The Way of Kei Cars

The Japanese are known for their ingenious engineering. The way they can create space out of nowhere is what makes them special to me. Especially in cars. For us mortals in big cities, with narrow streets, space is the biggest concern. And when I see a tiny Toyota and think, 'Hey, I don't think a lemon could fit in that', I step in and see there's do much more space than that. That's the best thing about it: Japanese engineers have this unbelievable skill of compacting things so well. My classmates can learn something from that - take all the books you want home but don't lug around a potato sack of a bag; there are better ways of doing it. In this article I will talk about why I think we have so much to learn from the Japanese, and especially about the kei car.

A kei car is a Japanese concept car, and is the smallest passenger car allowed to ride the streets. 'Keijidosha' literally means light automobile. The first kei car was born just after WWII, when people couldn't afford to buy a full fledged car, maybe just two-wheelers (we all can guess why). So to prevent the Japanese car industry collapsing, engineers created a cheaper, smaller, and practical version of a car. For a few years to come, kei cars were only seen on the streets of Japan. But gradually kei cars became a cool thing to have in the west. I personally think it's a great idea and I just love the cute Suzuki Cappuccino. Look it up and you might just fall in love too. It's super cheap, super compact, easy to maintain, don't eat up too much fuel, great for rookie drivers and perfect for getting around the city. They can be fun to drive since they are so versatile and maneuverable.

I believe that small cars are much better than the bigger models in many ways. We have an Alto K10, not too far from a kei truck (which is pretty small too). Not only is our beloved car great in the city, zooming past narrow roads, and easy to maneuver , but has also taken us on innumerable trips to every part of India without ever failing on us. Not even one puncture. She will now turn a proud twelve years old, just a month or two younger than me. I would never expect a bigger SUV type car to serve us so well. Big, bulky cars are not efficient in cities, while on the other hand, smaller cars or kei cars are practicality itself. They're compact, and save space, fitting in ways we would never expect. Don't listen to anyone who says small cars can't accommodate anymore than you.

Ok. Now we know a lot about kei cars. So what can we learn from them? Why are they so special? India has now been named the most populous country in the world. Moreover, the current population density of India is now a crowded 435 people per square kilometer. How are we supposed to fit all of us in, when our population numbers have nowhere to go but up? That's right. By compacting our houses, cars, and spaces.

Consumerism has increased to such a rate that all people want are bigger homes and bigger cars and bigger everything. That is why sometimes we are blinded to the fact that sometimes smaller is the best option. If India will keep all her children on land, then we have to learn how to save and protect spaces. The answer is not to shave forests off the earth and give up more land to be mined or wasted. I trust that we can manage our space and land, and eventually all our people. But as individuals, all that we need to do is be resourceful. It is practically why humans are barely classified as animals. It's part of human nature, and if that's why we're even on this planet, why not use it for something other than ourselves?

In this article, I started off by talking about kei cars and their benefits. To end this article, I say why don't we do a little more for mankind and nature. It won't be a big contribution, probably won't make much of a difference at all. But all you have to do is consider for a moment if your actions could do better for our earth. And the best part of it is that you'll get a sense of satisfaction in the end. It's a fact, trust me. 

Hoped you enjoyed reading!

Ajanta: A trip back in time

Day 1

The day was hot and sunny, and my family of three could have checked into some luxury hotel with a nice pool to just chill (not unlike this rickety laptop that I'm using now. Approaching it's fifth birthday and giving me hell with its lack of energy). Don't you dare blame me, you're not the one who had less than an hour of sleep in twenty four hours. Not to mention the blabbering auto driver who took us to the bus stop. This was only to be expected as our overnight train from Hyderabad had reached Aurangabad before the crack of dawn. Our destination was the Ajanta Caves T point which was a hundred kilometers away and we were to cover this stretch by bus.

Anyways, we got off at the T point after an hour and a half of sitting in an ancient bus zooming along a freshly paved 4 lane highway. A brief walk followed to our home for the next two days, the Ajanta T Point MTDC hotel. Our plan was to explore the Ajanta Caves, a UNESCO world heritage site, then travel back to Aurangabad to see the Daulatabad Fort and the Ellora caves. I loved the hotel at first sight: we had booked one of the 5 villas in the property. The place was serene with birds calling and hills in the distance. It was hospitable and not luxurious with the kind caretaker letting us freshen up even though we had reached hours before the check in time. We were all set and raring to go!

A scenic, two kilometer bus ride over the hills of Ajanta got us to the base of the climb we had to make to reach the caves. Despite the fact that we were travelling to Ajanta in the beginning of May, the landscape was green. Not exactly lush, but soothing enough to save us from the shocking sunlight. Although not green enough stop my bare feet from sizzling. To continue, we had a striking blue sky, shimmering sunlight and streaks of white clouds under lay a hill of buff rocks covered with scrub vegetation. Between the two hills there was a sparkling stream called Waghora which becomes a full fledged river during monsoon. 

At the ticket counter was a map presenting the layout of the Ajanta caves in landscape. The stream makes a big 'C', forming a valley. On one side of the valley are 32 caves, cut out of the rock face by the Buddhist monks, who mysteriously as is their way, chose this place in the middle of nowhere to create these stunning masterpieces. If you climb up the rock face you get to rolling meadows on top, where you can find a stunning view of the whole valley. In fact, if you stood on the top at the edge of the drop with the caves right below you, you would not even know that they exist, unless you look down at the opposite rock face! Flights of steps lead up from the base of the river to each temple. At the time they were created, this was the only way of reaching the temples. Today, there is a path winding up to the level of the temples which allows us to reach all of them at one go. This was the path that we were taking now.

After some time of climbing, the 'C' curved away providing a panorama of the temples ahead, their ornate pillars standing out from the background. Even from a distance, the sculptures of the farthest caves caught the eye, while seeming very much in place with the craggy rocks.

Mesmerized, I walked on. The best part of coming to Ajanta in summer was that you could admire the palash trees sprouting at every corner. Bright orange palash flowers combined with bright sunlight can be as vibrant as a peacock fluttering its feathers in your face. After a while, we reached the first cave. A bored entry guard waved us in.

When I had thought of writing this travelogue, at the beginning of the trip, I had assumed that describing the place would be an easy enough job. Now that I am doing it, I confess words fail to capture the grandeur of the place.  The path leading up widened and to one side stood, pillared and bejeweled, the first cave of Ajanta. Cave No. 1, which I had seen only in pictures, looked majestic as ever in real life, with the carvings and sculptures, mainly of various stages of Buddha's life popping out. Inside, warm, dim lights illuminated the masterpieces in muted softness. Despite the scant lighting, the paintings were bursting with vibrant colours, depicting idyllic scenes of nature, motifs and various figures in all their glory. Who could have imagined, that even after fifteen hundred years of ruin, weathering, destruction, and most of all, vandalism, the work of these unknown artists still radiates such vibrancy? When I stood in the serene company of those life-like paintings, I felt honored to be at a place where so many great minds, albeit unknown, yet true geniuses had tread upon, creating works of art that still stun and awe people. The faces in the painting reflected raw emotions of serenity, love, and sorrow in different scenes. The depth and feeling that a mere painting, that too ages old, can hold, rooted me to the spot.

Well, I'm losing myself praising these paintings. Let me help you visualize them. The piece de resistance was at the farthest end of the temple, where a statue of Buddha stood. The paintings that many of you would've admired in the blurry picture of a history textbook stood out in the faded surroundings. Although smudged at the edges, the colour diminished, one can clearly make out a perfect figure. Two, in fact, on either side of the statue. Both identical, with different colours. It is a depiction of Bodhisattva Padmapani, which means the lotus-bearer, a figure related to Buddhist compassion. He sports only a loincloth, with a crown of gold and bangles hanging from his graceful body. The skill with which the paintings were made shows us a face, serene and thoughtful and these were the same emotions that reflected in my heart when I saw them. He had many men and beasts surrounding him. Although it may not be very clear in the picture below, this single painting speaks a million words of the way of life and the beliefs of those days, and the people in them. The paintings I saw that day at Ajanta are uncannily apt for the following saying: a picture speaks a thousand words.

The statue that stood between the two Padmapani paintings was an alcove, where stood a statue of Buddha. His eyes closed, his lips curled ever so slightly in a smile, his hand held up, Buddha was an image of peace and calm. When I think of all the landmarks, temples, statues, or any expression of art, I'll always remember the little caves stowed away in the valley of Ajanta.

The day passed in a blink. Given a chance, I would have camped there and spent the night with the

monks and their handiwork. We walked on, passing caves with sleeping Buddhas, stone spheres with paintings, pillars and rocks which, to the credit of the craftsmen who came here, I would have found no difference if the statues were adorned with precious stones instead of the carvings. We walked past and even missed some caves, since the heat was, as I had colorfully described, like the inside of a buffalo's rear. It was approaching noon and we would have dropped dead if tried visiting each and every cave. We also had plans for reaching the viewpoint (the one from where the whole valley could be seen) but the best thing to do was what we did, by trekking to the viewpoint the next day.

So we ended the day by taking the bus back to our little cottage. Near the MTDC area there was a bazaar plaza. This place is deceptive if you're not careful and I mean it. At least fifty stores lined up, selling the same, I mean EXACTLY the same touristy kitsch. And if you are naïve and don't play your cards right, you will fall prey to these pros and be left a few thousand rupees lighter. Trust me. These shops sell you replicas and cheap jewelry, mostly useless, at twenty times their worth. But I admired their dedication and their yen for salesmanship. My mother on the other hand, is a pro at dealing with such folks. She is adept at dealing with them. If Maa wants something, she gets it at a tenth of the quoted price at the most. After a bit of haggling, Maa names her final figure, and if the seller so much as flinches, she walks away without hesitation. And so the shopkeeper is forced to run after her, pleading "fine madam, please take it, I'll give it to you for a hundred rupees". He then swallows his pride (and his profit) wraps the item, sulking all this time and hands it to my mother. I can't even think of going near these places without her! 

This is where we had lunch, with the shopkeepers calling out to me to buy stone elephant replicas and color-changing globules. This time it was as hot as the inside of a pressure cooker, with tarpaulin sheets covering the whole plaza and baking the place. 

Let me tell you more about where the cottages are. The setting of the place was beautiful, perfect for relaxing. I sat out on the cane swing outside and admired the hills beyond, with jackals calls echoing from inside the scrub jungle. There was plenty of place to just wander about, and I had a great time soaking in the sights and sounds of nature while walking through the hills. 

Day 2

We started the next day a little late by waking up at nine. I had the most bizarre dream, watching my most hated enemy snooping around in my room and tearing up my favorite book in shreds, all the while lecturing me on politeness. Just as I saw the devil reach out for my laptop, my mother shook me out of bed. I shuddered until I realized that I was a safe six hundred kilometers from my tormentor. Maybe.

By ten we were on the bus and a few minutes later, found ourselves at the base of a seemingly endless flight of steps - rocky, steep, and cruel. To me at least. I am not afraid of heights, but climbing up or down steep rocky steps has a paralyzing effect on me. I have never slipped or fell but I always find myself peering down on the next step, and trembling. My mind races and I imagine gory thoughts of my foot disobeying orders from my brain and missing a step, and this is my favorite, me toppling over for no apparent reason!!!

Nah, I'm joking. It was none of the above, except from the first sentence onwards. It wasn't rocky or anything, nor cruel. Maybe a bit too steep. But I made it. As for my dad - he raced through it. We were on top in twenty minutes. Throughout the climb we were greeted by lovely views of the caves. I suppose the following will need its own little paragraph:

The top of the hill was covered with a layer of beautiful, velvety green grass. There were undulating meadows and a bushy little forest in the distance. And who would've known what was in store just a few steps ahead - a gorgeous gorge (pun not intended). It was not a valley, since the edges of the meadows suddenly dropped off into a steep cliff, with an idyllic waterfall trickling down in stages of little bowl-pools. At the bottom of the waterfall a bright turquoise lake streamed into Waghora. And between streaks of soft brown and creamy buff rock, there stood the caves in all their glory, the rays of the sun washing them in bright light and bringing out their grandeur. Our jaws dropped down into the valley below. We lost track of time, just soaking in the beauty of everything around us. 

The place deserved a lot more exploring. There wasn't a single person around except for a chap selling lemonade and I couldn't get enough of the place. The sun however was scorching and drove us for cover soon after. In the distance were soft, rolling hills where, as my dad rightly predicted, a number of villages lay. As the icing on the cake, we sat in the rundown little shed with open sides and benches and had the most terrible lemonade of my life. Just perfect.

We came back from our adventure refreshed and had lunch at the baking pan of a plaza (and you thought Ajanta was an oven) Later in the evening we took a relaxing walk to the nearby hills with the breeze, cooled by the small lakes lapping our face. And guess what! For dinner, we polished off a spicy chicken curry with hot chapatis to end an absolutely perfect day! Yippee!

Day 3

A similar start to the day as our first. Another bus ride at the crack of dawn, this time to travel back to Aurangabad with my stepping off with the engine still roaring in my ear. One quick note about the buses which we used extensively to travel between major sights: they were on time and easy on the pocket without setting any benchmarks on luxury. In fact, we got a seat the moment we climbed into one which really impressed my dad. That was saying a lot since the man has clocked a lot of miles standing inside buses. We checked in at another MTDC property, this time located near the Aurangabad railway station and set out early. First on our itinerary was the medieval Daulatabad Fort of the Deccan Sultanate. It is one of the five greatest forts in India, and since I have an inexplicable passion for broken rocks and deserted ruins, this place promised a lot of excitement for me.

The fort was huge. From a distance I could see that the structure was built on top of a rocky bluff, raising it above the surrounding landscape and making it impregnable. And like the sky and land around it, Daulatabad was vast.

But unlike most other forts I have visited, I felt that the Daulatabad fort relied more on the terrain for her defense. No moat, no high walls, no nothing. She appeared daunting because of her size. A lot like the fat boy from fifth grade who couldn't walk fast more than twenty metres metres without huffing and puffing in exhaustion, but you had to be crazy to take him on and come out with your limbs intact. 

As for the aesthetics of the structure and the craftsmanship, I have nothing to complain about. The place was atmospheric, with its deep red rocks weathered by the passage of time and copper colored domes piercing the azure blue sky. Its mysterious courtyards, pillared and finished with perfection, held the lovely smell of old bricks and felt cool in the way ancient structures do designed to keep the heat out. The air outside however was red hot with the stifling, baking heat. The sun beat down relentlessly and the rocks radiated heat. Whenever someone gives me a sympathetic smile at me and says hey Joyee, you've got a tan, I think of the sun in Aurangabad. 

As we ascended the fort from the inside, there was a maze or a bhoolbulaiyya, as the guides called it. They kept chattering about the very dangerous, yes madam, the deadly maze that is the path through which one could reach the upper reaches of the fort. It was deadly, yes, for stairophobics like me. Although even I admit, it wasn't as scary as it was draining. As we read on a board inside, this set of stairs was meant more as an obstruction for invading armies than as a usable passage. In fact, it wasn't a passage at all. Half of the stairs were plunged in darkness but for a few windows here and there. The steps were uneven and many led to dead ends, and there were sudden openings in the passages which were actually cliffs. All this, as we learnt, was built to confuse enemy soldiers in the darkness, and drive them out of a lovely looking exit which actually led to sheer drops of a hundred feet into watery graves of the moat below. It was all very fascinating and I imagined armour clad villains plunging into the water below with their limbs flailing. I made a mental note to be extra careful on my climb down.

But for all practical purposes, it wasn't needed. The size and natural protection of the place was enough. Plus the enemy would've been a stupid bunch if they tried to take over the place by raiding it. I know I don't have evidence to prove this, but most forts sport these legends about them of boiling oil and deadly drops, which I think are little more than made up stories to discourage those planning a little invasion. The terrain of most forts provide enough natural defenses. All I have to say is, the Daulatabad Fort wasn't all that dangerous and spooky. But the view of it when you approach it from a distance is to die for.

We couldn't make it to the top. The second half of the climb was in the harsh glare of the unrelenting sun and here we were, emerging from the darkness, thinking we'd reached the top already. Going further would've been madness. I waved goodbye to Daulatabad fort and moved on to the next stop on our list.

Next up was Bibi-ka-Maqbara. I guess this is just as stunning as the Taj, built forty years before it. There is almost no difference between the two masterpieces but for the size. Some monuments are more popular because of the hype around them, that does not mean that the others can be skipped. If anything, the lack of promotion means less crowds of visitors.

Although most of you can already guess what it looks like, I will describe some of it for you. Since it's an exact replica of the Taj, I wondered at first why this one wasn't as well known as the original (duh) but I found out once I entered. Bibi-ka-Maqbara was smaller and not very well looked after - your usual, not very subtle vandalism (Kudos to the unknown idiots who carved hearts on the loveliest stone I've seen). In addition, the tomb itself, down below from the circular viewing pavilion, was covered with coins and notes. I guess people think that the tomb of Aurangzeb's wife is a holy shrine. According to Wiki, the Maqbara was a poorer cousin of the Taj mainly because of a lack of marble and technical flaws. None of which, of course, I could notice. So we spent some time exploring the grounds around this lovely monument. The marbles bear engraving which make the stone look as soft as clay. The "jaali" type carvings made into the exterior walls are surreal. I can still hear the clinking sound of dropped coins ringing in my ears.

Next on our itinerary was the Panchakki. This seventeenth century water mill was, I confess, underwhelming, for me at least. I rather enjoyed soaking in the mellowed air of the six hundred year old Banyan tree just next to the younger Panchakki. The watermill is in front of a mosque. The visible stuff is a lake with a spout. Nothing much to look at, unfortunately. So why was it a stop for us? The fascinating part is that it has an ingenious system for bringing water from a lake far away. As you can imagine, in a water scarce area during the medieval period, this was a unique feat of engineering to provide clean drinking water to the inhabitants. The complex itself was peaceful and cool with the mosque and the nearby purification pool providing a relaxing backdrop.

It will be incomplete if I did not mention our mode of city transportation for the day. Local cabbies charge 1500 rupees for a day tour of Aurangabad including Ellora. We had already decided that the fort and Ellora on the same day would be too much as so my dad had a brilliant idea of hiring an auto to ferry us around. We managed to flag one down near the hotel and after much haggling we struck a deal for the fort, tomb and water mill for 600 bucks. The autowallah reluctantly agreed and was sulking throughout the trip. I thought it was a good deal as the whole trip did not last for more than 4 hours. It is not everyday that you get a good bargain with local drivers and the father was super chuffed!

So, that is how we ended the day. We came back to the hotel and I fell asleep as soon as soon as my head hit the pillow. Goodnight!

Day 4

The penultimate day started with a search for breakfast. My dad has a nose for finding eateries which serve local fare and is also light on the pocket. So he sniffed out a joint which does local Marathwad cuisine, which is essentially a lot of fried savories. This joint only served quick eats and it was my first time having missal pav. As a Bengali, chana chur or a savory mixture is a staple in my family. Missal pav is the ultimate combination of two epic Indian dishes: curry and Chana Chur. In a roadside eatery having lovely pieces of bread with the ultimate combo of two of my favorite dishes, I call it a perfect way to start a day.  

With our tummies full, we headed to the local bus stop as we had figured out that direct buses serve Ellora and was the most cost effective way to get there. We soon found our ride: a neat and compact city bus with our pick of seats! The route to Ellora is the same as the fort which we will cross on our way.

Pictures of Kailash temple is what most of you probably see in vlogs, videos, and articles on Ellora. It's a perfect example of Ramayana and Mahabharat related art. Usually ancient-to-medieval Hindu art is about these two epics, so this is pretty well known. The crowds we saw that day at the temple complex prove that much, since in the middle of May, you don't expect to see so many families and especially little kids (ugh) to be roaming around in the sun, making their usual ultra irritating racket. I'm grumbling here when all we saw that day was a fraction of we would have seen in the tourist season. Who likes crowds anyway?!

Apart from the fact that the weather was the usual butt burning heat, the day was really nice. The most astounding fact about the Kailash complex was that the whole temple was a cut out of a monolith, which gave it a compact feel, unlike most ruins. The elephants, the lions, tiger and birds which laced the walls made me feel like in a stone forest. I especially liked the little alcoves stowed away in unexpected places, little treasures hidden inside, waiting to be explored.

This was the first 'cave' in the cave complex of Ellora, spanning a little over 2 kilometers. There are 34 caves in all, which we explored mostly on foot with a brief golf buggy ride to the other end which cost us twenty-five rupees each.

I think the most fascinating of all the caves was cave no. 34, which we saw just after Kailash. The golf cart had taken us to the end of the caves, where we began descending the caves one by one. So we spent a lot of time at 34. The cave surroundings were a mix of light and sandy dust, with little hills rising with scrub haircuts. The façade consisted of two stories of carved pillars, with some paintings peeping from the roof. Inside was a small temple with little statues and flourishing carvings. On the second floor was a hall with a smoothened floor. Pillars ornamented with flowers and mandala designs held up a painted ceiling about eight feet from the ground. Some of the pillars were painted too, and I could just reach out and touch them, unlike at Ajanta. The place had a rich and luxurious feel, whereas at Ajanta the temples were simple and spiritual. Here at Ellora, most of the caves were heavily decorated, with ornate carvings skirting every nook and cranny. The walls were polished, ceilings painted, and every wall had its own mini temple as an alcove with sculptures of deities filling the space. In some places, the temple looked like a ballroom. Between Ajanta and Ellora, this was the most obvious difference. Maybe because the Ellora caves were more Jain than Buddhist. The paintings at Ellora were more designs than pictures. Looking at those pictures, I would have thought that they were made a decade ago rather than centuries back.

We skipped a few caves on our walk back, passing many Nandis, Rams, Hanumans and many more thanks to the dreaded sun. The way back from cave 34 to Kailash is breathtaking, skirting a lake with the daunting rock face looming on one side. We took many pictures including one which had Maa, our leader, pointing the way! All those planning to visit Ellora during the summer season, ALWAYS carry a water bottle, a hat and some sun screen with you. There aren't too many water stops during the hike and the heat can get to you but it was worth it. For those who love art, culture and history, your experience is incomplete without a trip to this place. The landscape of Ellora is just stunning. Picture a long canyon, a little lake with trees on one side and a rockface on the other. Just perfect. Without terrible lemonade this time :) 

I'll end day four here. We returned to out hotel in the afternoon and had a yummy lunch, again at a local joint which did a mean dal rice and yummy buttermilk. The next day, we took a train back home.

                                                                             

This concludes our memorable trip. I have tried doing the impossible, that is, to describe a place which defies all description. This is a place you have to see for yourself. But I will say this: if you're in India and haven't been to Ajanta and Ellora, you cannot begin to understand our great nation. It is worth traveling halfway across the earth to come here. I believe that visiting this part of India is equal to visiting an ancient Roman monument or Greek archaeological ruins. Exploring Ajanta & Ellora is a wonderful experience, where you don't have to be an artist to appreciate and be awed by this place. A lot can be learned here and I for one felt a strange sense of contentment throughout this trip. 

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Until next time:)

The War of Style

A fashion enthusiast is forever in debt to World War II. From bikinis to bomber jackets and baggy pants, the most tragic war in human history made the fashion world an interesting place without intending to. While the years between '39 to '45 should never have happened, it has given us a lot to think about and learn from and especially to be proud of. In this article, I will highlight the twists and turns the fashion industry has taken during the war era, the results of which can still be found in the closets of a good many millennials, and even Gen Z's.

Yes, WW II saw a lot of rationing and compromising in the civil world. And yes, the fashion industry suffered in every way imaginable - except for creativity, that is. Despite these harsh times, or maybe even because of them, people had shown an ingenuity which still beats us today. Nations in wartime had to make do without privileges, and that forced people to think of ways to look well turned out without using much. In a word, they had to be practical.

And yet they proved to be more creative than ever. Clothing stores suffered severe restrictions: Cloth rationing, so much so that double lining, extra pockets, and length of the clothes were banned, reduced what civilians could wear. If I told you that Britain saved about 5 billion square metres of cotton per year, you would get an idea of the extent of these measures.

The most significant change in women's fashion at that time were the plunging necklines, mercilessly chopped hems, and shoulder-climbing sleeves. That's right - all of these were a result of rationing. If the rationing hadn't happened, or maybe if it it didn't happen to the extent that they did, then maybe we would still be wearing midi-skirts instead of minis. It made the evolution faster, and we thank rationing for it.

Let me start by telling you about some legendary designs that have their origins way back in the mid-1900's.

The Bomber Jacket: Never mind the fact that their ancestors were created in 1917 by the Americans as flight jackets. The bomber jacket will always find a special place in my heart as the most legendary leather jacket known to mankind. In 1917, WW I aviators had to sit in the freezing cold of the open air cockpits being shot at by their enemies, all while climbing up to a height of 15,000ft. So the sheepskin, fur lined, parka like insulating version of the bomber jacket was introduced, then known as the flight jacket. Over time, with the improvement of cockpit conditions and the need for lighter and more comfortable attire, aviators in WW II were wearing the modern, leather bomber jacket. And you know what? Not only did it protect soldiers on fighter planes, it made them look stylish and classy. And even when the boys got home, the jacket was still around, as it is today, a little less than a century later.

                 

The Bikini: As you know, clothes got shorter and skimpier, thanks to rationing. So two French dudes took to competing at who could make the tiniest women's swimsuit. The Frenchman who won was Louis Reard, who came up with the famous, or should I say infamous at the time, bikini beachwear in July 5th, 1946. A genuine bikini could pass through a wedding ring. Ever heard of Bikini Atoll? It was the island where the USA resumed nuclear testing by dropping an atomic bomb on the beach. So when Reard launched his 'smaller than the smallest swimsuit in the world' four days after the test, he thought of Bikini Atoll. Hence the name. The bikini has been reigning over beaches for 67 years now! Who knew that the shortage of cloth could bring about such ingenuity?                                                    

The Jumpsuit: Surely you've seen a black and white movie where a young paratrooper, standing at the doorway of the plane, looks down  with pieces of his jumpsuit flapping in the wind? Well, it's safe to say that the fashion gods work in mysterious ways. Who knew that the jumpsuit, an incredibly simple, practical and no frill piece of clothing could've come such a long way? As you might have already guessed, the jumpsuit was first made in 1919 for paratroopers. A one piece with the top and pants attached, it was used during combat until it found its way into something else at least a decade later - siren suits. Both men and women had a jumpsuit to quickly get into during an air raid. As air raids happened frequently in Europe at the time, these onesies became a part of life. And as we humans always do, we needed to add creativity to this indestructible piece of clothing. Women started making jumpsuits a fashionable, daily wear trend, by adding belts, collars, and buttons and making it runway-worthy.

                                                                                                                                     

These are just a few. But, even with all the barriers that fashion designers faced during wartime, it's safe to say that the earliest examples of the  most creative and classic masterpieces were created at a time of compromises. Even for other forms of art, I bet that artists had a gold mine of ideas at the time of war. It doesn't take more for people like you and me to understand that a lot of art, after all, is philosophical. Although I may seem patronizing when I say this, but today's fashion lacks creativity. That's why so many trends keep coming back, and few ever come out with a whole new look.

While writing this piece it occurred to me that us humans make do with creativity during times of difficulty. You don't have to look at such a tragedy as a world war to know that. I for one feel inspired by that. I hope you enjoyed reading this article and felt the same as I did. Thank you all for reading!

                                                                                  xxxx

References:

Clothes Rationing And Its Affect On Fashion WW2 | Imperial War Museums

WARdrobe: Fashion and World War II — Google Arts & Culture

A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE BOMBER JACKET

Vogue’s fashion encyclopaedia: The history of the jumpsuit | Vogue India

Fashion on the Ration: The Evolution of the Bikini | The National WWII Museum | New Orleans

Why I Love To Travel

 Like most Bengali families, our small circle of three - my mum, dad and me - loves to travel. After some of weeks of going to school and clicking at a computer I find myself longing to just take my bag and go out and take a train or car to somewhere - it's just enough to know that I'm somewhere new and can explore all I want, no homework, no nothing to hold me back. And so, me and my family light out in our little car and drive out to a new place, with no more than three months of time between our last trip. Many don't understand my urge to just go into the wilderness (or into a mysterious passage in a deserted fort, for that matter). I'll try to explain.

Our latest trip was to Ajanta and Ellora, where we first visited the Ajanta caves. I was jumping in excitement since I myself love to draw and paint, and at Ajanta I could witness the work of masters.

 God knows that He himself might have painted those 1,900 year old paintings on those stone walls.Those paintings, the painstaking carvings of the pillars, and the stunning natural beauty of the place that moved me and many others, and still stir our souls, even after sixteen hundred years of erosion and vandalism. That such art, such pure beauty, still stuns and awes men of our age, phone stuck people that we are. It made me feel elated that I was standing where many great minds and skillful human beings had treaded. It opened my mind, and although I couldn't achieve a tenth of what they did in a thousand years, those artistic monks inspire me to no end.

You don't have to read and study to understand the world and its ways if you can travel. You don't need to pray for happiness or see miracles to believe in a higher power, if you can travel. If you feel like moving away from the harsh world of reality, or you want to learn of the struggles and joys of life, all you have to do is travel. Travelling makes our lives seem small and distant, our problems petty and insignificant. It opens our minds and fulfils our souls. You can trust me on that.

 

The Lonely Million - A Tale of the Hikikomori

Human beings are social animals and were made to work together and survive. So when the Japanese are literally locking themselves in, it's time to turn around and notice the turn we are taking. 

Hikikomori in Japanese means 'pulling inward', or being confined. Coined in the '90s, we now use the word to convey the image of a youngster who is an extreme introvert and a recluse; a shut-in in a nutshell. The youth of Japan, instead of becoming doctors, teachers, mechanics, engineers, and doing the work that keeps the society afloat, are shutting their doors on the world. 

The problem is spreading world wide. The US, Spain, South Korea and several other countries with a lot of dependency on technology have their own versions of the hikikomori. We have let the Internet, social media and phones take center stage in our lives, and we use these so much that they have, more than once, changed our nature. But why have the youth of Japan and countries like it taken to video gaming and consuming media, instead of using their skills where it is needed?

Thanks to technology, the need to interact with a fellow human being is declining. One can get by without maintaining social relationships. Therefore, people who have trouble fitting in and don't get along with others are rapidly following the hikikomori trend, with Japan at its center. Here, a million people, in the prime of their lives, are slouching over a computer in their bedrooms, shut in for over six months at a time.

Social norms are also the reason why so many young people are withdrawing from society. The pressure to secure a well paying job as soon as you're out of college, the competition for education, the harsh work culture of Japan, all combine to make it too much for this generation. That is why people struggling to fit in are pushed outside the mainstream.

An interview with a hikikomori gives us a glimpse of his life and his reasons on cutting himself off from the world.

Nieto is one of the 1.5 million hikikomori in Japan, living in the Japanese city of Kobe. More than a decade ago, he graduated from the University of Tokyo. When asked what he felt about Japanese work life, he says that he ''generally disliked Japanese work culture and relationships at the workplace''. So, he didn't take job hunting too seriously. According to him, this was why the companies didn't accept him. 

After deciding that he was done searching for a job, Nieto turned to writing. But his ideas and writing didn't fit in the market. ''I simply expressed my tastes and ignored the market. Finally I accepted that I couldn't live off my writing.'' Despite repeated setbacks, Nieto was determined to make a living off his own creations. So, he turned to Doujin, a form of fan produced work, usually in the form of anime, manga, or video games. 

That was when Nieto moved to Kobe, as he felt ''rushed to become financially independent.'' In his flat in Kobe, he became a hikikomori. Why? As he simply puts it- ''Feeling ashamed to go outside, I became a hikikomori.'' That was twelve years back. Today, Nieto is still creating video games in his apartment.

But how does a hikikomori feel about being isolated? Don't they feel lonely? Most shut-ins have been in their rooms for more than a year. The COVID pandemic has pushed even more people on the brink of their social lives. An account by an ex-hikikomori (who wishes to remain anonymous) gives us a lot of insight into the life and feelings of being in total isolation. 

Video games and the internet dominated his life. The little contact he had with the outside world was via the social media. Without that, he would not even have had any information on what was happening outside. Over a period of time, he lost his social skills, making him even more terrified of mingling with others. Even the instinct to respond to someone while talking was gone. 

Sometimes he would even have panic attacks because of his situation, along with irregular sleeping habits. After sometime, even though living with his parents, he was completely cut off from the rest of his family.

Despite the radical image of a hikikomori, many of them have devoted their lives to books, art, and music. According to them, even if you have the Internet available at all times, eventually it becomes boring. Moreover, people who have difficulty in expressing themselves in public revert to forms of art to voice their ideas.

Hikikomori is spreading among the younger generations. But what impact will this have on us, and life in general? If people stop working as teachers, doctors and engineers, society will collapse as a whole. Who else, if not us, will do this work, our duty to society? The average age will go up, and most people will retire. In short, people will stop working. And our parents can't sustain us forever. The well-oiled machine of mankind will stop running if this chain breaks and people go their own ways. 

But there is still hope. Humans are resourceful and we have fought many battles in our journey of evolution. This is perhaps another test of our mettle.

The Tale of a Spiritual Slipper

'When in Rome, do as the Romans do'- what an apt expression to describe the bizarre incidents I experienced on my trip to Bhutan. These happenings occurred a couple of years back and now that I have in retrospect, thought about the event many times, I can put them down on paper.

Bhutan is truly a paradise, and the tiny Himalayan kingdom holds many hidden treasures for the wandering traveler, with many stunning destinations off the beaten track. Excited to explore this beautiful country, I had driven there in my trusty steed, my ten year old Suzuki Alto.

I had explored all the breathtaking waterfalls, forests, mountains and temples that Bhutan had to offer and had almost reached the end of my itinerary. My last stop was to be the Katsho goemba, an old, out of the way Buddhist temple situated on the top of  a dizzying cliff. This was to be the highlight of my visit. 

After a strenuous hike, I reached the top where I could see glimpses of the temple. There was a mild chill in the air. The mellow sunshine glistened off the dew on the grass. A koel was cuckooing in the distance, from the cherry trees in full bloom, growing on the edges of the cliff. The sky was a pure, light blue, the kind you see very rarely. The temple itself was a majestic sight. Rich, red-brown gables, fairy windows, geometrical doorways. Painstakingly carved pillars and prayer wheels in shades of gold, blue, red. Tapestries of Buddha, birds and animals adorning the walls. Traditional Tibetan butter lamps everywhere. Its timeless feel was completed with a couple of robed monks, huddled on the floor, meditating.

I had long forgotten the ache in my knees from the steep trek. I  stepped into the goemba entrance in a spell like state. I had barely looked around when a pink cheeked lady rushed towards me. She was wearing an elegant kira (a Bhutanese robe for women), her hair pinned at the back of her head with a gold bun-pin. Her frantic gestures at my feet were at odds with her otherwise relaxed composure. 

After a couple of minutes of jabbering and pointing, I figured out that she wanted me to remove my shoes. I quickly slipped my Mitsubishi slippers off when she pointed at a stone plaque. It read-'Please remove your foot ware at the entrance as it is forbidden to enter a holy place with shoes on' in Bhutanese as the woman explained after another minute of gesturing. After apologizing to the woman, I went on to enjoy the rest of my visit. I was ushered into a prayer hall which was a small room with an earthen floor, prayer flags hung up on the walls. Butter lamps shone their light across the room. And in the center of the room was a priest in full prayer attire, surrounded by brass jugs, a dong, a worn book and a scroll with scriptures, among other things. I sat cross legged at the back of the room with the other visitors. 

The experience was breathtaking. The monk chanted beautiful hymns, and it was so heavenly I could've stayed there for hours, absorbing his divine energy. I came out of the room a refreshed person.

I stepped out into a chilly breeze. The sun  had been replaced by a couple of clouds. Just as I had reached my car and was about to bid Katsho goemba farewell, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to meet a monk. He had a beatific smile.

''I saw- you know, uhm...'' He looked up at the now greyish sky. ''Yes!''

I was wondering what he saw.

''Aah, now I remember. You came into the goemba with shoes, no?'' said he.

''Umm, yes, my apologies, I missed the sign'' I was confused. What did this monk want with me? ''But I took them off immediately after I was told''

''Ohh, good, good.'' He gave a sigh of relief. ''At least the effects will wear off.''

Before I could ask him any more, the monk turned around without a word and walked off with an air of finality. Confused, I opened the car door and was about to get in. All of a sudden, I felt an overwhelming dizziness. My head started spinning, I saw stars, and I slumped to the ground. It all happened in a flash. The rest was just a vague memory- it felt like I was watching everything unfold on television. A group of monks gathered around me and picked me up. I was driven to a hospital and wheeled into a room with blinding white lights. That is it, I do not have a single recollection of what happened after. What followed was two full months of probing and puzzling by the doctors. And then, as inexplicably as it had all happened, I woke up from my slumber. Later, the doctors told me that none of them had a clue about what happened to me. They had run all the tests that they could and yet, they had no explanation.

Well, what is my take on it? Frankly, I don't think I can explain any of this. It's still far too hard for me to understand, even after running the sequence of events in my head a gazillion times, for two long years. But this I know for sure- Bhutan has always been a mystical place and it will remain an enigma wrapped in mystery for me.

The memory of the monk, looking back at me with a knowing smile when I was being carried away, will forever remain etched on my memory. And when I was lying in that hospital bed without a clue of what had happened to me- all I saw were my well worn Mitsubishi slippers, floating around in the cloud of my dream. 

 

Picky eater? Who, me?!

I am a fussy eater; something which my family complains about every second meal! For example, I will eat meat (which is pretty much poultry for me) only if it has been skewed and grilled. No oily, messy gravy for me thank you! I can't stand the sight of meat on bones floating around in a deep brown oily mess. My father, on the other hand, will eat anything that moves and breathes. I sometimes marvel that he is patient enough to not chomp his meat down raw. So you cannot blame him for his impatience with me.

My mother is a champion cook. So you can imagine her exasperation with me. But this is nothing, for I am at my worst when travelling. My family and I had driven to Sikkim one cold November when I was all of eight years old. Anybody who has travelled to the Himalayas would know how delightful every hot steaming meal tastes with the snow clad mountains as the backdrop. But I had not received the memo, so I decided to pass up most of the local cuisine (either meat or veggies cooked local style which I did not like the look of) I had dropped a good few kilos before the trip was done and even managed to fall sick out of exhaustion. Beat that!

Now many of you would imagine me to be a snob. I beg to differ. I agree that I have given you enough reasons so far to harbor that opinion, however, try to look at it this way: at least I know what I want to eat, right?! More importantly, I know what does not suit me, like a dish of curried fish head (uggh!!) Think about it, it's really easy to wear any outfit. But it takes class and taste to know what you look good in, right?

My parents give me a hard time for being picky about what I eat, but there are those who are luckier, like Dan Janssen. This lanky 38 year old lives only on pizza! Pizza for breakfast, pizza for lunch and for dinner, its pizza again! I am not sure that ol' Dan had managed this if his parents gave him a hard time about this. Maybe they saw potential, that Dan would go on to revolutionize the world of pizza. Maybe a Michelin star chef with his own range of signature dishes. It may not have turned out that way but hey, the chap seems happy. At least he is living out his dream, which is to eat pizza all day long!

Biryanis come in a million different variants, but I know the one I want to stick to (it's the chicken tikka one in case you are wondering) We live in a world of endless options and that makes it hard to choose. So most people go ahead and eat or wear anything and everything. But the trick is to being choosy about what you want. While many see people like us as snobs, I like to think that we are the discerning ones. That's it! Now I know what to say to my dad the next time he is grumbling at me as I pick through my dinner.