Category: India
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The Story Belongs to All
In search of distraction from my low mood, and the month of foul headlines that created it, I turn to the library of familiar books recently arrived to the shelves of our Mumbai flat. Narratives on writing by V.S. Naipaul catch my eye. The author’s self-indulgence aside, he shares my way of thinking when it comes to…
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Ozymandias and the Alter Ego
Dunking Ganpati into the sea is all about dissolution (more). Even so, witnessing his mortal remains embedded in the mud tonight brought to mind the enormous ego of past Lords: ‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck,…
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Ganpati Visarjan
Toward sunset ahead of a near-full moon, the tide far out on the Arabian Sea, Ganpati marches shoreward. Carried through the streets on trucks surrounded by throbbing drums, hoisted at the beachhead on a multitude of shoulders, carted across the sand to the edge, then towed, bobbing on the waves, by Zodiac. Ganpati topples into…
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Cricket
Travels around India don’t have to include the Taj Mahal, the Gateway of India, or a dip in the Ganges to be special. Our four-day journey to Karnataka state included stops at Chamundi Hills, the ancestral village for which my father-in-law takes his name—Kuppahalli, and half a click from where we stayed, the Mysore Palace.…
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Lord Ganesh
Last week I wrote up the drums. The drums have been overtaken by Lord Ganesha himself. Today, his birthday, idols in his likeness march home through the streets. Ganesh was getting ready for months, built from the inside out by laborers and artisans, men who craft and carve by eye, trained through the bloodlines, directing…
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The Elephants’ Thunder
Every night I hear the drums. Out there, on the fairgrounds in the dark, the big drums throb and the high snares crackle. Two weeks from now Ganesh will march the streets, Gunpatti’s thunderous procession to the sea shaking the city’s windows and doors. Hordes will carry idols of the elephant deity in waves across…
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Twinkle for Gents—A Close Shave
I ask around about haircuts. Authoritative Mumbai sources say: Twinkle for Gents. Five weeks into our stay, haircuts are essential. But am I to test Twinkle for Gents? I take a 2 and 3 across the sides and top. My sons buzz down to 4 and 5. Not haircuts, so much as a few quick strokes…
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Another One Bites the Dust
All in one Mumbai day we enjoyed these musical interludes. At Malabar Hill we toured the Hanging Garden (The Cure, Pornography, 1982). It doesn’t hang so much as stand upon a series of reservoirs that hold—depending on who you ask—30 or 90 or 300 million gallons of water. The garden’s benches and clocks and topiary fill the paths,…
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Mumbai Physics
I could be anywhere. Low in this cab the wall of traffic rises above and around me, looks the same and moves the same as it would in any other part of the city, dense and fixed. Rickshaws motorcycles Eicher lorries Uber sedans Suzuki Marutis Hyundais busses—including double decker busses—mopeds bicycles pedestrians vendors traffic cops…
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The Sunday Straphanger
We hopped a train at Bandra Junction toward the old Victoria Station, now called Shivaji Terminus, ten stops away. The tidy compartment carried just a handful of passengers scattered about on a few padded benches. Overhead the silver handles shook as the train departed. I offered the window seat to my boys. Turns out it…
Ben East Books 