Shrikant Karani takes an early morning walk on the Siri Road steps with his dog Mischief. Pics/Sayed Sameer Abedi

The peace is palpable, the serenity a shock to the system. I'm on Siri Road, the misty-twisty path languidly climbing from Chowpatty to Kamala Nehru Park. Obscure and often missed in a blink by those not knowing it, this thin lane links Walkeshwar to Ridge Road. Every runner's dream, every walker's mini Mahableshwar in Mumbai, the country road you can drive on only till a point is summer-pretty. Heavy with fresh yellow and red flowers, its glowing greens slope up and up to an idyllic city panorama.

This is among the last havens of virgin verdure, affording spectacular sky and sea views at various heights Malabar Hill has hewn since the time it was fully forested. "Around 1534, Siri Road led from Gamdevi village up jungle-covered slopes of Malabar Hill through babul plantations to the banyan-girt temple of Walkeshwar," writes Pheroza Godrej in Bombay to Mumbai: Changing Perspectives. "The stream of worshippers from the west coast followed this path up the hill and, as it was narrow, called it 'Siri' or 'Ladder'."

Nonagenarian Nirmala Kotak in the living room of her home at the Dadyseth bungalow, where she has lived for 70 years since her marriage in 1948

I track down Rajkumar Loyalka, after whose father the road is renamed Chiranjilal Loyalka Marg. "My grandfather Ramchandra from Pilani belonged to the East India Cotton Association. His son, my father Chiranjilal, was a stockbroker and freedom fighter," he says.

Siri Road made news three years back when civic authorities wanted to widen and extend its 300 motorable metres by another 300, for traffic to reach Hanging Gardens via Ridge Road. That environmental disaster was averted by vigilant residents mounting a sharp campaign, my friend Kekoo Colah who walks here daily tells me. They painted "Mala kapu naka – Don't axe me" and "Save us from BMC" on the barks of beloved trees. Tipped at both ends by rowed barbers, bus conductors, paanwalas and ragpickers, Siri Road slumbers amid a jumble of shuttered coal and ration shops turned garages and go-downs. But there's trouble in paradise. Sudden bends and secluded niches swerve into kuchcha mud off-paths, whose messily overgrown carpets of dry leaves and dirt piles are hideouts for hardened bootleggers and junkies.

Named for the shape of its fruit

Near enough, city Zoroastrians got the first open-to-sky dakhma, or Tower of Silence, to dispose their dead in 1672. On the sylvan acres of Doongerwadi, prayers for the deceased are liltingly recited in roofed halls called bunglis. The Dadyseth family built one such in the area. The bungli's barest remnants are skirted by Hibiscus bushes with red blooms brighter than the ancient maroon wall ruins they cling to. Banker Dady Nasarwanji amassed vast land tracts in trust to maintain Dadyseth Agiary at Kalbadevi. He acquired the Chowpatty Band Stand property around 1783 from a Portuguese named Barretto.

Nonagenarian Nirmala Kotak has lived from 1948 in the whispering shadows cast by atmospheric Dadyseth bungalow, which is well over a century old. With daughter-in-law Durrat, she pieces memories of 70 years after her marriage. "Our family planted kesar kairi trees in the compound when my three sons were young," she recollects. "We wake to the shrieking of koels and parrots eating mangoes. Peacocks still fly in to drink water from a dripping tap and cobras coil on tree trunks in the heat."

The Stocking Tree grows uniquely on Siri Road alone in Mumbai. Pic courtesy: Shubhada Nikharge

I discover an interesting former Siri Road tenant thanks to Vinayak Talwar of Khaki Tours nudging me to check Volume III of The Gazetteer of Bombay City and Island. The Duke of Wellington indeed lived here when he was Colonel Arthur Wellesley, in a house Seth Cursetjee Manockjee — of the Khada Parsi statue fame — owned, between road and sea at the curve of the bay. (The landlord became such a great friend that his son Manockjee devotedly retained a hair of the Duke in his locket!). The student Eton described as "not at all a book boy and rather dull" went on to vanquish Napoleon at Waterloo and lead England as Prime Minister twice over, in 1828 and again in 1834.

His Bombay home in 1801-02, was "on your right opposite the wood-wharf as you ascend steep Siri road... The house, Surrey Cottage, stood halfway up the now non-existent eastern brow of Malabar Hill. It comprised a lofty hall, with long verandahs at the sides. In front was a porch, to which led two carriage-ways from different directions. One passed the horse stable near the Siri. The hall commanded a view of Back Bay and Girgaum, also the Esplanade and Fort. The Duke, with his eagle eye, must have scanned a glorious scene from Malabar Hill minus steamers and mills."

A second generation hornbill hops to the Karani family kitchen window to be fed - at one time two older birds would show up with a pair of their babies, of whom this is one. Pic courtesy: Utpal Tijoriwala

Wellesley had company round the corner in George Bellasis at Randall Lodge. The soldier and amateur artist was the son of Major General John Bellasis, whose 1790s orders constructed Nagpada's kilometre-long Bellasis Road, to relieve the poor displaced from famine-struck Surat. George met his neighbour when the future Duke of Wellington was recouping from an attack of ringworm, more colourfully referred to as the Malabar Itch. While the infection stopped him sail for an Egypt expedition, that ill-fated ship sank in the Gulf of Aden.

George Bellasis admiringly dedicated his 1815 book, Views of St Helena, to His Grace Field-Marshall the Duke of Wellington who exiled the French emperor to that island. A watercolour of Randall Lodge paints a two-storey structure with a rectangular lawn edged by cypresses.

What other breeze-kissed trees rustle secrets along this sequestered stretch? Colonial chronicles mention sandalwood, mistletoe, star apple, ivy fig and Christmas trees, with rose bushes, celery and cabbage patches around Surrey Cottage. Usha Desai and Renee Vyas, of Tree Appreciation Walks, detail a wealth of local flora: banyan, frangipani, asopalav, sitaphal, parijat, coconut, mango, jungli badam, putranjiva, jackfruit and aritha.

Flowering in the rain and fruiting in winter, the Stocking Tree is unique to Siri Road, according to Sharadini Dahanukar's book, Green Solace. "We haven't seen it elsewhere in the city," says Desai. "When we saw this one December, its stocking-shaped fruits had fallen. From a seed sprouted in the stocking, Renee grew a sapling on her farm." The originally South American tree leans against a chawl wall here.

"Trees like neem, peepul and kamrak were believed holy for harbouring the souls of rishis like Valmiki," says Rajesh Joshi, introduced to me by Ridge Road resident Jaidev Mehta who has walked the length of Siri Road thrice a day for 60 years. Rajesh's grandfather Hansraj Sawairam, from Sirohi in Rajasthan, heralded a line of four generations of Joshis tending the "swayambhu" — Sanskrit for "self-manifested" — Hanuman temple. It is supposed to have spontaneously risen on soil imprinted sacred by Ram, Sita and Lakshman in the Banganga vicinity. "Ram chose this quiet spot to meditate because of its solitude," Joshi says.

This is temple turf, proffering a trio of 150-year-old examples. Of these, two survive — Hanuman and Shiva mandir, nestled close-necked towards the top of the road. Descending nearer Walkeshwar, devotees thronged, too, to the Ram mandir from the 1880s, till at least a hundred years after. Motor sports entrepreneur Shrikant Karani and his wife Feruza recollect its beautiful idols left abandoned. We tiptoe through filthy, forgotten tracks in thickets below their building, Chitrakut, which faces the Ram temple site (Sita awaited Ram's return from Lanka in Chitrakut). Birdsong spikes the soporific afternoon air. Shrikant remembers dozens of Parsi Dairy bhaiyyas form inky blue clusters in trademark uniform shirts, Siri Road being their shortcut for deliveries from Walkeshwar to Ridge Road.

A tilt across, where Loyalka Estate later rose, was the home of the seven talented Pooviah sisters from Coorg. Their portico, sunken eight or nine feet beneath road height, was designed as an oasis of cool, not letting warm winds waft within on the hottest day. The three youngest sisters, Sita, Chitra and Lata, were renowned Kathak exponents. Sita also worked at Handloom House in the 1960s with Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay.

Their contemporary, Shirin Vajifdar narrates how she and her classical dancer sisters Khurshid and Roshan bonded with the Pooviahs. In a journal her family shares, Shirin has written: "We started weekly lessons at the Pooviah sisters' house. The three charming sisters were the greatest devotees of Kathak dance, the most promising pupils of Jaipur gharana maestro Sunder Prasad. They gave all help to learn at their residence."

The Pooviahs possessed the sole telephone on the road. "They would offer me biscuits when I went across as a boy to make calls," says Shrikant Karani. "I played Chor Police with kids of maalis who clipped the Hanging Gardens' hedges. We knocked dangling drumsticks with catapults, and shook pink and white champas to string garlands from fallen petals."

Old-timers mention a stone Vishnu once reclined under a gulmohur grove in the wilderness (Anantashayana — literally, "sleeping on the serpent Ananta"). Wondering where the divine Preserver must have basked benignly in the crisp sunshine, I pass Gagangiri Maharaj Ashram. A hum of discourses and yoga sessions mesh mellifluous with birds rapping tender-to-throaty tango tunes. Which could these be from Siri Road's trio of feathered regulars — oriole, barbet or hornbill — I try to guess, twigs snap-snapping underfoot every minute.

"We have a hill station in our backyard," declares filmmaker Vivek Kumar, treading this path as part of his exercise workout. "A little landscaping might even make this Bombay's answer to Crookedest Street of San Francisco."

Author-publisher Meher Marfatia writes monthly on everything that makes her love Mumbai and adore Bombay. You can reach her at mehermarfatia@gmail.com

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Illustration/Uday Mohite

Oh, wretched irony, that President Ram Nath Kovind — whom BJP president Amit Shah unabashedly introduced as a Dalit when nominating him as a Presidential candidate — should himself introduce a caste system, where it never existed before: India's august National Film Awards. The President informed the Directorate of Film Festivals (DFF) three weeks earlier that he would leave the award function in an hour. But the winners were informed only a day earlier, that the President would give away only 11 of the approximately 137 awards at the 65th National Film Awards; the rest would be given away by Information and Broadcasting Minister Smriti Irani, and Minister of State Rajyavardhan Rathore. As the award winners' invitations stated that they would receive the award from the President of India, they wrote to the DFF about a breach of trust, "65 years of tradition was being overturned in a jiffy," and nearly 55 winners boycotted the function.

Nothing spoke of the sordidness of this prestigious event as that photograph with just two disturbed award winners, in a hall full of empty chairs. The names of the 30 award winners who protested were not even announced. It is heartbreaking that a number of award winners, including Fahadh Faasil, who won Best Supporting Actor for Thondimuthalum Driksakshiyum, and Parvathy, who won Special Mention for Take Off, both in Malayalam, returned home without their National Awards. We are proud the National Awards still go to those truly deserving them, mostly. Bollywood, which usually hogs the limelight, is shown its true place in Indian cinema at the National Film Awards. Malayalam cinema won 11 major awards, Hindi cinema only eight in comparison; Bengali and Assamese cinema won five each; Marathi cinema won four; Tamil and Telugu cinema won three each.

The President, who is 72, gave no reasons for his self-styled, one-hour Cinderella rule. If he had medical issues, he could reasonably have declined, or split the awards into two sessions.

I have had the honour of attending four National Film Awards — once as an award winner, and thrice on the National Film Award Jury, in 2008, 2011 and 2014. Bungling and uncertainty are a given. I had won the National Award for Best Film Critic for 1998, but received the award only in 2000, because of unstable governments. As I'm usually at the Berlin Film Festival in February, I had asked the DFF about likely dates since October, but they said they would know only at the last minute. I was at the Berlin Film Festival when I was swiftly summoned to New Delhi, so my parents Indu Shedde and S Rammohan went to New Delhi, and my mother received the National Award on my behalf from President KR Narayanan.

On the other hand, Ramendra Naresh, a Dalit student who topped the MCA programme at the Babasaheb Bhimrao Ambedkar University, refused to accept his gold medal from President Kovind at the convocation scheduled last December, to protest against the growing atrocities against Dalits. Along with all this year's award-winners, I applaud Naresh as well.

Meenakshi Shedde is South Asia Consultant to the Berlin Film Festival, award-winning critic, curator to festivals worldwide and journalist. Reach her at meenakshishedde@gmail.com

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Illustration/Uday Mohite

So, dear reader, I don't know about you, but I'm a little confused about certain big words that fly around these days. I don't mean words like say, 'farrago' or 'webaqoof' or 'rodomontade' or 'snollygoster' that his eminence Shashi Tharoor has made famous. I mean we know that 'webaqoof' means — it's someone who has no clue how social media works.  Most of you, my X-ennial readers, will identify with this malady — What's an X-ennial, you ask?! Nahin nahin, it not a prequel to the X-men series or the next instalment of 'Avengers Infinity Wars' (that's subject for another column).
Anyway, to get back to the subject at hand — big words. Do you know, for example, what 'Debdumbfoolery' or 'Biplabpolarism' mean — it's the art of talking utter nonsense, making outrageous statements with shameless ignorance and confidence on a public platform.

Like, say, I said something really foolish like, "Modern day internet existed during the times of the Mahabharata" or "Narad Muni was like Google" or, something even more preposterous, like "Darwin's theory was scientifically wrong and shouldn't be a part of college curriculum". You get it, dear reader. This is also called 'Satyapalfootinmunh'.

So it's like — "Hey, that Jigesh thinks no end of himself, always giving these biplabtripupistic fundas."

What else? Let's look at some other big words that made me reach for the thesaurus. How about 'Pappupasshogayalitis' — this tongue twister is the art of dynastic entitlement, when the entitled has no clue what he's doing or saying. So let's say two employees are b***hing about a third, "Really pissed off with my job. Can't get a promotion, that Akash is the boss's son, real pappupasshogaya dufus, but, kya karega, baap ka raj na!"
Dear reader, there's 'Rayaduplessis' — any idea what this means? Okay, it means, 'you finally do well at something in a particular position and a South African annoyingly takes your place to fulfill a quota.

Okay, here's another killer — 'Trumpjong-un' — cool, huh? So any guesses? Okay, it has multiple meanings —

1. An ancient Oriental board game
2. When two mentally unstable people meet and each one
cannot believe they've met their match
3. An American Nuclear Bomb made in North Korea
How about this one — Cosbynski. I'll give you a hint — it has to do with 'molestation' — okay, I won't give it away — email me your answers and you get a free Woody Allen movie DVD as a prize.
And finally there's 'Indranirritatausaurus' — so I'll let you decide what this word means.
Choose between —
1. A member of the pre-historic animal family
2. An issue that annoyingly goes on and on well past its interest value date
3. A story with more deceit,
betrayal and murder than all the seasons of Game of Thrones (GoT) put together
This word is also referred to as 'boradom'.
I'm off, dear reader, see you 'Banuvasarahdimanche'. Huh? What does that mean? It's so simple.
It's a word coined by Messrs Modi and Macron.

Rahul da Cunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahuldacunha62@gmail.com

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Illustration/Ravi Jadhav

For years, every time I've gone to a beauty parlour, yaniki, what fancy folks now call salon, one of the ladies there will ask me in that characteristic beautician tone — yaniki, terrorism masked as concern — "eyebrows nahin karaate ho?" (don't you 'do' — thread and shape — your eyebrows?). Depending on my confidence levels (usually low, an unavoidable side effect of entering a beauty parlour) my 'no' might be uttered with giggling diffidence, false hauteur, or bland deflection. The response of the beauty parlour lady is always the same — "accha?", yaniki, "fine, be that way." It's on your head. Don't come crying to me afterwards. I toh have done my due diligence by asking." Sometimes, feeling a little bold, I would ingratiatingly say, "The natural shape is pretty nice na, so why get into one more jhamela." The beautician will give that sweeping, sarcastic glance at my eyebrows and say, "Haan, vaise toh it's fine", yaniki, pity and disdain, bechari thinks natural is a thing.

This has been a consistent question, of course, but as any random or regular beauty parlour visitor knows, there are others, spoken in a special voice designed to decimate your ego and turn you into a trembling supplicant, begging for beauty treatments. "Last clean up kab kiya tha?" (When's the last time you had a facial?). "Feets ko bleach nahin kara na? Bahut tanning ho gayi hai." (Don't bleach your feet? They're very tanned).

It doesn't matter if you by-hearted The Beauty Myth when you were 15, you will be engulfed by that doomful self-hate and self-doubt start, like a seventh grader in the principal's office. The crushing stereotypes of advertising are laughable wannabes compared to the beauty parlour interrogation.

These questions derive part of their potency from the fact that you are trapped in electric chair type furniture, usually with a giant plastic bib tied around you as if you still cannot be trusted to eat properly, leave alone look presentable, and several other people getting their eyebrows done, or doing others' eyebrows around, who will come to a cinematic halt and stare at you when you admit that you are not one of them.

This potency is only slightly reduced by the advent of app-based home beautician services. To the usual litany of questions they also add, "Ma'am, braazil karalo na, sab karate hain" (Ma'am, everyone gets a Brazilian wax now). You can answer coldly or pretend to be immersed in your phone, like teenagers do with parents. But dude, these are young women who magically produce footstools and pedicure tubs from a backpack. They are not so easily daunted.
With the passage of time, the questions have dwindled. I've relaxed slowly into the truth that as you approach the out-point of the conventional marriageable age zone, the beautician, like the world, starts to expect less conformity from you. The eyebrow question now comes at me only once in every five times.

It was obviously too good to be true. Last week as I submitted to the plastic bib, the beauty parlour lady looked at me with that familiar intent look. "Hair colouring nahin karate?" she asked, checking out my now no longer tentative greys. "Nahin," I said, stoically, preparing for a couple of decades of this now.

Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. Reach her at www.parodevipictures.com

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Illustration/Devdutt Pattanaik

It is common amongst Western scholars and their Westernised students to differentiate between the Vedic yagna and the Puranic puja, rituals that define the two major phases of Hinduism, one that flourished over 3,000 years ago and one that emerged 2,000 years ago. Of course, at the other extreme, we have the bhakta-Indologists who insist that Hinduism has no history, or phases, or evolution — that everything was homogenous and static, until Muslims came into the land 1,000 years ago. The truth is somewhere in between, as usual.

Vedic yagna is conventionally translated as 'sacrifice' and Puranic puja is translated as 'worship'. This translation is the basic problem. Both are based on Christian templates of religion where God of Abraham demands sacrifice (giving up something dear for the pleasure of God) and worship (adoration, veneration of God). Anyone who has actually performed the two rituals, or at least studied the two rituals carefully, will notice that the sacrifice and worship constitutes only part of the ritual, the first half — the second half is about asking for something in return, the fruit of the sacrifice or ritual known as phala-stuti, which is common to both yagna and puja. This makes yagna and puja essentially exchanges with the divine. There is the giving part (sacrifice, and worship, if one wants to call it that); this is followed by the receiving part, or at least the desire for something in exchange. Anyone who performs a yagna or puja knows that the ritual always ends with asking for something, material or spiritual, from the divine. This exchange makes it different from a prayer.

Yagna was designed by Brahmins 3,000 years ago as an elaborate ceremony to invite (avahan) celestial beings (deva) who rode celestial chariots (rathas). Communication was established using fire (agni) as medium, chants (mantra) and special offerings (soma). The yagna acknowledged through symbolic enactment and ritual role-playing the role the devas play in creating and sustaining and even destroying the universe. Having acknowledged the gods, and given them offerings to their satisfaction, a petition is made to them — for children, gold, grain, cattle, horses, power, fame, health — before they are allowed to go (visarjan).

But in yagna, the gods have no form. And they have no permanent residence. They come from the realm of the stars and so the yagna is performed in open air. Yagna could not be performed during rainy seasons, the four monsoon months (chatrumaas) which became linked to inauspiciousness. But, about 2,000 years ago, increasingly gods were seen as images and icons housed in caves and in temples. These sacred icons (archa) were venerated (archana). The ritual involved the same principles as the Vedic yagna – inviting the god to inhabit the image built, then bathing and decorating and feeding and praising and feeding and entertaining that image, before the petition is made. The devotee gives in order to get.  While humans were bound by debt (rinn), and had obligations, the gods were free of debt and so had no obligations. They were untouched by karma. And so what they gave was dependent on their grace! The devotee (bhakta) hence worshipped (bhaja) the divine being (bhagavan) and sought his grace (prasad). This is an exchange, a giving for receiving, unlike a covenant or a contract, which is about giving and taking and obligations that is cornerstone of Abrahmic religions. Exchange (yagna) connects (yoga) the world by establishing relationships (bandhu). Thus, through yagna and puja, we can theoretically connect with the infinite.

The author writes and lectures on the relevance of mythology in modern times. Reach him at devdutt@devdutt.com

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The numbers don't lie; Mumbai motorists are in selfie-destruct mode. At least 50 per cent of road accidents on the 93-km Mumbai-Pune Expressway are due to cars stopping or stalling on the road.

A report in this paper stated that stopping to take a selfie or to enjoy the greenery along the E-way could cost you your life. The first two months of the year have already seen 91 accidents, in which 52 people have died. Of these, 26 accidents happened because of vehicles halting. We must warn people that however tempting the scenery, it is just not safe to halt on the E-way and take photographs of the greenery. Once you reach Pune or the outskirts, you have the time to park your vehicle, alight and take all the pictures you want, so keep moving along the expressway, which is what is was made for.

Travellers must realise that an expressway is a piece of infrastructure, pure and simple. It is designed to take people to their destination. It is certainly not a picnic spot. It is no place to lounge around and eat, get out of the car and wash your hands, use as a Kodak moment or to idle outside your car for any other reason. Drivers have to drive within the speed limit on the expressway.

Cut going over the speed limits, which is a sure killer. Authorities have to ensure cameras are in excellent condition. If there is a car breakdown, switch on your hazard lights, and get your co-passengers to wave their hands; do all you can to alert oncoming traffic. The upcoming monsoon means more challenges for E-way users. Let us bring those fatality figures down, and let the numbers do some happy talking, for once.

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A while back, we had the opportunity to meet an influential and acclaimed US-based Indian restaurateur cum chef who was visiting the city to catch up with his team in the city, where he also runs a couple of popular and innovative restaurants.

Unaffected by all the lights, accolades and glitz of New York, he was still a pucca Bandra boy at heart. He hadn't forgotten his roots, and his mother and grandmother's recipes, evidence of which had peppered the warm chat, from a recent fish preparation that his mum had whipped up, to taking poee - those pillowy cushioned bread portions - to the West. We went on to discuss the ever-changing cityscape, from the Metro to a quaint abandoned bungalow near St Andrew's Church that had been razed since the last time he was home. Expectedly, there was a lot of 'Bombay' food that was discussed - a topic close to our soul.

The restaurateur-chef's passion for the city, his Goan ancestry, and the dynamic diversity of India are pretty obvious in the menus at his restaurants, and there were plans to go all out and celebrate it even more at these spaces. It made for an engaging afternoon, no doubt, especially when our favourite city's flavours and aromas were put on the table. It was a promising sign. At least, for Bombayphiles like us, who been yearning for more of the city on its menus, and has often been a topic-stirrer in this very same column space.

Around the same time, we had got wind that a restaurant in SoBo, coincidentally also owned by a Goan chef, and which was one of the earliest eateries to give the city a wonderful mix of food from Bombay and the sunshine state, was rechristening itself into all-out restaurant that would pay tribute to the city's food - from kheema pao and bombil fry (are you salivating?). The picture was getting rosier.

We jogged our memory a bit more, to roughly two months back, to another chat with a celebrated chef-restaurateur who had stirred many gastronomic revolutions in the city, and is now running a successful fine-dine. Turns out, the veteran culinary wiz would love to start his very own Bombay restaurant. Of course, there was nothing final to it but his wide smile made us do a little virtual jig about the possibility of his opening such a space. Food from the city had always impressed him, he told us, from Bohri Mohalla favourites to Maharashtrian staples, and the city's fresh catch. Like millions who arrived in this city and made it their own, he too was inspired with its variety, and was keen to celebrate it for the world to savour.

All these three instances - albeit borrowed from different scenarios - were adding up to something that should have happened a long time ago. The city's very own brand of cuisine ought to be put out there, a unique confluence of its thriving local inspirations, its migrant flavours and countless techniques from its many communities. Most world-class, cosmopolitan cities, from Toronto to Singapore flaunt it, so what has been stopping us so far? We'd love to see more entrepreneurial minds stir this melting pot and showcase Bombay's flavours, the way only we know of it.

mid-day's Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city's sights, sounds, smells and stones...wherever the ink and the inclination takes her. She tweets @bombayana Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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An injured Kashmiri is rushed to SMHS Hospital in Srinagar after he was hit by bullets in a clash with Indian security forces on May 6. Pic/AFP

Last week at a lunch, I met a senior minister in the J&K government. He belonged to the People's Democratic Party, which used to represent "soft separatism" in Kashmir but, in 2015, formed a government in coalition with the pseudo-nationalist BJP. The PDP has since then lost its support base. "It does not mean the National Conference has picked up that support," the minister said, referring to the Valley's pre-eminent pro-India party: "only some of it". None of that lost support has drifted to national parties like Congress or BJP. One wonders where that support has gone.

One clue is in the ground situation in the Valley, characterised by unrelenting violence. South Kashmir's Shopian district is a warzone; just yesterday, five civilians were killed and five militants shot dead there. An assistant professor at Kashmir University who had joined militancy a mere 36 hours earlier was among those killed. Imagine what it must take to drive an academic to pick up a gun. Every week is like this, and behind the casualty figures is the suffocating atmosphere of clampdowns on entire villages, the security forces' scorched earth policy by burning houses, the unending detention of the political resistance leadership, the military's omnipresence, the curfews, the strikes, the disappearances, and the corpses. No wonder Kashmir is called an "open prison". Ramzan, next week, may bring some respite.

"The difference between now and the '90s," the minister said, referring to when the insurgency first emerged, "is that in those days, when one boy was killed, ten others stood to take his place. Now, when a boy is killed, 30,000 people immediately gather to protest his killing and mourn his martyrdom."

One may wonder where the government figures in all this. In J&K, due to its long-festering separatism and the Pakistan factor, the Centre manages security matters under a "unified command". This makes sense for border management and counter-insurgency operations. Yet it often collides with the local police, under the state government, particularly when the armed forces commit crimes. The state police often have to step back, and the consequence has been deleterious; this was evidenced recently when, after the rape-murder of a nomadic child in Kathua, supporters of the accused expressed disbelief in the local police's professional investigation.

Chief Minister Mehbooba Mufti seems to have all but given up. Her ministers are living it up, some making frequent foreign trips. The BJP reshuffled its part of the coalition, and surprisingly, the minister said, it's a better lot this time. This may be a moot point because nobody expects the government to last beyond 2018. "It will be over a few months before the general election," the minister says. "Mehbooba wants out but needs a reason to walk out of the coalition." The same might be true of the BJP, though one can't imagine it giving up power in J&K, hard-won after so many years.

The Centre is unconcerned by the daily reports of violence and more violence. It suits Delhi's hardline "iron fist" policy. It is sitting back and watching the war of attrition against Kashmiris. BJP general secretary Ram Madhav has publicly said: India tried various approaches in Kashmir but now it is the RSS's turn. Which, starkly put, is to hold the territory even if all residents disappear in the process.

The minister pointed out that Governor NN Vohra's term - at ten years he's the longest serving in J&K - runs out by July. Governor Vohra got his second term by default because of the talent deficit in Prime Minister Narendra Modi's team. If he weren't well into his 80s, he might have defaulted his way into remaining this time also. His time has seen the emergence of a "new insurgency", highlighted by violent summers like that of 2010, 2012 and, of course, 2016, when thousands were injured by pellets. Some say that 2016's disturbances are still continuing.

It is difficult to say that Vohra has been a successful governor, but perhaps it's better to let him stay than to replace him with an RSS man. "At this point, what more harm can an RSS man do," the minister said. "Maybe they can replace him with Yashwant Sinha," he says, referring to the former finance minister who recently left the BJP. Sinha has visited J&K since September 2016 and shown empathy. He has been a thorn in the government's side, however, publicly pointing out its economic mismanagement. Modi brooks no dissidence, and even though the best way to quieten Sinha might be such an appointment, it's unlikely to happen.

That, in a nutshell, is the current Kashmir story. Degradation and violence, while the metaphorical Nero in Delhi plays his fiddle. Except in the legend, it was Nero himself who had Rome set on fire.

Aditya Sinha's new book will be out in May. He tweets @autumnshade Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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Representation Pic/AFP

My mother died at 84, on September 1, 2015. I was two oceans away, settling my son into his new university life in Montréal. Back in Mumbai, my two sisters and brother did what had to be done. Relatives were notified, last rites performed, and the body taken to the electric crematorium where we'd interred my father decades ago.

Cremation is a sombre moment. The tears have almost dried up, the words have been said. After years of watching a slow decline, death is not a surprise. So they stood there, my siblings, in the crematorium manager's office, to receive the warm earthen pot with the ashes of the woman who had made us everything we were.

Waiting with them was a fellow, a crematorium worker, blase about yet another death but eager for the customary tip. He made some money-seeking sounds, and my sister, distracted, pressed a Rs 1,000 note into his hand. We normally get Rs 2,000, he murmured. She gave him a second note. He still hung around, and then leaned forward to whisper. Apparently, a senior officer of the crematorium would drop by to see how things were going. It was normal, she was told, to give him Rs 3,000.

My sister, never at a loss for fire, asked him what he had done to merit that sum. It was the tradition, she was told. Haggling over a tip seemed the wrong action for the moment, so she gave him the money. But when she reached home, she Internetted out the email address of BMC's erstwhile municipal commissioner, explaining in plain, unfettered English that he was paying a salary to a staff of flesh-eating vultures who feasted off the grief of Mumbai's bereaved.

To her astonishment, within hours, she had received an invitation to meet with the man himself, three days away. A strange thing happened the following morning. The crematorium's manager and his money-grubbing workers, who had sought and received 'tips', showed up at our house. The envelope they handed over contained all the money they had extorted.

"Please take your tips back, madam," they beseeched my sister. "Just kindly cancel that appointment you have with the municipal commissioner." "Ah, no, I didn't make that appointment, so I cannot be the one who cancels it," said my sister. When she went to the Andheri office that issues death certificates, her name triggered an immediate flutter of interest. Apparently her letter to the commissioner was all the news that day. Many employees congratulated her for standing up to the crematorium's predators. At the BMC three days later, there were more surprises. The manager and key staff of that particular crematorium had been invited and were sitting in the outer room with hangdog looks. The commissioner wasted no time with them.

"You are accused of soliciting and extorting exorbitant tips from grief-stricken family members in the moment of their greatest grief — in return for doing a job that you are already paid to do," he said. "Please sign here, and here and here." He pushed letters of confession towards each of them, and they signed without a murmur. "These letters will be photocopied and mailed to every crematorium worker in Maharashtra, as an object lesson," he said.

They looked at their shoes wretchedly. "That's not all," he continued. "You are all hereby suspended from your jobs for a period of four months. This too will be made known to all your colleagues." He paused. "You may go now," he said, ending the meeting. Mumbai has surprised me in the past with its compassion. I remember during the biblical floods of 2005, when 1,094 people died and thousands were stranded in their cars, householders came out with coffee, tea and hot breakfast for those stranded souls as dawn broke.

But there is a dark underbelly to Mumbai, and it is predatory, ruthless, and astute. In 1996, I wrote in mid-day about a schoolboy, Murtuza, hit by a lamppost too close as he hung out of a train approaching Chembur. The wheels ran over both his legs. He was rushed to Sion Hospital, where he died despite all efforts.

But when his parents came to collect the body from the morgue, they found a leg missing. None of the ward boys seemed to know where it was. Eventually, it was whispered that the leg might be miraculously 'found' if a certain amount was paid to a ward boy. And so it was. That was 1996. Living in distant Bangkok, where too I'm certain corruption smiles, but in more sophisticated ways, I hear often that in the new India of the Modi raj, there is less tolerance for everyday corruption. Moments like this make me believe they may be right.

Here, viewed from there. C Y Gopinath, in Bangkok, throws unique light and shadows on Mumbai, the city that raised him. You can reach him at cygopi@gmail.com Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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The recent frenzy over supposed cracks in the Kemps Corner bridge - the country's first-ever flyover - has been proved to be an overreaction, but also brings to light the power that WhatsApp has to spread misinformation and paranoia.

This paper yesterday reported that thousands of app users had received a picture of a fissure in a portion of the bridge, with claims that the flyover was in danger of collapsing. The viral photo sparked widespread panic; so much so, that the civic commissioner was drawn into the Kemps Corner frenzy. There was a post from a young politician seeking to reassure the public. The 86-year-old architect of the bridge also gave a statement to assuage fears and calm outrage bubbling on WhatsApp.

Through the days, more rumours came in, stating that the bridge was falling and traffic had been diverted. One can imagine the mental state of a motorist about to drive onto the bridge, if they were to glance at WhatsApp and spot the alarmist message. The rapid-fire messages sparked fear and anger. Reassurance, on the other hand, was much slower to come.

This shows just how important it is that we filter messages on WhatsApp, and not forward blindly. In this 'quick click' age, it takes just the push of a button to spread fear. Thankfully, the bridge fall phobia had no major repercussions, but it does bring to mind other times when WhatsApp messages have started and stoked the fires of a frenzied crisis.

Each of us has a responsibility to verify, or at least use some discretion, before pressing the forward button. There is no race where one has to be first to pass on information. In fact, there is merit in holding back, cross-checking, and then forwarding only if there is credibility in the message. In this instant age, let's not fall for anymore half-baked stories.

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A still from Marvel Studio's Avengers: Infinity War

Maybe because they thought I was some angrez-type, dissing one after another loads of films being dished out in the early 2000s - inevitably, a film producer or the other would proudly remind me back then, about how India (in this case, Bollywood) was absolutely the only movie market in the world where Hollywood, or the appearance of a Spielberg or George Lucas film in theatres, made no difference to the lives of local filmmakers, Subhash Ghai, Yash Chopra, if you may.

This was true for India, up until a decade ago; and yes, not true for anywhere else. Still, since the names mentioned to me were of filmmakers (no doubt, well-known/mainstream), I argued, this had a lot more to do with the reliably desi, nearly mythological star-system, that movies pivoted around and audiences lined up in cinemas for. You need a face to build a following (for anything). Any branding intern will tell you that. Hollywood had its own star-system. Few filmmaking cultures, apart from India and the US, did.

So sure, the handsomely paid Tom Cruise or Julia Roberts, or for that matter Superman/Batman, were huge in India as well. But, their films merely ran at exclusive cinemas for English films in bigger cities (say Chanakya, Sterling in South Delhi/Bombay).

Did the cash-rich Hollywood not wish to partake in the desi star, plus song, mainstream movies that enchanted millions? By late 2000s, American studios began setting up offices in Mumbai, cheekily over-paying Bollywood's lead cast, getting into lopsided deals favouring local producers, to make a direct entry into Indian markets, at last.

Bollywood films, more or less, remained the same, in terms of scale. For they weren't here to change the status quo. It suited them. The budgets (for them) were pocket-change, anyway. Major Indian filmmakers continued to feel safe in the face of a captive audience. In about a decade though, one region, small-town at a time, the American studios, having deepened a desi distribution network, began to spread out the release of their own global blockbusters that none in India could potentially compete with. The economics simply wouldn't match.

Spiderman first spoke to its audience in Bhojpuri in 2007. Ronald Emmerich's 2012 (2009), with the Taj Mahal in a shambles in the promo, with no such scene in the picture, had curious villagers walk over to nearest theatres to catch the end of the world. By 2012, even Ang Lee's deeply meditative, Life Of Pie, collecting R90 crore, had thumped the Akshay Kumar masala picture, Khiladi 786 (releasing around the same time), by a R20 crore margin!

Woah. Did desis stop loving their super-stars? Nope. They still do. Here's what happened. Hollywood altogether destroyed its own, entire 'star-system' instead - making films not about actors (or even directors, for that matter), but relentlessly concentrating their massive might/resources/energy on propping up super-heroes (several for the price of one), gigantic disasters, and dazzling 3D/IMAX special effect, to effectively conquer the earth while, sometimes, saving it on the big screen.

Perhaps 2015 was a turning point, when up until mid-year, three out of India's top five hits had emerged from Hollywood (rightly subtitled in English, even in their English versions). Fast & Furious 7 (basically racing cars) was the first film to hit R100 crore mark. Avengers: Age of the Ultron, and Jurassic World, had wholly crowded out domestic competition on the opening weekend.

These movies may have lacked a singular creative voice/vision, but they were fail-safe in the boardroom's understanding of markets, and shares. As is expectedly the case with the latest, stupendous success of Marvel's Avengers: Infinity War (having grossed over a record-breaking R200 crore, already) - where nothing exceeds like excess!

The global fan-boy pressure to get off on this pic (like many others), made critic-proof by critics themselves, is such that you simply don't want to be that guy pooping on everyone's parade. It's like being the first fellow to suggest the whisky being served from a Blue Label bottle at the boss's house-party tastes suspiciously like Aristocrat Premium: "Kya baat kar raha hai?" Naah, don't wanna be that guy!

Curiosity is irresistible. There's nothing to call out. Conditioning is complete. Indians can probably see in Thanos's quest for 'infinity stones' their own uncles, who wear similar rings for inter-planetary changes! Balance of the universe sounds a lot like 'srishti ka santulan' from Abhishek Bachchan's Drona.

The film itself being a Bollywood multi-multi-starrer, where in the end, Amrish Puri wins, and if you wonder how dead superheroes might stage a comeback-hey, Ekta Kapoor's been spinning this for decades. The premise of so many avengers, guardians, and devils, all in one, is lost on no one who devours Hindu mythology, with 330 million gods anyway. Yeah, this is desi entertainment. I say this listening to actor Ranveer Singh's voice in the Hindi trailer of Marvel's forthcoming Deadpool 2 go: "Kitna traas dega, Thanos." Sach mein, bro!

Mayank Shekhar attempts to make sense of mass culture. He tweets @mayankw14 Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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A top Powai school found itself in a controversy after a lady school bus attendant accused the transport manager of molestation. For a couple of days now, this paper has been running reports about the molestation charge with the complainant saying that the man had harassed her earlier, too, but there was no cognizance taken of her earlier verbal complaints.

This case is interesting and we need to have an outcome here, because it is the protector who has become a molestation survivor. It is mandatory for institutions to have women bus attendants inside school buses. The rule has come in the wake of the molestations of girl students on school buses. All schools and their transporters who may be on contract have been told to abide by the rule to ensure safety of girls in buses. There are other rules such as GPS and CCTV in the buses. It is a matter of great shame that sexual harassment has become so rife that even little girls in school buses need to be protected. One must focus on the fact that an attendant, who is supposed to protect the children, has made allegations of being molested.

The school authorities must launch a thorough internal probe, even as the police are conducting an investigation. The survivor, having had the courage to go to the cops, needs to follow the case to its end. Though this happened outside the school bus, buses need to have a GPS and schools must install CCTV cameras in their premises, buses and outside the school so that footage can be used in cases like these.

A thorough follow up and quick action will assuage the worries and fears of parents who cannot be blamed for thinking their children are extremely vulnerable, given that an adult woman, who is like a caretaker in the school bus, has turned complainant herself.

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The city is shaken up by the brutal murder of a young woman working with an upmarket chain of salons. In what has been dubbed as a case having parallels with the Sheena Bora murder, this beautician's body was kept in a car post the murder and then disposed off in marshy land at Wadala. Police teams are trying to recover the body, but have been unsuccessful so far.

It's time to focus on the reason for this murder. According to the police, two colleagues, who have been caught, killed the young woman because she refused to take back a notice sent to one of the accused because of his shoddy performance at work. Despite their entreaties, the victim had not relented about withdrawing a notice sent to one accused till the last day when his employment may have been terminated.

Both colleagues claim, according to reports, that the murder was done in the heat of the moment. The family of the accused, though, insist they are innocent. What has shocked the city is the triviality of the motive. A life has been lost simply because somebody was going to lose his job. As one tries to absorb this, a much smaller report recently was indication of a society, which is weaned on instant gratification and instant rage. A young gym owner was stabbed to death and his female friend hit with a beer bottle over a quarrel with a Disc Jockey (DJ) over which songs to play.

We have been seeing murders happening over slightest provocations. Bring back regard for human life, which has been cheapened considerably. Cherish patience, logic and encourage our children to think before they act. Put an absolute premium on human life. These seem like knee-jerk murders, where rage consumes the murderers, who are mostly ordinary men and women who have no criminal record. Speed kills and in more ways than one.

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Australia's new head coach and former batsman Justin Langer interacts with the media at Melbourne on May 3. He replaced Darren Lehmann. Pic/Getty Images

Australia have a great coach in Justin Langer to guide them through one of their worst cricketing crises. Correction: They have a batting great as coach. The majority of permanent coaches of the Australian cricket team were not Test greats. In fact, the last batting great to wear the coach's cap was Bob Simpson; their first ever coach.

It was under Simpson that newly-appointed coach Justin Langer made his Test debut for Australia — in the summer of 1992-93 — when the West Indies were still the number one team in the world. Langer will not forget it. How could he? The first ball he faced in Test cricket, off the swift Ian Bishop, landed firmly at the back of his helmet. The blow left him dizzy and dazed at the Adelaide Oval. Interestingly, he was also knocked down in his 100th Test — at Johannesburg in 2006 — when he was hit hard behind the right ear by South African Makhaya Ntini to play no further part in the match.

Much like that delivery, Langer's entry into international cricket in the early 1990s was hard. He expected to be on the flight with Allan Border's England troops in 1993, but he didn't find favour with the selectors. He only became a regular one-drop batsman for his country five years down the line, before combining splendidly with Matthew Hayden in the opening position.

He was part of the 1997 Ashes series in England, but did not feature in any of the five Tests. That did not stop him from playing the perfect team man. Mark Taylor was in the throes of a treacherous slump that got the critics dissecting every one of his innings. Langer and his skipper happened to be batting together in the side game against Derbyshire, who were captained by former teammate Dean Jones. Taylor slashed at one off Philip DeFreitas and Jones dropped the catch at slip. At the end of the over, Taylor exclaimed to his junior partner, "That's bloody it, mate. I just can't f****n play!" The young bull (that's what Taylor called Langer when he related this incident in his autobiography Time to Declare) refused to accept the negativity from his skipper. "Mark, that's bloody rubbish," Langer shot back and added, "Of course, you can play. You know that. Just watch the bloody ball really close, stick in here and it will come."

Taylor listened to Langer's advice and ended up hitting his first straight drive in six months to score 63 in 181 minutes. In the next game — the opening Test of the 1997 Ashes — Taylor helped himself to a second innings hundred. The following year, while Langer continued to deal with his in-out, in-out situations, he toured Pakistan where his teammates nicknamed him Arthur Morris.

In The Power of Passion, one of Langer's four literary works, he revealed that Morris (who was part of Don Bradman's 1948 Invincibles) used to be asked often by cricket lovers about how it felt to be in the same team as Bradman. Now, Morris happened to be at the non-striker's end when Bradman was famously bowled by Eric Hollies for a duck in his last Test innings at The Oval in 1948. The dismissal prevented The Don from ending up with a three-figure batting average. Morris used to remind his audience about the fact that while Bradman's duck was most talked-about, people forget that he scored 196 in that same innings. Similarly, Taylor's 334 not out is celebrated as an epic performance, but Langer scored a hundred in that innings — his first in Test cricket — at Peshawar, but it never gets talked about. Given the shared irony of their stories, the Arthur Morris moniker stuck.

Langer ended his career in 2006-07, when Australia claimed the Ashes back after England regained the urn in 2005. Gripping cricket notwithstanding, not many Australians will look back on that contest, their first Ashes series loss since 1986-87, with pleasure. While the Australians were playing poorly in 2005 and were made to follow on at Trent Bridge, my Australian friend Andrew Ramsey, who was reporting the series for The Australian newspaper, was asked to pen a piece for The Times in London.

The guest writer was critical of Australia's performance. As Ramsey left his room for the breakfast lounge in the team hotel at Nottingham, he bumped into Langer, who told him that he read the article. Ramsey was expecting a negative reaction, but Langer called Ramsey's analysis "spot on." He patted him on his shoulder twice and ran towards the elevator to join his teammates in the team bus.

Acceptance is a great trait to have. Langer has many more, developed ever since his 11-year-old eyes watched on television his Western Australian hero Dennis Lillee shatter Viv Richards' stumps off the last ball on Boxing Day in 1981 at Melbourne. Lillee's incredible inswinger made Langer yearn to play for Australia someday. Doubtless, he'll want to be a great coach now.

mid-day's group sports editor Clayton Murzello is a purist with an open stance. He tweets @ClaytonMurzello Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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Yesterday, this paper carried a front page report about a Malad resident called Abhijit Mukharji, 25, who was arrested for stalking a 26-year-old woman for eight years. The accused was released on bail five days after the woman lodged a complaint against him. While the court granted bail on strict restrictions, senior officers from the Mumbai Crime Branch have said they will be reviewing the case.

To elaborate, the crime branch arrested Mukharji, who worked for a famous search engine company, on May 3 and remanded in police custody till May 6. This man stalked the woman, hacked into her Tinder account and wiped out all the 'likes' on her account.

While there are restrictions put on the stalker, it is surprising that bail has been granted within five days, for harassment that went on for eight years. The report states that he had even met the woman in Mumbai. Post the meeting, where his conversation rang warning bells for the woman, he started threatening her and warning her not to talk to anybody else because he loved her. She finally filed a complaint.

Let us give stalking the seriousness it deserves. Very often, it is dismissed as casual or harmless. Women who are often told by people that they are imagining there is a stalker. Their fears and concerns are trivialised and they may also be accused to exaggerating the harassment or their discomfort with the stalking.

Making excuses for stalking, like he thought she was someone else, or that he was drunk and did not know he was stalking, are also inexcusable. Online stalking is dangerous and can escalate very quickly to offline situations. Stalking is harassment. It is a crime. It can lead to a dangerous obsession. Treat it with the gravitas it deserves and shut down stalking through severe punishment.

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On the ferry, leaving the island of Burano at dusk. pic courtesy/Rosalyn D'mello

Because the high chairs and tables extending onto the pavements are arranged like invitations; because the indigo sky greets us with its distinct hue, informing us that though the sun has set and it is past 8 pm, the evening has only just begun; because our feet, so tired from daytime explorations, miraculously find the strength to continue their march; because Mac's Ruby Red lipstick enhances our personalities, making spectacles of our skin tone; or maybe because we are not alone, by 9 pm, unfailingly and with impressive regularity, Mona and I become Queens of the Italian night. There are travellers who tuck themselves in early so they can restore their bodies for the future that awaits them when they awake. Not us.

We are nocturnal explorers, un-bound by the limitations of cartography. We find tentative destinations and then walk the streets like we own them, like they belong to us. We allow ourselves to get distracted by the sights we suddenly stumble upon; we make commentaries on street signs, we take pleasure in seducing policemen into smiling sheepishly at us, we keep ourselves open to conversations with strangers. During the day you could ostensibly call us tourists. We visit monumental sites; pay entry fees, download audio guides and take photographs of everything that impress us. But at night, we are uninhibited.

Because we come from a reality that is both condemned and celebrated as third world, we have few filters about what constitutes safe and unsafe European streets. We trust our intuitions that have been fine-tuned through years of navigating streets that ought to be friendlier towards women's presences, that could do much more to encourage women's loitering. Online guides tell us to be wary of specific areas, but because Napoli feels like a somewhat seamless city with one street urging you on to the next, one inviting façade leading you to explore another, we do not exercise too much restraint as we navigate a city that feels overwhelmingly familiar. We walk through gritty and un-pretentious streets, walk into dive bars and surprisingly cheap restaurants. On our first evening in Napoli, for example, we followed a cyber suggestion and found ourselves at an institution where every drink on the menu was priced at one euro. It was teeming with as many people as could be found in a single Mumbai local compartment, all elated and happy drunk. We had a few Apero-Spritzes and proceeded towards a jazz bar, stopping in between because we were lured by a boutique shop on a wayside street.

There we had excellent red wine, and the choicest green olives. The jazz bar was a bust; it turned out to be a pretentious speak-easy where the bartenders wore white coats like mixologist doctors. Yes, there was what sounded like Billy Holiday singing in the background, and plush red sofas and a superbly well stocked bar, but it was cosmetic, and expensive, and after a small moment of indecision, we decided to simply walk out and go elsewhere. It wasn't a disappointment because on the way we had encountered so much of the city's past by way of arcades, historic fountains, grand edifices and random ruins.

This behaviour of ours hasn't been confined just to Napoli. Even in Firenze and Venezia, our nightly excursion was the day's highlight. In those cities, more than in Napoli, night-time turned out to be the only time when we weren't part of a swarming mass of tourists; when we didn't have to wait in extensive, un-ending lines to get in somewhere. It was surreal, navigating the canals of Venice at 2 am, when the water-borne city feels like an abandoned ghost town, when there isn't a single tourist for miles. Our friends and us had no compunctions being the last to leave a bar. Our friends lived just around the corner, while we, for cost-effectiveness, had chosen an Airbnb in neighbouring Mestre. We were undaunted by the prospect of finding our way to the 24x7-hour ferry to Piazzale Roma, then taking the night bus home. There was something deeply thrilling about having the luxury of public transport at that hour.

I always remember the feminist Shilpa Phadke when I've had a successful late-night out. She speaks frequently about the significance of the feminist claim to 'fun'. "Fun in public spaces cannot be quantified or sometimes even explained," she says. "How does one communicate the pleasure of asphalt under your feet; the rush of finding the bus you want at a traffic signal and managing to jump into it… the exhilaration of wandering in your city at night laughing with your friends. This is not simply fun, it's belonging to your city and having it belong to you." I could argue there's something similarly exhilarating about doing all of that as two women in a foreign land. When our male friends in Venice caringly offered to let us crash in their spare bedroom because it was past midnight, we politely declined. "Are you sure you want to go back so late?" they asked. "Yes," Mona replied. "Because we can!"

Deliberating on the life and times of Everywoman, Rosalyn D'Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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It is the first weekend in Matheran and we hope to see a number of visitors sporting helmets while horse riding. The paper had reported about how a Mumbai resident had donated a sizeable number of helmets to the hill station, after a little girl suffered head injuries after falling from a horse in Matheran.

Horse owners have also bought helmets and will be providing it to the tourists while horse riding. We appreciate that a start has been made towards ensuring safety for riders. Yet, one hopes that the helmet rule does not run parallel with the helmet rule for bikers in the city. Here, we see that constant vigilance is needed to ensure that bikers wear a helmet. Police nakabandis are set up to catch those riding without a helmet and fines are imposed for the same. One should not need a supervisory body to ensure that riders actually wear a helmet. Horse owners need to be held accountable if their horses are being ridden by visitors without a helmet.

Tourists must understand that the rule is made in the interests of their safety. Good counsel needs to prevail and common sense must rule. Having said that, visitors must go slowly on horses. They should refuse to ride if there is no dedicated helper who will walk along with the animal. Wear closed footwear when you are riding as sandals and slippers are hazardous, especially when mounting a horse, and in case your feet slip out of the stirrup. Parents need to see that their child is with a helper who is in control of the animal.

Matheran horse owners want better roads, which is out of the control of visitors. Tourists and hordes of Mumbaikars who believe if-it-is-May-it-must-be-Matheran should take onus for their safety as far as possible. Wearing a helmet is a good beginning.

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The saddest thing is how the people responsible for moral policing are allowed to get away with it. Representational Image

I didn't watch the viral video featuring that young couple being abused and attacked by commuters on the Kolkata metro. I knew it would only upset me, like so many videos populating a million WhatsApp groups now do with depressing regularity. I also expected the faux outrage, followed by young men and women hugging each other publicly in acts of defiance to be documented for their Facebook pages.

That this didn't raise eyebrows a few hours after the furore died down is proof of how insensitive we have all become towards any attack on perceived acts of love. We live in a city that once routinely saw couples being attacked on Valentine's Day until the regressive folk responsible for the attacks realised it didn't get them brownie points. We also live in a city where couples holding hands have to deal with thousands of people eyeing them warily, as if the act of holding another human being's hand is alien to our culture. That this is the same culture that gave birth to the sculptures of Khajuraho is lost on millions of our countrymen who scan the streets for acts of intimacy that make them uncomfortable.

In 2015, a young man was stripped and brutally assaulted in public by right-wing activists in Mangalore who had a problem with him being in the company of a girl with different religious beliefs. They couldn't stand the idea of two young people choosing to ignore something as inane as religion in order to find a human connection. That same year, another young man in Kerala was beaten to death by a mob after being found in the house of a woman. To put this into perspective, there were a lot of people offended by what two adults were doing in the privacy of their own homes.

There's a streak of misogyny that runs through these attacks, too, of course, as anyone who remembers the 2009 attack on a pub in Mangalore will attest to. Young men and women were drinking alcohol, which, according to the clowns who routinely become spokespersons for our culture, was an insult to traditional Indian values. It's interesting how all these values involve men making decisions on behalf of women, worrying about their morality, taking it upon themselves to decide how women ought to behave in public for their own good.

What happened to the 13 couples and 35 other young men and women who were rounded up by the Mumbai police a couple of years ago following raids at hotels? They were all consenting adults who had simply checked into several hotels in Madh Island and Aksa. How can a supposedly civilised country justify the idea of policemen knocking on doors and taking couples into custody for choosing to spend time in a room together?

How do we reconcile something as barbaric and regressive as an 'anti-Romeo' squad? How do we make sense of people claiming to be offended by men and women kissing? How do people doing what evolution compels them to do offend other people? How do we explain to visitors that we live in a country where it's perfectly okay for policemen to ignore criminals and spend time patrolling public spaces in order to prevent men from being anywhere near women? And if this is how authorities believe they are protecting women from sexual harassment, what does that say about how millions of Indian men are taught to behave around women?

The saddest thing about these incidents is how the people responsible for them are allowed to get away with it. There aren't even slaps on the wrists, let alone repercussions that lead to any genuine change. People believe it's perfectly okay to harass a couple for hugging in public because they know that a mob can get away with murder. It's also why mobs do get away with murder so often in the world's largest democracy.

People who have problems with couples indulging in public displays of affection probably behave the way they do because they have never received much affection themselves. If you want to leave this country a better place than the way you found it, please do the right thing and hug your children, partners and loved ones more often. Also, please do it in public.

When he isn't ranting about all things Mumbai, Lindsay Pereira can be almost sweet. He tweets @lindsaypereira Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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Jagadamb refers to the ancestral deity Tulja Bhavani whose shrine sits in the mid-size city of Tuljapur in Osmanabad district. But, in present-day Maharashtra, the term Jagadamb rises above the geographical address. It is an embodiment of the feisty street-fighting youth, belonging to the Marathas or other backward castes, who owe their allegiance to a goddess who was also the motivation for Maharashtra's most-revered Chhatrapati Shivaji. Flashed on hooded T-shirts and pullovers, 'Jagadamb' has emerged topmost among the potent watchwords currently dominating popular discourse. Online sales and offline retail purchases across the state speak for the all-seasons connect of Jagadamb, which has takers irrespective of commemorative days and morcha schedules.

Abhijit Tarphe, a Dadar-based calligraphy artist, creates tees that occupy the fun space between political discourse, street lingo and social commentary. Pic/Ashish Raje

Apparel carrying longer mantras of Maratha loyalty — Ek Maratha Lakh Maratha, Hoy Maratha and Amhi Shivrayanche Sainik — have enjoyed cyclical demand, corresponding with the calendar of the 58 silent marches held last year. As the anecdote goes, Maratha T-shirts are in a "politically dormant" state at the moment. But fiery speaker (at the Maratha Kranti Morcha) and advocate from Aurangabad, Swati Nakhate Patil, feels T-shirts are effective communication tools. "What better reminder of the time when we took to the streets for reservations and equal terms? The identifiable catch lines recap our journey so far." T-shirt messages, she thinks, help in creating a family of volunteers. She'd know considering she is head of the Akka Foundation which has initiated a reform movement against socials ills like dowry and superstition among the Marathas. The foundation's signature T-shirt, wears a generic slogan – Sarvansathi Sarva Kahi – which indicates a wider fight for everyone's rights.

Swati Nakhate Patil, seen here with volunteers wearing their signature tee with the slogan, Sarvansathi Sarva Kahi. She heads the Akka Foundation which is fighting against socials ills. She has been one of the main speakers at the Maratha Kranti Morcha over the last one year

"The Marāthās" is a collective term referring to an Indo Aryan group of Hindus, Marathi-speaking castes of warriors and peasants who created an empire, covering a major part of India. They are not alone in the fight for rights. Another rights movement that's currently finding a reflection on T-shirts through creative slogans, photographs and graphic designs concerns the Lingayat community. They are seeking legal recognition as a religion distinct from Hinduism. Inspired by the success of their counterparts in Karnataka, the Lingayats in Maharashtra (some of whom have thronged Mantralaya too) are pressing for their religious minority status on T-shirts, which sing paeans to 12th century social reformer, philosopher and statesman Basaveshwara.

The Killa brand of tees focuses on Maratha pride associated with Chhatrapati Shivaji, and his various forts

He rejected temple worship by replacing it with direct worship of Shiva in the form of the Ishtalinga necklace, the image of the linga set in a silver casket, to be worn at all times close to the heart. Little wonder that both, Basaveshwara and the Shiv linga prominently feature on the T-shirts. As a professor of history and a keen observer of progressive movement slogans, Satara-based Amrut Salunkhe points out an interesting contradiction in the Lingayat factions. Not all sub-sects recognise Basava as the founder, but they don't seem to mind the T-shirt — available in Kannada and Marathi typography — carrying the phrase, Jai Vishwaguru Dharmsansthapak Basaveshwar! "The dissident factions have not yet come up with a counter icon. At this point, two different T-shirt creatives wouldn't have helped in lobbying for the larger Lingayat brotherhood," Salunkhe feels.

Theme T-shirts honouring the men of letters in the Marathi cultural world have been in currency for two decades; a recent manifestation was seen during a death anniversary of late Namdeo Dhasal whose fans wore the poet-ideologue's world view on a memorial T-shirt. The Bharatiya brand made use of faces of popular litterateurs like PL Deshpande and Narayan Surve, just as it made good use of the Marathi Abhiman Geet, and distributed T-shirts on Ashadi Ekadashi, Holi and Ganesh Chaturthi. They fashioned kid-centric lyrical sequence tees on monsoon joys too. Bharatiya has now extended its T-shirt ideation to Hindi and is soon to come up with Tamil messages. Their fare was earlier vended at literary summits, before it grew popular online, somewhat in the provincial cosmos where the Killa T-shirts thrived. Designed by Malvan-based artist and JJ School of Applied Art alumnus Arun Amberkar, Killa garments focus on the fortresses built by Chhatrapati Shivaji. The iconic rajmudra (official signature) T-shirt has been a hit for over a decade. Amberkar calls the line "lovingly crafted, wearable and usable slivers of history."

Dadar-based calligraphy artist Abhijit Tarphe feels customised tees are a fun zone for current affairs to find a rightful space. His T-shirts displayed apt word play (Sonu, tuza mazhyavar bharvasa nay ka?) when RJ Mallishka had attacked the BMC. He captures the Mumbai commuter spirit in the line, Mili to BEST, Nahi Toh Next.
Tarphe also has a range of occasion-based T-shirts like the tricolour-filled Independence Day special or Gokulashtami's Aya Makhan Chor creative. It is another story that T-shirts for Gokulashtami and Holi usually are gifted by political party leaders, chiefly Shiv Sena Shakha Pramukhs.

Jai Bhim T-shirts as a community-building tool have worked well over the years, not just for the April 14 Babasaheb Ambedkar Jayanti or the December 6 Mahaparinirvan Din. The apparel also comes in handy for Buddha Jayanti and during any political rally Dalit groups organise. This year, a Goregaon-based youth association, designed a special T-shirt declaring Mazhi Chaityabhoomi, Swacchabhoomi (My clean Chaityabhoomi). It served two political purposes; an affirmation of the Swacch Bharat mantra, challenging the stereotypical notion of Dalits arriving from rural Maharashtra who converge at Dadar's Shivaji Park Chaityabhoomi and litter.

T-shirt messaging extends to a range of causes — Separate Vidarbha; Who Killed Judge Loya?; Make (Women Safe) in India; Rape Roko; India Against Corruption; Donate Eyes; Pinkathon run against breast cancer. It has also been used to add cohesion to groups (I am with Anna Hazare; Desh Me Narendra/ Pradesh Me Devendra) or merely declare strength (Dr B R Ambedkar: King Number 1) or sport a vibe (Dude Please, Thane is not Bombay!/ Delhi is about Mera Baap Kaun Hai, Mumbai is about Who I am). T-shirts can help start a conversation, from the polite to the political.

Sumedha Raikar-Mhatre is a culture columnist in search of the sub-text. You can reach her at sumedha.raikar@gmail.com

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Illustration/Uday Mohite

So let me just come to the point, dear reader — I have a problem with our Indian media journalists and scribes — my grouse is they just don't cover Bollywood adequately… Shouldn't there be much more media fanfare about our stars? Who wants to only see them in the movies? I want micro details about their lives — their idiosyncracies, food habits, holiday destinations, personal recipes for aloo paratha and Creme Brulee, and quotes from them about everything, should bombard our lives.

I mean let's just take Sonam Kapoor's Shaadi last week — here there's this huge star getting married, and I'm ignorant about who she's marrying, where the various wedding functions were held, who attended the 'mehendi', and stag party, who designed her 51 wedding outfits, what does she think of her hubby's Instagram pictures, what he thinks of hers, what Karan Johar and cousin Arjun Kapoor wore… Why don't I have all this vital information? Why didn't the media fill the virtual world, our broadsheets and the air waves with all this absolutely important news? Really not fair to deprive us of all this! Why are they wasting time writing about stone pelting in Kashmir and elections in Karnataka? Surely this is not as important as that. Totally mistaken priorities, I feel.

And why don't our media photographers shoot our Bollywood stars more in their private lives — why aren't they 'spotted' coming out of movie houses, multiplexes, gymnasiums and airports? Why aren't their tiny tots being 'captured' with their nannies, in parks, through the windows of their school buses, on their iPads. But, singly, my biggest problem is with our Indian advertisers and marketers. Guys come on, why aren't our film icons endorsing brand after brand in your advertising campaigns?

Why aren't copywriters in ad agencies saying to themselves, what is the one USP that my client's water purifier has over the competition? Is it a better germ killer? No… It's Hema Malini.

I mean, do you honestly feel that film stars should only act in movies, is that really enough? Like why can't we see SRK asking us if we know what he smells like in deo ads?

I mean, the great Amitabh Bachchan, I really feel we don't see him enough — are we satisfied merely watching him as a Gujarati in '102 not out', speaking with the same Bengali accent he had in 'Piku'?

Why doesn't his baritone and charisma come out at us through our TV screens, billboards, newspaper supplements and magazines? Surely we want to also see him advertise Direct-To-Home cable facilities in a Bengali accent, tell us that we can control the temperature on our Air Con at home, from our mobile phones while sitting at the airport, and convince us to visit Gujarat. Is that so difficult?

To sum up, I want to be Bolly-wooed much more. Or I will just boycott all brands that don't have a film star endorsing it. And stop buying newspapers that don't have many more Bollywood pages. We just aren't Bollywoodised enough as a country.

Rahul da Cunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahuldacunha62@gmail.com

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Illustration/Devdutt Pattanaik

In the beginning, people said homosexuality is unnatural. Then scientists showed them that hundreds of species of animals do indulge in homosexuality. So people started saying homosexuality may be natural, but it is best restricted to animals. Amongst humans, it is a social disease. This unscientific understanding is popularised by many religious leaders, who are clueless about science, though they insist that the Vedas/Quran/Agama/Tripitaka/Talmud are essentially scientific.

These religious leaders fall into two categories. The first category is the 'liberal' guru who says sex is great for spirituality, provided it is heterosexual. The second category is the 'conservative' guru who says sex is not great for spirituality, and if you must indulge in it, do it for babies.

A gay man heard how a broad-minded Indian guru presented sexuality as an integral part of spirituality, and so decided to read a bit more of the guru's writings. He was suitably impressed, there was a lot of talk of how exploring sexual desires authentically enhances spiritual growth. But then came the horror! When the guru spoke of sexuality, he was referring only to heterosexuality and was essentially promoting orgies as a tool to liberate yourself. He saw homosexuality as a social disease resulting from heterosexuality being suppressed when men are locked with men in monasteries and prisons and women are locked with women in nunneries. This was his fantasy, which he marketed as mystical knowledge of the East!

A lesbian woman came upon a guru who gave her a sympathetic ear, and who confidently asserted that ancient mystical sages (all male, of course) had revealed to him that natural sexual activity is for making babies only, and that pleasure is just nature's way of incentivising you to make more babies. It is the human perversion to bypass the baby-making and focus on pleasure. Such value placed on pleasure comes from stress, hormones, and a lack of spiritual grounding. He insisted that homosexuality is a social pathology, not a natural physiology. She could stay a single woman if she did not wish to be a man's wife, but she had to engineer her life towards spirituality rather than sexuality if she sought fulfilment and happiness. Her libido, he insisted, was in dire need of fixing!

Most of these gurus do oppose the criminalising of homosexuality, and so appear to be modern. However, they do see homosexuality as a deviance (or its Sanskrit equivalent), or a 'fluidity' that needs explanation, management and re-alignment. They mirror the homophobia directed at queer people (pandakas, napunsakas) that we find in ancient monastic orders such as Buddhism and Jainism. Their discomfort with queerness is similar to their well-disguised discomfort with gender equality: 'Women are as good as men, provided they put the man's needs first.' Essentially, these gurus preach qualified equality, where their personal comfort zone (heterosexuality, celibacy, masculinity) remains privileged.

It is important to recognise gurus as political figures. They are today clearly political vote banks, with a vast number of followers who do whatever the guru tells them to do. Hence the power of their spiritual discourses to influence social and political direction needs to be acknowledged.

We must also recognise the power of followers over gurus. Gurus are expected to be superhuman, and 'pure and pious'. We don't mind them dancing to Bollywood songs or playing golf. But if they were to talk too much in favour of sex and pleasure, we will see them as less than spiritual. In our hearts, many of us are convinced spirituality is an adversary of sexuality. We see Shiva who burnt Kama to ash. We refuse to see Shiva who was enchanted by Kamakshi and Mohini.

The author writes and lectures on the relevance of mythology in modern times. Reach him at devdutt@devdutt.com

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Illustration/Uday Mohite

Believe it or not, exciting things are happening in Konkani cinema. I am familiar with Indian films in at least 10-12 languages, but it was a real discovery watching the best Konkani films on the jury of the 9th Goa State Film Festival Awards, that was given last week. To know who the top Konkani stars are, what subjects interest them — the church often looms large. The Best Film (Konkani) went to Nilesh Karamunge’s Mahaprayan (The Last Journey), Best Director (Konkani) to Rajiv Shinde’s K Sera Sera (Ghodpachem Ghoddtelem, Whatever Will Be Will Be), and Best Film (Marathi) to Sainath Parab's Disha (Direction). Mahaprayan was a real discovery, of which more anon. K Sera Sera, which swept nine awards, told two parallel stories of an ambitious career woman and a retired man, struggling to keep his family together, starring actor-producer Rajesh Pednekar and Palomi Ghosh. It had rich technical and acting credits, some ‘imported’ from outside Goa. Sadly, Miransha Naik’s powerful Juze was not in competition, but Nilesh Malkar’s Soul Curry smartly ‘imported’ Bollywood star Jackie Shroff for wider appeal. Shroff even dubbed for himself in Konkani and won a Special Jury Award for Best Actor.

Mahaprayan is one of those rare films, that makes a powerful social critique while accomplishing an amazing technical feat: the whole 83 minute-film is a single take, shot by Sameer Bhaskar. What’s more, it is the debut feature of an ex-army man, Nilesh Karamunge. Inspired by a real incident in Odisha, the film is about Tulsidas (Dhananjay Amonkar) who, unable to afford a hearse to take his dead wife from the hospital to his distant village for cremation, walks home all the way, carrying her corpse on his shoulders, accompanied by his young daughter Kaalika (Aarya Ghare). The pair meet many people who refuse to help — hospital staff, passengers in a bus, the police, and when a kind forest official finally helps them, the media pounces on him for ‘misusing’ a government jeep. The crew did many rehearsals, shooting in real time as they walked 3.5 km in the noonday sun. The film is a scathing attack on the government and our society. The charming and mature Aarya Ghare, just nine, won Best Actress.

Mahaprayan vaults to one of the year's most gratifying discoveries in Indian cinema, its accomplishments far exceeding its modesty and flaws. K Sera Sera is a polished work, given Konkani cinema’s constraints. And let's get some perspective here: while most regional Indian cinemas started in the 1920s or earlier, the first Konkani film, Mogacho Anvddo, was released only in 1950. The Hindi and Tamil industries make, on average, 250-350 feature films a year, but the fledgeling Konkani industry makes barely five to seven features a year. And there is no doubt that Konkani cinema got kick-started since the International Film Festival of India (IFFI) was held in Goa since 2004, and the locals were consistently exposed to world cinema. And look what it's offering now — you do a double take.

Meenakshi Shedde is South Asia Consultant to the Berlin Film Festival, award-winning critic, curator to festivals worldwide and journalist. Reach her at meenakshishedde@gmail.com.

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Illustration/RAVI JADHAV

Concern is sometimes a mask for control. This is interestingly true when it comes to films that are concerned about the situation of women. If these "concerned" films attract censorship, then they control even more subversively. They become imbued with a revolutionary halo, becoming an urgent cause to be supported, a badge of honour, not a film that tells us deep truths about our lives.

The film Nude arrived on a white horse, after a similar symbolic battle. It's very title had disturbed the Ministry of Information and Broadcasting. It traces the journey of Yamuna after she leaves her village and her brutish husband and becomes a nude model in the JJ School of Arts, with her aunt's help, going on to sit for some famous artists. She has a parallel journey, from shame to pride in work, which is shown minimally. But in the end, she alienates her son and feels defeated and hopeless.

Nude has it's good points — the interesting subject, the strong performances from Kalaynee Mulay and Chhaya Kadam in the main roles, tiny flashes of earthy humour.

But on the whole, it is a plodding work of bad faith and a strangely colonial mindset. Here is a film in which the two main characters are women, which should be evidence of concern and interest in women. Yet they are given hardly any interiority or room to be more than an example of social issues. That's because many such films are not about the characters. They are really about establishing the filmmaker as a noble and high-minded being who will uplift women.

There are only three types of people in the film. There is the poor woman who needs saving from her own men; poor men, who are portrayed as bestial or passive; and bhadralok middle-class artists who are noble and pious with the higher purpose of art. The point is taken, that, cruel or benign, to all of them the woman is an instrument. But this is unfortunately as true of the filmmakers who bring no irony to looking at this 'higher purpose'. Why are there no middle-class women in the film? There are some token women art students — but they never speak, nor is there a single shot of a woman art student drawing a nude.

This absence further prevents any complications in the story of class, caste and gender relations. Complications about what it means to draw a naked woman, exalt her as Devi or pure spirit (the body is the garment of the spirit as one character says unctuously) to serve other people's higher purpose for a paltry pay. To the artist, the model is just a body. To the filmmaker, too, the woman is mostly a victim, a sufferer in search of a saviour.

In such films, women can never truly free themselves from circumstances. They are imprisoned in dead-end film narratives forever to serve the purpose of saviour-filmmakers in films like Nude, Pink and even Lipstick Under My Burkha. Why would filmmakers conceive of different meanings of women's lives, which point to a certain liberation, when these upliftment projects accrue such rewards and privileges? It is only when we, the audience decline to be grateful for this self-serving false realism, that we can hope for stories more true to the complexities of our lives.

Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. Reach her at www.parodevipictures.com

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The Sena chief says if BJP opts out in Palghar, he will support the ally in Gondia-Bhandara, which too will go to Lok Sabha bypoll on the same day (May 28).

Shiv Sena may have discovered a way to bend the BJP its way. The political precision with which the party snapped up the disgruntled son of a late BJP parliamentarian for fielding in the Palghar Lok Sabha bypoll has taken Uddhav's resolve of outsmarting the saffron frenemy to a decisive level. Uddhav wants to fly solo, escape BJP's trap for emerging as the single largest party in the state next year.

Palghar, a testing lab, may decide the fate of the strained relation between the two partners, which the Sena is using to try and carve a niche for itself by playing a detractor within and outside the government.

Uddhav has a spring in his step, as Sena prepares to run Palghar, and the guts to ask the BJP to withdraw from the race. It would be interesting to see who blinks first in a barter proposed by Uddhav. The Sena chief says if BJP opts out in Palghar, he will support the ally in Gondia-Bhandara, which too will go to Lok Sabha bypoll on the same day (May 28).

But will they reach a compromise? The possibility of the two parties backing out seem remote. There are others in the fray who too want the BJP defeated. The BJP has fielded a former Congress junior minister, Rajendra Gavit, who had started his political career with Janata Dal. Gavit came in amid high drama after Sena's nomination of BJP's late MP Chintaman Wanga's son Shrinivas surprised all. Gavit had lost two Assembly elections in a row for the Congress, and before that, he was unceremoniously asked to pull out for a BVS candidate in 2014 Lok Sabha polls.

'Well played, Sena'
The BJP camp does not admit it openly, but insiders say the Sena was tactically much superior this time. Sena explored the emotional turmoil in the Wanga family, which felt ignored by the BJP. The family members accused the BJP high command, including the CM, of not giving them audience. In response, Fadnavis blamed the poaching on Sena. He said it was unexpected of the ally, and that the BJP would win, with or without Sena.

The Palghar bypoll is important for the BJP to reaffirm its influence in the tribal belt. In the 2014 Lok Sabha elections, four out of the 48 seats were reserved for Scheduled Tribes, of which all went to the BJP, an unprecedented result. BJP had been contesting Dahanu (delimited and named Palghar) for many decades but with limited success.

In the Assembly, 25 of the 288 seats are reserved for STs. Of these, BJP won 11, followed by Congress's five, NCP's four, Sena's three and one each by CPI(M) and Bahujan Vikas Aghadi (BVA).

The results of Lok Sabha bypolls in Maharashtra should measure BJP's influence in the four years of government. Sena hasn't fielded in Gondia-Bhandara because its poor strength will never secure it a prominent place. Knowing his weakness in the region well, Uddhav paid an impromptu visit to Nagpur last week. Again, his was an attempt to create some nuisance for the BJP, where they expect BJP and NCP to fight straight.

Other factors in Palghar
For Sena, Palghar has turned out to be a sharper tool to cut the BJP to size. Uddhav has nothing lose in a skirmish that will be four-way in case some candidates don't pull out, while a victory would be a shot in the arm for Sena.

Former allies Congress and influential local outfit, led by Hitendra Thakur, BVA are also in the fray. BVA's role will be significant in splitting votes because it had won the LS seat in 2009, and lost the next to BJP, despite having its vote share of 30 per cent intact. In 2014, BJP increased its vote share by a whopping 25 per cent. BJP and Sena were together then, while Congress had withdrawn Gavit (now BJP's candidate) for supporting Thakur's candidate. BVA continues to be a big player in two urban Assembly segments of Vasai and Nalasopara, which Thakur and son represent.

If it were to ensure BJP's defeat, will Congress withdraw the candidature of former MP Damu Shingda this time? Congress insiders say supporting BVA may not be a good idea, and instead, the party should have a tacit understanding with the Sena for beating the BJP at the hands of the ally. But will that be acceptable to Congress, which is working to emerge as a strong alternative to BJP?

All eyes will be on developments taking place on Monday, the last day of withdrawal of candidatures.

Dharmendra Jore is political editor, mid-day. He tweets @dharmendrajore Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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Representational Image

"Pheroze… is it true what I've heard? Dr Viegas was privy to the buzz around Dhobi Talao that had reached some of his nonagenarian friends at Kyani's. They were chatting about it last morning over their brun-maska routine," Lady Flora checked with her old friend during their daily midnight stroll. The two had to re-route their trail post the Metro III work, and were now happier around Rampart Row, Lion Gate and the back lanes of Colaba. Sir PM Mehta rolled his eyes and adjusted his spectacles; he was a tad surprised at how quickly the news had spread among their ilk.

"Well, if you must know, Lady Flora," he began, "The gods who run Victoria Terminus…oops! I mean Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Terminus, are planning to install air-conditioners inside the railway station. Isn't it a highly questionable and extremely debatable suggestion?" The timing couldn't have been more apt though. The city was reeling under another humid and terribly uncomfortable May. Crows and pigeons were falling off the sky, and sparrows, well; the poor little winged fellas didn't stand a chance as water fountains, spouts and pyaus vanished by the day. The city's residents carried on with their daily grind and commute as they braved the elements. Seasons may change, but Bombaywallahs don't complain, as the two icons had grown to realise.

Sir PM and Lady Flora were both witness to all kinds of challenges with each summer that hit Bombay. Yet, and somehow, the idea of an air-conditioned railway terminus, didn't sit well with the duo. "You see, Pheroze," as she wiped a few droplets of sweat off her freshly restored face, "This must be just a rumour. What do those old bumbling uncles sipping on their chai know about the real khabar. I am pretty sure this won't go through," she said, trying to calm her own doubts, and then convince her friend. "Tell me, Pheroze, does it make sense logistically, and from a heritage viewpoint?"

Sir PM was happy to take the stand. "Lady Flora, when several great architects and urban designers, most of whom hailed from the British Isles, were commissioned to plan these magnificent Gothic and Victorian landmarks in a tropical city for the public, a common feature that bound their plans was the focus on ventilation. This was a departure from the norms of buildings in their part of the world. From what I can recall of a chat with the very talented FW Stevens - who designed the terminus and the corporation building - his plans kept the city's humidity in mind," he shared.

"Not only did they 'Indianise' the style by including fine motifs and emblems that celebrated the Indian Subcontinent but they also created high arched windows and ceilings with plenty of avenues for cross ventilation that made possible for the sea breeze to pass through." By now Lady Flora was all ears. They had reached the iconic terminus and she gazed at the landmark with new-found reverence. "Pheroze, this will be tragic - if they were to go ahead and box up the fine architectural template of this place. I cannot recall even the historic St Pancreas station having to face this kind of predicament."

Sir PM's face looked wrinkled with worry. "I know that one thing is sure to happen if this is passed – the station will be less of a train terminus and more of a comfortable and very, very crowded sanctuary for all those who wish to nap or relax in 'AC' comfort. Heaven help us! Lady Flora do please consider my suggestion to retreat to Panchgani for the summers, will you?"

mid-day's Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city's sights, sounds, smells and stones...wherever the ink and the inclination takes her. She tweets @bombayana Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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Just months after the newly revamped Kamala Nehru Park reopened, a little girl was left with a crushed thumb after she fell from a broken swing in the handicapped section. While the girl's parents alleged that the play area is not maintained properly, the authorities claim that the handicapped section was off bounds and the parents ignored the guards' warnings.

The park was reopened on February 23 this year, a little less than a year after it shut for a makeover. While the main section of the park was being renovated, the handicapped section remained shut. When the park was opened again, the children's facilities earned high praise. However, in mid-day's report on Saturday, a few parents came forward to say that the swings and see-saws were not well-maintained either.

Let us put the accent on quality at our parks. We have to remember that given the paucity of outdoor play venues for kids, there is a great rush to use parks that are available, and equipment is stretched thin because of the sheer traffic of children.

From the very beginning, the authorities need to focus on play facilities with endurance. They must also ensure that the rides are kept in top order, leaving no risk of such horrific accidents. Park authorities must keep a medical kit with basic supplies.

Having said that, children and their parents, too, need to respect park rules. They must follow instructions issued by the park officials and security. Parents must also ensure that facilities meant for differently abled kids are not used by everyone, as that defeats the purpose. Guardians have to remain alert and stop their wards if they try to access parts of the park that are not meant for them.

Blame games are counterproductive. Only quality rides, maintenance, security and respect for rules can ensure a great outdoors experience.

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In the two days of staged photographs, there is not one photo of Modi hugging Xi, his trademark personalised diplomacy of forcibly embracing other leaders. Pic/AP

One of the better things during the Karnataka Assembly election, no matter who emerges the single largest party tomorrow, was Congress president Rahul Gandhi's press conference in Bangalore. You may not have seen it on TV. It is on YouTube, however. Rahul again comes across in a light different to the whispers about him during the past two decades, proving how it was all the doing of a well-oiled BJP machine. My favourite part was Rahul's take on Prime Minister Narendra Modi's recent visit to Wuhan in central China for an "informal" summit with President Xi Jinping.

Here's what he said:
"I expected the PM to go to China as the leader of our country [and] speak to them about Doklam... He didn't say a word. [He] had a conversation with the Chinese President with no agenda. Are you telling me there's no agenda? There is an agenda, it's called Doklam; there is an agenda, it's called the Maldives; there is an agenda, it's called Nepal... The agenda is that we're surrounded on all sides; it's pretty clear. But you guys don't like to raise that, I don't know why.

"Our foreign policy has been completely decimated. And it's because the PM views foreign policy as an individual exercise. He's of the impression that he can go have a conversation with the president of China, or he can go have a conversation with the president of Nepal, and everything will magically happen.

"The PM needs to carry his own people with him. Are there any conversations going on with the finance minister, with the defence minister about this type of strategy? No. It's a one-man show."

Briefly: China tried to seize the Doklam plateau in Bhutan last year but after a 73-day standoff against our troops, it backed down. It has reportedly since built an infrastructure leading to Doklam. In the Maldives, China is displacing India: President Abdulla Gameen last year welcomed three Chinese warships, and last month hosted the Pakistan army chief. In Nepal, despite Modi's visit this weekend to promote Janakpur, Sita's birthplace, as a religious tourism spot, the Nepalese have drifted from us after India's five-month blockade in 2015 - we were pushing for greater political inclusion of the Madhesis. Modi is a villain for the Nepalese, as evident on social media.

China has seized advantage of India's pathetic neighbourhood behaviour, and, as Rahul said, has India surrounded. No wonder many think Modi went to beg Xi to keep relations calm in the run-up to the 2019 parliamentary election. That Modi's governance is election-oriented is no secret. Will the Chinese will play ball? When the two-day "informal" summit ended, the Indian side issued a statement and reportedly urged the Chinese to issue their own. Compare the two and you see a difference: while India mentioned a strategic direction to our respective armies to avoid tension on the Line of Actual Control, China only said the armies would follow past protocols. Joint statements are never easy, but individual statements are a piece of cake.

Modi had to supplicate himself because he cannot afford to go into the 2019 election after a showdown with China. Even a short skirmish will humiliate India. Unlike tension on the Line of Control with Pakistan, which benefits Modi since it can be dovetailed into communal rhetoric, tension with China gives Modi no benefit. Modi cannot help but humour China.

The Chinese were amenable to being humoured since they have now what they wanted in Doklam. China nowadays also wants to be seen as a responsible global power: hence it has nudged North Korean leader Kim Jong-Un into meeting his South Korean counterpart and, next month, with Donald Trump. China has also reached out to Japan, with whom relations are more complicated than with India.

Mainly, it was because Modi agreed to humiliate the Dalai Lama, the Tibetan Buddhist spiritual leader who has lived in India since 1959. India prohibited its ministers from attending a Dalai Lama function (ironically, to thank India) and asked him to shift it from Delhi to his base in Dharamsala, Himachal Pradesh. It was an insult; worse, he privately expressed the fear that he might be expelled.

The Chinese gave us time but they did not give Modi a hug. In the two days of staged photographs, there is not one photo of Modi hugging Xi, his trademark personalised diplomacy of forcibly embracing other leaders. Rahul Gandhi is right: Modi has decimated India's foreign policy. It's too bad that this and other aspects of his press conference were ignored by the TV media. But then, after Gujarat, Karnataka has been good practice for him. Modi's obsession with the 2019 election means that governance will suffer, so Rahul will get more occasions to show the public his mettle.

Aditya Sinha's next book, The Spy Chronicles: RAW, ISI and the Illusion of Peace, co-written with a former RAW chief and a former ISI chief, is out next week. He tweets @autumnshade Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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While women sit devoutly, the male attitude has tended to be: let us spray. Representation pic

Bangkok's malls have thousands of people. And people tend to pee, which is partly why they're called peeple. So malls have dozens of men's and women's toilets. Being Bangkok, city of fragrances and aroma oils, they really hate bad smells, so the lavatories generally smell like boudoirs.

In a hurry recently, and finding all the cubicles in the Men's occupied, I looked left and right, then darted into the Women's toilet, which happened to be woman-free at that moment, and locked myself into a booth there. Man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Emerging, visibly relieved, I noticed two things: there were no cleaning ladies in the women's toilet; and there was no pee smell there either.

The adjacent men's toilet had two cleaners toiling away with mops and buckets of perfumed disinfectants, but you could also detect the fouler odour they were masking: the stink of uric acid and ammonia from male piss. While women sit devoutly, the male attitude has tended to be: let us spray. I know, I know. We don't talk about such things in polite society. It's like the 13th floor in a skyscraper: you can't get rid of it, but you pretend it's not there. Never say "I would like to urinate, be right back". Better go with, umm, Have to see a man about a dog, or Going to make the bladder gladder, or Excuse me while I drain the dragon. Or, if a lady, Pardon me while I take a quick tinkle.

Say it how you wish, amigo, but here's the bottom line - India has fewer malls than Bangkok, but billions more, erm, happy pissers to whom the world is a urinal. Urinary odors were so much a part of childhood that I always assumed that toilets would always smell like, well, toilets. And it's true - a men's toilet in Chicago or Piccadilly will reek just like one of the 71 million apparently built so far by the Swacch Bharat Abhiyan.

What can I say? Piss smells. But Bill Gates, who loves poking his nose where things don't smell right, commissioned a worldwide study and found that usage of freshly minted toilets slopes off after six months. Respondents cited "dirty and smelly toilets" as reasons why they preferred the fields. Gates started the Reinvent the Toilet initiative in 2011, and began working with Firmenich, a Swiss company that makes bad smells better. They identified the four stinky molecules in toilets as indole, butyric acid, p-cresol and dimethyl tri-sulfide, and came up with a fragrance that blocks the nose's receptors that detect these. You could be up s**t creek, so to speak, and not smell a thing.

Like pretending the 13th floor doesn't exist even as you pass it. But you know me. The man with the humble opinion. While Gates would like to block your nose, I think I'd like to block the stink itself. After all, women seem to have it figured out - they sit when they tinkle, so they don't sprinkle. So - men should stand to pee why?

Toledo University's 18-month study found three causes of toilet odors - Missing the target. Face it, not all men are born snipers. The average Indian pissoir is haloed by a wet ring of failed attempts to hit the superbowl.

Uric acid, from men who pissed, but missed and dribbled on floors and walls (and their own shoes) instead, causing smelly bacteria build-up. Splashes - even when the target has been successfully met, a fine aerosol of uric acid lands on nearby surfaces. Urine in the cracks: Urine is absorbed into grout, ponging over time. I'd add poorly paid municipal cleaners and maybe a faint inherited attitude that only untouchables clean toilets. Splashing a bucket of water in a Swachh Shauchalay only spreads the urine evenly across the floor.

Research from the Dutch Leiden University Medical Centre says sitting down to pee helped men suffering from lower urinary tract disease symptoms to pee with greater force.

The stand-up guy activates a host of discreet muscles in the pelvis and spine, which prevent proper urination. More acute in public toilets where certain muscles might be clenched to suppress nether blasts while peeing.

As always, I didn't think of it first. In 2012, the Swedish Left party of Sormland Country Council put forward a motion that all male employees should sit down like well brought up girls when open their sluice gates. Taiwan and Japan have begun advising their men to sit down to pee - or else. And since a real man is clean, courteous, considerate and utterly lazy, a squat over the pot should suit him right to a, well, P. Believe me, I'm a recent convert. Want better reasons? Listen to Larry David from Curb Your Enthusiasm. http://tinyurl.com/ycqa6q3g

Here, viewed from there. C Y Gopinath, in Bangkok, throws unique light and shadows on Mumbai, the city that raised him. You can reach him at cygopi@gmail.com Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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A vacation brought nightmare news to a 26-year-old Shillong man's family. The man drowned in the Bhatsa River near Shahapur. He was in the city to spend his summer vacation with his cousins at his aunt's place. He had accompanied his cousins who went to the river to beat the heat. Though he was a good swimmer, he was sucked in by the current and drowned. In fact, the drowned man helped his cousins escape, but could not do so himself.

This report comes just days after the a 24-year-old techie allegedly drowned in a swimming pool in Pune. The deceased hailed from Andhra Pradesh and was a resident of Pune's Hinjewadi. He was taking swimming classes since the past one month.

Reports say the lifeguard realised that the techie had not resurfaced for a while when he jumped in and found the man unconscious. Though he was rushed to hospital, he was declared dead. His post mortem report also mentioned death due to drowning.

Both reports show us that swimmers tend to underestimate the power of water. They tend to overestimate their prowess in the water and end up paying a heavy price for that.

In the former instance, where a Shillong-based man died, people need to desist from jumping into rivers, lakes, ponds to cool off. The waters can be deceptively calm. If you are on a picnic, be content with simply submerging your feet in the water, instead of jumping into it. These lessons must be learnt well. The monsoon will bring with it revellers, who cavort in gushing waterfalls and water bodies at green getaways. Some of these picnics end in tragedies. Take extra caution when you swim, and do not enter a deep pool if you are a beginner or still learning. It must be action caution when it comes to water.

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Controversy and fracas is heating up over sugar imported from Pakistan. Reports have emerged about an NCP MLA from Thane district and party activists tearing sugar bags stored in a godown in Navi Mumbai. The MLA, who represents Kalwa-Mumbra constituency, said hundreds of NCP activists raided the godown, located in Dahisar Mori area of the satellite town of Mumbai, and tore the bags containing the imported sugar.

This comes on the heels of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS), which had already opposed the sale and distribution of imported sugar. MNS leaders from Navi Mumbai visited wholesale traders in the Vashi agriculture produce market committee (APMC), and warned them against the distribution of sugar.

While sentiment and belief is one thing, we hope that these sugar raids will not disrupt the ordinary person's life or schedule. Every political party has a right to credo and action, but it should not come at the cost of citizens.

The relevant party and its workers can hold a peaceful protest outside these godowns if they so desire, to raise awareness. They could also put up their resistance on social media and create awareness about why they oppose the Pakistani sugar. Do voice your opposition, do give vent to your anger or ire and do reinstate your stand. That is your right as citizens of a democracy.

Yet, one must always do so with a respect for people and violence should play no part in these protests. Beware of political shenanigans, which aim to capture eyeballs, rather than espouse the party line or philosophy. Actions like this must not snowball into confrontations with innocent people caught in the crosshairs.

Say no to Pakistani sugar if you wish, but do not disrupt daily life. Respect the law and the people, otherwise you fear losing sight of your cause in a spiral of violence and hooliganism.

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QSQT - perhaps the first Hindi film to be referred to by its abbreviated title - finished 30 years of its release this week

If you think about it, the reason the girl (Juhi Chawla) can't be with the boy (Aamir Khan) in Mansoor Khan's directorial debut Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak (1988) - path-breaking romance for its time - is rather simple. Years ago, the boy's father had killed the girl's uncle. This is because the uncle had impregnated the boy's aunt, but forced to marry someone else - abetting her suicide.

Now, why this uncle and aunt couldn't get together isn't quite clear in this adaptation of Romeo And Juliet. Unlike the couple in Sairat (2016), both belonged to rich, neighbouring families, from the same (Rajput) caste. The thorn in their backsides was the khadoos patriarch (Goga Kapoor). He enjoyed the sole right to decide who his son (and later his grand-daughter) would marry. Also, that girl had slept with his son out of wedlock.

For a movie mirroring such rigid, patriarchal values, it's amazing that it remains, up until 2018, a rare occasion where the heroine (Juhi) falls for first, and actively chases the hero (Aamir) - a sign of ultimate gender equality (to my mind), making it one of the most feministic films I know. QSQT - perhaps the first Hindi film to be referred to by its abbreviated title - finished 30 years of its release this week. Aamir, who also shared writing credit for the movie, organised a special screening with cast and crew to mark and discuss the moment.

I just saw QSQT myself, after several years, to observe with much relief that the film hasn't aged much (certainly not as much as humans have, since), although it's not as young as the all-time favourite, Mansoor's Jo Jeeta Wahi Sikander (1992), which still looks as fresh as last Friday's catch.

One of the things that Mansoor revealed after the QSQT screening, which is rather ironic given the film's subject, were the constant creative differences/fights he would have with his late father, producer-writer Nasir Husain, during the making, making others worry if they could ever move on. That way, QSQT is full of ironies.

To begin with, for a 2-hour, 43-minute movie, there are only four-and-a-half songs. This, coming from Nasir, king of Bollywood musicals, who produced, among other great soundtracks, the 10-minute-plus medley in Hum Kisise Kum Naheen (1977; best piece of music ever).

Once, being told that a track in QSQT had been composed, while it hadn't been, Nasir decided to hop over to the studio of music composer sons of Chitragupta, Anand-Milind, giving them only a 15-minute heads up. In that interim, Anand-Milind came up with the song, Aye Mere Hum Safar.

Don't know if the pressures were equally high throughout, for I recently discovered the track, Return To Alamo (1977) by The Shadows, which even by Bollywood's liberal standards for 'inspiration', seems shockingly lifted, note for note, even tempo intact, for the number Akele Hain Toh Kya Gham Hai. The only stroke of genius being that a war-cry has been turned into a romantic melody!

In 1995, Mansoor and Aamir teamed up to unofficially remake Kramer Vs Kramer (1979), even picking up scenes from the original, while one of the main songs was copied from The Godfather score. I once asked Aamir if he thought this was a complete, creative low. He didn't agree.

What young Mansoor, and indeed Aamir, did with one foot firmly on traditions and family customs/values, and the other on relatively modern sensibilities/outlook with QSQT, is take baby steps out of the shadows of the veteran Nasir Husain. This is very similar to how the Barjatyas' reticent scion Sooraj, 25, made his directorial debut with Salman Khan in Maine Pyar Kiya (MPK, 1989), and Yash Chopra's son Aditya, 24, smartly, gently pushed the mainstream bar with Shah Rukh Khan in his first film, Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (DDLJ, 1995).

Together, with soft romances involving hardened parents, the three newbie Khans invaded Bollywood, gradually extricating it from the '80s 'Angry Young Man' hangover, rape-avenger actioners, and family melodramas driven by baffling sensibilities of the money-making, assembly line movies, adapted from the South. QSQT, originally titled Nafrat Ke Waaris, was as much 10 years ahead of its time, as comforting for mainstream audiences from 20 years before. I remember older family members (and teenage girls alike) being struck by Aamir and Juhi, who were formally "introduced" in the film, although Aamir had earlier already starred in Ketan Mehta's Holi (1984).

Leading up to QSQT's release, a hoarding teaser campaign had been launched across Mumbai (and perhaps other cities), with just the question, "Who's Aamir Khan? Ask the girl next door!" The billboards turned into QSQT's posters upon the film's release. Yup, it's been 30 frickin' years. Of course, we know who's Aamir Khan. What film-buffs have always been curious about ever since, and for good reason, is what's he up to next! We always inevitably remember his last film. Which is why, I suspect, QSQT, unlike MPK, DDLJ, if you think about it, hasn't actually got its due.

Mayank Shekhar attempts to make sense of mass culture. He tweets @mayankw14 Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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The desire to stream his speeding stunt live on social media cost a 20-year-old engineering student his life, while his cousin, who accompanied him, is battling for his life in hospital. He had stolen the keys to his uncle's car. This report highlighted once again that social media distractions and driving are a lethal mix.

The police have identified the deceased as Shivam Prakash Jadhav from Kharadwadi in Pimpri. He died on the spot. His cousin Hrishikesh Vilas Pawar, 22, was cited as critical and undergoing treatment in a Pimpri Chinchwad-based private hospital.A senior police officer was quoted in the report as saying that the car was speeding at 120 kmph. The passenger was streaming live on Instagram when the driver asked him to show the speedometer. Later, he lost control of the car, and it rammed into a grid separator.

The thrill of speed coupled with the thrill of likes, adulation and congratulatory messages is so potent that there can never be enough said about desisting from using social media while driving. Even earphones are a no-no when driving because your hands may be free, but the mind is elsewhere on the conversation and your focus and attention is compromised.

Here, we also had another factor thrown into the tragic cocktail. The driver was speeding. It was the passenger who was streaming live on Instagram, but the driver's attention was compromised as he was distracted by Instagram. It was evident that the young men were on a suicide mission unknown to them.

Let there be more awareness and we want to see a blitzkrieg on social media how it is not cool to drive and be on social media at the same time. Speed should be similarly panned. Youngsters, this is so not cool. Losing a life for some likes? Certainly not.

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Captain Michael Clarke (left) listens as Bill Lawry speaks to the Australian team before the Melbourne Test v Sri Lanka on December 26, 2012. Pic/Getty Images

Bill Lawry has called time on his fulfilling 40-year career as a television commentator with Channel Nine. His retirement is a loss and no commentator can utter 'it's all happening' as excitingly as the former Australian captain. Lawry, 81, (nicknamed Phanto for his love for Phantom comics) decided he had enough of commentary when his employers lost the bid to cover cricket Down Under. Lawry enjoyed every moment of his commentary years. He was grateful for the opportunity Kerry Packer gave him in 1977, six years after retiring from first-class cricket.

Cricket destiny was not so kind to Lawry during the 1970-71 Ashes. Selectors Sir Don Bradman, Neil Harvey and Sam Loxton dumped him despite his 324 runs in five Tests at an average of 40.50. The illustrious ones who wielded the axe didn't feel obliged to inform him. When Lawry tried to meet one of them before flying out of Adelaide on the morning after the sixth Test, he discovered the selectors had already checked out for home. He then headed to the room of his fellow Victorians Ian Redpath and Keith Stackpole who delivered the news of his sacking.

He took it on his chin, headed home to Melbourne and put behind his disappointment in the company of the pigeons he reared as a hobby. Lawry scored 5,234 runs in 67 Tests at 47.15. As a batsman, he could be obdurate and adhesive, but his supporters didn't see that as a negative. Ian Wooldridge, the famous British sports writer, apparently called Lawry, A Corpse With Pads On. Lawry defended Wooldridge in an interview, saying a sub-editor used those words in a headline for one of Wooldridge's pieces. "I always regarded Wooldridge as a tremendous writer. I have always had a good relationship with him," Lawry said in Why Cricket Matters.

Richie Benaud, his first captain, often recalled Lawry's courageous 130 on a difficult, uneven pitch at Lord's in 1961 when England pacemen Fred Trueman and Brian Statham rendered the opener "black and blue" with their body blows. The 1962 edition of Wisden Cricketers' Almanack projected his bravado aptly: "Lawry was Australia's spinal column in the second Test at Lord's. This was an indomitable effort of sheer graft under severe pressure with the ball flying about and he was tenacious, painstaking and wonderfully cool."

On the 1964-65 tour of the West Indies, danger came in the form of the swift Wes Hall and Charlie Griffith, who damaged Lawry's right cheekbone, but couldn't stop him from carving a gritty double century. Lawry had a sweet and sour stint as captain, winning nine of his 25 Tests. His eight losses included four in a row on the dreadful 1969-70 tour of South Africa. For 35 seasons — from 1969-70 to 2004-05 — he enjoyed being the only Australian captain to win a Test series in India.

Despite being on top of MAK Pataudi's 1969-70 side, Lawry found captaincy hard in India. His team were not granted current-day luxuries and amenities. Plus, there were a couple of riots. There's an amusing story about the Mumbai Test of that series when fans set a stand on fire at the Brabourne Stadium. The crowd felt the decision to send back S Venkataraghavan (caught behind by Brian Taber off Alan Connolly) was a dubious one. The Australian players feared for their lives and at one point, vice-captain Chappell suggested to skipper Lawry that the team should retreat to the dressing room. In Lawry's mind, there was a Test match to be won, so he said (according to historian Gideon Haigh in The Summer Game), "Hell, we need a wicket badly."

From a personal point of view, it was a disappointing series for Lawry. His 10 trips to the crease could fetch him only one half century and he became unpopular with the media. However, there were no Australian newspaper journalists on tour for him to give his side of the story. Indeed, commentary was his second innings in cricket. He excelled, he entertained, even exaggerated. He got excited to the point of causing amusement to his fellow commentators. When Venkatapathy Raju and Javagal Srinath were running between the wickets in their quest to clinch a close win over the Australians at the Gabba in the 1992 World Cup, Lawry goaded the Indian pair to run like hares. And once, he confessed to saying, "Inzamam-ul-Haq has taken this attack by the throat of the neck."

Lawry was invariably on air when drama made its way into a match. He called many a memorable Indian cricket moment in Australia — Sachin Tendulkar's two Test hundreds on the 1991-92 tour, Sunil Gavaskar's walkout at Melbourne and the victory that followed in 1981. Australian cricket viewing will never be the same without Channel Nine and the new rights holders could regret that they have no one as good as Lawry to scream on air, "What a ripper!"

mid-day's group sports editor Clayton Murzello is a purist with an open stance. He tweets @ClaytonMurzello Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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The mystery behind the death of a group of brothers seems to have been solved, said a report in this paper. The Chavan cousins were found dead between Kandivli and Borivli stations earlier this week.

A day after their death, an eyewitness informed the police he saw them jumping from the train to cross the tracks when it had stopped at a red signal between stations.

An inspector stated in the report that when the train halted, the boys tried to jump to cross the tracks. In doing so, they missed seeing a train coming from the opposite direction and were hit by it. Investigations are on and eyewitnesses are being sought to corroborate the version. Yet, it looks quite certain that this is yet another track death amongst the many in the annals of railway track death history.

We need to see signage on stations warning people not to cross tracks. Even some signage inside train bogies about the danger of crossing tracks will be helpful. This may not be an absolute deterrent, but will at least make people stop and rethink before crossing tracks.

Maybe passengers' unions can put up warnings on social media. A track crossing survivor, who has had a narrow escape, could recount his experience. He could even speak about how lucky he was to escape with his life and exhort the lakhs who use the service not to endanger their lives.

From riding rooftop of trains to crossing tracks, there are so many dangers that commuters bring upon themselves. A service that is already strained to a breaking point is inherently dangerous because of the sheer numbers. It is safety first, when it comes to this service, commuters must realise there is a greater onus than ever on them to ensure their own safety. Crossing tracks is an invitation to a grievous injury or a tragic end.

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The Roman Forum in the center of Rome. Pic Courtesy/Rosalyn D'mello

I did not account for what now seems like the inevitable consequence of so much travel: the blurring of existential categories that define my raison d'etre as I continue my Italian sojourn. What am I first, writer, tourist, traveller or pilgrim? To which of these vocations do I owe my primary allegiance?

Starting out in the northern region of Bolzano, within which I somehow managed to ensconce myself, thanks to my residency at Eau&Gaz, within exactly 30 days I have found myself in the deep south - the autonomous Mediterranean island of Sicily; a lived repository of continuous histories dating two millennia. I accessed the regions of Tuscany, Veneto, Neapolitan and Lazio through my explorations of Firenze, Venezia, Napoli and Roma, before taking a flight to Palermo, from where I am transcribing this dispatch. By the time you will have read this, I will already have returned to Roma where I will spend another night before I make my way to Ortona and Assisi, thereby initiating the more pilgrim end of my travel. I am deeply aware that I now have less than two weeks left in Italy, and I am struggling (really, really struggling) to make sense of everything I have encountered through my witness. How to distil the vast everything-ness of my recent realities into bottled significance; something that is easier to swallow, digest, imbibe, share?

I was grateful to land in Palermo; grateful to have found a cheap flight that got me here from Rome in under an hour, grateful to avoid what would otherwise have been a 14-hour journey. But, mostly, I discovered I was grateful to be in a city that felt like the opposite of Rome; un-pretentious, unabashed about its past, non-ostentatious and aesthetically more austere. Here I felt I could allow my body to recover from the sensual assault of the spectacle that is that city of grand beauty, magnificence, un-mindful excess. No guide I'd perused had prepared me for my sensory dyslexia, particularly on the perceptual front, like the difficulty I would experience in simply focussing my gaze.

As a sightseeing tourist, one is mentally prepared to encounter a monument; a spectacle; a historic site. In Rome, however, you are condemned to stumble upon multiple. You walk into a street and your eyes rest first on a fountain, then naturally zoom out to witness the larger frame, except you spot, next door, an opulent church façade, and across from it another, but perhaps from another century altogether, and for a moment you feel like you're experiencing a glitch in a time-travelling machine. You walk later at night to catch your bus back to your Airbnb and come upon a vast excavation site bearing just a two-paragraph description and you empathise with the historians and archaeologists who seem themselves to be struggling with this excess; this dense populace of relic, debris, pagan vestige and Catholic worship sites.

Each night my feet, exhausted and overwhelmed from walking, cried themselves to sleep as my mind, unable to still my still-restless body, tried to make sense of what I'd seen, thought, remembered, and referenced: the Sistine Chapel, the wonders of Bernini, the cinematic odes by Fellini, Rosselini, Passolini and Sorrentino; and the more obscure works of writers like Malcolm Lowry. I had to re-read one of his protagonist's visit to the Keats and Shelley Memorial Museum next to the Spanish Steps as I sat by the side of The Pantheon, after having been to that museum, and in preparation for the next day's visit to the Non-Catholic cemetery containing both poets' tombs. Had I not had the sense of mind to seek solace in relatively more obscure churches and smaller chapels, both to escape the madding crowd of tourists and to offer my body an indulgent moment of pause, I'm sure I would have been defeated by that city.

It was the only reason why, despite being drained of all energy, I could make one final schlep towards the Coliseum and also convince Mona to meet me there. After a very leisurely stroll at what felt like perfect timing, when the final rays of the sun hit the millennia-old façade, we found a corner to park ourselves for a while. I couldn't help, but show her a clip from Sorrentino's The Great Beauty; of Sister Maria on the balcony of the protagonist's home in front of the Coliseum, gathering the flamingos in the thick of night, then blowing into the air to gesture at them to fly away. I felt as though I'd finally 'got' Sorrentino's film, despite having seen it a while ago. I had to come to Rome to solve its mystery.

I cannot shake off this lingering feeling that something beyond my own free will is designing my itinerary, is customising each imprint my feet make. Whether I am either or interchangeably a writer, tourist, traveller or pilgrim has become inconsequential. All that matters now is that I willingly surrender in order to be remade.

Deliberating on the life and times of Everywoman, Rosalyn D'Mello is a reputable art critic and the author of A Handbook For My Lover. She tweets @RosaParx Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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The BMC has claimed to be monsoon-ready this year, but it’s highly unlikely that the city roads will be pothole-free. File Pic

I like waiting for the BMC to issue proclamations of all kinds based on whatever mystical tests it uses instead of science. It will tell us when the rains are expected, for instance, then promptly issue a new date 24 hours before the original one, citing fresh new information that has probably been sent to its meteorologists via WhatsApp. It will talk about how much water will be collected in our lakes and rivers, then revise that figure every three weeks depending on what percentage of water cuts it can announce for free publicity. I suspect a lot of BMC employees spend their days simply dreaming up new statements to issue, because doing this is a lot easier than completing any actual work.

The good news is, it claims to be monsoon-ready this year. Yes, it claimed to be monsoon-ready last year, too, and the year before, and the decade before, but why should that stop it from issuing a new press release about how it is definitely monsoon-ready this year? If it doesn't issue these statements, how is it supposed to justify the thousands of crores that are poured into our streets and mysteriously vanish before touching the asphalt?

This year's statement says that only 522 roads continue to remain dug up in the city. This presumably does not include the street outside your home or mine, or any street you pass over the next week, because finding a street that isn't dug up in Mumbai is almost like finding proof that our ministers have actually been to school. Apparently, completing road repair and renovation work in the city is definitely the target, which isn't surprising because it has been the target since man first set foot on the Moon. I assume this doesn't include the roads that have been torn apart for the Metro, of course, because the chances of them being smooth and pothole-free in your lifetime or mine are a billion to one.

The Andheri-SEEPZ line of the Metro runs just outside Andheri station towards Versova. The street it tore up and demolished over a decade ago has yet to recover. It has turned into an unofficial market, with commuters now long used to the idea of going around in a wide circle in order to hit SV Road. One can't help, but use that as a benchmark when thinking about what the city will look like when the current Metro projects are finally complete, a century from now.

Our civic body - I use those words loosely, of course - has reportedly prepared a plan of completing work on 1,106 roads in several categories during the financial year 2018-19, with roads classifieds into categories of project roads, priority 2 and priority 3 roads. This must have taken them a few months, because everyone knows how important the task of naming plans or renaming roads is, and how these discussions can go on late into the afternoon. Project roads are easy to spot because they exist in various states of disrepair all around us, but it's hard to figure out the difference between priority 2 and priority 3 roads. In a city that is home to millions of commuters an hour, one would assume all roads are a priority, but that is clearly not the case.

Project roads are also supposed to undergo complete reconstruction, which is BMC-speak for 'we are going to tear them down and start again, and use your taxes to do it a few more times'. The statement didn't just talk about the future though; it also claimed that work on 879 roads was completed by the end of April. Chew on that when you dislocate your shoulder in a rickshaw on your next trip.

I'm pretty sure the fault lies with us. We are the ones who prevent the BMC from focusing on more important things like memorial plaques and compel it to waste valuable time and money on insignificant issues like pothole-free, monsoon-ready roads. If you care about your city and respect the BMC, you should do the right thing and avoid the roads. Work online instead of at an office, chat with friends and relatives via video calls, and educate your children with the help of YouTube videos. Don't use roads until the pesky monsoons are over. Stay at home instead.

When he isn't ranting about all things Mumbai, Lindsay Pereira can be almost sweet. He tweets @lindsaypereira Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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A day after this paper published a report about a couple who has been left in limbo because a financial institute has misplaced their Sale Deed or Sale of Agreement papers, there have been a few readers who have written in claiming that they experienced a similar situation. They, too, had a harrowing story to tell.

According to our report, an Andheri couple who had taken a loan from a financial institution years ago to buy a home and were paying it off over years, finished paying their loan. They asked the institute to return their documents and that is when they learnt that the Sale of Agreement has been misplaced. Their nightmare began, but it has been months the paper has not been found and they have subsequently been unable to sell a home on the outskirts of the city because buyers are wary of buying a home without the original Sale Deed.

Finance institutes cannot afford to misplace such important documents. Institutes might have misplaced the documents while shifting or the file has been lost when being transferred from one centre to another.

If this happens, and from the responses we learn that this is unfortunately not very rare, it is the organisation's responsibility to give the affected a way out. There has to be a redressal mechanism. If the true copy of the document does not work for certain people, the institute has to step in and provide them a solution.

They need to be held liable and accountable. You cannot expect the affected people, who are already suffering considerably and have also spent time and money, to do all this on their own. Those who have erred cannot wash their hands off the matter. They need to be there with the people, whose papers they have irresponsibly, though inadvertently, misplaced, right till the bitter end.

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illustration/RAVI JADHAV

There are many reasons to feel ambivalent about having family members as Facebook friends. One of them is almost certainly the fact that they are constantly outing your childhood pet names with alacrity, calling you Pappu, Bobby, Guddu, Noni, Chintu, Tumpa, Monu and so on in public, as if you are the chillar party in a family wedding.

While my immediate family members have been trained in this matter, those in my extended family have failed me hazaar times. "Very nice article, beta (insert pet name)" they will say. I heartlessly and instantly delete these comments. You might say this is draconian. I could just ask them not to. Anyone who has tried this will know it is useless. First, they will be wounded and utter filmi dialogue like "I am sorry I have done something improper. I won't darken your Facebook wall again." A few days later they will comment on your profile picture, "looking very nice (insert pet name)."

Why does this bother us so much? After all, it is the most natural thing to give silly names to people we love. Diminutives, nonsense words, private jokes, comical qualities that fill us with affection all make up the galaxy of nicknames. We don't seem to care when names our friends called us in youth emerge. It is the family pet name, yaniki ghar ka naam, that seems to mortify us.

Perhaps it is just the strangeness of being returned to childhood states that some don't like, a reminder of a time when we were taken less seriously and had little autonomy.

Maybe it is something about having the private emerge in the public, without our consent that makes us feel vulnerable. This may seem strange in times when privacies are constantly shared online, but it reveals how public privacies might be as much a construction as public selves. Perhaps there is an uncertainty, hovering on the edge of shame, about that private 'home' identity. Pet names are a reminder of the time before we learned to see our family as part of social hierarchies of caste and class, language and provinciality. For most, in a society as hierarchical as ours, the transition from childhood to adulthood is also one of painful realisation of difference, about our tastes and habits not always aligned to the social norms of upward mobility. A reminder of the first time someone mocked us for something unfashionable about our families.

This discomfort is far more prevalent among English speaking Indians, because it also exposes a certain sub-Englishness in our Englishness, the kitsch elements of families' aspirational cosmopolitanism. The careful facades dissolve as we build as adults suddenly seem like glass houses. Our insecurities that we will never really fit in, never be cool enough swirl up to the surface. We may develop ironic, even affectionate distance from many parts of the past, but the pet name is too earnest for that.

Only two types of people are not embarrassed by their pet names. Royal family types who go by Bubbles and Toffee and other names from P G Wodehouse, reeking of English aristocracy wannabe-ness. That tells us much about the casual confidence of class and caste. The other, are people supremely self-confident and secure about being loved. They are happy to be everyone's children, always, lucky things.

Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. Reach her at www.parodevipictures.com

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Illustration/Uday Mohite

I knew two Mumbai cops. Two Mumbai cops who went to the same college as me. Yeah, Ashok Kamte and Himanshu Roy were marginally junior to me at St Xaviers' College. Two Bombay boys who became police officers and subsequently looked after the city they grew up in.

One who followed in his father's footsteps as a policeman. The other who chose not to become a doctor like his parents. There was an incredibly tragic irony when Ashok was shot on 26/11 in the narrow lane that separated our college from Rang Bhavan. (It's no surprise that Ashok and Himanshu considered each other brothers — and Himanshu always regretted not being in Mumbai, standing side by side with Ashok, when he was gunned down).

I knew Himanshu Roy a bit. Mumbai is a small city in spite of its size. And, South Mumbai an even smaller world. Himanshu was born and brought up in Colaba, schooled in Campion, and graduated from our college.

I first met him in 1995 at a friend, Mark Manuel's home. He was then an incredibly, lean, bespectacled man — wiry and tall. And I remember thinking he was very gangly for a cop. But he exuded great hunger. There was a glint in his eyes, a manner in his demeanour, a strength in that stick-like figure. I'll never forget that bristling energy. He was like a coiled snake, ready for action, ready to change the world, ready to catch the bad guys, a superhero without the cape and mask. He was idealistic and worldly wise at the same time. (It perhaps requires those two qualities, to join the force and survive). He was about to leave for Nashik, from where he returned two years later, with rippling Popeye arms and a barrel chest.

There is something incredibly brave in deciding to become a Mumbai cop. Not just because of the valour required in handling criminals. But, of the skill needed in navigating a system run by politicians.

It was no surprise that the cases he handled were of a diverse nature. IPL spot-fixing, the J Dey and Pallavi Purkayastha murders, the riots of Khairlanji. He devised anti-dacoity measures in rural Maharashtra, cracked the Shakti Mills rape case. He set up Mumbai's first Cyber Crime Cell, and established a special cell to deal with crimes related to women.

So, the news that he'd shot himself in his flat, was incredibly sad. Cancer had wreaked havoc on his body and perhaps he saw no other way out. But suicide is always a many-sided Hydra. The debate on whether it is a brave move, a cowardly act, a desperate measure or a selfish resolution will rage on forever.

But for me, there is always one trait linked to killing oneself — loneliness. Whether Himanshu 'Hercules' Roy was lonely in his final hour we'll never know. But, a man who'd spent his life protecting a city, ultimately couldn't protect himself.

Goodbye, big man, I'm sure you're out there somewhere, looking out for us.

Rahul da Cunha is an adman, theatre director/playwright, photographer and traveller. Reach him at rahuldacunha62@gmail.com

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Illustration/ Devdutt Pattanaik

One of the unique features of Islam in South Asia is the veneration of five holy men, or saints (auliya), known collectively as pancha-pir. They are often represented by the palm of the hand, mounted on a mound. We find shrines of pancha-pir in Punjab, Rajasthan, Uttar Pradesh and Bengal. They are sometimes identified as the five pure ones of Shia Islam: the Prophet Muhammad, his daughter, his son-in-law, and his two grandsons. Other identify them as five Sufi saints, often the teacher with his five students. Still others say they refer to the Prophet Muhammad and the first four Caliphs. This veneration of five holy men in dargahs is however frowned upon by Islamic purists, who believe that veneration should be reserved for God, and none other.

In folklore, the pancha-pir often appear to bless heroes on quest, or to establish the greatness of a local king. In many Hindu temples, especially in Rajasthan, where folk-heroes are deified, as in the case of Ramdev baba, one finds pancha-pir endorsing their greatness, thus indicating syncretism of Hindu and Muslim ideas at the grass-root level. In Bengal, they are popular amongst sailors, who seek their protection before setting out into the sea, and thank them on their return.

Stories of pancha-pir often reveal much similarity with village gods and goddesses of India, who are known to help when appeased and harm when angry. So we learn how they gave their horse to a queen so that she could use the horse's blood to cure a husband. The queen later refuses to return the horse and so the pancha-pir destroy her kingdom. Sometimes the pancha-pir are paired with their five wives who disobey them and so are reduced to five piles of ash.

How did this idea emerge? It is possible that these five pirs were earlier the five tathagathas of Buddhism, found in Tantrik Buddhism, that flourished in eastern India during the Pala kingdom. There is the central Buddha, Vairochana, with four other Buddhas in the four directions, represented in four different colours, embodying four different principles, thus indicating universality. Such images are found in Buddhist shrines and Buddhist mandalas.

The idea of the five collective is found in Hinduism too: the Pandavas, for example. In Puri, Odisha, the five Pandavas take the form of five Shivas. There are images of Pancha-mukhi linga, where five faces, each in different mood, arise from a single pillar. There is also the concept of five chaste women: the pancha-kanya, which includes Sita, Draupadi, Ahalya, Mandodari and Kunti.

The most recurring concept in Indian mythology is that of a teacher with four students who take his knowledge in the four directions. One learns of Veda Vyasa and his four disciples, the Shaiva sage Lakulesha with his four disciples; the Jain saint Vajraswami who founded four orders (gaccha); the Sikh saint Sri Chand, the eldest son of Guru Nanak, who passed on the sacred fire (dhunni) of his order (akhara) of ascetics (udasin) to four disciples; the Vaishnava, Ramanuja also passed on his mantle to four disciples. This idea of the collective of five, best represented by the palm of the hand, clearly gave meaning and power to local faiths and also kept together various divisions that emerged in religious orders. Hence its enduring appeal.

Devdutt Pattanaik writes and lectures on the relevance of mythology in modern times. Reach him at devdutt@devdutt.com

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Actress Keerthy Suresh as Savitri in Mahanati

Telugu cinema — specifically Baahubali 1 and 2 — knocked the daylights out of Bollywood. Now comes the ravishing Telugu-Tamil film Mahanati (Great Actress, in Telugu; Nadigaiyar Thilagam in Tamil), directed by Nag Ashwin, a biopic on top film star Savitri garu (a Telugu honorific). This sensuous, period, feminist film, starring Keerthy Suresh and Dulquer Salmaan, rivals Bollywood's best. Kommareddy Savitri (1937-1981) was a remarkable female superstar of Telugu and Tamil cinema, who acted alongside top Tamil and Telugu stars such as Sivaji Ganesan, MG Ramachandran (MGR), Gemini Ganesan and Nandamuri Taraka Rama Rao (NTR), often got paid more than the heroes, and even produced and directed six films in the 1960s and 1970s, some with an all-female crew, featuring these top heroes — all practically unthinkable today. Savitri acted in nearly 200 films in Telugu, Tamil and Hindi, including Pelli Chesi Choodu, Devadasu, Missiamma, Maya Bazaar and Pasamalar, peaking in the 1950s and 1960s, and the films she directed include Chinnari Papalu. Her career spiralled downwards after she secretly married co-star Gemini Ganesan (then already married to Alamelu and in another relationship with Pushpavalli with whom he had Hindi film star Rekha), and his jealousy and alcoholism drove her to drink; she cut back on her career to appease him, turned alcoholic herself and went to ruin. The film has released worldwide, including in India; it is currently also showing in Mumbai with English subtitles.

Indian biopics on women film stars — including Milan Luthria's Dirty Picture on Silk Smitha with Vidya Balan (Hindi); KG George's Lekhayude Maranam: Oru Flashback (Lekha's Death: A Flashback) on actress Shobha's alleged affair with a top director (Malayalam), and Ranjith's Thirakkatha (Screenplay) on Srividya and her alleged affair with a top Tamil star (Malayalam) — are mostly tragedies. What is remarkable about Mahanati is that while it shows Savitri's courage, feistiness, stardom and generosity, it also shows her poor decisions in love, marriage and finance. She is a homebreaker and an alcoholic who also neglects her children. Yet, the film valourises her as someone who believed that life is short, and so made the best of it. In fact, the film, presented by Vyjayanthi Movies, is produced by two women, sisters Swapna Dutt and Priyanka Dutt of Swapna Cinemas.

The film is told through Madhuravani (Samantha Akkineni), a journalist in the 80s, investigating Savitri's story with her photographer boyfriend Vijay Anthony (Vijay Deverakonda) after Savitri is found in a hospital, after being in a coma for a year. Nag Ashwin, in only his second feature after Yevade Subramanyam, shows outstanding assurance and craftsmanship. Throughout, there are scenes switching seamlessly from Savitri's real and reel life; and the period sets have been gorgeously recreated, including a 'stairway to heaven'. Keerthy Suresh carries the film with aplomb: sparkling, yet dignified, even in her despair. Top Malayalam star Dulquer Salmaan sportingly plays second fiddle and charming rake. Sai Madhav Burra's screenplay packs in a lot. LA-based Spanish cinematographer Dani Sanchez-Lopez's cinematography is marvellous: ironically, he digitally shot the period parts and used super 16mm film stock for the more recent 80s. The costumes by designers Gaurang Shah, Archana Rao and stylist Indrakshi Pattanaik are exquisite, as are Shivam Rao and Kolla Avinash's sets. Mickey J Meyer's music is versatile and soulful. At 2h 57mins, the editing by veteran Venkateswara Rao Kotagiri flags a little, yet keeps you engaged till the end.

Meenakshi Shedde is South Asia Consultant to Berlin Film Festival, award-winning critic, curator to festivals worldwide and journalist. Reach her at meenakshishedde@gmail.com

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It was being said that the Karnataka Assembly polls should be able to shape the political discourse of the time to come, with an eye on next year's general elections. Things are headed that way, thanks to a secondary role that the Indian National Congress has decided to play in a game that would have regional parties as dominant stakeholders. The reactions that Karnataka's high drama has evoked from the ruling regional parties and others that are poised to throw a challenge to the BJP were more like war cries.

The BJP isn't naïve to ignore what lies ahead and it should be seen changing its strategy as it faces newer challenges. We should not be surprised if BJP works overtime on dividing the outfits that the Congress wants to gather under one umbrella with the sole target of stopping BJP in its strides. The war cries we have been hearing from the foes of BJP mean a single agenda, but without a unified command centre they cannot turn it into action on all fronts where the BJP needs to be defeated. It is still a grey area for the opposition that the BJP should seek advantage from.

Regional rationale
High on ambitions, the regional parties in some states have their own calculations, permutations and combinations that have little space for the Congress, which will have to work elsewhere to emerge as the first or the second largest party at the Centre. The Congress think-tank seems to have done a reality check. After Gujarat, where it fought BJP in a straight fight and hurled a stunner that almost unseated the ruling party, it missed out on retaining power on its own in Karnataka. But it performed exceedingly well outside legislature. It learned from past mistakes and took every cue from BJP's moves. It made the right noises in the people's court and also in the highest judicial offices of the country. It was pleasant to see the Congress leaders, who are also the party's legal experts, shed their infamous arrogance, as they spoke their minds at media conferences and argued in the courts.Little wonder then, the Congress does not seem to be pushing its president Rahul Gandhi as a torch-bearer for all opposition, unless supported by the number of elected representatives.

A decision to give JD (S) the chief minister's post in Karnataka should be seen as a part of strategy that serves many purposes. It gives out a message that the Congress will make sacrifices to strengthen a mission 'say-no-to-Modi-BJP'. It embraced a post-poll partner, and it said unlike BJP (or the Congress of the past that had pulled out support to Deve Gowda's Union government), it wouldn't eliminate a friend in need.
Regionals such as Shiv Sena, BSP, SP, TRS, Trinamool Congress, TDP, RJD and other outfits have welcomed the development in Karnataka, especially the Congress' fightback in ensuring that BJP's CM steps down and JD (S) chief HD Kumaraswamy gets to run the government, as promised on the election results day.
The anti-Modi gang sees it as a positive and mature decision from the Congress, which acted with a flexibility and quickness it rarely showed in the past, in the decision-making process of the Karnataka episode.

Testing times for BJP
The BJP expects the new-found love between the Congress and JD (S) to vanish soon. It says there will be Assembly polls in Karnataka very soon and it will win, this time, with a thumping majority. If it happens or not in the southern state, the BJP will now have to keep its flag flying in three of its citadels — Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh and Rajasthan, where regional parties don't matter much, but may have an influence here and there. As has been in the past three decades, it should be a one-on-one fight between the Congress and BJP. These states will also fairly indicate where the two parties stand ahead of Lok Sabha polls. MP sends 29 MPs, Chhattisgarh has 11 and Rajasthan 25.

Going by the voting pattern of the Assembly in Karnakata, a unified opposition should at least win 22-23 of 28 Lok Sabha seats in the state. By-polls in Uttar Pradesh have established that the united opposition, mainly the regionals SP and BSP, should be able to reduce BJP considerably in a state that sends highest number of 80 MPs.
Second in the line after UP is Maharashtra, where the Assembly polls are held six months after the general polls (48 MPs) and it usually sees an impact of previous polls on formation of a state government. Yet, we may have some 'trend learning' in the offing when Palghar and Bhandara-Gondia go to the Lok Sabha by-poll on May 28.

Dharmendra Jore is political editor, mid-day. He tweets @dharmendrajore Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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We were sufficiently chuffed after having spent some quality time with the affable, gentle Periyappa, the resident wise old doggie in the Kings Circle neighbourhood, and had retreated towards our other favourite pastime along its pavements — secondhand book-shopping.

The area holds a special space for yours truly — a Ruiaite. As a collegian, it offered an inviting mix of south Indian fare, from enterprising roadside kiosks to cafés that ran on autopilot; mind you, each of them ensured that no matter what budget you were staring at; you never went hungry when the urge cropped up just before that boring afternoon lecture. And then, there were those saviours from the pre-mega bookstore era — the secondhand pavement bookwallahs. From a mindboggling range of titles to the delightful haggling [we learnt our first lessons in bargaining here]; these booksellers were responsible for some pretty good deals that landed up in our bookshelf at home.

Interestingly, when we sat down yesterday to plan out this column, the Google doodle also helped a bit; it jogged our memory to an important nugget from back then. The doodle was to celebrate the birth of the world's first atlas created by Flemish cartographer Abraham Ortelius. Some of our first intriguing journeys into the world of maps was courtesy these secondhand booksellers whose drop dead pricing made it tough to resist the map-crazy collegian in a time where finding an atlas of hand drawn maps from the late 1800s was worth its weight in gold.

Fast forward to the present. We met with architect, photographer, archivist and collector Robert D Stephens a week before his ongoing exhibition at a swish SoBo gallery. Robert, an American who swears by his local train commute, is as 'Bombay' as it gets. And his love affair extends to his endless search for books about the city from every decade and century. Many of his finds are now part of the exhibition, themed on guidebooks that were written for tourists and city folk. As we ogled at the 'loot' that he displayed for sneak peek, the glee in his eyes [and understandably so] was akin to a pirate who had brought his treasures to the safety of dry land.

"My go-to guys are the booksellers along Fort's pavements," he shared with us, adding how over the years, this faithful bunch has ensured that buying books remains a sub-culture and part of the landscape in and around this buzzing commercial district. While their numbers have dwindled and business continues to get affected [thanks to the ongoing project to 'upgrade' the city], loyalists still throng these parts. Just like the vendors of Kings Circle, they too know that time, and many other factors might not be on their side, and with the sweeping hold of the internet, they could be staring at the dark end of the tunnel.

Yet, the optimist in us finds it reassuring when we learn how almost an entire exhibition could have been sourced not from a brick-and-mortar institution or buys off e-stores but from the neighbourhood bookseller.So, in case you haven't till now, make a trip to check out one of these silent superheroes, find our favourite read, engage in some friendly bargaining, Bombay-style, and take home that rare find. It will be well worth it, take our word.

mid-day's Features Editor Fiona Fernandez relishes the city's sights, sounds, smells and stones...wherever the ink and the inclination takes her. She tweets @bombayana Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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Mayor Vishwanath Mahadeshwar, the first citizen of Mumbai, recently visited Metro III construction sites, and a front-page report in this paper has already highlighted how he blamed the wrong agency (Mumbai Metropolitan Region Development Authority rather than the Mumbai Metro Rail Corporation) for the possibility of flooding in the city.

While that was one aspect of the mayor's tour, it was his answer to our reporter's question about his view about the Metro work, that is cause for concern. The mayor said that although the BMC is the main planning authority of the city, the Metro authorities did not take permission from them before starting the Metro 3 work. They allegedly did not even take the civic body into confidence before beginning the project.

The mayor's answer was especially disturbing, considering the damage caused by the work to BMC's stormwater drains and sewerage lines. Because of this, there will be flooding if there is a rainfall of more than 300 mm. The state government will be responsible for the same, said the mayor.

Citizens are tired of the blame game that seems to have ensued even before the monsoon. They do not care which agency has done what, they only want to see that there is no major flooding this monsoon. If there is, the authorities need to work swiftly to ensure it is dealt with. Other service arms have to work to ensure the city does not go off the rails.

Every authority must be geared to if not prevent, then at least combat, all the challenges that the monsoon is sure to bring with it. We want to hear and see actions that reassure the public, rather than discouraging finger-pointing and statements loaded with ominous portent.

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BS Yeddyurappa submits his resignation as Karnataka chief minister to Governor Vajubhai Vala in Bengaluru on Saturday. Pic/PTI

At a press conference moments after BS Yeddyurappa quit as Karnataka chief minister for the third occasion in his life, this time after just two impotent days, Congress president Rahul Gandhi was asked if he would demand Governor Vajubhai Vala's resignation. Just the day before, Rahul had tweeted that Vala's decision to invite Yeddyurappa to form a government, despite being short of a majority and not having any other party's support, was "unconstitutional". Yet, with the press he was philosophical: "What's the point?" Rahul said. "Even if Governor Vala is made to go, Prime Minister (Narendra) Modi would put another puppet in his place, who will take exactly the same decisions."

Rahul repeatedly stressed the point that the RSS, through Modi, is out to destroy all institutions in India because it respects no institution other than the RSS. Modi did not behave like a democrat, he said, but like a "dictator". (Also, the Congress president referred to his BJP counterpart as "murder accused Amit Shah".)

Some Indians don't mind Modi being a dictator. They think democracy in India is too slow and needs to be speeded up. Not only is this sentiment justified by pseudo-Darwinism — so what if the poor get left behind? — it doesn't seem to bother them that subverting Constitutional niceties may backfire on them one day, when the Great Leader is replaced by someone else, perhaps another regional leader in a hurry. For now it's okay if their Governors try one thing in Manipur and Goa, and then try the opposite in Karnataka.

Rahul did not mention, however, the elephant in the room: the occupant of the highest constitutional office in the land. For much of the republic's life we have had some pretty ordinary occupants in Rashtrapati Bhawan, and one need not go far back in history to find some awful examples. Pratibha Patil was nominated by the UPA to be India's first woman president, but she was far from a leading advocate of gender-equality or even equal-pay issues during her career; her elevation was simply an exercise in tokenism —much in the way that Ram Nath Kovind's is. (Another pedestrian candidate, to my mind, was fixer and murky backroom boy Pranab Mukherjee, who in 2012 end-gamed then Congress President Sonia Gandhi into nominating him.)

President Kovind isn't even the first dalit in Rashtrapati Bhawan. The first was KR Narayanan, who unlike President Kovind, had a distinguished career as a diplomat and an academician before he became vice-president (and in 1997, president). President Kovind's achievements have been modest in the field of education; and though he was personal assistant to Prime Minister Morarji Desai, he has been a Hindutva ideologue for over a quarter of a century. The RSS considers him its man.

President Kovind isn't anywhere near the stratosphere of popularity achieved by the other NDA nominee for president, the late APJ Abdul Kalam, who succeeded Narayanan in 2002. On the contrary, President Kovind was earlier this month left looking diminished thanks to former information and broadcasting minister Smriti Irani (repeatedly the proverbial bull in Modi's china shop) who mismanaged his presentation of the National Film Awards, provoking many artistes to boycott the function. (The photos were catastrophic, showing rows of empty seats at the function.)

President KR Narayanan distinguished himself in office with a couple of correct Constitutional decisions that shocked the political establishment, because he acted impartially rather than be the government's rubber stamp. In October 1997, he returned the recommendation by then Prime Minister IK Gujral's to put UP under President's Rule. He is the only president to have refused to impose central rule (he did it again the next year), setting an important precedent for federalism.

Given the recent partisanship of members of the Election Commission and of the Supreme Court, and with Governor Vala's naked and shameless partiality — he disregarded recommendations by various Centre-State Commissions set up since Independence on the Governor's role in inviting a party for government formation — you need not be a rocket scientist to predict President Kovind's behaviour if the 2019 election produces a hung parliament.

Imagine a scenario where the BJP wins about 180 seats and the Congress wins about 185, or the other way around. Forget for a moment how the pre-poll and post-poll alliances shape up. Then ask yourself the question: who will President Kovind invite first to form the government? This must be weighing on the minds of Rahul Gandhi and his team. It is obvious to most of us why Modi appoints whoever he appoints to high Constitutional office — it is to do his bidding. President Kovind's critical moment in history will come when he will have to make a choice — to be another KR Narayanan, or to be another Vajubhai Vala.

Aditya Sinha's latest book, The Spy Chronicles: RAW, ISI, and the Illusion of Peace (HarperCollins India), written with former spychiefs AS Dulat and Asad Durrani, is out this week. He tweets @autumnshade Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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If you're sharp-eyed about rivets, you'll know that dust gathers on the top half, but not on the bottom. Pic Courtesy/CY Gopinath

In the house where i lived in Andheri Lokhandwala, I'd wipe a finger along the window sill in the morning, and a layer of dust would come away. The domestic help would wipe it clean every morning; 24 hours later, it would be grimy again.

But it was 1982, we were children then and had simple theories about things. Mine was that with so much crazy construction going on in Lokhandwala Complex, well, what would you expect if not clouds of dust? And thus, dust became another little thing we stopped questioning in Bombay. And then Bombay became Mumbai. But the dust remained dust.

I wouldn't be writing this today if I hadn't moved to Bangkok, on work first, but finally just to live. And the questions began coming. Bangkok and Mumbai are very similar, both urban, crowded and sleepless world cities with local life and culture richly woven into cosmopolitan sensibilities. Question 1 was why Bangkok didn't have swarms of flies despite being the world's street food capital. I wrote about that in this column on April 17.

The second question was why my window sills never got dusty in Bangkok — or more accurately, why nothing ever got dusty in Bangkok. After a hard day's toil, you could wash your hands clean without creating rivulets of grime.

I began paying special attention to public places where you'd normally expect dust. For example, on the outside of pedestrian overpasses across busy streets, large hexagonal rivets hold down steel barriers left and right of the walkway. If you're sharp-eyed about rivets, you'll know that dust gathers on the top half, but not on the bottom.

So I began checking Bangkok's outside rivets: they sparkled like freshly painted. And not because it had rained either. Next, I checked those ugly black nests of telephone and electricity cables that hang between lamp posts — another place where dust, cobwebs and pigeon s**t build up. In Bangkok, they were spotless. A week later, I saw several old women in municipal uniform with mops and swabs whose job apparently was to specifically clean dust and grime from all hard-to-reach places. Such as rivets on the outside.

I checked out one of Bangkok's many construction sites, which process the same materials as any Indian site — gravel, cement, bricks, concrete mixers. But miracle of miracles, no dust, thanks to the simplest of strategies. One worker on the site has just a single, simple task all day: he stands with a hose pipe watering the grounds every 15 minutes. Damp dust doesn't fly.

ON MY NEXT VISIT to Mumbai, I became a student of dust. Building construction sites are not the only dust devils. Major culprits are the mounds of debris that lie where utility companies have dug up the earth to lay cables. Since their job is not road cleaning, they leave the debris where it is when they're done.

By the time the department for debris-removal has slowly moved its creaky bones, passing winds have stirred the dirt and dust and blown it everywhere. The debris-removers finally come, but they do not fix the road, since that it is the roadworks department's job.

Meanwhile, more winds blow more dust around. In most cases, the roadworks people never show up. Mumbai has looked like a war zone as long as I've lived there, a bit like Aleppo after some barrel bombs.

And then I noticed another little dust-maker: the cute zig-zag paving tiles that give many Mumbai crossroads a faux European look. With just some basic geometry, you'd have seen the glaring mismatch between the kerb and the pavestones. The kerb is a straight edge, while the paisley tiles are curved.

When a curved object meets a straight one, gaps are guaranteed. A good road maker would know what to do about those gaps. He'd pack them tight with concrete cement, and they'd be gap-free when it dried. But Mumbai's heritage is of roads with beautiful tiles that are abandoned inches before they touch the pavement. Those are the tiles that go loose first, exposing dusty road. One by one, the rest follow.

Soon, the happy roadmaker has to be re-hired to repair his own work. Meanwhile, more and more dust flies around as more and more tiles come loose. I ASKED A ROADMAKER why his work was so shoddy. He shrugged and said, "It's how the system works. To win the contract, I have to pay someone in the municipality first, almost one-third of the amount. But after that, I don't have enough money left to deliver the job as I promised once I deduct the bribe and my profit. So I have to cut something somewhere. We just leaves the edges incomplete." And voila! Another cloud of dust.

Here, viewed from there. C Y Gopinath, in Bangkok, throws unique light and shadows on Mumbai, the city that raised him. You can reach him at cygopi@gmail.com Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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This paper ran a disturbing front page story on the weekend. It cited how, for several months, the Mumbra Police have been at their wits' end over bikes and scooters going missing from various parts of the suburban township. Last week, however, the police tracked the culprits, who were a gang of 10- to 15-year-olds.

All the nine boys who were apprehended by the police were minors. All of them hail from poor families in Mumbra and they are passionate about bikes and just wanted to ride them for fun. While the boys have been put in a home, what is worrying is that a couple of parents are in denial about their boys being involved in the theft.
The report said that Mumbra residents had complained to the police about rash driving by young children, who didn't have a driving licence. A social activist in the area had even said that many children here start riding bikes when they are as young as 12.

Most of these kids have not been to school. There is also the prospect that this crime may be a stepping stone for them and it may escalate to bigger crimes once they are out of this home. Parents need to pay much closer attention to what their children have been doing. They may not know about the crime, as it is natural these children will hide this from their parents. But, as a parent, they must try to investigate and question their children in case they suspect an unusual pattern in their behaviour.

It is unacceptable that 10-year-olds are riding bikes, putting not only themselves, but also other bikers and pedestrians in danger. Report them, if you suspect it's an underage boy riding a bike.

Finally, much more social awareness, sustained campaigns, and acceptance rather than denial by parents, can counter this menace. The bike robberies are not all innocent fun, it has grave ramifications for the future.

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The most erudite can be swayed by numbers alone. Representation pic

The only reason a semi-circle of well-connected writers, and well-paid editors seemed to loathe Chetan Bhagat so vehemently is because he is so widely read, perhaps even loved, and they aren't, I (rightly) thought — standing in the periphery of that semi-circle at a literary fest after-party, over half a decade ago. With that bitchy conversation over-valuing Bhagat's national impact going nowhere, I stepped out to grab a drink.

Bhagat was at the corner of the bar at Indigo, where a big-shot industrialist, now I forget if it was Anand Mahindra or Ness Wadia (and that's not even the point), somberly walked up to him to check on what's going on in Indian politics. His vishesh tippani followed. Now, where to go?

The most erudite can be swayed by numbers alone, in this case the number of Bhagat's English young-lit readers. Do these numbers always signify democracy? It could produce the opposite effect. Let's look at politics in a bit, but we do know a little about mass news, entertainment, although it's hard to tell one from the other.

They're crafted around second-guessing audience's supposed tastes, often where one thing works, automatically everybody else follows, and therefore an entire industry, over time, step by step, splicing out everything that doesn't fit into the larger, determined hole, produces a mainstream media that looks the same —across. Pick up the most popular radio, television stations, websites, newspapers, or even movies (creating stars, or special effects), and you'll know. One size must fit all. Your circus, my monkeys. It's a numbers' game. And numbers can be gamed.

Is politics that aims for more complicated arithmetic, and much larger audiences, another field that defies free-market, with greater competition only inhibiting choice, and progressively screwing up quality? Survey the national scene. Examine its broad product categories that, weeding out the highest common multiple over time, every political party has conveniently fit into, in order to appeal to the lowest common denominator: Nehru/Gandhi, Sangh, Ambedkar, Lohia, Left (and those opposing them, of course). Grand promises of abolishing poverty (1971), 'acche din' (2014) etc, although well-meaning, are merely side-shows, and tag-lines.

Every politician, ideally, must check one or the other box, holding uniformly same and sometimes inter-changeable opinions on a variety of complex issues. That's what you need/scream to lord over vast public resources/institutions. Target in place. Hit-job ordered. Distraction complete. Groups vote en masse. Design is set.

Educational qualifications, past experience, passing tough exams/interviews that test competence, are for minions entrusted with growing/protecting a small company's pocket change. If you're part of none of the above cult groups, the newbie Aam Aadmi Party, for instance, you do appear like an "anarchist". It's easy to be portrayed as one. This is basically show-business, albeit of relatively not such good-looking people.

How did we get here? Because Ambedkar, the father of Indian Constitution, said we would. If, for one, he ironically stated, we fell prey to 'personality cults', or quoting John Stuart Mill, "lay liberties at the feet of even a great man, trusting him with powers, which enable him to subvert institutions." Two, if political democracy did not follow actual social democracy on the ground (unqualified liberty, equality, fraternity, for all). It didn't. So where do the regular folk stand? Between a rock, and a hard place. But you must pick a side. It makes life simpler.

And you must vote. Have to vote. It's your right. Your privilege. You must vote. This is democracy. They go to vote — for one, or perhaps, against the other. As they did in Karnataka. In a tri-partite fight, the party with the lowest number of seats, steps in to form a government, with the help of the party they fought against. The one with the highest number of seats looks at how they could "poach" from the other two, whose MLAs were locked up! It didn't matter what they fought for, or against.
The popular television anchor with the second highest English news ratings asks the gentleman from the scavenging team how they would manage the numbers. Arrey! He names his captain; and winks, pretty much. They both laugh out loud, in public, on TV, simultaneously. This is supposed to be "horse-trading" to form a "stable" government.

The highest read Indian English writer, Bhagat, weighs in with a pragmatic tweet, that must be seen as our form of public intellectualism — calling horse-trading an "art form". Yes, the election is over. Another will follow. The voter looks puzzled. Or maybe doesn't. Now let's just frickin' move on, right. No, you wanna question this? Oh.

Mayank Shekhar attempts to make sense of mass culture. He tweets @mayankw14 Send your feedback to mailbag@mid-day.com

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The lull in incidents involving doctors and relatives of patients has been broken once again. An indefinite strike called by resident doctors of the civic-run JJ Hospital entered its second day on the weekend. The doctors held a candlelight march to protest the attack on their colleagues and to pressure the management to take action to ensure their safety.

Doctors from other hospitals were supporting the protest as well. It started with over 400 resident doctors from JJ Hospital going on strike over the weekend after two were attacked by the family of a deceased patient.

We had seen these flare ups and thought that a long lull may spell the end of the doc-patients' fracas, which has been a very worrisome aspect of the health service sector in the country. It was not to be and the latest incident shows that measures have to be in place to tackle these incidents before they spiral out of control.
Doctors must have adequate security at hospitals. Fears for safety can inadvertently crop up in medical decisions or diagnosis, where sometimes a professional's judgement may be compromised if they think that their workplace does not care enough to protect them.

Violence is not the answer even if the relatives think that the doctors have neglected them or are shocked by the death of their family member. Our civic hospitals have too many patients, but staff is small is comparison. Awareness campaigns, an intermediary between doctors and patients' family, security measures, counselling, and somehow bringing the sense that patients' relatives and doctors are on the same side, could defuse volatile situations. The time for talk, discussion and clucking in disappointment is over. This is a medical emergency at our hospitals. An antidote needs to be found.

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Amid the rising number of coronavirus cases across the city, the Mumbai Police on Monday took to Twitter to thank Bollywood actor Akshay Kumar for his humble contribution towards the Mumbai Police foundation amid the COVID-19 crisis.

Mumbai Police thanks @akshaykumar for contributing Rs. 2 Crore to the Mumbai Police Foundation. Your contribution will go a long way in safeguarding the lives of those who are committed to safeguarding the city - the men and women of Mumbai Police!#MumbaiPoliceFoundation

— CP Mumbai Police (@CPMumbaiPolice) April 27, 2020

While extending a thank you note to the action-superstar of the B-Town industry, Mumbai Police said that the contribution will help to safeguard the lives of the Mumbai Police personnel who are committed to safeguarding the city to fight the global pandemic.

In the past too, Sooryavanshi actor donated Rs 3 crore to help the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation (BMC) in order to help them to make rapid testing kits, personal protection equipments and face masks in its battle against the deadly virus.

#RohitShetty has facilitated eight hotels across the city for our on-duty #CovidWarriors to rest, shower & change with arrangements for breakfast & dinner.

We thank him for this kind gesture and for helping us in #TakingOnCorona and keeping Mumbai safe.

— Mumbai Police (@MumbaiPolice) April 21, 2020

Besides helping Mumbai Police and the country's richest civic body, Akshay also contributed Rs 25 crores to the PM CARES fund to help the country fight the epidemic. Earlier, Mumbai police expressed gratitude to Bollywood director Rohit Shetty for facilitating eight hotels across the city for Mumbai police personnel.

Thanking Rohit Shetty for his kind gesture, Mumbai Police said that the facility would help on-duty corona warriors to rest, shower and change with arrangements for breakfast and dinner.

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