I strongly recommend watching 'Taken'. Liam Neeson is quite a ruthless badass and the action is gripping and tight. The movie takes its time to build his character and there's a warm feeling that one is left with at the end of the movie.
*The following might spoil the movie for you, though it's not really much of a thriller*
There are points in the movie when one feels for Neeson. Without blaming his ex-wife, there's the undercurrent that he is hard done by. Evident is his desperation to build some sort of a relationship with his daughter by quitting his job and an attempt to make up for the times lost as a secret-killer-agent-spy-something for his country. One can't help but wonder - Why did his ex-wife leave this amazing guy? I wish they had worked it out.
His daughter visits Paris with a dumb friend and they are abducted by a prostitution gang. Once his daughter is kidnapped, he goes on this one-man hunt across Paris resulting in carnage (which is awesome). During this tearing-down-Paris action, one is awed by what he is doing for his daughter. He is the one putting his life on line facing the bullets and daggers while his ex-wife and her current husband are simply lying around in America moping - Such thoughts flitter before we get caught up in the action again.
When he does find his daughter, is he going to tell her everything that he went through to get her back? He should! Is she going to see the movie that we have seen with her dad being the star? The answer is no. She is not even going to have an idea about the movie. He is not going to mention anything. Not the multiple bullet-dagger wounds or his injured leg or his chase for the past 96 hours. When she exclaims in tears on being saved - 'You came for me', all he does is look straight which says - 'but of course dear. Was there even a choice! Are you alright? '
Do our parents and everyone that loves us ever mention everything that they have done for us? Am I ever going to fully realize the effort and sacrifices that they made for me which I seem to have taken for granted? The nights unslept, the mind preoccupied, the effort undertaken, the care given...
If any of our parents had the skills of Neelson, would they have even given it a second thought to do the same as he did? No. They wouldn't have. They are the stars of their own movie. I wish I could watch it.
The movie ends with Neeson trying to fulfill his daughter's ambition of being a singer and the happiness on his face on just watching it happen. That's all he wants. That's all he needs.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Servitude
A friend told me about the book 'India Calling'. The reviews intrigued me and hopefully I will be able to read it soon.
The reviews I read are here and here.
The book says
For centuries, he argues, Indians had been born understanding their precise place. They knew who was master and who was servant, fixedly.
Also, not only situationally inferior, but someone who is eternally, intrinsically inferior.
The last statement is so evident at places.
This inherent servitude and snobbery is confounding and, at times, amusing.
Especially among some people who seem to have a very wealthy background living in the richest parts of Mumbai, I am amazed at the their desire to create and be a part of the 51st state of the United States. Judging people by how much money they have or their language of communication or place of origin.
It's quite hilarious to see how their self-esteem goes for a toss as soon as they meet someone from 'America'. Their effort to portray that they are almost like them, except only grown up in India is commendable. How they watch the same TV shows, same movies, speak the same language with its abuses and how many people they know of who live there. Because of course, since they have grown up in India, their life hasn't been that cool and they all vie for the American Pie-Harold and Kumar experience which they couldn't have being on the other side of the planet. They only need more money and a BMW and a suburban-house-with-garden/penthouse-in-LA to be worthy of society. Even then, they are hard done by the color of their skin and hence are always at a disadvantage with the ladies.
If only they were American! *Sigh*
The reviews I read are here and here.
The book says
For centuries, he argues, Indians had been born understanding their precise place. They knew who was master and who was servant, fixedly.
Also, not only situationally inferior, but someone who is eternally, intrinsically inferior.
The last statement is so evident at places.
This inherent servitude and snobbery is confounding and, at times, amusing.
Especially among some people who seem to have a very wealthy background living in the richest parts of Mumbai, I am amazed at the their desire to create and be a part of the 51st state of the United States. Judging people by how much money they have or their language of communication or place of origin.
It's quite hilarious to see how their self-esteem goes for a toss as soon as they meet someone from 'America'. Their effort to portray that they are almost like them, except only grown up in India is commendable. How they watch the same TV shows, same movies, speak the same language with its abuses and how many people they know of who live there. Because of course, since they have grown up in India, their life hasn't been that cool and they all vie for the American Pie-Harold and Kumar experience which they couldn't have being on the other side of the planet. They only need more money and a BMW and a suburban-house-with-garden/penthouse-in-LA to be worthy of society. Even then, they are hard done by the color of their skin and hence are always at a disadvantage with the ladies.
If only they were American! *Sigh*
Monday, January 10, 2011
Food for rumination
My friends have been kind enough to introduce me to these quotes which, unlike most others, strike a note somewhere within me.
If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us walk together.
- Lila Watson
Yesterday, I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me,
Because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”
And so I shambled after.
- Jean-Louis “Jack” Kerouac
If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us walk together.
- Lila Watson
Yesterday, I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me,
Because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”
And so I shambled after.
- Jean-Louis “Jack” Kerouac
Visiting a Teach for India classroom
After being selected for Teach for India (TFI), I received an email from a current TFI fellow, Pukhraj Ranjan, inviting me to visit and observe her class, her school, her day. So I took up this chance as soon as I returned to Bombay.
Visiting Pukhraj's class was a great experience. The school is about 5 minutes walk from Dadar station. Situated on the 2nd floor of a building housing 2 other marathi and gujrati medium schools, the chitter-chatter and bustling of kids was palpable before one entered the building. The The school principal was very warm and friendly while I waited for Pukhraj.
Meeting Pukhraj's class and watching her teach was immense fun. After I was introduced, I was a little self-conscious sitting at the last bench, but it disappeared with time as I was completely ignored as the teaching began. :P The children were adsorbed in the teachings, however, that did not stop them from sneaking furtive glances at me and each other. I was asked my name in hushed voices by kids around me as soon as they found Pukhraj not paying attention to them. Contrary to my expectations, all the students were very well-behaved and could understand English well. Of course, there was the usual cross-talk and the nudging and the day-dreaming.
The first class was on English. I was keenly paying attention to the teaching methodologies used throughout the class. It was a real learning on class management.
The second class was math. Both the classes were an hour long. At the end of the math class, I helped explain and reinforce the concept of perimeter to a small group of students in the class. I loved it. The kids were awesome. We drew various shapes on a slate and figured out their perimeter. Then we all high-fived and sniggered at the shapes given for the homework because we had just done those shapes. Now it was time for lunch break. All the kids took out their tiffins and seeing the delicious home-cooked food made me realize how hungry I was. I was also surprised about why I had never appreciated my tiffin during childhood.
During the break, I got a chance to meet 3 other TFI fellows. They were all fun, eclectic and interesting. Neha, a graduate from NYU, had her birthday that day so there was a huge cake for her (which was delicious!). There are 2 more classes in that school managed by TFI fellows. Class I is co-taught by Neha and Dhanya and class III is taught by Prabhu. I was warmly invited to see their classes as well, something which I intend to do in the coming weeks.
Visiting Pukhraj's class was a great experience. The school is about 5 minutes walk from Dadar station. Situated on the 2nd floor of a building housing 2 other marathi and gujrati medium schools, the chitter-chatter and bustling of kids was palpable before one entered the building. The The school principal was very warm and friendly while I waited for Pukhraj.
Meeting Pukhraj's class and watching her teach was immense fun. After I was introduced, I was a little self-conscious sitting at the last bench, but it disappeared with time as I was completely ignored as the teaching began. :P The children were adsorbed in the teachings, however, that did not stop them from sneaking furtive glances at me and each other. I was asked my name in hushed voices by kids around me as soon as they found Pukhraj not paying attention to them. Contrary to my expectations, all the students were very well-behaved and could understand English well. Of course, there was the usual cross-talk and the nudging and the day-dreaming.
The first class was on English. I was keenly paying attention to the teaching methodologies used throughout the class. It was a real learning on class management.
The second class was math. Both the classes were an hour long. At the end of the math class, I helped explain and reinforce the concept of perimeter to a small group of students in the class. I loved it. The kids were awesome. We drew various shapes on a slate and figured out their perimeter. Then we all high-fived and sniggered at the shapes given for the homework because we had just done those shapes. Now it was time for lunch break. All the kids took out their tiffins and seeing the delicious home-cooked food made me realize how hungry I was. I was also surprised about why I had never appreciated my tiffin during childhood.
During the break, I got a chance to meet 3 other TFI fellows. They were all fun, eclectic and interesting. Neha, a graduate from NYU, had her birthday that day so there was a huge cake for her (which was delicious!). There are 2 more classes in that school managed by TFI fellows. Class I is co-taught by Neha and Dhanya and class III is taught by Prabhu. I was warmly invited to see their classes as well, something which I intend to do in the coming weeks.
Magic Carpet Ride
All I wish is that you remember the times that we spent together for what they were. The excitement of attraction, conversation and exploration. They were some of the best times of my life. I hope they were good for you too. I never intended to be a hindrance and now, as you embark on your journey to seek what you want, I wish you best.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Getting lucky in New York City
I was towards the end of my exchange semester at Rice University in USA. I had seen nothing of the US until then besides Houston. So I decided to take a week’s trip to the ‘big apple’ or New York City, as more commonly known. I was super-excited. NYC baby! Hellz Yeah! Times Square, Broadways, Empire state building, central park, tall buildings – here I come.
I was staying with a friend of mine who had an apartment in Jersey City, right across the Hudson river, so it was at least an hour’s journey to his place. I landed at La Guardia airport on the 1st of May. As soon as I landed, I took my brand-new, bought-in-usa camera out of my backpack, ready to click pictures as soon as I came out of the airport. However, my excitement took a bit of a hit when I saw the city outside the airport. It wasn’t anything like I had dreamed of. ‘Chill. Just wait for sometime. Airports are on the outskirts’ - was what I told myself and slung my camera on my left shoulder instead of putting it in the backpack. I bought a week’s worth of unlimited metro card and boarded the m60 bus towards Manhattan.
The bus journey was uneventful. I kept my eyes wide open scanning the view in search of the America that I had imagined. I got nothing. I got of at the subway stop and reached the turnstile across which I had to take my subway. Obviously, you have to swipe your pass at the turnstile to cross through which I did. The sign indicated – ‘Swipe Again’. Alright. I did. Same sign. Same action. This continued for about 10 minutes. I tried all kinds of speeds possible. Superfast, excruciatingly slow, casual medium pace, the hurried New Yorker swipe, the cautious touristy one, the desperate traveller swipe – nothing worked. Besides me, there was a guy simply standing and watching me. He did not speak much English (not at all uncommon in NYC). He was indicating me ways to swipe a card, but nothing helped.
I was getting frustrated. So I went to the lady at the ticket-counter. She took my card, tested it and then asked me to swipe it at the machine in front of her. I did. Didn’t work. She gave me a hard look and said dismissively – ‘if you gonna swipe it like that, then I can’t help you’. My expression was ‘WTF – it is such a pleasure to meet helpful, polite people like you’. I tried a couple of times more and then walked dejectedly back to the turnstile. Right across that stupid machine was the subway that I had to take. I gave it a couple of final swipes and then said – fuck it.
If I am from any city in the world, it is Delhi and I take a significant bit of my ideology from it – the city that makes you street-smart like possibly no other. I had been a good Samaritan until now, but now it was time for ‘jugaad’ – the undefeatable motivation to find a solution to any problem in the world, usually by slight bending of the rules.
So I took of my backpack, pushed it across under the turnstile and then crouched down and voila – I was through. I did not stop to look around and hurried through with my backpack, just in case someone had been watching. Cool as a cucumber, I reached the platform, took the subway that I wanted, put my backpack down and relaxed. This was to be extremely short-lived though. The doors were closing and I subconsciously patted my left ribcage area to make sure that my camera was there. I hit empty air. Alarm! Pat myself all over. Not there. Holy shit! Check backpack, just to make sure. Not there.
Panic! Catastrophe! Where is my new awesome camera? Had I just lost it within 2 hours of arriving in NYC. I started sweating all over. I had no idea what to do. At the back of my mind, there was also the thought of being in NYC for a week and not having a camera. The idea was hideous.
The only solution that presented itself was, get down at the next stop and take the next train back. The ride until the next stop was the longest ever. I mean, literally the longest over. Took like an eternity to reach the next stop. It was spent pondering over all the possible locations where I could have possibly left my camera and cursing myself. I rushed out at the next stop and went to the ticket counter. There was a cop also inside. I asked the cop that I had lost my camera at the previous stop and please call them and ask them to look for it and see if they can find it. The cop listened to me and then said something to the woman behind the counter. She started writing something. I thought, this was USA, things happen instantaneously here after you approach the police. He would call up his buddies near the previous station, they would swarm the station and look for an unidentified camera and find it in all probability. Hollywood dreams went crashing down after the woman handed me a note with the number of the lost & found. She said - 'If anyone found the camera and returned it, this is where I would find it'. Wow! That is really great. Everyone is so helpful here. After someone finds my camera, and knows where to return it and then decides to return it, then I can call up and find it. Awesome! Can you not just call up the ticket counter there? There was no network inside the station, so I found a payphone on the platform. It’s coin slot was blocked. Really NYC. What a welcome. While I was banging on this phone, the train going back arrived. I got on it, hoping against hope that I had left it at the ticket counter and the ticket-lady had kept it with her. I was reaching back in like 20-25 minutes.
I rushed out of the train like there was no tomorrow and ran to the ticket counter. Panting, I told the lady that I might have left the camera here and did you see anything. She gave me her usual stare that makes Dementors feel like charming little ingénues - ‘Do you see anything in here. I am in here. So I only know what’s in here. Outside, I don’t know what’s outside.’ I had heard about the lack of hospitality from new Yorkers but she took bitchiness to a completely new level. I was so mad at her, I wished she could see which finger I was mentally pointing at her.
I was dejected and about to cry. I felt lost. I did not know whether to go to my friend’s place or stay here at the station and cry until some fairy angel comes to return me my camera. I walked back to the damn turnstiles. There I saw the same person still standing there as I remembered him last. Besides the turnstiles, simply looking at the crowd. I walked up to him and asked if he had seen my camera somewhere. I might have dropped it here. He heard me for 3 seconds. Then he lifted the jacket that he was carrying on his arm and lo and behold – underneath it was ‘my precious’. My camera was right there in front of me – untouched and prettier than ever before. He gave it to me and I checked the contents. All there!!! I felt cold water washing over me. This did not just happen. But it did. He pointed that I had dropped it when I had pushed my backpack beneath it. I had dropped my expensive camera on a New York subway station with hundreds of people going through every minute, rushed back around 25-30 minutes later with all hope lost and found a person standing there waiting (it seemed like it) to hand me my camera back.
Thereafter, one guy besides me said that my savior wanted to go across the turnstiles. He did not have the ticket to do that. I had the unlimited pass so I said ‘of course’ and I swiped him through (in one try!). After swiping once, I cannot swipe until 15-20 minutes. So did I wait for that long? Hell no! The delhi-ite in me refuses to accept such rules. I just pushed my backpack across again and keeping my camera safely tucked with me, I simply crouched through the turnstiles for the second time in 30 minutes in NYC.
(Sorry to disappoint if you had different expectations from the story after reading the title :))
I was staying with a friend of mine who had an apartment in Jersey City, right across the Hudson river, so it was at least an hour’s journey to his place. I landed at La Guardia airport on the 1st of May. As soon as I landed, I took my brand-new, bought-in-usa camera out of my backpack, ready to click pictures as soon as I came out of the airport. However, my excitement took a bit of a hit when I saw the city outside the airport. It wasn’t anything like I had dreamed of. ‘Chill. Just wait for sometime. Airports are on the outskirts’ - was what I told myself and slung my camera on my left shoulder instead of putting it in the backpack. I bought a week’s worth of unlimited metro card and boarded the m60 bus towards Manhattan.
The bus journey was uneventful. I kept my eyes wide open scanning the view in search of the America that I had imagined. I got nothing. I got of at the subway stop and reached the turnstile across which I had to take my subway. Obviously, you have to swipe your pass at the turnstile to cross through which I did. The sign indicated – ‘Swipe Again’. Alright. I did. Same sign. Same action. This continued for about 10 minutes. I tried all kinds of speeds possible. Superfast, excruciatingly slow, casual medium pace, the hurried New Yorker swipe, the cautious touristy one, the desperate traveller swipe – nothing worked. Besides me, there was a guy simply standing and watching me. He did not speak much English (not at all uncommon in NYC). He was indicating me ways to swipe a card, but nothing helped.
I was getting frustrated. So I went to the lady at the ticket-counter. She took my card, tested it and then asked me to swipe it at the machine in front of her. I did. Didn’t work. She gave me a hard look and said dismissively – ‘if you gonna swipe it like that, then I can’t help you’. My expression was ‘WTF – it is such a pleasure to meet helpful, polite people like you’. I tried a couple of times more and then walked dejectedly back to the turnstile. Right across that stupid machine was the subway that I had to take. I gave it a couple of final swipes and then said – fuck it.
If I am from any city in the world, it is Delhi and I take a significant bit of my ideology from it – the city that makes you street-smart like possibly no other. I had been a good Samaritan until now, but now it was time for ‘jugaad’ – the undefeatable motivation to find a solution to any problem in the world, usually by slight bending of the rules.
So I took of my backpack, pushed it across under the turnstile and then crouched down and voila – I was through. I did not stop to look around and hurried through with my backpack, just in case someone had been watching. Cool as a cucumber, I reached the platform, took the subway that I wanted, put my backpack down and relaxed. This was to be extremely short-lived though. The doors were closing and I subconsciously patted my left ribcage area to make sure that my camera was there. I hit empty air. Alarm! Pat myself all over. Not there. Holy shit! Check backpack, just to make sure. Not there.
Panic! Catastrophe! Where is my new awesome camera? Had I just lost it within 2 hours of arriving in NYC. I started sweating all over. I had no idea what to do. At the back of my mind, there was also the thought of being in NYC for a week and not having a camera. The idea was hideous.
The only solution that presented itself was, get down at the next stop and take the next train back. The ride until the next stop was the longest ever. I mean, literally the longest over. Took like an eternity to reach the next stop. It was spent pondering over all the possible locations where I could have possibly left my camera and cursing myself. I rushed out at the next stop and went to the ticket counter. There was a cop also inside. I asked the cop that I had lost my camera at the previous stop and please call them and ask them to look for it and see if they can find it. The cop listened to me and then said something to the woman behind the counter. She started writing something. I thought, this was USA, things happen instantaneously here after you approach the police. He would call up his buddies near the previous station, they would swarm the station and look for an unidentified camera and find it in all probability. Hollywood dreams went crashing down after the woman handed me a note with the number of the lost & found. She said - 'If anyone found the camera and returned it, this is where I would find it'. Wow! That is really great. Everyone is so helpful here. After someone finds my camera, and knows where to return it and then decides to return it, then I can call up and find it. Awesome! Can you not just call up the ticket counter there? There was no network inside the station, so I found a payphone on the platform. It’s coin slot was blocked. Really NYC. What a welcome. While I was banging on this phone, the train going back arrived. I got on it, hoping against hope that I had left it at the ticket counter and the ticket-lady had kept it with her. I was reaching back in like 20-25 minutes.
I rushed out of the train like there was no tomorrow and ran to the ticket counter. Panting, I told the lady that I might have left the camera here and did you see anything. She gave me her usual stare that makes Dementors feel like charming little ingénues - ‘Do you see anything in here. I am in here. So I only know what’s in here. Outside, I don’t know what’s outside.’ I had heard about the lack of hospitality from new Yorkers but she took bitchiness to a completely new level. I was so mad at her, I wished she could see which finger I was mentally pointing at her.
I was dejected and about to cry. I felt lost. I did not know whether to go to my friend’s place or stay here at the station and cry until some fairy angel comes to return me my camera. I walked back to the damn turnstiles. There I saw the same person still standing there as I remembered him last. Besides the turnstiles, simply looking at the crowd. I walked up to him and asked if he had seen my camera somewhere. I might have dropped it here. He heard me for 3 seconds. Then he lifted the jacket that he was carrying on his arm and lo and behold – underneath it was ‘my precious’. My camera was right there in front of me – untouched and prettier than ever before. He gave it to me and I checked the contents. All there!!! I felt cold water washing over me. This did not just happen. But it did. He pointed that I had dropped it when I had pushed my backpack beneath it. I had dropped my expensive camera on a New York subway station with hundreds of people going through every minute, rushed back around 25-30 minutes later with all hope lost and found a person standing there waiting (it seemed like it) to hand me my camera back.
Thereafter, one guy besides me said that my savior wanted to go across the turnstiles. He did not have the ticket to do that. I had the unlimited pass so I said ‘of course’ and I swiped him through (in one try!). After swiping once, I cannot swipe until 15-20 minutes. So did I wait for that long? Hell no! The delhi-ite in me refuses to accept such rules. I just pushed my backpack across again and keeping my camera safely tucked with me, I simply crouched through the turnstiles for the second time in 30 minutes in NYC.
(Sorry to disappoint if you had different expectations from the story after reading the title :))
Thursday, November 19, 2009
DDLJ at Maratha Mandir
Well, this is another one that was on my wishlist for quite some time.
This Sunday, Neha and I saw Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge at Maratha Mandir. Yes, the same cinema that has been showing the movie for the past 14-15 years.
I so wanted to see DDLJ on the big screen as I had missed out on it when I was young, and I really love the movie. So this Sunday, we landed at central station with that sole purpose. Both of us were a little excited and filled with that feeling you get when you are doing something that you really hadn't imagined yourself doing. We thought, the hall would be empty with us laughing and enjoying the sheer experience of this adventure.
Lo and behold, Imagine our surprise when we entered the gates of the cinema to find that it was HOUSEFULL!!! Years after the release of the movie, with the balcony rates reduced to Rs.25, DDLJ with its tagline of "Come, fall in love..." still goes housefull on a Sunday morning. So we did something (again) that we had never thought ourselves doing. We bought tickets in BLACK! For only Rs.30. Life never ceases to amaze you, does it.
The balcony was full, as expected, with a less-than-IIT ratio of girls to boys. The movie was, to say the least, entertaining. We were mouthing almost all the dialogues along with rest of the crowd. The cheering and whistling at some points was incredible, especially the legendary train scene. It was so much better than the crappy wannabe-Hollywood-cool movies that have no heart and originality that one gets to see these days.
After the movie, we decided to go and see the Chor Bazaar. The reason being that we haven't been there before. It is something. Not very unlike Chor Bazaars at other places in India, it still has a distinctive feel that I haven't been able to point my finger at. Probably the whole village feel and classic 'mela' style shops. Predominantly Muslim area, we came across a big and beautiful marble mosque which surprisingly we had never heard or seen before. It was grand enough to deserve a mention at least somewhere among places worth seeing in Mumbai.
The day ended like a typical day in Mumbai does. Journey back in a local. A day well spent (right before endsems).
This Sunday, Neha and I saw Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge at Maratha Mandir. Yes, the same cinema that has been showing the movie for the past 14-15 years.
I so wanted to see DDLJ on the big screen as I had missed out on it when I was young, and I really love the movie. So this Sunday, we landed at central station with that sole purpose. Both of us were a little excited and filled with that feeling you get when you are doing something that you really hadn't imagined yourself doing. We thought, the hall would be empty with us laughing and enjoying the sheer experience of this adventure.
Lo and behold, Imagine our surprise when we entered the gates of the cinema to find that it was HOUSEFULL!!! Years after the release of the movie, with the balcony rates reduced to Rs.25, DDLJ with its tagline of "Come, fall in love..." still goes housefull on a Sunday morning. So we did something (again) that we had never thought ourselves doing. We bought tickets in BLACK! For only Rs.30. Life never ceases to amaze you, does it.
The balcony was full, as expected, with a less-than-IIT ratio of girls to boys. The movie was, to say the least, entertaining. We were mouthing almost all the dialogues along with rest of the crowd. The cheering and whistling at some points was incredible, especially the legendary train scene. It was so much better than the crappy wannabe-Hollywood-cool movies that have no heart and originality that one gets to see these days.
After the movie, we decided to go and see the Chor Bazaar. The reason being that we haven't been there before. It is something. Not very unlike Chor Bazaars at other places in India, it still has a distinctive feel that I haven't been able to point my finger at. Probably the whole village feel and classic 'mela' style shops. Predominantly Muslim area, we came across a big and beautiful marble mosque which surprisingly we had never heard or seen before. It was grand enough to deserve a mention at least somewhere among places worth seeing in Mumbai.
The day ended like a typical day in Mumbai does. Journey back in a local. A day well spent (right before endsems).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)