tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76071645780510122962024-03-12T20:54:29.618-07:00Beyond the City LightsMarinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.comBlogger45125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-83774480461650103782013-07-05T20:43:00.001-07:002013-07-05T20:43:37.899-07:00From Pillar to Post—Part 2<p>Picking up where I left off the last time . . . So Marathi-fluent Rucha came down to Bombay, and we made a trip to the University. Unfortunately by then, in moving house, Rucha had lost her receipt, which put us in a bit of a predicament. We waited in the usual line, and she explained the story of losing the receipt. Since I had mine, we were allowed to go in. Back again on the first floor, Rucha started off in Marathi, which got us a predictably good reception. We were told to wait as the “Madam” who could help us had not yet arrived. We ensured we got there well past 10 am, almost 11 am, which is standard government office timing. The room being cluttered with desks and even fewer employees, we waited in the middle of everything. We waited for at least 20 minutes before the clerk who initially told us to wait got fed up with us being in the way. <p>He got out the register, the same one I saw on my previous visit. Our names were still there, the page had apparently stayed intact, unlike the register itself. Again, we were told we had to go back to the college. And again, I recited the saga that the college told me. And again, we waited. <p>Finally, “Madam” arrived. She too brought out the register and told us the same story, and we repeated our story again. . . NO, THE COLLEGE DOES NOT HAVE IT! (How hard is it to understand that one statement?!) She couldn’t figure out the problem and told us that we would have to speak to “Sir” who she couldn’t disturb, and she told us to come back another time. At that point, we were tired, hot, and annoyed. So we went away, saying we would come back another day. <p>However, on the way down, we vented to each other about the sheer absurdness of this bureaucracy. What did she mean “Sir” couldn’t be disturbed? Why not? Was he asleep in bed? Was it 3 am in the morning? <p>We had had enough! We went back to the “Madam” and demanded to see “Sir.” If she couldn’t disturb him, we could. We had a right, especially since we were students of the University and had come during office hours. <p>Sir, whose name was Mr. Jadhav, came to Room 1 to see these supposedly insolent girls who had demanded to see him. Realizing we were prepared to have it out, he appeared to be quite affable. He patiently asked questions, trying to figure out where the problem lay. We recited our story; he took a look at the register and concluded the source of the problem. <p>It turned out our certificates were not signed. FIVE years after we graduated, we had no signature on the certificates. The University evidently prints certificates only if they have been applied for. After we had applied for ours, the Vice Chancellor of the University resigned (or was likely thrown out), and so our certificates, while “ready,” were not signed. <p>Mr. Jadhav then told us not to worry, that he would get it resolved, and we would have our certificates in a couple of months. Being apprehensive of such assurances, we recited the ordeal we had been through and didn’t trust that it would be resolved this time. He took our names, numbers, and addresses, and told us he would personally look into it, giving us his desk landline number in case there should be another hitch. <p>We went away rather pleased with ourselves for being more aggressive, for we had never before asserted ourselves so vigorously at any government institution. Our fear of being thrown out and denied what we had come for almost always deterred us from demanding what, only naturally, seemed due to us. In the end, we did get our certificates, not 2 months later as he assured us we would, but about 7 months later. In total, we waited for more than 24 months to see those certificates. A bribe may have helped move things along; however, that’s not what we wanted to do. <p>There are several points of contention that this experience highlighted for me. One, what happens to a student who doesn’t live in this city and needs a certificate? Does he or she have to spend thousands of rupees making regular trips for two years to follow up? Two, how does one battle this bureaucratic attitude our institutions perpetuate, the attitude of “not disturbing Sirs”? Three, in a city like Bombay, where for generations, languages have merged with each another to form new languages, why should Marathi be treated as the city’s exclusive ticket to getting things done? <p>I believe that the more we question the Government and its institutions, the better our chances are of change. As for me, I’m not certain why I just didn’t give up, especially since I have never looked at the certificate after having opened the envelope when it first arrived. I know for certain that having Rucha for company in this ordeal helped see it through. In the end, I suppose I wanted to know if government institutions work if people persist and do not to back down in the face of bureaucracy. In this case, it did.</p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-9869054289765199532013-06-28T22:55:00.001-07:002013-06-28T23:02:55.148-07:00From Pillar to Post—Part 1<p>The University of Mumbai (UOM) is one of the oldest universities in India. And like a well-established institution of the 1800s, it functions pretty much in that age-old fashion. <p>Let me take you through one of my experiences at the 100-acre spread in Kalina. <p>I completed both my graduate and postgraduate degrees through the UOM. On finishing my B.Com., and needing the Convocation Certificate for the “emigration not required” stamp on my passport, I applied for it. One very long line, a few hours of waiting at the gate, filling in some forms, and paying the fees, and I had officially applied for the certificate. A few months later, around the stipulated time, I received the document officiating me into the world of graduates. Minimal amount of trouble compared to what my postgraduate certificate had in store for me. <p>When I finished my Masters in Social Work (MSW), I had no particular use for the convocation certificate. And so, I did not apply for it immediately. Over time, however, I did think that it may come in handy some day and finally three years after having passed the exams, I decided to apply for the MSW Convocation Certificate. Now, such tasks should never be done alone, and therefore, my friend, Rucha, and I applied together. <p>Together we journeyed to Kalina, together we found the examination center, and together we filled the forms and paid the late fee and courier fee to have the certificates posted to us. Now the only thing left to do was wait. And waited we did . . . for TWO years! <p>In those two years, much transpired—I changed two jobs, and Rucha got married, moved to the U.S., and completed her GRE and TOEFL . . . and yet, we were still waiting for the certificates to arrive. <p>Our first trip to the Kalina campus was in August. Well, August 9, 2009 to be precise—I have the receipt to prove it. This is when we got the preliminary work done. <p>When in January, 2010, the certificates had not shown up at either of our houses, I made another trip to the examination center. This time, I went alone. In my horrible Hindi and even worse Marathi, I made my way through the office building, politely asking person after person about how I get a certificate for which I had applied. <p>I went from the ground floor to the first floor and then to room after room. At the end of this two-hour, perspiring ordeal, I was told to come back in August, 2010, at which point I would get the certificate. I didn’t argue nor did I question what I was told, I was simply too tired. I nodded saying thank you, and I would be back for the document. <p>Months passed, August arrived, and I was back at the center, going through the same routine. However, this time it was a bit different. I was told that there was a new rule in the University—all students who applied for their convocation certificates in 2009 or after that would have to collect them from their colleges. And so, another trip to be made, only this time to my college at Marine Lines. <p>Another few weeks passed before I could get time off from work to make this trip. I reached the college office only to be told “My dear, you have it wrong! The certificates we issue are only for those students who have <i>completed</i> their degrees in 2009. Your certificate will be with the University!” This, of course, warranted another trip to the University because to confirm this over the phone would be next to impossible. <p>By this time, I had lost hope. There I was, waltzing from one office to another, being told several stories, conversing in a horrible mix of Hindi, Marathi, and English, trying to get one document that said I had successfully completed this exam! <p>Another few months passed before I gathered the will to face the University once more. It followed much the same routine—I told them that the college had only those certificates of students who had finished in 2009 and not before that. I got a long “hmmm,” one nod, and a contemplative roll of the eyes, and then I was told to wait. <p>Now, if you have ever been to the Mumbai University Examination Center, you will know that there is no place to wait in room A1 on the first floor. There are desks, stacks of dog-eared papers and files, and people screaming at more people. Nonetheless, I found myself standing with my back against a table waiting. Much time passed until the lady who told me to wait realized that I would not leave without an answer. So, she sent a clerk to pull out the file with the names of students enrolled in the MSW programme. <p>You should know that in the whole of the UOM, there is only one college that offers the MSW course; so there are no more than 50 to 60 students who complete their degrees each year. Yet, finding such a file proved to be challenging. <p>30 mins later, the clerk came back with a gigantic threadbare file, with papers falling out. On opening it, I found many of the names familiar, college mates who were my seniors, some who were my juniors. And then, I found not just my name in there but also Rucha’s. Finally, our names show up somewhere! <p>The clerk then scribbled a number on my receipt, and said in a dictating voice, “Take to Madam.” Presumably, this was the same madam I had been dealing with the past months. On showing her the number she said, “Come back in two months, we will have it for you.” Of course, by then, I knew what that meant. I had decided that the next time I came back, I would come back with reinforcements—Marathi-fluent Rucha.</p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-2163285884641061722011-04-24T19:38:00.001-07:002011-04-24T20:06:04.431-07:00A Sri Lankan Train Ride<p>A couple of friends and I made a trip to the Pearl Island of Sri Lanka last week. We stayed in Unawatuna, a beach in Galle about 116 kms from Colombo. On the way to Unawatuna, we drove down to the South Coast. However, on the way back, we decided to take the train. </p> <p>While the train was rather rickety, the sights and scenery throughout were breathtaking. For the most part of the ride, the sea was in full view. At a few points I could see the waves lashing up against the tracks. All of this—the sea, the breeze, the sights—made the crowd and the heat so much more bearable. </p> <p>A few tips—to get the best seat, which is the window seat of course, get in quick (these trains get pretty crowded). The train travels North from Galle to Colombo, so the best seats are on the left side of the train. The windows are large and completely open without grills. So hang onto your stuff!</p> <div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:97999af1-6e68-4ec2-827a-97d49ec8612c" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; float: left; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><div id="79b41bdf-38f4-4511-8332-82a682537a92" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;"><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=30KSZx8Uic8" target="_new"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TbTeh6lPtTI/AAAAAAAACJI/gc5RnruDi2E/videof8283661bc04.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-style: none" galleryimg="no" onload="var downlevelDiv = document.getElementById('79b41bdf-38f4-4511-8332-82a682537a92'); downlevelDiv.innerHTML = "<div><object width=\"425\" height=\"355\"><param name=\"movie\" value=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/30KSZx8Uic8&hl=en\"><\/param><embed src=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/30KSZx8Uic8&hl=en\" type=\"application/x-shockwave-flash\" width=\"425\" height=\"355\"><\/embed><\/object><\/div>";" alt=""></a></div></div><div style="clear:both;font-size:.8em;">Galle to Colombo</div></div> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-55433342550084604832010-12-06T06:54:00.001-08:002010-12-08T17:35:12.505-08:00Another Hidden Sanctuary (III)<div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:66721397-FF69-4ca6-AEC4-17E6B3208830:58d7b50c-467d-4343-8173-021b1b3fbda2" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><a style="border:0px" href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!238&type=5"><img style="border:0px" alt="View BPT Garden" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TQAyDn8bHGI/AAAAAAAACG0/BYlhhH0XrXo/InlineRepresentation49e3688f-8edc-491d-a169-dc1fa9682a19.jpg?imgmax=800" /></a><div style="width:400px;text-align:right;" ><a href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!238&type=5">View Full Album</a></div></div> <p>A piece I wrote for The India Tube… </p> <p><a title="http://www.theindiatube.com/travel/the-sagar-upvan-of-colaba" href="http://www.theindiatube.com/travel/the-sagar-upvan-of-colaba">http://www.theindiatube.com/travel/the-sagar-upvan-of-colaba</a></p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-70715986508129895832010-11-06T19:33:00.000-07:002010-11-06T19:33:07.638-07:00Fireworks at the Queen’s Necklace<div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:66721397-FF69-4ca6-AEC4-17E6B3208830:b07c55f8-44fb-460d-9f11-35f70bbde313" style="padding-right: 0px; display: block; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 5px; margin: 0px auto; width: 402px; padding-top: 0px"><a style="border:0px" href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!231&type=5"><img style="border:0px" alt="View Diwali @ Marine Drive" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TNTLK4va9lI/AAAAAAAACB0/9JOqLlnX4dc/InlineRepresentation57d1c630-76f9-4826-99fa-bb5b61e0e25d.jpg?imgmax=800" /></a><div style="width:400px;text-align:right;" ><a href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!231&type=5">View Full Album</a></div></div> <p> </p> <p>Even Obama’s visit can’t stop a Bombayite from enjoying Diwali and Marine Drive knows this like no other place in South Bombay. Security maybe tight in SOBO and the police might be out in hundreds. But Diwali is Diwali at the Queen’s Necklace, and no Obama is going to stop people from enjoying themselves.</p> <p>I didn’t know about Diwali at Marine Drive, until yesterday when <a href="http://karam-bolage.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Alex</a> and I went over to the well-known stretch to watch scores of adults and little kids come out to light a gazillion fireworks. It seems like every year the fireworks market throws up something new. The fuljaris and fountains and chakras are classics, but the rockets have been modified along with the bigger ones that light up the sky with a thousand rays and sparkles. </p> <p>Marine Drive is a definite to-do on Diwali, something I shall try to make a yearly event!</p> <div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:603e86aa-0012-4709-88d0-b6d2612225ef" style="padding-right: 0px; display: block; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px auto; width: 425px; padding-top: 0px"><div><object width="425" height="355"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qHzHhVjhsc0&hl=en"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qHzHhVjhsc0&hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="355"></embed></object></div></div> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-82858317069186520942010-11-04T20:15:00.000-07:002010-11-04T23:41:25.089-07:00Crack crackety crack!<p>7am! I’m awake and groggy. The crackers have started, the sun is streaming through my flimsy curtains. It’s Friday and it’s a holiday! One of the few joys of working in India, you get more holidays here than in any other country. <a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TNN18bN0VTI/AAAAAAAACBU/NjX60q2lB7M/s1600-h/The%20entrance%20to%20Leela%20Business%20Park%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="The entrance to Leela Business Park" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin: 5px 0px 0px 5px; border-right-width: 0px" height="184" alt="The entrance to Leela Business Park" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TNN19C2YElI/AAAAAAAACBY/J_JAX7W68DE/The%20entrance%20to%20Leela%20Business%20Park_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" align="right" border="0"></a> </p> <p>Diwali again, and love is in the air. It’s been Diwali here this whole week. People are in a nicer disposition. They even look nicer, cleaner, and so well groomed. The women have been wearing the bestest of the bestest sarees and some men have even shaved. Public transport is oozing with people in a good mood; this having made this whole past week so unusually pleasant. Even last evening’s sudden downpour didn’t hamper the festive spirit. </p> <p>Regardless of religion, Diwali is probably the only time of year when everyone looks happier. Serial lights hanging from every surface actually lightens up the night, the diyas look beautiful, and the rangolis add that splash of colour to an otherwise boring, routine life. </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TNN1-mK-5_I/AAAAAAAACBc/phsM0wqz-sg/s1600-h/Randomly%20taken%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="Randomly taken" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin: 0px 5px 0px 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="184" alt="Randomly taken" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TNN1_8F3IQI/AAAAAAAACBg/c5yxFgmdMqc/Randomly%20taken_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" align="left" border="0"></a> The weather as well has started changing; it has gotten cooler, making those long commutes a little easier, especially if you happen to travel a couple of hours each day to work. Getting off a crowded bus and walking doesn’t get you thinking ‘oofff’! iPod on LOUD, wind blowing, traffic noise drowned out, it’s actually a pleasant walk. <a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TNN2BH4UMQI/AAAAAAAACBk/b29isq-xYSU/s1600-h/SV%20Road%2C%20Irla%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="SV Road, Irla" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin: 5px 0px 0px 5px; border-right-width: 0px" height="184" alt="SV Road, Irla" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TNN2CBb752I/AAAAAAAACBo/X3NBbEgU5uQ/SV%20Road%2C%20Irla_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" align="right" border="0"></a> </p> <p>For me, the best part of the season is the city’s streets. The lights really do make me happier, there is something beautiful about them. Even the loud garish ones don’t seem too bad. And have you ever noticed how the serial lights on disco mode strung from the shadiest shops and bars make you want to bob your head and tap feet? Haven’t done that ever? Take a walk down your market street or the main road, and experience this once-in-a year joy. </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TNN2D1CN13I/AAAAAAAACBs/52Y-LQjhgWc/s1600-h/The%20Kohinoor%20Building%20on%20Andheri-Kurla%20road%5B3%5D.jpg"><img title="The Kohinoor Building on Andheri-Kurla road" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin: 0px 5px 0px 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="184" alt="The Kohinoor Building on Andheri-Kurla road" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TNN2E_yxrFI/AAAAAAAACBw/pXl7VpY9LL4/The%20Kohinoor%20Building%20on%20Andheri-Kurla%20road_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="244" align="left" border="0"></a> <strong><font size="4">Happy Diwali People!</font></strong></p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-42475791263344739452010-11-04T09:01:00.001-07:002010-11-04T09:01:04.945-07:00Of lights and sounds…<p>I was playing around with my iPod today and thought about recording the stretch from Andheri-Kurla road to the West. To all you Bombayites living elsewhere, here’s a piece of your city at Diwali… </p> <div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:5b1920a4-f7c8-48ee-932e-19da940a15dd" style="padding-right: 0px; display: block; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px auto; width: 425px; padding-top: 0px"><div id="6da5c7ef-9bfb-4a3f-a64b-c87bf239449d" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;"><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqQAciyxgj8" target="_new"><img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TNLYu_hJnxI/AAAAAAAACBM/6q3NzA11Vt0/video2caa809c50d8.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-style: none" galleryimg="no" onload="var downlevelDiv = document.getElementById('6da5c7ef-9bfb-4a3f-a64b-c87bf239449d'); downlevelDiv.innerHTML = "<div><object width=\"425\" height=\"355\"><param name=\"movie\" value=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/KqQAciyxgj8&hl=en\"><\/param><embed src=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/KqQAciyxgj8&hl=en\" type=\"application/x-shockwave-flash\" width=\"425\" height=\"355\"><\/embed><\/object><\/div>";" alt=""></a></div></div></div> <p>…and here’s another</p> <div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:bb082a66-d904-4c44-a9c1-a3b84a744d80" style="padding-right: 0px; display: block; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px auto; width: 425px; padding-top: 0px"><div id="d2427e84-8c51-4232-b3bc-3f29d7d470a9" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;"><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AwdLsV7xHJM" target="_new"><img src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TNLYv-Do6BI/AAAAAAAACBQ/w6FBceUhj2c/video7654d48c40ed.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-style: none" galleryimg="no" onload="var downlevelDiv = document.getElementById('d2427e84-8c51-4232-b3bc-3f29d7d470a9'); downlevelDiv.innerHTML = "<div><object width=\"425\" height=\"355\"><param name=\"movie\" value=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/AwdLsV7xHJM&hl=en\"><\/param><embed src=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/AwdLsV7xHJM&hl=en\" type=\"application/x-shockwave-flash\" width=\"425\" height=\"355\"><\/embed><\/object><\/div>";" alt=""></a></div></div></div> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-31133246167655530992010-09-27T08:26:00.001-07:002010-09-27T08:26:28.441-07:00Bombay-Bharuch<p><em>I wrote this piece as part of a class assignment… I got a little dreamy whilst writing this, so forgive my over-sentimentality if you detect any.</em></p> <p>I’m on my way to Jhagadia, a small village in the block district of Bharuch in Gujurat. I’ve never been to Modi-land before and I feel a little apprehensive; the riots of 2002 and the few movies that followed left a deep discomfort in my mind. <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TKC3lSDEehI/AAAAAAAACAc/QemviVkRh1g/s1600-h/DSCN1644%5B4%5D.jpg"><img title="DSCN1644" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="180" alt="DSCN1644" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TKC3mRzEzOI/AAAAAAAACAg/Yhqm0MjLPmo/DSCN1644_thumb%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" align="left" border="0"></a> I have volunteered to travel the 355km distance from Bombay to visit a Children’s Home for Tribal girls, where I will be conducting a Needs Assessment. <i>Needs Assessment, an all time favourite word in the NGO world!</i> I’m unemployed, in need of adventure and looking for work. So why not make a combination of it all? <p>Mumbai Central- the station I get my passenger train is filled with all types of people, although the majority are male. I can hear a garble of languages, and I’m not sure if it’s a dialect of Hindi or Gujurati or mix of both, for all I know it could be Urdu. It’s a fascinating scene of dress and colour; crisp white pyjamas, bright chiffon saris, knitted skull caps, stark black bhurkhas and what not. My mind takes me back to the Hindu-Muslim conflict and wonders how frightful this same journey must been not so long ago. But it seems like things have changed, if only superficially. Faces don’t look fearful. A sense of the all forbearing Indian train camaraderie settles in as the train starts moving, and I turn my thoughts to the world passing by. <p>I am engulfed by a childlike feeling of excitement, having got the window seat, and almost wanting to stick my hand out to feel the July rains. The scenery constantly changes as the train moves from city to town to village, concrete to huts to green fields. I can’t recognise the trees nor all the kinds of fields I pass, but nonetheless it’s all a beautiful palate of green shades. For a city girl like me, this is a feast. The monsoons transform a parched land into a blanket of lush beauty. <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TKC3naJ0pgI/AAAAAAAACAk/DLKMd1K2ZrU/s1600-h/DSCN1643%5B5%5D.jpg"><img title="DSCN1643" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin: 10px 0px 0px 5px; border-right-width: 0px" height="180" alt="DSCN1643" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TKC3ojUY9dI/AAAAAAAACAo/zzCM8FDnA3I/DSCN1643_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" align="right" border="0"></a> <p>I can see farmers, men and women, working the fields, going about their day. I try to imagine myself doing that kind of work and it all appears very fantasy –like. It’s the kind of picture that makes you want to give up the city and move a thousand miles away only to live a basic existence. But the train keeps moving from town to village reminding me of how difficult it would be to give up the urban. <p>The old man sitting by my side throughout this time keeps to himself. And I think, finally someone who can leave me, to me. I’m not keen on small talk on journey that is for the most part, quite pleasant. But my impression of this seemingly nice old man changes as my journey draws to an end. Half an hour before the train reaches Bharuch, my stop, the man stretches across me and with a good portion of gusto, spits out the <i>paan</i> he’d been chewing. A little of this red mix of saliva and betel nut ricochets off the bar and lands on the window sill, exactly where I was resting my hand. Eewww! This shouldn’t be surprising, and yet I think, why god why? Why are we a race of such despicable filths! I do the only think I can think of, move away from the window and pretend this hasn’t affected me, all the time fighting the urge to scream. <p>I’m in a dilemma. I can’t seem to pucker up the courage to tell him of his wrong. For one he’s older and the other, my Hindi is inadequate to politely say what needs to be said. And so I leave it. My experience with most older people tells me that you can’t change something that has been reinforced in one’s mind for decades. <p>So I focus on my destination, my search for other adventures. Ones that will hopefully, hold more pleasant moments. </p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-84539578669314095882010-08-09T22:32:00.000-07:002010-08-11T20:30:27.598-07:00Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya…<p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TGDnYpiFQII/AAAAAAAAB7o/mTrJWBYqfps/s1600-h/DSCN1719%5B14%5D.jpg"><img title="DSCN1719" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin: 5px 0px 5px 5px; border-right-width: 0px" height="180" alt="DSCN1719" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TGDnafJDYFI/AAAAAAAAB7s/3fFFLM1PMLE/DSCN1719_thumb%5B12%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" align="right" border="0" /></a>…Formerly called The Prince of Wales Museum. According to <a href="http://sumanya.wordpress.com/2010/07/19/fie-on-society/" target="_blank">Sumanya</a>, the existing name sounds so ‘un-cool’ that even the authorities had to add ‘Formerly Prince of Wales Museum of Western India’ to the title. Nonetheless, I quite like saying Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya! It sort of poses a challenge to ones tongue really. And once you’ve succeeded in pronouncing the mouthful of words without hesitation, you can almost taste a sense of vain accomplishment. Of course that wasn’t the intention in changing its name.  That's an entirely different story. </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TGDnbYggZxI/AAAAAAAAB7w/9GdjyI_fHns/s1600-h/Carmen%2C%20Sumanya%20and%20me%5B5%5D.jpg"><img title="" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin: 0px 5px 5px 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="176" alt="" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TGDnccz-DtI/AAAAAAAAB70/BPXisHgDJ_8/Carmen%2C%20Sumanya%20and%20me_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="235" align="left" border="0" /></a> A week ago a couple of friends and I visited the museum to roam about its long corridors and enjoy one of Bombay’s iconic structures. Now if you have visited any tourist attraction in any part of India, you will have noticed the huge difference in entry fees for Indians and foreigners. True to form, this museum is no different. A foreigner’s fee is 300 rupees while an Indian can enter at a cost of 25. The only saving grace for a foreigner is to be a student and to hold some sort of student identification document. Then, the fee is a mere 15 rupees. The foreigners pass however, comes with a free audio guide, available in several languages. </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TGDndZ_3W1I/AAAAAAAAB74/_umON2XgpiQ/s1600-h/The%20entrance%5B5%5D.jpg"><img title="The entrance" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin: 0px 0px 5px 5px; border-right-width: 0px" height="240" alt="The entrance" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TGDneE6P2AI/AAAAAAAAB78/poL1atPwYck/The%20entrance_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" align="right" border="0" /></a> On entering you are expected to leave water bottles and umbrellas at the door and go through an airport like security check. A conveyor belt moves your bag through an x-ray machine accounting for hidden weapons and sundry. After that, you have a good few hours of walking and browsing ahead of you.  If you do happen to make a visit, do not miss the old grandfather’s clock standing to the right of the entrance. The clock numbers you will find aren’t numbers at all, but in fact Tamil alphabets; quite an interesting piece. </p> <p>On entering the foyer, we hear a ruckus. Apparently a group of tourists took a picture against the backdrop of the ground floor and was told that photography would cost an extra 200 rupees. Of course this must have insulted the man’s sense of <em>Indianness</em>. How dare he be asked to pay for something that should rightfully be free!!! And so he felt no apprehension in shouting at the top of his voice at the indignity of having been asked to pay for taking a picture.   </p> <p></p> <p></p> <p></p> <p></p> <p></p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TGDnfB_nqYI/AAAAAAAAB8A/jKHJFqWXeqU/s1600-h/the%20picture%20taken%20before%20i%20was%20told%20i%20needed%20to%20pay%20for%20photography%5B5%5D.jpg"><img title="the picture taken before i was told i needed to pay for photography" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin: 0px 5px 5px 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="180" alt="the picture taken before i was told i needed to pay for photography" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TGDnf8n5GkI/AAAAAAAAB8E/DjJJTgv1r5g/the%20picture%20taken%20before%20i%20was%20told%20i%20needed%20to%20pay%20for%20photography_thumb%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" align="left" border="0" /></a>Ignoring the loud voices we move on, walking through ancient Buddhist ruins of centuries past, exhibitions of paintings and artefacts donated by several of the city’s wealthiest industrial families. Prominent among them are the Tata’s. Huge paintings and showcases filled with beautiful objects adorn the walls and the museum’s space. Many of the exhibition halls were closed either due to maintenance work or as a result of the lack of an exhibition.   </p> <p></p> <p></p> <p>In a bid to keep people entertained, a kiosk like structure stands at the end of the exhibition on the Harappan Civilization. Here you can digitally piece together an ancient looking pot or make your own bookmark with the help of stamps. Of course, a small donation box is kept at the side of the bookmark stand to encourage people to help maintain such exhibitions. </p> <p>After speaking to my seasoned Bombay friends, I find that many have never visited the museum. In truth, there is much more that can be done to liven up the place; it barely reflects the country’s history or cultural heritage. Nonetheless, it is still worth a visit. </p> <div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:66721397-FF69-4ca6-AEC4-17E6B3208830:3c19c7dd-f464-4d67-af31-cebffada1ffd" style="padding-right: 0px; display: block; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px auto; width: 400px; padding-top: 0px"><a style="border:0px" href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!222&type=5"><img style="border:0px" alt="View The Prince of Wales Museum, Bombay" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TGDngtxMkzI/AAAAAAAAB8I/hl3-t01xm5U/InlineRepresentationd3191aad-6f4c-4c40-b4ec-ddd10234566c%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" /></a><div style="width:400px;text-align:right;" ><a href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!222&type=5">View Full Album</a></div></div> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-53716570324194561862010-08-05T08:37:00.000-07:002010-08-06T03:54:13.953-07:00Going Red<p>In a bid to refurbish my bedroom, I am undertaking the task of painting a hand-me-down coffee table red. Only, I will be using this coffee table as a bedside table. The plan is to make it look pretty in contrast to the otherwise very brown and very boring furniture, save of course my ‘Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe’ like looking armoire. Once it’s all done, I will place an ornate lamp stand on it, purchase a fitting shade and be content with my handy work. </p> <p>Being a complete newbie to home projects, I sought advice from several well-experienced quarters on how to go about such a task. I was told</p> <p>a) I would need to scrape the black polish off</p> <p>b) Brush on the primer</p> <p>c) Scrape that off</p> <p>d) Brush on some more primer and scrape it off again (optional)</p> <p>e) And finally, paint on the red. (this is my favourite part)</p> <p>And so last week, in what seemed like an incessant downpour of rain, N and I finally went to the shop and bought the required material. Even here, I was advised to go to a particular shop and speak to the owners who tend to the customers themselves. It so happens that this shop (the name of which I do not know) is famous. I was attended to by a very forbearing handsome young chap who I had no problem in conversing with; you see his yummy looks made this whole experience so much nicer. For those of you who wish to know, the shop sits one lane in front of (or behind, depending on which direction you approach it) the very decent looking public toilet on SV Road in Old Khar. </p> <p>Now this endeavour ought to give me much joy. Or so I thought…</p> <p>A week later I finally start this project. Sand paper in hand I started scraping, only to find that it wasn’t going to be an easy task. The black polish has thickly seeped into the wood. A mere stroke barely grazes the surface. So I put a little more gusto into it, taking out all my frustrations on that poor table, careful of course not to break it. This to just about grazes the surface (apparently my strength does not match my frustrations!).  A little longer and voila I can see the brown wood. This is about a centimetre of the six inches by one inch piece on one side of the table. Much more to go.</p> <p>Two hours, a red faced me and one blistered thumb (not kidding about the blister) later, I have completed about 10% of the table. </p> <p>Suddenly I find myself rethinking the entire project. Along with the other advice, I have also been told to take it slow, enjoy the process. And so I shall, I shall put the pain of the blister behind me (as much as it hurts even while typing this) and take it easy… Spread the ‘enjoyment’ over a few days, so to speak.</p> <p>Pictures of the ‘before and after’ will be up as soon as it’s done. Cheers to all the home project enthusiasts, and to the people who do this for a living, I have newfound respect for you. </p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-77811470650263695952010-08-02T19:37:00.000-07:002010-08-02T19:50:05.763-07:00Of Monsoon Boons and Banes<p><em>July, the month of showers!</em></p> <p>Its been a glorious July! Its has! Last year’s rains didn’t quite get Bombay’s water supplying lakes up to the desired levels. And so the city faced a grave summer. By May 2010 newspapers reported lake levels to be going down further, dangerously lingering at the minimum mark. The BMC announced water cuts of 30-50%, which affected even the affluent of the city who normally aren’t touched by these troubles. </p> <p>And now with July having brought in water in abundance, as of 1 August 2010, lakes have reached up to 86% of their required levels. People are breathing a sigh of relief. (or are they?)</p> <p>Unfortunately for many, Malaria and the flu have hit the metropolitan hard. The papers report cases showing symptoms of Malaria have gone up by almost 70% in the last two years.  Hospitals are over run with patients. Every year the city is plagued with the dreaded M. Yet every year, the authorities instead of having improved upon services knowing of what is to come with the monsoons, seem to constantly have a reactionary attitude. Almost like ‘lets wait and see how bad it can get’.</p> <p>Another instance would be the potholed roads. Take a ride (try the rickshaws for the full effect) through an inner road or even try a stretch on the multi-crore constructed highways and you'll know what a regular commuter experiences everyday. </p> <p>A few days ago, Bombay’s Guardian Minister, Jayant Patil took three BMC additional municipal commissioners on a bumpy ride on the roads of the city. Newspapers report that he drove the car himself, careful to go over or rather dip through every pothole he could find only to literally, drive his point through. End result; a profusely apologetic trio and an assurance that the problem would be fixed within 10 days. (This was on 29 July, another 6 days to go, or do we already know what’s going to be done?) </p> <p>Yes we need the monsoons, but with a little foresight and attention to the city’s infrastructure I’m sure we can do without its woes.</p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-67715815982118099022010-07-21T20:59:00.000-07:002010-07-21T20:59:22.524-07:00Bombay Then, Mumbai Now<p>My colleagues at PUKAR recently gifted me the coffee table book Bombay Then, Mumbai Now; a concise but splendidly visual book to take you on a journey through the city’s history. The photographs are beautiful, giving the reader a fantastic image of the city that once was and how it has grown to be what it is today. </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TEe0dr3hrtI/AAAAAAAAB4Q/rhFRqXy_LtQ/s1600-h/Mumbai%20Now%5B6%5D.jpg"><img title="Mumbai Now" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin: 5px 0px 5px 10px; border-right-width: 0px" height="198" alt="Mumbai Now" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TEe0e8gdPXI/AAAAAAAAB4U/Cp9CS7nVZOU/Mumbai%20Now_thumb%5B4%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="196" align="right" border="0" /></a>I started with Bombay Now that has an essay written by Naresh Fernandes. A book on Bombay will not be one unless phrases like ‘cultural melting pot’ and ‘packed like sardines’ are used somewhere or the other. In that, it typically describes the city as crowded, filthy and spirited. It contains plenty of facts that have been talked about in many a blog, book and print article. He does however start with his own experiences of this city, in particular the ‘film shuttlers’ and his home Bandra, that makes the essay quite enjoyable.   </p> <p>Reading on I find that one of the most interesting arguments on this city is very aptly articulated in this  statement he makes…‘<em>The suggestion that Mumbai has some magical, innate hardiness has absolved our administrators of the responsibility of actually fixing our problems. No matter how bad things get, they seem to suggest, we have an infinite capacity to cope. But now it’s all too clear that we're wearing thin.’ </em></p> <p>We are wearing thin!</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TEe0f1Rh4TI/AAAAAAAAB4Y/KjOp-Ct_6TI/Bombay%20Then%5B3%5D.jpg?imgmax=800"><img title="Bombay Then" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin: 0px 5px 0px 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="244" alt="Bombay Then" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TEe0kDekaDI/AAAAAAAAB4c/SRLusPcFX-Q/Bombay%20Then_thumb%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="242" align="left" border="0" /></a>Bombay Then takes a look into British ruled Bombay up until the mid 1900’s. Unlike Naresh, Jim Masselos takes his reader through a very well crafted picture of Bombay when the ethos of the city was taking roots. He describes a  city that once boasted of its beauty in architecture, pride of its citizens in the city and more importantly, its cosmopolitan culture; all three of which over the years seems to have eroded. Nevertheless, the description of the city’s history does make you wonder at its growth and transformation as industry grew through the years. You cannot help but feel nostalgic at the city's better planned past and only wished for it to have continued to the present day. </p> <p></p> <p></p> <p><i>BOMBAY THEN/MUMBAI NOW: Jim Masselos, Pramod Kapoor, Naresh Fernandes, Chirodeep Chaudhuri; Roli Books Pvt. Ltd., M-75 Greater Kailash II Market, New Delhi-110048. </i></p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-20139804639761260312010-06-09T20:12:00.001-07:002010-06-09T20:12:28.213-07:00Hidden Sanctuaries II<p>Following up on the Hidden Sanctuaries series, the pictures below are of a convent in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Byculla" target="_blank">Byculla</a>, Religious of Mary Immaculate, Regina Pacis. The sisters here run a day, night and open school, a working women’s hostel, a hostel for girls in college, a children’s home for underprivileged girls and a social centre for migrant domestic workers. All these activities are spread across a the fairly large campus and not an inch of space is wasted. The land originally belonged to Premchand Roychand, one of Bombay’s Merchant Princes, famous for building the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rajabai_Tower" target="_blank">Rajabai Clock Tower</a> at the University of Mumbai along with the library. This used to be the ‘weekend get away’. </p> <p>It now sits smack in the middle of the city, surrounded by high rises, the JJ Flyover, Gloria Church and many other important landmarks. I can’t resist saying here that while the address now reads ‘Seth Motishah Lane’, it is infamously known as ‘Love Lane’, a name that one can’t help but smile at…It has quite the musical tone. </p> <p>The nuns here (like every convent I have ever known) have maintained the premises well, keeping as much of the original structure as possible. The main building which houses the Chapel, the nun’s refectory and the reception has now been declared a heritage structure, and is currently under restoration, so those pictures will be added at another time. The other buildings have been renovated and the gardens improved upon.  The stables have been converted into special classrooms, storage rooms and a parking space. </p> <p><em>If you would like to make a difference to child’s life here at Regina Pacis, go to <a title="http://www.theworldnow.com/cal/startingsponsorship.htm" href="http://www.theworldnow.com/cal/startingsponsorship.htm">http://www.theworldnow.com/cal/startingsponsorship.htm</a> or alternatively, contact me on <a href="mailto:marinhaf@gmail.com">marinhaf@gmail.com</a></em></p> <p> <div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:66721397-FF69-4ca6-AEC4-17E6B3208830:69752951-ccb1-4132-ae62-ca085831c2f8" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><a style="border:0px" href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!212&type=5"><img style="border:0px" alt="View Regina Pacis, Byculla" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TBBYGqxl0pI/AAAAAAAABoM/PAZsmdWmb2E/InlineRepresentation9aea4dfa-b69f-4439-af89-6c06f0fc7021%5B4%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" /></a><div style="width:400px;text-align:right;" ><a href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!212&type=5">View Full Album</a></div></div></p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-77066417576742777312010-06-05T21:10:00.001-07:002010-06-05T21:10:47.828-07:00Hidden Sanctuaries<p>Known fact, Bombay can get on your nerves. It can make you yell silently, it can make you cry dry tears and it can make you sweat blood. The city is fast, crowded, smelly, tough and ridiculously noisy. </p> <p>However, every so often you will come across a place that seems to scream peace. Starting with this post, I will be putting up pictures of places I have visited in the city that are beautifully maintained, have large open spaces, huge trees and not too many people.</p> <p>Tata Institute of Social Sciences is one of India’s premier educational institutions. The album contains pictures of the new TISS Campus at Deonar in Bombay.</p> <div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:66721397-FF69-4ca6-AEC4-17E6B3208830:31ca94dd-a737-46e4-a394-f5ab4a6b9289" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; float: left; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><a style="border:0px" href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!206&ct=photos"><img style="border:0px" alt="View TISS, New Campus, Deonar" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/TAsfxull_FI/AAAAAAAABoI/im9sYKfe2p8/InlineRepresentation95252347-ecb3-4a53-b2cb-57b4ad71b279%5B1%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" /></a><div style="width:400px;text-align:right;" ><a href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!206&ct=photos">View Full Album</a></div></div> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-46813998505083236712010-05-03T23:53:00.001-07:002010-05-03T23:53:05.986-07:00Jane’s Walk 2nd May 2010- Girgaum, Bombay<div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:66721397-FF69-4ca6-AEC4-17E6B3208830:16ac7b41-a736-4c4a-b9c6-dcdaf274d41c" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><a style="border:0px" href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!191&ct=photos"><img style="border:0px" alt="View Jane's Walk- Girgaum, Mumbai" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/S9_ETm9kAHI/AAAAAAAABls/hvq8Lgd_XGA/InlineRepresentationd9826d48-816e-4792-817d-22484f6dd324%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" /></a><div style="width:400px;text-align:right;" ><a href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!191&ct=photos">View Full Album</a></div></div> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-11126495761872371202010-04-29T20:02:00.001-07:002010-08-05T23:02:44.133-07:00…Tabula Rasa<p>Into the night that feels so bare,</p> <p>I look for a glimmer of resilient hope,</p> <p>The force of laughter is so void, its  all a guise for this heavy soul</p> <p>We wander through a lifetime of riddles</p> <p>We search for an elusive pot of gold</p> <p>I wait for no one to walk this path, </p> <p>I walk it, on my own  </p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-31255376630983097112010-03-02T05:20:00.001-08:002010-03-02T05:20:36.411-08:00Invictus<blockquote> <p align="left">Out of the night that covers me, <br />Black as the Pit from pole to pole, <br />I thank whatever gods may be <br />For my unconquerable soul. <br /></p> <p align="left">In the fell clutch of circumstance <br />I have not winced nor cried aloud. <br />Under the bludgeonings of chance <br />My head is bloody, but unbowed. <br /></p> <p align="left">Beyond this place of wrath and tears <br />Looms but the Horror of the shade, <br />And yet the menace of the years <br />Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. <br /></p> <p align="left">It matters not how strait the gate, <br />How charged with punishments the scroll. <br />I am the master of my fate: <br />I am the captain of my soul. <br /></p> <p align="left">-William Ernest Henley </p></blockquote> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-40526542389796932482010-02-20T23:23:00.001-08:002010-02-20T23:23:58.951-08:00Applications Invited<p><a href="http://www.pukaryouthfellowship.org.in/"></a><a title="PUKAR Youth Fellowship" href="http://www.pukaryouthfellowship.org.in/" target="_blank"><img title="YFP poster" style="border-top-width: 0px; display: inline; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" height="244" alt="YFP poster" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/S4DfjU1jTuI/AAAAAAAABBQ/2XixvU3-rsA/YFP%20poster%5B13%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="174" align="left" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.pukaryouthfellowship.org.in/" target="_blank">PUKAR Youth Fellowship Programme</a></a> 2010-2011 invites youth from the city of Bombay to research their concerns, their lives or their neighbourhoods. Its a fun way of exploring this city, experiencing its vibrancy and going beyond the norm. If you would like to know more about the Youth Fellowship click on the hyperlink.</p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-28573240915346662732009-11-25T08:35:00.001-08:002009-11-25T08:52:07.326-08:00Whatever helps me sleep at night<p align="left">TV serials, passing trains</p> <p align="left">Hopes for the future, changing seasons</p> <p align="left">Getting high, drowning sorrows</p> <p align="left">Lost in plans, found in the present</p> <p align="left">Is this my pill? Is this my remedy? </p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-84447629000034101232009-11-07T19:59:00.001-08:002009-11-07T20:01:09.713-08:00Music for the soul<p>This is a friend based in London who I had the pleasure of listening to only a few times. But I’m sure glad that she’s got her stuff up on YouTube!</p> <p></p> <div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:cced62e7-9ae1-4bfd-9944-a57616a87cc4" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><div id="83c8b99d-b719-45a6-9df5-eff2b5664e04" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;"><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DeX1uuzS9lU" target="_new"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/SvZCLIkBg3I/AAAAAAAAA1o/n53XFXzSqKw/video945bce816cf0%5B6%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-style: none" galleryimg="no" onload="var downlevelDiv = document.getElementById('83c8b99d-b719-45a6-9df5-eff2b5664e04'); downlevelDiv.innerHTML = "<div><object width=\"425\" height=\"355\"><param name=\"movie\" value=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/DeX1uuzS9lU&hl=en\"><\/param><embed src=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/DeX1uuzS9lU&hl=en\" type=\"application/x-shockwave-flash\" width=\"425\" height=\"355\"><\/embed><\/object><\/div>";" alt=""></a></div></div><div style="clear:both;font-size:.8em;">Rekha Paunrana</div></div> <p></p> <p>And here again, live at ST. LUKES, LONDON</p> <div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:3c91eb21-5fae-4116-bd0f-3214a777a943" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><div id="5d5a0a6c-b580-4fc8-a8ab-1052b77788b0" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; display: inline;"><div><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Lvb1IvYxHQ" target="_new"><img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/SvZCMDktEoI/AAAAAAAAA1s/omDXsDbVWz8/video216c33b7e4f9%5B6%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="border-style: none" galleryimg="no" onload="var downlevelDiv = document.getElementById('5d5a0a6c-b580-4fc8-a8ab-1052b77788b0'); downlevelDiv.innerHTML = "<div><object width=\"425\" height=\"355\"><param name=\"movie\" value=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/3Lvb1IvYxHQ&hl=en\"><\/param><embed src=\"http://www.youtube.com/v/3Lvb1IvYxHQ&hl=en\" type=\"application/x-shockwave-flash\" width=\"425\" height=\"355\"><\/embed><\/object><\/div>";" alt=""></a></div></div></div> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-52249546080659344262009-08-23T10:14:00.001-07:002009-08-23T10:16:20.060-07:00When the monsoons transform a village hamlet into an haven of greenery<p>A few pics taken on a short visit to Jambhulpada. Although the morning was spent in some very unpleasant heat, the afternoon saw some beautiful showers and made for some very welcome respite. </p> <div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:66721397-FF69-4ca6-AEC4-17E6B3208830:f20c13ac-27f8-4dbe-a116-95f505655f4c" style="padding-right: 20px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 10px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 15px"><a style="border:0px" href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!172&ct=photos"><img style="border:0px" alt="View The adhivasi hamlet at Jambhulpada, Khopoli" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/SpF42Si8PcI/AAAAAAAAAbU/CGhxAcEwefw/InlineRepresentation13259767-4ab5-4c69-bc5b-305f0220a2f0%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" /></a><div style="width:400px;text-align:right;" ><a href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!172&ct=photos">View Full Album</a></div></div> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-87510527323931893732009-08-16T22:19:00.001-07:002009-08-17T20:56:36.747-07:00Borivali National Park and Kanheri Caves after the monsoons<div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:66721397-FF69-4ca6-AEC4-17E6B3208830:d69f7645-7e90-4726-af69-4356dea899c6" style="padding-right: 0px; display: inline; padding-left: 0px; float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-top: 0px"><a style="border-top-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!159&ct=photos"><img style="border-top-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px" alt="View Borivali National Park and Kaneri Caves in the month of August '09" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_IZQQtqwMWk8/SojoTxplLQI/AAAAAAAAAaM/zC3DEFi1eRg/InlineRepresentation6b274ce5-2834-48cc-a6ed-0f24ead29573%5B2%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" /></a> <div style="width: 486px; text-align: right"><a href="http://cid-bb1f3ae78e321c03.skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?page=browse&resid=BB1F3AE78E321C03!159&ct=photos">View Full Album</a></div> </div> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-64321565708780631612009-08-07T03:00:00.001-07:002009-08-07T03:00:49.310-07:00The participation continuum<p>Last weekend I learned of the participation continuum, a theory/idea probably coined by a management guru, although it did have elements of the non-management thought. It makes sense that one would like to see their groups’ development through a grid like this one, although to put human behaviour into such a framework seems rather unreasonable.</p> <p>The idea of this continuum is that groups generally go through several stages before reaching the ideal level of each member having an equal say and stake in the group’s purpose. (The word used is ‘empowered’, which in my line of work has come to be quite meaningless)</p> <p>It starts with the first stage of <font color="#808000">‘<em>assumed’</em></font> , where the members have an assumed relationship which with each other. Each person takes for granted the capacities and abilities of the other group members. It then moves onto <font color="#800080">‘<em>informed’ </em></font>where group members are now informed of the group’s purposes or anything else, but not given much say in matters. </p> <p>The next stage is <font color="#800080">‘</font><em><font color="#800080">consulted’</font>. </em>Here the group is given the opportunity to express themselves but isn’t requested or informed about giving feedback. So basically it remains a one way working relationship. Following being consulted, the group moves into <font color="#008000">‘<em>involved’</em></font>  where members can express their views, partake in decisions but still work within a prescribed framework and boundaries. </p> <p>Involvement moves into<font color="#008080"> ‘<em>engagement’</em></font> which means that group member takes responsibility for decisions made and there is equal decision making and action taking power. So one would wonder after this has been achieved what else is left??? Well that's where  being <em>‘<font color="#808080">empowered’ </font></em>comes in.</p> <p>Empowerment is the stage at which members not only have decision making power but have control over processes as well finances. </p> <p>In a simplistic view, one would then infer that empowerment would be having control over finances. I say this only because that seems to be the basic difference between being involved and being empowered in this context. To me it makes no sense moving into empowerment simply because <em>involvement</em> in its explanation is ‘it’. I would think that being involved in a group’s purpose would entail being part of every decision, financial and non-financial and that, that in itself would be ideal. </p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-76662619489007847462009-07-14T23:29:00.001-07:002009-07-17T01:36:10.127-07:00Opinionated news reporting<p>Last night I happened to turn on ‘@ 9’ on NDTV with Pranoy Roy. The first issue that was being discussed was Mayawati’s spree of building statues of herself and her party; how the general public is reacting and what other political parties have to say about it. The second issue later was how a young couple from Rajasthan  eloped and married within their clan (which is not traditionally accepted), and how the village panchayat has issued a Rs. 1 lakh reward to bring them back, dead or alive. </p> <p>Both issues are quite heated topics and my angst (if one can call it that) is not with the subjects themselves but with the remarks that Mr. Roy made. It has always been my understanding that news reporters asked questions, elicited answers and at the end of the clip summarized. When I was a kid, I actually looked up to Mr. Roy because I felt he reported well. Facts were clear, language was easy to follow. </p> <p>Last night however he made quite a few very judgmental statements, bordering on cynicism on India, on a news broadcast. It made me wonder about news reporting.   What exactly has it come down to? Emotional reporting at horrifying events? A reporters opinion rather than clear facts? or simply, random statements?</p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7607164578051012296.post-21041135666782444152009-06-24T02:27:00.001-07:002009-06-24T02:27:36.077-07:00Jogeshwari’s very own Bandra<p>A small piece of information I came across today while visiting a colleague…. About 25 years ago, the government moved an entire slum dwelling in Bandra to Jogeshwari, providing only land and not housing. Since then, this spot in Jogeshwari East has come to be known as the Bandra Plot. So at Jogeshwari station when you hear rickshaw drivers calling out ‘Bandra’, you’ll know why!</p> Marinhahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01380165106399210856noreply@blogger.com0