Breaking Bread at Bellagio

Lake Como’s stillness has been interrupted by an afternoon shower. A look out the window of my room reveals that the thunder and lightning have made the storm sound more aggressive than the pepper of drops turns out to be. But, where the “storm” is lacking in moisture, it makes up in fog. My view, just moments ago, was of three or four hills converging on the lake. Now, there is just a gray cloud, and barely any hill to be seen at all.

I am here for a 4-day workshop at the Rockefeller Foundation study center in Bellagio, Italy. The property is set on more than a few acres of land that have, over the last 500 years, played roles as diverse as that of princess’ villa, Capuchin monastery, fortress, and hotel. Fifty years ago, the aforementioned princess bequeathed the property, with its many villas, landscaped hillsides, Lake Como swimming hole, and views of Italy and Switzerland to the Rockefeller Foundation.

Today, I climbed up the switchback paths to the leftover fortress, followed by bumble bees and scaring up quite a few lizards, to see the view of the other side of the lake. On the way, I passed through a dark, wet cave, and before that, went through a few gardens where it looked like a sane Edward Scissorhands did some handiwork. It is quiet here—perfect for thinking. But here there is an energy to the quietude.

That energy was apparent at dinner. Around the table sat men and women from Tanzania, Thailand, Vietnam, India, America, and Nigeria (and that was just one table of 7). We are all here to share our findings and methodologies from foresight research we’ve been conducting over the past 6 months. But, conversation at my side of the table focused on the World Cup, dowry practices in East Africa, relations between Pakistan and India, and flying times from Milan to everywhere we came from.

Bellagio in the Rain

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Olives and Oysters in Ferney, France

Is this thing on? It's been awhile. Work has been beastly. For months. But let this be the re-start of a concerted effort to write more often.

I'm sitting in an Apart'Hotel in Ferney-Voltaire, France. My friends Lauren and Maz just moved here three weeks ago for Lauren's new job doing something impressive involving vaccines for Africa. When they left DC, they took their 18-month-old son Julian and their 4-year-old Wheaton Terrier, Kine. Now the four of them are holed up eating baguettes in this little hotel across from a Nissan dealership and a horse farm (this is how they do things in France) until they find a proper house.

I left India early Friday morning, and by midnight, I was in France. In the interim, I set foot in four countries: Turkey (Istanbul airport) then Milan (airport then Milan Centrale) then Geneva, then over the border to Ferney. Long day.

Yesterday I revived myself with brie and pain quotidien from the boulangerie next door. Then Lauren, Julian and I sampled our way through the Ferney market, snacking on olives and oysters, white wine, goat cheese and the odd piece or blood orange or salty smear of tapenade.

Compared to Bombay, life here is clean and strangely void of energy. I keep trying to image if I could live here, but everything seems so still. I'm constantly on the verge of taking a nap.

Mumbai Gets an Organic Market

My latest post on Mumbai in the New York Times, originally published April 8, 2010.

Organic cotton: a sensible concept. Cotton candy: frivolous, but delicious. But organic cotton candy — these three words are not natural bedfellows. Nonetheless, the adventurous spirit of the Indian sweet tooth knows no bounds. Now, thanks to a new organic farmers’ market in Mumbai (Nilgiri Garden, Bandra Hindu Association, Linking Road, Bandra West), you can get a natural sugar rush — imagine eating a nimbus cloud that passed over a molasses factory — alongside local, pesticide-free food.

Getting fresh produce in Mumbai has never been a problem; the market often comes to you, via a street cart vendor. But finding organic fruits and vegetables is not as easy. The farmers’ market, apparently the first all-organic market in the city, hopes to change that. Kavita Mukhi, founder of Conscious Food (consciousfood.com), is the brains behind the operation, which will run every Sunday from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. “The goal is to get the whole community, particularly younger generations, thinking about a different way to live,” Ms. Mukhi said. “It’s not about being a fanatic, but helping the earth.”

During the market’s inaugural Sunday in late March, the smell of cilantro hung in the air, and bags of purple onions awaited a willing buyer. Sanjay Pawar, a farmer and member of a cooperative in nearby Nashik, smiled in front of a dwindling crate of plump, striated eggplants. (Farmers can get 10 to 20 percent more for their products by growing organic, according to Mr. Pawar.)

AngelFood, a health food delivery service in Mumbai (angelfoodmumbai@gmail.com), occupied one of two coveted cafe stalls (a booth with a few chairs and tables), and did a brisk business selling vegan quiche and milkshakes, bottled garlic-chive dressing and pita sandwiches. At the macrobiotic cafe, health drinks like “The Alkalizer,” made with coconut milk, cucumber and cilantro, sold out.

Live music, film screenings and organic products like paint, paper, furniture and cosmetics will also be featured.

Big Brother South Asia

I had a business call with a colleague in Karachi, Pakistan last night. The call lasted 15 minutes. We spoke about organizations that are working on infrastructure issues in urban areas. Simple.

This morning I received a text message from my phone company: "You have made a call to ISD CODE 0092 Code.We urge you to exercise caution when calling unknown number and sharing personal details as it can be misused."

Pakistan's country code is 92. I'm curious as to whether this message is government-mandated. Is this for my protection? Or is this to prevent would be terrorists from using Airtel's cell network for its dealings?

Odd, no?

In Mumbai, Reinforcing a Silent Spirit

Photo: Michael Rubenstein

I forgot to post my latest piece for the New York Times! This one is online and it ran in print in the International Herald Tribune a few weeks ago. The slideshow is quite beautiful.



Mumbai, India: Divya Thakur, the founder of Design Temple, a product, furniture and graphics firm based in Mumbai, lives in a three-bedroom three-bathroom apartment behind the Taj Mahal Palace & Tower hotel. A year ago, the hotel and several other city landmarks were the targets of terrorist attacks. Some people living so close to such tragedy and violence may have considered moving, but Mumbai and its people are known for their hardy spirit. Ms. Thakur, 38, didn’t let it faze her.

“I gave my heart to my apartment the moment I saw it,” she said. “I didn’t even think about moving.”

But she did think about renovating. Shortly after the attack, Ms. Thakur began refurbishing the century-old space. Since she moved into it in 2003, the fifth-floor apartment had been doing double duty as her home and office. At the time, the 2,500-square-foot space was big enough to house her growing business and a small team of employees. She had partitioned it, creating a separate entrance for her work space, which was functional, but awkward. After five years, Ms. Thakur was desperate to have the whole space to herself.

Although Ms. Thakur’s designs are often modern and sometimes kitschy, she has an affinity for old buildings and artifacts. The apartment, currently valued at around the equivalent of $1 million (she would not say how much she paid for it originally), is on the top floor, and has 20-foot-tall angled ceilings, a bilevel layout due to an open attic and three balconies.

But, after years of neglect, the place has suffered from structural damage. She wanted to create a better flow and find a way to let in more light. Ms. Thakur’s father, an engineer, brought in people to help on an ad-hoc basis. “Usually you have a contractor, but we didn’t,” Ms. Thakur said. “It’s been hard to do it ourselves, but I prefer the flexibility it allows.” ...

Read the rest on the New York Times website here.

On my Left

On a SpiceJet flight to Chennai. On my right, a man reads a book. On my left: Hare Krishna. Hare krishna hare krishna. Hare ram hare ram. Ram ram ram. Hare Krishna. Hare krishna hare krishna. Hare ram ram ram de de de. Hare Krishna. Hare krishna hare krishna. Ram ram ram de de de. Hare Krishna. Hare krishna hare krishna. Ram ram ram de de de. Hare Krishna. Hare krishna hare krishna. Ram ram ram de de de. Hare Krishna. Hare krishna hare krishna. Ram ram ram de de de. Hare Krishna. Hare krishna hare krishna. Ram ram ram de de de. Hare Krishna. Hare krishna hare krishna. Ram ram ram. Hare Krishna. Hare krishna hare krishna. Ram ram ram. Hare Krishna. Hare krishna hare krishna. And holding beads.
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