Everything remains the same

Hanging around the lunch table on a Saturday and we got talking of gulab jamuns. Perhaps it was right after eating the dudhi halwa that mom made - from scratch with raw dudhi and milk. And we talked about mava - the delicious brown solid that the milk turns into when it has been allowed to slowly evaporate for a a long long time. I've become a huge fan of the solid, and don't anyone ever tell me that the stuff they sell in a can in America is a substitute - cos its not.

Anyway mom talked about how gulab jamuns are made from mava - the brown solid. A little flour a little cardamom and you roll the damp mava into little balls and fry them up, before dropping them into saffron and cardamom flavored sugar syrup. Yummmmmmmm ! The stuff you make from a Gits packet - doesnt even come into the territory.

So mom was telling us about how when she was young they would make huge thalis full of Gulab Jamum for parties and to send to dad's friend, and about how she cannot even imaginge making that many so causally any more. She said, we were young and we would just undertake these huge projects and never stop to think of cost or calories......

And so I thought back to about a year ago in Memphis. Her parents were having a party for many reasons, and for no reason. My young niece Shruti decided she wanted to make "Cake Balls".

She started by making 3 pan cakes. These she proceeeded to crumble in the food processor. Then she mixed in cake frosting to make a big gooey paste. This she chilled in the refrigerator for a few hours. Then at 10pm after the dinner dishes were done, she brought out huge sheet pans and started to mould the cake and frosting paste into balls. The paste was cold. And we had to try spoons, ice cream scoops to ladle out perfect little balls. Finally, we gave up and dug in with our fingers.

The balls were then dipped in a chocolate sauce. Once the sauce firmed, we drizzled the whole platter with more chocolate!  4 hours after we had started the cake balls were done. You ate one and felt like you'd consumed 1000 calories. And we had made about 400 of these things. I made Shruti promise "NEVER AGAIN" shall we talk about making cake balls... though Shruti, the yoga teacher heard this story and is looking forward to making some.

I wonder if Shruti will look back at that evening and think - What were we thinking!!!

Is it or isn't it Maida or The Quest for the Perfect Samosa

My maid Radhika has been asking mummy to teach her how to make samosas. We've always prioritized it down among other Gujarati things, primarily because I can always get a passable samosa in the office cafetaria.

However, since we did not have much to do today, we decided we would embark on Project Samosa.
I hit the internet, and checked out recipes from a few of my favorite chefs. Mummy learnt to make samosas from Rewa Ba but she has hopelessly doctored the recipe over the years, and I was going after a particular taste.

So we made the filling in the morning, and I tasted it till I got it just right. Probably finished a quarter of the potato in the tasting. The plan was to make the dough in the evening.

While Radhika was at her own home and mummy was taking a nap, I decided to make the dough. I decided to add an extra little surprise that I've picked up over the years. I was going to add a teeny tiny bit of yeast to the dough to make it extra flaky.

There were many containers in the many cupboards in the kitchen. I recognized the rice flour and the chappati atta and the besan.. and kept looking for the maida. I wasn't going to let mom do her favorite half maida half atta under the guise of making a healthy samosa.

I stumbled upon what I was sure was maida. I made the atta with a generous sprinkle of ajwain and it tasted yum. The teaspoon of yeast bubbled up nicely. The atta worked very well. I had what I thought was the perfect samosa dough.

Mom woke up from her nap, Radhika arrived, and we embarked upon the process of rolling out the dough. Radhika thought we did not have enough dough. And I said, Yes, let me make some more. When she saw the container - she said she did not think it was maida. She thought it was cornflour. Mom bit into the crispy samosa and said "Oh its too crispy to be maida, it must be cornflour." I told them I did not think cornflour would feel so much like maida while kneading and cooking.

Papa ate up 2 samosas and said he did not really have the experience to tell anything other than that samosas were damn good.

So for the second batch of dough I used the "alleged" maida. It felt like rice flour. But mom and Radhika both swear that that is what Indian maida is like. So we are waiting for that batch to soak up. And soon we shall have the results.

The Das Sisters - Kukoon

Kukoon (Devkanya) - the youngest, and legend has it the most beautiful, talented and charming one of all the sisters, exuberant and enthusiastic.

Married at the age of 16 to a young man in Bhuleshwar, Kukoon moved to Bombay around 1946. She soon charmed the in-laws and their neighbors with her unique looks, her stature, her beauty and her talents. She became friends with mom's cousins and through them with Mom.

At Navratri, she would ofen reduce the gathered crowd to tears with her rendition of the Gujarati garbo "Dikri to Parki Thapan Keh Vay" - A daughter belongs to a different family. Gujarati lyrics can be found at http://gujaratigazalslyrics.blogspot.com/2009/05/dikri-to-parki-thapan-parki.html, and some day I just might get around to translating them.

You might have read in When Mummy Met Daddy about how Kukoon bua was instrumental in arranging my parents marriage. She was a favorite in our home as well as in my grandparents, and that of mom's Somi masi, who lived next door to Kukoon bua's in-laws.

Which made her senseless death all the more tragic, and all the more difficult to bear.

Kukoon bua's mother-in-law was rumored to have been a demanding and domineering sort who placed all kinds of demands on her young daughter in law. Raised in the Gujarati tradition of believing that a daughter's place is at her in-laws, and she must always work on preserving their reputation, she kept most of this from papa and the Haldwani family and the Chokseys.

By the time Mom and Dad had been married 2-3 years, Kukoon was approaching 5 years of marriage. She still had not conceived and provided her demanding mother-in-law with an heir. Little is known or discussed of what all transpired in that household leading up to her death.

Mom and Dad were busy with the next big family wedding. Mom's older brother Bhagwan mama was getting married to one of Mom's classmates from High School. It was an arranged marriage. The bride, Urmila mami,  was the oldest daughter of a wealthy business owner in Bhuleshwar. Though regulation of the gold market had slowed down the Chokseys business, Urmila mami's father had planned a grand wedding.
The bridal party travelled in an open convertible bedecked with flowers through the streets of Bhuleshwar. And a good time was had by all. .....except Kukoon bua.

She spent the day planning exactly how she would commit suicide. She knew that the wedding was important to my parents. She did not want to do anything to spoil the event.

And so she waited until it was all over. She wrote a note explaining that she had chosen to end her life, because she saw no way ahead. That she did not want to cause any more pain or inconvenience to anyone.

When her in-laws finally found her, she had consumed a whole bottle of a lethal acid compound. By the time they got her medical attention, it was too late to do anything for her.

Emotions in the family raged high. A beloved daughter had been cornered into taking her life. The Das family wnated the in-laws to receive the toughest punishment imaginable. That was when Gordhan kaka, the uncle that had arranged the match, and a powerful magistrate in his own right, stepped in.

He persuaded the family to think things through - "We have already lost our daughter. Pursuing a court case will not bring her back, and will drag all the families through the muck." He persuaded my grandfather and my dad to help bring a speedy conclusion to the case, protecting Kamala ben and family.

Kukoon bua - we never had the opportunity to know you, but your spirit lives on, in the countless nieces and nephews who may never have heard of you, but who have learnt from my parents and their siblings that ill-treatment of a daughter-in-law is unacceptable.

The Das Sisters - Shanu Foi

Sanu (Sukanya) foi - Sanu foi was a gorgeous, outspoken young woman, with many talents. I remember her singing on the terrace in Haldwani on the summer evenings when we all gathered there, thinking that is whom I want to be like. She had a strong, powerful, confident voice.

She was married to an accountant from Calcutta - the oldest son of one of the Gujarati families from Kapadwanj that had moved to Calcutta. Bhupendra fua also had a great zest for the arts, being raised in the Rabindranath tradition, and was a great singer himself. We met their four children during our summer vacations in Haldwani or whenever they came to Bombay.

But I always remained impressed by Sanu foi's outspokenness, for her championing of the right cause and her willingness to speak out for things that were important to her. And I was even more impressed by fua's championing her in each of those circumstances. 

The Das Sisters - Shant Foi

 Shant (Chandrakala) foi

Another tall woman, Shant foi bears a striking resemblance to papa, and at various times in my life I have looked remarkably like her. She was married to a young man from Ahmedabad with strong literary skills and a strong interest in Gujarati literature. They set up home in Bombay and had 3 children. Shant foi was also a multi-skilled, multi-talented woman who could do literally anything she set her mind to, and always moved onto the next thing before she had perfected the art of the first one. I see so much of her in me.

Their first home in Bombay was in the Bhuleshwar area but on the side closer to the Masjid Bunder docks. The day the ammunition ships exploded in the Bombay harbor, they lost all their worldly possessions and had to start life all over again.

Never reaching a stage of great financial wealth, Shant foi "made-do" , supplementing the family finances by taking on odd jobs and raised 3 fine children. I remember her as bold, almost audacious, in her approach and outlook to life and situations. I wish I knew more about her.

The Das Sisters - Cho Cho bua

Cho Cho Bua and Shant foi with random cousins

 Cho-Cho (Shashikala) was the oldest. Even in her older years I remember her as a tall woman of great stature, with jet black hair (never dyed) and very fair skin. She was married at a very young age to a young man from the family home town of Kapadwanj. By the time she was 22 years old, she was the mother of 2 boys and a widow. The cruel ritual of Sati was banned by the time this happened. However, even then widows were required to shave their heads bald and wear white saris for the rest of their lives. They also could not adorn themselves with flowers, jewellry or any other decorative objects. Society expected them to merely exist in the background, taking little, raising the children and awaiting death.

Very fortunately for Cho Cho bua, her mother-in-law did not subscribe to the thinking of the times. She was allowed to keep her hair. But she did have to give up all adornments and opt for the simple white sari.

Mom remembers an argument between Cho Cho bua and her mother Rewa Ba. Cho cho wanted to wear her hair with a part in the middle. Rewa Ba telling her that as a widow, she could only wear it pulled back. Cho Cho bua was only 24 years old then - condemned to live without heed to fashion remaining functional and never allowed to appear attractive.

While Cho Cho bua was not allowed to appear attractive, she was encouraged to become independent, which was a very rare privilege for women of that time. Her mother-in-law took over the responsibility of raising the 2 young boys while Cho Cho bua went away to college to study . She stayed in a hostel at the college, and returned to take on a job as a teacher in the local school in Kapadwanj.

This ended up being a career with many good results, as she was able to raise her children with the support of her mother-in-law. She was able to make up for the dent in the family finances following her husband's death. And every summer she was able to take the kids to Haldwani on vacation. Most importantly, the teaching career gave her a place where she could express herself in a gainful manner. And it gave her a pension guaranteeing her an income till she died in 2008 at the age of 81 or thereabouts.


Certainly a lonely and difficult life,but one that might have been much worse had her mother-in-law not encouraged and supported her independence.

When Mummy Met Daddy

Papa had arrived in Bombay and moved up from Jogeshwari to Bhuleshwar. He was living at Gordhan Kaka's house at Kumbha Tukda and commuting by tram to the mills in Parel.

His youngest sister, Devkanya aka Kukoon was married into a Gujarati family that lived across the street from Kishore Bhuvan. Mom's Somi masi was neighbors with the family. Kukoon was a beautiful, talented and exuberant 16-year old. She soon became a part of Somi masi's extended family, and became friends with the Choksey sisters, especially mom.

Papa in the meantime was quite despondent - he had been engaged to be married. Weeks into the engagement his fiance and her entire family were wiped out in a deadly and tragic fire.

The young Kukoon was determined to find a match for her big brother and proceeded to persuade her mother in law Kamala ben and Somi masi to explore an alliance with mom.

Mom, was the second oldest daughter of a large family. While the oldest daughter had been married when she was just 13, my grandfather's more liberal bent of mind prevailed and at 20 - mom was still single and helping Ba run Kishore Bhuvan. The one suitor that she had been shown, she turned down, much to the chagrin of my older aunt - who counseled her that she really should not be picky. After all she was already 20, and there were several other sisters that were of marriageable age.

Somi masi discussed this with Ba - who was a little concerned about marrying her daughter to someone outside the Patan community, and particularly to someone from a place called Haldwani, which sounded like it was in a jungle. However, the young Kukoon persisted.

There was a chance encounter - Mom and Thakore mama stepping out of the hospital where they had visited Hansa mami saw Papa in the street. Mom oblivious to the strings being pulled behind the scenes, is said to have remarked to Thakore mama that there was an attractive man (or something like that). This message was relayed to their parents who were starting to receive very strong feelers from Kamala bhen.

One morning Ba instructed mom to go visit Somi masi. Mom that that was a bit odd, cos she almost never visited Somi masi. Most of the visits were FROM Somi masi and Kukoon and Kamala bhen. However, mom picked out a pretty sari, that she was sure she would not be allowed to wear and asked Ba for permission. It was granted without question.

So mom put on her pretty sari, went downstairs and crossed the street to Somi masi's. When she got there, she was asked to go stop in at Kamala bhen's. Inside Kamala bhen's house was a whole crowd of people, including dad's mother Rewa Ba. Mom completed whatever flimsy tasks that Somi masi and Kamala bhen had come up with and returned to Kishore Bhuvan, oblivious of what had transpired.

Within a short time, Rewa Ba informed Kamala bhen that she would like to pursue the match. This came back to Kishore Bhuvan through Somi masi and a formal meeting was organized.  Rewa Ba, Kukoon bua and papa came, accompanied by a few other people. One look at papa, and mom was convinced. Papa's mom Rewa ba had made up her mind for papa. A formal proposal was made.

Mom's father - Bhai - approved.  Ba, despite her concerns about the remoteness of the location, was swayed over by Bhai - who told her it all felt right to him.

The "gol-dhana" ceremony - where the engagement is formally proclaimed was held at Gordhan Kaka's house in Kumbha Tukda. Sarla bhen Kilachand of Kesar Sugar , Rewa Ba's friend from Baheri, and from one of the leading families of Patan was also present. This helped reinforce the "rightness" of the arrangement.

A wedding date was set. The groom, marrying into a very traditional Gujarati family, spoke no Gujarati. The bride marrying into a family with its home in the jungle had seen lush green fields and jungles only in her dreams. 62 years later they have travelled around the world by car, train, bus, airplane, ship, elephant, horse and camel. While they still call Bombay home, they spend less and less time there.

Zamana of Parents Youth - 3, Kailash Kaka and the Allahabad Connection

Papa had 2 friends in his youth that grew up with him Kailash Kaka and Shashi Mama. Kailash was a young man he met in Nainital. Shashi was actually his mom's cousin. The 3 of them spent a lot of time together in Mumbai in the late 40s and early 50s. Both joined mom and dad on their honeymoon trip to Nainital. In fact, part of the honeymoon trip was AT Kailash kaka's ancestral home in the hills of Nainital. Mom and Dad returned there atleast once or twice with the infant Dhruvbhai and Uttambhai.

Grandfather was working on a case for the Kesar Sugar factory in Baheri with Jivanlal Chhotalal. The case dragged through atleast one long summer. The case was to be heard at the Allahabad High Court and the Kesar Sugar team needed some Allahabad based lawyers. Who better to represent a well connected Gujarati family, than another set of Gujaratis ? They chose the Dave brothers of Allahabad.

That summer the Kilachands and the entire legal team decided to work out of Naintal. Grandfather and his entourage joined them. By now, papa had become a permanent fixture in the entourage, being called upon to take care of odd jobs like handling grandfathers stuff and running errands in between reading Popular Mechanics.

The Kilachands rented the Chitrakut  bungalow on the Lower Ayar Patta slopes from Raja Jvala Prasad. The Allahabad lawyers - the Dave family - moved into Mt Kailash their ancestral home located on the Upper Ayar Patta slope. The Ayar Patta slope leads to Tiffin Top.

The Daves had a young nephew, Kailash. They also had a telescope. That started a friendship that lasted over 25 years, even after Kailash Kaka moved to London  And the telescope - it was moved from Mount Kailash to Chtirakut, and used to check out the activities in homes within line of sight of Chitrakut.

When Papa finished engineering college and came to Mumbai seeking employment, he first stayed with his older cousin and mentor Balu kaka in Jogeshwari (a distant suburb). From there he would take the train to the mill that he worked at in Parel. A few months later, Balu Kaka went to London for further studies. Papa then moved in with his mom's uncle - Gordhan Kaka.

While this seemed like a very distant relationship, that is how clusters built up in the Bombay of that time. Gordhan kaka lived in Bhuleshwar near the Kumbha Tukda temple. He lived in a "chawl" or multi-story tenemement. A common balcony ran on the side of each floor. Each unit consisted of 2 rooms a "front" room cum kitchen and a sleeping room. Sometimes there would be a private balcony on the other side. The front room had an area carved out that served as a place for washing and bathing. Bathrooms were housed in a common toilet block at the end of each of the common balconies. People typically rented a unit here, paying a large initial deposit called "pughdi" and monthly rent.

The 2 rooms in Kumbha Tukda housed Gordhan Kaka, his mother, his second wife - the first one lived in Kapadwanj and was rumored to be insane), the children from his first wife, and his son Shashi from the current wife. Papa was welcomed into this family - though being an almost fully grown man, he ended up having to sleep in the public balcony in the area directly outside their unit. He and his black trunk lived there quite happily for several months.

He soon discovered that the Kilachand's Bombay home was quite nearby and Jivanlal and Sarla ben were now spending a fair amount of time in Bombay. So that relationship was renewed. The Daves nephew, Kailash had also taken up residence with his maternal aunt at Narpat Mansion in Girgaum, also a short distance from Bhuleshwar. He renewed his acquaintance with the young Kailash. And Gordhan kaka's son, Shashi - technical dad's uncle, but of similar age and inclination, joined them to become a trio.

While I never met Kailash kaka - he is supposed to have had a zest for the good things in life. When he left India to move to London following his marriage to a young Parsi lady. Papa met him when he visited England in 1964.

Kailash kaka died well before his time, but he left Papa with a stack of records which has left an indelible mark on us. for that's how we were all exposed to Cliff Richard's Bachelor Boy, the Mambo song, Vaya Con Dios, Peggy Lee's When you get what you want.... and my favorite Sixteen Tons from a very young age.

The Zamana of My Parent's Youth -2 of Many - How papa became an engineer and The Prem Maha Vidyalaya of Brindavan

After finishing high school, papa returned to Haldwani. Tauji had already started making a living for himself as a farmer. While papa enjoyed watching things grow, he could not be bothered with supervising the farm hands. Instead of supervising and directing the farm workers, papa would often be found curled up somewhere in the field reading a copy of Popular Mechanics or Natural Geographic - if you recall his interest in photography had already been kindled by the court photographer in Tehri. He kept telling the family they needed to buy a tractor. He could farm the entire property if they just got a tractor. However, an investment in a tractor was difficult to justify in the face of incredibly cheap labor that was available in those days.

But how does a young man living on a farm in Haldwani get a hold of Popular Mechanics or Nat Geo in the late 1930s ? Now that is another story.

The Kilachands, a prominent industrial family of Patan (yes, the same Patan that mom is from) and Mumbai, had established a sugar factory in Baheri - about 50 Kms south of Haldwani. The factory was managed by Chhotalal Kilachand's son, Jivanlal Chhotalal.

Jivanlal consulted Dad's father - Ghanshyam Das on a legal issue with the local contractors that had built the factory. As a result of this Ghanshyam Das spent several days a week in Baheri. Frequently, young Satish, popular with the Kilachands, went along with him.

The Kilachands home was a large mansion along the lines of a home in Patan - but most importantly it had a large collection of magazines - Popular Mechanics and National Geographic - which young Satish often borrowed and brought back to Haldwani.

Through all of this reading, emerged the determination to become an engineer.

Unfortunately, the engineering schools of England, a popular place for young men to go study, was out of Papa's reach. It was a time of turmoil as the struggle for independence was underway. Schools of advanced study were being shut down as they were being suspected of harboring freedom fighters.

 One day, Tauji - papa's older brother - came home and reported that he had seen an advertisement for an engineering college in Brindavan. Brindavan, closer to Agra, was one of the towns on the banks of the Jamuna river. Education at the Prem Maha Vidyalaya was free and included room and board for students from out of town. This was the perfect place for papa to fulfill his aspiration of becoming an engineer.

The story of the Prem Maha Vidyalaya and its founder, is equally fascinating. Papa mentioned a few things, and I found the rest on the net. A true prince - Raja Mahendra Pratap had donated his family estate to the cause of technical education, because he strongly believed that that was the key to India's development and freedom.  This institution was shut down from 1932 to 1938 as it was seen as a threat to the British government. Read all about it at http://www.rajamahendrapratap.net/pmv.htm    (also reproduced below)

There were only 2 teachers at the Brindavan College of Engineering, and they were not particularly good. So young Satish taught himself from the books that were available at the school, some text books and the guidance of the principal Narender Dev, whom papa found particularly inspiring. I remember seeing some of those college textbooks on the L-Shaped black bookshelf in the Anand Vihar house. And I also remember seeing Popular Mechanics and National Geographic copies forever.

Raja Mahendra pratap singh
"No religion is greater than love"

Prem Maha Vidhyalaya :

Founded on May 24th 1909 byRaja Mahendra Pratap Singh.PMV was one of its own kind and one of the first polytechnic institution in India. This institution provided all the technical courses which wasmuch needed at that time. After travelling all over the world and seeing the progress in other countries Raja saheb had decided that this kindof institution would give benifit to people nation wide.The institution offered courses like carpentary,metal works,weaving textiles and carpets,pottery,etc.It also had its own hostel so that students coming from faroff places could reside.The main objective was that students could learn the skill and use it to earn their living.

Estate gifted-Prem Mahavidyalaya inspired by foreign technological advance. We may briefly recall his thoughts at the gift of his estate and property for the technical college; for he took the technical education to be the foundation for all round development of India, In his own words, "I returned home and began to prepare for the great event - giving away of my property ! I sent out invitations that in August, during the famous Jhulan festival of Brindaban, the ceremony to give name to my first child would performed. On a large scale plans were laid out for a religious ceremony as well as merry making festivities. Our relatives brought gold ornaments and clothes for my son! Friends brought presents. Pandit Madan Mohan Malviya ji kindly arrived at my special request. After yagya meeting was held. But here I announced that my son was a technical college wchich i mean to found...Finally the name 'Prem Mahavidyala the college of Love was unanimously adopted." Rani Balbir Kaur Sahiba had not much of objection to the gifting of propery for the technical college,the other mothers of Rajaji, Rani Swarup Kaur and Hanuwant Kaur, had, however, objections to the gifting of the property.It was due to their objections and the advice given by Pandit Madan Mohan Malviya ji only half of the Raja's ancestral estate was gifted for the purpose. institution became the symbol of not only the need to train the youth in all round technical education, but the center of the nationalistic aspirations.

Its importance can easily be assessed by looking at the persons who headed as its Acharyas, Shivsaran Fatakwala, Bhai Kotwal,Puranik,Ayodhya Prasad Fatakwala, Sampurnanand, Paripurnanand, Anand Bhikshu,Nand Kumar Dev Vashista, Acharya Gidwani, Acharya Jugal Kishoreand others. Acharya Narendra Dev headed its management committee during 1938-40. Mahatma Gandhi took personal interest in the institutiolin the absence of Raja Mahendra Pratap, and many of the principals were choosen and sent by him. The British became so much obsessed and and afraid of it that it was banned and closed in 1932, and this restriction could only be liftedwhen the first Congress ministry was formed in UP. under pandit Govind­ Ballabh Pant in 1938.

Trust : Prem Maha Vidhalaya Association formed under the Societies Registration ACT of 1860.on the 29th July 1910 which was created by Rajajii.It has 100 trustees as members.Five villages namely

Sukhea - Entire village
Bural- Entire village
Ukhtearpoor- Entire village
Dhumera- Entire village
Jasnaolee- Entire village

had been donated to support the institution which fetched thirty thousand anually.In thosedays it was considered a big amount.

Present Situation: Today is a sorry sight of the PMV.Unfortunately the trustees have not fulfilled their duties.As a result PMV does not function like how it functioned under Rajaji.The building needs renovation which would require huge expense.The trustees are unable to understand the importance of rajaji's dream.Some organisation has to come forward and save this dream from the clutches of these selfish beings and revive the golden era of specialised education.

The Zamana of My Parent's Youth - 1 of Many in the series

A bonus of the Saturday lunch ritual is that I get to hear tales from my parent's youth, from the time they were growing up or were newly married. I often wish I could be writing them down as they speak, because I sometimes forget an important event or detail by the time I actually get down to writing it. The stories are fascinating because they paint a picture of the that particular time in India. I shall jot these down as I hear and remember them. And perhaps one day I will have the opportunity to record them in some order.

Mummy finished her daily fruit inspection and declared that there would be no mangoes today. The Kesar mangoes were too juicy. She had tried to cut them into cubes yesterday (because to cut them into wedges with the skin on would be completely unacceptable in our household) and they were too pulpy. And the Hapus is not quite ready for eating. They need to sit wrapped in newspaper for one more day before they are ready.

So I innocently asked if we could ask Radhika to make aam ras today - cos its Sunday and I have the time to have a leisurely meal. From there we digressed into the jamanvars of Kishore Bhuvan.

Every year, during the mango season or "Ras no Galo" the l in Galo to be pronounced with a bit of a roll. All of Bhai's sisters and their children would come over - Aam Ras from 3 kinds of mangoes would be extracted - Mankhulas for Hira Foi's family, Paa-eerie for Moti Fai's family - and whatever else for the rest.

There were no refrigerators back then for chilling the ras.. not that one could find a household refrigerator large enough to chill the quantity of ras required. So mom's brothers would be dispatched to bring home ice from the ice factory. Mota mama, Bhagwan mama, Vallabh mama would bring home large slabs of ice wrapped in kantaan (jute fabric) . They would load it up into a Ghoda-Gadi (the horse drawn Victorias of that time). The ice would be washed at home and then used to chill the ras.

The Kishore Bhuvan jamanvars used to be major events. There were 4 of them each year. And everyone (meaning mom) looked forward to each of them. There was one during the Ras no Galo, another during Diwali, one on her grandfather's death anniversary which was on Kali Chaudas which is the day before Diwali - man that must have been a lot of feasting around Diwali.

The fourth was when Kanta foi (who lived in Patan) came to town. It was always a major celebration when she came. For Kanta foi was bhai's youngest sister. She had a great zest and enthusiasm for the good things in life, and ba and bhai always wanted to make her time in Bombay special. So there would be things like Thandai and other special treats that were made up Kanta foi was around. Her visits provided a good break from the ordinary routine and was looked forward to with great anticipation and always included many trips to the ice factory.

Speaking of ice factories, Papa, who spent much of his middle-school years tagging along with his grandfather - the Judge, had a very different kind of experience. He recalls summers in Sahranpur, a town that lies somewhere between Haridwar and Rishikesh. The Judge was advising or associated with a wealthy land owner who owned many mango orchards, gardens, elephants and ice factories! They would ride out on elephant back into the mango orchards and do a "pick-your-own" mangoes - kinda like what we do with strawberries and apples in New York, though its not so grand without the elephants - they would eat whatever they wanted right inside the orchard. Baskets of mangoes would be collected and sent to the ice factory and the chilled mangoes were eaten later in the evening or transported to Agra for the rest of the family.

Today, we send my driver Suresh out in a car to fetch the mangoes from either the Star Bazaar or the fruit vendor who plies his trade on a cart in the Sixth Block in Koramangala. We stick them in the refrigerator once they are ripe and then mummy peels and cubes them for us, and we eat it with a fork. These stories may span 70 years, but they still have the same constants - chilled mangoes and good times.

City Life – Kandivali Style

Bombay – the Gateway to India and the riches of the East India Company is a city that sits on India’s west coast. In the late 1800s and early 1900s the British invested a lot of money in the city’s infrastructure turning it into a magnet for the young and the ambitious.

Several young men came to Bombay to find their fortunes. Many of them came from little villages and towns from the State of Gujarat. And most of them found their way to a little part of town called Bhuleshwar. My maternal great grandfather was one of these young men. So also was my paternal grandmother's father. My mother grew up there, and my father spent a few years of his youth sleeping in the balcoy of one of Bhuleshwar's crammed tenements.

Over the years, Bhuleshwar transformed itself into one of India’s largest wholesale markets. And less than 150 years after it was formed, Bhuleshwar had burst at its seams, incapable of supporting the very large community of traders and commerce that it had given birth to.

It has been said, and not entirely in jest, that if you were to simply stand still in Bhuleshwar – you would soon find yourself in a different part of town, propelled there by the sea of humanity that inhabits it. In 1970, it had a density of 1500 people per acre (contrast that with .5 per acre in little known Stormville).

Several of the markets have been moved to other parts of town. And new generations of Gujaratis are moving out to the distant suburbs where they can have a little more room to raise their families.
Kandivali is one such suburb in Western Mumbai. Instead of the crammed 150 sq ft tenements, they now live in 1000 sq ft skyscrapers, most with little lawns and gardens. In the evening the men and women congregate in the compound in groups, recreating that lost sense of community they had in the old neighborhood.

I’ve been spending a lot of time in an area called Mahavir Nagar as I shuttle between my parents home and that of my sister-in-law. Actually, its probably even just a subset of Mahavir Nagar, because it is just one big block of buildings.

And I am fascinated by the mom-and-pop stores that line the streets. You can find everything one could possibly want in Mahavir Nagar. There is the grocery store that carries normal Guju vegetables as well as exotic things like mushrooms, asparagus and yellow peppers. There is the fruit store with its fruit juice vending area – hand squeezed in front of you mosambi juice for ten rupees or 25cents. Fresh jalebis, mithai, pau bhaji, the Bombay sandwich walla, vada pau, furniture, farsan, a dairy store, an optician, printing and copying shop, photographer, wedding supplies, supplies for a religious ceremony, dry goods, clothes, a liquor store that carries champagne, supplies for funerals – the list is only as short as my imagination.

I don’t feel like I’m in some big alien city – no the sounds, the smells it is all familiar, and strangely, despite my alien looks and clothes I feel a part of this community. My mom does too... perhaps it is just a more spacious, modern version of Bhuleshwar.

No More Books ?

Read an article today about how the iPad and the Kindle are changing the book publishing indusry completely. I must confess to feeling rather sad by the news.

For despite all my talk about a paperless office and how we must embrace technology, I like having my stories delivered to me in a good sized book. There is a sense of comfort, a sense of taking me back to a favorite place,  that a book delivers, that I've just not been able to get with a digital book. Perhaps because the book is there even after the power fails, the book is not as fragile as the digital version, and it takes effort to destroy. Perhaps that is why it conveys a sense of permanence and authoritythat I have not been able to get from a digital book.

And yet, have I really tried ? Do I really know what the digital book has to offer, and how it could change my reading experience ?

I saw a Kindle once and loved it. I had no use for it, because the Amazon network has not extended to India, so it would be a pretty static library out here.

Perhaps it is the return to India that has allowed me to get a grip on the mad dash to digitality and appreciate the more traditonal or legacy stuff.

Whatever it is, I do know, that when I dreamed of writing a book - I intended for it to be a paper book, one that I could hold in my hand and display, not a digital version. And then again - I'm having so much fun blogging!

The Yoga Lesson

Dhruti, the intrepid niece that got me blogging, sent me a link to Home Yoga instructors in Bangalore. People who would come to your house and teach you yoga. "Its the only way," she said , "that you will excercise. So go and do it. " I read her email, felt good and moved on to the next email.

She called me up the day after mom and dad arrived and reminded me - "Did you call those people... ?" Since the right arm, shoulder and neck was suffering from a severe case of mouse-itis an affliction resulting from overworking the mouse (on a computer keyboard), I thought I should do something. What have I to lose ? I'll hate them anyway and that will be the end of it.

The instructors arrived the next morning to introduce themselves, discuss and negotiate. The yoga lessons started a day later. I got suddenly very interested when I heard that one of Supriya's skills is Yoga Nidra - the aspect of Yoga that helps you get into a state of deep and relaxed sleep.

So she arrived yesterday, and we had a reasonably good session. Papa had his lesson, and came out feeling very energized and refreshed . She showed him excercises that started to get his blood circulating. But mummy was a whole different matter.

Mummmy showed Supriya all the excercises she had done that morning (since no one has actually witnessed her doing them, we don't know for sure - but then we have no reason to doubt her). Supriya said she thought that that was just enough for one day. She suggested a few improvement in techniques and then proceeded to discuss recipes, life and other more interesting things.

Mummy told me that she would prefer to have her Yoga lesson in the afternoon, cos the mornings seemed so packed!!! I told her that would be tough, cos i needed to have my lesson in the morning. She said she understood.

Supriya told me at the end of the yoga lesson, that mummy was going to give her cooking classes in the afternoon, and she would try to stop by 2-3 times a week, and no I did not need to pay extras, she was doing it cos she needed to learn how to cook!.

The Aundh Connection

This is a long but fascinating story... I urge you to tolerate the meanderings of my mind.

So while mom was having her yoga lesson this morning, papa and I were sitting in the living room and chatting. He was telling me about how he first learnt about Surya Namaskar when he was about 12 years old. He learnt it from an instructor who had come to teach Yoga to the Maharaja of Tehri-Garhwal.

Now if you've been following these stories carefully, you might have picked up that my Great Grandfather Ghanshyam Das was a Judge in Agra. In the early 1930s my grandfather, Brijbhushan Das - a lawyer, gave up his practice in Agra and moved to Haldwani to become a farmer. Dad stayed with Ghanshyam Das in Agra to continue his studies. A few years into this, Ghanshyam Das started to travel to Tehri to advise the Maharajah. Dad spent a couple of years in Tehri as the guest of the Maharajah.

A delegation from Aundh had arrived at the palace in the Garhwal mountains, leaving behind the Marathi speaking Yoga instructor. The Raja of Aundh - Appasaheb Pant - had a passion for the Surya Namaskar and the Maharajah of Garhwal ensured that not only did he and his family learn how to perform it, but so did all the visitors and guests at his court, including papa who at that point knew nothing about Yoga, Marathi or Aundh.

Hmm.... I said.. wasn't there a movie or something, I said ?

"Ahh yes", he said. "You know I first learned about photography when I was in Tehri. I had never seen photographs before. But all these royals were constantly being photographed, and that is where I developed an interest in still photography and motion picture".

So all those pictures we have chronicling our lives -that is all thanks to the Maharajah of Tehri...

"But Aundh....?"

"Oh yes, years later when I came to Mumbai, I decided to acquire a motion picture projector to display his 16mm movies. He had traded his Rolliflex still camera for Raval kaka's (a neighbor in Nutan Nagar) 1600mm motion picture camera. Raval kaka was a professional photographer, and it is hard to understand what he was doing with the 1600mm camera in the first place, especially if he did not have a projector to display his movies.

Anyway, papa had been looking at the shops in Opera House. Nothing was fitting the budget that he and mom had carved out for this.

One day a shopkeeper told him about a used projector that his neighbor was disposing off. Address in hand, Papa tracked down the Nepali watchman who had been given the task of disposing off the equipment. The Nepali watchman had just sold it to a shopkeeper in Chor Bazaar. Papa followed the trail to Chor Bazaar and found the next shopkeeper. This fellow had bought it just to show his kids movies.

Papa bought the projector and all the movies the guy had for Rs 400, a princely sum that was almost equal to a month's salary. He loaded into the car and brought him - and that is how come every one of my birthdays from the time I is captured in Ektachrome color.

"But Aundh..?" "Oh yes, in the stack of movies I brought back from Chor Bazaar there were 3 or 4 in which I recognized the Maharajah of Aundh, whom I had met briefly at the palace in Garhwal. There was even one which showed Pandit Nehru arriving at the Aundh railway station and being greeted by a group of lejim players and then reviewing a group of people performing the Surya Namaskar. Appa Pant's passion for Surya Namaskars was very well known by then, and he himself was a public figure." This was in the late 1950s.

These movies sat in our home in Bandra alongside my birthday movies, and movies recording our trips to Haldwani and Nainital and movies of weddings of my uncles and aunts. Cos dad was quite the avid photographer back them, and our home was equipped with all kinds of audio-visual equipment.

Years went by the 16mm projector was traded in for 8mm and then Super 8 before succumbing to the Analog Video Camera and most recently the Digital Video camera. Meanwhile this set of movies sat there being dusted occasionally and people saying "What is that ?" And mom going "Do not ask, it is your fathers and he won't let me throw it out.".

In the late 80s, papa was spending a lot of time in Pune - his company did a lot of business in rural Maharashtra. One day, the cab driver asked him if he would like to go to Pimpri via Aundh. "Aundh ? As in the Maharaja of Aundh ?" "No no sir, that Maharajah lives in another place. Yes, I know that place. In fact I know the Maharajah. " "Oh ?" "Yes, I park my cab opposite his house. The Maharajah is an avid gardener, and he likes to work in the garden. So I've even talked to him sometimes."

So papa asked the cab driver to bring the Maharajah of Aundh aka Appasaheb Pant a letter describing the movies he had in his position and where he could be reached. Appasaheb called him almost immediately upon receiving the letter. Told him he wasn't aware of any such movies. They agreed that papa would bring them the next time he came to Pune.

Appasaheb was delighted with the movies. He called up papa and thanked him for restoring what he could only describe as a family treasure. Those old movies were so precious and irreplaceable. He was convinced that he and papa must have a connection from another lifetime. Papa and mommy got invited to several events featuring Appasaheb in Bombay. And Appasaheb gifted papa with a copy of every book that he had ever had published. And everyone felt very good.

And then everyone went back to the way things were, until this morning when we started talking about Surya Namaskars!!! So if you've ever been irritated with having to pose for a photo and wait for Uttam bhai to compose the right shot, or for papa to get the light just right - we know we have the Maharajah of Aundh to thank for that. Just as much as we do for all the beautiful photos and movies that have chronicled the lives of the Chokseys and the Shahs.  That dear people is the Aundh connection.

Speech for Sr Maria Rosa

Rough text of the Welcome Address at the ACHS Reunion in Bandra Jan 2nd, 2009

When I first told my classmates that I was to come and speak here this evening, they told me no one would understand my accent. Then they asked if they could all come join me on stage !!

Over the past 12 months I have had the opportunity to reconnect with several of my classmates from around the world, several of whom I had not seen in 35 years. The thing that struck me is that each and every one of them is an absolutely incredible woman. They are daughters, sisters, mothers, homemakers and career women. There are lawyers, teachers, doctors, mathematicians, IT people, I don’t think there are any politicians or nuns. This school and the teachers have equipped us to handle the challenges and opportunities of our times.

Those of us who went to school here in the late 60s and 70s are especially fortuntate, for we had Sr Maria Rosa as our principal.

Sr Maria Rosa came with her own special brand of energy and enthusiasm for everything she did – be it playing the violin at assembly or cultivating her roses – everytime I see a multi-colored rose, I am transported back in time to when I was in the 7th standard being introduced to Sr. Maria Rosa’s roses.

But there was a lot more that Sr Maria Rosa did for us. She got us our first library. And that library has instilled a lifelong love of reading amongst several of us.

She had us compete in the Paranjyothi choir contest – and we won.

On the technology front, she was well ahead of her times. Businesses are only recently getting comfortable with concepts like Audio calls and Voice calls. Back in 1968, Sr Maria Rosa had intercoms installed and started conducting Morning Assembly remotely.

My class mate Sita reminded me that you had introduced us to the Speed Reading - SRE system in our school. And to particularly thank you for that.

For me personally, it is the memory of the Valentine Day’s Fete – a 3 day event. I later heard you describe it as “Fools rush in where angels fear to tread”. Your conduct of the entire event was a lesson to me personally, a lesson in courage and execution.

In preparing for this evenings address, I polled my classmates from around the world – and yes there are many who could not be with us today, though they are wishing they could have been – I asked them if they had any special messages for you Sr. Maria Rosa.

From around the world, the answer was unanimous :”Tell sister we love her.Tell her we remember her in our prayers and in the way we live our lives.

Thank you sister for leaving such a strong and indelible mark on all of us.

Darek vacha ma vedna nathi hoti
Pun
Darek vedna mathi vachna tapakti hoi che

Darek aanso dard na nathi hota
Pun
Darek dard ma aansoo chupayela hoi che

Darek bhootkal itihas nathi hoto
Pun
Darek itihasne bhootkal banvu pade che

Darek ekant moun nathi hotu
Pun
Darek moun ma ekant samayelu hoi che

Darek soundarya ma sugandh nathi hoti
Pun
Darek sugandhne potanu aagvu soundarya hoi che

Darek mandirma pavitrata nathi hoti
Pun
Darek pavitra sthan mandir bani jaye che

Darek premi paagal nathi hoto
Pun
Pagalpan e premni parakashta che

Darek vacha ma vedna nathi hoti
Pun
Darek vedna mathi vachna tapakti hoi che


Every message does not contain sorrow, but there is a message hidden in every sorrow
Every tear is not a tear of sorrow, but, every sorrow has tears hidden somewhere in it
Every past is not history, but every history is required to become the past
Every loneliness is not silence, but every silence has loneliness inherent in it
Every beauty does not contain perfume, but every perfume has an intrinsic beauty
Every temple is not pure, but a pure place can become a temple
Every lover is not insane, but insanity is the ultimate expression of love
Every message does not contain sorrow, but there is a message hidden in every sorrow

Jo Je Ishwar Ne Bharose Rehto - Dr Chaaya Shah

Jo Je Ishwar Ne Bharose Rehto
Ishwar che ke nahi te shraddha no vishay che. Paranto manave manav tarike saphal thavu hoi to tene pota na ma shraddha hovi joie. Matra ishvarechanu bahanu lai, pramadi jeevan jeevnar manushya pashuthi pan badatar jeevan jeeve che.

Whether God exists or not is simply a matter of faith. But if man wants to live and prosper as a human being then he must have faith in himself. A man who uses God as an excuse to live a lazy life is living a life worse that that of an animal.

Jo je ishwar ne bharose rehto Watch out, don’t live your life relying on God
Aahi ishwar jevi koi cheej aj nathi There is no such thing like God here.

Taraj pag par chalva mand Start walking on your own feet,
Baki tane pakdi ne chalave For there is no one here who will
evi aahi koi vyaktij nathi hold you and lead you to walk.

Sahas ne himmat no saath lai ne Lean on your courage and your conviction
Dhagas ne mehnat ne haath ma lai ne and on your industriousness and hard work

Hruday ma adag vishwas lai ne With a strong and unshaken faith
Je melavvu hoi te melvi le Go take whatever you want

Baki Cos
Tu maange ne tane aapi de You ask and they give it to you
Evi aahi koi shaktij nathi - there is no such force around

Sukh joiye che ? brashtachar thodvo padshe
You want happiness, you will have to leave corruption
Shanti joiye che ? Yudh ne tyajvu padshe
You want peace, then you will have to abandon war
Prem joiye che ? Koie ne dil thi chahvu padshe
You want love ? You will need to love someone with your heart

Baki Cos
Tu bhoole karya kare ane tane maaph karya kare,
You make a mistake and they forgive you
Evi aahin koie hastij nathi (hasti – human being)
There is no such creation at all

Ma baap ni seva kar, ej taro ishwar che
Serve your mother and your father, they are your God
Koi na dukhne tara kar, ej taru kartavya che (kartavya = duty)
Make someone’s grief your own, that is your duty

Tara aatmane karma thi mukta kar
Ej taro dharma che
Free your soul from bad karma – that is your religion

Baki Cos
Jene tu jindagi par shodhya kare ne
He who whom you seek your entire life
To-e ej santatoj phare, evi koi bhrantij nathi
And still he insists on hiding, there is no such person at all

Jo ishwar che to tari ne mari vache kem nathi ?
If God exists why isnt he here among us ?
Jo ishwar che to sav no thai ne rehto kem nathi ?
If God exists then why does he not come live with us ?
Are khap hoi jeno dharti par ne aakash ma jai ne bese
When he is needed on earth, why does he go off and sit in the sky ?
Aava ishwarma hun to mantij nathi
I do not believe in a God like this
Jo je ishwar ne bharose rehto
Watch out do not depend on God
Ahin ishwar jevi koi cheejaj nathi
Over here, there is no such thing as God

Vishwaas - Dr Chaaya Shah

Vishwaas - Dr Chaaya Shah
Ajani dharti ne pacchu chichru petal
Namno ek chod
Ema lai rahyo che svas
Namna aa chod ni saav aniyali ek daal
Daal ni aa toch par
Ek hasi rahyu che gulab
Aano nam vishwas

Faith
In the bowels of this unknown shallow earth
breathes a delicate little plant
On this delicate little plant sits one sharp little branch
At the very tip of this little branch, blooms a beautiful rose
This is faith

AAkrosh - Intense Rage

Collection of Poems Entitled “Aavu Kem ?” AAkrosh – Dr. Chayya Shah

Draupadi ne jyare muki daav par
tyarej ane Pandavo ne tyaje didha hot
Nari na ghor apman thi
aam itihas kalankit na thayo hot
Agni pariksha mangi Rame jyare
tyarej sita e inkaar karyo hot
Bejeevati nari ne jungle ma haki mukvane S
Sri rame himmat na kari hot
Patini pachal Gandhari e
Aam aankhe pati na bandhi hot
Nij aankhna amrut thi
neej putra ne bheenjavi shaki hot
Mahabharata nu yudhha atkavi shaki hot

Sati nu birudh pamnari
Aa nari oe matra ek stree thavani koshish jo kari hot
aam varamvar balidaan mangvani purushone
adat na padi hot


Had Draupadi abandoned the Pandavas when they put her up as collateral
Then history would not have been shamed by this deep insult of womankind

Had Sita refused, when Ram subjected her to the fire test as a sign of her purity
Then Sri Ram would not have had the courage to banish a pregnant woman to the jungle

Had Gandhari not put a blindfold over her eyes to provide companionship to her husband,
Then she could have showered her child with the sweet love from her own eyes and stopped the Mahabharata wars.

If all these women whom we hail as satis, had tried to be real “women”
Then men would not be in the habit of repeatedly asking women to make supreme sacrifices.

Feminist Gujarati Poetry

Avid followers of this blog will recall the beautiful poetry reading session at the first Choksey reunion. Sudhin and Anjali had brought us this book of Gujarati poems written by Dr Chaaya Shah. And they were absolutely beautiful.

I promised myself that one day I would translate them into English -I can read Gujarati, but I tend to confuse the "k" and the "f" and a few other key consonants. I suppose I could overcome it if I read enough.

So the general plan was, that I would go visit my Anila masi, who is a teacher by profession and work on the translation with her. Nearly 3 years, 3 homes and 3 cities after the Alibag trip, I finally sat down with Anila masi at the Phoenix Mills mall on the first floor of the Costa coffee shop - did you know that the waiters in the coffee shop are deaf and dumb ? But I digress.

I've put in the poems as stand alone posts right after this.

What Matters Most!

I like to read a book or two during the holidays. And during this time, I like to read just a chapter at a time, savoring the words, understanding what is being said. This year, I am reading Franklin Covey's Seven Habits. Yes, I've read them before - but I probably could not have named a single habit before.

It has been a year of big decisions. And as I read this book, I realize that I have instinctively identified "What Matters Most" to me and I've used it to help me make my decisions. That is what has made some incredibly difficult and contrarian decisions seem like no-brainers and their consequences easy to accept.

And I also realize, that there are some deliberate choices I've made - though it seemed at the time that I had no choice in making them. Now that I've re-read the book, I am thinking I will write that mission statement. I will evaluate my progress to the mission from time to time and I will update my mission statement.

These last few days, I've spent reacquainting myself with life in suburban Mumbai - and its intricacies and simplicity. I've caught up with people I had not met in a long time, and I've learnt more about the experiences that have made me who I am. I don't think I'd have been able to appreciate the nuances had I not stepped back to think about What Matters Most to me.

So thank you Mr. Covey!!

Bah Humbug!!!

All year long, I look forward to the period between Christmas and New Year. In general, this is a time when things slow down at work, and I can count on being able to relax and address some special project that requires extra attention. Some years this has been an extremely busy time as we try and catch up with the targets for the quarter or finish writing new business that is to be included in the year that is ending.

However, when I was young, I looked forward to it for a host of other reasons. Christmas was always a very festive season in Bandra where I grew up. And apart from the one year when I took off in a fit of fright upon seeing a real live Santa Claus, I have looked forward to the decorated Christmas trees, the exchange of traditional sweets, the hustle and bustle on Hill Rd, midnight mass - and yes, I still havent actually been to one - and then the inevitable New Years Eve parties. These were undertaken with much energy and excitement and I often returned home in the wee hours of the morning, exhilirated and exhausted. And that was in the pre-alcohol days. I remember walking down Hill Rd, late at night, somewhere near Rebello House and Somnath Lane - there were several of us and we were walking along arm-in-arm all across the street singing at the top of our voices.

Things changed as I grew older. Somewhere along the way I picked up the occasional martini. And the parties got funnier. And then I grew a little older. And now I fell asleep after the first martini. Or if I managed to stay up all night, i realized that I was a zombie the next day. And I did not like being a zombie.

The parties got even more painful as I lived in Stormville, cos it involved a trip out into the snow laden deer ridden countryside, to a party filled with people who were drinking just a little bit more than was attractive. And i recall one historic moment when I decided that i really did not need to go to a party on New Years Eve. That I was happier sitting at home in my flannel pajamas wearing 2 pairs of warm socks, snuggled under a blanket, falling asleep in front of the TV. My self esteem would not allow me to accept that I had become an old bore. Instead I called it being smarter and wiser. Though I must confess to feeling a tiny twinge of envy at the energy displayed by the other party goers. Next morning, feeling refreshed and awake, reading about all the drunk drivers that got arrested, or into accidents I invariably felt smarter and wiser.

So when asked about my plans for New Years Eve this year, I said, Bah Humbug! I intend to go to sleep at 10pm. And it is a great New Year's Day today, isn't it ?