Looking to get down-and-dirty

MY WEEK

Why let auto journalists (or blondes) have all the fun, I thought to myself as I charmed my way into procuring an invite to get down-and-dirty with the boys at the annual Business Standard Motoring Slush Fest. I thought I heard a grudging "no women please, they take attention away from the cars," but let that duly pass. Getting a chance to floor not one, but four SUVs off-road through slush, slime and slope and coming back home looking like I had spent the day mud-wrestling a crocodile... I wasn't about to let anyone bully me into doing a volte-face. As luck would have it, slush there was none because the rain gods were on a weeklong sabbatical, but between Bijoy's (Ringmaster, BSM) showman jumps, encounters with the pleasures of oversteering, spinning and stalling, heroic splashing through the only water body (read puddle) we could find, and a day of pretending to be one of the motley crew, I returned beaming. Okay so my average lap speeds trailed everybody else's, my opinion wasn't sought on whether a particular SUV was trash or treasure and my clothes, alas, were still clean, but at least there was that nasty sunburn to show for war wounds.

WEDNESDAY
I am halfway through a real estate lead story and I am amazed at the changing face of the market. No more is it represented by joker-brokers. The government's reform charter has opened the field to suave developers, canny foreign fund managers and savvy professional services. They are all quick to return your calls, eager to supply you with reams of information and are generally media-friendly. There is an increasing sense of professionalism, discipline and credibility and the investor, not to mention the consumer, is cheering on. The only weak link seems to be the Indian architects, who apparently are as inaccessible as they are in short supply. "You can't get a Gujral or a Contractor on the phone; it's often simpler to bring in the best foreign practice," said one developer.

FRIDAY
Attended the India launch of Bombay Jadoo, a photographic tribute by well-known New York-based photographer Betsy Karel to the city she says freed her spirit from the shackles of a privileged but sheltered western life. The quality of the book is what you'd expect from Steidl, now known as one of the most distinctive voices in art and photography publishing. The book itself resonates with the soul of the city's humanity captured in an intensely personal manner in black and white. What struck me glaringly, though later, was what few reference points we have for photography in India, even among a so-called informed audience. Photography plays a near negligible part in the exploding Indian art market valued at over $350 million. Karel would've been hard pressed to get helpful feedback out of people. A friend was lamenting, "How can you compare a Betsy Karel to a Dayanita Singh or a Prabuddha Dasgupta?"

ALSO...

Speaking to Karel made me think about Banganga, the 13th century temple in the shadow of 'posh' Walkeshwar. On a muggy October day, an old man began meditating, ritual bathers descended the steps, temple bells started to toll and the sun's rays tap-danced on the water. A sudden burst of laughter filled the air as five boys, bare save for their sparkling smiles, took an untrained dive into the tank ... Banganga is wonderfully out of sync with time.