Friday, 6 October 2017

The festival that runs itself (almost)

The Goa Project’s press release quotes co-founder Udhay Shankar as saying that the vision is “to create a community of passion at the intersection of disciplines for cross-pollination and innovation to happen organically.” In person, Mr. Shankar, who is a Bangalore-based investor and consultant, eschews the gobbled-gook and is far more direct about what he sees as the core for him: “I want to be in the middle of smart people — when I say ‘smart people’ I mean people who I consider to be smarter than I am in whatever way you want to measure it; smart is a context-specific term — and articulate people all the time and learn and grow.”

The Goa Project is an annual ‘unconference’ that happens, unsurprisingly, in Goa. The format, while better known in the tech geek world, is not unknown in other fields. Simplistically put, it comprises sessions proposed and voted up or down by the attendees. TGP sessions are in eight ‘tracks’: Music & Sound, Design, Interactive Media & Cinema, Performing Arts, Fringe & Geekery, Society/Education, Workshops, and Presentations. There are different slots in each track, including lectures and lightning talks, debates, Q&As, demonstrations. There is a space reserved for projects, where selected innovators look for support, through collaboration or even funding.

Mr. Shankar says that TGP is partly a descendant of a mailing list he runs, Silk List, a by-invitation virtual space where members with shared interests also tend to meet up in the real world. And that meet-up practice in turns has its roots in pre-Web online spaces like BBS groups. “The most immediate trigger was myself and Vijay [Anand, the other co-founder] having a series of discussions when both of us were volunteers at a NASSCOM Product Conclave in about 2009 or so, about how this was intended to be the seed of a movement that brought together people in the products space, and from there it went to how it would be nice to have spaces like this for other communities as well. And not just restricted to one kind of community; but to pull together interesting people.” Nothing happened immediately, though the conversation continued, until Mr. Anand one day said, “Why not just go ahead and do this?” The friends had discussed the idea with others, and got uniformly positive responses; in fact people wanted to help. “Typically, the response we got was, when do we start?” Mr Shankar says.

The unconventional format was arrived at after observing a range of international events, from Burning Man to TED: “We were reasonably sure that that was not what we wanted to be,” he says. “One, there already exists a TED, and two, we wanted to do something a little more unstructured. We wanted to see what would happen when we put together all the smartest people we know.” And why Goa? “We wanted to do it in a place where people don’t have work pressures. We could have chosen to do it in a place like Leh or the Nilgiris, but in addition to selling the concept, we didn’t want to sell the venue as well, and Goa is a venue that doesn’t need to be sold.”

‘The Goa Project’ was the working title, and one that survived a naming exercise by professionals (but volunteers) from branding agencies and marketing. “We went through the entire exercise of coming up with a name, evaluating them,” Mr Shankar says, “and decided eventually that ‘The Goa Project’ was a good enough name.”

An interesting facet of the festival is that the core team, who are all volunteers (most are busy professionals the rest of the year), do not just give their time; they even pay their own way to be a part of it.

Anindo Ghosh, who has been involved with TGP since its second year, and has curated tracks as well as been a speaker, puts it simply: “It’s become like family.” But what contributes to that atmosphere? “It’s the way it is run. Everyone has a voice.” Mekin Maheshwari, formerly of Flipkart and Yahoo, now running a foundation which aims to develop entrepreneurial mindsets amongst youth from difficult backgrounds, says it is the perspectives he gets and the people he meets that he prizes, which he attributes to the way the “open, warm and egalitarian” way the festival is run. For Javeeth Ahamed, business development professional and manager of the projects track, it is the drive to create that he gets from being at TGP that is the draw — he added ‘author’ to his bio because being at TGP inspired him to write his first novel — that, and a desire to give back, because “I’ve got here because people helped me, and this is a way I can help other people.” There’s also a selfish motive, he says: “The contacts! The people I meet here… I feel empowered, like I can find someone to help for anything I need, or someone else needs.”

How does the actual event list evolve? Rashmi Dhanwani, an independent arts consultant and curator when she is not being a part of TGP’s core team, says, “The process starts even before the funnel [the process by which prospective presenters pitch their sessions] is open when track managers and curators reach out to their networks and tell them about TGP, asking them to propose sessions and ideas. Once the funnel is open, it’s about keeping an eye on proposals coming in, reaching out to proposers to better understand their ideas and taking mental notes about the quality of the proposals. Once the funnel is closed and the final confirmations have to be made, it’s about finding those subtle balances between sessions that will make for an interesting event. We try to be as inclusive as possible. We also look at proposals through the POV of the audience, and try to choose sessions that are about an idea rather than a plug for a product.” It doesn’t stop there, Mr. Ghosh explains; there is then close collaboration with presenters, helping fine-tune, understand audience cues, coach them in dealing with questions.

The projects track grew organically from the festival, Mr. Ahamed says. So many people had found support for their projects at TGP that it made sense to make that a formal part of the event, which it is now, with a tie-up with the crowd-funding site Wishberry. TGP invites applications and selects a few projects that will get to make their pitches at the festival. Mr. Ahamed says that the big issue for most crowd-funding efforts is getting that initial seed funding, and the impetus from a TGP pitch has helped these firestarters get some kind of take-off velocity. This year, there has been a conscious decision to have only arts-related projects pitching: being presented are a board game, a documentary, and a folk music collective.

For the rest, there as session ranging from hot-button geeky topics like crypto-currency and 3-D printing to using public interest litigation to save the environment and engaging with the Indian conservative, to more flower-child areas like creative movement therapy and relaxation with the didgeridoo vibrations. Mr. Ghosh says that attendees are invited, encouraged even, to walk out of sessions, walk into others, then go back, to participate vigorously. “Don’t be surprised if a track organiser strongly suggests you attend a session, perhaps even propels you to one,” he says laughing. In response to a question about the inherent chaos of an unconference, which may unsettle more traditional minds, he says that it is, under the surface, far more organised in advance, as other core team members have pointed out, with and contingency plans for presenters who couldn’t make it. For instance the calibre of attendees means that there are potential presenters in the audience who could do impromptu sessions, and the organising team are also ready to step into the breach at any time.

The feel of TGP is one of vibrancy, but also of relaxed informality, which isn’t just because of the flip-flops and bright T-shirts. The physical space, at Bay 15, a resort in the Dona Paula area of Panjim, is designed to promote that informality, and exploit the fact that at any reasonably organised meeting of minds, like a seminar or conference, the true value of attending — in a time when feeds of presentations can be viewed online easily — is the networking. “The most valuable conversations are the hallway conversations,” Mr Shankar says. “In some sense, what we’re trying to do is to make as much of this hallway conversation as possible. It’s not just the kind of sessions, it is about the physical layout of the spaces as well. You have, at any given point, four different things happening; that means there are four different spaces. You have to make a choice about where you’re going to be, you may need to wander from space to space. The layout is such that you have to pass through a community space, which includes an important community gathering spot, the bar. The whole idea is to throw people together.”

Goa undoubtedly attracts the conference market, but for most attendees, interaction with Goa and Goans is limited to the buffet, the bar, and the beach, and the hotel waitstaff. TGP wants to be more a part of Goa. “But honestly, we haven’t done as good a job as we would like to, but we’re trying,” Mr. Shankar says. “Some of it is because our networks aren’t as strong here as they are elsewhere. This time, we’re partnering with several local organisations including the GCCI, an industry body, and a few artists. We’re also planning to have a student pass to encourage more students to show up, in the hope that these are the folks who will anchor TGP in future years. The idea being that even though we heavily subsidise the cost of attending TGP, it might still be out of reach for a student.”

The other big change is that the organisers have formalised the structure, and have formed a non-profit, Atman Creative and Knowledge Development Foundation. “We intend to do stuff year-round instead of only the annual event,” Mr. Shankar says. “And some of this will continue to happen under the official umbrella of TGP.” Is it to enable donations and to be able to offer donors tax deductions? “Eventually, yes,” he says. “But we don’t yet have [that paperwork] in place. More importantly, we wanted to preserve the non-commercial aspect of it. You know, once you run an event a couple of times reasonably successfully, a lot of well-meaning people will come and give you advice on how to commercialise it. But commercialising also means that you optimise for revenue, which is not what we want to do. This is a passion project for us, and due to that it has taken on a certain character, attracted a certain set of people, and we want to protect that character as much as possible.”

Disclosure: The writer attempted to earn a pass to the event with a pitch. It got two votes.

Sunday, 1 October 2017

Candles in the wind

In a world where bad news is in no short supply, in a profession where atrocities are on the daily news list, some tragedies hurt more than others.

Journalists of almost every leaning were jolted when Gauri Lankesh was murdered; here was a journalist killed, gunned down, not in war zone or in some troubled but remote part of the country, but in cold blood, on the doorstep of her home in one of India’s busiest metropolises. We shouldn’t have been more distressed by this atrocity than by the assassinations of so many others in our profession but, what gods there may be forgive us, we were. We said to each other, This could have been you. Or me.

In a city where nine or ten people die on the tracks every day, falling from or being knocked down by trains or being hit while dangling from a coach overburdened to a ludicrous degree, one more senseless rail tragedy shouldn’t have penetrated our callused souls. But we’ve all travelled those trains at some point, even those who, like this writer, can now afford four wheels and a guaranteed window seat. As the city’s business district migrated north and split up like so many amoeba, many of us work or have worked in Lower Parel or thereabouts, and have exited the local trains at that railway station and, shoulder to shoulder with the MBAs and the office assistants, battled our way out of the sardine cans, through the scrum on that pedestrian bridge and out into the dubious charms of the erstwhile mills district, on our way to the upcycled godowns and shiny glass towers where, amidst the banks and MNCs and upmarket watering holes, our publications, now freed from the need to house printing presses, send out the news and views in bits and bytes.

We stay unflustered, because that’s what we’re supposed to do. We call and WhatsApp our colleagues and chivvy or are chivvied for ground reports. We monitor the social media channels, looking for more information. When the grim list comes in, we scan it quickly for familiar names and then breathe a sigh of relief and go back to the newsgathering, a little ashamed of that relief. We point our cameras at the stray shoes left behind knowing how powerful the image will be, we hit the record buttons on our phones and stick them in the faces of the weeping, we go to hospitals, overcome our human tendency not to bother the distressed and ask people in hospital beds questions, we edit, trimming lines for greater impact, spellchecking copy typed with one finger on cellphones, scouring our memories and the web for background material the reporter is too busy to include in her copy. We plan the questions we will ask of power tomorrow.

It’s the job. It’s not as soul-battering as being a first responder or an emergency room medic. It’s just news. We file, we move on.

As we send in the story about the twentysomething chartered accountant in her first job or the lifelong best friends who were on their way to the Dadar flower market to buy offerings for the gods for their community puja, we let the thought surface, This could have been you. Or me. And then a photographer sends in a picture of candles lining that pedestrian bridge, a small bunch of marigolds among them. A homage to those who died. It’s silly. It’s symbolism. But then, some of us, we break down and cry.

[In The Hindu]

Thursday, 11 February 2016

How Zuckerberg got the blues

The campaign to save the Internet was led by many ordinary citizens. A thank-you note.

Success has many parents. And now that the Save the Internet campaign has got a happy ending, there is no doubt that many will clamour for a share of the credit. And they would not be wrong, for it was a campaign of, by and for people like you and me, ordinary citizens.

That said, there are some names that rise a little higher from the crowd. (What follows assumes you have followed the net neutrality versus zero-rating debate in these pages and elsewhere.)

One of them is the Telecom Regulatory Authority of India (TRAI). Regulators and government bodies in general have not exactly been known for being au courant with technology and its advances, or for — gasp! — actually wanting to know what citizens think. Past heavy-handed efforts at censorship, such as back in 2006 when our government ordered the blocking of entire second-level domains when it meant to silence a few third-level sites, had India’s then fledgling social media world alternating between giggling at their cluelessness and screaming blue murder outrage about the loss of their precious blogging platforms.

But, led in no small way by the Ministry of External Affairs, who were the first members of the babucracy to dip their official toes into the online world, India’s administrators are now very much a part of the social whirl. And TRAI, to its eternal (or until next week) credit, made a huge effort to reach out and make it if not the best possible public consultation, then at least a better consultation than has been done before. Writer Raghu Karnad made the point well in a Twitter discussion: “I don’t see a lot of kirana dukaanwalas [owners of small shops] being interviewed about FDI in retail.” If there’s one thing to take away from TRAI’s course of action during this debate, it is that I don’t think India’s Internet policy will be created from an ivory tower again. And while it could get better — reaching out in multiple Indian languages is one small example — it’s good to see India showing the rest of the world the progressive way ahead.

Sharing credit with TRAI is the Save the Internet coalition. (Disclosure: this writer helped with small parts of the group’s first campaign and was privy to its discussions and strategies.) This ragtag band, using nothing more than their brains, well augmented with legal knowledge, tech skills and social media smarts, changed the course of the debate and made sure that telecom providers and platforms like Facebook weren’t controlling the narrative. Possibly their biggest contribution to the discourse was the way they carefully studied TRAI’s questions and framed lucid replies that were also legally sound. The group frequently insists that it is a collective, and no individuals are heroes, so I will respect that and not name individuals. Those who were and are part of the group and have chosen to be identified can be found on the savetheinternet.in website.

A crucial amplifier of the net neutrality point of view was the comedy collective AIB. Those always irreverent young men have a huge and very influential following. So when they, taking a cue from American comic and host John Oliver, released a video that made the case for net neutrality, many celebrities shared it, and it got seen by a lot more people than the Save the Internet coalition could have reached on its own. AIB followed up their initial video in April last year with a couple of more videos later in the year, and each time their contribution shot adrenaline into the movement.

Another crucial ingredient was the support of the Indian start-up world. Vijay Shekhar of digital payments company Paytm set an example. Initially a supporter of zero rating (which privileges some chosen Internet sites over others by giving users free data to access them), he changed his mind and used his influence to reach out to others too. Eventually, several hundred entrepreneurs such as Nandan Nilekani stated their support for net neutrality. And politicians stuck their necks out too: Biju Janata Dal MPs Baijayant ‘Jay’ Panda and T. Satpathy, and All India Trinamool Congress MP Derek O’Brien. The CPI (M) passed a resolution last year opposing violations of net neutrality, with party leader Sitaram Yechury vocally supporting the concept. Even Congress vice president Rahul Gandhi spoke up, which was worrying for net neutrality supporters: in today’s polarised world, his stand could have meant National Democratic Alliance fans reflexively opposing whatever he said. News coverage abroad helped mould opinion too. Notable among the influencers was Tim Berners-Lee, who invented the World Wide Web but did not patent it so the world could benefit; when Sir TB-L speaks, people listen.

Have we forgotten anyone? Oh, yes. Facebook. The social media platform’s holier-than-wow advertising campaign and lobbying efforts to evangelise their FreeBasics offering, not to speak of their cack-handed effort to take a leaf out of the Save the Internet campaign’s book by asking their users to petition TRAI with a ready-made email (only neglecting to have their email text actually answer the questions TRAI had asked for responses to) backfired rather spectacularly. So, thank you, Mark Zuckerberg. Here’s a nice blue thumbs up for you.

[In The Hindu]

Thursday, 3 December 2015

A thin boy in a wheelchair

My brother was disabled. I talked about him to friends, maybe referred to him only in broad terms in work environments, and very rarely wrote about him. When I did write about him, I was asked — both by people who knew me at the intimate-at-a-remove level that social media has made common and by those who have my family and I knew for decades — why I had never done so before.

The reasons are not that easy to explain. But I’ll try.

(A caveat: I speak only of places we’ve lived in and visited: Vizag, Secunderabad, Madras, Bombay and New Bombay, Ooty. Other people’s mileage may differ.)

John’s disabilities were cerebral palsy, mental retardation (what is called a learning disability now, but those words still appeared on his medical files and were the ones used by our family doctor to refer to his handicap) and a heart disease.

The heart condition did not manifest visibly, but the palsy was, of course, clear to see. His legs were stick thin, bent a little. More so his right leg, which thanks to muscle atrophy and a hip joint that disintegrated, was bent a little more and could never straighten. Because he had the use only of one hand, he was unable to support his body evenly when sitting. So as he got older, his spine curved more to the right. His right hand was small; he had very limited control over it: just a little movement at shoulder level and the ability to twitch two fingers. It mostly would just be folded, palms and fingers hanging. When he was younger, before the curvature became pronounced, he could manipulate his own wheelchair by propelling the left wheel and then reaching over to propel the right wheel. Later, this became impossible, and he needed extra support on one side whenever sitting up. Another manifestation of his palsy was in slurred speech. He also had a pronounced gagging reflex, so we were never able to clean his teeth properly, and he couldn’t gargle, so he wound up losing all his teeth eventually. There was a slight squint in one eye. He couldn’t wink, though he did, in his words, ‘wink his eyebrows,’ basically a theatrical blink. One side of his face was more mobile than the other, so except with a wide grin (which resulted also in a ‘wink), his smiles were always lopsided. We tried to teach him to read and write, but he could not. He could count reliably up to three, sometimes five.

In brief, he was visibly disabled.

In close interaction — with our friends, our neighbours — he was often talked at or talked around or talked about rather than talked to. Sometimes this is awkwardness: people didn’t know if he understood and would ask us, his caregivers, about him. Mostly these questions were on the lines of ‘what is wrong with him?’ and ‘was he born like this?’ Our answers would then inevitably provoke pity. They would see the disability, recognise that it handicapped him, but they so very rarely look beyond the condition at the person.

The thing is, if you could get past the slurred speech, the retardation was not immediately evident in conversation. In the subjects he could talk about, he was always coherent, though sometimes approaching topics from very different perspectives which needed patience to figure out.

(All John’s favourite people always talked to him, never condescending, but adjusting the topics of their conversation to him, as some people have the gift of doing naturally with children. You know who I mean, that favourite aunt or uncle who you were hugely fond of as a child and who will always be special to you, the one who always talked to you straight, never made you feel like a child.)

To the casual passer-by, he was just a thin boy in a wheelchair. (I use ‘boy’ advisedly; though he was older than me, he looked at most 20 right through his adult years.) But, in all the cities we lived in, John would attract curiosity in public spaces. At its best, it would be mild double-takes. Sometimes — often, yes, often — it would also be that gawker nudging a companion, inviting the companion to gawk as well. Sometimes it would be open pointing and loud remarks.

I’ve heard, often, in different places, the word in the local languages for ‘mad’. All this made me furious when we were children. It continued to cut deep even when I became an adult, even though I would tell myself that these behaviours were just a result of poor education about mental disability in this country, that one couldn’t blame individuals for cultural mores they’ve imbibed.

Even so, when in casual conversation, on social media, the anger still boils up in me when I hear the suffix ‘-tard’ as an insult, when I hear people laughing about spazzing out.

It enrages me that this world, this country, this city, does so little to make a more accessible, more caring planet for those whose bodies aren’t ‘normal’, whose minds will stay, always, childlike. And that needs more space than this page will allow. So let me not go there. Let me get back to the personal.

Over time, I reached a point where I don’t want to explain any more. I didn’t want to be angry. I definitely didn’t want concessions. That last is also partly why I haven’t spoken publicly about my brother; one didn’t want to be seen as seeking attention, or seeking pity, or largesse from the state or society.

All this I’ve heard this from friends who have family members with learning disabilities: all you want is acceptance, for your loved one, for your family. You want the world to just be okay with the fact that this is just another person's ‘normal,’ that it doesn’t need pity, or sorrow.

You don’t want the attention. You’re not brave, you’re not extraordinary. You’re not a saint, heaven knows. This is just your life. This is his life. This is our life. You would do the same, but these just don’t happen to be the circumstances of your life.

All we want, the families of and caregivers to people with disability — I deliberately do not try to speak for people with disability, because I do not know that world — is to not be ‘special’. To not be a symbol for courage. To not have our loved ones be the disability.

From where I sit, your fight against the financial circumstances you have risen above, or the loss of a parent early in life or of a child, or a bad marriage or broken heart or rebellious children, they are all strange to me, perhaps. Are you a hero? I don’t know; perhaps you are. But it could be just that you are playing with the cards you have been dealt.

There is no divine plan, I’m sure. This isn’t happening to you or me ‘for the best’.

It is what it is.

You live the life you find yourself in, the best way you know how.

[In The Hindu]

Saturday, 28 November 2015

The idea of Bombay

People like me, people who came of age in the eighties in middle-class urban India, grew up in a different India. We were something of an in-between generation. Our grandparents lived through the transition from colony to nation; our parents grew up in the years of nation building. We grew up taking independence and a certain degree of development for granted, without having all the gadgets, the conveniences, the consumer goods, and the general first worldness that the young of today were born into.

We also grew up with messages of unity in diversity surrounding us. We were all one, despite our religious and cultural differences, advertisements and pre-movie short films (and when TVs came into our homes, Doordarshan) told us. Ek, Anek, as a particularly cute animated short put it.

And while even our young minds knew there was an element of propaganda here, we chose to believe in it, or at least to subscribe to the notion that that was the way things should be.

To stripling me, Bombay pretty much exemplified this. After living in Visakhapatnam, Secunderabad and Madras, none of them small towns by any means, I was now in a true metropolis. The neighbourhood where we lived, the kids in my school, the markets, the buses, the trains, most of all the trains: all of this city teemed with diversity; it was like living in a Films Division short.

I grew up with more friends whose families had come here from various parts of India—one, two maybe three generations ago—than those who could claim centuries of city-born ancestry. Quite natural in a city that didn’t really exist as a city before hunks of its hills were toppled into the gaps between islands to make new land. We celebrated each other’s holidays and high days with gusto, visiting each other, sending across sweets and savouries to each other to better share the joy.

When you visited relatives back in the ‘native place’ during the summer holidays—in this city of migrants, everyone seemed to be from somewhere else—your Bombayness was acknowledged with gentle proscriptions along the lines of ‘You can’t do X here; this is not Bombay.’

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that the city was immune to communal and religious divides, that caste and class lines did not exist—it would be beyond childishly naive to suggest that—it was just that it felt like we were living in a country that was trying to rise beyond those schisms and, more important, in a great city that was leading the way in that effort, a city that had always been a pioneer in progressive thought. (Remember the Quit India movement? Remember where it was launched?) In Bombay, one could believe, the place you were born in, the god you bowed to, the language you spoke, the food you ate, none of these would stop you from making it as long as you were willing to work hard.

That changed in 1992. The demolition of the faraway Babri Masjid that December brought riots to Bombay. For those of us who lived here through those times, there was a chill in the air far colder than the city’s puny winters could ever bring. Men shaved off their beards lest they be mistaken for Muslims. Nominal Christians who weren’t the most regular of churchgoers made sure their crosses were visible. Nameplates that had names easily identified as being from the wrong community were taken down, leaving behind clean rectangles on otherwise weathered walls and doors. The first mentions of vegetarian housing societies came up. People talked softer in trains and busses for a while. Those riots, the ones that followed in January ’93, and then the bomb blasts that March, they killed many innocents. And they also delivered a mortal wound to Bombay’s belief in its invulnerability from the small-mindedness lesser towns and cities were plagued by. When the Shiv Sena-Bharatiya Janata Party coalition that came to power in the next state elections renamed the city Mumbai, it was just a literal ending to the idea of Bombay; that city had already become something else.

Mumbai is still a resilient city. As we sprang back from the riots of ’92 and ’93, so did we recover, quickly, from the cloudburst and floods of 2005. We survived the body blows of the multiple blasts that ripped apart local trains in 2006. We got through the full frontal terror attacks of 2008, the seventh sad anniversary of which we marked two days ago. Yes, even then, we stopped what we were doing and stayed home and watched our televisions, but we were soon back at work, a little quieter, a little more thoughtful, a lot more fearful, but what does one do, livings must be earned. Each time, we went back. We regained our swagger and our style.

Mumbai, like Bombay, has no time to spare, where distances are measured in minutes and hours, not kilometres. It is still a place that rewards hard work, where fortunes can be made from humble beginnings.

Mumbai is a more crowded city than Bombay ever was, but that was inevitable; gold-paved streets are magnetic, but an island only has so much space in which to grow. And this has meant that we pay ludicrous prices for the cubes of air we call our homes, that we spend precious hours just getting to and from our places of work, that our open spaces are threatened, that builders can buy politicians and bureaucrats will conspire. (For me, it’s meant that my family had to move out of the city, to its little sister across the creek. Once it was called New Bombay, then the municipal signboards welcoming you to the city were blackened with tar and a new name was painted over it in rough letters: Navi Mumbai. That name become official too. Just history repeating itself in a different geography.)

Mumbai is still a safer city for women, for children, for the aged, than most others in this country. It is still a home to the arts and culture and sport and entertainment and all the fine things that are worth working hard for, the better to appreciate and enjoy them.

We live more comfortable lives, certainly, than most of India. We can take our electricity for granted most of the time. And though we panic about the water levels in our lakes, we somehow make it through each year until the monsoons arrive. Our air is far from clean, but the sea breeze bails us out most days, blowing away some of the smog.

And yes, we’re richer. And yes, we have so much that more developed countries have, the big brands and the High Streets, the glass towers and the luxury cars. Heck, we may not be Shanghai yet, but we have our very own suspension bridge.

But in the Mumbai of today, it has become okay to talk of the Other.

Bigotry is now legitimate; it no longer speaks in whispers, it is loud, it shrieks on our streets, shuts down shops, and sometimes the whole city. It does not want you to live in its buildings, it does not want you to cook your way, dress your way.

In this unsentimental city, hurt sentiments take centre-stage more often these days. (And we, the media, cannot absolve ourselves from blame for providing a steady stream of the publicity to the publicity-seeking hurt sentiment that comes our way.)

Again, don’t get me wrong. Just as it wasn’t a total free thinker’s paradise when my generation was growing up, it certainly isn’t hell in which we find ourselves in our middle age. Things are undoubtedly and demonstrably worse in other parts of India and, yes, the world.

Mumbai still is, and regularly proves itself to be, more progressive in its thinking than most places. In Mumbai, hard work still rules, and good ideas can still find a home. In Mumbai, you can still say what you believe, and be sure that no one will try to kill you if what you say offends them… Reasonably sure, that is. I can still casually call the city Bombay, as an old friend can do, without more than the odd idiot on Twitter scolding me Perhaps one day louts-for-hire may gherao this newspaper’s office if their paymaster’s delicate feelings are hurt by something we say, but this newspaper will still come out the next day, and its journalists will still walk the streets unafraid.

But here’s the thing. Today, liberal voices are more hushed; free speech advocates now censor themselves. This can only be a bad thing in a city founded on free movement: of people, of goods, of money, of ideas.

Bombay was all about differences coming together and somehow working. Bombay celebrated its differences, made the most of them and like some medieval alchemist, it conjured up success and growth. One couldn’t expect any less from a city that was imagined up out of seven islands and lots of swamp and sea.

But maybe that’s a lot of poetic tosh, born of too much brainwashing by the Films Division in one’s formative years.

Perhaps the Idea of Bombay began to die before the name did. And perhaps now, while it still gasps for breath, it’s really past hope and we should let that idea go. That would make me sad.

There’s a part of me, though, that doesn’t want to believe that: the part of me that still calls the city Bombay, as if using that name would conjure it back into existence. Who knows? Maybe there are enough of us, and if we all think about it really, really hard..?

[In the first Mumbai edition of The Hindu]

Saturday, 21 November 2015

Published: Forbes India, ForbesLife India

Creature from Another Planet (A kind of an obituary: Michael Jackson)

Rock Show

Gunning For Glory

Book: And Another Thing?

Tip-off: Google Chrome

3 Ways to Build a Stronger Public Profile (With Indrajit Gupta)

7 Social Networking Tips for the Novice (With Elizabeth Flock & Nilofer D'souza

The Teller of Stories Profile, Chetan Bhagat

An Interview with Chetan Bhagat (interview-based profile)

7 New Words We Learnt This Year (With Shishir Prasad & Elizabeth Flock)

Event: Jaipur Literature Festival

Salman Rushdie and all that - a chat with Sanjoy Roy

(Audio)

Twho’s Twho

Should India Save Its Daylight?

Leaving Home: A Soulful Tribute to Indian Ocean

Long Live Social(media)ism!

From Darkness, Light

To Kill A Mocking Bird: A Book For All Seasons

Twitter Parodies

John Travolta: High Flier

Most Expensive Homes in India

Here's looking @ you, kid - The Evolution of Email

Forbes India Person of the Year 2010 (Podcast; with Shishir Prasad)

5 Gadgets You’ll Want To Own (With Deepak Ajwani)

11 New Words We Learnt this Year

Hope and Glory: Talking to Asha Bhosle (an interview-based profile)

Welshspotting: Ten Minutes With Irvine Welsh

India Would Like to be Your Friend

The Intent Is to Build Communities for Friends of India

Nirupama Rao: We Want to Be Part of the New Media Revolution

The Best of Forbes India Covers - Year 2

Coke Studio Comes to India

Social Networking Site: Google+

Shammi Kapoor - Blithe Spirit (an interview-based profile)

Book Review: Js & The Times of My Life

The Mind of the Indian Reader

Burning Questions of 2012 (Podcast; with Shishir Prasad)

11 Reasons Why the West Should Outsource Christmas To India

Why Sachin Tendulkar Isn’t God

11 Books To Read In 2012

Who will win the DSC Prize?

Elections and the elephant in the room

The Giant Chronicles - Two Books Worth Reading

It’s Love-All for Leander (an interview-based profile: Leander Paes)

A Book of Verse and Thou Beside Me

Talent-Spotting at the Jaipur Lit Fest

Jeet Jeet (Audio)

Ashish Nandy and all that (Transcript + Audio)

Rah-Rah Rahul!

Sanjna Kapoor: Sheer Madness Kept Prithvi Going

David Davidar: Aleph Books Will Be Competitively Priced

President Me

10 lessons on #journalism from Twitter

The Olympian Games

London Olympics: Carrying A Torch

The other Olympics

Show and tell: the Films Division’s new film club

Raasrang World Flute Festival

The Olympics: still sexist after all these years

Get to the Delhi Art Gallery Now!

Decoding the North East (with Kathakali Chanda)

Of book prizes and short-lists

Lit season begins

Short short short stories

Helping the police with their duties

Lonely Planet’s India Guides For You

Ferrari, vai a casa!

Duck-billed, web-footed, warm-blooded, egg-laying ... publishers

House of the Random Penguin

Ten very short novels

Facebook Communique

The X Prize Foundation’s India Plans

Prakriti Foundation’s Cultural Route to Charity

Five Years of Mumbai's blueFROG (With Pravin Palande)

Podcast: Questions that need asking (With Shishir Prasad)

The changing face of Indian publishing

Even more books to read in 2013

13 Books To Add To Your Reading List (with Sumana Mukherjee)

The Literary Zoo

Standup Comedy is Finding Its Feet in India (With Shravan Bhat)

Footnotes From Jaipur Lit Fest

William Dalrymple on the Jaipur Literature Festival (audio)

Rahul Pandita On Kashmir and its Stories

Who on earth is Veronica Mars? (Or, is Anurag Kashyap reading this?)

I want to be happy too!

Faster, Higher, Stronger. And Richer: The world’s highest-paid sportpeople

Penguin’s Quick Lit for E-Book Enthusiasts

Art For Uttarakhand - a sale and exhibition in Delhi

The Bastar that was: a unique photo exhibition in Delhi

Rendezvous with Indian Ocean’s Rahul Ram (an interview-based profile)

Aleph’s ‘Short Biography’ Series Has Gems

Son of short-short-short stories

Christie’s has a dream India debut

What 2014 Has In Store For Us (Podcast)

Kuldeep Dantewadia: Managing Waste (with Udit Misra)

Anoj Viswananthan: Helping Donors Choose NGOs (With Udit Misra)

Tarique Quereshi: Fighting For the Homeless (With Udit Misra)

Elections 2014 - The Digital Battlefield (Podcast; with Sohini Mitter & Debojyoti Ghosh)

e-Lections 2014: How Political Parties Turned Tech-Savvy (cover story)

Social Media: Limited, but ‘Liked’ in Indian Elections (With Sohini Mitter)

Vote for... Start-ups! (with Debojyoti Ghosh)

Elections: Spawning Business Opportunities (With Debojyoti Ghosh)

Case Study: The Dynamics of Mumbai South

Alt+Tab+Politics: Nandan Nilekani on switching tracks

5 People To Impact Our Thinking in the Last Five Years

5 Exciting New Technologies from the Last Five Years (With Shabana Hussain)

Mary Meeker’s ‘Internet Trends 2014’

Theatrical Release of The World Before Her

Old School: Centuries-old Universities

The Sceptical Patriot: Historical Claims Examined, with Affection

Dear Tendulkar-bhakts: how do you solve a problem like Maria?

A run for the money: the world’s highest-paid sports stars

Deep Waters: The Return of Indian Ocean

National Flag: Tricolour (With Prince Mathews Thomas)

National Animal: Tiger (With Jasodhara Banerjee)

What's this .भारत all about?

Validated domains for do-gooders: A registry and a community for NGOs

NGOs can Now Sign Up for .ngo Domains

If you applaud at the wrong time at a Symphony Orchestra of India concert, they won’t be upset with you

Large Bills: The most expensive objects of fancy

Luxury hotels that prosperous travellers love most

Best places for women? India ranks 114th among 144 countries

The Gender Gap: where India stands

All types of economies should co-exist (Ela Bhat; as told to)

The growing up of Salman Khan (am interview-based profile)

Happier endings: Dealing (better) with mortality and pain (Atul Gawande; as told to)

Ice Stupas: Conserving water the 3 Idiots way

Achievable Utopias: What wonderful new things lie just ahead

SocialCops helps tackle big problems with Big data (With Salil Panchal)

Abhishek Choudhary and Saransh Vaswani: A class act (With Salil Panchal)

Alok Kumar: Lightening the load of schoolkids (With Salil Panchal)

Sticking to the basics always helps on YouTube

Video ga ga: The new tube in town

What Mary Meeker’s ‘Internet Trends 2015’ report tells us

World’s first women-only fund gets SEBI nod

Becoming Steve Jobs: The Evolution of a Reckless Upstart into a Visionary Leader is worth a read

Women entrepreneurs: A positive change is certain

Ecom Express: A trusted delivery partner

Rupa Publications: Not just Kapish Mehra’s great-grandfather’s company (an interview-based profile)

Sunday, 4 May 2008

Mousetrap - 147

Homesick
unseen dharamsala
Dharamsala, quiet little place that is, has been in the news a lot lately, thanks to its most famous resident, the Dalai Lama. You see, after he made his escape from Tibet, the Indian government shunted him around a bit before giving him a place of residence in Upper Dharamsala, also called McLeodganj. Mcleodganj was a sort of hangout for army officers and their families in British times (there’s a cantonment nearby, in Forsytheganj), but, so I’m told, became pretty much a ghost town after independence. Other Tibetan refugees flocked to the place, and it became the seat of the Tibetan Government-in-Exile. Little Tibet, as some call it, also has a library, monasteries, schools and cultural centres that attempt to keep the culture alive. This site is part of a larger photo-project, an ‘international arts project for workers and refugees to describe their lives through photography.’ The site introduces eight Tibetan refugees, and links to their blogs. It’s a look into the live of a dispossessed people through their eyes and words.

DIY
Wired How-To Wiki
Wikis epitomise the whole user-generated content revolution. Sites like Wikipedia and its offshoots are abuzz with activity, generating volumes of content, some of it downright dubious, some of it of questionable value, especially for fogies like your columnist. Where we we? Where are my dentures? Ah yes. This wiki has a more specific focus: it’s a how-to site, with a tech slant. Naturally considering that its parent, Wired magazine, is an iconic geek publication, one that has chronicled the rise of the web and grown with it, and features some of the best, most lucid writing on tech topics. The site offers ‘projects, hacks, tricks and tips you can edit.’ It isn’t all geeky though. Amidst advice on adapters for electronic devices and building servers, you’ll also find ways to reset a dislocated shoulder, alternative ways to lace your shoes (there are 43,200 of them, would you believe?), or bar tricks. There’s a bonus: a small section of how-tos written by Wired staff.

Fundamental
Are you a CA?
The ‘CA’ that your columnist uses in the title doesn’t stand for Chartered Accountant. The ‘C’ is for Certified, and the ‘A’ refers to the, um, tail-end of your digestive system. Also known as the the A*****e Rating Self-Exam (ARSE), it is a set of 24 questions set in the work environment, by the writer Bob Sutton, part of his promotion for a book. If you’re enough of a, erm, navel-gazer to be reasonably sure of your own status on this important question, try taking it as if you were someone else: a colleague, perhaps. or your boss.

Clean Journeys
Responsible Travel
It’s summer. You’re off on vacation with the spouse and the brats. But have you thought about the impact of your vacation on the planet? This site has listings for 270 tour operators all over the world, with n array of activities and countries. It’s not just for the well-heeled westerner or the global traveller. We desis and impoverished columnists have some choices too. There are 181 India holidays listed as of this writing. Not solely travel agents, mind you. There are less-known things like self-catered holidays and volunteering opportunities. And there are loads of user reviews of the listed holidays to help you make up your mind. Have a good trip!

Reader suggestions welcome, and will be acknowledged. Go to http://o3.indiatimes.com/mousetrap for past columns, and to comment, or mail inthemousetrap@indiatimes.com. The writer blogs at http://zigzackly.blogspot.com.

Published in the Times of India, 4th May, 2008.

Tags: ,

Thursday, 1 May 2008

Siteseeing - 18

Like-a-local

When teh interwebs were still young, my webpage proclaimed the intention to get to know people around the world, so that when I finally had enough money to backpack around the world, I’d have places to stay, friends to hang out with who’d point me to the good, cheap food, the cool places to go, and so on. Having the foresight of a new-born puppy, I didn’t start a dot com, and here I am earning my holiday fund, peanut by peanut, writing for this travel mag.. Never mind. This company takes that basic concept and adds a fee to it, to save you the trouble of actually making new friends. It operates in just seven countries in Europe as of this writing: Belgium, France, Germany, the Netherlands, Portugal, Spain and the UK. And you can choose to ‘live’ (€25) ‘eat’ (€15) or ‘go’ (as in ‘go see stuff,’ (€15) like a local by registering on the site and stating your requirements. The site will then link you up with pre-vetted locals. Or you could choose to search for what’s on offer and make up your mind when you see something you like. The company’s also open to people volunteering to sign up as locals, by the way. Though there’s no mention of any plans for this part of the world. Hm. Perhaps it’s not too late..

Published in Outlook Traveller, May 2008.

Tags: ,

A midsummer evening’s dream

Act One
Grizzled narrator ambles in, props butt against large black cube, the only prop on stage.
Narrator: Back in the day, I appeared in a musical, and got to see a few Bombay theatres from what has always been the right side of the proscenium for me. Later, performance put aside, I did reviews, visited pretty much every theatre in the city. And, despite my early pash for stages large enough to swing a cat (or Cats) in, I fell madly in love with little Prithvi, the first of its kind that I’d ever set foot in. One day, I said, one day..
Editor, off-stage: Get on with it, dammit!
Narrator: Enough about me. A little background to, heh, set the stage?
Lights fade.

Act Two
A clock face is projected on to the backdrop, its hands spinning backwards. Dissolve to sepia-tinted vignettes. A rich, warm voice, Naseerbhai for choice, speaks..
Father Time: In the 1940s, Prithviraj Kapoor strode majestically across our silver screens. He was also actor-manager of his touring theatre group, Prithvi Theatres. And he founded a film dynasty: his sons, Raj, and then Shammi, moved quickly from stage to massively successful film careers. As did the youngest, Shashi; but not before falling, hard, for the beauteous Jennifer, lead actress of Shakespeareana, the travelling theatre company led by her father, Geoffrey Kendall. The story goes thus: at the now-defunct Royal Opera House in Bombay, Shashi peeped through the curtains at the audience, and saw “this fabulous looking girl who looked Russian.” Shakespeareana had the next run after Prithvi vacated; so she was at a loose end. Shashi worked up the nerve to first ask Jennifer out, then propose to her, and eventually, despite initial parental disapproval, marry her.
In 1975, the couple set up the Shri Prithviraj Kapoor Memorial Trust (the patriarch’s died in ’72) and then, in ’78, Prithvi Theatre, on land the old gentleman had once leased, intending to set up his own theatre.
A voice from the audience chimes in. Spotlight on pretty lady sitting on the steps near the exit.
Sanjna Kapoor: I remember a peculiar L-shaped building completely unsuitable for theatre. My grandfather eventually used it to store costumes! The trips out to Juhu were wonderful; I played on the beach with my dog while my mother pored over plans with the architect. Prithvi opened when I was ten. I used to fall asleep in the sofas in the last row! I turned sixteen during the first Festival my mother organised.
She ran Prithvi until she died in 1984. Then my brother Kunal, and Feroze Khan, kept it running smoothly. I apprenticed under them, learnt a lot, and in 1990, I joined in.

Act Three
The narrator saunters back into the spotlight like he owns the damn thing.
Narrator: Prithvi is a ‘little’ theatre, seating 200 on three sides of a ‘thrust’ stage that places the action intimately close to the audience. Despite its tucked-away-in-Juhu location, convenient only for residents of the not-too-far-flung western suburbs, almost every actor of consequence who has set foot in the city has passed through its green room, every theatre lover in the city has applauded here at least a few times. Prithvi also hosts workshops, exhibitions, films, music, and poetry. Integral adjuncts are a wee bookshop, and Prithvi Cafe, hang-out not just for the after-theatre crowd and off-duty actors but also for the suburban folk acquiring cool cred over coffee. Sanjna, fortified by two strong theatre bloodlines and a deep love of the stage, has kept it going—and growing—against the depredations of weekend movies on TV, 24/7 channels, video (and VCD, LD and DVD) libraries, and if that wasn’t enough, multiplexes, malls and downloadable entertainment.
The spotlight shifts again, to the last row, where Sanjna sits, smiling..
Sanjna: I don’t fall asleep in the last row anymore. At least not lying down! (She continues, more seriously..) We have kept Prithvi affordable, both for the players (charges go as low as seven rupees per ticket sold, basic lights and sound free) and audiences (you get 50 rupee tickets on Tuesdays and Wednesdays). Sponsorship has kept us going. The Trust, a non-profit, is building up its own corpus. Donations are welcome; you’ll find details at prithvitheatre.org. We have great plans for the thirtieth anniversary. I don’t want to let out too much just yet, but it will be a mix of local, national and international theatre, and I wish my days had thirty-six hours!

Curtain Call
The narrator stands on the black cube, beating his chest, Tarzan-style, and simpering coyly. Simultaneously. Obviously we’ll need a virtuoso performer.
Narrator: Recently, an old, secret dream came true: I was centre-stage at Prithvi. Not quite in the way I dreamt of, all those years ago; it wasn’t a play, it was an evening of poetry, and I was the obscure newbie reading with a half-dozen luminaries; and no, it wasn’t packed to the rafters with screaming groupies. But they clapped. And it was sweet, so sweet.

Published in Outlook Traveller, May 2008.

Tags:

Sunday, 27 April 2008

Mousetrap - 146

One World
Pangea Day
Pangaea (to use the spelling everyone not American uses) is the name scientists give to a supercontinent, one of many in the earth’s history of drifting continental plates, a single landmass that existed some 200 to 300 million years ago, from which the continents we know today broke apart and drifted away. Pangea Day is on May 10th, and will be celebrated with a 4-hour programme (starting 11:30pm, IST) of live music, short films and talks. It will be broadcast live from six locations (Cairo, Kigali, London, Los Angeles, Mumbai, and Rio de Janeiro) to a worldwide audience via TV, the web and cellphones. (For readers in Bombay, you can apply for a free invitation via the site.) It doesn’t stop after the show, though. The site promises to help people participate in community-building activities around the world, aside from making many of the performances available.

Did the Earth Move for You?
Paleomap Project
While we were researching the first few lines in the previous item, we found this fascinating site. It is a history site with a difference. It’s not about which branch of humanity slaughtered more people than others and hence got to write the books. Nope, this webmaster’s goal is, to put it mildly, huge: ‘to illustrate the plate tectonic development of the ocean basins and continents, as well as the changing distribution of land and sea during the past 1100 million years.’ So you get fascinating full-colour maps, animations showing the continents drifting around like flotsam in a Bombay monsoon flood, and, taking it many millions of years in the future, showing what the world could look like then.

Split Ends
Darn Divorce
Despite the best efforts of the guardians of our Glorious Culture, many in this country are realising that in some circumstances, a divorce, tough as it is on all concerned, is really the best path to choose. Well, as this blog says, it doesn’t have to be the end of the world. It is a ‘collection of random thoughts and news on the Dreaded D-Word. Some content may appear silly or cynical, but in no way am I undermining the distressing effects of divorce…’ There’s a lot here that could be useful; links to advice and articles, and some fun stuff too. Worth a look if you’re coming out of a split, or are affected by one.

Off Line
Shutdown Day
Another internet meme landed in your columnist’s inbox this week. The question being asked on this site is whether you can survive a full 24 hours without your computer. The idea is to use the time you normally spend in front of the keyboard for other things, like getting outdoors and communing with nature, playing sports, or just doing things with people you can touch and feel. As the site says, just ‘remind yourself that there still exists a world outside your monitor screen.’ Kind of ironic, that the message is being passed around online, no? When is this happening? It’s on the 3rd May, just around the corner. The day I have to file the next edition of this column. You think the editor will buy it and we’ll get paid leave? Watch this space.

Reader suggestions welcome, and will be acknowledged. Go to http://o3.indiatimes.com/mousetrap for past columns, and to comment, or mail inthemousetrap@indiatimes.com. The writer blogs at http://zigzackly.blogspot.com.

Published in the Times of India, 27th April, 2008.

Tags: ,