The Sunday July 8, 2012 was no ordinary Sunday. Making it
even more extraordinary was the alarm I had set on my mobile phone (oh yes…
gone are the days of alarm clocks). Being a suburban resident of Mumbai, it was
mandatory for me to wake up early and leave at the earliest to simply avoid the
precious gift Central Railway bestows on us on almost all Sundays. Fondly
referred to by the railway authorities as ‘Mega Block’ to carry out
rectifications on outraged overhead wires, heal wounds of miserably fractured
tracks and drive the trains to not-so-parlor like crashed for fake pampering…
the ‘Mega Block’ is a sheer nightmare. It derails the Sunday life of citizens
planning to travel to various destinations on a holiday. Therefore I was in no
mood to get stuck somewhere in the middle and accelerated.
After a quick bath, lucky prayers and skipping my favorite Sunday
breakfast of two egged omelet; I stormed into the first class compartment of
the 7.36 a.m. Mumbai CST bound local. In solitude and all by myself, flipping
through the pages of Timeout Explorer (Launch Issue), I wandered with monks
through the lanes of Sikkim, tried my luck with the Tongba (a rare beer) served
to me in bamboo containers at Kalimpong, enjoyed the aroma of Darjeeling tea,
jammed with the JJI Exile Brothers in Mcleod Ganj, checked into a sanctuary of
donkeys in Leh and braved the weather & terrain of Spiti. Engrossed and
engaged, I didn’t realize that my train had entered Mumbai CST. I took the
subway, crossed the road, passed McDonald’s, entered the first few arches of
Fort and stepped straight into the British era lift of Kitab Mahal. Bidding
farewell to it on 3rd floor, I once again entered the paradise
like Studio X on 4th floor to attend the second day session of
Travel Writing workshop. As if the organizers were aware in advance, the
breakfast was kept ready way before 9.30 a.m. I had a wonderful time downing at
least 10 micro idlis with the regular coconut chutneys giving delightful
company. Hot coffee helped me release the last ounce of laziness hidden in some
inactive corners of my body.
Students in place, the professor walked in. More joyous, more
excited and dressed in a yellow t-shirt tucked neatly in blue denim, Dilip
D’Souza walked in. Like Saturday the ritual of mobile donation in fish bowl was
reiterated. And then the harmonica touched his mouth. Melody filled the room.
The ‘wow’ factor was high. Dilip had already injected the ‘wow’ on Saturday
into our veins and it was running a happy marathon within. The beginning was
triggered by writing answers to some questions on four sheets of carefully
stapled papers. Dilip asked us about the homework? Almost everyone raised their
hands to confirm, it was done.
Kaushik Chatterjee enthralled the class by narrating his rewritten
story on Vizag and literally painted a canvas of pale yellow butterflies
forming a rising cloud. Not everyone ended up reading at the same time. Dilip
adapted to a unique format of allowing the narrations to intersperse with his
gems of wisdom. All of us attending were sure to the core that Dilip was in no
mood to allow lethargy crawl into your minds and bodies. After all it was a
Sunday. He sent us all out on a second expedition. This was the first in series
of two expeditions that he took us on for the day. Like kindergarten kids
running out of a school to smell freedom, we were all out wandering in a
scattered manner.
Dilip had assigned us the task of observing our surroundings and
making note of anything and everything that caught our attention. This was to
drive home the point that travel writing is also about having an eye for
details. In my case, I spotted a dog secretly seeking refuge beneath the bed
sheet of his human companion. Deepa took note of the scribble on the wall that
actually directed to a nonexistent toilet. And even more interesting was her
narration about the ripped nameplates, tightly shut doors, people abandoning
the building. Her knowledge also brought one important fact to our notice that
there was indeed a time in the past when Kitab Mahal was engulfed by an
uncontrollable fire. It was during this time that many had locked the doors and
disappeared. Someone made note about an almost invisible Portasia cyber café.
At least four of us noticed ‘IF GOD BE FOR US WHO CAN BE AGAINST US’ written
above the signboard of Café Shaheen. A mosaic of similarities, marvels,
amusement and disagreement took the Centre Stage.
The stories started arriving one by one. Nivedita made a
remarkable observation of Kitab Mahal being a haunted house and flung Nancy
Drew right in the middle of our conversation, detecting the surroundings.
Applauded and appreciated, Saurav painted a much more intense picture of his
observations. His mention of a revolving chair that might spark revolutions
reminded me of that once scene from Baazigar in which Shahrukh Khan recollects
his childhood trauma and hatches a ghastly revenge plan against his tormentor.
The senior lady sitting to my left took us closer to the literal meaning of
Kitab Mahal as the ‘palace of books’ but with no books on display or sale.
Gokul’s keenness to observe pushed us straight to the fourth floor like a
thriller novel. He saw the tattered board of a CBI office that had once upon a
time operated from the premises of Kitab Mahal. He made us enter the building
like an accused, who first glanced at the walls and caught a glimpse of the God
pictured tiles plastered on walls to pray and plead innocence. The dangling
wires making the accused repent about his wrong doings. The final arrival on
the fourth floor, facing a wall full of Xs confirming his faith that everything
had gone wrong to put an end to his journey. A new girl who joined in for the
second session spiced her observations by keeping it rusting through her
mentions of panwallahs and sugarcane juicewallahs. She was bright. I wish she
had added more, had she been there on Saturday (the CDwallahs, recordwallahs
would had been much more enjoyable).
Dilip took us through this unfolding kind of an experience of
writing, reading, discussing, debating, reviewing, criticizing and
opinionating. He wanted all of us to open up. It was evident; this was no
classroom of silence but an arena of voices. He was not letting the spirit to
wither. He kept it alive. I am not boasting about him. But he made us feel like
being on a travel through a book, we read, we wrote. The best thing, everyone
got to read and write. A quite little girl narrated her experience of scuba
diving and the very next moment I wanted to literally go scuba diving. The
Kashmir story narrated by the tall female in red top from Bangalore made me
relate to it like a scene from The Hurt Locker. The story broke the
stereotypes. Besides it sparked a debate about breaking stereotypes. Janita
came gate crashing with her anecdote from the heartland of Manaus. I narrated a
situation from monsoon strewn Kolkata in mid June. Kaushik was the first to
launch a spear into that story while Deepa’s comments arrived like a knockout
punch. But there was no reason to feel bad or demoralized. Dilip had succeeded
in making us realize that writing is also about accepting its limitations,
surpassing boundaries and keeping it simple to relate to. My story had so much
Kolkata and so much Bengali in it that a certain Mr. Sharma from Delhi could
have run a little insane after alighting near Howrah Bridge.
The fun didn’t end there. Dilip pushed us out of the classroom in
pursuit of a statue of a dog. Believe it or not, we all might have walked on
the footbath beside Bombay Gymkhana and never could have taken note of the dog
statue on right. We were stumped. Both dog lovers and non dog lovers stood
gaping at the statue. We were all awestruck. Dilip stood quietly behind us and
smiled over the fact that his students were fresher’s in true sense, all eager
to make the dream of being a Travel Writer come true soon some day.
Stories, anecdotes, leads, narrations, rewriting, observations…
the most enjoyable deluge of knowledge had left us thirsty for more. No one
seemed to be in a mood to check the time in their watches. But it was ticking
fast. In the last two days, Dilip had built a family and become the head of it.
This huge family of aspiring travel writers had already started networking by
exchanging numbers, email ids, web ids, office addresses, facebook identities,
photolinks and what not.
The session finally drew to a conclusion. A girl in white top
conveyed the vote of thanks to Dilip D’Souza for having agreed to conduct this
workshop. She congratulated the participants for being a lovely group with
fresh ideas and also the lucky chosen ones. She wrapped up by stating that we
should just wait and watch there is yet a lot more to come. The feedback forms
were distributed, filled and collected back. Dilip D’Souza invited us with our
questions. And he answered them all with an enviable ease in his tone, demeanor
and expressions. Through the workshop, he pumped into us an infectious amount
of confidence that shall not die down with the onslaught of testing times. When
we were asked to speak a few words in the honor of the guest lecturer and the
session, I grabbed the mike and poured my heart out. I held no inhibitions to
share with everyone in that classroom, about my insecurities that were shooed
off to a bay by Dilip’s wonderful words. A stage had arrived in my life when I
had stopped reading, writing, blogging or facebooking… The everyday struggle
within the confines of an unexcited office had rendered my mind lifeless. Dilip
made it jump back to life. He made the heart beat faster and all I walked back
home with were the words of his wisdom:
- Write/
Rewrite
- Carry
a small notepad in your pocket
- Anecdotes
are like item numbers
- Observe
everything and don’t forget to take notes
- Be
creative
- Indulge
your reader
- Continue
with wild imaginations
- Analyze
your writing
- Hit
the road, touch the skies, swim through waters and enjoy Travel Writing…
Out of the Kitab Mahal, I strode across to Mumbai CST again in a
hope to join this family again someday on a trip to a forgotten island of
memories. And then come back to Kitab Mahal, call up Dilip D’Souza and tell
him, “We have not one but 100 odd travel stories from a single island to be
told to you. Would you mind joining us again for a session of writing,
rewriting and of course travel writing?”
In a mood to raise a toast to Dilip D’Souza, Avid Learning, Studio
X and the entire crew; I wish to sign off quoting Moslih Eddin Saadi - ″A
traveler without observation is a bird without wings.”
-vociferous
Commented upon by Mr Dilip D'souza himself:
You're really
extraordinarily kind, Mr P! I thoroughly enjoyed being with all of you and
listening to your stories. Thanks for being so attentive and willing to share.
Made it such an enjoyable couple of days for me.
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