is weaker than life, stronger than death.

Sensuous ducts for seduction; lust, lust, lust

Scents of steam and mildew; ancient than world,

Wraps her formless self and makes you flush

The earth rocks and rocks; she rises slowly;

Like a snaky smoke, beyond you and all.

Sins Sins; her sins would absolve in Jesus;

Seven demons to match wits with Mary Magdalene,

She feels a miracle that sets her free,

Finds boundless ocean in the eyes of her beloved;

And within some moments annihilate years.

She is all by herself a wild lion; her gold beaten skin;
Glowing, growling, and hunting, snarl and snarl,
Feasting on the body of her prey from sub-Saharan Africa
Like Shango hurling bolts of lightning at his followers,
Blood, blood, makes her purer and enlightened. 

Shine, shine; her star flickers on and off, on and off;
Its incandescence dazzles the sky and the earth,
The glints of hot meteors fly, and she smiles, loves;
By whatever those sparks mean to her and all,
They bless her with a royal crown and a palanquin. 

Meghna Maiti

Walking In The Rain

Meghna Maiti

Mumbai

Rain, Rain, Rain.

Just look at you, walking in at this odd hour into this dreary land and breathing life into it like a lighthouse on pitch-dark seashore, twirling the side of your skirt pensively as the water drops freckle your cheeks with sweet diamond of moisture - for what?

For a bit of philanthropy, perhaps? Or romance with those hapless souls depressed by the continuous dryness. And it is not without any reason. Look- nature whips Indian economy back and forth more than bankers do. If the kharif crop is depleted, the consequences will be an inflationary Diwali and bleak winter. Fast moving consumer goods companies glide along those glistening streets to glory. What more, monsoon affects replenishment of ground water and generation of hydel power too.

Your mysterious nature even leaves the Met department confused. And how are they supposed to know that you are coming? It is not as if they have a Lord Indra there with his magic stick to forecast the weather. Therefore, we avoid the news and let the element of mystery deepen. Like saints. It is late, we are out of cereals and sugar, and our clothes are itchy. We have to act stingy and postpone our purchases of our favourite cars, television and cars until prices drop.

So silly our impatience now seems, stuck as we are in the unreality of Indian gloom and doom. Now that we have seen you for a couple of days - with your jet-black hair still damp from the shower, with your deep and seductive eyes, with your scents of marsh and upland, and most of all, with your infectious sense of calmness and serenity, seems to be the beginning of a long-drawn affair. Listening to you fall, long after the sun goes down and long after night, until the morning hours, is a deep and most enchanting experience.

However, are you here to stay? Are you growing spiritual, what with the expectations of coming to the foothills of Himalayas, the north and northeast over the next few days?  Will you starve your admirers in some other parts such as Maharashtra, Karnataka? We are sure you will not let drought, your competitor ruin the chances of millions of men.

Yet it seems, we have caught you on a day when you have decided to make a fresh start. To make a fresh start, try to come more often, come more vigorously to plant new seeds in the hearts of your boyfriends, pick out new drinks for them, buy them expensive gifts, settle their finances and pay for their bills. Moreover, do not forget to dump them when your days here are over.

Sensitivity like you is rare to find. We can even see the most intrepid of souls clearing the roads on a rainy day. And those who did not brave you have no idea what they are missing.

We really feel we all love you.

ENDS

meghnamaiti@mydigitalfc.com