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Mumbai

Never in my wildest dreams I thought that Mumbai will almost become my virtual second home. I first time visited this amazing city in 1996 with my family. It was vacation trip to my uncle's place who used to stay in a Mumbai sub-urb called Borivili. After that i visited Mumbai for the second time in August 2011 i.e. after fifteen years for a placement trip as a part of the placement team since I am doing my MBA. I visited the City of Dreams once again in the month of November 2011 as a part of the placement team again. And now once again I am sitting in Mumbai writing this blog from my office as I am doing my 5 months Summer Internship. This is the third time I am coming to Mumbai in a span of less than one year.

The city in one word according to me is INFECTIOUS. It surely deserves the tag of "The never-say-die city", "City of Dreams". I have been working here for the past three and a half months and i have already come to the groove of things here. They say Mumbai is hectic, unaffordable, dirty, over-populated. I surely second them but then I have learn to look beyond it. It is the City of Opportunities. There is a different kind of energy in this city and its never too late in this city. I have been to places in and around the city for my work as well as a tourist and I have to admit that I am completely in love with this city. This is the city which actually taught me the value of money.

My uncle now stays in a place called Kalyan which is also a sub-urb. Since I am here for only 5 months I decided to put up with my uncle and his family. My uncle's family consists of my uncle, my aunt, my cousin brother and his wife. Incidentaly all four of them works and I am now the fifth member of their family.

I am working with a private financial firm and I am in the sales and distribution department. My office is located in Jogeshwari which is located in West Mumbai. The most important thing about Mumbai is its local trains. They are the spine of this city. The local train network in Mumbai runs through the city and is divided into three zones: The Western line, The Central line and The Harbour line.

I have come towards the end of my internship and its hard to believe that 5months have passed so fast. I feel like i still haven't seen many things in this city but then i am confident that one day I'll come back and work in this amazing city. I have not yet finished with Mumbai. I'll miss waking up early to catch the 7:50 Kalyan starting local for Dadar and from there taking the 8:59 train for Jogeshwari where my office is. I'll miss spending the weekends at Kandivili with Pratik and Namrata and sitting at the Marine Drive late into the night after an awesome dinner of Rumali Roti and Chicken Bhuna at Bade-Miyaan. I will miss beer parties with Pratik and Namrata at their home. I'll miss going back home by Vidharbha Express with my brother not taking into account the risk of being fined as local train passengers are not allowed to travel in express trains without a valid pass. I'll also miss the breakfasts that include either idli-mendu vada or bhurji-pav.

But then every good things come to an end to make avenues for better things. I am looking forward to go back to Kolkata, to my family and friends and make a career for myself. Looking forward to "Maa ka hath ka khana"..:)

Once a rising star, chef now feeds hungry

Narayanan Krishnan was a bright, young, award-winning chef with a five-star hotel group, short-listed for an elite job in Switzerland. But a quick family visit home before heading to Europe changed everything.
"I saw a very old man eating his own human waste for food," Krishnan said. "It really hurt me so much. I was literally shocked for a second. After that, I started feeding that man and decided this is what I should do the rest of my lifetime."
Krishnan was visiting a temple in the south Indian city of Madurai in 2002 when he saw the man under a bridge. Haunted by the image, Krishnan quit his job within the week and returned home for good, convinced of his new destiny.
"That spark and that inspiration is a driving force still inside me as a flame -- to serve all the mentally ill destitutes and people who cannot take care of themselves," Krishnan said.
Krishnan founded his nonprofit Akshaya Trust in 2003. Now 29, he has served more than 1.2 million meals -- breakfast, lunch and dinner -- to India's homeless and destitute, mostly elderly people abandoned by their families and often abused.
"Because of the poverty India faces, so many mentally ill people have been ... left uncared [for] on the roadside of the city," he said.
Krishnan said the name Akshaya is Sanskrit for "undecaying" or "imperishable," and was chosen "to signify [that] human compassion should never decay or perish. ... The spirit of helping others must prevail for ever." Also, in Hindu mythology, Goddess Annapoorani's "Akshaya bowl" fed the hungry endlessly, never depleting its resources.
Krishnan's day begins at 4 a.m. He and his team cover nearly 125 miles in a donated van, routinely working in temperatures topping 100 degrees Fahrenheit.
He seeks out the homeless under bridges and in the nooks and crannies between the city's temples. The hot meals he delivers are simple, tasty vegetarian fare he personally prepares, packs and often hand-feeds to nearly 400 clients each day.
Krishnan carries a comb, scissors and razor and is trained in eight haircut styles that, along with a fresh shave, provide extra dignity to those he serves.
He says many of the homeless seldom know their names or origins, and none has the capacity to beg, ask for help or offer thanks. They may be paranoid and hostile because of their conditions, but Krishnan says this only steadies his resolve to offer help.
"The panic, suffering of the human hunger is the driving force of me and my team members of Akshaya," he said. "I get this energy from the people. The food which I cook ... the enjoyment which they get is the energy. I see the soul. I want to save my people."
The group's operations cost about $327 a day, but sponsored donations only cover 22 days a month. Krishnan subsidizes the shortfall with $88 he receives in monthly rent from a home his grandfather gave him.
Krishnan sleeps in Akshaya's modest kitchen with his few co-workers. Since investing his entire savings of $2,500 in 2002, he has taken no salary and subsists with the help of his once-unsupportive parents.
"They had a lot of pain because they had spent a lot on my education," he said. "I asked my mother, 'Please come with me, see what I am doing.' After coming back home, my mother said, 'You feed all those people, the rest of the lifetime I am there, I will feed you.' I'm living for Akshaya. My parents are taking care of me."
For lack of funding, the organization has been forced to halt construction on Akshaya Home, Krishnan's vision of a dormitory where he can provide shelter for the people he helps. Despite the demands and few comforts his lifestyle affords, Krishnan says he's enjoying his life.
"Now I am feeling so comfortable and so happy," he says. "I have a passion, I enjoy my work. I want to live with my people."

By Danielle Berger, CNN

The other 'Dhoble' you didn't know

Almost everyone in the after-dark party circuit is familiar with Assistant Commissioner of Police Vasant Dhoble's reputation and rigidness, but another name has been long ignored, though the individual's track record deserves accolades.

Dhoble's colleague, Feroz Patel, has been raiding brothels, rescuing children forced into work and reuniting street kids with their families, but has chosen to stay out of the limelight and not gloat about his achievements.

Patel, a 1981 batch officer, has been serving as ACP (Enforcement) since March 2011. During the one year and four months he has been with the enforcement unit so far, Patel has raided dozens of ladies bars and red light dens and his work is not restricted to only controlling the nightlife in the city.

Patel along with his team have conducted over 60 operations till date. He has reunited around 1,200 kids with their respective families in Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, Arunachal Pradesh and other parts of the country. He heads the Counselling Cell and has counselled couples and saved 436 marriages last year, while till June this year, he has counselled around 226 couples.

Despite an impeccable track record and going out of his way to do his duty, the ACP has chosen to avoid the media glare.

"It is a part of my duty. Solving marriage disputes and reuniting children with their families, gives me immense job satisfaction. I abide by my superior's orders and conduct raids as and when we receive information," Patel said when asked about his profile.

In a rare instance however, Patel and his team were caught on film while carrying out a raid at Madhosh Bar in Sion Koliwada on Monday night. The team succeeded in rescuing 12 young women during the raid.

Unlike Dhoble, who had been in the news for instances of high-handedness, a study of the raid footage shows Patel as a calm and composed person. In the past year, Dhoble's overbearance made headlines across the nation and the ACP further gave rise to controversy by assaulting staff at a juice outlet in the city with a hockey stick.

This is being seen as one of the reasons Commissioner of Police Arup Patnaik issued a circular to all police stations in the city ordering them to clamp down on bars and other such establishments, rather than putting Dhoble and his team on the job, which could stir up further controversy.

60
Number of raids Patel has conducted with his team

12
Number of women he rescued from Madhosh bar in Sion on Monday night

What sets them apart
Name: Vasant Dhoble
Age: 56
Batch: 1978
Designation: ACP, Social Service Branch
Previous posting: Vidhan Sabha (security)

Controversies:
Suspended (1989): for taking bribe in Pune
Sentenced (1994): to seven yrs imprisonment & Rs. 1 lakh fine for custodial death of Abdul Gaffer Khan after alleged torture (Jail term overthrown by HC in 1996)
Dismissed (1994): for custodial death (Khan) (reinstated in 1996)
Pending: Departmental enquiry for Khan's custodial death (after SC order)
Responsible for: Misplacing 12 dossiers related to gangster Dawood Ibrahim

Name: Feroz Patel
Batch: 1981
Age: 54
Designation: ACP, Enforcement
Previous posting: Senior Police Inspector, Crime Branch, UnitXI
Controversies: Nil




- Mid-Day.com

Connecting a new generation of military widows

 Taryn Davis says she felt lost and isolated after burying her husband, a 22-year-old Army corporal killed in Iraq four years ago.
While she struggled with her grief, it seemed that those around her found it easier to move on with their lives. Other military wives avoided her as though she represented their deepest fears. Family and friends insisted that her youth should provide solace.
"After the funeral, I felt ostracized," Davis said. "Everybody liked to write off my grief due to my young age. They liked to say: 'Well, at least you're young. You'll get remarried.' "
The topic of her husband -- even the mention of his name, Michael -- became taboo. She also struggled with survivor guilt that kept her from seeking happiness and embracing laughter.
"It's hard to laugh and it's hard to smile after a spouse is killed," said Davis, 25. "In a way, you feel bad, because you're like, 'He should be here and have the ability to smile and laugh.' ... In another way, I think once people see you laugh or smile, they're like: 'Oh, she's over him. Great.' "
After her husband's death, the military provided a death gratuity and assisted her with funeral arrangements. She also received recommendations for survivor support groups.
Davis researched several of the groups over the Internet but didn't see anyone her age. She was also intimidated by the size of the gatherings -- sometimes hundreds of people at a time. She attended some grief groups near her home in Buda, Texas, but the widows she met there were over 65 years old and not tied to the military.
Determined to interact directly with other young war widows and find out how they were handling their grief, Davis reached out to one whose husband was killed alongside Michael. The widow agreed to a visit, and Davis brought along a video camera, filming their emotional encounter and their touching account of memories, love and loss.

Taryn Davis lost her husband, Army Cpl. Michael Davis, four years ago. He was killed by roadside bombs in Iraq.

"It was the first (military) widow that I was seeing face to face," Davis said. "And for me, it was inspiring ... like, 'Man, if she can get up every day and do this with a child, I can do this. ... I can't let her down.' "
Davis traveled the country interviewing other military widows, compiling six testimonials in her documentary, "The American Widow Project." And four months after her husband's death, she started a nonprofit by the same name. To date, the group has connected nearly 800 military widows through its website, which includes an online forum offering support and inspiration.


Nearly 3,000 military spouses have been widowed during the global war on terror, according to the U.S. Department of Defense. Davis was convinced that many of them, like her, were searching for a more modern way to connect with other widows.
"Our main form of communication with our husbands (was) Skype and Facebook," Davis said. "The Internet ... it's a safe haven, in a way. ... It lets (the widows participate) at their own pace. ... It allows other women who maybe are kind of afraid to step forward ... (to) be like ... 'You know, they look like me.' "
Social networking is vital to the youth-oriented organization, which connects women from across the country. Each week on its Facebook page, the group hosts "Memory Mondays," where group members can share their favorite memories of their husbands. And on "Widow Wednesdays," a new member's story is posted.
Once members feel comfortable, they can start attending events, which take place about every two months in a different city. Small, intimate groups of up to 15 widows meet for a few days, and there's always a fun activity lined up, such as zip-lining, surfing or skydiving. It reflects Davis' resolve to live with the gusto her husband had shown in life.
It's "kind of having that perfect combination of a time where they are just living life like it's going out of style, followed by a time where they can reflect," she said.
The American Widow Project is open to widows of any service member as well as women who were engaged to a service member. While the group accepts women of any age, Davis said, the average age of its members is 25.
"Our comfort zone after our husbands were killed was our grief, our pain, this feeling that nobody understood who we were," Davis said. "And when they come to these events, they step outside of that comfort zone, and they're laughing and they're smiling. ... It's one step, but it's the one step that leads to the next step. ... As long as they're taking steps forward, that's all that matters."
When a widow first makes contact with the American Widow Project, Davis sends her an introductory packet that includes her documentary film. The website provides a 24/7 hot line that allows immediate connection to another widow, information on support and services, and personal stories from women who have lost their husbands. It constantly reminds the women that they are in familiar, accepting company.
"One widow told me ... the first time you meet another military widow, it's like someone holding a mirror up to you," Davis said. "And it's a mirror that ... you haven't wanted to look into, because for once, you're finally seeing who you are, and you're seeing it through them. It's liberating."
Six months after her husband was killed in Afghanistan, Brooke Toner attended her first American Widow Project event.
"My little sister wrote Taryn," said Toner, 30, through tears. "She didn't know how to get me through the loss, so she wanted me to find other sisters to get me through the loss.
"From my first event, I went from feeling completely alone to not anymore at all."
According to Davis, that sentiment is returned to her in spades.
"They've given me the gift of life again," she said. "I don't know what my life would be if I didn't talk to a widow every day. I'm so grateful that they're in my life. They've taught me that love is eternal and that life can be amazing again."

By Danielle Berger, CNN

Pulling children out of Nepal's prisons

Kathmandu, Nepal (CNN) -- Pushpa Basnet doesn't need an alarm clock. Every morning, the sounds of 40 children wake her up in the two-story home she shares with them.

As she helps the children dress for school, Basnet might appear to be a housemother of sorts. But the real story is more complicated.

All of these children once lived in Nepal's prisons. This 28-year-old woman has saved every one of them from a life behind bars.

Nepal is one of the poorest countries in the world -- according to UNICEF, 55% of the population lives below the international poverty line -- so it lacks the social safety net that exists in most Western nations. Space is extremely limited in the few children's homes affiliated with the government.

So when no local guardian is available, an arrested parent often must choose between bringing their children to jail with them or letting them live on the streets. Nepal's Department of Prison Management estimates 80 children live in the nation's prisons.

"It's not fair for (these) children to live in the prison because they haven't done anything wrong," said Basnet, who started a nongovernmental organization to help. "My mission is to make sure no child grows up behind prison walls."

Basnet is one of several in Nepal who have started groups to get children out of prison. Since 2005, she has assisted more than 100 children of incarcerated parents. She runs a day care program for children under 6 and a residential home where mostly older children receive education, food, medical care and a chance to live a more normal life.

Since 2005, Pushpa Basnet has assisted more than 100 children of incarcerated parents.

"I had a very fortunate life, with a good education," Basnet said. "I should give it to somebody else."

Basnet was just 21 when she discovered her calling, she said. While her family ran a successful business, she was studying social work in college. As part of her studies, she visited a women's prison and was appalled by the dire conditions. She also was shocked to discover children living behind bars.

One baby girl grabbed Basnet's shawl and gave her a big smile.

"I felt she was calling me," Basnet said. "I went back home and told my parents about it. They told me it was a normal thing and that in a couple of days I'd forget it. But I couldn't forget."

Basnet decided to start a day care to get incarcerated children out from behind the prison walls. While her parents were against the idea at first -- she had no job or way to sustain it financially -- eventually they helped support her. But prison officials, government workers and even some of the imprisoned mothers she approached doubted that someone her age could handle such a project.

"When I started, nobody believed in me," Basnet said. "People thought I was crazy. They laughed at me."

But Basnet was undaunted. She got friends to donate money, and she rented a building in Kathmandu to house her new organization, the Early Childhood Development Center. She furnished it largely by convincing her parents that they needed a new refrigerator or kitchen table; when her parents' replacement would arrive, she'd whisk the old one to her center.

Saved from a life behind bars

Just two months after she first visited the prison, Basnet began to care for five children. She picked them up at the prison every weekday morning, brought them to her center and then returned them in the afternoon. Basnet's program was the first of its kind in Kathmandu; when she started, some of the children in her care had never been outside a prison.

Two years later, Basnet established the Butterfly Home, a children's home where she herself has lived for the past five years. While she now has a few staff members who help her, Basnet is still very hands on.

"We do cooking, washing, shopping," she said. "It's amazing, I never get tired. (The children) give me the energy. ... The smiles of my children keep me motivated."

Coordinating all of this is no easy task. But at the Butterfly Home, the older kids help care for the younger ones and everyone pitches in with household chores. The atmosphere feels like an extremely large family, a feeling that's fostered by Basnet, who smothers the children with love. The children reciprocate by calling her "Mamu," which means "Mommy."

"I don't ever get a day off, but if I [didn't] have the children around me, it would be hard," she said. "When I'm with them, I'm happy."

All the children are at the Butterfly Home with the consent of the imprisoned parent. When Basnet hears about an imprisoned child, she'll visit the prison -- even in remote areas of the country -- and tell the parent what she can provide. If the parent agrees, Basnet brings the child back.

She is still eager, however, for the children to maintain relationships with their parents. During school holidays, she sends the younger children to the prisons to visit, and she brings them food, clothing and fresh water during their stay. Ultimately, Basnet wants the families to reunite outside prison, and 60 of her children have been able to do just that.

My life would have been dark without (Pushpa). I would've probably always had a sad life.
Laxmi, 14 years old

Parents like Kum Maya Tamang are grateful for Basnet's efforts. Tamang has spent the last seven years in a women's prison in Kathmandu. When she was convicted on drug charges, she had no other options for child care, so she brought her two daughters to jail with her. When she heard about Basnet's program, she decided to let them go live with her.

"If Pushpa wasn't around, (they) could have never gotten an education ... (they) would have probably had to live on the streets," she said. "I feel she treats (them) the way I would."

Tamang's oldest daughter, Laxmi, said she can't imagine life without Basnet.

"My life would have been dark without her," said Laxmi, 14. "I would've probably always had a sad life. But now I won't, because of Pushpa."

In 2009, Basnet started a program to teach the parents how to make handicrafts, which she sells to raise money for the children's care. Both mothers and fathers participate. It not only gives them skills that might help them support themselves when they're released, but it also helps them feel connected to their children.

"Often, they think that they're useless because they're in prison," Basnet said. "I want to make them feel that they are contributing back to us."

Making ends meet is always a struggle, though. The children help by making greeting cards that Basnet sells as part of her handicraft business. In the past, she has sold her own jewelry and possessions to keep the center going.

Her biggest concern is trying to find ways to do more to give the children a better future. She recently set up a bank account to save for their higher educations, and one day she hopes to buy or build a house so they'll always have a place to call home. Their happiness is always foremost in her thoughts.

"This is what I want to do with my life," she said. "It makes me feel (good) when I see that they are happy, but it makes me want to work harder. ... I want to fulfill all their dreams."

By Kathleen Toner, CNN

I returned to north Bengal last week for a short holiday in the Darjeeling hills. I spent my early childhood in north Bengal and it has always been my remembered fairyland. Nestled deep in the mountains is the delightful Glenburn Tea Estate, modelled as a remnant of the Raj. Glenburn is a tea

planters “burra bungalow”, complete with bearers serving hot cups of ‘cha’ and campfire dinners of gin and tonic, roast chicken and lemon soufflé.
Raj nostalgia works beautifully to attract tourists but when an entire state remains trapped in nostalgia, as Bengal seems to be, then nostalgia becomes a force of deadly inertia. Even if Pranab Mukherjee becomes India’s first Bengali president, Bengal may never again experience a 21st century version of its famous 19th century renaissance or re-birth. Arriving at the dilapidated chaotic Bagdogra airport and driving on bumpy roads through shockingly primitive villages, it seems as if Bengal is in danger of being left far behind the new-age dynamo states like Gujarat and Tamil Nadu.

Banerjee’s victory last year created hopes of change. To be fair, her first year has been burdened by massive expectations. Struggling with an enormous debt, a deeply politicised society and a non-existent work culture, the change in government has not yet begun to change society. Bengal’s highly talented people, its greatest resource, continue to flee. The state is now so poor that soon Bengal will be the main supplier of domestic servants to the rest of India, as even Bihar slowly pulls out of the Bimaru trap. There is still no promise of industry returning to Bengal. A terrible possibility looms: are we witnessing the End of Bengal?
Today every great Bengali is either dead or living outside Bengal. Rammohun Roy, Vivekananda, Rabindranath Tagore and Satyajit Ray have passed into Bengal’s ancestral pantheon. The celebrated Bengalis of our time from Amartya Sen to Amitav Ghosh have migrated from Bengal. The only resident Bengali who is still somewhat of an all-India hero is perhaps Sourav Ganguly. But after Ganguly, who? Why is Ganguly Bengal’s only cricket star, in spite of the passionate celebrations after Kolkata Knight Riders’ Indian Premier League win? Don’t stars beget other stars? After Satyajit Ray, shouldn’t there have been other Satyajit Rays?

As we celebrate the 150th birth anniversary of Rabindranath Tagore, we must also mourn that Bengal has failed to produce another Tagore. Worshipping past icons as deities is a disservice to those very icons who themselves were original iconoclasts, who broke dramatically with their own pasts and were unafraid to challenge convention.

Talented new film directors like Sujoy Ghosh of Kahaani, doyens of the arts like Aparna Sen, the Shankars and even designer Sabyasachi do Bengal proud, but the majority of young Bengalis are failing to obtain the kind of quality education and access to new ideas, that Bengal was once famous for. Bengal is no longer generating the one resource it has always generated: the visionary, inventive and iconoclast mind.

New ideas and clever technology are buzzwords of the economy and Bengal should have been the first to jump onto the knowledge industry. But alas the power of the Bengali’s mind was considered least important to the progress of Bengal by a Left regime that stamped out free thought. Even more damagingly, the flight of capital and the gradual destruction of an entrepreneurial culture prevented the intellect of the Bengali from being turned into a resource for the global economy. There are no Narayan Murthys and Nandan Nilekanis in Bengal.

The golden era of Bengal, the Bengal renaissance of the 19th century, happened as a creative response to the shock of British rule. The jolt to traditional values from the British created new cultural dynamism within the Bengali. Today, one set of party faithful may be replaced with another, but without a shock or a jolt from the outside, a social and political re-birth cannot happen. That shock therapy lies in reversing the industrial decline of three decades, on a war footing.

Can a Rammohun Roy be born in today’s Bengal? When educational institutions are on the verge of collapse, when there has been an anti English language policy for 25 years, when the ideological core of the Left has evaporated leaving behind the Left’s worst imitators, that is, those who believe only in violence and thuggery, when a society has been almost irreversibly damaged by the legitimisation of violence, how can there be another change agent as impactful as Roy?

The educated have been edged out of public life by clashing rival cadres of the CPI(M) and the Trinamool Congress. Unless the educated Bengali, the bhadralok and bhadramahila, plunge once more into Bengal’s public life, another renaissance of Bengal is impossible.

If dissent leads one to being labelled a ‘Maoist’, how can Bengal generate new ideas? Paranoia breeds isolation, a truism that Banerjee has failed to recognise. Yet Mamatadi’s task is unenviably humongous. Society’s roots have been cut because every social institution has been politicised by the Left. When politicisation is so deep rooted, another party can only bring in its own version of politicisation. The larger social tragedy remains untouched.

This is the tragedy of a society where excellence is considered elitism, where rich and poor are seen as mortal enemies, where agitational confrontational politics has been legitimised as the only method of so called pro-poor politics.

Bengal’s growth rate is slowing, literacy rates lag behind Uttarakhand, Himachal Pradesh and Tripura, the school drop-out rate is 78.03%, only Bihar, Nagaland, Meghalaya and Sikkim fare worse. In 2005-06, only 27.9% of Bengal’s households had access to safe drinking water, in Maharashtra, the figure was 78.4% and in Tamil Nadu 84.2%. Regime change has occurred but Bengal is still destroying the one resource it was famous for: the mind.

“Mon-o-mor -megher shangi- ure chole dig diganter pare”, my mind flies with the clouds towards the far horizons, wrote Tagore. When Bengal’s mind is not free to fly, how can the state take off?

Sagarika Ghose is deputy editor, CNN-IBN.