A Gandhi without the Gandhi Cap

Ramu Gandhi, I would often joke, was my inspiration and role-model at the IIC..... Bar.

He would unfailingly make his entry into the bar at the dot of
7.30 every evening, 360days of the year ( the remaining 5 being "dry
days"....including, notably, the birthday of his grand-father – the rare occasions when he probably tippled at home ) – after completing his daily walk and evening meditation in the Lodi Gardens.

He would come in with his own plastic chair ( which he carried around all over the IIC - including the haloed tea-lounge ) and place it in a pre-assigned
corner at the end of the bar-counter against a pillar, which was
reserved for him by tradition and grant audience selectively to
a favoured few (one for the archives was when, a few months back,
his brother Gopal - the Governor of West Bengal came calling upon him
- in his full gubernatorial attire and ADC in tow - he was made to
stand at a respectful distance). He always ordered 3 drinks at a time
(usually Old Monk Rum ) and mixed them in some patented proportion
with water and soda. He would be the last to leave the bar - long
after the final call and the closing bell.

After that, he would adjourn to the portico (with his chair ) to have
a pre-ordered packed dinner from the main kitchen
before setting off for the day to, what I have been told, his tiny abode near Bengali Market.

His untimely and sudden departure has left me, and many others of a similar disposition – I suspect, nearly orphaned, even before I was able complete my full induction. Or probably - he was only too relieved at finally finding a worthy apostle in whom he could safely hand-over his mantle, nay the bottle....

It was only befitting that, he passed away at the IIC which in
many ways had become his home and last port of call. I saw him only
last week before leaving for Pune....and, didn’t imagine he won’t be around when I return.

I am sure, many like me would out of sheer force of habit look for him each time at his appointed corner, while entering the IIC Bar... Anywhere else in the world, for someone who had become a veritable institution like him ( and of such distinguished lineage - the grandson of Mahatma Gandhi and C Rajagopalachari - from his mom's side ) , the gentry would have no doubt proposed, keeping his chair in the same corner and his photo above it on the wall or even rename the Bar after him. But, bureaucratic constraints and political proclivities of the IIC apart, Ramu certainly would never have approved of such a proposal ( and, probably would have gone on a Satyagraha from whichever world he has been transported to).

In a touching obit – Sanjaya Baru – the PM’s Press Advisor, described him as an “Iconoclastic Icon” – A Gandhi but not a Gandhian. He couldn’t have summed him up better.

Bong Bungee Jumpers

we have been waiting for the survivor stories of 2002 in the year-end specials,
but the magazines and newspapers seem to have missed a minor snippet - hence, this hurried last minute dispatch.disproving the populists yet again and much to their own embarrassment, the ghoses have somehow managed to sail thru the year - slightly bruised but not wholly battered. emboldened by their 'kats' adventures, they've done the ultimate bungee jumping in returning to
kolkata, where they have a new address in town:

7A Sunny Towers
43 Ashutosh Chowdhury Avenue ( formerly Gariahat Road )
opp Ballygunj Post Office, next to Sunny Park / CCFC Club
Kolkata 700 019

tho' sg is happy at finally having shed ( if only in part ) his suffocatingly
staid image of being a 'one company - one woman man' - this is, perhaps, the worst example of swinging on the rebound. after trying hard to become an 'NRI' ( Hindustan Leaver ) - he had to literally come home to roost. for those of you who had stopped watching this space ( for good reason ) or
dropped out of circulation ( for no fault of ours ) - he now works for the ABP
group - looking after their Businessworld publication. nina is trying to pick up her forgotten accountancy by helping dad in his practice. jaya - of course - has the busiest schedule of the three - comes home for periodic inspection of the house, when she finds time from her numerous engagements with grand-parents, cousins and friends.

sg claims the status of being 'occasionally married' ( such as Christmas and
New Year's Eve ) - since he operates mostly out dilli, where the magazine is published. but, nina is not complaining about this arrangement of what is called 'spatial' matrimony ( space well earned after 17 years of wed-lock). sure you are having a ball in the new year. here's wishing you a great
2003 - full of health, happiness and every success. have fun but
take care and remember us - while you do.

loads of love to all of you,

cheers,

nina, sandip & jaya

ps: this year we ave received e-greetings from a number of friends who have
explained at length - why they chose electronic medium over the traditional cards. some for saving forests, others for more worthy causes ( contributing the cost of the cards to charity etc). in our case - rest assured it's nothing but sheer no-nonsense inefficiency and shameless laziness. trust you'll excuse us in the spirit of the new year.

On Getting Off The Train

A dear old boss of mine used to compare life in the 'big company' with travelling on the Indian Railways. Those days bosses had the time for such philosophical ponderings (and much more....) but let's keep that for another occasion.

The analogy had struck me - probably because I had taken the train from Kolkata to Mumbai for my final interviews ( Tirath Mansukhani's rule-book wudn't allow air-fares for candidates - you see !!). I didn't mind it a bit tho'. It was like a free junket (you might say, I showed early promise of being a newspaperman someday) to see the city, which - for me - till then existed only in the Hindi movies ('Bollywood' hadn't been invented in circa 1983).

It's another story that, I overstayed the invitation by a good 19 years. All this while, like a delinquent coach accidentally cut-off from its mother-rake in the shunting yard, I drifted from station to station often changing tracks ( so much so, some started calling me a 'prodigal accountant'). It took me to 'places' that I had never dreamt of visiting - finally reaching pretty close to the 'top of the world' , where I was faced with the difficult choice of either jumping off the cliff or rolling down the slopes.

But, what the heck !!! I had a ball and loved every moment of it. The highs and the lows, the ups and downs, the peaks and troughs- valleys, plains, mountains, sea-sides, I have been thru it all in good measure. Through the journey - like a true Bong that I am - I enjoyed a good fight at every opportunity. But, somewhere, down there I also get the queasy feeling that I may have made a few good friends - bonds that will transcend organisations.

Now it's my turn to get off the train. As I pack my bags ready to disembark, I am a little intimidated to see the teeming crowds waiting on the platform. Then, I remember my last day at school . As we were running out of the building - we found our Principal , a very loving Irish priest, waiting for us at the gate. As we slowly filed past him, he whispered with a beatific smile and a twinkle in his eyes: "Remember - you step out of here and you walk straight into life". I leave with a load of memories - largely pleasant. But, the world outside beckons. So, like my favourite the DH Lawrence character, I say good-bye to all of you - a little droopingly but with a hopeful heart.

See you soon - in the 'big world' out there. Al Vida & Cheers!!! ..............Yours 'S'

PS: Next week I join the ABP ( Ananda Bazar Patrika) Group. Those who claim to know me well say that, this move appears to be straight from the heart ( 'Dil Se'). But, I guess only time will tell - whether it's Dil or Dilli. I shall post my new co-ordinates to you soon. But, till then the yahoo or hotmail address should work fine.

De-ionising Pokhara

The one and only C. K. Lal, the inimitable 'calumnist' (as he makes 'pun' of himself) of the great newspaper NT, once wrote, Pokhara is enchanting anytime of the year (even when the Nepali Congress is holding its bi-ennial convention there - which was the subject of that particular article). The Ghoses couldn't agree with him more. They keep running off to this lake city at every conceivable excuse. In the last 3 years they must have made at least a dozen trips to Pokhara - roughly one a quarter. So, they have seen it in all seasons and loved it more each time. Even on this weekend S.. made a quick dash there - ostensibly to attend a Sales conference of his team.

The Shangri-La, of course, is their regular haunt. Though it's not quite a "village", as it is called, nestled amidst paddy fields, the architecture and understated ethnic decor blends naturally with the surroundings giving it a very " Come… touch me" feel, which the Fulbari loses in all its over-bearing grandeur. S.. says that, the Shangri-La is a place one likes to imagine - be it only in parts - of being close to something of one's own. Its row house cottages, with the little piece of lawn or balcony in front, could well have been a part of your weekend house out in the country or the hills. Even the deep-blue swimming pool has a homely character of a pond in the back yard. In contrast, The Fulbari seems so awe-inspiring and, therefore, almost by definition - totally out of reach, in every sense. But, their real favourite is Prem & Poornima's little treasure tucked away above the Begnas Lake - a good 13 kms from the city and another 30 minutes by boat. But, once you are there you are transported to a different world entirely. It's like going back 50 years in time.

Life stands still on the Begnas Taal. There is the sight of the occasional boat ferrying villagers across the lake. Inching its way through the placid green water evoking a feeling of timelessness. Or a little girl sitting still for hours in a tiny "dinghy" waiting for a few fishes to come up on her net to take to the nearby market or home for dinner. A few small houses dot the rain-washed green hill on the other side. That's where our old boatman lives - and at the end of day's work, he would row across all the way and trudge for 2 hours to his home up on the hilltop. "Don't earn enough to stay the weeknights in a hotel", he told us half in jest.

Even if it's not practical to stay at the Begnas their on every trip - due to sheer logistics constraints - the Ghoses try to make it a point to at least go their for a lunch or an afternoon outing. Like S… did with the boys this Saturday. On a clear day one would get a lateral section view of the Macchapuchare, Annapurnas and the Manaslu. But, the clouds threatening to break into a heavy downpour at any moment lent a different character to the scenery. The only regret was that, the guys at the resort can't make honest good Pakoras - which are just right for the weather. Perhaps, the German and Australian tourists have spoilt them. Point of complain for Buchu's Mom.

S… feels his stress level palpably drop the moment he lands in Pokhara. He is convinced that, this is due to the heavy charge of negative ions in the air. Someday, he hopes to write a thesis on this by conducting an emperical research on the 'conception' record of all honey-mooning couples visiting Pokhara. They did something similar at Niagra and it was established that, there is, indeed, a scientific correlation between negative ions, drop in stress-levels, rise of libido and ease of conception. ( It affects peacocks the same way). This led to the invention of the electronic "De-ioniser" that today graces so many American bed-rooms with good effect.

If Begnas eases his stress levels, Mumbai sends a rush of adrenaline up S..'s veins. Once travelling with him from Pune in the Deccan Queen, a colleague had commented that, he noticed a new spring in his otherwise languid gait, the moment he steps out of the train onto the VT station. But now, even he feels tired by the end of the day, especially if he has been to the Backbay. It's not the same place anymore. So, unfailingly each evening he'd return to Udyan Darshan for his mandatory quota of Varan-Bhath to uplift his sagging spirit.

While S.. was been busy pumping various fluids into and out of his system, the other members of the Ghose parivar have been honing their artistic talents. Junior Miss Ghose did a Ras-leela dance l - lipstick and 'blush-on' decked Radhika - for Janmastami at her school. On Sunday evening, her Mom joined the 'Anandalok' chorus for 'Baishe-Shravan' (the death anniversary of Tagore - or was it Barsha Mangal?) - to keep the flag of Bongi cultural chauvinism flying high atop the Himalayas. Grandparents and in-laws, who were present on both the occasions, were duly impressed.

Shyama Prasanna Bose (Sejo) was in school with S.. at Don Bosco, Park Circus (Cal). He was the rolly-polly, fun-loving son of an eminent labour lawyer of Calcutta - a scion of a typical "Bonedi" ('Bunyadi') family Padma-pukur, Bhowanipore. In class, he was notorious for polishing off the tiffin of all his friends and laughed at the imagined plight of their mothers - who would be wondering why their sons were not putting on weight, despite their nutrition packed lunch boxes. When Shyama didn't clear his ISC (Plus 2) - his friends were sadder than him. He put on a 'Bindaas' appearance and said something to the effect of - he had to fail to prove that the credibility of the exam system, which otherwise had an almost 100% pass record. Thereafter, we lost track of him for many years until one discovered him travelling the country-side with a Rural Sales Propaganda company. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy his freedom and the care-free, unconventional life-style. Then again, last week - thanks to Batchmates.Com one found him again, now styled as 'Sejo Bose' - this time working as Director Sales & Marketing of an NGO in Patna - called Janani.com, specialising of all things in Women's Reproductive Health. He wrote back: "This was like changing gears. Setarer tarta fine tune korte korte tarta ache kina bhuleyi ghechlum….. Ekhon Shyama theke Shejo hoye gechi!!" Who says that Blogging doesn't have its use ?

Diary of a Trivia Hunter

A web horoscope (strangely called, 'Swoon') which 'S…' subscribes to, has warned him not to get carried away with "trivial pursuits". Not being a member of any high-powered committee of FNCCI or NICCI (the favourite monsoon pastime of the Kats business gentry and corporate elite) he didn't understand the difference between trivial and trivia. Confused, as always, he turned to the wife for enlightenment. With a frown as deep as the gorges of Mustang, that cuts furrows on her supple forehead each time she engages in some heavy-duty thinking, N.. jabbed the buttons of the TV remote in her hand. Shuffling channels from HBO to Cinemax to AXN like a pack of tarots - she seemed to search for the divine intervention. Finally fixing her gaze on a studded navel of a lithely swaying mid-riff (that are 'made-to-order' only for MTV) - she delivered her verdict in a sombre under-tone: What else ? - but your disgusting dissertations on the Blog.

With politics and sex being taboo on a family-site (except for those occasional lateral innuendoes) and the more private passions or personal phobias not being the stuff for public portals either, there are very few subjects left for the Blog to discourse upon. And, ever since he has imposed the self-censorship on party gossip, he is at a loss for material, which is beginning to threaten the very existence of the 'Spot' itself. For, what is life in Kats without those parties? We spend most of our evenings either 'waiting' to welcome new friends or bidding adieu to old ones. But, the threat is in more ways than one - for a few hosts are genuinely peeved at not getting a mention of their dos in the Blog - making us feel that we didn't quite earn our dinners. No wonder the consumption of antacids has gone up in the Ghose household. But, if any of you are prematurely rejoicing at the impending demise of this page - please hold your breath. So, from gloating visages to bloating bellies - here we go.

Last night, at the Wanchoos, he was heard holding forth on the virtues of a mildly bulging avoirdupois in middle-aged males. Apparently it improves their marketability. A bulbous middle, apart from sending re-assuring signals of prosperity, also indicates a lack of self-consciousness and ability to give-in unabashedly to the pleasures of the senses, which prospective females find absolutely irresistible. Men with trim figures and tucked in bellies usually suffer from an obnoxious obsession about their own desirability, which is as insufferable as the synthetic fragility of the 'come-hither but touch-me-not' hour-glass bimbettes.

All in all it's been a busy week. The FNCCI elections over - the celebrations have started to roll. We are missing the big 'sarkari' bash at the Soaltee on Monday - but are looking forward to the "Cheroot' company's felicitation of 'Humro' Ravi (the other one) and not to mention that of the Insurance (among many other things) tycoon. And, the arrival of the high-level Indian government delegation last week has only added to the merry atmosphere. The newspapers have also shifted focus, from the monotonous accounts of rising insurgency or the 'already-lost-interst' stories of in-fighting within the ruling party (in less than 2 weeks of its selection of a new leader), to the country's best loved sport after Football and Teakwondo - bashing the 'high-handedness' of the southerly neighbour. Notwithstanding what our saffron-chaddi clad, thirsty-pie from Bishalnagar / Lainchaur may have to say - a lot of water will flow above (or through) the Raisuwal or Rassiyal (?) barrage before we meet at the next cocktails . We only hope yesterday's effigy burning does not take yet another Roshanic hue.

The syndrome of successors taking their own time to come is - perhaps - also symptomatic of the poor tourist turn-out. The hotels and restaurants continue to run empty. Though, last month one saw - a slight pick-up in the arrivals of western tour groups - the 'desis' are nowhere to be seen. Places like Pokhara - a haven of Indian tourists wear a forlorn desrerted look. One only hopes that, the situation will improve before Dassain. But, if the Home Minister's prognosis at the HMA's 2 days ago is anything to go by - then we are in for tough times ahead. With industry already in a bad shape, if tourism too comes a cropper, then what'll be left of the economy - barring Lord P's blessings ?

'S..' is suffering from a little touch of jealousy at discovering N's hitherto untapped media-savvy instincts. Her unique choice of swim-wear has attracted the maximum number of comments from vistors of the Ghosespot. To chill-out, he is taking off again for magical 'Mumbs' tomorrow (sadly, no chance of a dinner at Trishna on this trip). But, this time around he's made sure to leave only on a Sunday - just to keep the wagging tongues at bay.