Mayank Chhaya Daily

#Apple ko bhi #VadaPav khana padta hai

Apple CEO Tim Cooke with Madhuri Dixit-Nene (Photo: @tim_cook)

Seeing a picture of Apple CEO Tim Cook eat a Vada Pav with Madhuri Dixit I was reminded of what I used to say in the 1980s during my stint in Bombay. As long as they come with potatoes, I can even eat rocks. The world's three most versatile food ingredients are Besan, potatoes and salt. 

As a young journalist (I began my career in Bombay as a barely 21-year-old) walking the streets of the city in a manner of speaking, I discovered Vada Pav without trying. It is ubiquitous. The very first bite into it sometime in early 1982 on Dalal Street where the Free Press Journal office used to be and I was hooked for life. I ate one and then immediately ate another. Since then I have a rule about Vada Pav. I never eat one. It has to be two. 

I am a Vada Pav purist. It must not contain anything other a Vada and red lasun (garlic and paprika) powder pressed between a pav. Anything else, including a green chutney, is sacrilege to me. These days they stuff everything with in Vada Pav, including shredded cheese. Yuck! Someday soon they may even shove in Laddoos, Mohan Thals and Shrikhand.

There is no chance that the Apple billionaire (Cook's worth is said to be $1.8 billion) knows or would have been told by Madhuri that what he ate is completely working class food of hundreds of thousands of Mumbai inhabitants who often survive on that as their daily food staple. During my life in the 1980s a Vada Pav used to cost anywhere between a buck and a buck and a half. I remember eating a few times for 50 paise a Vada Pav. I do not know what it costs now but whatever it may cost I am reasonably certain that both Cook and Dixit-Nene can afford it without breaking their banks. 

I noticed that the two ate at Swati, which began its operations in my hometown of Ahmedabad originally and became a rage because of its excellent quality food cooked with high hygiene standards.  That said, eating at Swati does not count as an authentic Mumbai street Vada Pav experience. Of course, I cannot imagine Tim Cook standing at Ashok Vada Pav in Dadar and wolfing down. 

Vada Pav is remarkable food by any measure. It embodies the Mumbai street unlike any other food with the possible exception of the Bombay Sandwich, which too, incidentally, I have to eat two at a time. No matter what anyone says I cannot accept claims that Mumbai street quality Vada Pavs can be made at home. So please stop trying. 

So distinct and yet so disintegrative

 

What I like about charcoal as a medium for art is that it is at once so distinct and yet so disintegrative. One gets the feeling that the mere act of looking at it would make it fade. In the last couple of days I have produced so 15 charcoal drawings which I find very hard to store. Stacking them up runs the risk of smudging beyond recognition. Perhaps the best option is to print their copies on some archival paper.

This morning I picked up a broken charcoal stick and drew this minimalist scene. For now it is my favorite because it engenders a feeling of serene solitude in me coupled with the portentous sense that I might disintegrate any moment. 

Immediately after this four strokes piece, I wrote the following:

लगता है बिखर जाऊंगा किसी भी पल

खंड खंड कणों में

फिर कभी न जुड़ पाउँगा

उस रूप में

जो मैं कभी था

--मयंक छाया

I feel as if I will disintegrate any moment

Into broken specks

Never to reassemble 

In the form

That I once was

--MC

'May we build a unique bungalow one day, Where the whole extended family can stay'

Kundan Lal Saigal in ‘The President’ (1937)

Today happens to be the 119th birth anniversary of the iconic Indian actor and singer Kundan Lal Saigal better known as K L Saigal, regarded as the first superstar of Hindi cinema (April 11, 1904--January 18, 1947). 

I reup a piece I had written on March 5, 2017 in a different context but does indeed refer to him.

An 80-year-old song started playing in my mind yesterday for no recognizable reason. It is almost as if it had escaped from a subterranean level of my memory where it resided along with a countless number of other memories. The song was ‘Ek Bangla Bane Nyara’, one of the most enduring compositions from the nascent days of Hindi cinema. It was composed by Rai Chand Boral better known as to R.C. Boral. Some links also attribute Pankaj Mullick as the other composer. I have not been able to find the song writer’s name.

2017 marks the 80th anniversary of the movie that was made in the shadow of a great political tumult building up over India’s campaign for freedom, which was still a decade away. I mention this for a couple of reasons—one is the theme of the film and the other the aspiration of the song. At a time like that, the film’s female protagonist Prabhavati (Kamlesh Kumari) was cast as the owner of a proprietor of a textile mill which she inherits after her parents’ death. The idea of a young woman inheriting and running any business, let alone a cotton textile mill, was quite remarkable for the time.

The other more intimate aspect was the song’s aspirations. K.L. Saigal, playing Prakash, is a machinist in the mill who recognizes many defaults in its equipment. He gets fired by Prabhavati for pointing out the defective machinery  but is reinstated by her after it indeed begins to fail. What struck me was the conversation about his job description before he breaks into this iconic song. On reinstatement his salary goes up to 400 rupees a month. He then points out singing that even though he did not work the previous month he got paid. His family is thrilled to hear the news and begins to entertain visions of owning the mill some day. That’s when Saigal, one of India’s greatest singing stars, breaks into the famous song:

एक बंगला बने न्यारा

रहे कुनबा इस में सारा

सोने का बंगला

चंदन का जंगला

विश्वकर्मा के द्वारा

अती सुन्दर और प्यारा

एक बंगला बने न्यारा

रहे कुनबा इस में सारा

(Ek bangla bane nyara
Rahe kunba jis mein sara

Sone kaa bangla,
Chadan ka jangla
Vishvakarma ke dwara
Aati sundar pyara pyara

Ek bangla bane nyara
Rahe kunba jis mein sara)

May we build a unique bungalow one day

Where the whole extended family can stay

A bungalow made of gold

In a jungle of sandalwood

Built by Vishwakarma himself (Vishwakarma is the divine craftsman)

Exceptionally beautiful and lovely

May we build a unique bungalow one day

Where the whole extended family can stay

The song goes on to talk about the bungalow being so high in the sky that it becomes like a star perched on whose top of you can watch the moon swing on a glorious rainbow.

It is an uplifting song with lofty personal aspirations. Being one myself, I normally avoid second-guessing the poet’s intentions. Perhaps the aspirations are both for the individuals and the country. It is a pity that I have not been able to find the lyricist’s name.

The great Nitin Bose directed the film for New Theatres, a major studio of the time. On a side note, I found it strange that the usually meticulous IMDB makes no mention of the movie “President’ either in Saigal’s filmography or that of Bose’s.

It is amazing how Saigal’s speaking voice was the same as his singing voice, something I find to be rare. Also, I couldn’t help but notice his rather stylish clothes, especially his tweed and what seems like a knitted tie. I wouldn’t mind wearing both 80 years hence.

Here is to Salim Durrani, a cavalier batsman and lethal bowler

Salim Durrani in 'Charitra', 1973

It was as a ten-year-old that I first saw Salim Durrani play at Jamnagar. My brother Manoj and I were taken to watch a friendly game of cricket at the Jamnagar cricket stadium by our eldest brother Trilochan’s friends, Micky Chana and Kartikeya Sarabhai sometime in late 1971 or early 1972.

Since Trilochan was away in Boston pursuing his Master’s degree in architecture at Harvard and our father Manharray had died barely a year earlier, my brother thought it would be a good distraction for the two of us to watch some cricket.

The memory of the game itself is hazy but that of the 37-year-old Durrani is quite vivid. Given Sarabhai’s connections, we were in the very best VIP enclosure where we could see cricketers walk to the ground up close; perhaps five feet away from us. Durrani was already the most charismatic figure of Indian cricket then. His tall frame, rakish good looks and an air of cavalier disregard for the bowler he was facing, not mention his shirt collar upturned, all added to his charisma.

I remember saying to Manoj “aa jo” (see this) as Durrani walked past us, all padded-up and gloved and the shirt collar upturned. There was thunderous cheer with some in the enclosure already chanting “sixer, sixer” in anticipation of his reputation as a batsman (In those days we called them batsman and not batter) who hit sixes at will. Of course, Durrani himself had no illusion about his much-celebrated prowess as in many interviews years later he would say, “No one can hit a six on demand. It is only when you occasionally get a delivery (ball) that can be hit that you hit. It was my good fortune that I would occasionally get a ball that could be hit.”

I do not remember how much he scored during the Jamnagar game but don’t think it was much because he returned to the pavilion quite quickly. In any case it was a friendly tie, and the result did not really matter. I do remember though that once standing in the Third man position he seemed to deliberately let the ball slip through under his legs, gifting the batsman a boundary or four runs. It was all in good fun. Incidentally, the predominant job of the Third man is to save runs.

Along with the wicketkeeper Farokh Engineer, Durrani’s teammate and three years younger than him, Durrani was perhaps the most charismatic presence in the Indian team in the 1960s and 70s. I remember distinctly the slogan “No Durrani, no Test” after he was dropped from the team for 1973 Test match at Kanpur for reasons which were not entirely clear. He was so popular that there was a countrywide protest. Interestingly though, his career statistics do not necessarily reinforce his reputation.

As a batsman, during his 29 Test appearances he scored 1202 runs with one century (104) and seven half centuries. He had 15 sixes to his name. In the first class cricket, he played 170 matches and scored 8545 runs with 14 centuries, 45 half centuries.

As a bowler he took 75 wickets in Test cricket at an average of 35.42 and economy of 2.47. In the first class games, he took 484 wickets at an average of 26.09 and economy of 2.69.

As a bowler, Durrani’s slow left arm orthodox style could be utterly unplayable and win matches. For instance, during the second innings of the 1971 Port of Spain Test match, Durrani claimed two rapid wickets of  the great sluggers Clive Lloyd and the legendary of Gary Sobers, the latter for zero and changed the course of the game. That was India’s first Test win against the West Indies.

On his day, Durrani was a match-winner either through his sixes or wickets. Given his six-plus feet height he could turn the ball very sharply leaving batsmen struggling.

Born in Kabul, Afghanistan on December 11, 1934, he made his name and reputation in Jamnagar, the bastion of Indian cricket because of Ranjitsinh, the Maharaja of Nawanagar and his unbridled passion for the game and himself one of the finest cricketers.

Given his obvious good looks and charisma it was inevitable that Salim Durrani would be offered movies. He did one called Charitra, 1973, with Parveen Babi where he played the Hindi cinema version of a bad boy. The movie had Durrani mouthing lines such as “सूरज चढ़ने के बाद मैं हर उस औरत से नफरत करता हूँ जिस के साथ मैंने रात गुज़ारी हो.” (After sunrise, I hate every woman with whom I have spent the night.) Not much of an actor, he did not make any worthwhile career as a movie star.

Had Salim Durrani been a cricketer in current times he would have been one of the most admired cricket stars flooded with lucrative endorsement deals. He came at a time when cricket was cricket and not a straight path to insane fame and fortune.

In his passing, we have lost one of those brilliant originals who made the game of cricket the game of cricket.