Anthony

The flowers you see-periwinkle-are Anthony the cat in bloom. In fact, every plant in the picture has him.

I see you roll your eyes AND the thought cloud-what a nut job…..

Well, that flower pot has Anthony’s ashes in it and thus -it is him in bloom.

Anthony, along with his brother Luke started their journey as my first pets after ages, in 2017. They also started the journey as Annie and Lyla…in the tremendously gender fluid ways cats have. Of course, they soon flowed into being Anthony and Luke.

They were our great joy and happiness and our lives revolved around them. Anthony especially was chatty and among all residents of our home, there were many conversations and discussions-specially between Gumi-the mainstay of our home, and him. However, as they grew, they started spending more and more time outside the house, often not returning for days on end.

Eventually, they left altogether-Lyla-Luke we never saw again. He just did a great job of disappearing, but I know he’s alive somewhere,being a diva.

Anthony, though, we met frequently while walking around the colony. In fact, he came home too, a couple of times, only to leave quickly again after a day or so of pampering. He had found these two households who looked after him and I guess his free spirit found that a better set-up. He always greeted us though and often, other residents found Gumi or me, seeming to be chatting to a boundary wall- till they found Anthony sprawled on it and meowing away.

We knew where he hung out and always kept an eye out for him and ear out for his very distinctive meow. I thought that, in him leaving the house, I had let go, and as long as he was happy, what else mattered. Three years went by.

In the beginning of April 22, Anthony was found with a severely necrosed, maggot-infested wound, which we thought was a result of him fighting. The two other extremely kind families who looked after him, reached out to me as I had a cage and we needed that to get him to the vet. For two weeks or so, we did all we could to get him treated and better-there was a possibility that his front left limb would be amputated-but we were ready to get him back on the other three. Barring one day of extreme inactivity, Anthony seemed to be getting better, eating well, and conversing with us a lot! My child was home and I wanted to get him well.

We had sought a second opinion and found an extremely capable and caring vet, who was extending the best possible care to Anthony. With the help and support of many friends, we were gearing up for this amputation and continued care, when some horrible information was broken to us- Anthony in fact had been a victim of an acid attack and his injuries were far more severe than apparent. He was in very bad shape indeed-but given that he was fighting back, there was a chance that surgery would save him. The other option of euthanizing him was discussed and rejected- as the friend who very kindly came along to the vet said-if there’s any chance he can live, why take that away.

We did ok his surgery but the very next morning, I had to, in fact, take that mind-numbing call -Anthony had gone into shock and his body could not take surgery. We reached him and held him-my daughter, Gumi, Mrs. Dhar who used to feed him, and me- as he was given the injection to relieve him of his agony. When I think of the heinousness of the act that caused his death and seeing him go-I blank out. Yes, I’ve talked about it, complained about it. But it sits within me and always will- that a human being cruelly destroyed something so precious and so harmful.

As I write this, I can somewhere hear his gentle, baby-like meow. I remember the kitty who snuggled on my lap as I had tea, in the evenings. The chatty cat who, with his brother hogged my blankets. Their stretched out naps in summer.

Anthony-a chatty cat, loving gentle soul of purr and fur who I loved. An who loved me back.

Seeing him bloom in my garden gives me a soupcon of happiness. I hope he’s in a better place.

Jayesh Bhai Jordaar

Jayesh Bhai Jordaar deserves a jordaar, jaw dislodging lafa (Gujju speak for thappad) on its banal, insensitive handling of a horrible, cruel, practice and the violence and misogyny women face every day.

They decided to make a film about a cause- female infanticide. They figured they wanted to keep it light…..and ended up trivialising a very serious issue into a nonsensical farce. What started out (not very promisingly) as the struggle of a spineless Jayesh trying to save his wife from a seventh(!) abortion, ended up on the note of the importance of exchanging “pappies”(Hindi speak for kisses) and being polite.

The elders blithely discuss snuffing out life as if it’s a diseased organ. Reminiscent of the worse kind of 80’s cinema, the naaris are either hard as stone or abla as hell-their idea of a support group is to huddle in the night and cry.

The sarpanch’s idea of solving eve-teasing is to blame the fragrance of soap used by women tantalising the men, so the women are no longer permitted to use soap!

The attempts at showing the husband as supportive and modern are thinner than toilet paper. The only time he actually makes sense is when he threatens to cut off the family jewels if his wife is not spared. After 6 abortions, it’s the very least he can do. And yes- frequently, women do ACTUALLY want to cut the family jewels off –get some peace.

There are utterly stupid scenes where Jayesh has to hit his wife because miles away, said wife’s brother is hitting Jayesh’s sister.

A pathetic attempt at messaging is about a village in Haryana with no women and those wrestlers pledging to protect women and give them a safe haven.

And these are just some of the things spectacularly wrong with this drivel. All the attempts at positive messaging fall woefully short.

The only accurate depiction is the woman being hunted to be killed- yes that’s pretty much how it would feel to have your baby aborted. How it feels to be hit. How it feels to be teased.

Really Aditya Chopra? YRF? Ranveer Singh? Boman Irani? Ratna Pathak Shah? This is what you make in this century? No, your messaging is NOT clear. It’s botched up, insensitive, hollow and you have probably caused more damage than good.

Disappointing. Sick.

Me Time

Talking to you was me time.
A break from the frenetic pace.
for me to be me.
To unwind
A space to share.
And care.
For someone other than my cares.
The days I didn’t
Weighed heavy on me.
The days I did,
Were happy indeed
In my heart I made it big
Seeking perhaps an ‘us’.
My head though persistently whispered.
Are you sure?
Have you thought it through?
It’s not him.
He hasn’t said much.
It’s you.
Only you.
I listened the other day.
When I argued away.
And heard . And said.
It’s me.
Only me.
Not you.
Not us.
I hurt.

The return of the Daily (B) Log-29/10/20 Cats

“One cat just leads to another.” – Ernest Hemingway

‘Tis true. Until May 2017, there were very few cats in my life and those there were of the nodding neighborhood acquaintance type. The odd stray ignoring me as it went it’s feline way.

In June 2017, two kittens were adopted to quell the ceaseless clamour for pets from the offspring.Why cats? Coz they were easier to look after among other reasons.

Thus, Annie and Lyla entered our lives- and we discovered only much later that they were Anthony and Luke and for years , we had exhibited great modern thinking and had gender fluid cats.

The cats themselves though had had enough. While we used to let them out regularly and then bring them back by casting the lures of chicken ,they were clearly done with regular baths and the soft life.

Both of them took off in the summer of 2019 to discover the world and no doubt, sow their wild oats. Luke we never saw again but I firmly believe that Lucy, our dog, channels his cake and baked goods loving soul.

Anthony we meet regularly. He also drops by for rest and recuperation after particularly nasty fights. Is cosseted, fed and then he shakes off the maternal fussing and goes off again. If you ever see me ostensibly talking to a wall or a lane or a gate, it’s Anthony and I catching up around the said spaces-he’s not always visible in the shadows but I firmly and largely am.

These two always had friends visiting and lurking in the kitchen balcony and one of them landed up with her brood. 2 gingers and two tabby-gingers. Utter rascals and constant entertainment.

So two led to five in the balcony and many visiting.

As this lot grew up, they left the nest too and went wandering. One of them, while expecting, decided that our ob-gyn was the best and the food not half bad. So three more….

We are now firmly and I think irrevocably the cat crazy family and the ultimate proof is that we are told cat stories, gifted apparel and such embellished with cats and the blame for every cat-as-trophe in the locality can potentially be laid at our door-we like cats, we feed them, we talk to them on the road-ergo-we must have incited them.

The chap you see in the photo is one of the three. His sister broke her leg so didn’t want to leave them at the risk of being hit and shooed. Thus their mum and they reside in one room. With Lucy regularly chasing the mom amidst hissy-spitty scratchy fireworks. With these three kittens, she just tries to play and it’s all rather sweet-except I am the zookeeper of a circus.

These three have discovered the offsprings soft toys as well as the joys of bags, cartons and anything that rustles. Great fun to watch and tiring to tidy up!

In addition to these, I have met cats at my workplaces, during holidays and clearly am being monitored as part of some sort of Cat Scan network…

Why the cat story today? It’s apparently National Cat Day in USA and seemed like a good idea to celebrate it here too. Yes?

Good meowt then.

Hotel Broadway- The Thespian

Can we love a physical space so much that going away from it or losing access to it is like the demise of a loved one? I think we can. I know I did today, when I heard the news that Hotel Broadway, Asaf Ali Road had closed as a result of the Corona virus pandemic.

I started my career 25 years ago with a company called Old World Hospitality-based out of Hotel Broadway and for years 4/15 A, Asaf Ali Road, New Delhi-110002 was registered address and working office . Because for the first year of our training, we worked out of Broadway.And for ever after, I at least, loved it. And will forever, cherish its memories.

I formed an instant affinity to the hotel. As personalities get shaped, this space tucked away in the heat and dust of kind of Old Delhi played a key role in shaping mine-in making me realise what I liked and didn’t.In the lessons of human interactions I learnt there. What I can articulate very firmly now as a liking for all things kitsch, old and fun started here.

A quaint lobby, a really old elevator and the framed posters of Broadway musicals on each lobby landing going up. The offices in the basement were richly panelled in wood and looked regal to a young 22 year old just starting out. The ground floor had the quirky and fun Chor Bizarre and my zany sense of fun absolutely fell in love with the mismatched concept. Till date, to describe similar scenarios I use the tagline for the restaurant- “Nothing matches, everyhing jells.” To say nothing of the Chaat mobile-our 1927 Vintage Fiat which Mr. Khattar apparently drove down Asaf Ali Road from a garage where it was purchased before it became our “Gaadi”. “Gaadi laga do” is what was said when the chaat had to be laid out on it. We had little brass replicas in which saunf-supari were served after the meal- our “Supari-mobiles”. Guests could buy these and I did too, though not a guest.We played old Hindi film music and that was the icing on the cake for me. A description of CB as we called it, needs an entire blog of its own, but many of you reading this know what I mean when I say it was one of a kind and beautiful with a sense of humour.

“Thugs-The Pub-Not The People” on the first floor was as much fun with the villains of Hollywood and Bollywood looking menacingly at drinkers as they ordered from the funnily written menu- “chote mote chor ucchake”were peanuts and wafers. Right next to it was a Banquet hall-where I remember many many “wazwan”-traditional Kashmiri sit down meals being served.

The main kitchen opened into an exciting lane and it was here that I saw my first t-shirt clad goat-chewing benignly on the rope it was tied with. I was told a complete whopper that our meat supply order is shouted through the door and completed switftly by owner of one such goat. I think I even believed it then!

This verbal tour of Broadway is a bit up-down as I will now take you straight to the terrace, where laundry was done in traditional ways, using several large vats of water-houdis and then drying right there. It also had the lady running the laundry presiding benignly over proceedings and at stray management trainees who landed up there. One could see scores of pigeons doing their flying number in flocks. Eventually, it also housed an updated air-conditioning unit.

The first floor housed our miniscule bakery but the artist running it made the most delectable chocolate truffle cakes ever and so many during festivals, that in hind-sight I know he did have a magic wand. And I am not exaggerating about the deliciousness-ask anyone who ate them.

I had my first taste of Kasmiri food here. The joy of goshtaba and rice with tamatar pyaaz ki chutney are unmatchable. Our menu in Chor Bizarre was also imaginatively named and Sharabi Kababi Tikka Masala -flamed with brandy will remain integral to the taste buds and the flashback of life.We used to urge friends and family to dine here and then pre-decide the entire meal for them, because hello-we knew best!

It is thanks to Broadway that I got to know and then show people Chandni Chowk and Old Delhi. Always ahead of the times, these first heritage walks of the old city were curated and started by us- as in Old World as far back as 1995. These walks took people through the lanes and monuments of Old Delhi and then culminated at Chor Bizarre for a meal. I loved every bit of doing the walks and infact now conduct them on my own. But my learning ground was the hotel and I have gone there often over the past few years, even after I was no longer an employee.

To realise that I can no longer walk in there is heartbreaking for me. A personal loss.

Hotel Broadway is 64 years old. I have known it for 25. Multifaceted, a true thespian, it has rolled with the changes and given it’s best performances with dignity and elan. Awash with Old World charm (yes, that where it started) and courtesies and young vibrant energies. A versatile space of options.

A hotel where generations of eminent families stayed and generations of the same family also worked.

A hotel of many firsts- Chor Bizarre -iconic restaurant with a car in it, Thugs-The Pub first serving draught beer, India’s First ISO 9002 Hotel . I still have with me a front page advertisment which was published when we got the ISO. Every single employee’s name was on it and we all got a medal for achieving the certification too.

My thoughts have rambled a bit as they flowed on to the page. I have shed tears and like me, every person who knew Broadway, is mourning.

Reincarnations happen in films but encores are real and I fervently hope that after a pause, the show will go on for Hotel Broadway.

Until then and always-thank you for starting off my journey in life.

The Daily (B) Log-19/10/20-Fixtures in a house are exactly like a workforce

I have this little quirk that I never get all malfunctioning fixtures in my house repaired. Because that utopian situation never lasts. One chap or the other is ALWAYS out of order.

The most recent example-yesterday, the electrician fixed the geyser and the lights in the kitchen. So for about 5 minutes, everything electrical was working…. not, admittedly at their optimum ( one fan either goes supersonic or snail…. regulator knows only two speeds, bunked the other classes).

This morning, the door bell stopped working. QED.

I of course, will not let taps drip. But just as one drippy fellow was fixed, his pal in the kitchen decided he needed attention. And when ALL these buggers work, what do you know-the plumbing of an entire bathroom needs changing!

As for handles-the ones on the chests of drawers came off so often, I’ve just put in braided rope through the holes and tied it. Simpler and cheaper than the carpenter, who charges an arm and a leg (almost saws them off) and the moment he leaves, a hitherto immovable handle falls apart like Meena Kumari.

Like a workforce. Everyone operates at different speeds, some just languish and one or two people are always on leave.

It still chugs along. So, I guess, will my makaan. Though I think very fondly of tents..