Coming to myself in solitary confinement

Coming to myself in solitary confinement

 As the clinking of vessels slowed to a soft din and the steady flow of water running from the tap turned into soapy, lathery foam around the half-washed dishes, I stood next to the wash basin in the kitchen wearing my leathery gloves and shifted my gaze to the road outside the window, strangely quiet apart from the harsh sunlight of the afternoon sun of mid-March. The aroma from the chicken broth placed on the gas oven filled the air with a familiar aroma of a peaceful holiday at home, the one that was so dear to me. It was just that this time all was not that peaceful, not that quiet either. It was more like a taste of redemption before an impending gloom. It was like a lull before an apocalypse.

It all starts in the morning everyday with a steady flow of news on the newspapers and online publications when I sip my morning lopchu tea. As much as I think of cutting myself away from all the chaos and clamour of the world concerning this great monster in the form of a virus, I can’t resist the urge of knowing, being aware of the reality around me. The words of the soothsayers and friends who do not foresee any negative eventuality in the new future too fail to quieten my frayed nerves. Then there are of course news about daily wage labourers or the delivery guys who are almost on the brink of starvation, which leave me with a strange pain in the pit of my stomach. And this pain does not go away even with my numerous effort to prepare dainty dishes for myself. And then I turn my attention to housework which is almost carried on over the day like a quiet ritual. Thanks to the cook and maid, who has been asked to stay away from the house for at least a week, I have learnt to channelise my energies into small chores like sweeping the floor, swabbing, cleaning the toilet, putting the clothes in washing machine, making the bed and doing the dishes. I have been consciously trying not to think and just carry on with whatever work in a robotic manner. I have managed to reduce myself to a point of great insignificance.

Though confinement is not new to me, I have spent almost the last two decades of my life alone, barring college years when I had roommates, who I could always not count on. Yet in none of those years I have sensed any global uncertainty of this magnitude that was capable of making the world topsy turvy. Nor have I seen powerful human beings across the world so vulnerable to chance and circumstances beyond their control. Though I have surely read in books but I haven’t experienced such instances of kindness and solidarity where the institutions and government are actually putting in effort to break a death chain. Every such act is making me realize about my own insignificance in the greater scheme of things.

And so I keep cooking, stirring, chopping, grinding until I can’t hear my voice no more . The chopped vegetables, fish, prawns, meat sometimes seem like amorphous agents trying to give shape to something sensuous, savoury, wholesome that would take the mind away from the harshness outside and take me to a different space and time. It’s the same with streaming sites such as Netflix or Amazon Prime whose content often brings with it different voices with different issues.

It's in this constant attempt to instil in myself a monk-like quietness and grounded-ness and on the other hand the urge to escape from all of this into the land of senses and colour, I oscillate. In doing this, I feel I have reached a balance that would help me tide over this crisis and help me cross the threshold into a more evolved space.

ENDS

No man is an island

No man is an island

By now there must be a sense of fatigue on everyone's mind when it comes to the issue of coronavirus. After all, it's there in the air, in every nook and corner, all across the earth, like a very sinister presence. Yet, from a very personal point of view, when I look at Mumbai, the city I live in, I can't help but wonder at the casual or lackadaisical attitude of the citizens here. While of course by this I don't include everyone but the majority, the people who are either raised here or the immigrants who have well imbibed the changing values and norms of this global city.

In my conversations with people here about the Covid-19 or coronavirus, they have mostly laughed it off, calling it just a passing flu that kills only one per cent of the population, an issue that the media and the government was just blowing out of proportion to create a sense of panic among the citizens. According to them, there was absolutely no need to follow the media or stop living our normal lives. They called it a rage created by the super-sanitised culture of the rich countries like China, the US or Italy. There was no need for social distancing either. Incidentally, outside on the roads and restaurants too, people were seen gathered in numbers, walking around, sitting around tables, carousing over mugs of beer, leading their normal lives, in a lot of places.

Meanwhile the Maharashtra (the worst-hit state in India so far) state government announced closure of all malls, gyms, pools, cinema theatres and all places where people mill in numbers. Citizens have also been advised to stay put in their homes and maintain 'social distancing' for the good of everyone. Over the weekend, there was yet another announcement on Section 144 being imposed by the Mumbai police on people who would be seen travelling in groups either to a domestic or foreign destination.

Hyper-individualism

While Mumbai spirit is well-known and well-revered across the country, the increasing culture of individualism is affecting everyone. The neighbours don't want to know each other and people feel unwelcome in other people's houses. They do not want to invest time in cultivating connections or meaningful relationships. Within their own families too they are seen not be connected with each other. Even when they are cooped up in their own small spaces in the city, they prefer spending their leisure hours munching popcorn and binge-watching netflix, amazon prime. During this time, the interruption from a neighbour or a surprise visit from a relative is clearly annoying for them. Also, the increasing work hours and long commute leave them with little time for anything else. And they don't see the value in social relationships. Hence, the outcome is lack of value for a collective existence. Faced with any sort of crisis, they feel the fight is their own only, the consequences too their own. 

The fallout of hyper-individualism is always destruction, depression, anxiety, insecurity which the people have clearly managed to mask with their decent paycheques and personal goals. Though even when they themselves fall sick they are at the mercy of doctors, nurses, family people- all the interconnected resources. They strongly feel that interconnection is passe and the most evolved mode of survival is individualism.

Clearly then, a sight of people dying in China or Italy on TV, is still sheer entertainment for them. It doesn't move them or bother them since it's not their business. Social distancing too does not matter to them because they feel strong enough to endure this and how this would impact others is not their concern either. Also, in a country of 1.2 billion citizens where people are dying every other day due to malnutrition or poverty, the wiping out of a part of the population will only save resources, help them to live better.

Move towards creation

I feel the sooner we start realising the value of collective existence or interconnectedness, we will be able to get out of the trap of death, disease and destruction. Even when we are living away from our families, in bigger metro cities in our country or in megapolises overseas, we will feel less burdened by our own issues. Also, even when we are leading our lives in small spaces, we will feel less alienated or lonelier. Hence, when we are putting our foot down to maintain social distance during such crisis hour, we are actually caring for people around us. I do not mean to sound preachy but with this mindset, we will move towards more love, light and healing. 

ENDS

The Power of Breast

The Power of Breast


There are perhaps very few things in heaven and earth that are as mysterious and intriguing as human breast. My great aunt, who was herself a formidable character, travelled the world alone and who did a Ph.D in Anthropology, said that the world revolved around the breast. By this she meant that it was the centre, focal point of all kinds of forces in the world. Breast is the primal source of energy that is both terrifying and wonderful at the same time, the point where energy becomes all conflicted, right that of a child to an adult, old person.We often see that on a child's expression when he/she wants to drink breast milk- raging desire or frustration, longing filled with a strange kind of love, affection. I remember once, several years ago, when a lump was detected in my mother's breast and how that put the entire family into anxiety. Thankfully, nothing bad was diagnosed there and we were much relieved.

In adolescence, when women start developing breast, they are often told things about it by the close women in their lives which causes a sense of confusion and trepidation about the goodness of breast in the context of the world and in terms of morality. How can something that is so apparently sacred and life-giving brings forth the eternal questions- Breast is good or bad? While in the western world, the cleavage, the narrow space where the breasts separate, is considered to be a thing of beauty, much to be revealed and shown off with low-cut, elegant dresses, in India, this is not encouraged as much, especially in average, ordinary areas. However, interestingly, all our Hindu goddesses and their sculpted figurines across walls of renowned temples like Khajuraho in Madhya Pradesh and others have always portrayed breasts beautifully. At a very early age, such depictions and moral dilemma teach us about the duality of all things and how human endeavour has always been to reach a non-dual state of existence.

In mythology, Inanna is the queen of heaven, the Sumerian goddess who is known to be very fertile, the goddess of love and war. Her breasts are symbolic of her power to sustain life and means of life, wherever she is present. The mound of Inanna is well-known in a part of Canada where celtic, pagan people gather in groups to worship the bountifulness of Inanna. In fact, the goddess religion from all across the world hold the secret of breast and its eternal impact on life.

In 60s feminism too, brassiere burning, the piece of cloth that holds the breasts together in a firm manner, became a rage to protest against patriarchy and oppression. Being able to throw the bra away and burn it was seen as a sign of sexual freedom and revolution. In that era, it resonated with a lot of married women too,  reeling under pressures of their control-freak husbands.

Our first lesson in life is to perhaps acknowledge and respect this power of the breast, its influence on human psyche and the energy it brings into the world. In a very unconscious manner, our breast always transforms our notions of morality and pushes us into a wider sphere of existence. So much so that breast can almost be equated to a cultish guru, drawing a huge number of people to itself and transforming their world-views with sheer magic and mesmerism.

ENDS

To celebrate birthday with 'giving'

#CelebrateBirthdayWithGiving

It's less than a month to my birthday and I am already feeling excited. Sometimes too much of exuberance gives way to reflection and melancholy. On a quiet, winter afternoon as I was leafing through my stuff, I suddenly realised that I was going to spend the coming birthday too, in Mumbai, a city where I have lived for over a decade now.  And that brings forth the inevitable questions- the concept of time, the influence of a city on an individual's life, personal triumphs and failures, relationships and overall- the importance of giving back to the city and all those kindred spirits who helped you unconditionally. While this might not be the first time that I have pondered over these questions, I have certainly understood things better as the waves of the Arabian Sea splashed across the smouldering rocks by the Marine Drive. In an instant flash, every 'so-called' complexities in my urban life became crystal clear to me. And I walked back with a confident gait.

Nevertheless, birthdays are always special, for everyone. No wonder it reminds one about the waning hours in one's life. But it also paves the way to maturity, beauty, grace and compassion. We learn to get out of our selfish cocoon and relate with others and the universe around us. We understand that we are not alone in this struggle called life and livelihood. We realise that problems will always remain, despite the age and circumstances and the eternal truth that 'nobody's perfect.' In my journey to selfhood and independence, it was in fact my so-called greatest 'enemies' who pushed me to freedom and enlightenment. They made me realise that the greatest joy was in living out of oneself, to virtually do everything for others, to completely empty oneself of one's Self or any notion of it. Whenever I have succeeded in feeling this strongly, I have felt a surge of energy filling me up with joy and a sense of possibilities. It has also made me more aware as a person.

Now how does a normal person give? Isn't 'charity' only for the rich? I feel that's not true at all. Though this might sound cliche but we all are capable of giving in small ways, almost everyday. I try to give my maid small cash amounts as extra money as and when I can. Like so many other women, I give her clothes, books and newspapers for her children. Similarly, I try to help my old and ailing neighbour by giving company, inviting her to house parties, giving her small gifts that brings cheer to her lonely face. Their warmth and love fills my heart with gratitude and contentment.

But giving should never be confused with laziness or poverty. As we all know, it's much beyond that. It's a state of high vibration, spirit, joy and a great amount of wealth and prosperity too. The idea is to acquire wealth as much as possible for the sake of others, to improve the lives and lifestyles of people who are closely linked with us.

I hope I can truly give on my birthday and live in tandem with others.

Much love & sunshine

Meghna

B-103 restaurant- Mumbai

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Restaurant: B -103

Location: IC Colony, Borivli West, Mumbai

Recently I had been to B-103, the newly-opened pub and dining joint in western part of Mumbai. Here's my take on the place: 

Ambience: On the outside, B-103 looks like a place where intimate conversation begins over food and drink. But it was far from it. When I landed up at this newly opened restaurant on Valentine’s Day, this year, I was kind of curious about its railway station-like appeal, the reality of everyday Mumbai life. Thanks to its neon-lit signboard on a rickety lamp-post and its brick-lined exterior, the place did resemble a quaint little platform in a distant suburb.

However, as I stepped into the dimly-lit pub inside with my friend, we found it to be like a ‘cacophony’ box. It was only 7:30 pm but the restaurant was reverberating with deafening music played from the item numbers, Bollywood, mainly. We almost had to holler across the table to attempt any conversation. Repeated requests to the manager to lower down the volume fell on deaf ears.

There is a pub and a dining place, further inside. The pub has a very regular décor, with normal chairs and tables strewn across the area and a drinking place with glasses and liquor bottles. On the sides there are benches and tables. The dining place inside has a claustrophobic air, with no windows. Sofas, chairs and tables are placed all around in an orderly fashion.

Food: To start with, we ordered two glasses of Planter Punch prepared with orange juice, pineapple juice, topped with Rum. We found the presentation to be slightly tacky with just a sipper over it and a dry piece of lemon floated across. Also, it was not served in a highball glass. Nor was the drink poured over ice. The cocktail tasted a bit too tangy and bitter.

Soon enough the manager noticed our ‘exasperated’ expressions and politely told us to move to the dining section inside. And it was at least quiet there. Finally, we could start a conversation. The main course turned out to be pretty delicious.

Since it was Shivratri too, we stuck to vegetarian fare. We ordered ‘Veg Paprika’- assorted veggies tossed with paprika sauce served with pepper rice and mashed potato. And there was Gaewn Kiew Phak- Thai Green Curry vegetables with rice. Veg Paprika did have fresh exotic vegetables and the right ingredients in its sauce. Thai Green Curry too had the right amount of freshness and tanginess of kafir lime leaves and sweet, herbal taste provided by the other thai ingredients. We quite enjoyed the meal.

Overall Experience: Despite the noise, the waiters were prompt, friendly and the food was good. The restaurant must improve on its drink. The price is not too steep. Also, this could be now certainly counted as a decent food joint in IC Colony, Borivli West.

ENDS

I in I Am An Entrepreneur

Meghna Maiti

Who am I? It is perhaps the inanest question, yet it’s also not so easy to comprehend always. I am Meghna Maiti- a fairly responsible daughter, a reliable friend to many, a decent journalist and a writer, an editor and so many other identities. At different phases and circumstances, I play each of these parts and feel satisfied with the way I juggle each of these layers. But I know, I am much more than all of these, beneath all these layers of personalities. I am also a breathing presence, pulsating with life force who could go on solitary walks under the clear, blue sky and think of achieving the impossible.

I am a woman.

I am still a child for whom life is all full of beginnings and no endings. At some level I am also already a ghost who is sometimes haunted by unpleasant past, bitter experiences and setbacks that killed a part of me. I am made of the influences of numerous stars and constellation that chart my future path and decide the course of my destiny. I am somewhere a Sagittarius on the cusp.

I am a ‘mean’ person, a ‘selfish’ brute and an ‘arrogant show-off’ for some people. To some I am even ‘rebel’ and ‘radical.’ And to some others, I am a wannabe elite, a gold-digger and a witch. I have always popped all these comments with a pinch of salt.

Yet according to many people, I am an extremely honest and loyal person. But I know for sure that I am no embodiment of virtues. And I am certainly no Mother Teresa. I know that.

I am also thoughts, concepts, feelings and ideas. I am amorphous mostly, unless I am on a special date when I certainly put on an appearance.

To some people, I am the she-bull and the juggernaut. And these are mostly people in my professional network. To some others, I am the ultimate ‘lightworker,’ a healer. They are again friends whose personal issues seemed to have disappeared like magic with my entry into their lives. They swear by me all the time and call me ‘Miss Sunshine.’

I am a dude, a bro, a girl, a buddy, in a chatroom.

I am still ‘Alice in Wonderland’ for my school-friends. I am ‘lady Shakespeare’ to some school friends who still laugh at the way I insisted everyone to speak only ‘English’ in school.

To some I am fantasy. To some others I am the mystic lady. And even others say I am an enigma created of ethereal dust.

I am at times everything and at times nothing.

I have been called an African, an Ethiopian, to be most specific. I have also been called a tribal woman, for being too primitive with my instincts.

I have been called a foodie, a good cook, a devourer of all things edible, without any complaint.

I have been called a communist, a socialist, the voice of the silent majority. I have been called a true ‘bengali,’ a Calcuttan.

I have been called a confused ideologue.

I have been called a heathen.

I have even been called ballsier than men by the men.

I am bravery, courage, spunk. I am daring. I am a clown.

I am not confused any more. I am not clouded in my mind.

Slowly, I realise I am all of these. I don’t exist as parts. I am a whole person. Do not seek me as any of these individual parts. I am either a full person or neither.

I Am An Entrepreneur. I exist in relation to all the other parts.

I am constantly building, breaking and re-inventing every time.

How are you an entrepreneur? Please share your story.

ENDS

Russian Tale: Chuck & Gek

A deep, dense forest in the interior of Taiga region next to a blue mountain. There lived a man. He worked tirelessly, away from his family, away from the rest of humanity amidst snow-roofed cottages, fir-pine-birch trees and reindeer. On some days when snowstorm hit the region and blurred the distant view, he felt the icy cool weather deep inside his heart. It made him feel lonely and sad for his family. On one such evening he looked too excited. Gleefully he wrote a letter to his lovely wife inviting her to come to his place with their two five-year old sons- Chuck and Gek, who lived far away in Moscow. The scene shifts to the big, bright city Moscow, with its stone-carved old heritage buildings, modern apartments, asphalt roads, steep spire churches. The Moscow of the Soviet Union.

The story 'Chuck and Gek' penned by Arkadi Gyder begins here. We get a peek into the world of two rolly-polly, wide-eyed, mischievous kids and their adventure that begins with the arrival of a telegram from their father. The author beautifully tells a simple story of two kids. The other day I chanced upon a movie on YouTube based on this book. A glimpse of this and I was transported into a period many years ago, when I was just a eight-year old kid, trundling along some railway platform in Bengal, holding my mother's hand. I looked at everything with a sense of wonder and viewed life through a beautiful prism of books. An entire blank white slate seemed to be open to write, erase and re-write, till eternity. While browsing through books on a platform wheeler, I noticed  the Bengali translated copy of  "Chuck aar Gek." I nudged my father and soon I bagged it. Since then I have read it umpteen times, first on the bunk of our train compartment, then at home in Calcutta on a hot, summer afternoon; next on a five-hour car-ride to my granny's house, so on and so forth.

The fight between the two beautiful kids in it; their Russian indulgent mother in fur coat; the excitement of the kids when she announces the journey to their father's house, subsequently the train journey to Taiga are still vivid in my memory. The lines of the book in Bengali which describes the hill and the forest opened up a whole new world of Russia, the swampy coniferous forest, between the Tundra and Steppes of Siberia. I could figure myself somewhere by a fireside, with fur-coat clad, strange-looking people. I could feel mild breeze from a bunch of trees in the distance- pines, spruces and larches. Then there was the train journey where one of the kids got out of the closed compartment in the night. He was strolling along the corridor when a train official sweetly asked him to go back to his compartment. He went into a different compartment and started crying. On another sequence, in the next morning, the two kids looked outside at the passing scenes- acres of snow-covered lands, industrial belt with steam emanating from long chimneys, big factories. They felt very happy. It was the same with me, perhaps like every other child. With the flashes of every new place, village, empty tracts of land, small ponds, urchins through the train window, I wondered--- how they lived; how their lives were; what if I was living with them; what if my life connects with them; how is it to love in a lonesome hut in the midst of nothing; how is it to work in one such big, industrial houses in a small town and spend my entire life in it? Every scene seemed like a sea wave; like a cloud; like a short, sweet film.

In the next half of the film when Chuck and Gek reached Taiga and slept with their mother at the sledge-driver's place- as moonlight fell on the face of one of the kid's; she felt content looking at his smiling face- she realized he was seeing a nice dream. They all slept peacefully.

In simple terms, this book teaches us about innocence, simplicity, brotherhood, family values, adventure, dreams and their fulfillment. The fact that I enjoyed it so much makes me realise I am a simple, bohemian person at heart and nothing can take that away from me. I realise its good to be rooted, to stay stable and grounded. Every time I feel restless or unstable, for whatever reasons in Mumbai I shut my eyes and imagine my roots, the books that I have read, the people who have influenced my mind. These are the influences that have greatly helped me find light within me- I should embrace that and smile.