Raindrop

Eternal lightness of no data

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Mon, 28 Mar 2016 23:49:00 +0530

My smartphone has been wiped clean of all data twice in past two months and is in the safe custody of the service center.

My desktop was formatted ten days back.

My laptop has just a couple of word files and nothing else as data.

Microsoft and Apple. Two giant shoulders that I stand upon and see the world. They are like sleeping babies for me at the moment. Shhh.....hushhhh....no noise....no data....no nothing!

Hold it.

Don't feel sorry for me yet.

I do have backup. Some of it at least.

But alas.....my lacie (storage disk) is away. To be exchanged under warranty. They say the data can be saved. I believe them. But I believe in data only as long as I don't have to pay for its retrieval. Else I will assume it all to be gone.

Am I living a digital curse? Sure looks like it.

So why and how am I so calm and serene right now?

Because when all is gone, nothing really matters!!

What you really really need pops up from someplace and presents itself.

Copies of your most recent projects are generally in the mail or with your business associates or Clients.

Photographs that matter are up and about on facebook and the whatsapp galleries of your friends.

All phone numbers are synced to some email account or the other.

I thought I would collapse without my phone or computer but I eat, sleep and behave just like I used to. Not much has changed. Just a few things.

I upload a little less. I interact a little less online. I cook a little more.

I also wait a little more for others to listen to what I have to say.

I indulge in quick mental math when giving money at the laundry.

I also count the money any shopkeeper returns. You will be surprised how many times they have had to return me some more because they made a 'silly mistake' adding up.

Hopefully I will buy a new smartphone soon.

Till then I will use my mind and its powers to do all things simple.

Like baking a cake without looking at the recipe....

Blog kyon nahi likhti aajkal??

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Sat, 28 Nov 2015 16:06:00 +0530

How I wish I could make you smell burnt rice!

Why would I want you to do that, you may ask.

Because…..

I do not ever want you to ask me agin, "Why don't you blog anymore??"

Every time I just want to give myself some time to read, write or just be, there is bound to be some chore that will so horribly wrong that I regret having even thought about sitting down for a read.

Don't believe me?

Here you go….

I sat down to read my own blog. I started wondered why I didn't write anymore. My cousin and a friend recently asked me the same. The more I wondered, the more I read my own posts. The more I read them, the more I regretted not having written in the recent times.

My mind wandered to the topics I could write about.

Endless possibilities thrilled me.

"It's time I got back to writing for myself. This blog has been neglected for too long.", I vowd.

I was swimming in the cozy comfy sea of blog-title-land when a strong burning smell startled me out of my reverie. Even before I could log onto blogger, reality came back and bit me so hard where it hurts the most. In the heart silly!

I have a train to catch in the next four hours.

This rice here was to be our dinner for the night, on the train.
Good luck to that!

Off I go to the kitchen while you read this post.

Ab dobara mat poochna…..blog kyon nahi likhti aajkal!!!!

एक मैगी प्रेमी की टेर

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Thu, 9 Jul 2015 13:52:00 +0530

यूँ ही अचानक एक दिन
गु़म से हो जाओगे
ज़रा भी इसका साया होता,
तो तुम्हें कुछ और चाव से खाया होता

पानी थोड़ा कम ही मिलाया होता
कढ़ाई में चम्मच और प्यार से घुमाया होता
स्टील की प्लेट नही,
चाँदी में सजाया होता,
तुम्हें कुछ और चाव से खाया होता

तेरी सुनहरी लटों को
फोर्क पर नही, पलकों पे बिठाया होता,
निहारा होता

सँवारा होता
ज़रा और फ़ू फ़ू कर के
सुर्रर्रर्रर्र से गटकाया होता
तुम्हें कितने चाव से खाया होता

मिल जाओ कहीं तो कसम से
अदालत में एक डाइलाग ज़रूर टिकाया होता
'ग़र मैगी खाना जुर्म है माइ लाड तो ये जुर्म मैंने किया है'
जज को यूँ दो टूक सुनाया होता

कावेरी हो या औली
तवांग या बमरौली
तुम्हे हर जगह मैंने पाया होता

कितने चाव से खाया होता

ओह मैगी,

तुम्हें कितने चाव से खाया होता!!

The math that doesn't add up

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Sun, 22 Jun 2014 09:25:00 +0530

Confessions of a helping hand

You threaten me with sexual harassment accusation because I got out of my car on an empty road to help you? I stopped despite knowing it is not safe to do so. I stopped because you stood there, next to a supposedly injured friend, pleading passers by to help you. I stopped when no one else would. Here, take my car keys but please kill me too because if I go back alive I am going to tell people not to help strangers, no matter what the situation.

We were on our way to a function. We saw you waving frantically for help by the roadside. We stopped. So did another vehicle, which magically appeared from nowhere seconds after we slowed down. Now you and yoaur gang threaten us with knives. Here take all our belongings and please kill us too because if we go back alive we are going to tell people not to help strangers, no matter what the situation.

I am a mother of two. There was no way I was not going to stop when a little child stood in the middle of the road bawling. I park my scooter by the roadside to ask what happened. The little child miraculously stops crying and a van drives up. Now I am in the van, my hands are tied and clothes are torn. I pray you kill me too because if I go back alive I am going to tell people not to help strangers, no matter what the situation.

We had a wonderful vacation. We were on our way back. We always make it a point never to drive after sunset on the Highway. At 3:00pm we see a happy group of youngsters wave and go past us. They are probably returning from a good trip as well. We don’t know how but we get a flat tyre. We see the boys reversing their car. We thank God for their presence. Little do we know that it was a pre-planned daylight Highway robbery. Little nails don’t lay strewn on the road just like that. Here, take everything we have but please do not kill us. You can see we have small children.

We are on our way back from the theatre. You were blood soaked. We stopped immediately and rolled down our windows. We wanted to help you but remembered all the stories we had heard and wondered if we were going to be the next victims. Without waiting to roll up our windows, we sped past you. We read the newspaper this morning and are left wondering if it was you they mention in the tiny column ‘man dies in a roadside accident’. We will never be able to come to terms with the fact that we could have helped you but we didn’t.a

I was on my way to office. Saw a teenager asking for help. I was in the middle lane of peak hour traffic. I knew it was impossible to come to a halt. I went ahead. It tugged at my heart and I felt guilty. I took a U-turn and came back to help him. It turned out that there was a college project they were experimenting about 'how many people stop by to help a stranger'. Damn, now I am late for work and will get a late mark on the muster.

We are trained not to halt at unknown places. We are trained not to trust people especially a child, a woman or old frail septagenarians who are used decoys. Someday I might be that genuine bleeder on the road and it could be my wife hysterically trying to stop passing vehicles. We know no one will stop. Their hearts will skip a beat. They might even miss a meal or two with a heavy heart. They are all good people but they will not stop. For every me, they have heard of at least ten of the above. The math simply doesn’t add up.

टोपी क वज़न

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Sat, 10 May 2014 11:08:00 +0530

एक फ़ौजी की टोपी

इतनी हल्की,
के ख़ुशी से
बल्लियों उछलती है
हवा से बातें करती,
Cadets के हाथों

इतनी भारी,
के छह कांधे भी कम पड़ते हैं
अंतिम बिदाई में

God is watching and he has a smartphone

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Tue, 29 Apr 2014 10:55:00 +0530

I have made many mistakes in life. Not grave. But squalid enough for words. Luckily for me those were the times of instant reprimand and long term lessons. Now the slightest of our wrongdoing is captured forever. Defamation and laws against it seem archaic. Especially when social media can immortalise it.

Following is the transcript of a dialogue between a lawyer and a judge from an episode of the series 'Boston Legal'. It also reminds me of what Ajji (grandma) used to say to me all the time - 'neet waagh, dev baghtoy' (behave yourself, God is watching).

Lawyer: Think of it. We have all had a meltdown or two. A mortifying episode of some sort. Typically we are allowed to live those moments down. But now, thanks to the internet, we can't.

Life's little embarrassing moments are now having far reaching and more devastating consequences. If the day has come that we are going to be publicly and globally shamed of our foolish missteps then the laws of defamation should keep pace.

Judge: Truth is always a complete defense against defamation. But 30 second video blogs without the proper context do not always capture the truth. We live in a video world now where every Tom, Dick & Harry with a cell phone is a de facto cameraman. And via the internet a distributor. Maybe the current tort laws do need adjusting. But right now as they are written, they offer no remedy to those who may be humiliated by this.

The best advice, for all of us to remember is if you're out in the public, assume that the cameras are watching.

(I don't remember the writer's name but all credit must go to him/her alone for coming up with something so apt. )

जादुई जेबखर्च

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Fri, 11 Oct 2013 11:40:00 +0530

मुझे जेबखर्च मिलता है। और जेबखर्च में मिलते हैं २४ घंटे।

रोज़ के रोज़।

मेरी बुद्धि, ज़रुरत और इच्छा के अनुसार मैं उन २४ घंटों को खर्च करती हूँ। जादुई जेबखर्च है ये।

रोज़ मन भर के लुटाने पर भी रात को सोते वक़्त कुछ न कुछ बच ही जाता है। बचत भी ऐसी के न किसी खाते में जमा कर सके कोई और न ही ब्याज खा सके।

हर दिन की बची पूँजी को आँखें मूँद कर वापस कर देती हूँ; उसी को जिसने दिए थे।
बही-खाता बराबर।

फिर अगली सुबह मेरे हाथों में वही जादुई जेबखर्च रख दिया जाता है। पूरे २४ घंटे।

Why I hate my birthday

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Mon, 26 Aug 2013 15:09:00 +0530

Yeah I have survived a lot and am happy to be alive but that doesn't meant I have to love my birthday.With due respect to the fact that life has given me a chance to lead one more happy and healthy year, I still maintain that birthdays are overrated.

They are so over-hyped that I believed in birthday magic too. The whole of my childhood I waited for someone to throw me a birthday party. None were thrown.

In my adult life I expected romance and fireworks. None happened.

I bought myself gifts. I booked holidays for myself. I pepped myself up to be bright and sunny on every birthday. I expected too much from this day. Year after year.

But last year I realised the insanity of it all. And no, it is not because I am getting older. It is simply because they are the most taxing days of my life.

If God ever asked me to give up anything, I will gladly offer my birthday. They are so tiring.

It is because I feel like I am duty bound to be chirpy and ecstatic on this day even if there is nothing extraordinary about it. No one really goes out of their way to make you feel special but you are supposed to feel special. Things that you actually needed in January are intermittently put on hold till your birthday in September arrives. Then offered to you like a cherished present. And you are supposed to say 'Ahhh just the thing I wanted!!'.

One has to put on a face and attend all the calls from friends and family who haven't bothered to be in touch otherwise. All year round when you are trying to make peace with them, not once does anyone return a call or send a smiley to the numerous sms jokes you sent.

I am tired of faking enthusiasm when anyone asks, "So what's the plan for the birthday?" I am not anti social but it annoys me to see some people being super nice to me on just one day of the year. Seriously....does every one go on exotic vacations or is having a 5 star dinner on their birthdays? Doesn't anyone spend it quietly at home anymore that they feign surprise when I tell them that I am at home??

It is said that one should do something for the society. Indulge in charity on your birthday. But right now I have a severe compassion fatigue. I do as much as I can all year round. Maybe not for a 'cause' or an 'initiative' but things that make a positive impact on the recipient's life. It is very disturbing that one is supposed to keep a tab of it all and explain this to those who want you to step up your altruist act.

I just want to be left alone on my birthday. Not sport a fraudulent smile or an affected gait. If I am happy then I am happy else it is just another year that has gone by where I have wasted a lot of precious time doing avoidable stuff. Stuff that looked impulsive but involved a lot of planning. Stuff that looked silly. Stuff that meant a lot...maybe just to me.

I want to be alone but when I am actually left alone, it hurts. Anticipation of all this starts depressing me almost a fortnight before my actual birthday. This day is like exam time. I just want to get it over with. It should come and go without a whimper. Maybe if I just close my eyes and hold my breath, I won't hear it arriving..

Superwoman fatigue

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Sat, 15 Jun 2013 15:28:00 +0530

Geography has always been one of my favourite subjects. When I was in std. V or VI, there was a test. I went to the teacher to ask why she had given me a zero in one of 'fill in the blanks'?

I had to fill the dash for - भारत एक _____ प्रधान देश है. Here is how the conversation went -

Teacher - बेटा आपको 'कृषि' लिखना था blank में 'पुरुष' नहीं क्योंकि भारत एक कृषि प्रधान देश है.

Me - पर भारत एक पुरुष प्रधान देश भी तो है न ?

Teacher - बेटा आप ग़लत नहीं हो पर ये geography का test था इसलिए मैंने आपको zero दिया है.

I can't fathom how, as a ten year old, I knew that India was a patriarchal society and male dominated too. Much has changed since those days. Women sure are doing very well for themselves.

I like the fact that people are genuinely happy upon having a girl child.

Everything seems to point is a direction which is progressive, yet there is something inverted about it.

The more inclusive we try to make the society, more exclusive it becomes.

Special schools, colleges, trains, buses, queues, laws, status isn't what we were asking for. All we wanted was to be normal. Safe. Appreciated. Respected. And heard so that we have a say if we have a point. Just like anybody else. Simple.

To put someone on a pedestal is worse than not letting them be a part of the mainstream. The ringside is at least within earshot. Speaking from atop the buttresses feels like you are talking to an audience. One has to work twice harder to keep up the superwoman guise. Being human is lost when you aren't allowed to take a fall at all. It renders one either a superwoman or no woman at all. Supermoms, super wives, super employees, super hostesses, super chefs, super stars. Maintaining an aura is like being inside a pressure cooker. And yes, add to that the constant burden of trying to look like supermodels.

Am sure every woman wants to toss away the cape once in a while, step down from the podium and curl up in a self embracing hug for being the way she is. Despite all errs & ebbs.

Hola Mohalla @ Anandpur Sahib, Punjab

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Sun, 7 Apr 2013 21:21:00 +0530

Hola Mohalla is a Sikh sporting event held every year in a public arena near Holagarh Fort close to a small river named Charan Ganga in the holy city of Anandpur Sahib in Punjab, India.

Warrior Nihangs celebrate it a day after the Holi festival to demonstrate ancient sports and martial art skills in simulated battles and competitions.

The image of the Gatka-Chakar (circular device for deflecting weapons) you see here is something that I had seen in a Hindi movie in 2006. I was fascinated but had no clue what it was. This year I saw another image of it and followed the deep trails and trenches of internet hyperlinks to figure our that they were a part of a bigger festival. In a matter of three days tickets were booked, arrangements were made and I landed up in Punjab last week to see Hola Mohalla 2013. It is also popularly called the 'Sikh Olympics'.

Gatka Chakar - Hola Mohalla 2013

This was not the first time I was visiting a Gurdwara (Sikh Temple). I have always been amazed by its cleanliness, crowd control and lack of any beggars around. A prayer is called an 'ardaas' in Punjabi. I had gone to pray for a friend. I am not a firm believer of rituals but I do believe in the power of faith in the beyond. There is something beautiful about placing unconditional trust in something. It calms one down.

'Nihangs' are warrior Sikhs who carry forward the legacy of ancient warfare and are martial arts experts of combat techniques of the bygone era. In today's world it is purely ceremonial and is exhibited only during festivals or special occasional. Activities related to their military and wartime prowess is called Gatka Art. It includes horsemanship, sword/stick fights, use of quoits/daggers/aquatics/archery etc.

Anywhere in the world, combat sports come with a baggage of aggressiveness. But here, I found them to be serene, focused and determined. Most of them wore blues, whites, blacks and orange.

The street procession is called nagar-kirtan where they display their mastery and head towards the stadium where formal competition takes place.

I did not see many corporate banners or FMCG stalls in the area. I come from an advertising background but it always makes me very happy to see the lack of their presence as well. Untouched by commercialism is an aspect which you find far and few. This is one such place. Raw, rustic, unadulterated and pure in its form and talent. Both men and women.

You can stay there in Gurdwara rooms by the SGPC or hotels. Another alternative is to stay in Nangal of the Bhakra-Nangal Dam fame which is nearby. Silly me, I realised now, after decades, that Bhakra and Nangal are two separate dams, not a single one.You should keep at least three days if you want to see famous places nearby. One full day for Hola. One for visiting Anandpur & Kiratpur Sahib Gurdwara (preferably the day after Hola). One for the Brahma Temple,Naina Devi & Bhakra. The Bhakra Dam is a must see. It is one of the highest gravity dams in the world. The pride of India - Its work started in 1948 and was completed in 1963. Withing budget and within time! The Satluj Sadan on bank of Govindsagar reservoir at Nangal is where the Panchsheel treaty of peaceful co-existence was discussed by the then Indian prime minister Pt. Jawahar lal Nehru and his Chinese counterpart H. E. Chou-En- Lai on April 28th 1954.

Satluj Sadan by Govindsagar Lake - Nangal, Punjab

Advertising Vs Reality

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Tue, 26 Mar 2013 12:15:00 +0530

Note: If you are offended by the following post then please know that it does not aim to take away from the creative accomplishments of the team on the project mentioned. It simply aims at bringing out a facet which probably was lost during all the presentations and pitches.

I had seen some photographs of it some time back.

I have seen a few shares and re-tweets of the same.

I have received email forwards about it too.

They weren't directed at me. I just happened to be in its course to a larger audience. May be it was a self congratulatory bulletin to the industrywallahs or a ceremonial justification to those who paid for the campaign. It could very well have been a public service announcement as well. I simply happened to be in the path of this piece of communication.

As an idea I agree, it is superb.

A company tied up with Dhaba owners in the Kumbh Mela and handed out more than a couple of million chapatis/rotis, heat-stamped with a message asking people if they had washed their hands with a particular soap. They said it helped them reach a larger audience in a low cost but effective manner.

These self-honouring circulars end with a claim that the soap company increased awareness about cleanliness in people as they ate with cleaner hands.

Seems like a perfect end to the powerpoint presentation too. But there is another aspect to it. The reality of basic human instinct & feelings.

Let us look at the chronology-

1. People who will pay for their rotis and are here at the Kumbh will not eat anything before their holy dip because they are here for the Sangam snan. They have reached the dhaba after walking for a minimum of 3 kilometers after their bath.

2. People who will not pay for their rotis (assuming that maybe these rotis were distributed free of cost) will be eating them at free langars/dhabas. They have been standing in a queue for a long time to get their share of rotis.

3. In both cases they are extremely hungry.

4. They finally have the plate of food. The joy of seeing your meal when you are hungry is beyond compare.

5. At this moment, when they are about to eat, they see a stamp asking them if they have washed their hands.

6. Most people cannot read so they will continue eating.

7. Those who can read will have an instant emotional drop if their hands are not washed.

8. So basically what has happened is -

A tired and hungry person who was about to have his/her meal has been made to feel at fault because some soap company wants them to know that 'you are supposed to wash your hands before you eat'. Trust me, anybody who can read and write in this country already knows this!!! In fact those who can't read, they know this too! Add to this the the loss of face, if they are there with their children.

9. Even if they left their plates (which I doubt happened often) to go wash their hands and eat, their appetite is gone.

10. The result -

Clean hands (maybe), indifference (by those who cannot read), loss of feel good factor which they had achieved after undertaking a long journey which comes along only once in 12 years, embarrassment in front of servers, loss of face in front of kith and kin, loss of zest for the food they are going to eat.

To top it all....burnt rotis are being served which nobody likes to eat!!

Free food langars @ Kumbh 2013 serving chawal & dal

Holi across India

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Wed, 20 Mar 2013 18:11:00 +0530

Click on this link to read the write up on Cox & Kings Travelscapes - Holi across India By Vandana Natu

Holi Hai!!!!

Holi with friends

Every day is Holi & Diwali with him around :)

The Fourth Seat

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Thu, 7 Mar 2013 13:59:00 +0530

My grandmother's generation found Noor Jahan to be better than Lata Mangeshkar.

My father's generation found Sulakshana Pandit to be better than Lata Mangeshkar.

My generation found Kavita Krishnamurty to be better than Lata Mangeshkar.

Today's generation says any singer is better than Lata Mangeshkar.

She has never been the number one singer in anyone's heart of heart but she is the one that everyone is pitted against. She is the measuring unit. She is the continuous. The top of mind. The unforgettable one.

There is something about staying on.

The job that you hated at first but decided to stick to anyway. The marriage which was such a turmoil in its first year. The house you found hideous but rented anyway because it was easy on your pocket. The sea food you hated but loved the friends who liked it. All those things you did not find to be the best but gave them a little place in your heart to stay on.

That's conformity for you. And it isn't such a bad thing people make it out to be.

Unless it disagrees violently with you, you adapt.
Slowly.
One working day at a time.
One married moment at a time.
One renovated room at a time.
One nauseating seafood whiff at a time.

Soon you become comfortable enough to bear it and discover other joys that would have been lost if you had moved away at the slightest discomfort.

We no longer eat raw meat. If our ancestors saw us today they would call us a wimp.
So what if people are eating out of a box or a pill?

So what if kids are more glued to the screens than their bicycles?
We are not exactly hanging by the trees like our predecessors either.

It is not just the mind but our bodies that adjust too.
It needs time. Adaptation is a slow process.
Evolution and nature take us there eventually. To our ever changing comfort zone.

The trick is to find out if we are acclimatizing or being bulldozed into being pawned for self interest of others.

There is always place enough for three and a half people on that bench. Adapting can make it into four. You will eventually snuggle and fit in nicely in the fourth seat. But getting bullied into doing so because the window guy wants to take up space for two is no evolution. It is exploitation.

We bear with some things because we know they will get better with time.
We bear with the others because we cannot yet fight against them for the lack of means.

It's a struggle either way.
But never let go of the fourth seat.
It is like giving up already.

(Note: Fourth Seat is a very common phenomenon in the local trains of Mumbai. The seats are meant for three people to sit but you will always find four people sitting on it. Nudging, jostling, swearing until the fourth person finally manages to fit in.)

Ma'm would you like to buy a bag?

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Sat, 23 Feb 2013 12:53:00 +0530

It feels great to finally make it to the front of a queue. Especially if it is a busy counter of a food store at the supermarket. I took out bottles, pastes, seasonings, and various other things from the shopping basket. Proudly put them onto the chrome bay by the cashier. It is a sign of marking the territory. To let everyone know that the counter, the cashier, and the card swiping machine belong to you for the next 3 minutes.

So it came as a rude shock when the lady asked me, "Mam, would you like to buy a shopping bag?".

"No, thanks." I assumed she wanted to palm off one of those promotional bags with their logos.

She looked around and then stared at me for a few seconds. Very uncomfortable few seconds. I realised that I had no option but to buy a bag unless I magically sprouted 20 hands at that very instant, next to my own only two. I asked her, "How much?"

"Rupees 7 for the paper bag and Rupees 50 for the cloth bag."

I took a paper bag and made a hasty exit wondering whatever happened to the free shopping bags the stores provided.

The same thing happened again at Fabindia. "Ma'm would you like to buy a bag?". This time I didn't mind being shameless. "No, thanks." I said as I rolled up my purchase into a bundle and carried it out.

"Hmm...stores have stopped giving free bags", I thought to myself. The good old days of carrying your own shopping bag to the stores were back.

I was equipped well for my next visit to the food store. So I dusted and picked one of my old shopping bags from the lot that were meant only for Sarojininar and Karol Bagh.

"You cannot take the bag inside", the security guard stopped me.

"How will I carry the things out otherwise?"

"You can get the shopping cart back up to this point."

I looked around. The big store trend of a 'bag depositing' area had trickled down to the smaller ones too. I left my shopping bag at the entrance with the kind caretaker of all bags.

I was back, to the front of the line at the check out counter. I proudly emptied all the contents from the cart and politely declined to buy any bag. When you buy a lot from a store, you feel an instant connect with the cashier. You imagine yourself to be one of their favourite customers because you bring them so much profit. When they smile at you as they hand your credit card back, you think they are silently saying "thank you for buying so much". It is such a nice warm feel-good bubble.

My bubble burst when I turned around for my empty shopping cart to put the groceries back in. Eager customers behind me had pushed it away and lined their carts in its place. A helper boy was gladly wheeling it away towards the entrance.

I looked at the queue behind me. My three minutes of ownership were over. They wanted me out of the line. I turned to the counter. The sweet lady at the counter smiled "Ma'm would you like to buy a bag?". None of my imaginary 'you are such a valued customer, I will give you a free bag' gesture followed.

"Yes please, a cloth one", I specified as I took out a 50 rupee note from my wallet. I needed a strong bag for all the maniacal shopping I had done.

Flight of the trapped bumblebee

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Wed, 20 Feb 2013 00:38:00 +0530

"Do you know that the famous song 'Itna na mujh se tu pyar jata' is based on Symphony number 40 by Mozart?", a colleague asked me.

"Really? Are you serious? But it is Salil Choudhary's music!", I doubted that such a revered musician will base a song on someone else's tune.

Like most Indians, my knowledge of western music was limited (it still is to a large extent). This is how one by one I learnt about symphonies and songs. It turned out that I knew most of the melodies as inspired Hindi songs, but not the original pieces. 'O my darling Clementine' for 'Ai dil hai mushkil jeena yahaan' or 'if it's tuesday, this must be Belgium' for 'Chura liya hai tumne jo dil ko' and that 'dil tadap tadap ke keh raha hai aa bhi ja' was based on a Polish folk song 'szla dzieweczka', were pleasant revelations.

It is always fun when you learn something new that helps you fit in. I was trying to belong to the English speaking and thinking advertising crowd. It is difficult enough for me to think in Hindi, translate it in my head and then speak in English. I had no time for finer aspects of the language.

One day Ivan Arthur (our national Creative director then who loved to use classical symphonies in his presentations) asked me to prepare a tape with 'Beethoven's symphony no. 5' and 'Flight of the Bumblebee by Nicolai Rimsky-Korsakov' in it for a meeting.

Even though I was hearing it for the first time, symphony no 5 sounded familiar. I had heard it many times in the climax scenes of Hindi movies. Indian audience is actually quite well versed with western classical music. They simply don't know it.

Flight of the Bumblebee caught my attention. I thought it would be a piece about liberation and free spirit. But it felt as if the bumblebee was trapped in a soda-bottle with a rolling marble stopper. (you can hear it after 15 seconds in the following video)

I wondered why a music piece so flamboyant to the heart felt so inert to the body. It was conflicting. I didn't think much about it and prepared the tape.

Sometime later in life I read 'The Diving Bell & the Butterfly' by Jean Dominique Bauby. It is about how he felt when he was suffering from the locked-in syndrome. He had an agile mind in an immobile body. I remembered the flight of the bumblebee. Again, these were just thoughts so I let them pass.

Last week I saw a gem in a museum. A pendant in the shape of a Honey Bee. Eleven precious stones studded in gold. It belonged to the 15th century Vijayanagar empire in Hampi. Secured with two tiny iron nails for display. It reminded me of the flight of the bumblebee again. Trapped.

This time I didn't want the thought to just let by. Why did I always feel that it was in captivity. Why does a grand theatrical piece of music make me stand inanimate while the heart flutters to its beats. What was it about its rhythm that seeps into the soul but the body remains untouched?

I think the Bumblebee represents the ever restless nature of our mind. You can only feel it. You can't see it because it flies far and wide and comes back in a second. No physical state can match that. It crosses continents in the blink of an eye. It reaches the moon and back in a single breath. What business does the body have with the flight of the Bumblebee? So it surrenders. Stands still while the mind makes a winged trip around the world in a snap.

Funny how that turned. In reality, a Bumblebee is supposed to be aerodynamically incapable of flight due to small wings but it still flies! Just like our mind which ignores the shackles of the limited form.

Response to stimulus

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Mon, 11 Feb 2013 14:37:00 +0530

I came back from Allahabad late last evening after taking a dip in the Sangam (confluence of Ganga, Yamuna and the mythical river Saraswati) on the Mauni Amavasya day of Mahakumbh. I am told there were anywhere between 20 to 30 million people there yesterday. I am yet to figure out why I went there.

Anyone who has returned from the Kumbh Mela has a bundle full of dirty clothes and a heart full of feelings that are unnamed yet. One has felt a lot. An entangled mesh of darting emotions which very well fit the random Brownian movement pattern between the heart and the mind.

Acute sense of awareness and a deluge of unresolved impressions make you feel like you have gained pounds of weight. The weighing scale might still be a friend who shows you the same number but you feel fat and heavy. The amount of intake is something you cannot measure hence the difficulty in being able to manage and classify it.

'All living beings respond to stimuli', we were taught in school. An important feature to identify living from the non-living.

Here I was. Waiting to respond. Having just experienced an exponential overdose of stimulus after stimulus. Surprisingly, very little assault on my olfactory senses though (the waste management by the administration has been outstanding). Apart from the unusually strong upheaval and surge of emotions, I wasn't able to pin point exactly what were my experiences. Hopefully they will sort themselves out in the coming days.

I started downloading and editing the photographs. After cropping the following photograph as I pressed ctrl + 0, I felt a sting. A punch that hit me somewhere in the solar plexus. This picture was now full frame and I could see fine details of the crooked spine of an old lady in it. Right next to it was another photo of a different old lady who was alone. She walked without any family member.

I need good shoes.
My legs hurt if I walk much.
I am getting old, I need to see the world fast.
I want a good travel bag, warm clothes.
I need a new phone.
I cannot travel without a camera.

Those were a few of the points I remember harping so much about that they were as good as sugar-coated complaints. The bent spines of these ladies made my nags seem so flimsy and spineless.

Looking at these two photographs reminded me of yesterday's incident. The railway railing collapse at Allahabad Junction. I opened the photograph which I had asked a fellow passenger to take on the 8th. I wanted to wipe away my smile in the picture. But I can't. It belonged to a time when the time was good and the railway station stood there welcoming one and all. I was the one who arrived. I held those rails and climbed up.

At Allahabad Junction on 8th Feb 2013

What I feel right now belongs to a time when the same railway station (and probably the same platform) is the cause of death of so many. The ones who departed. They held those rails and plunged.

We belong to different places, as different people in different times. To try and remain sane in all those planes is a herculean task. To figure out how you felt and behaved there and carry the same thread forward is even tougher.

I am sure I will settle down and so will the whole 'Kumbh' experience. I have seen amazing things. Some funny. Some inspiring. Some scary. Some repulsive. Some surprising. It was a collection of so many 'some's'. I will write about them all. But for the moment, I am simply thankful to be back home.

The school books were right. All living beings do respond to stimuli, albeit a bit late in this case. I started crying. And suddenly I was crying for many things. Some in sorrow. Some in gratitude. Some for the loss of lives. Some for the loss of conviction.

I cannot crib with conviction anymore, you see.

(The Reason - I reached Allahabad by Purushottan Express on the 8th of Feb. I was to take the same train back on 10th Feb at 7:45 pm. But I was invited to attend a friend's marriage reception on the same night in Delhi. So I took the evening flight out on 10th, instead of the train. I shudder to think that if it wasn't for the reception, I would have been at Allahabad Junction at 7:00 pm yesterday, at the time of the tragedy that claimed 37 lives).

Milestone Mania

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Mon, 4 Feb 2013 19:55:00 +0530

Anybody who does anything has a reason for doing so.

When a whole lot of people do the same thing, the reason for doing it is greater.

But when almost the whole humanity does something and insists on the wayward few to follow them, I am assuming they have a darned good reason for doing so.

They have set these milestones. Meant for each and everyone of us to cross.
Life Events as we all call them.

Get basic education.
Make friends.
Work for a living.
Get married.
Take care of the elderly.
Have children.
Build/buy a house.
Get your children married.
Retire.
Have grandchildren.
Spiritual pursuits.

I always wondered if they were imposed upon people more for its disciplinarian value than for the want of it. Some of us who are perilously close to not following them are deemed the black sheep. And all the black sheep have a federation. Federation of the defecting few.

I know for a fact that I haven't fulfilled quite many of the milestones myself.

However I keep wondering why are they followed by so many? Why is one's life on the proverbial 'golden run' if one does manage to do it all? Why aren't exceptions humoured?

I think I am slowly beginning to understand why is it so.

When I studied, I learnt a little about myself.
When I made friends, I learnt a little more about myself in the process of keeping those friendships.
When I worked for a living, I discovered potential I never thought I had.
When I got married, I saw a person resembling myself become better at keeping relationships.
When I took care of the elderly, I realised I will be a senior someday too. It made me more sensitive.
I see friends who have children. They have grown to be more tolerant and understanding than they were ten years back. They are now blessed with parental instincts.
I saw someone build a house, they grew more worldly wise than they thought they were.
A friend got her daughter married. She can manage any event now.
I saw dad retire. He learnt to let go.
I see grandparents. They learn to love without being paranoid.
I see the spiritually inclined, they know the secrets they have been chasing all their lives.

All these milestones seem nothing but a full run of the obstacle course where you learn to excel as an individual and discover things about yourself which otherwise would have no reason to surface. You achieve a milestone and you are happy with what it gives you. You miss one, you move on to the next. It is just a no-nonsense survival guide to self-discovery.

The neurotic defending if you miss one of the steps or a vulgar victory dance when you achieve one are the reasons these milestones seem tainted. It isn't a maniacal race. It is simply a cross-country treasure hunt which keeps making you stronger at every step by bringing forth a brand new aspect of you which you never thought existed.

The Tricolour Coffin

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 11:07:00 +0530

The armed forces children are commonly divided into three groups.

First are the ones who say-

"My daddy fires guns and drives a tank."
"My daddy is a fighter pilot."
"My daddy is a marine commando."

Second are the ones who say -

"My daddy is a doctor. He cures your daddy."
"My daddy is an engineer. He makes your daddy's plane fly."
"My daddy is an instructor. He teaches your daddy."

Third are the ones who say -

"My daddy makes sure that the ration and other supplies reach your daddy."
"My daddy manages the accounts and ammunition depots."
"My daddy forecasts the weather."

There is an unwritten law. An unspoken hierarchy. An unseen line that divides them.

Children call it the brave, braver, bravest split.
Adults call it the high, higher, highest (promotion prospects) split.

I belonged to the third group. Dad provided logistical support in the Medical corps. For some strange reason the policy makers decided to call the doctors 'technical' and the administrative officers 'non-technical' instead of admin or logistics. Imagine calling the admin people in an ad agency 'non-creative', yes it's something like that.

"Baba do you go to the border to fight?" I used to ask.
"No beta." He would reply.

That would make me sad. It was fine that he didn't drive a tank or fire guns, the least he could have done was gone and fought a war. What exactly was his job? Why wasn't he doing something brave? Many questions bothered me.

"So you never fought a war?"
"Of course I did. The 1962, 1965 and the 1971 wars." He replied.
"Wow, so you did go to the border after all!" I used to exclaim with a twinkle in my eyes.
"No. I didn't go but I fought the war. We were stationed just short of the border." He clarified.
"How is that possible?"
"It is because we provided all the supplies to the troops that are fighting at the border."
"But it's not the same as fighting it!"

At this point I guess he would understand the futility of explaining 'the chain' to a child and change the subject. He was probably not very keen on revealing that the one time he was closest to the border was in 1971. He was posted to the only sector (Fazilka, Punjab) which lost while the rest on them had won the battles, thereby winning the war. It was also the only time he ever saw the then Army Chief General Manekshaw who came to the sector, stood on the podium to address the troops and said just one line, "You are the ones who lost it for me" (or something to that effect). It was nothing to write home about. I came to know of it much later in life.

So, around two decades back when 'Three Indian Army doctors killed in Somalia' made the national headlines I realised that one of them was someone we knew. Their three children were our friends. Aunty was mummy's friend. This was the first time a hospital and doctors posted with the UN were attacked. It was big news internationally as well. One tiny fact which didn't seem to matter to the journalists was that one of them, the one we knew, was not a doctor. He was an administrative officer. He was responsible for the medical & ration supplies.

Dad came home. Asked mummy to come along as he was to break the news to Aunty. He wanted a lady to be around to hold her in case Aunty did collapse. Vehicles were sent to bring their children back from school so that they could be informed as a family. A coffin was received with full honour in due course.

It changed the way I looked at Dad.
It made me understand 'the chain' and the importance of every link.

It also made me pray.
I prayed for catastrophe to never strike our family.
I prayed if it ever were to strike our family, to let it be a valiant one.
Worthy of a national flag.

This is how we are raised. Amidst sudden deaths, crazy amounts of school transfers, parents posted separately for years, no roots, remote areas, scarce facilities, no fancy playthings etc. Yes there are facilities that everyone envies us for too but trust me, more often than not, they are quite far and few. As the children of the armed forces we have one thing in common.

We would rather lose our loved ones to valour than to anything less.

It is scary. It haunts. But the tricolour coffin is very much a reality of our lives.

When I looked at today's newspaper headline and Lance Naik Hemraj's mother said 'sar kaat sakte hain woh log, sar jhuka nahi sakte' I knew what she meant.

Note: I know there are some obnoxious brats too but let us take them as exceptions that prove a rule here....at least in the premises if this blogpost.

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Wed, 9 Jan 2013 12:55:00 +0530

How come a woman is supposed to be of no importance if she doesn't have a brother, a father, a husband or a son to show off??

One Amazing moment...

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Mon, 10 Dec 2012 09:55:00 +0530

"Tell us about one amazing thing you have seen", I get asked this question many times. It is difficult to answer it. It is more difficult to back it up with a proof because when you are living an amazing moment you totally forget to capture it. The only things common to all these moments are tears and a sense of timelessness.

They are neither the tears of joy now sorrow. Neither are they anchored in surprise, nor wonder. One simply is and cries. I have no words to explain this. No photographs. No videos. Yes I might have alibis who can prove that I was there at that particular time but I am not sure if they saw what I saw.

Here are just a few of the amazing things that I have been mindful (or shall I say mindless) enough to have experienced...

1. There is a mountain next to the Gurudongmar lake in North Sikkim. I think it is called Dorji La. There was just a small post of uniformed personnel on top of it. I stood atop it (would be between 18,350 to 18,600 ft high). On my right was the blue lake. In front of me was a glacier. I am told it is the origin of Teesta river. And on my left were the Tibetan plateaus. Rarefied oxygen, heady scenery and extreme hunger. They made me cry.

2. In the villages of Kanha and Kisli (Kanha National Park) at one end is a forest and at the other agricultural land with nothing but hamlets every few kilometers. In 2006 we were taking one wrong turn after the other when we came across a bare tree in the fields. It had no leaves. But it was lit. It had fireflies all over it. There was a bare tree with a million fireflies in the middle of nowhere on a pitch dark night. Reason enough to switch off the car headlights and take in.

3. There is a small mountain called Mount Loussavarra in the township of Kiruna in Northern Sweden. We trekked up in the middle of the night. Reached on top by 1:00 am. It was bright and sunny. Me and a friend sang "Happy Birthday to you" on top of our voices for our friend Anders. There was just one bench and we sat there. That was the first time I saw the 'Midnight Sun'.

4. In September 2003 I decided to go backpacking. I reached Edinburgh at 5:00am. The bus dropped me outside the tourist office on Princess street. I had few hours to kill before it opened. So I started walking. Reached a church at the far end of the street. It was landscaped in many tiers. Everything was locked except the main gate. I went down flight after flight of stairs. Finally reached a small area which was enclosed from all sides and had a pavement all across the four walls. It had no roof. I decided to read the inscriptions. It was still dark so I read just what I could easily understand. I didn't know what the word 'interred' mean. So I kept walking and reading until I read the word 'buried'. Can never forget the shock. I slowly looked down at my feet. I was walking on connected concrete graves, not a pavement. The half walls were tall epitaphs. It was not an open area, it was an enclosed graveyard. I stood transfixed. And then ran like I have never run. Only when I reached the top and was on the street did I stop for breath. I stood there alone and cried.

5. Singing the Indian National Anthem is something we have done everyday in childhood. It was never a big deal until I sang it at Jawaharlal Nehru stadium in 2010 with 60,000 other people during the opening ceremony of the Commonwealth Games in New Delhi. And you can't even take a break to wipe the tears....they simply flow.

6. The prayers on the banks of river Ganga at Rishikesh are quite enchanting. One sits on the stairs and watches the river go by. People do all sorts of religious things on the river bank. I witnessed the mundan (first haircut) ceremony of a toddler as I sat on the steps reading the verses of Gita with my father on the eastern Triveni Ghat. On the other bank of the river I saw few funeral pyres burning at the same time. It was a live view of the beginning and end of life. Your eyes wander naturally to the river in between that is alive.

7. We were in Zakhama, Nagaland last month. We walked up to the helipad in the night just to check out where it was so that we could come back in the morning with the whole family to see the sunrise. I have never seen a clear sky so full of stars. I looked up. Kept looking. It was like standing under a dome-full of sparkles. Totally spellbound. And then Venus blinked. Twinkled suddenly. So did some other stars one after the other. As if saying 'Hi'. I waved back too :)

Blind Mice & I

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Mon, 3 Dec 2012 12:44:00 +0530

Blind mice, blind mice don't go there
Why?
Coz that's the river

Blind mice, blind mice don't drink this
Why?
Coz this is poison

Blind mice, blind mice don't eat that
Why?
Coz that's a trap

Blind mice, blind mice don't meet him
Why?
Coz he is the ratcatcher

Blind mice, blind mice don't you trust me by now?
No!
Ok then,
Go there, drink this, eat that and meet him
I care a tiny rat's arse

The Big Fat Film Fraternity - Typical Conversations

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Fri, 30 Nov 2012 13:46:00 +0530

Every industry has its share of people who, for very apparent reasons, have characteristic ways of behaving with each other. Physicians Vs Surgeons, Creative Vs Client Servicing, Teachers Vs Administration, Politicians Vs Bureaucrats etc..

I have enjoyed their conversations. Here are just a few videos that talk about the big fat film fraternity. They are funny and so so so familiar. Kindly take them in the right spirit and enjoy :)

Note: Some of them are a bit technical and will be understood only by people from within the industry. but the ones with the actor, steadycam, location, costume, art director, agency producer and continuity dept. can be understood by all.

VFX (special effects) guys Vs Producer

Video Editing Hell

Steadycam operator Vs Director (Organic haan :)

On set Art Director Vs 1st Assistant Director

Costume Designer Vs Production Manager

Assistant Director Vs Actor

Ad Agency Producer (film dept) Vs Video Editor

Location dept. Vs Accounts

Continuity dept. Vs Director

Zzzzzzzzz of the night

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Fri, 30 Nov 2012 03:28:00 +0530

It sounds like a ceiling fan from the last century

The distant drums

Emptiness of the mind

A marching army

The humming of silence

It sounds like a jet plane
going into one ear,
coming out of the other

That annoying high-frequency television buzz

It is a million crickets singing an anthem

It is what I imagine it to be
It is the zzzzzzzzz of the night

Hu tu tu tu tu....

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Mon, 29 Oct 2012 11:43:00 +0530

It all began with fist fights at home.
Then the school level. One class played against the other.
Then came the interschools.
Then the Cluster meets.
Then the Zonal competitions.
Then Regional Meets.
And finally the National camp & championships.

Most parents would have been proud to let their child go for the National level sports meets.
But not those of the ones who played the rustic sport of 'Kabaddi'.
At least not in the 1980s.

Mainly for 3 reasons-

1. Kho-kho & Kabaddi were rural cousins of other high profile games. To be played just to be physically fit. They had no future in terms of gainful employment. 'Lawn-Tennis' & Cricket were the sports of repute.

2. They were not 'lady-like' games. Breaking a bone while playing was very common. If you were not heroic enough to break one, at least a joint dislocation or cuts n bruises were assured of.

3. It was a team sport to be played on hard ground with no personal glory.

So when I came home with a regional certificate, waiting to see if the selectors had made a good choice by picking me for the National Camp, Mom was quite dismissive about the whole thing.

"Enough. You should concentrate more on studies now.", said she. To be fair to her I was indeed touring quite a bit between sports and Scouts & Guides camps. I was heartbroken. I was ready to beg and plead and do what not if I was selected, so that she'd let me go. Dad was my trump card, though he would have wanted more of a Steffi Graf for a daughter than a caked out Kabaddi player.

God saved me the humiliation. I wasn't selected for the Nationals that year. I blamed it all on the ill-wishes of my parents. And that was the end of Kabaddi for me.

Two years later it was introduced in 1990 at the Asian Games in Beijing. Who cared about the rising Steffi, internationally accepted new form of Kabaddi was my cause of misery.

Always reminding me of 'what I could have been'.

The things that remind you of what you could have been are many. A book, a movie, a song, a child prodigy, coming face to face with people who didn't stand by you at crucial junctures, mentors who directed you to a different field, a tucked away certificate, juniors superceding you, a newspaper article....the list is endless. You see yourself as the protagonist and sigh.

But in the end what it finally comes down to is what you are today.

You are only as good as you last piece of work or relationship or the credit amount in your bank. The rest is all 'what you could or would have been'. It doesn't exist.

It torments you. Makes you nostalgic. Makes you want to blame others why things went the other way. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for worse. But truth of the matter remains - You are what you are today, not what you wanted to be once upon a time.

Sometimes you are the Raider. You raid. Others pin you down. You fall. You get up. You tag others. You come home victorious. Or you get out and stand off field until an ally revives you.

Sometimes you are the Antis. You defend. You let the raiders invade the baulk line. And then you pounce. Like a tiger. Grab them by the neck. Or you creep in. Like a snake.Simply cuff their ankles and pull.

Life is a constant game of Kabaddi.
A struggle to reach the middle line somehow.
Silly me. I thought it was lost.

Remains of the day - Few certificates that stood the test of time

Patan Patola

noreply@blogger.com (Vandana Natu) — Thu, 25 Oct 2012 12:10:00 +0530

I visited Pattan in Gujarat this August to check out the most prized sarees in all of India.
The Patan Patola.

Comparison - Single Ikat (lower half), double Ikat (upper half)

To understand Patola we must first understand the process of making ‘Ikat’ fabric.

Single Ikat – This is a resist-dye process where bound patterns (like in tie & dye) are applied to the ‘warp’ threads in keeping with the exact design that is desired later upon weaving these threads with extreme precision. More the number of bindings and colours, more intricate & elaborate the design. The weft thread is of a plain colour without any bindings. Sambalpuri, Pochampalli, Rajkoti Patola are fine Indian examples of single Ikat work.

Double Ikat Patan Patola Saree threads before the weave

Double Ikat – Both warp & weft is dyed before the weaving begins. This requires expertise and pin-point accuracy as displacement of even one thread may result in a deformed pattern on the cloth.

They are so unique that they are the geographical indication tags for Gujarat as Patan Patolas and Andhra Pradesh as Bhoodan Pochampally. They were used in spice trade

Guatemala, India, Japan and Indonesia are famous for this kind of work.

Handcrafted Patola (also called Patolu) from Pattan is a heritage double Ikat fabric manufactured only for direct clients and delivered to them without any middleman by the Salvi family in Pattan, Gujarat. Any shop, show-room, emporium claiming to sell it is either selling a fake or second hand Patan Patola.

Key features-

1. Equal design and wearable on both sides. Even weavers can’t identify which is the front or back once the weaving is over.

2. Only 3 families in Pattan make them today, out of the original 700 families.

3. 3 people take 4 to 6 months to weave one saree which is 5.5 meters long and 48 inches wide.

4. No computers or power looms are used. Mental calculations, deep concentration, patience, undivided attention and a lot of hard work are the skill sets that make one saree.

5. The measurement tapes (which can measure up to 100th part of an inch) are the same which were invented 1000 years ago.

6. Made only in silk (patt is short for ‘Pattakalam’ which means silk in Sanskrit) as it lasts 80 to 100 years. They consider making it in cotton a waste of their time as it will tear in 40 to 50 years.

Costliest Patan Patola Saree

7. Their cheapest saree starts at 1.5 lac rupees and takes 1.5 to 2 years for delivery. For people who do not want to spend that much they have options of Dupattas (40 to 50,000/- rupees) or handkerchiefs (3 to 4,000/- rupees). A good Patola costs Rs. 3 lacs.

8. Their costliest saree cost Rs 7 lac (above pic) which depicts the procession of Siddh Hemgranth. 12 to 15 people worked for 2.5 years to make it using materials required for making 27 normal Patola sarees.

9. Colours last for over 300 years.

10. They do use chemicals to dye for their lower end sarees but also use pure vegetable dyes for patrons who do not mind the escalated cost.

Trivia-

Three sarees being made at a time

It has a geographical indication tag. Nationally awarded. Patan Patola Postage stamp released on 15th Nov 2002. Sonia Gandhi wore one at the closing ceremony of CWG 2010 which has been handed down to her by Mrs. Indira Gandhi. International exposure has encouraged the weavers to not let this art disappear like the ‘Malmal of Dhaka’.

(As told by Mr. Mehul Salvi)