Word Power

This is a word which has been haunting me ever since I came to know of it. The power of it extends much beyond what it says, it goes out to show how much a single word can accomplish, its eerie capacity to haunt you and a breathtaking ability to hound you.

Is it in the exotic tenor of its sound, the way you have to twist to get it right? Or is it in the roundness of its pronunciation, or the newness it brings to my palate of words. Wait, it might be the far reaching meaning it conveys, or the ring of aloofness it has to it. No, it is melancholic strand in it which resonates with my own or the profound bearing it possesses.

The grief for the lost places can be only experienced and never be explained. The grief increases every single day and the weight it carries will eventually pull you down one day. That which you had, and lost is a symbol of the distance you have come to. Not necessarily good or bad but merely something to remind of what has been successfully lost, dismantled and never to be regained again.

How does one get back to a home that never was, never ever existed and never will. It takes a lifetime to get over this one and then you realize that it takes more than that, a lot more.

Three years on

The first time I visited the Falaknuma Palace, I was a child for whom the huge Palace meant a day out with Family. When I went there three years back to do a story, it was a story of a lifetime to watch a beautiful Palace being restored to its prime. Third time was lucky too, when we went there last month to shoot. Its beauty only grows more luminous by each passing day and I was still enthralled by it, its splendor doesn't not dim you, it takes you in its shimmering folds.

To think that we who are capable of creating this should now find refuge in things which should never have been raised in the first place. That one who who has set his sight on such splendor should witness the regular in an instant. That such beauty should exist amongst such torpor is an inherent contradiction, or maybe its just a co-incidence.

The Lowland

So many thoughts swirled in and out of my head when I embarked upon a start to finish campaign of Jhumpa Lahiri's , "The Lowland" today. My first reaction to it when I received the book was that it's color was so appealing - green, full of life and brimming with promise, flush and radiant, hopeful and benign. Not the green you see on leaves when it rains nor that which covers a parrot but that of a green in transition from one serious tone to another, that of fresh grass at its radiant best. I couldn't read it for two days after I set my eyes upon it but today I resolved that even a headache wouldn't take me away from it.

Was it the best book I've ever read, of course not. Did it reach out to me like the aching loneliness of "The Namesake" no it did not. Did I unearth some life changing truth from it, no such thing happened. Then why have I been so captivated by it? In the initial stages when two love stories bloom, I found myself pacing restlessly eager to know how they turn out to be, when a character floundered on his way to receive love which was rightfully his I rooted for him and when finally an exile ended I was soaked with peace.

I realized that the reason it appealed to me was that the scale it was set was so appealing. It didn't harp on a happy ending or a bad one, it basically allowed the ebb and flow of life to be captured so lyrically that it was hard not to be drawn to it. Jhumpa's writing has a clear, evocative style to emote, one that rises from the book and wraps itself around you. You cannot but be a part of her writing, you transcend from being a mere reader to a pivotal character, at least in both the aforementioned books.

Nothing beats the pleasure of a good story reaching its deserved destination. That it lives up to deliver what it promised is as much a joy as the act of reading itself. It leaves you satisfied, making you feel satiated as after a  hearty meal, a hungered conversation or a herculean act of facing what you always dreaded. Till the next one comes along, of course...

Conversations

It’s just one of those times that you feel that everything you write is not what you want to write. I want to scream and shout to the world about the one great conversation had today with Mi, I want to tell everyone I know about how I did nothing more than to complain, whine and gossip. I want to share with all those I know that though I didn’t win anything, though it didn’t really lead anywhere or solve anything, it filled me with so much joy and contentment. I want to smile stupidly because I think that though no great things were done, I can get through the rest of the day basking in the sunlight of one talk.

I have always believed that being at peace with yourself is the greatest thing in world. I’m neither clever not clicky, nor confident or charming and the maximum I wish at most times is t be content. Was all that possible in the course of 17 minutes? yes, all that and more. How do you put into worlds the immense satisfaction you feel when you say exactly what you want to say and it’s received exactly how it’s supposed to be. How do you articulate that feeling that you can crib, cry or criticize with someone who knows exactly what you are trying to say. That perfect understanding which shelters you and saves you from judgment. No conflicts resolved, no angst repaired, no doubts removed, no depression lifted but still I feel like I’m on the top on the world.  I still am and will be there for some time to come.

Mangalagiri- A mélange of colors

Offering something for everyone, Mangalagiri near Vijayawada has numerous charms in its folds. Rediscover the many charms of a village famous for its saris and temples…

At a distance of 18 kms from Vijayawada, Mangalagiri a place as famous for its temples as for the colorful bouquet of weaves it produces. Time spent in this sleepy village simply flies by, with its quaint streets, friendly villagers and numerous stores selling the famous Mangalari saris. You can visit the temple for a quick darshan, shop at the many stores, simply soak in the clean village air and walk around the countryside and farms.

Things to do in Mangalagiri

-          Panakala Narasimhaswamy temple perched atop the Mangalagiri hills was built in 1650 AD by Raja Vasireddy Venkadri Naidu, the ruler of the town. A splendid gate leads you to the main temple and the entrance is flanked a gigantic chariot or ratham.

Upon inquiry regarding the origins of the name of the temple an interesting story was told to us. The temple got its name from panakam (water mixed with jaggery) served as an offering to the deity. The region was prone to volcanic eruptions in the past due to the abundance of sulphur found in the region. The eruptions were attributed as the angry outbursts of Lord Narasimhaswamy and panakam was poured into the idol’s mouth to placate him. Till date every visitor offers jaggery water to the deity. The temple closes by 4 in the afternoon. 

-          Lakshmi Narasimhaswamy temple is located at the bottom of the hill and is the first thing you notice the minute you drive into the town with its arresting gopuram which towers over the town. Built in the 16^th century by Krishnadevaraya, the temple is beautiful and the intricate carvings on the gopuram speak volumes about the quality of artisans in the past. Walking around the temple transports you to the past with its fallen pillars, stone walls and vast spaces exuding heritage from every corner. 

-          Shopping for handlooms is a major draw. The temple town offers some of the finest cotton saris and fabric to the country and the town is full of stores where you can shop to your heart’s content. For those interested in knowing how the saris are made, a visit to the weavers loom is a must, the weavers are friendly and share interesting anecdotes. It takes about two days to complete a sari and the commonly seen motifs are mango, leaves, flowers and geometric designs. Fab India sources its fabric from here and the most arresting features of Mangalagiri fabric is its mélange of colors- reds, oranges, greens and yellow make the sari as vibrant as a rainbow. Bargaining is tough here as the storekeepers refuse to give in to any tactics employed by even the most seasoned shoppers.

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Part of my first ever travel piece!

Doors

What secrets do you behold?
What lies behind the closed exteriors?

I think often of those soulful eyes sought to be mine
I think often of the recherche that ought to be mine

Restless and rancid,
Rancor runs amok

The purposeful silences and invidious glances
The if and buts of a promise never fulfilled

The beauty that lies within you
That which you seek never be known

Strong and Silent
Graceful and Gregarious

A withdrawn you and a withered me
Stare into oblivion fleeing all things glee

Will you not let me in
O my loved one

Influx and Redux

On a day spent watching old Telugu movies, I am feeling alternately wistful and wasteful. Thinking about the relationships which are the way they are and are not, brooding about the people who are around and who aren’t, longing for things which have happened and have not, wishing for the future which may or may not happen.

I sit alone unreachable by those around me, I feel alone unmoved by those who can reach me and I dream alone unmindful of those who are a part of those dreams. My thoughts are in a flux- angry, agitated and annoyed: at everything which dares to become involved and anything which dares to be too distant.

Unable to want any of those who are around and wanting those who will never ever be around again, my distant daze is confused by its own terror and the terrifying tenacity of its thoughts. I am tired of waging the same battles over and over again with the expected variations resulting in the expected results.

I am desperate for calm but will shatter it once it comes closer. I want to run away far and wide but feel shackled by the air that surrounds me. I want to make true all that my heart wants by am engulfed by a wave of despair which sinks me each time I move. Desire and despair, Querulous quiet and lost loves, all battle silently together.

A single tear makes its way through silent sorrow, a solitary flame stutters in abject neglect and a sole wish is lost in the maze of confusion. Life, seems at once cheerless, at second glance it appears unrelenting, refusing to let me go, drowning me with its lifelessness, choking me with its dejection.

To the glorious grief lording over and refusing to let go,

To sinking deeper into darkness and not caring to try,

To how things were and how they promise not to be.

The journey of a bibliophile

A recent story I did and loved....

 

A staircase leads to a comfortable room which is bursting with books and is embalmed in a quiet that is hard to find nowadays, BS Prakash’s library is a book lover’s paradise, intimate but not intimidating. Rows and rows of books spread across genres of every imaginable kind greet the discerning visitor, from history, literature, poetry and classics neatly stacked according to author and genre. The elegance of the library is compounded by the old world charm of the house replete with wooden rocking chairs and spacious seating areas.

 Prakash’s tryst with reading started at the age of 3, when his mother gifted him a copy of the book, “The tale of two bad mice”. As he shows us the book which was presented to him in 1950 he says, “I have always been reading. I still have the fairy tale books gifted by my parents. It’s been a deep and abiding interest all through my life. Since I wasn’t an athletic type and we had no radio, reading was the natural alternative during childhood. My father and grandfather were avid readers and in fact, a quarter of my collection (about 2000 books) was inherited from them.” Today his collection has grown to roughly around 8000 books, and he admits that cataloguing them is a huge challenge.

The book collector remembers his childhood days where he bought books at many stores in Abids (a street in Hyderabad) with great fondness. He recollects the many times he bought classics for a steal, “I used to buy a lot of books at AA Hussain in Abids apart from that there was a second hand book store called Ilyas down the same road which had a great collection. The second hand market at Abids was a great haunt to buy different kinds of books, I once got 16 volumes of Charles Dickens for 32 rupees!”

 Also a part of  a club of theater and literature enthusiasts, Prakash says that reading opens up different worlds to the reader which is an experience in itself. Showing us the first edition of Charles Dickens’s “Pickwick Papers” which was published in 1837, a book  which has withstood the vagaries of time for almost three centuries, he also narrates many anecdotes which he says only enriched his love of reading, “I once bought a book of C Rajagopalachari’s writings for the Swatantra Party, in which two pages were stuck. Later I found that he had gifted the book to his biographer, Monica Felton. In my father’s books I have come across his thoughts on the ideas expressed by the author. All of it makes the process of reading very intriguing.”

 Lending his books to very few people as Prakash believes that most books which are lent never come back; he also strikes a chord with many people when he says that he prefers reading novels in paperbacks to reading on an Ipad or a kindle. Currently planning to write a book on the social history of a middle class South Indian Brahmin family he brings the interview to a close by saying, “Books for me brings out solitude from loneliness.”

 

Books I recently read and loved

Reading is a getaway for which I’m immensely thankful, allowing me to know more about life, people and experiences in such a vicarious and voyeuristic manner. Though my reading has come down, I have read some immensely wonderful books, in the past which have enriched and touched me in so many ways.

A suitable girl: Vikram Seth

This book is so huge that you cannot lug it around, I placed it on three pillows and read it just like old ladies read out from Ramayana at a prayer meet. It also amazed me (again after An Unequal Music) about the unrivaled genius of Vikram Seth. I fell in love at the contents page itself, instead of names of chapters, it has couplets with a tantalizing hint as to what you can expect in that chapter. The sheer number of characters and the exquisite detailing which went into it numbs you. Full of characters you can relate to, an old world charm which no longer exists, it was a marathon of a book and the fact that it has a sequel coming out is just the icing on the cake! My family heaved a sigh when I finished it in five wonderful days and was brought back to the world.

The help: Kathryn Stockett

Gifted by Na, on my birthday this wasn’t my usual book. Narrating the journey of black maids in 1960’s who raise white kids, it opened my eyes to the sort of exploitation we thought was limited to our own country. Full of humor, pain and courage it describes an inhuman human in an incredibly humane way. Two days after I finished the book, the adaptation came on TV which was good but was nowhere close to the book!

Em and the big hoom- Jerry Pinto

This touching book, which by the way is simply gorgeous to look at, with its black bound cover and colored pages was a gift from Pt and was so engrossing. A story about a mentally ill mother and her two kids who try to decipher the reason behind her illness, it shocks you with its crudity and makes you wonder about the concept of life itself. A semi-biographical account of the author, the sarcasm, lyrical humor, the love and the grief really affect you. I, for one didn’t want the book to end even though the despair in its narration was heart wrenching. A wonderful, depressing book!

On a rainy afternoon...

It’s been raining nonstop for the past 24 hours and feels absolutely wonderful. On days like this I wish for nothing but a good novel, a bed and my old quilt. To do nothing but laze around while the gentle pitter pat gives you company is the stuff my heart yearns for. Add a bit of Ilayaraja’s music in the background and some piping hot chai, and I am officially in heaven. I don’t have so much on me right now, I am at work but am thankful that I can see the rain and enjoy its gentle smells, feel the company of the drops and soak in the constant comfort it brings. The many memories it coaxes out of me and the many people it reminds me, rain is unparalleled for evoking nostalgia.

What is it about rains which makes me long for monsoons every year- is it the fact that life comes to an absolute standstill when it holds forth, is it the feeling of tranquility it invokes in everything it touches or is it just another thing to hold onto, one not threatened by change or confusion? Rains have a wonderful way of making me feel at peace with myself, just to watch, just to be, just to be a part of something so serene. Every drop bringing in the same force and fervor, touching everything with the same passion while ensuring that everyone is a part of it, that everyone is a stake holder.

Everything about the rains hold promise and beauty throughout its stay, the overcast gloomy clouds which herald it or the green green trees which it leaves in its wake. The cool breeze which sways with the rain drops or the many pretences it washes away. It brings such simple joys and so many myriad thoughts.

Rain. A gregarious friend, a gentle lover, a great companion.

From the archives

This was written in Dec, 2008, one of my first articles after I started writing. Was cleaning my drives and made me think of my first writing job....

There was a time when a serial on Doordarshan meant the penultimate glory. Family functions were postponed, meal timings were arranged in such a manner that no one missed any minuscule portion of a serial and television became the nation’s favorite pastime which was both addictive and alluring. From the charming Chitrahaar to the humility personified Hum Log, these reel life entities transcended their boundaries and loomed larger than life. The actors were real and wholesome entertaining was given the pride of place. Buniyaad, Fauji, Shanti, Swabhimaan, Dekh Bhai Dekh and Shriman Shrimati were only some of the serials with which people could identify with, chatter about them at impromptu places and relate to them as if they were an extension of their own life. They moved people with their piquant narration, had them in splits over innocuous humor and moved them with the compulsive play of human emotions. It was truly the golden era of Indian Television.

With the advent of cable television Zee took the reigns from DD becoming its legitimate heir, although it did not do such a holistic job, it did manage an enviable task-that of presenting to people the power of change. Serials like Tara, Banegi Apni Baat and Rishtey not only were path breaking but were also hugely successful in breaking stereotypes. They did not limit themselves to pose questions but also demanded answers. Breaking away from the moulds of propriety and chauvinism they played an instrumental role in the coming of age of Indian Television. With an assorted and assiduous range of soaps like Sailaab, Teacher, Campus and Hip Hip Hurray they succeeded in not only retaining viewers but also in attracting new ones. It was a path breaking era and one that explored hitherto virgin territories with finesse.

Circa 2000, entered Ekta kapoor with a magic wand and with her brought a change which would strip Indian Television of its simplicity and naivety. With Star Plus as home ground, she revolutionized television with her unprecedented success and a blitzkrieg to rival that of films. Garish saris and grotesque facial expressions became the order of the day and men became the weaker sex of the small screen. Kyonki, Kahani, Kahin Kissi Roz, Kahin To Hoga brought in TRP’s and money at an unparalleled rate. While the heroines became saintly and god like, vamps became meaner and more menacing. Idealistic Bahus were virgins, voluble and virtuous, capable of enduring inhuman agonies and anguish with a silly smile. It was a phase when Indian television changed forever.

Currently we are in the fourth stage where an alarming 63 channels jostle for attention, Real life Drama, expletives and abuses are all a part of an actor’s ensemble. There is no clear victor and the poor viewer is bereft of choices. Innovation is dead and formula is in. There is no clear winner today, everyone loses! The best entertainment is provided by 24/7 news channels!

Festival Frenzy

As a child I was overtly religious, and I guess to make up for it I never bothered much with either religion or prayer while growing up. Indeed, of late its been fairly extreme in the other direction however one ritual which has been followed is that of Shivratri. I know not if it is out of the memory of someone who introduced me to the ritual observing the day or merely something I do as I’ve always done it, the festival dedicated to the Blue throated God has always been something special. This year was no different and though I had a harrowing first part of the day because of some trivial rubbish, it has actually been an enormously cleansing day, simple, subdued and subtle. Festivals are supposed to be punctuations in the passage of time and life, but they should be so by choice rather than custom or belief. A day when you acknowledge the power of the one above you and abide by it as a testament to your own beliefs rather than others, in a short festivals are celebrations of ourselves and definitely not about deities and even less about token tributes. It’s all about us, as always and that was the fact I enjoy most about Shivratri, its all about me and I revel in that.

Having no TV around (the current one zonked off weeks back and I am determined not to get it repaired) is doing wonders to me and my reading. Finished off many pending books, including Wilbur Smith who gave his latest book when I interviewed him months back and which has been staring at me insolently for quite some time. It also keeps me more tuned in with my work and myself, how many times do I switch on and switch off the Idiot box even when I knew that nothing worthwhile was on! Trying to take a newspaper break but am wondering if that’s stretching things too far…

An agonizing two days and excruciating waits of almost 4 hours on two consecutive days meant that I interviewed Barkha Dutt and Nargis Fakhri. Not a fan of either, the former was all business like and brisk. The latter was surprisingly warm, even postponing her lunch when she saw me waiting and speaking without any airs. Maybe its got to do with her western upbringing but she seemed nice without being condescending and she SO tall, by far the tallest person in that sad and otherwise listless crowd, not to mention, the best looking belle of the ballroom.

November blues

November is one of my most hectic months of the year along with May. November is the time for annual issue which basically means double work at the same pay which is certainly not amusing, it also means that I write so much that any more writing elsewhere means sheer fatigue. The irritants apart, it's a month I really love. One of my closest friends has her birthday this month and it brings cheer like very little things do, also it's beautiful in Hyderabad, with the winter just starting out and the concert/ theater season in full swing. A new tradition rather a revival of the old traditions is underfoot, that of performing at some of the best landmarks of the city, the forts, the palaces and the open grounds are brimming back to life and the background they lend to any event is unparalleled. The flip side being the impossibly long distances...but November also brings to forth the barely concealed fact to light that another year is fast slipping by without any significant achievement or change. It is always astonishing that an year has gone by quietly without any fuss whatsoever.

Months are so imbued with characteristics, January is always filled with the warm glow of possibilities where you think you are making this year count. February is thankfully, always short and spent dreading the impending summer. March is depressing always. Mid year for me, April and May are the fussiest with the unbearable heat and work making it a blur. June is cheerful, and brings a lot of hope along..weather wise or other wise. July marks a lull in work and my life begins again for me. August brings the rains and smiles, optimism and laughter, water and warmth. September and October, with their activities and festivities keep one busty. December is a daze often, spent wondering whether anything of value has been accrued for another year. November brings cheer for me, hard work and pleasure coupled...dinners and conversation... Friends and peace and bliss.

To making every day special!

Impressions

As another power cut makes it's presence felt, I think of the last time I met Jagjit Singh. It was this year, around May when I interviewed him. I have been a huge fan of his phenomenal voice and the depth of its melancholy, that he could generate so much pain struck me as an extraordinary gift. Having seen, the masterful " Arth" and losing myself in the two magnificent gems penned by Kaifi Azmi and sung with a pathos which tears your heart apart...all these thoughts were ringing in my head when I hopped and skipped to meet him. We did meet, for once the press conference was on time and I was almost bursting with an inner cheer that I was meeting a person whose voice was great company, one which does not question and whose presence calms you invisibly. When I started interviewing him, my first question was about his style of singing, to which he asked me about Faiz Ahmed Faiz, the great poet about whom I had only scant knowledge. Then he asked me if I knew his body of work, then refusing to answer any questions... all through the interview all I could see was a person who did not match up to the phenomenal gift he was known for- his voice. I came back that day with a sinking feeling in my heart that a person so big can be so small and chided myself for matching a person and his voice.

Needless to say, that put me off his music for I couldnt imagine liking that. A few months back, I was watching Shyam Benegal's magical " Mammo" in which Jagjit Singh made an entry back into my life with his magical " hazaar baar ruke hum...hazaar baar chale hum" This time I kept the voice away from the man and allowed myself to lose my knot of discord in the impenetrable depth of his sorrow which connects instantly with any one looking for a companion. The nature of sorrow is such that it reaches out to other suffering instantly, attracting it like bees to flowers, you identify the feeling and once the connection is established it is as impossible to breakaway from it as it is from your first love. The quality of Jagjit Singh's voice had that uniqueness... of wrapping itself around you, making it's hold around you so breathlessly quixotic yet rendering you unable to move away from it, divine and all consuming.

When Pt messaged me today that he passed away, I felt a pang that I never listened to him live. Impressions are such fallible, things that they stay with you long after you've turned your back away. Today, I am glad that I met some one like him, though not exactly what I wanted happened, he was a real tangible person who showed me that he was just like you and me: human but blessed with one extraordinary power, that of a voice which comes back to you the minute you shut your eyes.

Dreams do come true

Whenever I want to meet someone’s work I hugely admire I am thrown in a quandary because people are seldom what they seem and especially with people in the creative field, they eccentricities and other maladies make me vary and apprehensive. I remember meeting Jagjit Singh, whose obnoxious behavior made sure that I never listen to his amazing music again and what was a daily durbar has been relegated to the dead end of my music soirees. So when I was about to interview Amitav Ghosh, I was all knots…will he be polite, will it make me swear off his wonderful wonderful books and most importantly, will he match up to his books?

In one word- Yes, he was all that and more. Soft spoken, affable and immensely likeable…mister Amitav Ghosh is charm offensive himself. Unfailingly polite and enormously well mannered, it was such pleasure speaking to him. I was so nervous that I forgot many questions I wanted to ask him and spelled pidgin (pronounced pigeon as pig- din!!) his book reading was well attended and a surprise, most questions made sense except one hilarious person who asked him why your books are so long and heavy (The moderator intervened and asked him to read newspapers)...it was a memorable night and I finally got my copy of the Hungry Tide signed by him!!

Was thinking, Hina Rabbani Khar looks smashing but when she spoke I honestly thought that it was SM Krishna speaking!

Causes

It’s strange but I never really had any cause which was close to my heart (unless, it was for purely selfish reasons) but some how I was never really interested in activism if it required physical activity from my end. I've never really understood why and how people can pine for something so untangible. This time the magazine I work with has 13 social activists and I met some wonderful wonderful people whose passion, energy and enthusiasm both shamed me and gladdened me immensely. I fervently believe that a cause is like a kid, both require judicious attention and constant care and just like a child remains a child to their wards, a cause requires life long care and attention. I met a spunky (and absolutely gorgeous) wildlife photographer who made a record of birds found in Hyderabad and went to schools with it, a feisty lady of 60 years, wise and articulate who tries to save urban lakes, a software employee who also doubles up as an RTI activist and others like a lady who started an NGO called write to walk and takes up the cause of non-existent foot paths in the city. All of them determined and all of them so involved in the belief that their work would lead to some change. The great nature of their work, the vigorous push that it requires and the extraordinary work they put it simply astounded me! (The wildlife photographer spent one entire day to get a tricky shot done!) After meeting phoneys (actors/socialites) for so long, this piece I did was so close to my heart and made me believe that belief does wonders.

I simply loved Zindagi Milegi Na Dobara, yes the second half pales, but it does lend the story certain gravity. It was fun, believable and frankly enjoyable to boot. I loved Zoya Akhar’s first movie as well and am so in love with the new Katrina, lively and energetic no longer an ice maiden.

Coming back

Come backs are so much tougher than leaving everything. I was at a press conference on Saturday, my first in months after an extended leave and was more nervous than my initial presser. Was fun though... missed all the gossip, waiting endlessly for 'stars' to descend and fighting with the PR for an exclusive. Interviewed Emraan Hashmi and Mahesh Bhatt, must say the latter was actually polite which was really surprising and gave honest, thoughtful answers to all questions. Having always liked his movies from Arth to Hum Hain Raahe Pyar Ke, I was really happy. Emraan is a very dis-interested person, so speaking to him is always done in five minutes flat. Must say, going by the crowds, he has more male fans than female, also he comes with a strict 'no-questions-about-kisses' stance but frankly nothing is more boring than asking him that.

I cannot wait for Mister Amitav Ghosh to come to Hyderabad, how amazing is the man? His River of Smoke, was so utterly spellbinding. His language, method employed to tell a story and restrained elegance is so sublimely charming! I was lucky to meet him once but am hoping to interview him this time around. I cannot not rave about his work...when is he getting the Nobel?

Watched Mammo yesterday and was marvelling at the enormously fine actor called Surekha Sikri, they dont make em' like that any more...no they dont.

A Fairytale called Falaknuma

This is my labor of love, it's terribly long (a 4 page feature) and I'm enormously vain!
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Agar firdaus bar roo-e-zameen ast,
Hameen ast-o hameen ast-o, hameen ast

If there is a paradise on Earth,
It is this, it is this, it is this.

This famous farsi couplet by Amir Khusro which was used by Emperor Jahangir to describe the beauty of Kashmir might have well been used in another generation and time to describe the magnificence of Falaknuma Palace, the crown jewel amongst the 32 palaces in the city.

Rows of Ashoka trees herald you as you gently trudge up the 200 ft hillock, as you make your way through the crest embossed iron gates. What you see is impressive- an elegant structure not imposing but welcoming, done in monochromes and on a cloudy day the visage of the building merges with the sky above. Falaknuma is no ordinary residence/palace, a symbol of royal splendor and Nizamian grandeur, a byword for the imperial legacy of our city, a personification of the lifestyle of some of the richest people in the world and most importantly the grande dame of the lap of luxury.

As the palace makes the journey from being a royal residence to a heritage hotel it is clear that almost 120 years after it was first used, the glory of the place remains undiminished and intriguingly unparalleled. Yes, the changes are many and varied for example the erstwhile bedroom of the Nizam is the concierge now and the luxurious breakfast room is a conference hall with latest AV equipment and inbuilt wi-fi technology. The change to modernity not withstanding, the palace remains true to the premise it was laid on, that of being the epitome of opulence away from the often crackled cacophony of the city.

The most enchanting fact however, is that the significant splendor does not diminish the visitor, in fact the visitor is blended into the regality and becomes a part of it all, be it while taking a stroll in the 32 acre gardens where tiger cubs were once kept as pets, visiting the gracious grounds where every important visiting dignitary including the Queen of England and the last Tsar of Russia held court or sitting in the magnificent mahogany walled Imperial library modeled on the lines of the Windsor library with a ceiling of ornate teak and which has 5900 books preserved in neem leaves including the first edition of encyclopedia.

Every part of the latticed windows, carpeted floors or the gazebo which overlooks the city and has a ‘window to the sky’ made of stained glass transports you into a sepia tinted era of splendor of the Palace whose fortune was so legendary that the world famous Jacob Diamond was used as a paper weight and where the three dimensional eagle painting in the lobby still intrigues experts. Falaknuma is work of art and a labor of love which still stands tall as a symbol of grace, regality and charm of a bygone era.

The Past:

Falaknuma, literally means a reflection of the sky or the heavenly abode whereas the English preferred to call it a mirror of the sky. Interesting, this stately palace built by Vikar- ul- Umra- Bahadur in 1882 was painted in whites and light blue so that it merges with the sky. Built at a then staggering cost of 40 lakhs, it was originally a hunting lodge. The antecedents of the property are various but the reliable version states that the sixth Nizam, Mahboob Ali Khan was so overwhelmed by the tales of hospitality and munificence that he got himself invited and did not want to leave even after extending his visit by initially a week and later on a fortnight. Keeping with the governing tradition of the time which simply stated that the Nizam gets gifted anything he liked, Vikar- ul- Umra gifted the palace to him. Contrary to sources which say that the Nizam bought the palace, the Nizam merely gave a certain sum of money to Vikar- ul-Umra because the latter had exhausted his resources by building some of the grandest palaces in Hyderabad.

Falaknuma was the penultimate fairyland where 400 odd servants worked choc a bloc and dinner was served on gold plates. The Jade Room with hand painted ceilings, Belgian chandeliers and breath taking views was where an invitation to afternoon tea was as sought after as an audience to the Nizam himself. The state reception room and the staircase are unique to the palace with the former having a ceiling carved with frescoes.

What Falaknuma did in that time was to introduce a lifestyle of luxury unheard of and simply put, the best in the world. Built on the lines of some of Europe’s best palaces and in the shape of a scorpion this heaven on earth had crockery from Dalton, eleven kinds of wood, rarest of rare paintings from France and master craftsmanship from Italy where even the doors of wardrobes were made of pure crystal. Another interesting fact was that Falaknuma was a place of firsts- having the first generators from England, the first petrol bunk, first refrigerators from GE or the first telephone line in town. The opulence was such that even Queen Victoria’s celebrations of being the longest serving monarch of England were celebrated here.

The Present:

Transformed into a heritage property by the Taj after almost 10 years of exhausting restoration efforts at an approximate cost of 100 crores where at one point 800 workers were involved, the new Falaknuma remains a symbol of the pride of Hyderabad. As the city makes the transformation from the being the Nizam’s state to a burgeoning IT hub, it is only seeming that this symbol of stature is again the crown jewel. Consisting of 60 rooms including 15 suites and priced from 33k-5 lakhs, each room recalls the way of life of yore- replete with a personal wing man or butlers and service which allures you with a tinge of the royal ways of past.

The guests are welcomed with a shower of rose petals, and the world famous staircase is lined with photographs of Governor Generals of British India, most of who were guests at the palace. The changes are made painstakingly with the minutiae of details being given grave attention like the new quarters do not use cement but lime and mortar like the rest of the Palace, the bath robes are made of ikkat and the lining of wardrobes with our very own Pochampally silks. The original study of the Nizam remains intact and most of the furniture are period pieces, be it the Chinese tree of life closet in the Kids bedroom which has an inlaid mother of pearl or the erstwhile gossip room which has antique chairs in new upholstery. The gracious grounds, charming courtyards, the intricate tapestry of the zenana quarters all of them succeed in lacing a visitors stay with a regal touch.

The Nizam suite at 5 lakhs per night is one of the costliest in India and comes with a duplex bungalow within the palace and has a private garden, swimming pool, spa and kitchen.

The two restaurants Adaa and Celeste signify the two pillars of the palace, Indian and foreign. While the former serves authentic Hyderabadi food, the latter serves Italian and Mediterranean cuisines. Celeste, a 30 seater restaurant is done in pastels and the menu, music and food change according to the time of the day. The crockery is imported from nine countries and promises to serve a heavenly eating experience. Adaa, with traditional chowkees as chairs has recipes handed down from the oldest families of Hyderabad. A meal for two at either of the restaurants would cost you around 4500 rupees.



The elegance of Falaknuma is timeless and its seamless splendor such that generations have been entranced by it, no wonder that a century on it manages to remain as spellbinding as it was intended to be. What Falaknuma Palace was, is and will remain is a pearl drop forever etched on the cheek of time.
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I hit a century of posts..yay!

Home alone

I’ve never stayed really alone, barring one month in Chennai (which was more traumatic and less therapeutic) and am technically not alone even now but there is a feeling in the past two months that is hard to forget. With my mom and life line exploring foreign shores and me off to fend for myself for the first time, it’s an allegory of first time experiences and a few nasty shocks. A new wave of something which smells like independence not overtly so but coveted enough for me to take in the change and make something out of it. Never having to make as much as tea myself, this new found status, has enabled me to both experiment and appreciate the things so oft taken for granted. Badly turned out meals and maid troubles though leaving me handicapped have had their own effect of making me wonder at the importance of invisible things. I know its coming a decade too late, but hey it’s finally here!

Interviewed Priyanka Chopra and she looks amazingly good plus talks well but the best thing about her was those luscious lips! Couldn’t even get near Ranbir Kapoor with screaming girls giving those bouncers hard time. On the other hand, two great things happened yesterday
- Watched Eat Pray love and really enjoyed it especially the Italian bit, the Indian part was overdone with everything from Elephants and arranged marriages thrown in but Julia Roberts still looks great and it was a fun watch.
- An amazing jugalbandi of Rahul Sharma and Richard Clayderman kept me and Pt spellbound for almost three hours. The enchanting quality of music and the sheer brilliance of it all was worth the distance I had to drive.

Book Reviews

Really wanted to write something concrete but am too busy these days doing nothing! However, really liked these two Book Reviews I did for the magazine I work for and they had to be here....

Tiger Hills by Sarita Mandanna

This eagerly anticipated debut brings with it a whiff of fresh writing and an elegiac descriptive prowess which catches your eye right from the first page. In the news for the record advance paid, Sarita Mandanna justifies every penny paid because of her lucid style and a plot which gets its fundamentals right. Set in British ruled 1878 Coorg and traversing till Indian Independence the story is told through the fiery Devi, the love of her life- Tiger killer Machu and her ardent admirer Devanna. Warm, ferocious and unabashed, the crux of the book is her love for Machu and the blows which are dealt adroitly by fate. The remarkable style of narration, the lilting description of Coorg and the overwhelming intensity of passion Devi feels, first for a man and then for Nara Malai or Tiger Hills, the Coffee Plantation to which she transfers her love, fervor and intensity are documented with a verbosity that is frighteningly real and touchingly tender.

While the pace does slacken in the last part especially while dealing with the second generation, the powerful characters and vivid imagery come to the rescue. Set against the back drop of two World Wars, it is an engrossing tale of lost love and misjudged affections. Some parts of the book which detail the hurt accumulated by the lead characters or those which say that grudges are simply a waste of time bring to forte the judicious flair for writing the author has and make us eager to sample her next work.

The Pleasure Seekers by Tishani Doshi

Right from the intriguing name to the intricately carved ending, there is something about this book which makes it endearing. At one level it a love story, at another it’s a genuflection of a “hybrid” family trying hard for that elusive quality- a happy ending and as you begin to unravel the plot you realize that it’s a story about love, the difference being sublimely and so delicately interwoven that you wonder that a distinction so small can create a story so warm! Babo, a member of a strictly vegetarian Jain family spreads his wings and finds himself in London where he meets Sian, Welsh (Not English!), beautiful and besotted by the aspect of finding true love settles down in rusty old Madras with daughters Bean and Mayuri proving that theirs is a union which will last come what may. While it starts off on a low note, you are completely absorbed by the brilliant characterization, heartfelt compassion and gritty humor be it the wry snow haired Ba with her warm heart and penchant to smell people who are hundreds of kilometers away or Ignatius, the courageous hermaphrodite who weaves magic with fingers, every incident and every character brings an innate subtlety which is a delight to read. Original, bold, uplifting and clever it is an accomplished debut, something even adept hands at writing would be proud to produce.

I really do hope someone reads the reviews and picks up the books!