Archive for August, 2011

Treasures from the village


2011
08.27

Rack made of mango tree and ceramic

COUPLE of months back I stumbled upon a website called Villcart, which sells handmade products online. I read about it on a site called The Better India (TBI), which chronicles stories of progress – initiatives by Indian people that have led to social impact of some sort.

Interestingly, TBI itself could be considered as an initiative in the direction of social impact because it was  founded and is managed by a bunch of professionals with day jobs.

This, they do for love and passion, and contributors get paid a minimal amount. Perhaps some even do it for free. But it’s a well-managed site, which archives and promotes info well (definitely one of the founders must be a geek read techie!).

Coming back to Villcart, since I love handmade stuff especially by our talented Indian artisans, I surfed the site and several items piqued my interest.

These little treasures are made by artisans in Gujarat, Maharashtra and Rajasthan, many of whom are tribals and women, sometimes simultaneously both. The pricing was pretty decent but I wouldn’t say that it’s the pricing that gives it the edge. The stuff has a nice finish, and quite pleasing to the eye.

meenakari art work by artisans from Jaipur

Like the six-seater rack (top right) made by artisans in Jaipur, from mango tree bark and ceramic, costing Rs 1140. There is a similar one in Fab India for Rs 870 + tax, but not as pretty as this one.

Also spotted in Dilli Haat, which was around 650, but again it looked rather run-off-the-mill. I would say that the piece from Villcart has a certain wow factor. One can store jewellery and just about anything in the rack. We use it to store all kinds of random clutter that exasperates me when strewn across clear surfaces.

I also ordered this jewellery box, which has a wooden base, a brass clasp and exterior with

strutting

Meenakari art work by artisans in Udaipur. The colours are just scintillating! Seems I miscalculated its size, when I placed the order.

It looks smallish on the website, enough to house a couple of rings and a pair of earrings. But when it arrived, voila, it was largish and could house several earrings, rings and then some. And the façade was simply stunning. One feels like this peacock is coyly strutting his stuff, just for mine eyes! The inside is a plush red velvet and the box has a golden clasp.

This little bright yellow candle holder made of blue pottery from Jaipur was Rs 100 each, with splashes on blue and green!. It manages to infuse a splash of colour into thesurroundings.

blue pottery

There’s something quite sincere about this initiative. If you don’t like something, you can return it and get a refund. The shopping interface is pretty smooth.

You can ask a question and expect a prompt response, and Kiran, Founder of Villcart is pretty hands-on. An IITian turned entrepreneur, he considers his enterprise to be one way of problem-solving – encourage the livelihood of artisans by marketing what they create. In one of his mails, he mentioned that that there are “10s of 1000s of good designs in the rural areas’.

Phew!

I urge people to buy more handmade stuff by artisans, whether from an online portal like Villcart or directly from the artisan himself, because there’s a certain charm and a personal touch when something is crafted by our God-given hands.

Though if you bargain with the poor artisan, till the cows come home, until what he earns is a pittance, that defeats the purpose now doesn’t it? It’s not like one would do the same with the sales girl at Shoppers Stop :)

You get my drift…

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Fish with a hobby


2011
08.22

EACH time I walked passed the pedispa at one of these Delhi malls, I would think “Mmmm…that could be interesting”. So, one day, I found myself immersing both feet in a trough of water and garra rufa fish.

The fish were swimming at leisure but human toes seem to pique their interest. Soon they were nibbling away. “It is their hobby,” said the man behind the counter. “They do not fight with each other,” he added.

The fish are brought in from Malaysia or Turkey and have a life span of seven months. They grow up to 5 inches, and their therapeutic abilities have earned them the title of “Doctor fish”. I also I noticed that their lips have quite the pout!

feast of dead skin...

Dead skin it seems serves as a snack, in between regular meals. The feeling oscillates between ticklish and a little creepy; every now and then I visualised a swarm of insects gnawing away! This continues for 15 minutes, followed by a 10 minute foot massage. Rs 500 are the damages.

Despite creepy sensations, I see myself getting more garra rufa pedispas. Like sushi and dry wine, this one’s an acquired taste. And I think I acquired it rather quickly.

Apparently, this practice is banned in some countries such as the US, due to the risk of infection. Hygeine is a top concern. No such issues here in India, it seems.

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Birds and the bees


2011
08.17

WHAT gives me the most pleasure during my morning stroll is clicking pictures of my feathery, furry friends. This one time I spotted parrots and peahens pecking away, and they were sharing their meal with the squirrels. Some pigeons were waiting in the wings. They seems quite oblivious to a human presence until a hefty couple with Punju swagger, showed up. Partypoopers! The peahens and parrots split, but the squirrels remained undeterred (which is rather unusual) and continued munching away.

sharing the spoils

Then I came across this boy doing a spot of morning Yoga. same pose for almost 5 minutes. atta boy!

a fav stretch by our canine friends
And my fav is this bug that perched itself on our balcony sill, posing beautifully and moving at a glacial pace, to it’s own tune…

serenity...

and then there’s Ben 10 the turtle (so named by my cousin’s lil’ son Steffu), who strikes quite a pose for the camera…

hey...

yes...?

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Love from Washington DC


2011
08.16
ON a bleak Monday morn in Delhi, I received a lovely postcard from Washington DC. I think of DC as the New Delhi of US, and what DC is to Delhi is what New York is to Mumbai, except that everything is cleaner. Suddenly it was a bleak Monday morn no more! My friend Sudu had sent a charcoal print of Capitol Hill, as it was in the 18OOs. Here are some close-ups of the postcard.

Capitol Hill in 1884

back in the day...

But the best part really was the message from Sudu, who made living in Delhi quite bearable in the early days. In this day and age a handwritten note is all the more precious…thanks my friend…

a handwritten note...

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Paradise ailing


2011
08.11

A JOURNO once quizzed the big bully of Goan politics, and the latter rattled off a quick retort. “On what grounds?” the journo probed. “On Fatorda Grounds,” the minister smugly responded, a pun on the venue, which used to be a fairground where theatre, sports and well, fairs, were frequent happenings.

In 1989, a stadium was built on the fairground and predictably named the Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium. The Minister’s Q&A quickly became a popular PJ (poor joke), oft repeated during my student days in the 90s. Sadly, Fatorda, my hometown is not a quaint piece of Goan haven, by any measure. Neither is it a stone’s throw away from the beach.

However, my home in Fatorda is a stone’s throw away (literally) from the stadium, and that is where we head for our morning walks – on the tarred road encircling the stadium. For a fee of Rs 500, one can get a pass to walk on tarred road in the morning hours, a welcome idea for Goans who have a robust social life and cholesterol-rich khana.

A venue for both national and international tournaments, the stadium reeks of neglect – garbage is strewn everywhere, the grass encircling the tarred road encircling the stadium is cluttered with all kinds of crap – clothes, parts of some vehicle and such (yes, where the heck do they come from!?) Turns out that students from all over the place come down for sports camps, accompanied by their teachers, but neither kids and teachers have basic etiquette about disposing off garbage in bins.

Fatorda stadium

Inside the stadium the grass is growing wildly because there are no football matches in the rains? Here’s a peek. But one can forgive the authorities for it during the monsoons.

During one such morning walk, we had to take a bit of a detour from the tarred road on account of the sewage pipe, which burst. The sewage water gushed fast and furiously and we had to walk in the corridors, for that stretch.

The mainstream media does not like to harp on it, but the jewel of Indian tourism is going down the toilet. And what are the stadium brothers doing with the Rs 500?

There seems to be a general lack of attention to basic hygiene factors across the board, and I don’t mean the literal meaning of hygiene. I mean – do we think in terms of making tourism environmentally-friendly, do we think of having dustbins, so people can crap, where it rightfully belongs. Can our sermons in church be less preachy and more spiritual? I don’t wanna get all VS Naipaul on it, but this trip made me realise what I have understood and feared for a long time through snatches of reportage in the mainstream media – the state is in self-destruct mode.

Priorities are all wrong. Mining, real estate development and penny-wise, pound-foolish tourism are the main focus. The latter is rather commercial, and not so quaint or charming to the discerning eye. Internet connections are slow, public transport is in poor shape, traffic is a mess, and the land is being disrespected.

Sunrise or sunset?

Though I am on one big cynical trip, I must, must applaud a part of civil society that is  attempting to make a dent, many of whom are not activists by profession but have taken on the baton of protest.

But it’s a long and tough road, especially since Goans have been laidback for decades. Also, there’s an exodus of young people for the Middle East, Canada, US, and some oddballs like me who pitch their tent in Delhi. Nevertheless, it pains one to see the paradise ailing. Where does even start to make a difference? A young man I know wants to contest the elections and make a difference. I wish him all the best, but I hope that his intentions will remain honourable.

The state needs to be saved. I hope the world takes notice.

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Goa diaries II – Isle of hope…


2011
08.09

Ilha De Rachol (Isle of Rachol)

THE SHENANIGANS of lil’ Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn sprang to mind as we travelled down to the ole’ riverside of Ilha De Rachol, located a stone’s throw away from my native village Raia in Goa.

“In the 1600s, our ancestors who lived here, ran away to escape the plague,” my father shared as we stood on the banks, water gushing furiously.

Overcast skies, leaves quivering in the breeze, a drizzle and a curtain of green – it took my breath away.

gone in 7 minutes...

As a barge sailed across to the other side of the river, I visualised Tom and Finn dunking themselves in the water at any minute.

If they made it to the other dock, they would have reached Shiroda; a trip that takes 30 min by road took around 7 and some, by barge.

greenfields...

My mother shared that, as a child she and her mom, travelled across the river, not on a barge but a tiny boat.

A storm rocked it so badly, and so shaken by fear were they, that they jumped out of the boat before it could reach the shore!

One gets a sense that in this island – a slice of heaven on earth in the monsoons – time has stood still (a positive thing). The real estate sharks wanted to replace these lush green fields with swanky housing societies, until the local folks protested with a vengeance.

And kudos to them.

ancestral home...

As for the ancestors, they pitched their tents here, where this ole’ house stands. Decades ago it was full of life, an ancestral Goan villa in full bloom. A furry brown canine (one of my favourites) would prance  across the maroon tiles in the sala, kids played while a their grandmother indulged them, a sexy looking gramophone belted out records. Now, an ugly wall slices through, and one side remains unoccupied, and perhaps shall be for posterity. The fields in front are no more. A bungalow has sprung up in its place, and another is under construction.

The village is a quiet place, but the local church is the height of activity – novena, followed by a game of housie and homemade Chow Chow. The parish priest is the star of the show, doubling up as both preacher and compere during leisure activities.

We went to the ole’ marketplace, where our grandmother indulged us with bajas from the local mill. Now, there are no bajas. Am not even sure if the mill is still functional. Loads of men sauntered around, some lounging in the local icecream parlour, some inside a bar.

There’s a stillness in the air, as if the winds of change never blew, and development (of the progressive kind) never came. Save for concrete of forgettable character.

This isn’t the Goa people light up about. This is the side where nothing seems to have moved, it reeks of a land in decay. It filled me with nostalgia, a tinge of sadness…

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Goa diaries I


2011
08.08

"scanning thumb prints"

HAVE any transgender folks come to register yet?” I asked the young girl screening the UID applications at the Karvy outlet in Margoa. She smiled coyly, shaking head vigourously.

Ahh. Only men and women, it seems have frequented their office at the rate of 60 to 70 a day. You need a photo ID and an address proof, and they seem somewhat stringent about the requirements, which lead me to wonder what happens to most of the population who can’t read or write and have no access to IDs of any sort, after all it’s meant for every citizen in this country, economic status no bar.

On a different note, we had our finger prints and iris’ scanned. My mom came to inspect whether our iris’ looked pretty or not! “very pretty”, she commented, looking pleased. The entire process was wrapped up in an hour or so, and we shall receive our IDs in 45 days. Am told that if one does the mistake of going to the post office (or any organisation managed by the state), you will be stuck for eight hours or so, since folks are not computer-savvy and tend to function like headless chickens, lethargic ones at that.
“What is the long-term benefit of this?” I inquired with my father, who tends to be in the know about the latest developments. Despite speaking well of Nandan Nilekani, he replied,” Who knows? Let’s wait and watch. In India, only time will tell if it’s useful or useless.”
Touche!

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