Weblog of Vikram Karve

Food

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Fri, 29 Jun 2007 16:25:00 +0530

FOOD Food is a basic necessity of man, not just a mere necessity but a desire, and, probably, there is no greater love than the love of food. I am an avid Foodie, and not only do I love and relish eating good food, but I am fond of all aspects of food – reading, writing, watching about food. So when I chanced upon an appetizing anthology, of writings on Food, in my library I was indeed enticed. Dear Reader, and Fellow Foodie, let me tell you about it. Title: FOOD An Oxford Anthology Edited by: BRIGID ALLEN Published by: Oxford University Press (1994) ISBN 0-19-212327-0 The brief introduction elucidates that “The chief objects of this anthology are to satisfy curiosity (about what and how people ate, what they felt about food, how they celebrated with it, and how it varied from country to country and region to region), and to provide both pleasure and literary reflection.” The anthology comprises pieces of prose and poetry which explore attitudes, emotional and social resonances connected with food. The anthology comprises six parts titled – People, Foodstuffs and Cooking, Eating at Home and Abroad, Lavishness, Austerity, and Food and Emotions – and each past contains a number of interesting sections on a variety of topics ranging from Food and Character, Eating Habits, Recipes, Parties and Ceremonial Food to explorations between Food and various emotions like Dreams, fantasy, Distress, Happiness, Sensuality, Love, and Sex. “Food is a profound subject and one, incidentally, about which no writer lies,” writes Iris Murdoch (p 20) in the featured extract of The Sea, The Sea, in the chapter on Eating Habits, and continues, “I wonder whence I derived my felicitous gastronomic intelligence.” Appetizing descriptions of food experienced by travelers all over the world, including on board ships, are featured in the section on Eating at Home and Abroad. The pieces on India (reminiscent of the Raj including pieces by VS Naipaul and EM Forster) make entertaining reading as do the recipes in poetry form. The meat of the book is the section titled “Lavishness” comprising writings on Ceremonial Food, Parties, Greed, Excess – and lest you get carried away and indulge yourself too much there immediately follows the chapter on “Austerity” which extols the virtues of Simple Food, Diets and Dieting and goes on to kill your appetite with nauseating stomach-churning prose and poems on Unpleasant Food. I enjoyed the chapter on Food and Emotions. Here is a poem on Food and Happiness “TO A POOR OLD WOMAN” (p 388): munching a plum on the street a paper bag of them in her hand They taste good to her They taste good to her. They taste good to her. And what can I say on the concluding section of the anthology titled “Food, Sensuality, Love, and Sex”? Well, Dear Reader, why don’t you read it for yourself? The dust jacket, with a decorative illustration of a vegetable market on the cover, introduces the Editor, Brigid Allen, as a cookery writer and historian educated at Oxford and London Universities and indeed she has compiled an appetizing, droll and enjoyable collection of writing on Food. A good book on food – nourishing reading for foodies and bibliophiles alike. VIKRAM KARVE http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com http://www.linkedin.com/in/karve http://www.ryze.com/go/karve http://vwkarve.wordpress.com vikramkarve@sify.com vikramkarve@hotmail.com

Pune Travels and Travails

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 16:45:08 +0530

TRAVELLING IN PUNE by VIKRAM KARVE

The best way to travel in Pune is to go nowhere. Just sit at home, watch the travel channel on cable TV, travel in your mind’s eye and enjoy yourself vicariously. That is if you are lucky to have electricity, and if there is no power supply due to load shedding or a routine maintenance shutdown you can do even more exciting things like meditation, playing patience, or doing nothing [doing nothing makes time pass slowly and prolongs life]. And if you are a workaholic just stay put at your workplace. Sorry for digressing – this piece is about traveling in Pune. The roads are dug up, there are diversions, and there is traffic chaos, so think twice before taking out your car, especially during peak hours. A friend of mine started off towards my place near Aundh yesterday morning, got stuck in a massive traffic jam, tried to take a short cut, and got lost in the maze, like in the Bhool-Bhulaiya of Lucknow. I had to drive cross-country across the Range Hills, traversing unknown paths, taking adventurous short cuts, to reach the airport. If you’re dying for a drive, head for the nearest highway – it’s easier to get to Mumbai from Hinjewadi than to get to Kharadi, Kalyaninagar, Hadapsar, or Wanowrie. And if you are lucky enough to live in the heart of the city or camp, just take out your parasol, put on your walking shoes and walk. Walk, don’t drive, is the motto of the day in Pune. But if you have made the blunder of shifting to the suburbs, it’s best to go nowhere, and languish away. When I was a small boy [in the 1960’s], we used to cycle all over Pune – but I dare not try it today, lest I land up in a Hospital with my bones broken or worse still in Vaikunth or Kailas crushed to pulp. There is just no place for the poor cyclist in the murderous traffic and what’s left of the roads. And if you have a motorcycle, or scooter, and have the guts to negotiate through the chaotic traffic, best of luck! Otherwise try the PMT bus, or take an auto-rickshaw and tell me all about it! There are just too many people traveling all over Pune. I don’t know why they don’t build living accommodation for employees in the workplace – that should reduce at least half the traffic traveling to work and back, besides enhancing productivity. Just imagine traveling from, say, your home in Kalyaninagar, Kondhwa or Hadapsar all the way to Hinjewadi and back every day. What a waste to time, fuel, and emotional energy! I’m fortunate – I just have to walk down to my workplace which is just a stone’s throw away! But I live far far away from the heart of Pune, and though I often pine to go there, I dread traveling to town, and try to follow my dictum – The best way to travel in Pune is to go nowhere!

VIKRAM KARVE

vikramkarve@sify.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

http://karve.wordpress.com

Art of Loafing

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Wed, 31 Jan 2007 13:15:00 +0530

THE ART OF LOAFING [ Footloose in Pune ] by VIKRAM KARVE What is ‘loafing’? Idling away one’s time on useless things? Aimless loitering? Loitering! Sounds a bit derogatory, isn’t it? So does the word loafer. Okay let’s say it’s aimless wandering. Perfectly useless time spent in a perfectly useless manner! Yes. That’s how I would like to define the art of loafing. Spending perfectly useless time in a perfectly useless manner! That’s what I did yesterday. I loafed. Spent a perfectly useless day in a perfectly useless manner. Loafing. Let me tell you about it. It’s a beautiful morning. I try to furtively slip out of my house unnoticed, but I am stopped in my tracks by my wife’s piercing voice, “Where are you going?” “I don’t know?” I answer truthfully, and this adroit answer probably precludes the next question she is about to ask, “What time are you coming back?” for she knows I will again truthfully answer, “I don’t know.” “Take the mobile with you,” she shouts, but I pretend not to hear and make myself scarce and disappear as fast as possible for I do not want the manacles of technology to ruin my day. It’s a bright day. I feel good. Flush with a sense of carefree irresponsibility, I walk with a spring in my step. I am going to enjoy my leisure. Should I turn left? Should I turn right? I was free. Free to go wherever I desired. Free. To enjoy my day as I wanted. True freedom. To travel with no destination to reach. No task to complete. No deadlines to meet. Just Loaf. Aimlessly. Timelessly. Spend a perfectly useless day in a perfectly useless manner. I see a bus, stop it and hop in. “Where do you want to go?” the conductor asks. “Where does this bus go?” I ask. “Pune Railway Station.” “Okay. One Pune Railway Station,” I say holding out a tenner. The conductor gives me an amused look and hands me a ticket and a rupee coin. I sit down, think interesting thoughts and enjoy the view through the window. On these trips of mine I prefer traveling by bus and, of course, I love to walk on foot. Driving my car on the terrible potholed, crowded and chaotic roads of Pune makes me go crazy, and, at my age, I dare not venture out too far on my scooter, lest I land up with broken bones in hospital or, worse, lifeless in Vaikunth or Kailas. That’s what I sometimes do on these glorious trips of mine. Just jump into the first bus that comes along and let it take you wherever it goes. Go where life leads you. Last time I landed up in the heart of Pune – near Shaniwar Wada. In Mumbai, Kolkata, Chennai and Delhi it’s even more exciting, as there are so many more routes and choices, and you can serendipitously explore so many novel and exotic places you wouldn’t dream of going to otherwise. The PCMT bus reaches the Railway Station. It’s a smooth ride. (PCMT buses seem to be better than PMT buses!). I get down and admire the magnificent heritage stone building of Pune Railway Station. I stand in the porch and look inside. Trains, crowds – I love the atmosphere. On impulse, I enter, and stroll on the platform, panning my gaze all over, and stopping once in a while to feast my eyes on any attractive object that arrests my attention. “Want a seat?” a hamaal asks. “No,” I say. “Where are you going?” he pursues. “Nowhere,” I say. “Waiting for someone,” he asks, probably in anticipation of porterage. “No,” I say. He stares at me for a moment and walks off with a look of perplexed dejection. I look around. Everyone is waiting to go somewhere, or for someone. I am waiting to go nowhere, and for nobody. So I walk out of the station and head for Shiv Kailash Milk Bar bang opposite. If you arrive at Pune by train on a hot morning, never make the blunder of heading for the rickshaw stand. You’ll get all stressed up waiting in the never-ending queue and haggling with the rickshawallas trying to con you. Just cross the road to Shiv Kailash, sit under the shade on one of the stainless steel stools placed on the pavement, invigorate yourself with a tall glass of cool refreshing lassi (which is guaranteed to banish the depleting effects of the tiresome train journey) and tell the waiter to hail a rickshaw from the many hanging around. This is what I have been doing for so many years, during my numerous homecomings, since the days Pune was called Poona. Shiv Kailash serves the best lassi in Pune. It’s almost as good as the one at Pehelwan in Varanasi. The lassi freshly made in front of you topped off with a generous dollop of soft fresh cream. It’s thick, lip-smacking, nourishing, and gives me a heavenly feeling. I sip slowly, relishing every mouthful, almost eating the delectable fluid after letting it perambulate on my tongue, as I watch the world go about it’s business outside. People come, gulp their lassis in a hurry, and rush away, while I blissfully savor each and every drop of the delicious lassi. I walk leisurely towards Camp. Past Mira College, GPO, Zero Milestone, Police Headquarters, Nehru Memorial Hall, where I cross the Moledina Road admiring the imposing Lal Deval Synagogue, and turn left, past the place imperial Dorabjee Store Building used to be once. Now there is a huge shopping complex and a glitzy mall opposite. I reminisce. West End, New Empire, all the adorable landmarks gone – “Landmark” – what’s that? A swanky new music-cum-book store. I walk in. The place is swarming with chic salesgirls and salesboys. No one pays any attention to me. Maybe I blend well with the surroundings. I realize the tremendous advantages of obscurity and the benefits of anonymity. Had I been a “successful” person, rich and famous, or someone with a striking personality, people would notice me and I doubt I would have been able to enjoy myself with such carefree abandon. Only non-achievers like me can truly enjoy a life of carefree irresponsibility. I roam around the ground floor music section. There are no music stations where you can listen to music – like they have in Rhythm House and Planet-M in Mumbai. So I go the first floor bookstore. It’s spacious, neatly laid out and looks impressive. The books are arranged subject-wise, clearly visible from anywhere. There are cushioned stools to sit and browse and also two long sofas below the huge tinted windows towards the far side. I start from the left. Food, Philosophy, Self-Help, Travel, Coffee Table, Erotica, Classics, Fiction, Computers, Children, Indian Writing – there are books on every topic you can think of. The tranquil ambiance is so soothing and conducive that I browse to my heart’s content, loosing myself into that wonderful state of timelessness I experience sometimes when I’m totally immersed into doing something I love. By the time I leave Landmark, cerebrally satiated, it’s almost three in the afternoon, I’m hungry, and in desperate need of gastronomic satiation. So I walk past Manney’s, West End, turn right on Main Street, cross Aurora Towers, turn right, walk past ABN Amro Bank, and turn left on Dastur Meher Road, a walk leisurely towards Sarbatwala Chowk till I reach Dorabjee and Sons. I dive in through the low entrance and look around. The eatery is crowded, with noisy families bashing away regardless greedily devouring the heaps food before them. The mouth-watering aroma, and the sight of the appetizing food, creates in me such ravenous pangs of hunger that I quickly sit on the only vacant table and order a Mutton Biryani – the signature dish of Dorabjee. As is the hallmark of specialty cuisine restaurants – the menu is select – just a few choice dishes a single page. There’s Sali, Curry, Masala and Biryani in Mutton and Chicken; Kheema, Brain, Eggs, and combinations thereof, cutlets in gravy, and a few Veg dishes, for appearance sake. On Sundays, you can have Dhansak, maybe on your way to the races in the season. I spoon some Biryani onto my tongue, seal my lips, close my eyes, turn my senses inwards with full consciousness to imbibe and savor the unique medley of juices released by the succulent piece of mutton, the bitterish-sweet taste of the slightly burnt crisp fried onions, and the spicy flavorsome rice. It is superlative delicious authentic cuisine at its best. Dorabjee serves the best mutton biryani in Pune – no doubt about it. The fervent atmosphere of the place and exquisite quality of the food is such that one eats enthusiastically, with wholehearted zest and gusto; not apologetically and self-consciously, as one tends to do, trying to be prim and proper, in highfalutin restaurants. At Dorabjee, you can enjoy every morsel of your food with passionate ardor. And as I reach blissful satiety I realize that a well-filled stomach radiates a kind of spiritual happiness. The ideal way to end this rich spicy repast is to cool it off with a Falooda. So I walk down Sachapir Street, cross Main Street, and head for Badshah on East Street to down a deliciously sweet and chilled Rose flavored Royal Falooda. And then to Kayani, down East Street to pick up some Shrewsbury Biscuits and Chocolate Walnut Cake. I stand outside Kayani, wondering what to do. Maybe I can go to Manney’s and browse some more. If Landmark has got the ambiance, Manney’s got the books! And then just walk down Main Street admiring pretty looking things, till I’m tired and hungry. Maybe I’ll have some sandwiches, a roll and cold coffee at Marzorin. Or pastries and a softy at Pasteurs. Or a Burger at Burger King, or a Chopsuey at East End, down East Street. Or should I see the movie at Victory opposite, or at West End nearby. Maybe I’ll jump into the first bus I see and go wherever it goes. How about going for a long walk on Lami road into the heart of town? Or an idyll beside the river in Bund Garden, or Saras Baug, or Sambhaji Park? Or maybe I’ll just head home. The possibilities are endless! I feel on top of the world. I am proud to be a loafer - free to do whatever I choose to do! Loaf to my heart’s content! To continue to spend a perfectly useless day in a perfectly useless manner! You can take my word for it, dear reader. There is nothing you’ll enjoy more than loafing. It is when you cease to do the things you have to do, and do the things you like to do, and you want to do, that you achieve the highest value of your time. The freedom to enjoy life is the ultimate reward. Why should you defer happiness waiting for some elusive abstract rewards? What reward could be greater than a life enjoyed as it is lived? If you do not find happiness as you are, where you are, here and now, you will never find it. There is always plenty in life right now to enjoy for one who is determined to enjoy it. The feast of life is before you. Do you have the appetite to enjoy the feast of life? So my dear friend, discover the art of loafing, and you’ll redeem the art of living from the business of living. VIKRAM KARVE vikramkarve@sify.com vikramkarve@hotmail.com http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com http://karve.wordpress.com

My Name is Sherry Karve

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Mon, 01 Jan 2007 13:15:09 +0530

My Name is Sherry Karve MY NAME IS SHERRY KARVE (Part 2) by VIKRAM KARVE On Christmas Day, and when I fetched the Times of India from the paperboy early in the morning and gave it to my father, he began reading to my mother something about a new pet saloon started in Pune at Salunke Vihar where dogs are pampered, groomed, massaged, styled, pedicured and everything else like the beauty parlours you humans go to. It’s run by a girl called Pooja Karve, and that’s good, because I am a ‘Karve’ too – Sherry Karve – and I’m sure Pooja Karve will give her canine namesake special loving care and chic grooming. I’m going to tell my father and mother that I need some sophisticated exotic pampering and they must take me Pooja Karve’s grooming parlour soon for the complete works and I’m not going to tolerate their rustic style rough and tough bathing and brushing anymore. After all I’m a delicate girl and I want to look and feel good. Now my father is calling me for playing the “bone-game” but before that let me tell you about my home. In front is a huge garden, or rather an orchard, with all types of trees and bushes, and a lush green lawn on which I love to frolic, prance and roll upside down, and lots of flower beds which I love digging up to my mother’s horror. I love digging up the mud – it’s so tasty – and there is plenty of it in the spacious kitchen garden behind the house where I create havoc digging up to my heart’s content, and the only thing I’ve spared are the tomatoes and some horrible tasting leaves called Alu because they itch. I’m lucky – they don’t tie me up but leave me free to roam and play around as I please. And there is so much to explore and investigate, in the nooks and corners of our verdant garden with plenty of trees, bushes and hedges. There is so much to sniff, so much to dig, and so much to chase - squirrels, mongooses and birds to chase. The cats have disappeared though; ever since the day I almost caught one. When I want to go out I tap the front door with my paws and they let me out, and when I want to come in I peep through the windows, and if no one notices I bang the door from the outside or make entreating sounds. My father has warned me not to leave the compound, but sometimes I can’t resist the temptation, and slither under a gap I’ve discovered under the barbed wire and go across to meet my neighbour Sigmund, a five year old pure breed Golden Retriever, in case he is tied outside. He’s an old fogey, quite a boring condescending pompous fellow, and I hate his snooty and snobbish manner, but he’s the only canine company I have so I really don’t have much of a choice. Also, the poor guy is locked inside or tied up most of the time so I have to do my bit to cheer him up. If he’s inside I bark and sometimes he returns my bark, but most of the time he is quite stuck-up and gloomy. The only time he seemed to be all excited and active, and was desperately chasing me all over, was when I had my first chums a few days ago, but he had no chance as my suddenly overprotective father was guarding me like a shadow, never taking me off the leash when I was outdoors. Those were the only few days he totally restricted my freedom, and when I managed to slip away across the fence once, all hell broke loose, and I was located, chased, captured and soundly scolded for the first time. I felt miserable, and sulked, but then my father caressed and baby-talked me and I knew how much he loved and cared for me, and it was all okay. And during those sensitive days he used to specially pamper me and take me for long walks, on a tight leash, keeping an eagle eye and stick ready in his hand for those desperate rowdy rascal mongrels who suddenly appeared from nowhere and used to frantically hang around and follow me, looking at me in a lewd restless manner. Once they even had the gumption to sneak into the compound at night, and growl outside, till my father chased them away. When I was small, and my gums itched, and my milk teeth began to break through, I could not resist chewing up anything I could lay my teeth upon – like shoes, slippers, clothes, toothbrushes, furniture . I especially loved my father’s favourite Kolhapuri kapshi chappals which were so soft and yummy. So my father bought me a chewy bone which, it said on the wrapper, was guaranteed to save everything else. I don’t know why, but I secretly buried the bone in a hole I dug below the Mango tree, and I used to dig it out when I thought no one was looking, chew it a bit, and bury it in some other secret place. One day my inquisitive mother found out, and she dug up the bone when I was sleeping and hid in under the pomegranate tree. When I didn’t find it, at first I was confused, maybe it was my neighbour Sigmund, but then he was too old for chewy toy bones. Then I tracked the bone down with my nose, and when I spied my mother giggling and grinning like a Cheshire cat, I knew who was the culprit. This started the “bone-game”. First they (the humans – my mother and father) would give me the bone, and after I hid it they would rush out into the garden and dig it out – then they would hide the bone (after locking me in the house so I could not see) and make me find it, which I did using my nose. I wondered how they found the bone so fast, and one day I caught them spying crouching behind the hedge when they thought I wasn’t looking and the mystery was solved. So now I first let them see where I’m hiding the bone, and when they complacently and confidently go inside thinking they know everything, I dig out the bone and hide it some other place which they do not know and then watch the fun as they search in vain. Then when they go inside, and my father asks me to get the bone, I run out and get it, for which I earn a tidbit. The way these humans act sometimes, I really wonder who is more intelligent – they or we? Apart from my mother and father, who I’ve told you about, there are some more humans who live in my house – my sister, my brother, grandmothers, and a grandfather – and I’ll tell you all about them next time. And I’ll also tell you about the long exploratory walks I go on with my father in the jungle near Mula River, and more about my childhood pranks. And if you’ve missed my first writing about my early life, I’m putting that piece below for you to read. Happy New Year, See you soon, Sherry To be continued… VIKRAM KARVE Copyright 2006 Vikram Karve vikramkarve@sify.com vikramkarve@hotmail.com http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com http://karve.wordpress.com MY NAME IS SHERRY (Part 1) By VIKRAM KARVE My name is Sherry. I am a naughty young girl, I’m over seven months old and I live with my family in a lovely spacious bungalow surrounded by plenty of greenery. I wake up early in the morning, jump off my sofa, go to my father’s bed, rub my cold wet nose against his hand and give him a lick. He grunts and growls and opens his sleepy eyes, and the moment he sees me his face lights up and he lovingly caresses me and says, “Good Morning, Sherry,” and gets up from bed and opens the main door to let me jump out into the garden, do my ‘little job’ at my favorite place near the mango tree, generally dig in the soft morning mud a bit and sniff around to find out if there are any new morning smells, not forgetting to run and welcome the milkman the moment he comes on his cycle. When I return I find that my father is back in his bed and my mother is up and about. She pats and cuddles me and goes about her business making tea in the kitchen while I loiter around the house. She surreptitiously sneaks to the bedroom and slyly hands over a tidbit to my half sleeping father under the blanket when she thinks I am not looking. I pretend not to notice, as I do not want to spoil their fun. Earlier, when I was small and impatient, I used to snuffle out the tidbit from my father’s hand, but this spoilt his fun and he became grumpy, and now that I am a mature young girl well experienced in the ways of the human world I have realized that it is better to act dumb and let these humans think they are smarter than me. So I go outside, sit down and put on a look of anticipation towards the gate and pretend not to notice my mother hiding and peeping through the corner of the window and giggling to herself. The moment the newspaperman comes on his cycle and shouts ‘paper’, I rush to the gate and fetch the newspaper in my mouth, gripping it just right between my teeth, and hold it up to my horizontal father, who gets up, takes the paper from me and gives me the dog-biscuit he’s been hiding in his hand, as my mother, who has rushed behind me, watches me with loving pride in her eyes. My brother and my sister, who till now were fast asleep in the other room, call out my name, and as I dart between their beds wagging my tail, they both hug and cuddle me all over saying, “Good Morning, Sherry. Sherry is a good girl!” Everyone is cheerful and happy and my day has begun! I love my family, even though they are humans; and I love my house, my surroundings, the place I stay, the life I live – but before I tell you all that, let me tell you where I came from. My ‘ birth-mother’ is a ferocious Doberman who lives in a bungalow in Kothrud and my ‘dog-father’ is unknown, though they suspect it may be the Labrador next door (but the vet wanted proof, so in the column against breed he wrote ‘Doberman X’). I was a sickly weakling, hardly a month old, the only girl, last of the litter of eleven, and the owners were wondering what to do with me. Nine of my handsome brothers had already been selected and taken away, and the owners wanted to keep the tenth, the most beautiful and healthy of them all. They had kept me all alone separated from my ferocious Doberman mother who was growling menacingly in a cage nearby. No one wanted me and I could hear people whispering how ugly and weak I was and I wondered what fate lay in store for me. It hurt to be unwanted and when I heard people wanting to send me away to a farmhouse, or ‘dispose’ me of, I felt frightened when I wondered what was going to be my destiny. One evening a few people came over and a gentle woman with kindness in her eyes looked at me, and on the spur of the moment lovingly picked me up, and the way she tenderly snuggled me I felt true love for the first time. This was my new mother. They got into a car and drove across Pune, past Aundh, across the river, till they reached a bungalow. The kind woman was wondering what her husband’s reaction would be. It was dark. I was scared and cuddled up snugly my mother’s arms to feel safer. Suddenly I found a tough-looking bearded man staring at me. Shivering with fear I looked back at him in terror as he extended his hands towards me. But the moment he held me in his large cozy hands, caressed me lovingly, and put his finger tenderly in my mouth, I felt protected, loved, safe and secure. This was my new father and he had already decided my name – Sherry – the same name of his earlier canine ‘daughter’. [‘Sherry’ means ‘beloved’ – not the wine drink you are thinking about!]. “She was destined to come here,” my mother said. “Yes,” My father said feeding me warm milk. They made a nice warm bed for me in a basket and put it below theirs. And as I drifted into sleep, they both fondled me with their hands. I felt so wonderful and happy for the first time in my life. I had found my true home and my family. I am feeling quite sleepy now and I’ll end here and have a nap. If you want to know more about me, my delightfully mischievous life, and the naughty things I do, please let me know and I’ll tell you all about it! To be continued… VIKRAM KARVE Copyright 2006 Vikram Karve vikramkarve@sify.com vikramkarve@hotmail.com http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com http://360.yahoo.com/vikramkarve

The Day After I Quit Smoking by Vikram Karve

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Fri, 29 Dec 2006 16:30:00 +0530

THE DAY AFTER I QUIT SMOKING by VIKRAM KARVE One of the things that deters smokers from quitting decisively in one go is the fear of withdrawal symptoms. This results in smokers resorting to half-baked remedies like gradual reduction, nicotine patches, low tar cigarettes and various other futile therapies. In my opinion this exaggerated importance given to withdrawal symptoms is just a big myth, a ploy, an excuse by addicts to avoid giving up smoking. The so-called withdrawal symptoms are nothing but craving. The best and most effective way of quitting smoking is to just stop smoking, totally, in one go, and then never to smoke again. Don’t be afraid of the so-called “withdrawal symptoms” – you can easily tackle the craving. You can take my word for it – I successfully did it and conquered the craving for smoking once and for all. I have described how I quit smoking. I’m sure you must have read it here in my blog (If you haven’t I’ve pasted the article below at the end of this one for you to read). Now let me describe to you the day after I quit smoking. I woke up early, at five-thirty as usual, made a cup of tea, and the moment I took a sip of the piping hot delicious tea, I felt the familiar crave for my first cigarette of the day. I kept down the cup of tea, made a note of the craving in my diary, had a glass of hot water (quickly heated in the microwave oven), completed my ablutions, and stepped out of my house, crossed the Maharshi Karve Road, and began a brisk walk-cum-jog around the verdant tranquil Oval Maidan, deeply rinsing my lungs with the pure refreshing morning air. which made me feel on top of the world. The Clock on Mumbai University’s Rajabai Tower silhouetted against the calm bluish gray sky, was striking six, and I felt invigorated. I had overcome my craving, and not smoked, what used to be my first cigarette of the day. I then went on my daily morning walk on Marine Drive to Chowpatty and on my way back I spotted my friends ‘N’ and ‘S’ across the road beckoning me for our customary post-exercise tea and cigarette at the stall opposite Mantralaya. I felt tempted, but my resolve firm, I waved to them, looked away and ran towards my house. They must have thought I’d gone crazy, but it didn’t matter – I had avoided what used to be my second cigarette of the day. I made a note of it my diary, as I would do the entire day of all the stimuli that triggered in me the urge to smoke – what I would call my “smoking anchors” which could be anything, internal and external, tangible or intangible – people, situations, events, feelings, smells, emotions, tendencies, moods, foods, social or organizational trends, practices, norms, peer pressure; and most importantly how I tackled and triumphed over these stimuli. After breakfast, I didn’t drink my usual cup of coffee – a strong “smoking anchor” which triggered in me a desperate desire to smoke, and drank a glass of bland milk instead, thereby averting what used to be my third cigarette of the day. It was nine, as I walked to work, and I hadn’t smoked a single cigarette. It was a long day ahead and I had to be cognizant, observe myself inwardly and devise strategies to tackle situations that elicited craving for smoking – recognize and neutralize my “smoking anchors”, so to speak. Anchoring is a naturally occurring phenomenon, a natural process that usually occurs without our awareness. An anchor is any representation in the human nervous system that triggers any other representation. Anchors can operate in any representational system (sight, sound, feeling, sensation, smell, taste). You create an anchor when you unconsciously set up a stimulus response pattern. Response [smoking] becomes associated with (anchored to) some stimulus; in such a way that perception of the stimulus (the anchor) leads by reflex to the anchored response [smoking] occurring. Repeated stimulus–response action, reinforces anchors and this is a vicious circle, especially in the context of “smoking anchors”. The trick is to identify your “smoking anchors”, become conscious of these anchors and ensure you do not activate them. The moment I reached office I saw my colleague ‘B’ eagerly waiting for me, as he did every day. Actually he was eagerly waiting to bum a cigarette from me for his first smoke of the day [“I smoke only other’s cigarettes” was his motto!]. I politely told him I had quit smoking and told him to look elsewhere. He looked at me in disbelief; taunted, jeered and badgered me a bit, but when I stood firm, he disappeared. I removed from my office my ashtray, declared the entire place a no-smoking zone and put up signs to that effect. The working day began. It was a tough and stressful working day. I was tired, when my boss called me across and offered me a cigarette. I looked at the cigarette pack yearningly, tempted, overcome by a strong craving, desperate to have just that “one” cigarette. Nothing like a “refreshing” smoke to drive my blues away and revitalize me – the “panacea” to my “stressed-out” state! It was now or never! I politely excused myself on the pretext of going to the toilet, but rushed out into the open and took a brisk walk rinsing my lungs with fresh air, and by the time I returned I had lost the craving to smoke and realized, like in the Oval early in the morning, that physical exercise is probably the best antidote. People may think I’m crazy, but even now I rush out of my office once in a while to take a brisk walk in the open and not only do I lose the craving for a smoke but I feel distressed and invigorated as well. Conversely, once I rushed into a “no-smoking” cinema when I desperately felt like a smoke while strolling in the evening. Often, after dinner, when I used to feel like a smoke, I rushed into the Oxford Bookstore next door, for a long leisurely browse till my craving dissipated. And, of course, one has to change his lifestyle, activities, and, maybe, even friends. Always try to be with likeminded people who you would like to emulate – if you want to quit smoking try to be in the company of non-smokers. It was simple after that, but my diary for that defining day makes interesting reading of smoking anchors – saunf or supari after lunch, afternoon tea, the company of smokers, paan… But the crucial test came in the evening. My dear friend ‘A’ landed up for a drink. Now ‘A’ is a guy who doesn’t smoke in front of his kids and wife (I’m sure she knows!). So since he doesn’t smoke in his own home he makes up in other people’s houses. But mind you, he doesn’t bum cigarettes – in fact he gets a pack and generously leaves the remaining behind for the host. We poured out a rum–paani each, clinked our glasses, said cheers, and sipped. ‘A’ lit a cigarette and offered the pack to me. At the end of a hot, humid and tiring day, the fortifying beverage induced a heavenly ambrosial sensation which permeated throughout the body and what better way to synergise the enjoyment than to smoke a cigarette along with the drink and enhance the pleasure to sheer bliss. Till that moment, for me, drinking and smoking were inextricably intertwined – they complemented, accentuated each other and accorded me the ultimate supreme pleasure. I enjoyed my smoke the most along with a drink. I realized that drinking was my strongest “smoking anchor” and if I had to quit smoking permanently I would have to give up drinking forever. So that’s what I did. At this defining moment of my life, I quit drinking forever. It’s been almost four years now and I do not smoke and I do not drink. I will never smoke again – I have quit smoking forever. I may be tempted, but I know I can overcome the urge, for I have mastered the art of taking charge of my “smoking anchors”. And from time to time, I shall look at my old diary to remember and cherish that cardinal day of my life – ‘the day after I quit smoking’. VIKRAM KARVE vikramkarve@sify.com vikramkarve@hotmail.com http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com HOW I QUIT SMOKING by VIKRAM KARVE I do not remember the precise moment I started smoking. Maybe it was sometime in college, in the seventies, when egged on by my friends I had my first puff. Just for the heck of it. But what I do remember is the precise moment when I decided to stop smoking – a defining moment of my life. A friend of mine came to my home in Mumbai late at night from the airport, to spend the night and catch next morning’s early train to Pune. It was late, I was tired after a hard day at work, so I gave him a cup of coffee and hit the sack and crashed out. Suddenly someone was waking me up from my deep slumber – it was my friend asking for cigarettes. “There’s a pack on the writing table,” I told him. “It’s empty,” he said. “Okay. I’ll get one in the morning,” I said. “I need a smoke now. I’ll go out and get some,” he said. I looked at him through my sleepy eyes and said, “Go to sleep. It’s late – there won’t be any shops open now.” “There must be someplace. Please,” he said desperately, “ I haven’t had a smoke since I left Delhi. It’s been four hours. I’m dying to have a cigarette. Just one. I can’t sleep if I don’t get a smoke.” Seeing his desperate craving, I had no option but to drive out with him in search of cigarettes at the unearthly hour. Later, lying in bed, I thought about it. Poor chap. We had probably started smoking at the same time. If this could happen to him it could happen to me too if I didn’t wake up. He had become an addict. I didn’t want to become one. There was only one way. Stop smoking. Yes, I had to quit smoking. And I did it. I quit smoking. It’s been three years now, and I know I shall never smoke again. Let me tell you how I quit smoking. Maybe someone out there may benefit from my experience. The first step towards quitting smoking is to learn how to enjoy smoking. Seems absurd - a paradox - isn’t it ? But that’s what I did and I’ll tell you all about it. I realized that in order to fully learn how to enjoy smoking one must first know the art of smoking. I got my clue from a teaching story as I reflected upon it carrying it my mind for a long time until I fathomed the story’s inner depth and meaning. A seeker asks the master, “Can I smoke while meditating?” “No,” scolds the master angrily. Another seeker then asks, “Can I meditate while smoking?” “Yes,” says the master knowingly realizing that this seeker is on the path to enlightenment. This is the key, the first step – if you really want to stop smoking. First learn to meditate while smoking. Here is how I did it. One evening, I take one cigarette, just one, and walk down to Marine Drive and sit down on the parapet in the cool sea breeze watching the sun being swallowed up by the Arabian Sea, crimson-yellow petals being thrown high up in the distant sky gradually devoured by the enveloping twilight. Soon it is dark, quiet and tranquil and I feel calm and relaxed. I take out the cigarette from my pocket and hold it in front of me, look at it lovingly and close my eyes. You must close your eyes – it accentuates your other senses, makes you more conscious of what’s going on inside you. I hold the cigarette near my nose and breathe in the rich aroma of the tobacco, gently moving the cigarette as I take deep breaths, savoring the sweet fragrance of the tobacco tinged with the fresh scent of the paper and filter, until my olfactory system is truly and fully satiated. I then put the filter between my lips, taste it and suck in air deeply through the unlighted cigarette. It feels good. I then open my eyes, light the cigarette, close my eyes, get ready and take a deep drag, focusing on my breath as I inhale, allowing the smoke to permeate deep within me, infusing a sensation I cannot describe, and watching carefully with my inner eye as I exhale - slow, long and relaxing. Is my system being energized or depleted – I do not know – but I continue my unhurried meditative smoking, eyes gently closed, my inner senses fully conscious, aware, observing attentively, till the cigarette is over. I open my eyes, come out of my trance and instinctively I gulp in a huge amount of the fresh sea breeze and rinse my lungs and system. As I walk back I decide that this is how I shall smoke each and every cigarette from now on – meditative smoking – the only way I shall smoke. Most of us “smokers” haven’t learnt how to enjoy a smoke. We keep puffing away every waking moment of their lives without even noticing it. You grab a quick smoke in a hurry, you smoke when you are bored, you smoke while talking, while working, while doing something - smoking and multitasking: You smoke unconsciously, cigarette after cigarette, without even realizing it. Is it worth it? Why smoke if you don’t enjoy it? I decide. Whenever I feel like smoking I shall stop everything and prepare myself for a meditative smoke. Go to some quiet place where I can sit undisturbed, alone. Yes I must be alone. Meditative smoking is a solitary activity. And I shall only smoke – no multitasking. No more smoking with friends, with tea or coffee, no more smoking in the office feeling a guilt conscience that non-smokers don’t like it or at home with my wife nagging me, no more hurried puffs, no more mindless unconscious smoking. Only meditative, mindful, conscious smoking in glorious solitude, maintaining inner calm and tranquility, and total awareness. I follow this religiously and soon I am smoking only one cigarette a day – every evening, at sunset, just as I described it. For me smoking is a special occasion requiring solitude and a congenial ambience and if I cannot create the right atmosphere, both internally and externally, I shall not smoke. When you have mastered something it’s time to let go and move on to something new. One day I feel I have mastered the art of smoking, derived all the enjoyment possible and reached a state of contentment and satiety. It’s time to let go. At sunset I go to my favourite place on Marine Drive, enjoy my final meditative smoke and toss the cigarette butt into the sea. It’s been more than three years now and I haven’t had a smoke nor have I ever felt the urge to smoke. I know I will never smoke again – I have quit smoking forever. VIKRAM KARVE vikramkarve@sify.com vikramkarve@hotmail.com http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

Mouthwatering Memories - Authentic Indian Kolhapuri Cuisine - by Vikram Karve

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Fri, 08 Dec 2006 13:55:31 +0530

MY FAVOURITE “KOLHAPURI” RESTAURANT
by
VIKRAM KARVE

It’s a hot Sunday afternoon in Pune. I am voraciously hungry and am pining for a fulfilling meal. And what can be better than a wholesome authentic Kolhapuri meal to blissfully satiate my pangs of hunger? So I proceed to my favourite Kolhapuri restaurant called “Purepur Kolhapur” near Peru Gate in the heart of Pune City. It’s a Spartan no-nonsense eatery; the only thing conspicuous is the ‘Kolhapur zero-milestone’ outside the entrance which makes it easy to locate. I saw a similar zero-milestone somewhere in Kothrud the other day and wonder whether a branch of “Purepur Kolhapur” is coming up there too!

There are just three main items on the menu – Mutton Taat (Thali), Chicken Taat, (which cost Rs. 75/- each), and Purepur Special Taat for a princely Rs. 120/- (I am told that the ‘Purepur Special’ contains everything the place has to offer!).

There is a flurry of activity and a large stainless steel taat is placed in front of me almost instantly. The Purepur Special Thali comprises the following:
•A large bowl of thick chicken curry with four generous pieces of chicken.
•A plate of appetizingly crisp dark brown pieces of fried mutton liberally garnished with almost burnt deep fried onion strips.
•A Kheema Vati (Katori)
•A vati of Tambda Rassa ( Red Gravy)
•A vati of Pandhara Rassa (White Gravy)
•Kuchumber salad made of onions, ginger, coriander, green chillies and curds
•Lemon pieces
•A fresh piping hot chapatti (You can have bhakri if you want, but today I’m in a mood for a crisp hot crunchy chapatti splattered with pure ghee)
•A bowl of jeera rice garnished with crisp brown fried onion strips and cashew nuts.

I sip the pandhara rassa – it’s invigorating. Next I spoon into my eager mouth a generous portion of mutton fry. It’s not melt-in-the-mouth stuff (I think it is the inimitable Bolai mutton). I chew slowly and savor the sweetish taste of the fried onions blended with the lively spiciness of the crisply fried mutton. I dip a piece of the piping hot chapatti into the tambda rassa allowing it to soak in, place it on my tongue and chew it to a pulp until it practically swallows itself savouring the flavour till the very end. Exquisite!

Now using my right thumb and two fingers, I lovingly pick up a small piece of chicken from the gravy; delicately place it on my tongue and roll it against my palate. I close my eyes, look inside, and focus on the succulent boneless chicken release it’s zesty juices and disintegrate. Yes, unlike the crispy fried mutton which need a vigorous chew to truly relish its deliciousness, the chicken is soft and tender, almost melt-in-the-mouth. I sample the Kheema Vati – it’s totally different from the Kheema I’ve tasted at Irani and Mughlai eateries. The Kheema has an unusual taste I can’t exactly describe – a bit sweet and sour– a counterbalancing contrast, perhaps.

Now that I’ve sampled everything in it’s pristine form, I squeeze a bit of lemon on the mutton and chicken and embellish it with kuchumber to give it the right tang, and from time to time I sip the wholesome pandhara rassa. I thoroughly enjoy the confluence of contrasting tastes. In conclusion I mix everything with the rice and rejoice the riot of zesty flavours. At the end, as I always do after all hearty spicy meals, I pick up a wedge of lemon and squeeze a bit of lemon juice into my glass of water and sip it down. Believe me, it improves the aftertaste and lightens the post-meal heaviness sometimes caused by spicy Indian cuisine.

It's an exciting, invigorating meal which perks me up and the sheer epicurean pleasure I experience makes up for the crowded, hassled ambience and indifferent service. Purepur Kolhapur is worth a visit for the quality and authenticity of its food.

For most of us “Kolhapuri” food has become synonymous with the “chilli-hot” self-styled, purported, ostensible Kolhapuri fare served in both highfalutin and run-of-the-mill restaurants whose menus often feature dishes called “Chicken Kolhapuri” or “Vegetable Kolhapuri” which masquerade as Kolhapuri cuisine. Kolhapuri cuisine is “spicy”, not “chilli-hot”, not “rich” and “fatty” – nothing exotic about it. A Kolhapuri meal, unique in its simplicity, comprises a variety of lip-smacking, earthy, flavorsome, nourishing dishes and is so complete that it creates within you a inimitable hearty wholesome sense of fulfillment, and is a welcome change from the ubiquitous fatty and greasy-rich Makhanwalla, Masala, Kadhai, Handi, Naan, Biryani Punjabi / Mughlai fare you eat day in and day out. There is a world of a difference between pseudo- Kolhapuri and authentic-Kolhapuri food.

I do not know where you get genuine Kolhapuri cuisine in Mumbai or any of the Metros. When we visit Kolhapur, we eat at Opal. I walked all over South Mumbai, experimented, tasted, sampled, but there was no joy. No Kolhapuri Taat anywhere, and even a la carte, nowhere was Mutton or Chicken Kolhapuri the signature dish – it appeared they had put it on the menu just for the sake of it, maybe to gratify the dulled taste buds on the alcohol soaked tongues of inebriated patrons who probably were in no state to appreciate the finer aspects of relishing good food. When queried, the waiters invariably said that Kolhapuri was synonymous with fiery chilli-hot food.

I was disappointed to find not even a single authentic Kolhapuri restaurant listed in various Good Food Guides to Mumbai. If you, dear fellow Foodie, know of an authentic Kolhapuri restaurant, will you be so good as to let us all know?

Happy Eating!

VIKRAM KARVE
vikramkarve@sify.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

MY NAME IS SHERRY by VIKRAM KARVE

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Fri, 01 Dec 2006 13:20:47 +0530

MY NAME IS SHERRY
By
VIKRAM KARVE

My name is Sherry. I am a naughty young girl, I’m over seven months old and I live with my family in a lovely spacious bungalow surrounded by plenty of greenery.

I wake up early in the morning, jump off my sofa, go to my father’s bed, rub my cold wet nose against his hand and give him a lick. He grunts and growls and opens his sleepy eyes, and the moment he sees me his face lights up and he lovingly caresses me and says, “Good Morning, Sherry,” and gets up from bed and opens the main door to let me jump out into the garden, do my ‘little job’ at my favorite place near the mango tree, generally dig in the soft morning mud a bit and sniff around to find out if there are any new morning smells, not forgetting to run and welcome the milkman the moment he comes on his cycle.

When I return I find that my father is back in his bed and my mother is up and about. She pats and cuddles me and goes about her business making tea in the kitchen while I loiter around the house. She surreptitiously sneaks to the bedroom and slyly hands over a tidbit to my half sleeping father under the blanket when she thinks I am not looking. I pretend not to notice, as I do not want to spoil their fun. Earlier, when I was small and impatient, I used to snuffle out the tidbit from my father’s hand, but this spoilt his fun and he became grumpy, and now that I am a mature young girl well experienced in the ways of the human world I have realized that it is better to act dumb and let these humans think they are smarter than me. So I go outside, sit down and put on a look of anticipation towards the gate and pretend not to notice my mother hiding and peeping through the corner of the window and giggling to herself.

The moment the newspaperman comes on his cycle and shouts ‘paper’, I rush to the gate and fetch the newspaper in my mouth, gripping it just right between my teeth, and hold it up to my horizontal father, who gets up, takes the paper from me and gives me the dog-biscuit he’s been hiding in his hand, as my mother, who has rushed behind me, watches me with loving pride in her eyes. My brother and my sister, who till now were fast asleep in the other room, call out my name, and as I dart between their beds wagging my tail, they both hug and cuddle me all over saying, “Good Morning, Sherry. Sherry is a good girl!” Everyone is cheerful and happy and my day has begun!

I love my family, even though they are humans; and I love my house, my surroundings, the place I stay, the life I live – but before I tell you all that, let me tell you where I came from.

My ‘ birth-mother’ is a ferocious Doberman who lives in a bungalow in Kothrud and my ‘dog-father’ is unknown, though they suspect it may be the Labrador next door (but the vet wanted proof, so in the column against breed he wrote ‘Doberman X’). I was a sickly weakling, hardly a month old, the only girl, last of the litter of eleven, and the owners were wondering what to do with me. Nine of my handsome brothers had already been selected and taken away, and the owners wanted to keep the tenth, the most beautiful and healthy of them all. They had kept me all alone separated from my ferocious Doberman mother who was growling menacingly in a cage nearby. No one wanted me and I could hear people whispering how ugly and weak I was and I wondered what fate lay in store for me. It hurt to be unwanted and when I heard people wanting to send me away to a farmhouse, or ‘dispose’ me of, I felt frightened when I wondered what was going to be my destiny.

One evening a few people came over and a gentle woman with kindness in her eyes looked at me, and on the spur of the moment lovingly picked me up, and the way she tenderly snuggled me I felt true love for the first time. This was my new mother. They got into a car and drove across Pune, past Aundh, across the river, till they reached a bungalow. The kind woman was wondering what her husband’s reaction would be. It was dark. I was scared and cuddled up snugly my mother’s arms to feel safer.

Suddenly I found a tough-looking bearded man staring at me. Shivering with fear I looked back at him in terror as he extended his hands towards me. But the moment he held me in his large cozy hands, caressed me lovingly and put his finger tenderly in my mouth, I felt protected, loved, safe and secure. This was my new father and he had already decided my name – Sherry – the same name of his earlier canine ‘daughter’. [‘Sherry’ means ‘beloved’ – not the wine drink you are thinking about!].

“She was destined to come here,” my mother said.
“Yes,” My father said feeding me warm milk.

They made a nice warm bed for me in a basket and put it below theirs. And as I drifted into sleep, they both fondled me with their hands. I felt so wonderful and happy for the first time in my life. I had found my true home and my family.

I am feeling quite sleepy now and I’ll end here and have a nap. If you want to know more about me, my delightfully mischievous life, and the naughty things I do, please let me know and I’ll tell you all about it!

To be continued…

VIKRAM KARVE
Copyright 2006 Vikram Karve

vikramkarve@sify.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

A Rare book on the Heritage of Poona - a book review by Vikram Karve

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Wed, 22 Nov 2006 17:20:28 +0530

Book Review

A LOCAL HISTORY OF POONA AND ITS BATTLEFIELDS
By
COLONEL L W SHAKESPEAR

[MACMILLAN AND CO. LONDON 1916]

Reviewed by Vikram Karve

It was indeed my good fortune to chance upon this engrossing book on Pune (Poona), the city I was born and live in. I enjoyed reading this book. Let me tell you about it.

Dear Reader, before you read on, please bear in mind that this 1916 vintage book was written for “present-day residents” of Poona by Colonel L.W. Shakespear, who at that time, in 1916, was the AQMG 6th Poona Division, and apparently an eminent military historian who also wrote “History of the 2nd KEO Goorkhas (sic)” and “History of Upper Assam and the North-East Frontier”.

Things change, a lot of water has flown down the Mula and Mutha, the anglicized Poona is now known as Pune (its original Maharashtrian name) and if you want to truly enjoy this delightful book, close your eyes for a while and transport yourself ninety years back in time from the chaotic Pune of today to the Poona of 1916 in order to enable you to lucidly see in your mind’s eye its glorious heritage so vividly portrayed by the author.

Eschewing long-winded prologue, the author, a military man, succinctly states his objective right in the beginning on the first page: “ It is not intended to go deep into dynastic matters, but only to touch on the locality’s earliest days, and then turn to more modern times; calling up items of interest which may make their sojourn here, and perhaps their outings, of greater value to present-day residents.” This is not a definitive work and the reader must keep in mind the author’s intent and point of view for a better understanding of this book.

Tracing the genesis of Poona, Shakespear concludes: “From about A.D. 230 to A.D. 500 no specific information is found concerning this locality; but there is reason to believe that … Poona was ruled by the Ratta clan, which… became sufficiently powerful as to be styled “Maharashtra”, or country of the greater Rattas, from whence the… name Maharatta. The next few pages sketch, in a perfunctory manner, the period till the advent of English troops in 1722 and building of the first Residency west of the Mutha river, at its confluence or Sangam with the Mula river, for Mr. Mostyn, the first British Resident. There is an illustration, of an old-time painting by Henry Salt, depicting the Mula-Mutha Sangam, the City, and Parbatti (Parvati) Hill in the background that gives a good idea of the extent of Pune city before the Bund was built across the river followed by a wooden bridge near the Sangam.

“This brings us to the period when Poona began to possess a personal interest for the English” the author writes and than takes the reader on a series of “rides” or “outings” to vividly describe important historical events against the backdrop of geographical topography. The narrative, interspersed with apt illustrations, is very interesting and even today it would be worthwhile to walk the “rides” and see the various landmarks of heritage value and historical importance like Ganeshkhind, Bhamburda Hills and Plain, Lakdi Pul Bridge, Parvati, Panchaleshwar, the Poona and Kirkee cantonments, Garpir, Ghorpuri, Wanowri, Yerawada, Katraj, Sarasbagh, Gultekdi, Hadapsar, Saswad, Chinchwad, Induri, Talegaon, Lonavla and Peths of Poona City. There is an interesting description of the underground water ducts and conduits from the springs and lakes at Kondhwa, Katraj and foothills of Sinhagarh to bring water to Rasta Peth and ensure pure water supply to the city.

The meticulous account, embellished with maps and sketches, of Poona and its Battlefields, and the battles that took place thereon, has been fluently narrated in easy readable storytelling style and this makes the book gripping and unputdownable once you start reading it. However, the reader must remember that this book is written by a British Army Officer in 1916 and depicts his version of events and point of view and the perspective of that period.

The book describes the defining events in the evolution of the cantonment town of Poona, which was the precursor to the modern day Pune as we know it today. It is an entertaining and informative book, a unique and rare piece of writing about an important period of the history of Poona (Pune) and would be of interest to Punekars and students keen on learning about the heritage of Pune.

VIKRAM KARVE
vikramkarve@sify.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

A Rare book on the Heritage of Poona (Pune) - a book review by Vikram Karve

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Wed, 22 Nov 2006 17:18:10 +0530

Book Review A LOCAL HISTORY OF POONA AND ITS BATTLEFIELDS By COLONEL L W SHAKESPEAR [MACMILLAN AND CO. LONDON 1916] Reviewed by Vikram Karve It was indeed my good fortune to chance upon this engrossing book on Pune (Poona), the city I was born and live in. I enjoyed reading this book. Let me tell you about it. Dear Reader, before you read on, please bear in mind that this 1916 vintage book was written for “present-day residents” of Poona by Colonel L.W. Shakespear, who at that time, in 1916, was the AQMG 6th Poona Division, and apparently an eminent military historian who also wrote “History of the 2nd KEO Goorkhas (sic)” and “History of Upper Assam and the North-East Frontier”. Things change, a lot of water has flown down the Mula and Mutha, the anglicized Poona is now known as Pune (its original Maharashtrian name) and if you want to truly enjoy this delightful book, close your eyes for a while and transport yourself ninety years back in time from the chaotic Pune of today to the Poona of 1916 in order to enable you to lucidly see in your mind’s eye its glorious heritage so vividly portrayed by the author. Eschewing long-winded prologue, the author, a military man, succinctly states his objective right in the beginning on the first page: “ It is not intended to go deep into dynastic matters, but only to touch on the locality’s earliest days, and then turn to more modern times; calling up items of interest which may make their sojourn here, and perhaps their outings, of greater value to present-day residents.” This is not a definitive work and the reader must keep in mind the author’s intent and point of view for a better understanding of this book. Tracing the genesis of Poona, Shakespear concludes: “From about A.D. 230 to A.D. 500 no specific information is found concerning this locality; but there is reason to believe that … Poona was ruled by the Ratta clan, which… became sufficiently powerful as to be styled “Maharashtra”, or country of the greater Rattas, from whence the… name Maharatta. The next few pages sketch, in a perfunctory manner, the period till the advent of English troops in 1722 and building of the first Residency west of the Mutha river, at its confluence or Sangam with the Mula river, for Mr. Mostyn, the first British Resident. There is an illustration, of an old-time painting by Henry Salt, depicting the Mula-Mutha Sangam, the City, and Parbatti (Parvati) Hill in the background that gives a good idea of the extent of Pune city before the Bund was built across the river followed by a wooden bridge near the Sangam. “This brings us to the period when Poona began to possess a personal interest for the English” the author writes and than takes the reader on a series of “rides” or “outings” to vividly describe important historical events against the backdrop of geographical topography. The narrative, interspersed with apt illustrations, is very interesting and even today it would be worthwhile to walk the “rides” and see the various landmarks of heritage value and historical importance like Ganeshkhind, Bhamburda Hills and Plain, Lakdi Pul Bridge, Parvati, Panchaleshwar, the Poona and Kirkee cantonments, Garpir, Ghorpuri, Wanowri, Yerawada, Katraj, Sarasbagh, Gultekdi, Hadapsar, Saswad, Chinchwad, Induri, Talegaon, Lonavla and Peths of Poona City. There is an interesting description of the underground water ducts and conduits from the springs and lakes at Kondhwa, Katraj and foothills of Sinhagarh to bring water to Rasta Peth and ensure pure water supply to the city. The meticulous account, embellished with maps and sketches, of Poona and its Battlefields, and the battles that took place thereon, has been fluently narrated in easy readable storytelling style and this makes the book gripping and unputdownable once you start reading it. However, the reader must remember that this book is written by a British Army Officer in 1916 and depicts his version of events and point of view and the perspective of that period. The book describes the defining events in the evolution of the cantonment town of Poona, which was the precursor to the modern day Pune as we know it today. It is an entertaining and informative book, a unique and rare piece of writing about an important period of the history of Poona (Pune) and would be of interest to Punekars and students keen on learning about the heritage of Pune. VIKRAM KARVE vikramkarve@sify.com http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

Mouthwatering Memories by Vikram Karve

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Fri, 10 Nov 2006 11:40:00 +0530

MOUTHWATERING MEMORIES - RUSTIC INDIAN CHICKEN CURRY AT A WAYSIDE DHABA IN VIZAG
By
VIKRAM KARVE

It’s a cold, damp and depressing evening in the back of beyond place where I now live.. There is an ominous wind, menacing lightening and disturbing thunder, and it starts to rain. Predictably, the lights go off, adding to the gloomy atmosphere.
My spirits plummet and I sit downcast in desolate silence and indulge in forlorn self-commiseration mourning the past (which makes me feel miserable), speculating the future (which causes me anxiety) and ruining my present moment (which makes me melancholic).

Whenever I am in a blue mood, two things are guaranteed to lift my spirits – good food and beautiful women – or even merely thinking about them in my mind’s eye. [In fact, I dread that the day I stop relishing good food, or appreciating beautiful women, for on that day I will know that I have lost the zest for living and I am as good as a dead man!]. As I languish out here in this godforsaken environment bereft of gustatory or visual stimulation (Colaba and Churchgate but distant memories), I close my eyes and seek to simulate my senses (that’s the trick – if you can’t stimulate; then simulate) trying to think interesting thoughts, evoke happy nostalgia, and suddenly a mouthwatering memory rekindles my spirits as I vividly remember the tastiest chicken curry I ever eaten and truly relished long back, almost twenty years ago, sometime in the eighties, at a rustic wayside dhaba on the highway near Visakhapatnam , or Vizag as we knew it.

The ramshackle place was called NSTL Dhaba, why I do not know, and maybe it does not exist now, or may have metamorphosed into the ubiquitous motel-type restaurants one sees on our highways. We reached there well past midnight, well fortified and primed, as one must be when one goes to a dhaba, ordered the chicken curry and watched it being cooked.

Half the joy of enjoying delicious food is in watching it being made – imbibing the aroma and enjoying the sheer pleasure of observing the cooking process. And in this Dhaba the food is made in front of you in the open kitchen which comprises an open air charcoal bhatti with a tandoor and two huge cauldrons embedded and a couple of smaller openings for a frying pan or vessel.

They say that the best way to make a fish curry is to catch the fish fresh and cook it immediately. Similarly, the best way to make a chicken curry is to cut a chicken fresh and cook it immediately with its juices intact. And remember to use country chicken or desi murgi or gavraan kombdi for authentic taste.

And that is what is done here. The chicken is cut after you place the order and the freshly cut, dressed and cleaned desi murgi is thrown whole into the huge cauldron full of luxuriantly thick yummy looking gravy simmering over the slow fire.

How do you cook your Indian Mutton or Chicken curries? Do you fry the meat and then add water and cook it, or do you cook (boil) the meat first and then fry it? Here the chicken will be cooked first in the gravy, on a slow fire, lovingly and unhurriedly, and then stir fried later (tadka).

There are a number of whole chickens floating in the gravy and the cook is keeping an eagle eye on each and every one of them, and from time to time gently nurturing and helping them absorb the flavor and juices of the gravy (As the chickens absorb the gravy they become heavier and acquire an appetizing glaze). Once the cook feels a chicken is ready (30-40 minutes of gentle slow nurtured cooking), he takes out the chicken, chops it up, and throws it into a red-hot wok pan to stir fry basting with boiling oil and then ladles in a generous amount of gravy from the cauldron. When ready the chicken curry is garnished with crisp fried onion strips and coriander and savored with hot tandoori roti. We have a bowl of dal (simmering in the other cauldron) duly “tadkofied” as a side dish. The chicken is delicious and the gravy is magnificent. Ambrosia! We eat to our heart’s content – a well-filled stomach radiates happiness!

I still remember how delightfully flavorsome, tasty and nourishing every morsel was, and just thinking about the lip-smacking rustic chicken curry has made me so ravenously hungry that I’m heading for one of those untried and “untasted” Dhabas in my vicinity to sample their wares.

If I don’t find it anywhere I’m going to try and make this rustic chicken curry at home. And if anyone in Vizag is reading this, do let us know whether the highway dhaba still exists or has it vanished.

Till next time,
Happy Eating

VIKRAM KARVE
vikramkarve@sify.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

My Favourite Autobiography - A Soldier's Story by Omar N Bradley

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Fri, 29 Sep 2006 11:46:47 +0530

MY FAVORITE MILITARY AUTOBIOGRAPHY by VIKRAM KARVE

(A Soldier’s Story by Omar N. Bradley)

I love reading autobiographies, as there is nothing more inspiring and authentic than learning about the life, times, thoughts and views of a great person in his own words.

It’s a lazy hot Sunday afternoon. I browse through my bookshelves and pick out A Soldier’s Story by General Omar Nelson Bradley, one of my favorite autobiographies, and certainly my all time favorite military autobiography. Come Dear Reader, sit with me for a while, and let’s leaf through and peruse this fascinating book.

General Bradley (1893-1981) known for his calm and resolute leadership and affectionately called the “Soldier’s General” commanded the largest American combat force in history and rose to be the first Chairman of the US Joint Chiefs of Staff.

This is a story, not of my life, but of a campaign…I have sought... to tell a story of how generals live and work at their chosen profession the author says at the beginning of his memoirs which focus on his participation in World War II.

Candidly written with remarkable humility in beautiful expressive language it is a wonderful memoir embellished with interesting episodes and lucid characterizations of many renowned military personalities.

In this book I have tried to achieve one purpose: To explain how war is waged on the field from the field command post… To tell a story of how and why we chose to do what we did, no one can ignore the personalities and characteristics of those individuals engaged in making decisions…..Where there are people, there is pride and ambition, prejudice and conflict. In generals, as in all other men, capabilities cannot always obscure weaknesses, nor can talents hide faults…General Bradley writes in his preface which concludes…I could not conscientiously expurgate this book to make it more palatable…if this story is to be told, it must be told honestly and candidly…

The author writes in a wonderfully readable storytelling style and starts his riveting narrative on September 2, 1943, driving to Messina along the north coast of Sicily when, suddenly, General Eisenhower summoned him to tell him that he had been selected to command the American Army in the biggest invasion of the war – the liberation of Europe from the Germans. He then goes back in time and starts his story with vignettes from his early formative days of soldiering. He describes how, from General Marshall, he learnt the rudiments of effective command which he himself applied throughout the war: “When an officer performed as I expected him to, I gave him a free hand. When he hesitated, I tried to help him. And when he failed, I relieved him” - isn’t this leadership lesson valid even on today’s IT driven world where delegation seems to be taking a back- seat and excessive monitoring, interference and intervention seem to be on the rise.

Rather than encourage yes-men, ego-massage, sycophancy and groupthink, General Marshal sought contrary opinions: “When you carry a paper in here, I want you to give me every reason you can think of why I should not approve it. If, in spite of your objections, my decision is to still go ahead, then I’ll know I’m right”.

When it was suggested to General Marshall that a corps commander who had an arthritic disability in the knee be sent home rather than be given command of a corps in the field in war, he opined: “I would rather have a man with arthritis in the knee than one with arthritis in the head. Keep him there”.

“For the first time in 32 years as a soldier, I was off to a war” he writes on his assignment overseas in February 1943 to act as Eisenhower’s “eyes and ears” among American troops on the Tunisian front in North Africa.

He vividly describes the chaos after the American defeat at Kasserine, the arrival of Patton on the scene who growled “I’m not going to have any goddam spies running around in my headquarters” and appointed Bradley as his deputy, a defining moment which was the first step of Bradley’s illustrious combat career.

This is easily the best book on Patton’s stellar role in World War II, complementing General Patton’s Memoirs War As I Knew It and Patton: Ordeal and Triumph by Ladislas Farago. Though his admiration for Patton is evident, General Bradley writes about his long association with Patton with fairness and honesty and reveals unique and remarkable facets of Patton’s leadership style and character.

Sample this – Precisely at 7 Patton boomed in to breakfast. His vigor was always infectious, his wit barbed, his conversation a mixture of obscenity and good humor. He was at once stimulating and overbearing. George was a magnificent soldier. (Can there be a better description?)

Bradley vividly describes how Patton transformed the slovenly and demoralized II Corps into a fighting fit formation. “The news of Patton’s coming fell like a bombshell on Djebel Kouif. With sirens shrieking Patton’s arrival, a procession of armored scout cars and half-tracks wheeled into the dingy square opposite the schoolhouse headquarters of II Corps…In the lead car Patton stood like a charioteer…scowling into the wind and his jaw strained against the web strap of a two-starred steel helmet.”

General Bradley writes superbly, as he describes how Patton stamped his personality upon his men and by his outstanding charismatic leadership rejuvenated the jaded, slovenly, worn-out, defeated and demoralized II Corps and transformed it into a vibrant, disciplined, fighting fit organization that never looked back and went on winning victory after victory in most difficult circumstances and against all odds.

There are bits of delightful humor in this book. Commenting on the ingenuity and improvisation abilities of Patton’s staff, the author writes: “…Indeed had Patton been named an Admiral in the Turkish Navy, his aides could probably dipped into their haversacks and come up with the appropriate badges of rank…” Though, at times, the author appears to be in awe of and enamored by Patton’s larger than life charisma, he is candid, dispassionate and, at times, critical when he describes how he was bewildered by the contradictions in Patton’s character and concludes: “At times I felt that Patton, however successful he was as a corps commander, had not yet learned how to command himself.”

Their techniques of command varied with their contrasting personalities. While the soft-spoken unassuming Bradley preferred to lead by suggestion and example, the flamboyant Patton chose to drive his subordinates by bombast and threats, employing imperious mannerisms and profane expletives with startling originality; and both achieved spectacular results.

Many of us are at a loss for words when asked to qualitatively appraise our subordinates. See how easily General Bradley lucidly evaluates his division commanders, bringing out their salient qualities, in so few words with elegant simplicity and succinctness: “…To command a corps of four divisions, toughness alone is not enough. The corps commander must know his division commanders, he must thoroughly understand their problems, respect their judgment, and be tolerant of their limitations…among the division commanders in Tunisia, none excelled the unpredictable Terry Allen in the leadership of troops…but in looking out for his own division, Allen tended to belittle the role of others… Ryder had confirmed his reputation as that of a skilled tactician…his weakness, however, lay in the contentment with which he tolerated mediocrity…the profane and hot-tempered Harmon brought to the corps the rare combination of sound tactical judgment and boldness… none was better balanced nor more cooperative than Manton Eddy…though not timid, neither was he bold; Manton liked to count his steps carefully before he took them.” Aren’t the author’s understanding, observation and articulation remarkable?

Throughout the book, we find honest, frank and incisive appraisals of characters in this story – superiors, peers and subordinates – most of them renowned and famous personalities. He writes with candor about the problems of command during the planning of the invasion of Europe.

From then on the story gathers speed and moves so captivatingly that one is spellbound as one reads the author fluently narrate the events of the campaign with remarkable preciseness and detail, one realizes what an engaging and compelling book this is – it’s simply unputdownable!

All important events, turning points, and personalities are vividly described with the aid of maps, charts, pictures and appendices; from D Day (the Normandy Invasion) to the surrender of the German forces. Towards the end of his memoirs General Bradley reflects “Only five years before…as a lieutenant colonel in civilian clothes, I had ridden a bus down Connecticut Avenue to my desk in old Munitions Building… I opened the mapboard and smoothed out the tabs of the 43 US divisions now under my command…stretched across a 640-mile front of the 12th Army Group...I wrote in the new date: D plus 335…outside the sun was climbing in the sky. The war in Europe had ended.”

While this autobiography is a “must read” for military men and students of military history, I am sure it will benefit management students and professionals for it is an incisive treatise on Soft Skills encompassing aspects of Leadership, Communications, and most importantly, the Art of Human Relations Management in the extremely complex and highly stressful scenario of War where achievement of success (victory) is inescapably paramount. It is a primer, a treasury of distilled wisdom, on all aspects of management, especially human resource management. One can learn many motivational and management lessons from this book.

There is nothing to surpass the experience of learning history first hand from a man who lived and created it rather than a historian who merely records it. The Art of Leadership is better learnt from studying Leaders, their lives, their writings, rather than reading management textbooks pontificating on the subject and giving how-to-do laundry lists.

The Art and Science of Management owe its genesis and evolution to the military. Modern Management theories, concepts, techniques and practices emerged from the experiences and lessons learnt during World War II [particularly in The United States of America].

It’s ironic isn’t it? It was the military that gave modern management principles to the civilian corporate world, and today we see military men running to civilian management institutes to “learn’ management and get the coveted MBA which the sine qua non and all important passport for entry into the corporate world.

I love reading stories, all kinds of stories, fiction, fantasy, parables, fables, slice of life. I like Life Stories, biographies, particularly autobiographies, as there is nothing more credible, convincing and stimulating than learning about the life, times and thoughts of a great person from his own writings. It’s called verisimilitude, I think.

A Soldier’s Story is a magnificent book. A masterpiece, a classic! It’s enjoyable, engrossing and illuminating. Read it.

VIKRAM KARVE
vikramkarve@sify.com

http://karve.sulekha.com
http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com
http://foodiekarve.sulekha.com

Pune

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Tue, 12 Sep 2006 16:50:00 +0530

PUNE - Down Memory Lane
By
VIKRAM KARVE

September 12, 2006. I turn 50. After traversing the length and breadth of the country for almost all my life I’m back in my hometown Pune. I am overcome by nostalgia, for the Pune I once lived in no longer exists.

Then, in the early sixties, when I was a small boy, Pune was called Poona, and I used to live in my grandfather’s house on Parvati Chowk on Tilak Road opposite Madiwale Colony in Sadashiv Peth. A hugely bearded man prepared the best bhel in town (Kalpana Bhel) just below our house; today the bearded man is no more, the stall is there, but the old tasty bhel is missing – today it’s just run of the mill stuff. And there was Santosh Bhavan opposite for Misal, thali and yummy snacks.

In the evenings we ran to Talyatla Ganpati, to pray, and Peshwe Park zoo, to see the animals, play on the swings and slides in the park, or ride the toy train Phulrani. Now there is a beautiful Saras Baug surrounding the Talyatla Ganpati Temple and the zoo has gone to Katraj.

If you wanted to have Non-Veg, there were Asara, Jeevan, Poonam, Good Luck and Lucky in the city, otherwise you had to go to Camp. Asara has closed down, Jeevan has become Grahak Peth departmental store, Poonam a pure veg place, Lucky demolished; only Good Luck at Deccan is going strong. There was Poona Coffee House at Deccan, and Irani joints like Ideal, Regal and Volga, for tea, coffee, bun maska, omlette, kheema pav and samosas. In Camp there was the famous Naaz serving delectable mutton samosas and the Coffee House on Moledina Road serving delicious breakfast.

Naaz has been replaced by Barista, and it’s other avatar, the Maha Naaz, a veg place, is also going to close down. Most of the Irani joints and the Camp Coffee House have been transformed into Udipi eateries serving Dosa and the like, and Poona Coffee House, which underwent an upmarket transformation, may also close down as per a report in Sakal. Yes, Sakal, my favorite Marathi newspaper, is still going strong, but the Poona Herald (called Herald now) has The Times of India and the Indian Express to reckon with.

In camp Dorabjee & Sons is still there for scrumptious Biryani and Parsi food, but the inimitable Kamling on East Street, where I first tasted Chinese, has disappeared and in its place stands a veg thali place which I must visit.

Bhanuvilas, where I saw Marathi films, New Empire, which screened Hollywood stuff, and Hindvijay at Deccan have vanished, and the old world West End with its unique chairs and soda fountain has been replaced by a modern hall minus the soda fountain and the relaxed ambience. Now there are Multiplexes.

I can go on and on in this vein, but that will make me melancholic. So let’s look at the positive side – Ganu Shinde, Kawre are still there for pure ice cream and mastani, but Bua has gone. Ramnath and its fiery Misal still stimulate, and so do most of the Amrututulyas like Ambika and New Ambika and Badshahi Boarding is still unchanged. In camp there is George, Kayani, Kwality, Marzorin, Mona Food and Budhanis. And all the sweet shops like Chitale, Kaka Halwai, Karachi and Bhavnagri are flourishing from strength to strength. And many new places have come up. And all the bookstores like Manneys, International, Popular and the ones at Appa Balwant Chowk are getting better and better, and there is Crossword too.

And of course, “Yours’ truly” is still going strong at 50. So I’m going to celebrate my half century - Happy Birthday to me!

VIKRAM KARVE
vikramkarve@sify.com

BIBLIOTHERAPY by Vikram Karve

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Thu, 31 Aug 2006 17:16:28 +0530

BIBLIOTHERAPY By VIKRAM KARVE Whenever I’m in a blue mood, I browse through my bookshelves and pick up a book. Reading is the greatest of all joys, and the moment I start reading a book I enter a different world, and this change of environment has a positive psychological effect, and lo and behold, my spirits are uplifted. Those who do not have the habit of reading remain imprisoned in their moods and immediate surroundings. I’ve just picked up a delightful little book called “The Ladies Oracle” by Cornelius Agrippa from my bookcase. Let me tell you about it. Whenever I buy a book, I write down the date and place of purchase on its first page. I have duly recorded that I bought The Ladies Oracle on 14 February 1989 on the pavement bookstalls opposite the CTO at Fort in Bombay as it was then known. Let’s get down to using this delightful oracle. First choose a question from the ninety five listed in the book from pages (v) to (viii) numbered 5 to 100 (I wonder where the first five questions are?). I select question number 35: – Shall I always enjoy good health? Now I turn to page (i), close my eyes and put my finger on the table of signs. (I have placed my finger on the sign representing a single square). Now I consult the table starting from page ten, follow the line marked by the number of the question (35th line) till I arrive at the column which has the chosen sign over it, and this figure gives me the number of the page (74) where by looking at the sign traced by my finger I find my answer: – You will always have joy, health and prosperity! Fantastic! I’m feeling good already. Now the next question, number 15: – How many lovers shall I have? I go through the procedure and the Oracle gives me the answer: – A great many, but those that have so many generally choose the worst. Hey, I’ve to be careful! The next question, number 91: – What opinion has the world of me? The Oracle answers: – You are thought to have had more than one adventure. Oh, dear! Have I? Shall I be happy in love? The oracle says: – You will find more pain than pleasure. Pretty bleak – better I steer clear of falling in love! Will my reputation be always good? It will always be as you make it! Must take care to build up a good reputation! Shall I go many long voyages? You will do well not to voyage farther than round your own room! Great! That puts an end to all my travel plans! All I’m going to do is go round and round in my room! What a gloomy answer! And I thought browsing books was supposed to lift my spirits! Okay, just one last question, and the answer better be something good, or else no more ‘bibliotherapy’ for me! I select question number 74: – What is the person that I am thinking about doing at this moment? and the Oracle answers: – She regrets not being with you! Wow! Bibliotheraphy really works. I feel thrilled, jubilant, ecstatic, on cloud nine, in seventh heaven and right on top of the world as I rush off to surprise my beloved sweetheart. And just imagine, I thought she never even thought about me! Long live The Ladies Oracle! Oh, yes. The Ladies Oracle is a delightful little book you can consult from time to time on matters of love and life, believe me you’ll enjoy it. (It may be called The Ladies’ Oracle but I’m sure even men will enjoy reading and consulting it with satisfying results). Dear Reader, why don’t you try it out? It’s entertaining reading, guaranteed to lift your spirits. And do let me know what questions you asked the Oracle and what answers you got! VIKRAM KARVE vikramkarve@sify.com

Book Review - The Peter Principle & The Peter Prescription

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Fri, 18 Aug 2006 17:12:42 +0530

Book Review – The Peter Prescription (reviewed by VIKRAM KARVE) Title: The Peter Prescription Author: Dr. Laurence J. Peter Published: 1972 (William Morrow) For the past few days it’s been raining cats and dogs in Pune, confining one indoors; the electricity and cable TV go off frequently, and this gave me a golden opportunity to dust off some of my favourite books from my bookshelves and re-read them sitting in the verandah sipping piping hot tea. I realized that re-reading good books gives me even greater pleasure. So that’s what I’m going to do for the next few days – browse my bookshelves, re-read some of my favourite books, and tell you about them or rather “review” them for you. During my college days I read three non fiction books which had a lasting impact on me. The first was Parkinson’s Law (written in 1958) based on the author’s study of the British Civil Service and Admiralty. The other two books were written by Dr. Laurence J. Peter – The Peter Principle (1969) and The Peter Prescription (1972). These three Management Classics are a must for the bookshelves of every manager. Written with incisive wit, Parkinson’s Law is a seminal book on the workings of bureaucracy which is essential reading for any student of Management. It is an all time management classic, a masterpiece, which is must reading for every manager. The Peter Principle, a delightful read, provides a superb insight and intriguing study of hierarchiology. The Peter Principle may be Dr. Peter’s seminal pioneering work, but I feel The Peter Prescription is his definitive book, a classic. If you have not read ‘The Peter Principle’, do read my review of the book appended below this article, as I feel it is prerequisite reading before you embark upon ‘The Peter Prescription’. Whereas both Parkinson’s Law and The Peter Principle formulate and substantiate their respective theories, The Peter Prescription is a philosophical self-help treatise on how to achieve happiness in all aspects of life. Written in his same hilarious inimitable style, Dr. Peter exhorts us to be creative, confident and competent by replacing mindless escalation with life-quality improvement. The message of the book is in congruence with eastern philosophies which focus on inward enhancement rather than outward escalation. In his introduction Dr. Peter states: “Many authors offer answers before they understand the questions…….. I understand the operation of the Peter Principle, and the remedies offered are the product of years of research……… prescriptions will lead to great personal fulfillment and joy of real accomplishment.” The book, interspersed liberally with quotations and case studies, comprises three parts. The first, titled Incompetence Treadmill why conventional solutions not only fail to alleviate the effects of the Peter Principle but may actually serve to escalate the problems. His analysis of ‘marital incompetence’ is hilarious. A bachelor is a man who looks before he leaps – and then does not leap he concludes. With the flattening of hierarchies, I wonder whether there still exist any Professional Processionary Puppets – the organization-men. It would be worthwhile to look into organizations for similarities to prototypes adorning bureaucracies of yesteryear in order to ascertain whether it is a progressive or rigid hierarchy bound organization heading for decay. The meat of the book is in Part Two, titled ‘Protect your Competence’ which give a total of 25 “prescriptions” on how to remain creative and competent. There are two things to aim at in life: first, to get what you want; and after that to enjoy it. The prescriptions, which are condensed wisdom of the ages, guide us on how to achieve this. The greatest happiness you can have is knowing that you do not necessarily require happiness he quotes. Competence is a system dependant factor as viewed by your bosses (like beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder) and is governed by the HR policies in your organization. Why is man so competitive? Do the HR policies in your organization encourage competition, rat race and reward escalationary behaviour, and if so, what can you do about it? Maybe you can find some answers by exploring the prescriptions. Let’s have a look at Peter Prescription 3 – The Peter Panorama – which I have used to great effect, which comprises listing your satisfying activities, joyful experiences, pleasant reminiscences, and after introspection make a second list of those which are feasible to do regularly and then make sure you do them whenever feasible. Enjoyable events begin to crowd out the unpleasant and you feel happy. Do read, experiment, and try to imbibe the prescriptions in your professional and personal life, and experience the results for yourself. Introspect, evolve a philosophy of life, fine tune the art of living, concentrate your efforts within your area of competence, and have an improved quality of life consisting of abiding competence and contentment. If you cannot be happy here and now, you can never be happy. Part Three of the book is written from the management perspective giving 42 “prescriptions” to Managers to contain and mitigate the effects of The Peter Principle in their domains and manage for competence. It views The Peter Principle from a manager’s point of view, and assuming the manager himself is not a victim of the Peter Principle, offers valuable tips in the HR Management, particularly recruitment, promotion and selection. ( Obviously, outsourcing wasn’t prevalent then in the sixties and seventies, otherwise how about ‘outsourcing’ incompetence). As stated in the introduction, the purpose of The Peter Prescription is to explore how you yourself can mitigate the effects of The Peter Principle by avoiding the final placement syndrome, and as a manager, how can you keep your employees at their appropriate competence levels to achieve mutual optimal benefit. It’s only when you read the book and apply the prescriptions in your real life that you will experience the results. Book Review – The Peter Principle (reviewed by Vikram Karve) The Book: The Peter Principle Authors: Dr. Laurence J. Peter & Raymond Hull Published: 1969 William Morrow I think there is a Chinese saying that it is a misfortune to read a good book too early in life. I think I read ‘The Peter Principle’ too early in life. And at that time I being of an impressionable age, the book influenced me so much that I “rose” to my level of incompetence pretty fast, either unintentionally or by subconscious design. I read ‘The Peter Principle’ in the early seventies, maybe sometime in 1972, when I was studying for my degree in Engineering, and even bought a personal copy of the book in 1974 (which I possess till this day) which considering my financial status those days was quite remarkable. The book, written by Laurence J. Peter in collaboration with Raymond Hull, a management classic and masterpiece in the study of hierarchiology, is so fascinating, riveting and hilarious that once you start reading, it’s unputdownable. In the first chapter itself, giving illustrative examples, the author establishes the Peter Principle: In a hierarchy every employee tends to rise to his level of incompetence and its corollary: In time, every post tends to be occupied by an employee who is incompetent. Dr. Peter writes in racy fictional style and as you read you experience a sense of verisimilitude and in your mind’s eye can see the Peter Principle operating in your very organization. That’s the way to savor the book, and imbibe its spirit – read an illustrative “case study” in the book and relate it to a parallel example in your organization. He discusses cases which appear to be exceptions like percussive sublimation, lateral arabesque etc and demonstrates that The apparent exceptions are not exceptions. The Peter Principle applies in all hierarchies. Discussing the comparative merits and demerits of applying ‘Pull’ versus ‘Push’ for getting promotion, Dr. Peter concludes: Never stand when you can sit; never walk when you can ride, never Push when you can Pull. He then tells us how to recognize that one has reached one’s state of incompetence (final placement syndrome) and should one have already risen to one’s state of incompetence suggests ways of attaining health and happiness in this state at zero promotion quotient. Towards the end of his book he illustrates how to avoid reaching the state of incompetence by practicing various techniques of Creative Incompetence. (I probably practiced Creative Incompetence quite competently and hopefully I am still at my level of competence!) In conclusion Dr. Peter tries to briefly explore remedies to avoiding life-incompetence which he has elaborated in his follow up book ‘The Peter Prescription’ which is a must-read once you are hooked onto The Peter Principle. The Peter Principle is a compelling book, written almost forty years ago, and with the flattening of hierarchy and advent of flexible organizational structures and HR practices, it would indeed be worthwhile for young and budding managers to read this book and see to what extent the Peter Principle applies and is relevant in today’s world. Reviewer: VIKRAM KARVE vikramkarve@sify.com

Book Review - The Peter Principle

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Tue, 08 Aug 2006 17:23:49 +0530

Book Review – The Peter Principle (reviewed by Vikram WamanKarve) I think there is a Chinese saying that it is a misfortune to read a good book too early in life. I think I read ‘The Peter Principle’ too early in life. And at that time I being of an impressionable age, the book influenced me so much that I “rose” to my level of incompetence pretty fast, either unintentionally or by subconscious design. I read ‘The Peter Principle’ in the early seventies, maybe sometime in 1972, when I was studying for my degree in Engineering, and even bought a personal copy of the book in 1974 (which I possess till this day) which considering my financial status those days was quite remarkable. The book, written by Laurence J. Peter in collaboration with Raymond Hull, a management classic and masterpiece in the study of hierarchiology, is so fascinating, riveting and hilarious that once you start reading, it’s unputdownable. In the first chapter itself, giving illustrative examples, the author establishes the Peter Principle: In a hierarchy every employee tends to rise to his level of incompetence and its corollary: In time, every post tends to be occupied by an employee who is incompetent. Dr. Peter writes in racy fictional style and as you read you experience a sense of verisimilitude and in your mind’s eye can see the Peter Principle operating in your very organization. That’s the way to savor the book, and imbibe its spirit – read an illustrative “case study” in the book and relate it to a parallel example in your organization. He discusses cases which appear to be exceptions like percussive sublimation, lateral arabesque etc and demonstrates that The apparent exceptions are not exceptions. The Peter Principle applies in all hierarchies. Discussing the comparative merits and demerits of applying ‘Pull’ versus ‘Push’ for getting promotion, Dr. Peter concludes: Never stand when you can sit; never walk when you can ride, never Push when you can Pull. He then tells us how to recognize that one has reached one’s state of incompetence (final placement syndrome) and should one have already risen to one’s state of incompetence suggests ways of attaining health and happiness in this state at zero promotion quotient. Towards the end of his book he illustrates how to avoid reaching the state of incompetence by practicing various techniques of Creative Incompetence. (I probably practiced Creative Incompetence quite competently and hopefully I am still at my level of competence!) In conclusion Dr. Peter tries to briefly explore remedies to avoiding life-incompetence which he has elaborated in his follow up book ‘The Peter Prescription’ which is a must-read once you are hooked onto The Peter Principle. The Peter Principle is a compelling book, written almost forty years ago, and with the flattening of hierarchy and advent of flexible organizational structures and HR practices, it would indeed be worthwhile for young and budding managers to read this book and see to what extent the Peter Principle applies and is relevant in today’s world. The Book : The Peter Principle Authors: Dr. Laurence J. Peter & Raymond Hull Published: 1969 William Morrow Reviewed by: Vikram Waman Karve vikramkarve@sify.com

Maharshi Karve

noreply@blogspirit.com (Vikram Karve) — Fri, 04 Aug 2006 14:03:22 +0530

MAHARSHI KARVE – BOOKS ON HIS LIFE AND TIMES By VIKRAM WAMAN KARVE I have before me three books on Maharshi Dhondo Keshav Karve : (i) His autobiography titled ‘Looking Back’ published in 1936. (ii) Maharshi Karve by Ganesh L. Chandavarkar published in 1958 by Popular Prakashan Bombay (Mumbai) (iii) Maharshi Karve – His 105 Years published on 18 April 1963 ( His 106th birth anniversary) by Hingne Stree Shiksan Samstha Poona (Pune) Allow me to tell you, Dear Reader, a bit about these books which describe the life and times of Maharshi Karve and tell us about the monumental pioneering work of one of the foremost social and educational reformers of India. It would be apt to start with his autobiography, and let Maharshi Karve describe his life and work from his own point of view in his simple yet fascinating style. I am placing below a Book Review of his autobiography (which I had reviewed a few months ago) for your perusal: Book Review of The Autobiography of Maharshi Karve : “Looking Back” by Dhondo Keshav Karve (1936) (Reviewed by Vikram Waman Karve) The Book: Looking Back The Author: Dhondo Keshav Karve First Published in 1936 Dear Reader, you must be wondering why I am reviewing an autobiography written in 1936. Well, till recently I stayed on Maharshi Karve Road in Mumbai. I share the same surname as the author. Also, I happen to be the great grandson of Maharshi Karve. But, beyond that, compared to him I am a nobody – not even a pygmy. Maharshi Karve clearly knew his goal, persisted ceaselessly throughout his life with missionary zeal and transformed the destiny of the Indian Woman. The first university for women in India - The SNDT University and educational institutions for women covering the entire spectrum ranging from pre-primary schools to post-graduate, engineering, vocational and professional colleges bear eloquent testimony to his indomitable spirit, untiring perseverance and determined efforts. In his preface, Frederick J Gould, renowned rationalist and lecturer on Ethics, writes that “the narrative is a parable of his career” – a most apt description of the autobiography. The author tells his life-story in a simple straightforward manner, with remarkable candour and humility; resulting in a narrative which is friendly, interesting and readable. Autobiographies are sometimes voluminous tomes, but this a small book, 200 pages, and a very easy comfortable enjoyable read that makes it almost unputdownable. Dr. Dhondo Keshav Karve writes a crisp, flowing narrative of his life, interspersed with his views and anecdotes, in simple, straightforward style which facilitates the reader to visualize through the author’s eyes the places, period, people and events pertaining to his life and times and the trials and tribulations he faced and struggled to conquer. Dr. Dhondo Keshav Karve was born on 18th of April 1858. In the first few chapters he writes about Murud, his native place in Konkan, Maharashtra, his ancestry and his early life– the description is so vivid that you can clearly “see” through the author’s eye. His struggle to appear in the public service examination (walking 110 miles in torrential rain and difficult terrain to Satara), and his shattering disappointment at not being allowed to appear because “he looked too young”, make poignant reading. “Many undreamt of things have happened in my life and given a different turn to my career” he writes, and then goes on to describe his high school and, later, college education at The Wilson College Bombay (Mumbai) narrating various incidents that convinced him of the role of destiny and serendipity in shaping his life and career as a teacher and then Professor of Mathematics. He married at the age of fourteen but began his marital life at the age of twenty! This was the custom of those days. Let’s read the author’s own words on his domestic life: “… I was married at the age of fourteen and my wife was then eight. Her family lived very near to ours and we knew each other very well and had often played together. However after marriage we had to forget our old relation as playmates and to behave as strangers, often looking toward each other but never standing together to exchange words…. We had to communicate with each other through my sister…… My marital life began under the parental roof at Murud when I was twenty…” Their domestic bliss was short lived as his wife died after a few years leaving behind a son… “Thus ended the first part of my domestic life”… he concludes in crisp style. An incident highlighting the plight of a widow left an indelible impression on him and germinated in him the idea of widow remarriage. He married Godubai, who was widowed when she was only eight years old, was a sister of his friend Mr. Joshi, and now twenty three was studying at Pandita Ramabai’s Sharada Sadan as its first widow student. Let’s read in the author’s own words how he asked for her hand in marriage to her father – “I told him…..I had made up my mind to marry a widow. He sat silent for a minute and then hinted that there was no need to go in search of such a bride”. He describes in detail the ostracism he faced from some orthodox quarters and systematically enunciates his life work - his organization of the Widow Marriage Association, Hindu Widows Home, Mahila Vidyalaya, Nishkama Karma Math, and other institutions, culminating in the birth of the first Indian Women’s University (SNDT University). The trials and tribulations he faced in his life-work of emancipation of education of women (widows in particular) and how he overcame them by his persistent steadfast endeavours and indomitable spirit makes illuminating reading and underlines the fact that Dr. DK Karve was no arm-chair social reformer but a person devoted to achieve his dreams on the ground in reality. These chapters form the meat of the book and make compelling reading. His dedication and meticulousness is evident in the appendices where he has given datewise details of his engagements and subscriptions down to the paisa for his educational institutions from various places he visited around the world to propagate their cause. He then describes his world tour, at the ripe age of 71, to meet eminent educationists to propagate the cause of the Women’s University, his later domestic life and ends with a few of his views and ideas for posterity. At the end of the book, concluding his autobiography, he writes: “Here ends the story of my life. I hope this simple story will serve some useful purpose”. He wrote this in 1936. He lived on till the 9th of November 1962, achieving so much more on the way, was conferred the honorary degree of Doctor of Letters ( D.Litt.) by the Banaras Hindu University (BHU) in 1942 followed by Universities of Poona in 1951, SNDT in 1955, and Bombay(LL.D.) in 1957. Maharshi Karve received the Padma Vibhushan in 1955 and the nation’s highest honour the “Bharat Ratna” in 1958, a fitting tribute on his centenary at the age of 100. Epilogue I (the reviewer) was born in 1956, and have fleeting memories of Maharshi Karve, during our visits to Hingne Stree Sikshan Samstha in 1961-62, as a small boy of 5 or 6 can. My mother tells me that I featured in a Films Division documentary on him during his centenary celebrations in 1958 (I must have been barely two, maybe one and a half years old) and there is a photograph of him and his great grand children in which I feature. It is from some old timers and other people and mainly from books that I learn of his pioneering work in transforming the destiny of the Indian Woman and I thought I should share this. I have written this book review with the hope that some of us, particularly the students and alumni of SNDT University, Cummins College of Engineering for Women, SOFT, Karve Institute of Social Sciences and other educational institutions who owe their very genesis and existence to Maharshi Karve, read about his stellar pioneering work and draw inspiration from his autobiography. As I have mentioned earlier, two other good books pertaining to the life of Maharshi Karve which I have read are: Maharshi Karve by Ganesh L. Chandavarkar, Popular Prakashan (1958) and Maharshi Karve – His 105 years, Hingne Stree Shikshan Samstha (1963). The biography ‘Maharshi Karve by Ganesh L. Chandavarkar’ was commissioned and published by the Dr. DK Karve Centenary Celebrations Committee on 18th April 1958 the birth-centenary of Dr. DK Karve (Thousands attended the main function on 18th April 1958 at the Brabourne Stadium in Mumbai which was addressed by Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru, the Prime Minister). The author, GL Chandavarkar, then Principal of Ram Mohan English school, has extensively researched the life of Dr. DK Karve, by personal interaction with the great man himself, reminiscences of his Professors, colleagues and students, and his two writings Looking back and Atma-Vritta. The author acknowledges with humility: “This is the story of the life of a simple man who has risen to greatness without being aware of it in the least. It is being told by one who can make no claim to being a writer” and then lucidly narrates the story of Maharshi Karve’s life in four parts comprising twenty four chapters in simple narrative style. Part I, comprising eight chapters, covers the early life of Dhondo Keshav Karve, from his birth to the defining moment in his life - his remarriage to Godubai who was widowed at the age of eight, within three months of her marriage, even before she knew what it was to be a wife. The first chapter vividly depicts the life and culture of Murud and Konkan in a brilliantly picturesque manner and is a fascinating read. The narrative then moves in a systematic manner encompassing the salient aspects of Maharshi Karve’s life till his birth centenary in 1958. The biographer comprehensively cover Maharshi Karve’s marital and work life, but does not throw much light on his relationships with his four illustrious sons, who were well-known in their own respective fields of work. The author avoids pontification and writes in friendly storytelling style which makes the book very interesting and readable, making it suitable for the young and old alike. I feel an epilogue covering the remaining years of his life would make the biography more complete. There is a reference index at the end and I found this book to be quite a definitive biography which could serve as a source for knowledge and inspiration to readers interested in the life and work of Maharshi Karve. The 233 page book was published by Popular Book Depot Mumbai in 1958 and I picked up a copy priced at rupees forty at the International Book Service at Deccan Gymkhana in Pune a few years ago. Maharshi Karve – His 105 Years, published on his 106th birth anniversary, is a pictorial album depicting the life and activities of Maharshi Karve. In today’s parlance it may be called a ‘coffee table’ book, but it is a memorable reference book of lasting souvenir value which is a must for every library. The chronologically arranged sketches, photographs and captions tell Maharshi Karve’s life-story in a seamless manner. There are photographs of historical, heritage and sentimental value highlighting important milestones in his life and work. (If you want to see my picture, turn to page 98 and have a look at the small boy holding Maharshi Karve’s hands and looking at the camera. I may have been just one and a half years old then and barely able to stand!). This book is indeed a ‘collector’s item’ and was priced at a princely sum of rupees ten at the time of publication. If you wish to learn more about Maharshi Karve and draw inspiration from his life and work, do read these three books. And please do let me know if you come across literature on Maharshi Dhondo Keshav Karve. VIKRAM WAMAN KARVE vikramkarve@sify.com