Aaram: A proletariat connoisseurs haven

The imposing grandeur of the BMC building gives Aaram that perfect setting.



R: You want a cigarette?
S: Yeah, I'll get the chai. Dude what do u want?
rM: well, I'm starving. will grab a bite with the tea i guess.

Sitting with the tea glass ensconced in one hand, bag balanced precariously on the lap to avoid the dirt and the vada pao in the other hand. Smoke drifts around me from both sides as S,R puff away. Cars whiz past, the people as always seem to be in a hurry.

S(To R): Are you sure, you wanna take a break after your third year in college?
R: Most definitely. 2 years minimum.
rM: (sipping his tea) work in villages and travel?
R: Yeah.
S: International relations either in JNU or some other good college. All the good international schools requite 12+4 so can't even apply. What do you wanna do?

rM: Do masters in economics, which field i still do not know but somehow get an internship with the World Bank. Try and get placed in Africa and work there, you know.

R: Its going to be so cool after 5 years, to see where each of us have gone in our lives and whether have we achieved what we have wanted to achieve. Imagine meeting each other after 5 years flying from different parts of the world.

S: Yes, i wanna achieve something in life you know. Like progress. I see so many people who after college are still leading the same kind of life and haven't moved a step up at all.

rM: That's rather true actually. (To R) We might meet at Aaram after 5 years flying from different parts of the world or catch a local from Bhayender and meet here because we might not be able to afford some place else. After all what do we have as an option to fall back on unlike lets say the engineers

R: We have a wider stream and more broad scope of thinking.

S: But still they have a safety net. We don't make it we have just withered away our lives then.

rM: DO you feel scared about your future too? All the dreams and aspirations not getting fulfilled?

S: It has me shit scared dude. Keep thinking of it all the time.

R gets on the phone with 'DQ' and N drops in for a smoke and chai as well. The conversation moves to Copenhagen Climate Summit, the risk of an alarmist agenda, risk to millions of poor across the globe, laughing at north korea to making fun of inane Bollywood potboilers giving praise where due (read Hazaron Khwaishein Aisi, Gulal).

All along 4 guys are sitting on the steps of Capitol cinema, a bygone 'lieu de réunion' of lovers of B grade sleazy Hindi movies, now its paan stained doors and perpetually shut grills signifying an era lost in sands of time . The place is surrounded by a few potted plants full of cigarette butts, a small paan shop which would have sold these butts in their original premium Marlboro casing. Next to it, is an obscure shop. A stout man wearing a tattered Blue uniform with a haircap and no gloves serves the humble offerings in this dilapidated shack. Nothing conspicuous about this place and it would be normal to miss it for the trendier Big Mac a stone throw away from this shack except for this small detail. This is "Aaram", established in 1939, it has been a source of gastronomic pleasure for generations of hungry Bombayites looking for a mouth watering, filling meal, easy on their generally thin pockets which has been under attack from perennially rising prices and general 'administrative expenses' which needs to rendered in a city like Bombay to sustain.

Today with a vada pao priced at 8 rs and a small glass of chai priced at 6 rs, many would consider it to be an expensive proposition. Even then, with relatively high prices, competition from Big brothers and clowns from across the Atlantic and not to mention the clean and corporatized Vada pao chains like 'Jumbo King' promising hygienic snack to people drinking e coli infested BMC water, breathing in filthy air with dangerously high levels of poisonous gases, it still has its takers.And if looks are anything to go by, the popularity surely doesn't seem to be taking a hit.
Maybe it has got to do with the fact that in face of all the cleanliness and corporatization of a humble snack, it has still maintained its fare as mouth smacking delicious as ever. That soft filling of steaming hot potato dumpling, just that touch of onions to garnish the snack and of course the red chili powder to fire your throat and make your eyes water is a combination which any foodie or a simpleton would find hard to resist. It is a pure delight which satiates the very soul of that gastronomic urge impelling you to dig into something delicious which would send your taste buds to ecstasy and at the same time wouldn't pinch your conscience for your profligate spending habits.

This brings me to the all important constituent of the 'Aaram expereince'. Prey, if you have not sipped on to this heavenly liquid at Aaram, really what have you been doing at Xavier's? To sip on to this dark brown hot sweet liquid with a rather strong 'tadka' of elaichi is to get elevated in a zone of bliss. A zone in which its hard to fathom whether your taste buds are regaling in joy of that moment of bliss or urging you to go on and sip more of it in an uncontrollable desire to experience the feeling of being united mind, body and soul with that feeling of extreme satisfaction which comes but rarely in the harried life of a man.

The act of unity though is not replete without the conversations to be had at those steps. The chili of the vada pao burns your throat. Hot tea over that gives it a tingling sensation as you watch people and life whiz by. Cars honking, BEST ferrying disgruntled and people lost in their thoughts across, bystanders smoking, or checking out the newspapers at the stall opposite on the pavement, others whizzing past busy on their phones, beggars accost us occasionally, at other times we are left all by ourselves.
The place offers anonymity, an anonymity that has lead to some of the best discussions being held there be it on politics, to the existing social structures, the education which often leads to derision of our principal(much to my happiness), new resolves being made in life, fears being spoken of, soft corners for people being discussed, analyzed and then dissected, random jokes being cracked on each other which by no means conform to standards of decency and would be considered pretty blasphemous in other public places. Quite literally everything has been discussed under the sun in the safe confines of anonymity, unperturbed by the clock ticking by under the imposing magnificence of the BMC headquarters flanked by the grand Gothic architecture of VT building. This sight is a marvel to behold and can make any man surrender to the feeling of living that very moment of existentialism, which is how life is meant to be lived.

Yes, Aaram and its surrounding confines is a humble abode indeed. But none other place comes to my mind when i think of a place which i will truly remember as i leave the security of four walls of this college. This would be a place which reflected our angst against the injustices which in all our glory of youth we wanted to fight. These walls would be privy to the deepest secrets of our heart which we bared. This place would be the one which mirrored our aspirations to achieve something. Above all this would be place which years down the line we would remember as the one where many a laughs were shared over vada pao and chai with an air of smoke perpetually hanging around. For all of us Aaram has ceased to be just a shop, to quote a line used in Xavier's, "its a way of life". A true proletariat connoisseurs haven which has left an impregnable mark in our lives for a long long time to come.
In respect of this institution, i bow, in gratitude...





Hot afternoons transcend into magical evenings with life in motion. A view of VT from Aaram.

That kind act

A turbo charged day was finally coming to its sane end. After a rather well organized second day of YAF which included great performances, a good turnout and even better food it was time to go back to the comfortable interiors of my home and crash on the couch.

Remembering all the mad amount of scurrying around to placate frayed nerves, soothing jangling tempers, wars over food (a quintessential hallmark of the group), i had a smile on my face. A smile of satisfaction, a job well done and amends made especially after a disappointing first day. As i strutted back with a swagger and a smile with carnival of rust providing sweet solace to my tired soul, i spotted him.

An man, aged 50's sitting on the pavement behind the pile of papers of all languages, catering to all types of classes, which he hoped to sell. His henna dyed beard, missing canines, balding grey white hairline concealed by a circular Mohammedan cap and a dirty kurta of a fading colour, all conveyed that life had been harsh on him. No doubt his haggard face did point out to the fact that he was aged much beyond his years.

It was a saturday and the new TOI crest issue was on stands. Having recently acquired a rather discerning interest, i do like to read this special edition regularly. My hand reached for my wallet as i approached him and searched in the corner pockets to eek out the six rupees needed to buy the newspaper. As luck would have it, there was absolutely no small change in the wallet. Grimacing i told him about my inability to buy the newspaper and apologized. He just asked me 'kya hua beta? Crest chahiye, arre le lo, 6 ruapi ki hi toh baat hai.' (What happened son? Want Crest? Just take it, it just a question of six rupees) and like that he simply handed over the paper to me.
I tried to tell him and convince him that ill come and give him the money on monday and would he be here but it was so obvious that he didn't expect any of it and he was absolutely not hoping for anything in return for having done that.

It surprised me to no end to see a man, who hadn't sold so many of newspapers at 9 in the night and was going to suffer heavy losses anyway on his meagre source of income instead of being frustrated and cranky would voluntarily hand over a newspaper to a decked up boy carrying gadgets in his hand with headphones plucked in his ears leading a quintessentially what might be referred to as a good life. It almost made me cringe that level to which people including people very close to me distrust this particular community, ostracize them for a behavior of few black sheep, generalize their habits and blame half the problems of the country on them. If this wasn't bad enough the government had perpetuated a policy of exclusion against them, systematically eroding their representation in the mainstream while a many right wingers spew venom on them. This was the community which recently one of the CM aspirant of saffron party which he incidentally heads in Maharashtra told to go back to Pakistan if they couldn't song vande mataram accusing them of being traitors and anti- nationals.

THe man on the street didn't look at my religion, he didn't even care to which class i belonged to. All he saw was that i needed a newspaper and didn't have the requisite change so he just handed it over to me. Small action, great thought. In that moment of pure gesture, he showed so much what can be done to ease the pain of exclusion. A small act of kindness, a simple healing touch unmindful of 'barriers' which more often than not exist solely in our minds, a basic semblance of trust, maybe all that is needed to erase deep dark memories entrenched across the history and the future of the nation.

With my thoughts about my own life reaffirmed, the path i hope to take, the choices i wish to make, i carried on after uttering a grateful thank you, half embarrassed trying to figure out the right way to respond to such a humbling gesture. Till then it had been a satisfying day, after that it became a truly profound day, a day which actually inspired hope and trust and a smile to warm one's heart. And yes...i will meet him and repay all that is due...to how many people, thats something i need to figure out...

Discovering the joys of Uncool

Today, as i sat sandwiched between an adorable girl no more than 5 and one of the cutest toddlers I have been lucky enough to lay my eyes on, listening to Takahiro Arai, a disciple of Indian Classical Music legend, Pt. Shivkumar Sharma, playing Santoor, I couldn't help but wonder.

This thought faced me because I knew i was wrong at a certain point of time in history and that too completely wrong and way off the mark. Raised up in a privileged culture of a good life, it was but natural for me as well to seek solace in throaty vocals of Billie Joe Armstrong, connect my sorrows with 'soul stirring' lyrics of Linkin Park, which often did serve as my chicken soup and things outside the realm of India which proved as much to myself as to others the decency of my pro western education, the 'world awareness' of my peers and in general my alignment with things in vogue. A direct spinoff of this order of thinking among many people of my age group and social order is relegation of Indian Music as being plain dreary (Bollywood, especially Rehman and currently Kailash Kher are a notable exception). Out of personal experience, i can confidently assume that this notion is unfounded, generalized, deliberately playing on the stereotypes in order to suit the cult of being in vogue (Appreciating things Indian often isn't) and thus is as such completely unfounded. This premonition thus can said be on the basis of half baked and often no knowledge at all.

As a member of Indian Music Group, i have been slowly introduced to classical music. Truth to be told I hadn't taken a liking to it as a fish to water yet its complexities and multifaceted daunting challenges in terms of different octaves and sonority of voice and pitch which needs to be traversed by an artist, did impress me.
What was unexpected was though was the sight of being able to see a Japanese person play the Santoor, the bastion of Pt. Shivkumar Sharma, with astounding ease and brilliant skills. For the first time in my life the sweet rhythms of music came alive, each chord, each note being being the sycophant of the master in total control, it almost exulted me in the state of a musical trance. Remembering the sniggers of people when the co- exec members were requesting them to attend this particular concert, I couldn't help but feel extreme sympathy for that misguided arrogance surmounted by an air of superiority for having missed truly a rare delight. It also made me see myself in the mirror and realize my own follies, the vanity and the foolishness of this pro western parochial attitude.

Must the love for one be accompanied by distaste for the another? Given that everyone wouldn't have an ear for Indian CLassical Music as opposed to Western Music and vice versa but must this attitude of supremacy based on unfounded notions persist? A harmonious synthesis of culture is the answer and probably as how Indo-Western collaborations in the musical arena make waves, a person embedded in cultures both traditional as well as modern, having a healthy respect for both and a keen sense to try something with an open mind beofore jumping the gun would be a progressive person.
By the stroke of luck and dawn of some amount of common sense, i believe i have begun to traverse this long path...probably so should many others.

The Red Revolution

A cursory glance would suffice. There is no public place which is quite immune to its effects. It has slowly penetrated right down to the basic soul of the nation, touching and coloring places, things, objects with its gelatinous red effects.
The Naxals may be fighting for a red revolution in India since those romantically turbulent era of the 60's but truth to be told, India has been gripped by the red revolution since time immemorial. It enjoys mass popular support by the burgeoning population of the nation, so much so that it has almost added an Indian chutzpah to even those symbols of magnificence of our colonial masters. This red revolution being referred to here is the ubiquitous Indian practice of rechristening the 'bland' places with red stains of paan, that holy mother of all Indian gastronomic inventions which has transformed the stomachs of Indians and face of India in more ways than one.
The corners of lifts, shady portions of buildings, white colored 'Stick no Bills' papers, corners of roads, electric poles, brand new german manufactured SIEMENS coaches of local trains promising an unheralded era of comfort travel and the authors shirt among a million other things and places have born brunt of this generous act of Indian art. It has reached levels that a pot bellied middle aged man with a thick mustache chewing has proven enough a sight to inspire dread of the aftermaths of this oral exercise among the innocent hearts of living and due to the ferocity of the brunt, probably the non living as well. It is not unheard of in parts of town for people to get nightmares about the act since its inception which includes contractions of facial muscles and distortions of perfectly ugly round faces in order to give the accumulated liquid inside enough velocity to come out in the form of a barrage hurtling towards its chosen target with impunity and getting splashed all over it, leaving the hallmark of the great Indian art by this artist all over it until it is re chosen as an intended target and the same treatment is meted out to it all over again.
With the civic bodies bereft of any sort of ideas to come up with more publicly engaging forms of street art to effectively cover a blank space and to add that spice to things mundane, the practice looks all set to continue and thus becoming a part of the Indian folklore. Cheers to a colorful India!!

Flashbacks galore...contd

As days pass, words are forgottem, sights fade away, contacts might get broken but memories never leave...
Here are some of my most cherished moments spent in West Africa over these summers.





Adorable. Initially they were scared of a 'fair skinned' guy. In the end we became great friends though!


A completely unexplored beach at Cape 3 pts which was not mentioned in any tourist books. An undiscovered heaven (which is not necessarily a bad thing)



Accra...with its crazy hustle and bustle. This is West Africa at its chaotic and vibrant best.



At Cape 3 pts, the southernmost point of Ghana. Was the last stop during the roadtrip. I was feeling half dead anyway due to extreme exhaustion but was glad that i made it as this was one of the prettiest sights i have ever seen



Wli Waterfalls. At 200 mts they were the highest in West Africa. Yes we actually stood under them.



THe sight which defines the roadtrip across Ghana for me. Over 3000 kms in under 4 days, north, east and west of the country. Slept in buses all 4 nights. Trying to reach Mt. Afdjado- highest pt of Ghana after checking out Wli waterfalls. This was the way...
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Larabanga mosque...north of Ghana, travelled over 2000 kms throughout the day and the night to reach here. Was it worth it? You bet!!



View from the Elmina Castle, Cape Coast, Ghana. A living hell for slaves amongst the most heavenly surroundings...

Flashbacks galore...

West Africa Rewind...

A flashback into the most beautiful phase of my life...

Togolais Diaries: Ghana and back!

Le 21st Mai, 2009

Bonjour mes amis

Long time since I put up a post but this post just kept on getting delayed due to various factors.
The last few days have been particularly difficult to deal with but at the same time have been greatly rewarding. I have forged new bonds, met some great people, travelled around Ghana and Togo and met up people I really wanted to meet yet had to deal with some tough farewells and had to say goodbye to people I had absolutely come to admire and adore.
After an absolutely heady trip to the village where people lived in hell amidst the most heavenly surroundings one could possibly imagine, the days were used up in planning the trip to Ghana as well as meeting up with a great guy who works in the Ministry of Finance and Economics, Togo. Just the two days in that office uncovered some extremely shocking facts and figures about the country, which obviously I am not going to disclose on a public platform, like this but lets just say that it would make any person cringe if one had the luck to go through some of the documents. It was a grand building; made me really wish that the government would also show the same enthusiasm in formulating grand schemes of developing negligible existent public infrastructure for the benefit of the people of the country.
After haggling which each and every bank and paying a commission of a whopping 20 euros on my TC, I was finally prepared to go to Ghana, my mum’s homeland for a good 8 years. Crossing the border yet again, this is a thing, which I really like to do, imagine an invisible line separating air, land, people, culture, policies, nationalities, and languages. Kiddish as it may sound but just the feeling of walking over into a new territory denoted by all the things which I mentioned above really fascinates and at the same time, perplexes me. Unlike the last time when due to confusion regarding the visa, Dorienke and me ended up visiting Kpalime (not that I regret it of course, because it is stunning and had the good fortune to meet Amanda there), this time the visas were stamped on the passport and in no time we were across.
I have travelled a bit in West Africa and seen a few cities but Accra is extremely different from all of them. It almost feels like Europe if one visits it after going to cities like Lome, Cotonou, Porto Novo, Abomey and others. Everyone seems to have a car in Accra and the roads are in state of perpetual jam. There is crazy rush everywhere. Unlike Togo and Benin, motorbikes are hardly seen and mototaxis as a concept doesn’t exist.
This was the city where my mum stayed for most part of her teenage years so I had decided that I will find the place where she stayed but to my extreme disappointment, I found out that the place where my granddad had worked was sold out and the place which my mum had described over the phone had undergone sea of change. So no luck there.
Apart from this the stay was just fine. Met up with Amanda again, it was great to see her and being the one of the smartest girls I have met in a long time, it was an absolute joy to talk to her. The next day we left fro Cape Coast where all the Europeans had indulged in slave trade. Could only gape and stare in extreme horror as the guide told us stories of the torture inflicted upon the locales by the Europeans as he showed us around Elmina Castle. There we also paid a visit to the Kakum national Park, the major highlight there was a canopy walk which was suspended through ropes and overlooked dense vegetation 40 to 50 meters down. When a person walks on it, it creeks and shakes rather vigorously. It was great fun and unlike all the other people who were petrified while walking on it, the 4 of us were having races across the walkway by timing individual score. With great pride i have to say that i won that race and beat a local Ghanian boy in it as well!! But my joy was not shared by the others who were in the group and the tour guide who i suspect got cheesed off by this immaturity and they literally abandoned and left us in the middle of the forest and went ahead on their guide through the forest without us. What the heck man! Why do want us kids to grow up!! The innocence of childhood is seriously no longer appreciated in this world!
Amanda was leaving the next day for home, so went to see her off back to Accra and again, it was really tough to see her go after all the fun which we had in Accra, Kpalime. On this trip she has been one person who has really really inspired me by her beliefs and just her extremely easygoing nature and as such it’s an extreme delight to be around her. Going to miss her a lot. Trip to the States lined up as well. Period.

Went back that night to Kumasi, reached there at 1 in the night all alone, with a little cash and a phone battery about to die in a strange new country. I really don’t know how I pulled it off but I have to add that I was extremely lucky not to get into trouble. If the phone battery had died off on the way to Kumasi, I would have been probably sleeping on the street that night. : P
It was crazy and being a lil neurotic as I am, I LOVED it. Thrilling would be the word! Kumasi, which is the capital of Ashanti Kingdom in Ghana, too was a great city. Checked out the National Cultural Centre with its museum, which gave a good insight into the culture of Ashanti Kingdom. Apparently the king can never be found bare feet and if he is then from that moment on he is no longer the king. Also the current queen of the kingdom is not the wife instead the mother of the King!! Beat that! Doesn’t mean that they have a scandalous relationship or something but just that the wives of the King are just normal women and not the Queen. Cool concept.

That evening we were back in Accra and the next day I capped off my trip by visiting my mums school in the city. It was just fascinating to be there, see young girls in their uniforms and then trying to imagine my mum in that uniform as a young girl. I really hope that she does like the pictures.
Back in Lome, Babs had only two days so we decided to make the best use of the time by going to Brochette de la Capital, the legendary Lome institution which serves lip smacking African cuisine, partying across at Metro till wee hours of the morning. The next night, it was time for another farewell and this time it was the turn of Babs. By now I was prepared to see her go especially after seeing Dorienke and Amanda go as well and then in no time she was gone as well leaving behind only the funniest and the most adorable memories I have ever had with a person.
These past two weeks have been particularly tough with everyone whom I was close to, leaving around me, going back home and when I was just thinking about it in AIESEC office, I came across this list which was put up which specified the date and the timings of all the new interns who would be coming. There are like 8 of them all coming in end May and June. It was then that it just struck me that my time here was over as well. In a matter of 12 days Ill be back home and all the people whom I had met here, had the fortune to share my ideas with, had come to absolutely admire, forged lifelong bonds with would be only in my memories and new ‘Yovos’ would be here figuring out the country, continent, forming their own opinion about the people, culture, discover the African way of life, get their own ideas, just the way me, Dorienke and Babs had done here. Essentially our time here was over. Dodo and Babs were two people in Togo I was extremely close to, they had left, I would be leaving in some days as well and new people would come, forge new bonds and chart their own way and so the circle of life moves on. Time waits for none and it flies especially through the moments you want to hold on to and cherish forever.
It has been a long time since I got this philosophical but then Africa does to a person, or at least has done to me. Made me fall in love…. with the chaos, mayhem, culture, music, food, indefatigable spirit of people and above all life itself, it has pretty much changed the way I perceive things and some of the people I have met here have left a lasting impression on me.
Honestly when Ruhi called me today, it felt so good to hear the voice of my friend again and it made me miss my home, city and friends but still I am just not prepared or ready to go back. There is so much which needs to be done here, so much needs to be built here and above all people need to be taught to hope here, if I had my way I would have stayed on, don’t know for how long but would have stayed on and would have continued working. The fact that apart from family, friends and city, I return to those silly college jokes, extremely irritating Malhar discussions and its brain-dead events , inconclusive political discussions leading to nowhere and just general lack of depth in things back home also contributes to a large extent to my general hesitance to return but of course they cannot be avoided and I do have to go back.

P.S. After coming back, checked out Togoville, which is situated across the lake Togo. Did you know that Togo literally means On the other side of the river and this was the first town of Togo developed by the Germans who named in Togoville which meant, town on the other side of the river and then the entire country was named Togo. Like all Europeans in Africa, they came here for slave trade and then were pretty much successful till French wrested control of the place and then they pretty much ruined the place. It hasn’t still recovered. I hope it does, the people here deserve better and mankind deserves better!