Stark Reality, Simply Narrated – a Review of ‘Behind the Beautiful Forevers’

There are some books which you know are good, but you also know that they are so tangential to what you do on a day-to-day basis that unless you set apart solid time, you won’t get around to reading them. And so you avoid thinking about them, and even when you see such a book lying on a colleague’s table, the bookworm in you starves itself by ignoring the book. Such are the woes of those of us who go to work every day.

And yet, sometimes, there comes a day when the book returns to you, and you end up reading it in spite of yourself. And you realize that it was worth it. That’s how Behind the Beautiful Forevers turned out to be. <Warning: multiple plot spoilers ahead.>

Pulitzer Prize winner Katherine Boo’s BTBF is the real story of a few families and street children living in Annawadi, a nondescript slum near the Mumbai airport. Among them are ragpickers and slumlord-hopefuls, animal lovers and teachers. There are children grown too old too quickly by poverty, there are friends who know that to help someone is to invite disaster upon oneself and to share is to starve, and there are opportunists who know the multiple sources of money in an impoverished slum.

When a handicapped woman attempts suicide, only to regret it immediately, and then dies in hospital, her neighbours are arrested and incarcerated for murder. The subsequent trials take their toll on the Husain family not only because of the loss of income of days spent in jails, but also because of the uncertainty of whether the father, son and daughter would ever be released from prison. The family takes an impossibly bold and apparently reckless stance of not paying anyone despite repeated offers from various quarters to “help” them be declared innocent of a crime they did not commit.

When Abdul muses that Kasab, one of the perpetrators of the terrorist attack at the Taj in South Mumbai, has at least the saving grace of being tried for a crime he did commit, it reeks of resignation at a political and judicial system so convoluted that it is effectively unable to determine innocence and guilt: the only color it recognizes is that of money, the only command it follows is that of power. When Abdul and his family are acquitted, seemingly more by chance than by design, there is no particular victory to be celebrated, only a permission to go on living that was nearly too late in coming.

BTBF also reminded me of a mildly unsettling realisation that I had been conscious of since I started travelling on work, coming into contact with staff at airports, hotels, taxis and offices: to be nice to such people is not an act of generosity on your part, it is a privilege granted to you. It is only the rich who can afford to be nice, to lavish money on tips, to pleasantly wait two more minutes as the room is readied, to smile at the housemaid. For the ragpickers who “earn to eat,” niceness is a luxury they can neither afford nor gain from. (If this sounds moralising, let me flatter myself that the years have made me wiser!)

For what is Boo’s first full-length book, BTBF is very well-written. What I liked best was the impeccable flow of the narrative that gives hardly a hint of the copious amounts of research and file-chasing behind the facts. Unlike the exclamatory tone adopted by many first time visitors to Mumbai and its slums, and unlike the patronising optimism of Slumdog Millionaire, BTBF possesses a clearheaded voice, unassuming but sympathetic, pragmatically limited in its sentimentality and hopefulness. After all, the lives of Akbar and Sunil and Asha and Manju are not going to change in a day. At the same time, this also makes the purpose of such a book unclear. Yes, it lays bare the stark reality of life in a slum next to the gleaming airport, but there is no call to action. Then again, who is to say what the right action is?

Despite being a work of non-fiction, BTBF also bears similarity to City of Joy, a novel by Dominique Lapierre on life in the underbelly of Kolkata in the 1970s. The book traces the lives of people as diverse as a rickshaw-puller, a Polish priest and an American doctor, all linked by their lives in Anand Nagar (the “city of joy”), a slum in Kolkata. Lapierre’s description of the rickshaw-puller Hasari Pal’s life left such an impression on the class nine student who read the book (yours truly) that she could never be at ease in the cycle-rickshaws of Gurgaon, years later. Indeed, during that stifling summer, the one-hour walk from office to home was preferable to the discomfort of seeing an invariably reed-thin man sweat for me. It tore my heart whenever he bargained to transport the three of us for an additional ten rupees on his own rickshaw, rather than let one of us take a second rickshaw. But I digress.

~*~

P.S.: I had meant this post to be only a review of BTBF, but felt that it had to do justice to how I ended up reading a book I had deliberately kept off my regrettably short reading list. Many thanks to the protagonist of the first two paragraphs.

A Visit to Britannia, Mumbai

It was nearly a year ago that I went with some colleagues for a birthday lunch at Britannia in Mumbai. The experience was so enjoyable that I not only ended up writing a review and submitting it on Zomato but also winning the weekly ‘Write for a Bite’ contest. The review is available on the Zomato site.

We went with a vague sense that the birthday boy would “treat” us (meaning, he would foot the bill) but as the food vanished from the plates, someone came up with the idea that the group should treat the birthday boy. The idea quickly found support, and so we returned with lighter pockets and happier minds!

Here is what I had to say on the restaurant:

An old-time restaurant where a stately portrait of H. H. Queen Elizabeth II watches over you as you tuck in, a place that sports old-fashioned signs telling you to “not argue with the management”, Britannia is a homely Parsi restaurant. A bunch of us went for a birthday celebration lunch the other day and came back satisfied.

I must confess that I entered the place with a mild sense of apprehension, since my friends had told me that you get very good non-veg fare at Britannia, implying that the veg fare could be less than charming. However, I was in for a pleasant surprise, which immediately endeared the place to me: the ‘berry pulav’ at Britannia is a must-have – it looks and tastes different from every other rice dish, as the warm flavor of rice brings out the tart taste of berries.

My friends say that the ‘sali boti’, a spicy meat dish with crisp fried potato shreds sprinkled over it, and the ‘kheema berry pulav’ are stuff they would like to have again. We ordered each of the three desserts on offer, and while they come in small servings (which is good if you are watching your calories!), each one had a strong individual look and taste. The ‘caramel custard’, delicious without being too sweet, turned out to be my favourite after sampling all three.

As would be clear by now, variety is not the hallmark of the place. The entire menu fits on one side of a large-ish card. Indeed, I found it interesting that the menu card was placed below the glass topping of the tables, making for a very convenient choosing process. The seats are closely placed and the service is decent, and the place is not too harsh on the pocket. Of course, Britannia does not offer high-class fine dining, but it never promises to! All in all, an affordable and homely place where you will enjoy going with friends and family rather than with colleagues.

Note: Copyright for the restaurant review is subject to Zomato ‘Write for a Bite’ contest rules.

The Complicated Question of Mumbai vs Delhi

Which city do you like best, aamchi Mumbai or saddi Dilli? Ask this question to anyone and they will have an opinion, even those who have not seen either place. Having spent time in both cities, let me be presumptuous enough to offer my take on the evergreen topic of Mumbai vs Delhi.

1. Definition: land of business vs land of babu-dom
2. Pace of life: quick and busy vs slow and easy
3. Pollution: no visible dust or smoke vs “quick, I need to get a mask!”
4. Traffic: escapable using the local train vs you’ve got no choice but to sit and curse away your time
5. Auto rickshaws: black and yellow vs green and yellow; and the latter run on CNG
6. Auto rickshaw drivers: charge by the meter vs fleece the passenger in direct proportion to his/ her ignorance of Hindi
7. Capriciousness of auto wallahs: Ah, now that’s one parameter where both cities are equally exasperating. You are lucky if the place you wish to go to matches the place the auto wallah wants to go to.
8. Temperature: uniformly comfortable throughout the year vs always hotter or colder than you’d like it to be (No wonder then that people from Delhi find Ahmedabad’s winter “pleasant”, as I complained in this post on what I dislike about winter)
9. Rainfall: flooded roads vs desperately waiting for the rains
10. Culture: “this city is for everyone, literally” vs “this is my city, what are you doing here?”
11. Suburban train: dirt cheap (no pun intended) but efficient vs posh but inefficient
12. People: mind your own business vs “I’ve got all the time in the world to stand and stare”
13. Rent: resign yourself to the reality of effectively giving away an iPhone each month vs take comfort in the fact that you don’t give away even a smartphone each month

P.S.: The genesis for this post lies in a question: which city is better, Delhi or Mumbai?

My immediate answer was that I did not know enough to comment. For instance, I didn’t know till about three years ago that the h in Delhi was silent. And yet, my answer was not fully true. For one, you don’t need to know much about something to form an opinion. (Think of some of our dear politicians. Or some b-school graduates.) Indeed, if I could form an opinion of Istanbul without as much as stepping foot on Turkish soil, why not on two cities in India that are no longer alien to me? (In case my fairy godmother with her magic wand is reading this, Istanbul is one city I’d like to spend some time. Orhan Pamuk just has a way of weaving reality and dreams so closely that you forget to distinguish between the two.)

Moreover, I was ineffectually trying to be diplomatic because the questioner happened to be from Delhi and I am, if anything, mildly in favour of Mumbai. There, I have given away my opinion, if it wasn’t already clear! But I dare say Delhi is beginning to wield her old-world charm on me.

This Too is Guerrilla Marketing!

What happened at the end of a recent panel discussion on ’empowering adolescent girls’ as part of the annual conference of the Indian Philanthropy Forum can only be termed “guerrilla marketing”, although it might not fit the conventional definition of the term. We were an audience of about 200, three-fourth of this being women, from relevant organisations, business schools, the press and others. Given that the event happened at the Taj at Colaba, Mumbai (you know why you know the Taj), the audience was an appropriately privileged set.

The panel had just finished its discussion and it was time for questions. Suddenly, a lady in the front takes the mike, and says (and I quote verbatim):

“Hello everyone, I am Aparna Piramal Raje.” Oh ok, the name sounds familiar, I think. “I studied at Harvard Business School and I speak up because that’s what they have taught me at Harvard Business School. I am lucky to have been born in the family I was…” She then highlights some very commendable points on empowering women, such as holding “two half shifts” instead of one single shift on the shop floor, in order to enable women employees to balance work with family needs.

All is well and good, and it seems that she would end her words soon and pass the mike. However, we are in for a surprise. APR holds up and waves a newspaper. I cannot decipher the name from where I am sitting, craning my neck. She says, “If you really want to empower women, read a newspaper whose editor is a woman.” The logic isn’t very clear to me, but no explanation is forthcoming. “Both Mint and <another business newspaper> are edited by women.” (She took the name of the other paper, but I no longer remember accurately what I heard.) “Between the two, Mint has more ethics. And so you should all read Mint.”

With that, APR’s monologue is done.

You don’t believe this happened?! I agree, the whole story does sound incredible. The audience did not utter a word. The mike was passed and the next question taken up. While leaving the hall, I noticed that on a table beside the exit were placed a pile of free copies of Mint. Mint does not figure among the “key supporters” of the conference as listed on the Forum’s website.

I later found online that APR is a columnist for Mint, and dare I say, a very loyal one too.

Now what do you think of this?! Here was a “guerrilla” who struck audaciously to “market” her product. Was it right? If it was not right, was it wrong? Why even bother? Right or wrong, it’s an interesting world!