Vivek-uvaach

Barking Up the Trees

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Tue, 21 Jun 2016 09:46:00 +0000

I chose Botany as minor subject for graduation. I had made the choice without really understanding what I was going to study. I was in for a pleasant shock and surprise. Botany remains the only subject I studied with a lot of interest [now that my children have completed their studies, this can be told!]. My Botany Professors Mr Battiwala, a disciplinarian, created immense interest about the subject. My regret in life is that I did not study the subject further at post grad level.

Prof Mr Battiwala once asked me to observe the bark of each tree. I recently noted beautiful lines of bark on a tree and remembered him.

Taking quick photographs of barks became a hobby.

Here are some....

And here is one with a growth on the trunk. Is that a Lichen? Or a fungus? Do tell me if you know.

Vivek S Patwardhan

Wimbledon Fair Moments

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Sun, 19 Jun 2016 19:04:00 +0000

I strolled through the Wimbledon Common. They had set up a small fair. Wimbledon Fair 2016. Here are some moments I caught quickly.

A boat in the sky? I think Pirates of Caribbean has ignited imagination of people.

What's in the name? But this one is not very mouth-watering name. Take a look at this one:

Milkshakes from Crazy Cow! Marketing men go crazy while developing a brand!!

This one was an eye catcher. The man [or woman] who wrote this achieved his [hmmm... her] purpose surely.

I always knew that leaders spoke lines which were written by someone else. Here is the evidence. Incontrovertible! I wonder who writes the script for Dr Subramaniam Swamy. Or Rahul Gandhi.

You often get to see this old mode of transport in Wimbledon. If a dog, your pet, dirties the road, you have to lift it and deposit in the waste bin. That law does not apply to horse owners! That leads me to conclude that a large number of law makers in England must be owning horses.

The fair was small if you go by what we see in India. Very small. Yet enjoyable, with friendly people selling food, clothes, jewelry and pictures.

Vivek S Patwardhan

Wimbledon Prepares for The Wimbledon 2016

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Sat, 18 Jun 2016 11:21:00 +0000

Here are some glimpses of what I saw at Wimbledon. More to come.

All my work. Copyright.

Vivek S Patwardhan

The Bathing Beauty Swan

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Wed, 15 Jun 2016 12:22:00 +0000

I went out to Wimbledon Park this morning. I saw a swan.

“Is that a Swan?” I asked elderly man standing near the lake. “Yes” he replied, “It’s a swan. Nobody is allowed to touch those birds. They are called the Queen’s Birds here!”

The Swan ignored us. He ignored the British humour. And went about his own way taking his bath, cleaning wings.

There are times when an iPhone 6 comes very handy, today was one such day. Watch the video which I recorded.

Vivek S Patwardhan

A Clicker on the Prowl

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Tue, 14 Jun 2016 11:14:00 +0000

The problem with having a smartphone in hand is that it makes you a clicker. Not using the word ‘photographer’ is intentional as you will readily appreciate.

We set out to go to London. Wimbledon is where we wanted to join our son and his family. The star attraction was the granddaughter.

A nervous traveller like me reaches early enough to have a lot of free time. It has dual advantage. It bores my wife and she prefers to take a quick nap leaving me free to take snaps.

Amateur photographers [Clickers, why elevate them in status?] prefer anything which shows symmetry.

And a row of anything. Sometimes lines catch the eye.

Then some bright ideas come literally when they spot some lights.

Vijay Tendulkar said that ‘Every man is a tiger on prowl in search of his prey.’ Insightful! Quite obviously it applies even to photographers, hmmm…., clickers!

And finally a family photograph. Mandatory. It keeps your smartphone safe!

Cheers!

Vivek S Patwardhan

Transformation Factory: Dr Amte, I Presume

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Thu, 09 Jun 2016 07:16:00 +0000

Anand Awadhani handed over his book ‘Prakash vata’ to me. He wrote about Dr Prakash Amte, the younger son of Baba Amte and his work in the tribal land of Hemalkasa. The story inspired a film.

I am not writing about the film. I am writing about what I saw and what impact it had on transformation of people.

We reached Hemalkasa by 3 pm. Hemalkasa is a small place compared to Anandwan and Somnath projects. But it is different. It is different because the people are different. Their concerns are different. The challenges are similar only in magnitude and scale but not in their nature.

When you reach Hemalkasa, you see a well-planned but a tiny colony. It suddenly comes in front of you after you have travelled in jungle for several miles. You are surprised by this urbanish scenario in the midst of a dense jungle. The colony was recently painted so it stood beautiful in the hot sun of June with temperatures touching forty plus. A small group was waiting to meet and photograph themselves with Dr Prakash and Dr Manda Amte. The movie had raised them to celebrity status. The doctor duo obliged and met the groups.

Dr Prakash and Dr Ms Manda Amte called us [I was travelling with my friend, Anirudha] to their residence for a chat. It was hot and humid afternoon. The Amtes speak very softly so listening to them is a challenge when a ceiling fan is whirring above one’s head. They were speaking about the challenges before them. The Madia Gond tribe was hostile initially to the Amtes, but later accepted them. Poverty and malnourishment of Madia Gond is to be seen to be believed. The Amtes offered health care and then education. Today more than 650 students study in the Lokbiradari Prakalp.

The Madia have exceptional ability to bear pain, they said. While our discussion continued, an assistant brought a tab. It showed the fracture suffered by an old Madia woman. Dr Prakash spoke to her in Madia language. We could not follow a word! Not even a word, although we understood the context. The doctor held her wrist and then fingers. Then with some force he stretched them. The lady cried in pain. Plaster of Paris was applied quickly. Some brief conversation in Madia followed. The woman got up and smiled as if nothing had happened.

“They climb trees and sometimes fall down fracturing their limbs” the doc said. I was still reeling under the shock of seeing the doctor duo speak Madia language so fluently. “Their daughter in law has compiled a dictionary of Madia language words,” my guide told me.

There is the taboo subject of Naxalites. Nobody shows undue curiosity. Everybody quickly agrees that the real solution is dialogue and education – it is not violence. This is one area where anyone who takes initiative can earn suspicion and displeasure of either or both the groups. It is better to maintain neutral stance.

Health and education are connectors. Amtes have set up a 50 bed well equipped hospital. From maternity to complex surgery is possible there.

Dr Prakash took us to his zoo. He called out ‘Rani, baher ye!’ [Rani, come out]. Out came Rani, a crocodile, and gave us a good look. “Offer them love, and they will not harm you, they will love you” the doc said. Offering love to a crocodile sounded very strange, but we were seeing evidence that his advice worked. We then went to meet the leopard. It seemed to obey instructions of Dr Prakash. Then the doc entered the cage of a hyena. The hyena put its head down and placed it on the doc’s feet! It seemed as if the hyena was paying obeisance. The doc opened hyena’s mouth and placed his hand inside. The hyena allowed this intimacy; it did not bite! I have seen hyenas hunting on National Geographic, it is fearsome scavenger which takes away the killed prey even from tigers. Oh yes, we have to offer them love and they reciprocate!

Then came the turn of the Banded Krait which he held by its tail as if he was holding a plastic line. The deadly poisonous snake [a bite will kill the victim instantly] did not resist. It did not move. I moved back in sheer fear. Remember what he said? Oh yes, we have to offer them love and they reciprocate!

So hyenas, leopards, crocs and deadly snakes seemed to respond to love! How about those men in the jungle? Some of them Madias were responding to the development efforts so positively. And what about the taboo category called Naxalites? They at least were not causing any harm.

We were then taken to the confluence of three rivers – triveni sangam as it is called. Indravati, Nibra (Pamul Gautami), Kotri (Parlkota) meet there. They merge to form Indravati.

[Pic shows the Triveni sangam, or confluence of three rivers]

There is a confluence of three institutions in Hemalkasa – The Government, The Amtes and The Madias. As of today, the Madias are going with the Amtes. They will go with the Amtes, no doubt, and you know why. Oh yes, they offer them love and care and the Madias reciprocate!

Nobody sets up a dispensary in a jungle. Nobody sets up a school there. Not unless you wish to open a social transformation factory!

Vivek S Patwardhan

Pics: All my work. Copyright

PS: The enormity of the work of Dr Prakash Amte and family is stunning. When he commenced it [and for several years thereafter] Hemalkasa was almost inaccessible. When Henry Morton Stanley set out in search of Dr David Livingstone and found him, he is reported to have said ‘Dr Livingstone, I presume?’ Livingstone lived with the African tribes. There is some similarity in the stories of Amtes and Livingstone [though admittedly the stories and the purpose of their association with locals were different].

Transformation Factory: Dr Amte’s Anandwan

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Wed, 08 Jun 2016 06:49:00 +0000

Have you heard of any organisation which transforms people regularly and systematically? May be you have. Or maybe you haven’t.

You would have experienced transformation if you worked with people of great capabilities. We all do.

It takes Dr Baba Amte and his sons Dr Vikas and Dr Prakash, ably supported by their respective spouses, to create an organisation which transforms people systematically, sympathetically and continuously. Much has been written about Anandwan. So let me share the moments I captured there. They tell a story.

Here is a board. Simple board.

It says ‘Anandwan Plastic Tyre Bandhara’. They have created a dam made of tyres and plastic on a rivulet. Here is an incontrovertible evidence of the belief that ‘constraints spark innovations.’

But what’s so special about the board? It is made of plastic sachets of gutkas! Of course they do tell you not to chew tobacco. But if you do, they also make use of the plastic sachets! Nothing is wasted.
Another story: Here is Govinda Khodpe.

He is, sorry my apologies, he was obviously leprosy patient. He puts small pieces of wood in a plastic bottle and creates art. Take a look at his fingers. I could not even figure out how he managed to put big figures inside the bottle. He told me the trick. He puts small pieces inside the bottle and then puts them together using wire devices.

But it is not a trick. It is a skill. His small hut has several articles, perhaps over three hundred articles. Some of them are ‘carved’ figures. All made by him. In teak wood. In various other woods.

Let us imagine. A man – an able bodied man whose fingers are not deformed by leprosy - demonstrates this skill of putting a big wooden figure inside a bottle. And then you spot Govinda Khodpe shyly demonstrating it. Why the latter takes you by great surprise? Why does he earn our immense appreciation?

The answer is simple and obvious. Govinda’s story involves overcoming great mental barriers, and great physical adversities like deformed fingers. When we see Govinda smile and look in to our eyes, we realise that it is a bigger transformation. Much bigger than our ability to comprehend.

It is a transformation from a ‘self-certified useless person’ [that’s how leprosy patients feel] to a well-recognised craftsman. Such a transformation requires love. Dr Amte provided it though he often called himself a ‘cruel man.’ It changes mind-sets, not just of the patients but also of care-givers and even onlookers like me! The feeling can’t be described, something just cracks inside you. As Osho says, love causes mutation! It changes the mind-set, the DNA forever!!

Govinda Khodpe is not alone in this journey. There are few hundred others. And there were few hundred others. At Anandwan.

In that sense, Dr Amte and his family created a ‘transformation factory.’ What do you think? Hmm… How do you feel?

Vivek S Patwardhan
PS: More stories follow…, watch this space!

Demolition and Renewal

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Sat, 09 Apr 2016 14:46:00 +0000

As you walk down from Ganesh Cinema to Jambhli Naka you get mixed feelings. The Thane Municipal Corp has demolished many unauthorised structures and pushed back other shops by 12 feet.

So shops have been shifted, some are being rebuilt. And hawkers are having a great time. Many shops are selling their goods at a substantial discount.

In all this melee, the Bazarpeth Police Station stands out for its small yet beautiful structure. I hope it is not unauthorised.

Vivek S Patwardhan

Memories on Trees: Guava

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Thu, 07 Apr 2016 16:59:00 +0000

The trouble with staying in housing colonies of Tatas is that some obvious things just do not strike you. You are laughed at by people or they consider you very snobbish. With a good garden around my home, bungalow to be precise, and with Papaya and Peru trees planted at the fence, you never buy a papaya or a Peru. Peru? Yes, a guava. When we moved out, it suddenly struck me that I have to buy papaya and guavas. It felt strange to buy those fruits.

Then I met Mr DG Gokhale who was a Civil Contractor. He had a 50 acre farm near Karjat. He had planted at least ten different varieties of Guava! For me it was a treat. I see car owners stopping on the highway when travelling to Mumbai from Pune to buy fruits. Some prefer the ‘Lal Peru.’ But it is singularly tasteless.

The guava should never be bought. It should ideally be stolen from a neighbour’s garden. As a young boy I followed this insight till I saw a green thing moving on the tree. It was a green snake! It is called ‘Harantol’ in Marathi. The Green Vine snake! My ‘well-informed’ friends had told me that the green snake jumps long distance, and that if a Harantol licks your scalp, you die instantly.

My father told me not to believe my friends, and that the snake was non-poisonous. I should not be afraid of a Harantol, it was harmless. He was telling a scientific fact to his son who was like a scared chicken!

Fear and reason are like snake and mongoose! What say you?

Vivek S Patwardhan

What is Common in Steel Making and Relationship Building?

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Tue, 05 Apr 2016 18:37:00 +0000

“You had been to Tata Steel. What’s the matter? Any problem there?” Lulu, my parrot asked.

“I am happy, Lulu, that you think problem comes first and I follow! Hahaha!” I do not like such leading questions. “I went there for a visit to the plant. Harish had organised it.”

“You saw steel making? Did you watch how steel is converted in Tata Tiscon rebars?”

“Yup!”

“A lot of people make steel, but Tatas are special.”

“You must have heard the dealer speak about them.”

“Right. Did you get to meet some employees?”

“Yes, of course. I spoke to three of them. Heart to heart.”

“What was the tone?”

“That of gratitude. Contentment. Security.”

“Interesting. Steel making is a ‘hot’ job – the furnaces spew fire. The tall and huge structures in the plant are frightening to a common man. Everything there is so intimidating. But their employees speak in a tone of gratitude and contentment you say.”

“That’s right.”

“So dealers are very committed. Employees are also very committed. What’s the secret of this outcome?”

“Hmmm…”

“You don’t know?”

“Nope!”

“Think. Let me give you a clue. It is quite like making steel.”

“Hmmmm……. Sorry, I can’t get it.”

“Steel is made when you pass oxygen through molten iron. It removes all impurities. Relationships are strengthened when you blow trust through all interactions with people. In a sense it removes all impurities – those in the mind. Isn’t it similar?”

Vivek S Patwardhan

[This post is a part of the #BuildingBlogsOfJoy activity at BlogAdda.com in association with TATA TISCON ]

Memories on Trees: Drumstick

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Mon, 04 Apr 2016 09:37:00 +0000

It is really amazing, I never imagined I could write my memories about nine [yup, nine!] plants. Each plant has a special place in my heart, although I won’t say that about the Drumstick plant in a positive sense.

If you search the medicinal usage of the Drumstick plant, you will find they are countless. Name the disease and Drumstick seems to be holding a cure. That includes all from common fever to impotence.

There was a nice garden around our bungalow. Drumstick plant stood there close to the fence. As a young boy I climbed it. I stood on one branch while holding the upper one. It took less than a minute for the lower branch to break, not tolerating the weight of a young boy! As the lower branch broke, the upper to broke, it could not take my weight. [Just in case this is making you guess that I must have been overweight, the fact is otherwise. I was actually underweight for my age.]

Nobody should attempt to climb this plant, the wood of Drumstick plant is very soft and can’t take any weight. So I hit the ground with a thud, with bruises all over. The dispensary was only a few feet away.

And the problem was that my father, a doctor, was going to attend to my injuries. I leave the rest to your imagination; climbing the Drumstick tree was not a pleasant experience. Nor was facing my father with a failed adventure and bruises all over.

Who says Drumstick plant has numerous medicinal properties? Blah! ‘It is injurious to health!’ Ask me!!

Vivek S Patwardhan

[Pic courtesy internet]

Memories on Trees: Mango

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Sun, 03 Apr 2016 04:38:00 +0000

Is there any Marathi manoos who has not loved his mango tree? As for me, there are many memories of this tree. As a school boy we hurled stones at this tree to fell raw mangoes. Fruits taste wonderful when they are taken away from another man’s garden as if it was your birth right. You lose this worldview as you grow up and succumb to the pressures of the grown up men’s world.

There was, nay there is [it is still there, why use past tense?], a mango tree in the Asian Paints factory at Bhandup in Mumbai. If you are travelling on LBS Marg, you will see it unfortunately sandwiched between two three storey buildings. When I joined this company in 1975, both the buildings existed sans floors 1 to 3. And there was a big lush green well maintained lawn in between them. This mango tree used to look very majestic then, not like ‘a student punished to stand outside classroom’ as it does today.

I was returning from canteen with my then boss, Ajit Thakker. That was my very first day in Asian Paints. Boss noticed that three or four young workers had climbed up the tree and were plucking mangoes. I thought that a stern disciplinary action will follow. But I was in for a big surprise. Ajit Thakker walked over to the tree and said, “Don’t get down! Let me take a photograph. I want to show this to your family – let them see what their dad does in the factory.” I have never seen anybody climbing that tree again!

A year ago or so, this tree lost its friends and admirers. Yes, the factory is closed forever.

Vivek S Patwardhan
[pic shows male and female flowers of mango. My pictures. Please do not use pictures without permission. ©]

Memories on Trees: Bakul

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Fri, 01 Apr 2016 14:02:00 +0000

Mumbai has banished Bakul. No doubt about it. I haven’t seen this tree in Thane. I do not remember seeing it in Mumbai too.

My first meeting with this tree was at ‘Limaye Wada’ in Hanuman Alley at Pen, my hometown. It was a huge tree. You can’t mistake it for any other tree because of its small and fragrant flowers. This is one tree where my eyes scan the ground. You get very fragrant flowers and some fruits on the ground.

I came out of Labour Court in Guwahati and walked down to the main road. As I approached the main street, I spotted Bakul! It wasn’t a big tree there, it had grown to the height of about ten feet. Bakul was planted in front of a shop, so I went to the shop keeper, and asked the name of the tree. ‘Bokol’ the Assamese shop keeper said!

A few years later I visited Kolkata. My hotel was not too far from Victoria Memorial. I went there for my morning walk. That garden has at least ten big Bakul trees. The one close to the gate is a very big tree. There were some fruits lying on the ground, I picked up one or two and quickly put them in my mouth, afraid that people might recognise me.

I realised that I was a stranger in Kolkata, just as Bakul has now become one in Mumbai.

Vivek S Patwardhan

[Pic courtesy internet]

Memories on Trees: Peltophorum

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Thu, 31 Mar 2016 09:43:00 +0000

Peltophorum surely ranks high among the beautiful trees. That’s why it is so common. Around Korum Mall in Thane, they have planted more than 50 Peltophorums. If you stop on the flyover that goes above it, you see a beautiful spread of yellow flowers.

There was a big garden around our bungalow in the Tata Colony at Chembur in Mumbai. It was the first tree you met as you approached our bungalow. Peltophorum spreads yellow carpet of its flowers when in bloom, and it is impossible for a tree-lover not to look up without a smile.

I was a school going boy when we stayed there. Peltophorum was my very favourite tree to climb and park myself on a branch. The wood was reddish which invited me to take out the sharp instruments from my compass box and ‘engrave’ my name on the stem. Then I drew a circle around it to make it look like a stamp. The plant was my property!

An elderly person [seeing me sitting on a branch I guess] mentioned that no bird makes its nest on this tree except the crow! I confronted him the next day when he said that no native bird ever makes its nest on a tree of which natural habitat is not India! By implication, Peltophorum was a ‘foreign’ plant. This is not true, as Wikipedia claims, yet many people have this misconception.

Whenever I see a Peltophorum, my eyes look for a bird nest on its branches. I have never found any bird nest on this tree except the crow’s! A tag ['foreign' tree] is so difficult to erase!

Vivek S Patwardhan

Memories on Trees: Rudraksha

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Wed, 23 Mar 2016 12:47:00 +0000

I may not remember when I met a certain person first. I however remember when I first met a tree. That has surprised me and I can’t explain why it happens. Deep down in my mind, I must be prizing trees more than human beings. [Both do not seem to complain!].

I met Rudraksha tree in Nepal when I travelled there for work. Rudraksha trees are more common in the north part of this country than the south. I was surprised when I saw a Rudraksha tree in Chiplun! I do not remember exact location, all I remember is that it was close to the highway.

I again met Rudraksha tree in a farm near Dahanu. Last week. I confess I could not recognise it, my guide helped me identify it. My association with Rudraksha began, like many others, with a rosary long ago. It was gifted to me. I never wore it, I used it for prayers, for chanting mantra for a certain number of times.

Then came a younger cousin. She told me that it was absolutely wrong to count the number of chanting of a mantra. Her reasons: When you count it only helps you grow your ego [I did it 108 times! And you say 'I did it.'] It is a distraction from prayer. I accepted this advice readily. Soon I gave up using the rosary.

The rudraksha which you normally get from the tree is ‘panchmukhi.’ I never believed in the power of rudraksha. All the talk about rudraksha only made me curious, but never a believer.

A fully grown tree attracts me, not the seeds. [This is true of me, not of others]. That’s interesting. A highly ‘evolved’ person influences me through his thoughts. That, I think, is one clear distinction between trees and human beings.

[Photograph shows Rudraksha Tree with raw Rudraksha fruits]

Vivek S Patwardhan

My photographs - Please do not use them without mentioning credit.

Memories on Trees: Mandaar

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Tue, 22 Mar 2016 13:48:00 +0000

Man’s ability to see HIM in everything is so amazing! Let me explain.

I have always looked for Mandar. It is not a tree, it is a shrub. Rui is very common but I have rarely seen Mandar. Both Rui and Mandar are same plant, yet there is a difference. It is in the colour of the flowers.

Rui flowers have a very distinct violet tinge. Mandar plant bears white flowers. That’s the only distinction. The plant bears fruits which when ripe give away seeds with long white fibres. As children we used to play with it calling it Mhatari [old woman]. I have watched monkeys rub their face with ‘mhataris.’ It used to be a very funny sight.

Coming back to my statement earlier: I have always looked for Mandar, and not Rui. Why? Two reasons. Firstly Rui is very commonly found, but not Mandar. The second reason is more important than the first: People believe that the roots of Mandar tree shapes itself like a Ganapati idol after twenty one years.

There is a Ganapati temple at Jambhli Naka at Thane. People say that it has an idol made of Mandar roots. It is indeed called ‘Mandar Swayambhu Ganapati,’ but the idol did not appear to be of a tree root. Perhaps layers of vermillion paste would have hidden the original idol. A flower vendor told me that the temple is more than 100 years old!

Man’s ability to see God in everything, even in the roots of Mandar, is so amazing!
Vivek S Patwardhan

Memories on Trees: Shirish

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Sun, 20 Mar 2016 09:19:00 +0000

If you are in Mumbai, you can’t miss Shirish, the Rain Tree. There are some who say that the rain tree and Shirish are different trees. But I find it hard to believe. Wikipedia also suggests that they are same.

I grew up in Khopoli in the fifties and there were no rain trees there then. Then we moved to Mumbai. We stayed in Tata Power’s housing colony at Chembur. The colony has many rain trees. That’s where I met the first rain tree or Shirish.

Two Shirish trees were so beautiful that I always admired them. Both were huge with a big canopy. One of them is still alive, and the other one is reportedly dead!

It was in 1969 that our class landed at Powai naka. I was a student then. This is the point where the LBS Marg crosses the road connecting Eastern Express to IIT Powai. As you drive towards IIT, you will notice only the canopy of a Shirish tree. Things were different in 1969. There was no land fill to the extent we see now. So the Shirish tree stood majestically and the road turned around it like a man’s arm around a lady. My Botany class sat under the tree. We ate our breakfast under the tree. This Shirish tree now stands buried under the elevated road. As I climb down the small hill from IIT, driving towards Kanjur Marg my eyes look for this old friend. It stands there neglected just behind Navy colony. I guess it will not be long before some builder pulls it down to construct tall building.

We moved to Kalyan soon after my graduation. And then moved to Rambaug in Kalyan. I would walk down every day to the station. Every day I would cross Murbad road near Railway Colony and moved towards the level crossing. I then used to turn right to take the concrete path which ran parallel to the railway line. When I returned from work, the routine would be in the reverse. I walked down the concrete path and came to Railway colony where I would have turned left. But I often stood there. Bang opposite on the edge of the railway colony stood a huge Shirish. There are people who speak to trees. [I am also one of them so I know]. I have often spoken to this tree, stopping there. This Shirish was as big as the one near Powai. Both were so big that it is not possible to compare.

Somebody told me that it died. I haven’t been there for a long time. There is now a bridge over the level crossing. Presumably building the flyover must have damaged its roots.

I met Shirish again, and on this occasion on a foreign location. When you land at Nadi in Fiji and move towards Lautoka city, you will see big Shirish trees on your right. Some locations in Lautoka also have huge Shirish trees. So big that tree lovers will stop to admire them. I did.

Trees, like people, seem to enjoy better quality of life abroad.
Vivek S Patwardhan
Pic courtesy Google

Memories on Trees: Litchi

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Fri, 18 Mar 2016 00:30:00 +0000

Litchi trees are not seen in Maharashtra. Obviously it is not their natural habitat. Litchi is my favourite fruit, and the only complaint I have is that it is rather expensive. Litchis taste very different and delicious if you eat them in Kolkata. I have not had the opportunity to taste it in Bihar. Mumbai gets its quota of litchis, but the fruit loses something essential on the way from Bihar to Mumbai.

I was always very curious about litchis. Amita Maheshwari told me that there were Litchi trees in the backyard of her parent’s home in Bihar. A deal was struck then to go there during the Litchi season. But the visit never happened.

My first sighting of a Litchi tree was memorable. I noticed a tree in the Pagoda [Dhamma Giri] at Igatpuri where I had gone for Vipassana meditation. Vipassana meditation involves ten days of ‘maun’ [silence, no speaking or communication whatsoever] to be observed. You can only kill the free time by observing clouds and trees. This Litchi tree was close to my room. For a few days I mistook that tree for a mango tree. Then suddenly I noticed a bunch of Litchis on the tree! I was excited!! [Maun prevented me from sharing this joy with anybody, Oh, what a torture!]. I had found the tree I wanted to meet. And I felt ashamed of my capacity to make accurate observation – you can’t offer any excuse for not noticing the litchis for three days. That was in 1996.

Twenty years later, that is to say, two days ago I met a Litchi tree – nah, a few trees in a farm near Dahanu. I identified it correctly when asked by the Farm owner – on this occasion I had not mistaken it for mango tree.

Out came my camera. I took some photographs of Litchi flowers, I was feeling so excited to meet this tree unexpectedly. The tree would bear litchis later. This was like meeting an old friend after a long time but who did not have enough time to sit down and chat with you over a coffee. Yet you feel the warmth of the friendship.

Litchis will taste sweeter this summer.

Vivek S Patwardhan

Memories on Trees: Water Apple

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Thu, 17 Mar 2016 05:35:00 +0000

Fruits of various varieties have become very common today, it was not so when we were in school. That was 50 years ago. But we do not see some fruits which were common then. ‘Jamb’ or ‘Safed Jamb’ [Water Apple] is one such fruit.

I had seen the first [and the only one till last week] Jamb tree in Pune. I met it again recently during my visit to a farm near Bordi, and saw the beautiful flowers, not just Jamb fruits.

Long back, fruit sellers sold Jamb in the trains running between Pune and Mumbai. Meeting the tree brought back happy memories of ‘travel’ between Pune and Mumbai in Janata Express later named Sinhagad Express. My memories are written on the plants!

Vivek

No Tata To Jamshedpur

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Mon, 22 Feb 2016 01:00:00 +0000

Exploring a city is much better than going there with some purpose. I reached Jamshedpur with an open mind, trying to capture anything that I catches my eye. But you can only make such a resolve. Jamshedpur would have already built an image in your mind, so much is already written about it.

Shatabdi Express rolled in the station. Tatanagar. The name of this city is interesting I thought. ‘Tata’ is the name of an industrialist family, and it also stands for a corporation which has created this city and touched lives of thousands of persons. ‘Tata’ also means ‘Good Bye.’

Good Bye to what? People who come to this town do not leave it. Once a person comes here his family stays here for generations!

I met R. That’s not his name. Let us use an alphabet to hide his identity. There is nothing secret to be told, but one must protect privacy of that man, right?

R did not come to Jamshedpur for work. He was born there. R’s grandfather came to Jamshedpur to work at Tata Steel. He left his native village near the border of Andhra-Odisha. That was long back. In 1927. He settled down in Jamshedpur. His son, that is to say, R’s father, was born at Jamshedpur. Like most of the Tata employees, he too took up a job at Tata Steel. He rose to the post of Foreman.

Growth has many metaphors. The most popular is caterpillar transforming to a butterfly. It is true of people who settle down in industrial housing colonies. I think so because I too have stayed in industrial housing colony of another Tata company.

R’s father, the Foreman in Tata Steel, had lost touch with his mother tongue Tamil completely. He could speak Hindi, but Tamil? No, Tamil was left behind in that village by the family. What was R’s mother tongue? For all practical purposes it was Hindi, though his mother belonged to Tamil community. Flora Lewis, the great journalist, said, ‘Learning another language is not only learning different words for the same things, but learning another way to think about things.’ Insightful indeed.

This is how the culture of the Steel city seeps and percolates in to your personality. R’s father was different from a typical Tamil man in their native village. R had completely lost his roots. No, that’s not the right expression. R’s family developed roots in the soil of the Steel city. When a family migrates and settles down in a different location, it learns the language of the region. It also adopts the culture of the region, unknowingly though, and it loses its identity.

R studied in the school at Jamshedpur. The school was set up by Tatas. He walked seven kilometres one way to attend the school. The family bought a bicycle for him when he was in the higher secondary school. [R now complains that families in Jamshedpur have one vehicle per person. And this proliferation of vehicles is causing traffic problems!]. Several bitter sweet memories are written on the walls of his class, he told me. Then he attended college which receives some grant from Tatas, in Jamshedpur. Graduated in the commerce faculty. IT was gaining importance, so he did a course in computer applications, programming. That was a clever decision. After all when you compete with ‘native populace’ for a job, it does not matter that you are an employee’s son. It does not count that you have adopted the local language and customs. You are still a stranger. Only a skill can get you the job. That’s how R made his entry in Tata Steel. Politics of the region demanding preferential employment to Biharis had countered ‘Employee Ward’ advantage..

Why do people stick to Tata Steel and do not look for jobs elsewhere? Some do look out, but the number is not large. They offer safe environment. Tata Steel provides a work climate which allows people enough leeway to work their way. ‘They allow us autonomy’ the employees say, and that voice you hear at all levels in the hierarchy. For igniting the ‘motivation within’, autonomy on the job is the first condition Dan Pink tells us in his book ‘Drive: The surprising truth about what motivates us.’

There is another reason. A person with modest ambition, as are many everywhere, enjoys nostalgia. Well, who doesn’t? Growing up, schooling there, getting married, raising a family are life’s important events. Those events are written on the trees near the lake and walls of schools and colleges, on people’s smiles and on the ‘kyun ji kaise ho’ of shopkeepers. Landing a job with Tata Steel means getting the most secure employment with an organisation known for progressive people practices. So you keep the life’s vicissitudes at their lowest. Perhaps it helps you manage them well. Some compromises on career front perhaps, yet it is the best deal for an employee, for a person in the town.

‘What will you remember when you retire?’ I asked. ‘I will remember Russi Mody’s impromptu ‘darbar’ with employees’ he said. ‘Every employee wants his voice to be heard, and nobody understood this better than Russi Sir. We all loved him so much.’ Imagine Russi Mody making about eighty thousand employees feeling that their voice is heard! Touch is important to us Indians. Geert Hofstede explains Indian culture:

“India, with a rather intermediate score of 48 [on Individualism], is a society with both collectivistic and Individualist traits. The collectivist side means that there is a high preference for belonging to a larger social framework in which individuals are expected to act in accordance to the greater good of one’s defined in-group(s). In such situations, the actions of the individual are influenced by various concepts such as the opinion of one’s family, extended family, neighbours, work group and other such wider social networks that one has some affiliation toward. For a collectivist, to be rejected by one’s peers or to be thought lowly of by one’s extended and immediate in-groups, leaves him or her rudderless and with a sense of intense emptiness. The employer/employee relationship is one of expectations based on expectations – Loyalty by the employee and almost familial protection by the Employer. Hiring and promotion decisions are often made based on relationships which are the key to everything in a Collectivist society.”

That explains the relationship Tata Steel has created with their employees, it also explains the choices both, Tata Steel as well as people of Jamshedpur make. Tata Steel shapes the lives like it shapes the steel in Tata Tiscon rebars.

Let us return to R. ‘You didn’t know Tamil, how could your father find a bride for you from your community?’ I asked. ‘Oh, there are so many people from Tamil Nadu here. 'I married a Tamil girl with whom I used to play as a child, we fell in love when we grew up’ he said. Perhaps, not known to R, his parents arranged it. One can only guess; we know how the parents used to think in those days!

‘You have a daughter….’ he laughed and interrupted me. ‘We are not against her marrying a good boy from another community. There are so many such marriages taking place here.’ Such progressive values are a hallmark of cosmopolitan cultures. Organisations like Tata Steel create cosmopolitan communities, and communities are melting pots of culture!

‘I heard that Tata reduced several jobs recently. About 35 thousand, I am told.’

‘They declared Voluntary Retirement Scheme which ensures you get paid the last drawn salary till you are sixty. If a retiree dies before sixty, his wife gets paid till his 60th birthday. So, they did not face much resistance.’ He added, ‘By the way, Tatas have donated money to set up two electric crematoriums.’ He laughed.

From birth to death it is all Tata Steel. You get moulded by the organisation. Leaders like Russi Mody become role models for the younger persons. Their decisions influence lives of employees in Jamshedpur and its residents. The organisation influences people. People in turn commit themselves to work diligently for the organisation. This is a circular effect – you wonder who is influencing whom; and the result is a tightly knit society.

That’s why people who go to Jamshedpur do not leave it. No ‘Tata’ to Jamshedpur; pun intended!

Who said ‘Tata’ means ‘Good bye?’

Vivek S Patwardhan

[This post is a part of the #BuildingBlogsOfJoy activity at BlogAdda.com in association with TATA TISCON ]

Kolkata To Jamshedpur

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Fri, 19 Feb 2016 07:20:00 +0000

I am certainly not new to Kolkata. Not new to Jamshedpur too. I have travelled to Kolkata several times in the last thirty years, and I like the city. Jamshedpur is a different story. When you go there for the purpose for recruitment, like I used to go to XLRI, you do not get to see the town. On this occasion, I had a chance to wander around in the city.

I landed at Kolkata airport. For some reason, it does not look bright and new. Compare it with the airports at Hyderabad and Bengaluru. When you see repairs the feeling gets stronger.

I was on my way to the city when I saw this small crowd. A political leader is speaking to people.

The life in the suburbs of the city is relaxed as evening falls, people are engrossed in a game of cards.

We then move to Princep. Stunning monument. A great place for meeting as well as spending time alone. ‘The Palladian porch in the memory of the eminent Anglo-Indian scholar and antiquary James Prinsep was designed by W. Fitzgerald and constructed in 1843.’ [Wikipedia]

The ‘badam’ [not almonds, this is called ‘khari seng’ in Mumbai] seller uses a small weighing scale. In Mumbai they use a small measure which helps them sell it by ‘volume.’ It also helps deliver quickly. Weighing scale would tell the customer that he is giving the right quantity. Interesting difference. One seems to emphasise accuracy, the other speed.

We move to Jamshedpur. The name ‘Tata’ is written everywhere. You first notice it when you get down at the station.

You notice it when you come out of station

As I proceeded, I noticed a caste-based union. Only IR man can notice and click snaps of such boards.

And then to Tata Steel. Fire here keeps burning all the time.

But unlike other cities people here can also relax, catch fish and have a quick snack at the road side stalls.

A surprise meeting on the train is like icing on the cake. A selfie is a must.

Vivek Patwardhan

Shunning Tradition at Shingnapur

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Wed, 27 Jan 2016 04:43:00 +0000

“Big news, eh?” That was Lulu, my parrot, who flew in to settle on my window. He must have watched me reading newspaper.

“Shani Shingnapur! Women want entry to the temple of Shani.”

“Oh, really? But what’s the big deal? Why aren’t they allowed?”

“Well, that’s the tradition”

“Not to allow women inside temple?”

“Yes” I said, “Ayyappan temple at Sabarimala also has a similar practice.”

“Why?”

“Ayyappan is a ‘brahmachari’, so no women!”

“Isn’t that interesting? Men are fallible, not gods. Aren’t women allowed to enter Hanuman temple?” Lulu said with a smirk.

“It all comes out of belief, you see.”

“Beliefs are based on not-knowing! When you know, you don’t require any belief. We think Gods treat all equally, but you treat Gods unequally! Hah!!”

“Yes. I get what you are saying. Actually these are traditions and customs practised for centuries. Shingnapur also has a very interesting custom.”

“What’s that?”

“No door to any house. Nobody locks his home.”

“Why?”

“They say that god Shani punishes anyone who steals.”

“Interesting. Wow! It places such a high value on the innate good nature of people.”

“Hmmm…. At least in this case it works like that….”

“And to practise the act signifying highest level of trust you require a deterrence! They says ‘Shani will punish…’ Phew!”

“I don’t get what you are saying.”

“It is simple! Obvious! Treating men and women equally is an act of high value. Those who believe in God say that HE too practises it. So we create a deterrent if men do not practise it.”

“What’s that?”

“The Government must punish anyone who comes in the way of not allowing women inside the temple. Deterrence itself is not a pre-eminent value; the primary value is morality, if I may quote Herman Kahn. Parrots understand right and wrong better than men parroting the mantras.” Lulu offered me the chilly he was eating.

Vivek Patwardhan

In Jamaica Without James Bond!

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Sun, 17 Jan 2016 22:32:00 +0000

I like variety. But not in everything. There are some aspects which I do not like any change. A good hotel, even if an old one, falls in that class.

I never stayed in Jamaica in any hotel except Pegasus. This old hotel needs upgrading, yet it is my favourite. It is the location that matters. Pegasus is just opposite the Emancipation Park in Kingston. Or the other way round, because the hotel came up first. My reservation, in this trip, was arranged in another hotel; but I did not have much to complain because it too was opposite the Emancipation Park.

I went there for my morning walk, as I do when in Kingston. And I took a good look at the sculpture. Again. ‘The Redemption Song.’ This sculpture is stunning. The tall nude statues of African male and female placed in water which gently flows out of dome brings back memories of how they were uprooted and transported for slavery. The ships sailed from Europe, docked in African ports, picked up slaves and took them to America via Caribbean, something that came to be called as ‘Middle Passage.’ The words inscribed at the base of the dome are "None but ourselves can free our minds". These were originally spoken by Marcus Garvey and later used by Bob Marley in "Redemption Song".

You can interpret the sculpture in more than one way. But it surely brings me the pain of slavery. People have objected that the symbolism of emancipation is not explicit enough. Perhaps it is not. The sculpture claims to emphasise the true emancipation is of mind. Take your call, but it is a sculpture you won’t be able to ignore; it left me speechless, it will leave you speechless!

* * *

If you are in Jamaica and if you have some free time to visit beautiful locations, you have many choices available. Beautiful beaches, waterfalls, rainforest – all these are available at many other places. India too offers them. There was a unique choice available – Ian Fleming’s house. The man who created James Bond, Agent 007! That was my choice, with one suggestion to Glen, my ex-colleague who was to drive me there; ‘let us stop at some places of importance.’ Glen readily agreed.

We set off in Glen’s Honda Civic. A comfortable car if you are travelling on a serpentine road leading through the hills. About an hour of drive through beautiful rainforest finally brought us in front of St Mary Parish Church. A small church in a beautiful location. We stopped there. There was only one lady in the church, I spoke to her. ‘How old is this church?’ I asked. ‘Guess!’ ‘May be one hundred years’ I said. ‘It is over one hundred fifty-five years old.’ ‘Wow!’

Jamaicans are a church going community. I saw many churches on the way. Glen said Jamaica’s claim to fame is that Jamaica has the highest number of churches per square kilometer, ‘It’s there in the Guinness book of records’ he said. I was inclined to believe it. Such religious people, and what explains very high rate of crime, young unwed mothers? In 2003, there was a suggestion before the Parliament in Jamaica that women who had more than two children outside of marriage be sterilized! But I guess all societies have their share of contradictions.

We came out of the church. An old building with newly built entrance stood there. It was built in 1821 and was in use till 1988 till fire claimed a good part of it. A sign board told us that it was a ‘fine example of Jamaican Georgian architecture.’ But more important was the drama that took place in the court it housed.

It was here that Bustamante was tried for manslaughter. He was a labour leader and he fought against the colonial rule and for freedom of Jamaica. He was acquitted. He was defended by his cousin Norman Manley, after whom the International airport is named. Alexander Bustamante later became the first Prime Minister of Jamaica.

We drove further. We went far ahead and saw a board announcing that we were very close to the ‘James Bond Beach.’ But I was interested in seeing the house of Ian Fleming. So finally we got it. It is the ‘Goldeneye’ property. Glen drove to the main gate. A smart security staff, a lady dressed in the black spoke to Glen but did not open the gate. There was long conversation, obviously Glen was trying to persuade her to open and let us in, and she firmly declined. No smile. It was as if she was not letting in spies or agents of KGB!

Glen returned. ‘She says only with prior appointment’ he said. That’s very and truly British; [it didn’t appear Jamaican way either.] But you can’t argue with people in uniform. So we reversed and headed back. Not before I clicked this photograph to prove that I had been there.

For people who enjoy good fiction and literature, visiting such places is a little short of pilgrimage. And for some people it is not.

Vivek S Patwardhan

My Journey to The House for Mr Biswas

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Wed, 13 Jan 2016 15:55:00 +0000

“Will you come with me to the Caribbean?” my ex-colleague asked. I had visited the Caribbean at least eight times earlier, and I always wanted to go there again.

Two factors attract me to the Caribbean. The cricketers? Yes, Sir, you got it right. Names like Rohan Kanhai, Alvin Kallicharan of the older generations, and Sunil Narine, Denesh Ramdin of the latest, only show the linkages with India.

And the second factor? A bit difficult for you to guess, so let me not tax your brain – it is VS Naipaul. I have read his ‘A Million Mutinies Now’ and ‘The Middle Passage’ with great interest. I haven’t read ‘A House for Mr Biswas’ as yet, but it’s on my list.

“Yes, of course, I will come” I told my ex-colleague. Soon we were heading for Port of Spain, Trinidad.

Not much has changed, I thought, as I landed at Piarco Airport and passed through the immigration. The taxi driver whom I had befriended on my earlier trips informed me that the economy was not doing well, and low oil process had made the matters worse. He was of Indian diaspora.

“When did your forefathers arrive in Trinidad?” I asked. “Oh, that was in 1845!” the taxi driver said. The first ship arrived in Trinidad carrying indentured labourers on May 30, 1845. So his ancestors must have been one of the first to arrive. Indians had done well for themselves.

We then talked about Naipaul. He won Nobel Prize for literature. Naipaul is spoken about with a sense of pride by Trinidadians, although he has not been always very kind to them. Everybody remembers ‘A House for Mr. Biswas.’ It’s in Chaguanas he told me. “Ask anybody they will show you the house,” he said. “Do you know the place? Had you ever been there?” I asked. “Well I had not been there,” he said, as he grinned nervously, “but anybody in Chaguanas will tell you.” We had reached our hotel, the Hyatt Regency. That’s a new building on the reclaimed land. Part of the old memory, like the sea, was lost to times, claimed by new structures. We decided to visit Chaguanas and the House of Mr Biswas on the next day.

Next day. I looked for the Driver. He drove his car in the porch for me. I wanted to go to the ‘House of Biswas.’ Chaguanas from Port of Spain is not a very long drive. All highway. We entered Chaguanas. It reminds you of a small Indian town of the early seventies. May be early eighties. An observation like that does not go well with Trinidadians. They think it smacks of arrogance of the Indians. People of Trinidad share a kind of love and hate relationship with the Indians. They strongly resent the recent suspension of Sunil Narine from bowling in international cricket after his action was found to be illegal. That was in Sri Lanka, but they think it is the handy work of Indians which began in IPL T20 games. And they also desire to visit Shirdi temple of Sai Baba.

“If you do not know the location, ask somebody where the house is” I suggested to the driver. He asked two persons on the street. They nodded, shrugged shoulders to indicate that they did not know. My face must have disclosed my annoyance. “Don’t worry man, I will find out, I am taking you to the Police Station.” I froze. Police station for hunting for the house of Mr. Biswas? The place where their national hero, Mr. VS Naipaul, the Nobel Laureate, was born – trying to locate it takes me to the Police Station? I quickly realized that I was unnecessarily panicking – police could have guided us to the exact building.

We drove in front of Police Station. The driver went in to ask for directions, and returned in two minutes. “They say there is a historical house here but they do not know where House of Mr. Biswas is.” Police all over the world have nothing to do with the literature, I thought. “Ok, take me there.” Instinct told me that the ‘historical house’ must be the ‘House of Mr. Biswas.’

It was just a two minutes drive from the Police station of Chaguanas. I got down from the car. It is the house of Mr. Capildeo. More popularly the ‘Lion House.’ [This is generally assumed to be the model for Hanuman House in Naipaul's A House for Mr Biswas, with Chaguanas as the model for Arwacas. Source Wikipedia]. He built it in 1926. This is where the Nobel Laureate was reportedly born. Mr. Capildeo was his uncle. After all ‘House of Mr. Biswas’ does not exist in reality, it is the house that exist in fiction, the house referred in the ‘A House for Mr. Biswas’ is the historical house of Mr. Capildeo, also ancestral house of Mr. Naipaul.

Reality and fiction often intrude each other’s territory!

Vivek Patwardhan

Wrestling With Words And Meaning

noreply@blogger.com (Vivek S Patwardhan) — Sun, 27 Dec 2015 04:40:00 +0000

Translations have been very educative for me!

My first job of translating a document was a very difficult exercise. I was translating the ‘Chairman’s speech’ at the Annual General Meeting of the shareholders, in Marathi for the Company’s magazine. The speech was characteristically very short. It stood out for two qualities – for its brevity, unlike the Chairman’s speeches of those times of companies like Hindustan Lever [as it was then] and ITC, which were very elaborate, and for its brief content loaded with a lot of meaning or message. I remember brooding over some sentences, their meaning and trying a lot of expressions and words to capture the meaning as truthfully as possible. There was no question of anybody complimenting for this effort because it wasn’t a document that was read for its literary value. Yet it was a great exercise for me, and not just that, but also very educative.

I began by transliteration and mistook it for translation till I realised that translation was a different game. Sharad Chavan, who was well known news reader on AIR’s Mumbai channel was a professional translator. I reached out to him when I was under severe time pressure to translate and publish the Chairman’s speech in Marathi. I could see the qualitative difference – his sentences were crisp, they captured the essence of the original English sentence and placed emphasis on the words in sync with the original text. There was a lot to learn from him. My acquaintance with Sharad Chavan was to grow later and he was to mentor me for developing my writing skills is a story about which I will write later. Suffice it to say, I learnt a lot from him.

It was always my desire to have a book that carried my name as the author. This was partly satisfied when I edited a book for my organisation, but it was editing credit, not writing. I decided to translate a book, and I picked up ‘No Full Stops in India’ by Mark Tully for translation in Marathi. The very first sentence presented a huge stumbling block! Here it is: ‘How do you cope with the poverty?' That must be the question I have been asked most frequently by visitors to India.’ I found the question difficult to translate. I could not think of any appropriate expression in Marathi which could convey ‘How do you cope with the poverty.’ I tried hard but couldn’t. The first-sentence-stumbling was like the first ball wicket of a batsman! You feel ashamed, you get a terrible sense of inadequacy. I went ahead with some ‘compromise’ and translated the entire foreword. But the stumbling at the very first step prevented me from publishing it.

Later, I also translated the foreword to Rajmohan Gandhi’s ‘Understanding Muslim Mind.’ When Babri masjid was pulled down, I published it in the Company’s magazine, it was within three days of the Babri Masjid event!

After retirement, I translated a hundred page English book in Marathi. It is all about how to work effectively and build success. The format is that Michael Angelo explains ‘how to work effectively and build success’ with examples from his life, to a person who has failed in life. Translating that posed a great challenge. Yet the soothing words of Suneel Karnik, the well-known editor, that it was a good translation which deserved to be published, was a great compliment. He insists that I must translate his two recommended books, and those remain on my list.

And now I am translating the speech of a noble laureate, in Marathi. I stop at sentences which carry deep meaning, think about the message, and experiment with words and constructing sentences to catch the essence. This experience is impossible to describe. To experience what I experienced, try translating these sentences: ‘It always troubled me that the truth doesn’t fit into one heart, into one mind, that truth is somehow splintered. There’s a lot of it, it is varied, and it is strewn about the world.’ Or try this: ‘Content ruptures form. Breaks and changes it. Everything overflows its banks: music, painting – even words in documents escape the boundaries of the document.’

So much is said about the power of words. Yet words remain ‘very poor communicators.’ Words are like the ‘local trains’ at Mumbai’s overcrowded stations. They carry a lot of passengers and leave out many stranded on the platform. My understanding of that quote is now reinforced by my understanding of the meaning they carry.

Vivek Patwardhan