TRAVEL TALES : Riding the Pasig River in Manila

Leaving Makati City behind.

“TODAY, YOU will experience the Crawford Market of the Philippines,” I announced to Bembem and Neha in the hotel lobby. We would be visiting Divisoria, the grande dame of wholesale markets in the Philippines. I wanted the two Indian ladies to experience the other side of retailing in Manila, and see for themselves why Filipino visual merchandisers love this place with all its craft materials and decorative props.

To get there, I made them experience the newly-launched Pasig River Ferry Service, an initiative by the national government to provide a viable public transportation alternative. The MRT (Mass Railway Transit) took us to the Guadalupe ferry station, which is presently the farthest end of the five-station route (five more stations are being planned for opening this year).

Mad rush at the MRT headed for Guadalupe Station.

Guadalupe Station of the Pasig River Ferry Service.

If my aim for riding the river were to introduce to the Indians the dilapidated side of Metro Manila, then I would be successful. At the start of the trip, we beheld a truly unsightly and polluted side of the metropolis! The stench of the river permeated the enclosed, air-conditioned ferry. Surprisingly, the Makati City side of the river was the worst sight: painted names of electoral candidates shrieked loudly from the stony banks (local elections are coming up), and all sorts of plant and plastic life floated on grimy waters. At some point, three children were diving into and swimming in the river . . . a few meters away from the names of the political candidates, as if they were condoning this ghastly sight! It was hideous.

Vote from the boat.

What happens if the wind blows hard and the clothesline shakes?

Makati City Hall above and its wannabe occupants below.

The Mandaluyong City side looked so much better: street lamps lined the banks, and the decrepit factory buildings and residential houses actually gave an appealing, bucolic character. A bright surprise was the orderly Gawad Kalinga Village where houses are splashed in happy crayon colors and dotted with leafy palms. I wonder, though, how those living on these banks can survive the river stench!

Gawad Kalinga Village.

Farther down, the vista turned much more picturesque and comforting. This is the side of the Pasig River that I have never seen in all my years of living in the metropolis. The Mabini Shrine stood with quiet dignity. Several blocks away, the presidential palace and stately Malacañang gardens evoked the black-and-white charm of 1950s Tagalog movies. I immediately thought of the hundreds of years of life-altering history that these grounds contained. The boat stewards directed me to cease from taking photographs of the palace for security reasons.

MacArthur Bridge.

Post Office Building.

Quaipo and Santa Cruz, approaching the Escolta Station.

As the river entered the mouth of Manila Bay, Intramuros waved its old-world charms: the newly renovated Plaza Maestranza was an unexpected but welcome sight. Sitting on those banks in the olden days must have given an idyllic view of this river! Then came the neoclassical buildings of prewar Manila! We had indeed reached downtown Manila. Up close, Jones and MacArthur Bridges—those proud icons of the days when Manila overtook other Asian capitals in the race for postwar modernism—were never this good-looking before!

We finally reached our destination—the Escolta Street station—in a trip that took forty minutes from Guadalupe. Stifling noontime humidity welcomed us to Manila’s Chinatown. Divisoria would be minutes away, and a jeepney would take us there.

The Pasig River ride was a trip that brought out the best and worst of thoughts and memories.

TRAVEL TALES : Family surprise in Manila

Half of the world's wackiest Filipino family.

ALL OF them were waiting in the hotel lobby for me. Meeting five of my siblings and their families tonight was totally unplanned, but the surprise was pleasant and delicious. We created noise, unmindful of where we were, screeching in delight, exchanging jokes, chattering preposterously, laughing out loud. It was a riot, but how often do you get to backslap your siblings when you live overseas?

We dined in some Arabic restaurant along Mabini Street. I herded the group to my hotel room, where we continued our clatter and playful repartees. We all agreed that the next date would be Sunday lunch at Voltaire’s house. But not before they got from me their dainty Indian presents . . . including Allan’s Kohlapuri chappals.

As expected, he was pleased with those sandals.

The family circle, with Allan and the fabulous chappals.

TRAVEL TALES : If walls could talk in Manila

The medieval walls of Intramuros.

DUSKTIME INTRAMUROS and its ancient walls have all the old-world trimmings of a picture postcard. The orange hues of sunset cast dramatic shadows on the medieval adobe walls and deepen the wooden textures on the façade of its bahay na bato buildings. A galloping horse-drawn calesa echoes the tones of the cobble-stoned street. Rising above the two-storey houses are the domes and spires of the grand Manila Cathedral, the seat of the city's Catholic Archdiocese.

This is the Old City, and it lent a charming backdrop for the pictures that Bembem and Neha took along the narrow General Luna Street. The first stop was the Silahis Arts & Artifacts store that houses gazillion ethnic products. Neha only had one thing in mind: the capiz shells she discovered at Manila F.A.M.E. earlier today! Regrettably, most of the Silahis merchandise comes from mountainous northern Philippines, so the shells would have to wait for us elsewhere.

Silahis Arts & Artifacts.

Courtyard at Casa Manila.

We entered a few more bahay na bato houses with their quaint courtyards, staircases, gardens, water wells, and more adobe walls. I showed them Patio Victoria, the gardens where my brother Voltaire married Hazel exactly a year ago. At the picturesque, slightly austere San Agustin Church, mass service was ongoing so the photography had to cease briefly. It brought back memories: the last time I attended mass in this church—inscribed in UNESCO's World Heritage List and the oldest surviving in the city—was during a colleague’s wedding back in the early 1990s, when I marched the aisle as a secondary sponsor.

San Agustin Church.

The Manila Hotel.

Riding a cab back to the hotel, we stopped by the historic Manila Hotel, the oldest luxury hotel in the Philippines. “Capiz!” exclaimed Neha as she saw the chandeliers made of a million capiz shells. I wondered what she would do if she saw the colossal capiz chandeliers at the lobby of the Philippine International Convention Center. I hope they are still there, though.

TRAVEL TALES : Jeepney ride in Manila

The iconic, flamboyant “King of the Road”.

THE AFTERNOON was fading fast. We had a few more hours to spare after visiting Manila F.A.M.E. I decided to bring Bembem and Neha to Intramuros, where the city of Manila all began.

I let them savor their first-ever jeepney ride, which we took from Hyatt Hotel to Intramuros. They yelped happily inside the jeepney. “Take a picture of us,” Bembem asked the man seated in front of us. The man just glared back, perhaps seeing her action as rude. The woman next to him scolded him in Tagalog. “Kunan mo na sila at nakakahiya naman (Take their picture; it’s embarrassing not to do so).” The man did not budge, his Ray-Ban sunglasses shielding whatever look he had in his eyes.

To save ourselves from further discomfort, I took the picture and wondered whatever happened to the man’s sense of Filipino hospitality. I wanted to slap the man’s face for being cold, but I realized that the woman’s reprimand was good enough.

I sensed a pattern here. Last night at the Mall of Asia, Neha commented that I seemed to be the only one smiling so broadly. Taken aback, I realized that she was right. Filipinos generally reciprocate such smiling behavior; at the mall, only the security guards and the sales crews had happy, beaming faces.

Has the climate become too hot for the urban Manileño to beam and smile?

TRAVEL TALES : Manila F.A.M.E. 2007

One of the booths at the Christmas Village.

“SMALL” WAS the first thing I thought of when we entered the Manila F.A.M.E. International 2007 pavilion containing the Christmas exhibition. In 1998, the last time I visited Manila F.A.M.E., the pavilion was compact and busy. Today, aisles were wide and booths were few. I learned later that several exhibitors backed out this year for financial and logistical reasons.

Now on its 23rd year, the Manila Furnishings and Accessories Manufacturers Exhibition remains Southeast Asia's largest trade show on houseware, home furnishings, holiday décor, and fashion accessories. Held twice annually, the show is a marvelous showcase of the transformation of indigenous materials into contemporary, innovative product design by exporters and designers from the Philippines.

At the Christmas pavilion, a huge covered booth at the entrance displayed the best of this year’s décor and accessories. Everywhere else, the export products were dazzling. We were particularly impressed with the handcrafted angels and crèche figures. Hopefully, I can close a deal with these vendors so India can see Philippine-made materials at our window displays this coming Christmas.

But not everything is handcrafted. Some exporters have started producing fiberglass and resin materials to meet mass production demands. This is regretful as the products lose their unique sense of craftsmanship. Regretfully, we can expect this concession to happen in greater volumes as China gains momentum as a global export centre for inexpensive mass-produced consumer products.

Bembem and Neha in front of the Christmas Village pavilion.

We hopped over to the fabulous fashion accessories pavilion, but moved on quickly as we had no business with this category. At the home furnishings pavilion, Bembem and Neha waxed ecstatic over discovering the avant-garde use of such indigenous materials as sinamay and capiz shells. I sensed a love affair blossoming between capiz shells and these two Indian ladies.

Admiring a tribal hand loom demonstration at the Home Furnishings pavilion.

Most of the furniture was designed to encourage dialogue between furniture users. A rocking chair became a dual swing for two. A chaise longue was converted into a double settee. Reimon Gutierrez, a designer I have always admired, had amongst the most engaging pieces. One of his items was a novel translation of the rattan peacock chair: the traditional single seat became a grand two-seater without digressing from the basic form. When Miss Spain was crowned Miss Universe in Manila in 1974, she sat on a peacock chair. With Mr. Gutierrez’s new chair, even the beauty contest runners-up can sit with the winner!

Preparing papier-mâché masks for the Higantes festival.

At the main lobby of the exhibition.

TRAVEL TALES : Date with a giant in Manila

View of the Mall of Asia from above.

SINCE THERE was little else to do in the evening, I decided to bring the ladies to the nearby Mall of Asia. This is the world’s third largest mall, so I thought that it was an apt way of introducing the Manila retailing scene to both of them. Moreover, I had not seen the mall myself.

And it was a pleasant giant to see! The SM Group’s latest installation has such raw exuberance that is lacking in Dubai’s Mall of the Emirates, arguably the best in the world’s most shopping-frenzied city. Spread over 4.2 million square feet are some of the prettiest window displays and in-store merchandise presentations that I have seen in a long while. Penshoppe and SM Department Store, always trusted in creative merchandise presentations, are true to their old form with pleasant surprises in the use of props, décor, and graphics. Neha and Bembem went gaga over SM’s value-for-money merchandise. The smaller local boutiques (Folded & Hung, Kamiseta, Pink & Blue Soda) screamed for similar delightsome attention.

However, Bench, that old dynamo, was quite a disappointment. The in-store feature displays were just messy. I wonder if its formidable VM team has left the urban jungles of Manila for the cash-flowing deserts of Dubai. Bench, bring back the old boys! At least the yacht ropes and lifesavers of its summer-themed windows were appealing.

It was not this good the last time I was in Manila in 2005. Back then, window displays were static, almost lifeless. Even Rustan’s Department Store, ever the benchmark for visual merchandising, seemed to have given up: its windows served as backdrops for international vendor brand displays rather than their usually theatrical private label campaigns. Highway billboards of all forms and sizes ruled the game: they clogged consumer senses and choked the urban skyline. Ugly.

So it is refreshing and reassuring to see tonight’s window displays. I am excited to see what the Ayala Center—SM Group’s fiercest rival—has to offer in Alabang and Makati City.

The sound and sight of Filipinos in the mall.

The best part that evening was the sight and sound of Filipinos. After one year of almost-zero interaction with the ubiquitous Filipino (there are only 349 of us in India!), it felt good to be back home, hearing the passing murmurs in Tagalog, the laughter-spiked conversations, and the melodious English ballads that only Filipino pop singers can dramatize so soulfully in Asia.

The worst part? The ride back to the hotel. By the time we left the mall at closing hours, the supply of cabs at the taxi stand did not match the demand by a long queue of late-night shoppers. (We decided to hire a light utility vehicle.) Some things never change in Manila; tonight, I realized that efficient public transportation remains to be one.

Nighttime beckons.

TRAVEL TALES : Manila, Manila!

View of Metro Manila from the airplane.

THE SWELTERING heat of the afternoon assaulted us right after we stepped out of the air-conditioned halls of the Ninoy Aquino International Airport. It is officially summertime in the Philippines, but at 42 degrees this afternoon’s weather was unusually torrid. The heat wave might as well be global: New Delhi’s severe temperature made me ill last week.

Ninoy Aquino International Airport

Welcome to warm, sunny Philippines! My colleagues (Neha and Bembem) and I are in Manila for a few days to visit the Manila F.A.M.E. International 2007 exposition for vendor sourcing and to observe the urban retailing scene. They surely expect surprises on their first-ever travel to this part of Southeast Asia. I am thrilled to return home after a long year.

On the ride to the Hyatt Hotel in Pasay City, Bembem and Neha quickly noticed the left-hand drive (India drives on the right hand) and the ever-present jeepneys. “We want to ride the jeepney!” the ladies enthused.

It will be an eventful week.

Joyous service

WRITING ABOUT service, Shoghí Effendi (1897-1957), Guardian of the Bahá'í Faith, has stated that “the essential is for you to persevere, and not to allow any consciousness of your limitations to dampen your zeal, much less to deter you from serving joyously and actively.”

These words came to my mind when I watched the video Johnny the Bagger: A True Story of Customer Service. Produced by human resource consultant Barbara Glanz, the film features the true story of “Johnny”, a young supermarket bagger with Down Syndrome whose determination to provide service from the heart changed the culture of an entire retailing organization and the people they vowed to serve.

View a clip of this film on The Simple Truths of Service: Inspired by Johnny the Bagger.

Sandals for dead soles

WE ALL know about the hard-selling spirit of Indian entrepreneurship, but this afternoon's comic incident at a handicrafts fair in Bandra (Mumbai suburb) gave a new spin on that spirit.

I visited the fair for Kolhapuri chappals for my brother Allan. Hand-stitched in leather, these traditional Maharashtrian sandals are highly durable, yet Allan still wanted the best. His request was specific. “Paul, ang gusto ko, kahit patay na ang paa, buhay pa rin ang sandals (I want something so durable that even when the feet have died, the sandals are still working).”

There was only one booth selling sandals at the fair. I asked the salesman if his sandals were strong enough.

“Are your chappals good for dead feet?”

It took a few moments for him to comprehend my question, but the response was straight-faced and energetic. “Of course, of course! All my sandals are good for dead feet! What size you want?”

He gave me my size. “But it doesn't seem to fit dead feet,” I countered.

“That size is good for dead feet. Here, I have two designs. Take both. Very good leather and very cheap.” He was still straight-faced.

“So if my feet die, are these sandals going to live?”

Again, the momentary pause. Then came the earnest reply.

“Saab, touch the leather. It feels like dead feet nah. It will stay with you always. Buy now before too late. How many you want?”

He won. This dead-serious businessman with unrelenting confidence made me buy two pairs of Kolhapuri sandals. Allan—and whatever dead feet he had—would be very pleased!

Lost but not concealed

AFTER TEAM India's shameful defeat last week at the ongoing Cricket World Cup Tournament, the players were unable to show their faces in public. They decided to remain isolated in their hotel rooms.

Rahul Dravid could not resist the isolation, so he disguised himself as a Sikh and went out. He met a woman at the hotel exit who greets him, “Hi, Dravid!”

Surprised at having been recognized, he went back and dressed up as a Muslim woman in burkha. He went out, but the same woman greeted him. “Hi, Dravid!”.

Dravid was determined to give it yet another try, this time looking like a Hippie with atrocious wig, sunglasses, and all. But it went in vain. The same lady caught him with the same greeting. “Hi Dravid!&rdquo

Bewildered, he finally asked the woman, “How did you recognize me?”

The lady replied, “I am Sachin!”

Happy Naw-Rúz!

“NAW-RÚZ” MEANS “New Day” in Persian. For Bahá’ís around the world, Naw-Rúz is one of the nine holy days of the year, a joyous celebration that welcomes the first day of spring . . . and the first day of a brand new year.

Historically and in contemporary times, Nowrūz is the traditional celebration of the Iránian new year. It is commemorated throughout the Middle East and Central Asia, particularly by Zoroastrians and Sufists. Shī'a Nizārī Ismā'īlī Muslims, who trace their origins to Irán, celebrate the festival under the name Navroz.

Abdu'l-Bahá, Son of the Founder of the Bahá'í Faith, has said of Naw-Rúz:

The rising of the sun at the equinox is the symbol of life and the human reality is revivified; our thoughts are transformed and our intelligence is quickened. The sun of truth bestows eternal life, just as the solar sun is the cause of terrestrial life.

This new year, may the new beginnings of spring bring you boundless joy & good health through summer, fall, & winter . . . and may your days be filled with the life-giving light of His Divine guidance & protection!

Is boredom the highest mental state?

DRIVING BACK home this afternoon, I was stuck in downtown traffic. I had just endured a grueling day at the Foreigners Regional Registration Office, and as I thought of the long, boring drive ahead, my brains began to sink.

That was when I decided to bewitch ten of my most charming friends with a bewildering text message.

The words came in random to my rapidly-sinking mind.

“Am looking for badumdum electrifiers. Do u know wer 2 buy them here?”

I had no idea what on earth “badumdum electrifiers” were, but they did sound like my state of mind this afternoon. Or at least what my mind needed, to get out of its state. And so the message went to the friends. Their replies demonstrated their healthy sense of humor and good will, and made the long drive home a pleasure trip. They also saved my brains from sinking completely.

#1: “Sorry. No idea.”
Me: (silence)

#2: “No idea.”
Me: (silence)

#3: “No, but you should try Lohar Chawl in town.”
Me: “Once I get them, I shall share with u.”

#4: “Never head of that. U have weird requests.”
Me: “Oh. Once I get them, I shall share with u.”

#5: “What?”
Me: “Am planning Thai dinner. Will let u know.”
#5: “So what did that mean?”
Me: “Once I get them, I shall share with u.”

#6: “I think u've lost it.”
Me: “I shall use the badumdum electrifiers on u.”

#7: “Saw them being hawkd on Linkng Road in Khar. R u well?”
Me: “Am electrified.”

#8: “Wer r u?”
Me: “Am electrified.”
#8: “No, I think ur bored.”

Bliss!

The source of all good

Festival of Ayyám-i-Há

Bahá’í children and women singing and dancing in Katumba, Rwanda, 2000. Image source: Media.Bahai.org

BAHÁ’ÍS AROUND the world are now celebrating the cheerful festival of Ayyám-i-Há, a 4-day (5 in leap year) preparation for the annual Fast. Every year, it begins at sunset of 25 February and ends at sunset on 1 March as a time for good will and charity amongst the Bahá'ís, their friends, and families. It is the Bahá'í gift-giving season, just as Christmas is the Christian gift-giving season, but without the mad commercial rush for shopping.

The Bahá'í calendar of 19 months of 19 days needs 4 extra days (5 in leap years) to equal a solar year of 265 days. In revealing this calendar, the Báb, Forerunner of Bahá’u’lláh, the Founder of the Bahá'í Faith, did not say the exact placement of those extra days. Bahá’u’lláh specified them as intercalary days, or days that do not belong to any month. These are Ayyám-i-Há.

Bahá’u’lláh has said of Ayyám-i-Há:

Let the days in excess of the months be placed before the month of fasting. We have ordained that these, amid all days and nights, shall be the manifestations of the letter Há, and thus they have not been bounded by the limits of the year and its months. It behoveth the people of Bahá, throughout these days, to provide good cheer for themselves, their kindred and, beyond them, the poor and needy, and with joy and exultation to hail and glorify their Lord, to sing His praise and magnify His Name, and when they end—these days of giving that precede the season of restraint—let them enter upon the Fast.

SIGHTED SITE : Tribal Route, Mumbai

NESTLED AMONGST cottages in a quiet seaside village in suburban Mumbai is a pleasant surprise: a fabulous arts and crafts store called Tribal Route. It sells Indian stuff seldom found in the big sprawling concrete jungle of Mumbai (like contemporary terracotta sculptures that stand so precariously and huge incense sticks in such scents as coconut, strawberry, and ylang-ylang). I got a roughly finished Nepalese mask depicting some royal personage; it now sits prettily on my living room shelf with a Tibetan mask of a lama (Buddhist priest) that I found elsewhere.

Finding the shop is tough: the village (called Aram Nagar) is tucked away from the main road along the Arabian coastline, and the cottages are not numbered in sequence. This is what the owners, Nihar Mehta and Mamta Mamta, have to say about the village:

Aram Nagar II, which in the mid 1930s, was INS Ghansoli, or “camp” as it is popularly called, which served as army barracks during the British rule. Around 1947, it got converted into refugee camps, during the Partition, in the heart of Versova (a quiet suburb of Bombay, which has a history that goes back to the Portuguese rule in the 16th century!)

Meandering lanes, fruit and palm trees, mud roads, two famous temples (the Amba Mata Mandir and the Ganpati Mandir), two huge playgrounds, 400 cottages, the Arabian Sea across the main J.P. Road, and the famous Vesave fishing village down the road, where the inhabitants can tell tales of the freedom wars between the British and the Marathas. This is what makes Aram Nagar 2 what it is, special, an experience, probably the only last few acres of land untouched by land poachers! (Well maybe the heritage society would like to step in, and help conserve this.)

Such effusive history is the perfect backdrop for this hard-to-locate store (actually two shops, one selling furnishings, the other selling bric-a-brac). It is fun to shop: compact, colorful, and cheery. The collections are one-of-a-kind, so the merchandise mix keeps evolving. I had a glimpse of the huge storage area; there seems so much more to be displayed, and that is reason enough to check the store every so often.

The store is an obvious labor of love by Nihar (an interior designer from Mumbai) and Mamta (a fashion designer from Delhi). Dotting the walls, for example, are miniature masks that belong to Nihar's private collection. During my visit, I had chai (tea) and chat with them over things creative at the upper-storey majlis (terrace) shaded by an ancient mango tree (I think it's a mango tree). This weekend, they plan to have a wine-tasting affair with customers and colleagues to celebrate the Hindu festival of Holi.

Tribal Route is one great way to explore the suburbs of Mumbai and enjoy the diversity of crafts in this country.

Tribal Route
18 & 2 Aram Nagar 2, J.P. Road, Versova, Andheri (W)
Mumbai 400 061, India
Telephone +91 9324 278 505

We won!

The winning piece, designed by Neha Suchak.

MY COLLEAGUES and I spent Friday evening in New Delhi in the company of the high and mighty of India's visual merchandising and retail design industries. It was POP Asia's first VM&RD Retail Design Awards night, and we took home two awards!

Our first award of the night was for the best hypermarket. The team cheered when HyperCity was announced as nominee and then again as winner. I knew we would win: HyperCity created history in India as its first international and real hypermarket. The citation was worth it and delightful.

As the nominees for the best window display flashed on screen, it thrilled me to see how smaller retailers could execute such remarkable windows. All of them were winning pieces. When our “Do Your Denim” window display (set up last June) was selected as the year's best, the team went on screaming mode. Neha, who designed the winning theme, and I went up on stage to collect the award—a well deserved one, I think, and a strangely designed one, I think. It looked like a skyscraper about to melt under the harsh sun. I told the audience that it was “a fantastic encouragement to the industry” (a subtle reference to the fact that my company leads the industry), and pointed to the screaming team at the back of the room.

The melting building will be displayed in our office to join countless other awards, but this one stands out: it is the first ever that the company has collected for visual merchandising!

Two fantastic awards, a fun raucous team, and heavenly tikkas and kebabs made for a lovely evening in New Delhi.

FOCAL POINT : Jen Wang, “Dance of the Flight Attendant”

ASIAN-AMERICAN COMIC-BOOK Artist Jen Wang (b.1984) has injected Asian grace and humor into the most mundane of travel activities. See the brilliant mind of this artist on the well-written (and drawn) Dance of the Flight Attendant.

RELATED SITE : Jen Wang's Website

SMS and SM malls

SM Mall of Asia, Pasay City, Philippines: the third largest mall in the world with 4.2 million square feet. Image source: Forbes.com

THREE OF the world's 10 largest malls are in the Philippines, according to Forbes Magazine this month. The trio belongs to SM Group, one of the oldest organized retailers in the country. Quite a distinction for a land driven by a strong spirit of communal activity. (We Filipinos call it the bayanihan.)

Add the fact that the Philippines has the most number of text messages sent daily. Imagine text messages being sent from those gigantic malls with all their state-of-the-art facilities (including chapels, health clinics, and an Olympic-sized swimming pool in SM Mall of Asia).

These trends make me wonder (and I fear any affirmative answer): have urban Filipinos stopped making personal conversations with each other? And have they turned the shopping mall into the modern village they live in?

Mumbai Marathon 2007

Image source: Tata Interactive Systems

I DID IT. I ran today's Mumbai Marathon. Well, I did not actually run the entire 21 kilometers comprising the half marathon, but the twelve kilometers that I managed in two hours and fifteen minutes is the longest distance that I have ever run since junior high school. And this is a personal benchmark that I will never forget or ignore.

Organized by Standard Chartered Bank, the Mumbai Marathon was meant to provide Indians (and non-Indians) with an opportunity to run for a cause. Now in its fourth year, the event has shown statistical growth (close to 30,000 athletes and amateurs versus 25,000 last year) that strengthens its claim as Asia's largest marathon. It has attracted a number of NGOs supporting a variety of causes, from awareness for the disabled to nature conservation.

My employer pledged to run for the cause of child rights. Fifteen of us, including the managing director, showed up this morning, and we started the race along the rim of the Arabian Sea. I vowed to savor the whole event as it might be my last race in India (or my last one ever, period). Initially, we planned to walk the miles, but as the race progressed, I decided to join the fervid running crowds and meet my colleagues elsewhere after the race.

When I made my way up a bridge, an elderly couple carried a small piece of paper scribbled with “You can do it”.And run I did, albeit slowly. I did not physically prepare for the marathon, so I took turns walking and running—and savoring Mumbai’s morning streetscapes. The views from the boulevards were stunning! Façades I had only seen in a passing car were now in clear focus under the shimmering light of the rising sun. There’s the Victoria Terminus! And here, the Hilton Towers! Over there is the seaboard, and beyond the sea, the Malabar Hill skyline! And did I tell you about the Art Déco buildings of Marine Drive and the Parsi houses of Peddar Road?

But more impressive was the show of public spirit. Volunteers cheered us on from the sidewalk with placards, bottled water, candies, and music. Children and their parents waved from balconies. Around me were screams of delight whenever friends met each other along the way. When I made my way up a bridge, an elderly couple carried a small piece of paper scribbled with “You can do it”. I paused and thanked them. “I think I can do it,” I smiled back.

On two separate occasions, strangers asked where I came from. “Shopper’s Stop”, I replied without missing a beat. Of course I knew they were referring to my nationality, as there were lots of non-Indians running. But I wanted to make a plug for my company’s participation. There were groups of people running, or walking, together in bright shirts blazoning their organizations. Several teams even carried huge banners. I passed by a man loudly asking on his mobile phone where the rest of his colleagues were.

As we approached the eight-kilometer mark, the professional long-distance athletes began to emerge on the other lane. Spectators and runners began cheering wildly. By now my steps were getting wobbly, my right sole feeling raw. But the sight of those athletes who run through pain made me push harder. I knew I must not give up, and I was going to make it through another two kilometers.

When my colleagues made their way past Hajji Ali Juice Centre, we all knew we must stop: it was the halfway mark of the marathon. I was ahead of them, so I detoured and sped up to meet them. Congratulating each other, we paused for photos and cool fruit drinks. We did it.

And I did it. I ran a marathon.

Goodwill ambassador

“DON'T WORRY, you're not the only one who won't be voting in May,” reassured the voice on the other end of the telephone line this morning. She was referring to this year’s legislative elections in the Philippines, and I was telling her my regrets at being unable to meet the voting registration deadline for overseas Filipinos. I was masking my irritation at not having received any embassy advisory on the registration schedules—and at the fact that my twenty-year record of participating in Philippine general elections would be broken this time—by trying to sound calm and diplomatic. The other voice on the phone, after all, belonged to a diplomatic agent. She was Mrs. Laura del Rosario, Philippine Ambassador to India.

She called me up. More accurately, she responded to my phone call earlier today to the embassy’s duty officer, in which I made my disappointments very clear. “Like you, I will miss the polls,” she explained, “because I will move to Hanoi in March and it will be too late to register myself in that place.” This was enough to placate me. Simply put, if the official representative of my country’s government misses the vote, then why am I fretting?

“There are 439 Filipinos registered in the embassy. 439! Isn't that interesting?”Her voice was warm, maternal, and engaging. It was almost like talking to a former high school teacher. She spoke about recent events that the embassy hosted, and gave me names of Filipinos I could—and must—connect with in Mumbai and Hyderabad. “There are 439 Filipinos registered in the embassy, and most of them are wives of Indians. 439! Isn’t that interesting?” It is interesting and remarkable, considering that there are over 10 million overseas Filipinos worldwide (making us the third most internationally mobile nationality after the Chinese and the Indians). India seems to vanish from the map every time a Filipino decides to leave the Philippines and chooses a country of destination.

I promised Ambassador del Rosario that I would try to meet the embassy staff the next time I visited Delhi. The ambassador may no longer be in India by then, but the refreshing conversation with her this morning leaves me with a pleasant memory of her goodwill and the confidence that the Philippines is being represented very well in the diplomatic circle.

From mills to malls

Phoenix Mills. Image source: Paul Ancheta

RIDING PAST the sprawling Phoenix Mills complex in south Mumbai, my driver Santosh announced that his father worked at a cotton mill for thirty years. “He was boss [supervisor] in that big mill,” he said, “until the strike happened.” Santosh was referring to a milestone that began exactly 25 years ago, when a quarter million workers at over 50 textile mills in the city went on strike to demand a better future. It ended in failure eighteen months later. The city’s 128 year-old mill industry began to close shop; the workers lost their jobs and, for most of them, the future that the strike was all about. Santosh’s father was one of them.

I asked Santosh to stop the car at the foot of the flyover bridge outside Phoenix Mills, and stared at the round chimney towering within the complex. It was part of the original Phoenix Mills—in fact, it may be the only thing left of a facility that helped make Bombay's textile milling one of Asia's busiest manufacturing industries during the twentieth century. Those were the days when citizens in Bombay seemed to have a fair share of the right to earn and sustain a living.

Today, the chimney stood decrepit yet proud of a romantic heritage of industrial might. Circling it are swanky retail spaces and banners of international brands. Farther down the road, high-rise commercial towers are rising up on hundreds of acres of land that once housed other mills. Real estate experts estimate that this land is worth an estimated USD 2 billion at today's prices. The high rise has replaced the chimney as a postcard image of a modernized city.

The transition from chimney to high rise is sharp and almost harsh. I can imagine how painful it must have been for the mill’s workforce to see the abrupt transition, as they now had to contend with a service sector that was rapidly growing and required a completely different skill set. But sudden and dramatic change is constant. We cannot keep ourselves away from it. We move on with it and adapt to contemporary realities as part of our continuing evolution as human beings.

The experience at Phoenix Mills has made me appreciate once more what Bahá’u’lláh, the Prophet Founder of the Bahá'í Faith, refers to when He declares that, just as lesser living things have times of sudden emergence into new and fuller life, so for mankind also a “critical stage,” a time of “rebirth,” is at hand.

As 2007 rolls in

IN THIS NEW YEAR,
may you celebrate your birthday
     celebrating the sunrise and the sunset
     that will shine brightly with your birthday.

May your health increase
     exponentially with your wealth
     so that you can pay the bill
     to get a clean bill of health.

May your blood pressure,
     your cholesterol, and your flat lease
     never rise,
and may your cheeks,
     your teeth, and your stocks
     never fall.

May you travel around Mumbai or Manila or Mongkok
     during rush hours with ease,
and when you get to Mumbai or Manila or Mongkok
     during rush hours with ease,
may you find space to park your car
     or space to share your space
     with another car.

May you live at peace with your neighbor,
     your in-laws, and your colleagues,
and may the person you see in the mirror delight you
     and the person others see in you delight them.

May someone love you enough
     to accept your faults
     and see you beyond your faults
     and tell the world the virtues
     that he or she has seen.

Above all, may you continue to smile,
and may your days and nights be filled with laughter.

May that laughter quicken the zeal
     and rekindle the hopes of the person next to you
     and lead that person to laugh and smile with you.

And if grief visits you,
may you rise above it, brave and undisturbed,
     ever so confident and trusting
     in the abounding grace of God.

May you have
     a delightful,
          blissful,
               prayerful
                    2007.

Love,
:: Paul A.

Listen to ”Man In The Mirror” performed by Rockapella.

Remembering the tsunami

THE DAY I arrived in Bangkok to begin work on a project, the depression in the city was palpable. Four days earlier, a deadly tsunami hit the country and took with it, amongst thousands, the only son of the much-loved Princess Ubol Ratana, eldest daughter of the king. The traditional Bangkok Countdown marking New Year's Eve was cancelled. The city streets bustled with holiday tourists, but the familiar fever of a festive season was gone. The city—nay, the country, the entire region was in mourning.

This week, nations struck by the Indian Ocean tsunami commemorated the second anniversary of the catastrophe . . . only to be reminded of the fragile status of the region's relief systems when severe flash floods and mudslides hit the Indonesian island of Sumatra and an undersea earthquake threatened northern Philippines.

“O army of God!
When calamity striketh,
be ye patient
and composed.
With perfect confidence
in the abounding
grace of God,
brave ye
the tempest
of tribulations
and fiery ordeals.”
—‘Abdul’l-BaháAs a Southeast Asian, I have been used to natural disasters of varying scale and form. However, the magnitude of destruction of life and property has made the Indian Ocean tsunami the most unimaginable disaster of my generation. What hurt me most was that much of this loss of precious life could have been avoided had there been effective communication channels between the many tsunami monitoring centers around the world. The former director of one of these centers said on the radio the morning I arrived in Bangkok that they had nobody to relay the news of the impending disaster to in Sri Lanka, India, and the rest of Southeast Asia. In the age of information, such statement of fact became unbearable; suddenly, the term “globalization” showed to me its premature, farcical nature.

The tragedy is yet another divine proof of the world of humanity being at one with the world of nature. My visit to Thailand, and subsequently to Cambodia, reaffirmed my belief in the spiritual nature and destiny of Southeast Asia, as shared in the musical production that I co-produced called Breezes and Bridges. Presented onstage eight weeks before the tsunami, the production showcased the spiritual ties that bind the most diversified region of the world.

My first year in India

TODAY MARKS my first year in India.

One year ago, I was lodged in Mumbai's northern suburb Powai and writing my family about the previous night's safe journey from the United Arab Emirates.

Dearest all,

Allah-u-Abha!

I have arrived safely in Mumbai. I felt like travelling in Cebu [cenral Philippine city]! The roads, the trees, the CROWDS, the climate—all are very provincial. Today I will sort out formalities (registration at the Foreigners Registration Office, Philippine Consulate, etc) and get my cargo in.

I am lodged at The Residence Hotel, which is right in the middle of mountains and forests, really, like Antipolo [hill town outside Manila]. The rent on my flat will start on Sunday, 1 January, so I will be in the hotel until then. If you want to hear my lovely voice, you can call me at +91 (22) 2857 5000 at room 707.

Once I get my new SIM, I will text you my new cell phone. Until then, Happy New Year to you!!!

Love,
:: Paul A.

Revisiting another letter that I wrote my friends, I realized that I still carry with me the same fervor that I had a year ago, and that there is still something I need to fulfill.

I have previously been to Mumbai and seen its glorified wealth and stratospheric poverty, so I know that this is the place I want to be in.

This is where I can have a deeper impact, where the balance of my spiritual and material development will again be tried, tested, and put to work.

I will carry with me new insights that I gained in the United Arab Emirates about human interaction and moral leadership, and the beauty of Islam as manifested in the grassroots way of life. (No, I have not converted to Islam, but I love the Teachings!)

Until then, Salam alaikum (Peace be with you) . . . and Merry Christmas!

The season of Christmas

Image source: Krystyna Kasmil

'TIS THE season to be jolly, merry, and bright, so may you all have a week of joy, goodwill, marzapans, fruit cakes, and big hugs from your families and friends!

Here are three of my favorite things to share with you this season:

• Poinsettias from Polish photographer Krystina Kasmil's collection. Her recent portfolio consists of candids of others taking shots of others. View her splendid portfolio of people. The last time I took a picture of someone taking a picture of another one, I realized that that other one was taking a picture of me!
• Forty ways of greeting the globe this season. See how it all piles up.
• “Sleigh Ride” from Leroy Anderson. My perennial favorite, no other song captures the “have giddy-yappity fun with the snow while it lasts” spirit of December. If there is another one, please let me know! Listen to Laverne Butler's superb take on it, from the 2001 compilation CD Max Jazz Holiday.

The night before Christmas

FOUR BIG things happened in the last four weeks:

1. My niece Angelica visited me in Mumbai. On these festive days in India (Diwali and now Christmas), being with a family member allows me to grasp the spirit of kinship that the Indians are celebrating with the season.

Angelica, the oldest of my nephews and nieces, stayed for only a day. After shopping for silk scarves at Bandra, a mainly-Christian suburb with funky streetside fashion markets, we spent the rest of the afternoon getting pampered at Abydoss, a wellness center that looks like a house. It was quite pricey, but the relaxation treatment diverted me from thinking of the major disappearance of cash in my wallet.

2. I moved to a new flat. The landlord of the old flat needed to reclaim it, so I had to pack up and move in 24 hours. Fortunately, there was little to pack up, so the move went smoothly.

But not peacefully. Moving houses, it appears, is also a time for noisome celebration in India. From beginning to end, the movers—ten brawny men who could cut rope with their fists—spoke incessantly with each other in Hindi, often at the same time. Their team leader took turns screaming at them and screaming at some poor chap at the cell phone. He was, naturally, being ignored by his team, which made him scream louder.

Two weeks later, my boxes are still unpacked. You know how it is to see a pile of stuff you know you need to adrress and then decide to delay it a little bit because something more pleasant always comes in between. It is called the art of procrastination, and unpacking has got to be listed as one of the world's most procrastinated things.

3. We set up Christmas displays in the stores. It was a colorful affair, with three-dimensional Santas, reindeer, snow, trees, and elves filling the windows, entrances,and staircases. It was also a gigantic test of crisis management and perseverance for me, as I had to deal with a contractor whose sense of timing went berserk and messed up deadlines. To begin with, his snowmen (made of plaster of Paris) kept flaking off, so they looked like they were melting. At one point, I wanted to turn him into a reindeer and make him fly away. Forever.

4. We opened a new store in the northern city of Lucknow. It is the third store that I helped set up during my first year in India. There were lots of fun bonding with my northern team . . . and lots of dust settling in the mugs that we displayed at the entrance. One day, I will write a screenplay about dust in mugs and how they strengthen human bonding. Cesar Buendia will direct it.

Oh, what fun it is to ride and sing a slaying song! Uh, I mean sleighing.

Two things you must know

WHEN YOU are stuck in a conversation with a CEO or the wife of the prime minister and you don't know what else to say, tell them two things:

1. The Georgian word for “frog croaks in the water” is “cbakhi tskhalshi khikhinebs”. You must practice this thoroughly because the Georgian language is famous for the “kh” sound, which is a strangled aspirated glottal sound that appears four times in “cbakhi tskhalshi khikhinebs”.

2. Also, the Inuit Eskimo word for “I just have to give up drinking” is “Imminngernaveersaartunngortussaavunga”. It is most impressive if you say this with your lips not touching each other and your left eyebrow arched.

There. I hope you learned something new and useful today.