Apartment 701

There's no other explanation. It's haunted.

Flashback. 2005. Move to Mumbai. We found an apartment in probably the narrowest lane in South Bombay. It even shied away from the upmarket connotations of South Bombay. Well, at least our apartment was alright. The splash of colour in our lives was courtesy the previous tenant of the apartment who had painted practically every room, nay every wall, a different 'happy' colour. Despite the occasional feeling of being in kindergarten, and breaking into 'Colour, colour, what colour do you choose?' in a sing-song voice, we got down to the business of settling into the new city.

Once the ordeal of finding a Bai was firmly behind us, I began noticing strange things about the apartment. The wiring in the corridor-like living-cum-dining was such that we had to place the sofa along one wall, and the TV along the opposite wall, with a viewing distance as close as four feet. That was the only wall with a television cable inlet in the entire room. So, we got accustomed to counting the stubble on Van Damme's face, figured out the fake foam on Karan Johar's coffee and knew every time Oprah was having a bad-hair day.

The light bulbs in the house began popping dead every other day. Electricians arrived, shook their heads identically and declared with finality that the bulbs were of inferior quality. I insisted it was the wiring, but it's like telling a man to stop the car and ask for directions. We've now switched to CFL, although in that light, red wine now looks suspiciously like Worcestershire Sauce.

One day, a power surge caused a mini-explosion, smoke and all, in one of our televisions, rendering it semi-conscious. When the TV mechanic arrived, a weak voice emanated from the TV - a newscast about Amitabh Bachhan's trip to Siddhivinayak. When the TV was restored, I was the one rendered semi-conscious by how much the repairs cost. Well, at least we got our day's quota of Bachchan-watching.

I could go on. The security intercom rings and there's nobody on the line. The fire alarm in the corridor goes on without a prompt. The refrigerator suddenly revvs up. None of the table-lamps work. The music system is partial to FM radio but categorically refuses to play CDs.

And how would I explain The Clocks?

All our clocks have stopped mid-tock, even with new batteries. For some reason, the hands of time freeze in the wee hours of the morning, thereby making a mess of wake-up schedules. The cuckoo clock that matched the coloured walls in its chirpiness has gone silent. The bird stays put inside the clock at all times. I worry about that bird, sometimes. If things continue, I'll probably be smashing clocks with gusto like the crazed time-keeper of the Haveli in 'Sahib, Biwi aur Ghulam', spouting philosophy about time and clocks that would have been appropriate if life was a Guru Dutt movie.

Flash forward. 2007. Mumbai feels like home now. We take it in our stride when someone tells us to take the 'patli gali', as that's where we live anyway. Things continue to go wrong in the apartment, but we've learned to adapt. We check the time on our mobile phones. We look forward with hope for the day FM channels will play all the jazz in our CD collection. We mock-fiddle like Nero every time the fire-alarm comes on by itself and I'm well on my way to creating my first installation with defunct electric bulbs.

We also have periodic lulls, although the thing about lulls is that they're short and they end before you can utter, 'Aaiga!'. Yesterday was one of those radiant mornings when the sky looked like blue-washed white clothes freshly returned from dhobi ghat. I woke up energized and even ready to take on a Borivili Fast at rush hour. But then you know how one of those days can end.

Returning home after an inordinately exhausting day, I loaded the washing machine and decided to wait for it to complete, blissfully unaware that the latest lull had ended. I heard an odd beep from the washing machine. The beep wasn't E1 – 'I'm just taking a breather here'. Nor E3 – 'Shut the lid properly, you dummy!' The beep I heard wasn't even in the manual - 'You crazy or what, flooding the kitchen like this!' I spent the better part of an hour cleaning up, wondering how the washing machine had the intelligence to detect a clogged drain, and the stupidity to empty a full-load-worth of soapy water anyway.

As always, that tech-savvy, mean-spirited otherworldly-cohabitant with the self-proclaimed sense of humour had the last laugh.

(An edited version appeared as 'Mumbai's Rent-A-Haunted-House' in the Open City column of the April 14, 2007 issue of dna)

Dracula:What came before

The Historian - Elizabeth Kostova - 642 pages - Little, Brown and Company

The novel opens with a 16-year old girl who discovers in her father's library, a cache of letters and a book with a dragon woodcut in its center. This is a story about her, her father and his mentor – all on a quest to learn more about a dark power, at the heart of which, is Vlad the Impaler, the source of the legend of Dracula. Although there are fleeting references to Bram Stoker's Dracula, this novel stands apart for its dash of realism and much history to make you wonder if the entire story is, after all, true.

Vlad III (Tepes) of Wallachia (now part of Romania), lived between 1431 and 1476, unleashing much terror among his people with his bizarre torture techniques, which bestowed on him the title attached to his name – The Impaler. His primary enmity was with the Ottoman empire, in particular, Sultan Mehmed II. The novel at one level, outlines the life, death and the supposed after-life exploits of Vlad. At another level, it's a mission is to bring to an end, Vlad's reign of vampirism.

This book is as much a voyage for the reader as it is for the protagonist, her father, Paul and his mentor, Bartolomeo Rossi. In the midst of all the action, linked to the three main characters, is Helen who plays more than a small part in the shaping of the story. A host of other characters pepper the pages, to move the story forward – from vampire librarians to secret agents to monks to a slew of academics from Istanbul, Bulgaria and Oxford. Where there are academics, needless to say, there are crumbling documents, cryptic maps and many, many yellowing letters.

Kostova writes straight, with just that touch of description of places and things that goes to move this novel a notch above popular fiction. There are disappearances, coincidences, monasteries with secret crypts, stories within stories, paths that criss-cross across decades. There are shifts in timeline, perspective and setting right through the book. The story sweeps across Amsterdam, Oxford, Istanbul, then Romania, Bulgaria and France. The story begins in 1972 and ends in 1476. However, it all ties in rather well, to make one good, albeit weighty, read.

If you were ever curious about the Dracula legend or love your historical fiction, this may prove to be an excellent choice. At 642 pages, The Historian is over twice the size of an average read, but may prove scintillating company for long journeys, afternoons of leisure and weekend marathon reads. 

(edited version published on December 18, 2005 in dna.sunday, Mumbai)

The Dark Side of the City

CREEPERS
David Morrell
Headline Book Publishing

312 pages 

It’s an eye-opener to read David Morrell’s bibliography, and realize that he also wrote First Blood, Rambo (First Blood Part II) and Rambo III. A casual interaction with someone who’s an avid reader, reveals that Morrell writes primarily thrillers and is considered the King of Intrigue. Morrell’s latest, Creepers is both a bizarre adventure and a horror story of the non-supernatural kind, rolled into one. 

A bunch of intrepid urban explorers decide to ‘infiltrate’ The Paragon, an abandoned hotel at Asbury Park, New Jersey. The hotel’s past and its creator are as much a source of intrigue as the ahead-of-its-time art deco styling and its temple-like architecture that tapers upwards to a pent house. The protagonist of the story is James Ballenger, who joins this group of urban explorers under the pretext of writing an article about the expedition. However, his story and the undercurrents between the individual characters are revealed layer by layer as the chapters progress. The network of storm drains under the hotel, the immense lobby, the rooms and the unusual items abandoned in some of them – all add to the deepening mystery surrounding The Paragon. At almost every step of the way, the urban explorers find themselves confronted by situations where they would be better off abandoning the expedition. However, they press on, initially out of curiosity, and later out of no other option.

The book is laid out chapters of varying lengths and to Morrell’s benefit, every one of them is a link in the chain. Just when you think you know what’s going on, a new element is introduced to add a twist to the story. Having said that, it must be mentioned that the author keeps a tight leash on the story and doesn’t let the parts and components assume larger identities than the whole. The nucleus of the story remains the Paragon Hotel.

The book is perfect fodder for those who demand more from their average thriller-read. Morrell’s impeccable research comes to the fore once again. Urban Exploration as a concept, has been explained in great detail in this book. The concept is of people who enter and explore abandoned properties. At best, they take pictures, but never break-in, damage or take away any object from the building. However, Urban Exploration is considered equal to trespassing if done without the permission of the owner of the property.

Quite a few nuggets of general trivia are also woven effortlessly into the storyline to ensure you know a little more about random things by the end of the book. 

(edited version of this article was published on February 26, 2006 in dna.sunday)

A Life Lived King Size

Sawai Man Singh II of Jaipur : Life and Legend, R.P. Singh & Kanwar Rajpal Singh, Roli, 212 Pages 

A simpler synopsis would refer to this book as a chronicle of the life and times of Sawai Man Singh II of Jaipur. But given the aura surrounding the dashing ruler, that would not suffice. 

Born to Sawai Singh, the Thakur of Isarda, Mor Mukut Singh was adopted by Maharaja Sawai Madho Singh II. Mor Mukut Singh was renamed Sawai Man Singh II and proclaimed heir apparent to the throne of Jaipur. He was the maharaja of Jaipur from the year 1931 until 1958 when it merged with independent India.  

Sawai Man Singh II was simultaneously betrothed to two princesses, married them individually in 1924 and 1932 and later, fell in love with Gayatri Devi, the princess of Cooch Behar and considered at one time by Vogue magazine as one of the ten most beautiful women in the world. Their romance has been touted as the stuff of legends, with Jai (after ‘Jaipur’), proposing to her when she was merely 13 years of age. They married in 1940.

Jai was a unique blend of western and Indian values, and his ability to be in step with the times ensured a relatively less turbulent transition into post-independent India. Besides being considered one of the most progressive of the Indian rulers, he is attributed credit for the infrastructural development of Jaipur, a key factor in the decision leading to the choice of Jaipur as the capital of Rajasthan. He was sworn in as the Rajpramukh of Rajputana in 1949. He was also India’s ambassador to Spain for a brief period.

Jai’s passion for polo is perhaps best described in his son’s foreword, ‘…established a record by winning all the tournaments in which he played. In 1957, his team topped up the Victory Crown by winning the World Gold Cup Championship in Deauville, France.”

The suave Jai died at Cirenster, England on June 24, 1970, true to his dream - to die “...in a polo field, in the midst of a chukka, with my friends around me, my pony under me, my polo stick in hand, and my boots on.”

The book is structured chronologically and begins with a foreword by Brig. Sawai Bhawani Singh, the present ruler of Jaipur and Jai’s son. It then moves to the events surrounding the adoption of Mor Mukut Singh. It goes on to give a snapshot of the life of a Maharaja, along with the customs, the protocols and the duties that are an essential part of the responsibility. The photographs in the book trace Jai over the years, with his family, visiting dignitaries and with his polo team. There is a postscript describing the period just after Jai’s death and a section on the History of the Kachhwahas.

However, the core of the book is essentially the insight it provides into one ruler’s transition into post-independent India. The politics and policies of that time including the abolition of privy purses, is described in detail in the later chapters. 

(an edited version published on February 12, 2006 in dna.sunday, Mumbai)

Accio Hexatomus!

As the official release date draws closer, it’s as though someone has cast a spell on Harry Potter fans. The frenzy reaches dizzying heights – all to secure a copy of J.K. Rowling’s 6^th offering in the series, Harry Potter & the Half-blood Prince. Speculations about the identity of the ‘half-blood prince’ were initially linked to Harry or Voldermort, then, the guesswork meandered to Hagrid, Salazar Slytherin or even an alternate self of Voldermort! Come July 16, 2005, it will be finally revealed. We asked a few muggles in Chennai what their expectations of the book are, and here’s what they had to say!

 

Pushan (12) - 7^th Standard, Bhavan’s Rajaji Vidyashram

Although I’ve read all the previous books, I don’t know what will happen in this one. I have heard all kinds of stories from my cousins who discuss the book a lot. Don’t know which of these is true. I'll find out when I finally read the book!

Niranjana (15) -11^th Standard, S.B.O.A. School

In the new book, I really want to know what Lord Voldemort will be up to. He is, I think, the Half-Blood Prince. (Why do I think that? Because as Tom Marvolo Riddle, he is half-blood with a muggle father and a witch mother) To make matters worse, Harry is now very emotional with the loss of his godfather. I wonder what will happen now!

 

Suzanna -Just completed college

Of course I’m looking forward to Harry Potter & the Half-Blood Prince! I’ve read the previous five. Book 5 was a bit sad with the death. I just hope nobody dies in this one!

M. Hariharan -Management Consultant

As has been the case with the previous books, I hope the new one has even more depth. I suppose it would deal with Harry’s angst of growing up. There would be some elements of a deepening relationship with his girl. I’m also curious to see what aspects of his role model(Professor Dumbledore), Harry would copy in this book.

On a totally different note, I hope at least in this book, Ron Weasley’s character is better fleshed out than Hermione’s. He is a powerful part of the story.

What does Accio Hexatomus mean? “Summon the Sixth Book!”