“Is the mango season in Bangalore over?” asked Jens as we boarded the flight to Bangalore. I couldn’t hide a smile, and replied back: “It’s raining now, hence it should be over”. I was glad to board the flight back to Bangalore, for so far it had been a disastrous day.
They were my last few hours in the beautiful city of Budapest – the end of the road for me. Waking up at 3:45 am, I looked out of the balcony. In the distance, the sky was slowly turning red. Hatar Ut was deserted, the huge bus stand quiet and still. A few buses and a tram were still parked. The huge Euro Park glowed with neon lights from all the shops. I quickly dressed and did some re-arranging of my luggage. Yesterday night I could not even lift the same. Rita, the lady at the reception had checked its weight and informed that it weighed 27 kg! – remember that I am carrying half of Pragati’s clothes. By the time I set off for the airport, it was 4:30, and the sun was rising (that’s how it is here).
Things started going wrong once I reached the airport. It is turning out to be a day of disasters so far. My watch broke. That’s not much of a disaster, but if you are the superstitious type, you can call it a bad omen. There were hardly a handful of people at the check-in counter, but for those of us, who reached early since we had connecting flights from Frankfurt, the lady at the check-in counter dropped the bomb - the flight to Frankfurt had been cancelled! I had to wait in another queue for more than an hour, thanks to a cribbing British family, who wanted to go somewhere, but was not willing to take a flight through Amsterdam just because their kid threw a tantrum that she did not want to go to Amsterdam! After a half-hour discussion and some stern words from the lady at the ticket desk, they finally shut the kid up and took a flight through Paris. Thankfully, they have put me on a MALEV flight at 7:50, so that I could catch the connection flight. But I still need to get the boarding pass at the gate in Frankfurt. I am open to the possibility that the flight could be overbooked!
The MALEV flight left from Terminal 2A, which meant that I had to do a bit of walking. Not something big for me, but not when you are slugging a 30 kg-odd suitcase along. And to make matters worse, there was not a single airport trolley around. Oh! I love Bangalore airport! The conveyor belt for the checking in the luggage broke down. The bright part of this was that they could not check the weight of my luggage. Hence, no dues so far! But there is a high probability that my luggage might not even reach Bangalore today. At the passport check, the guy seems to have thought that I was a terrorist or sort. First of all, he saw my Indian passport, and asked me whether I was a Hungarian citizen! Then he asked me to wait for about 20 minutes, while he went into the room. I saw him talking to some 5-6 guys in big impressive uniforms – the door was kept open, perhaps so that whatever happens inside would scare the living daylights out of anyone watching. Finally he came outside and said: “No problems!” Well at least I found someone who does not have a problem.
The biggest disaster of the day, if it had happened, would have been solely attributed to my absent mindedness, with nobody else to blame – for I almost flew to Rome instead of Frankfurt. I got into the wrong flight, by entering Gate 27 instead of 26. Luckily, the air hostess inside the flight noticed my boarding pass, and quickly escorted me outside the plane. The MALEV fight (with ‘new age technology’, as the pilot announced – I’m curious) was a revelation. They have one of the youngest fleet of planes in Europe, and have good seats with ample leg room. Everything went smoothly, and we got glimpses of Vienna, Linz, Passau and Nuremberg before we reached Frankfurt…and ran into the storm. It was worse than the Delhi flight, as the aircraft was tossed inside the dark cloud cover. The whole aircraft even plunged into darkness.
It was no wonder then that I was relieved on reaching Frankfurt. This time, we were guided to terminal three, which is usually the bastion of foreign flight. It meant that I got to see some airlines other than Lufthansa. And as is the case a lot of times, there was no security check at Frankfurt.
Finally I’m on the last leg of the journey – on my way back, with bitter-sweet memories of two weeks spent in a beautiful city that many of us in SAP has never seen. Memories of these two weeks are now etched in my mind, and in the 970-odd photographs I took in the past 2 weeks. It is now time to sit back and immerse myself in these memories. Perhaps it was a dream…Suddenly I feel a pang of pain.
The overhead monitor in the flight is beaming the movie “Guru”, and what better words to sum up thoughts on this trip than the song from the movie:
Jaage Hain Der Tak, Hamein Kuchh Der Sone Do
Thodi Si Raat Aur Hai Subha Toh Hone Do
Aadhe Adhure Khwab Jo Poore Na Ho Sake
Ek Baar Phir Se Neend Mein Woh Khwab Bone Do
Let me sleep now...
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 16
My last full day in Budapest! For the past few days I have been roaming around on the Pest side, so I decided to venture out to the Buda side today. The day however started quite late (by my standards) after yesterday night’s heroics – at 9:00 am. But by 10:00 I was in the metro, traveling into the city for the last possible time. For my two weeks over here, the metro has been the source of transit, and by now, I can figure out the metro routes without the aid of a map. Talking of maps, I have managed to tear my second map with constant usage.
Once again, I headed for Vorosmarty Ter. No surprises today – no public performances were being staged in the morning and the Square was deserted. People seemed to have set up their wares on Vaci ut, since the faint notes of a violin was audible. I headed for Roosevelt Ter, and for the umptieth time, to the Szechernyi Lanchid. I could have opted to take the metro to the Buda side, but my obsession with the Chain Bridge won the day, and I decided to walk across it. The day was hot but pleasant and a faint breeze was flowing across the Danube. My first destination was the Budavari Castle on the top of the hill.
The castle can be accessed either by twisted walkways, or more romantically, by a funicular railway. Two cars, Gellert and Margit, take tourists and visitors up to the gates of the Royal Palace. As the car descent upwards, you get to see a breathtaking view of the Pest side all round. On the courtyard of the palace, they were setting up some kind of stalls, completely spoiling the look of the façade. I was of two minds – whether to head into the palace and spend the next few hours immersed in the museum or head for the Fisherman’s Bastion and the Matthias Church. The possibility that today being a Sunday the church might be closed for mass, prompted me to opt for the former option. Before heading into the palace museum, I had to shop for souvenirs. The lady at the shop seemed to be excited to hear that I was from the “far away exotic land of India”. She gave me a might 20 % discount on the souvenirs. As I had vowed to Pragati, I did buy those beautiful Hungarian dolls – in fact three of them (“he is a 30+ guy who plays with dolls” she had remarked).
The palace is another grand museum – in fact it houses two. I limited myself to one of them – the Hungarian National Gallery that houses paintings by Hungarian artists. They may not be as famous as the likes of Picasso, Rembrandt or Van Gogh, but the paintings are lovely and spectacular. I spent a full three hours over there before heading towards the Fisherman’s Bastion. From up here, you can get a beautiful glimpse of the Danube with all her bridges and the sprawling view of the city stretching out on the Pest side. On the backside of the palace, the hills of Buda stretch out, packed with houses on their slope. The grand courtyard behind the castle is famous for the Matthias Well, a drinking fountain famous for its statue of a hunter and a pack of dogs. All the tourists, especially the Chinese and the Germans were going gaga over the superb panoramic view. There were a few Indians too, but most of them had an air of superiority over them and behaved like snobs, avoiding any attempt at socializing – especially the ones who were alone. The families were quite nice, and I even had lunch and a cup of coffee with a couple from Kolkata.
The claim to fame of the Matthias Church, as far as we Indians are concerned is that it is here that Salmon Khan screamed his heart out: “Agar Mile Khuda Toh, Poochhoonga blah blah blah…” in that movie. It is a beautiful gothic cathedral with huge stained glass windows (I admit I’ve got something for them). The steeple is currently under renovation, and hence one is not admitted up there. But the interior of the church is enough to captivate you. The cathedral was extremely crowded with tourists, with some insensitive bunch of people even clicking photos with flashes, in spite of usage of flash not being allowed. I was constantly changing my camera lenses to take photographs. Out of the blue, a group of Portuguese tourists (How do I know? The guide was holding a Portuguese flag to indicate to the crowd where she was standing) suddenly started singing Gregorian Chants. Their voices reverberated into multiple echoes in the vast interior of the building. Soothing and scintillating as it was, the sudden voices made me drop my camera lens! Thankfully, the floor was carpeted and my preciousss lens was not damaged.
The Hungarians are almost like us Indians. Their national sport is something they are not successful in – in this case, Soccer. The Hungarians are however quite successful in other sports (remember Krisztina Egerszegi, the Olympic medal winning swimmer in the late eighties?). The success of the greatest woman chess grandmaster, Judit Polgar, seems to have had its effect in the popularity of chess in the country. In the streets you can find people setting up chessboards, challenging passer-bys for a game of chess. It was a pleasant surprise to see the announcement that a live chess match, featuring live chessmen (now if that is deemed feminist, perhaps I should use “chesspersons”) would be held at 5:00 pm. I stayed back to watch the same. Here was a group of young men and women (some of them little boys and girls), enacting out chess matches on an enormous chessboard. It was an experience unto itself.
I had purposefully purchased only a one-way ticket for the funicular, with the intention of climbing down the hill on foot. My next stop was Gellert Hill and the Citadel on top of it. I climbed down to the chain bridge and continued further south on the Danube Promenade on the Buda side. This was a stretch I had not walked on before. The walkway is flanked by the tramway, covered by the canopy of trees. Cars whiz past the huge old gateways of the palace. Even though the palace (and even the whole city of Budapest) is a UNESCO World Heritage monument, the old gateway has fallen into disuse and is ‘decorated’ by graffiti at many places – a habit which is not restricted to India as we would like to thing.
Towering over the Danube between the Elizabeth bridge and the Liberty Bridge, Gellert Hill was a challenge. The old lady and the gentleman I met at the foot of the hill warned me that I was a strenuous half-hour climb. I smiled at them and said that I would still like to risk it. He wished me luck and I started the climb. The pathway snaked up through the shrubs and trees on the hill. A Hungarian guy had placed a game of chance on a glade in the pathway and a stupid American Tourist was trying to lose his dollars by betting. Soon I started growing tired, as by now I had been walking for 8 hours and I was hungry. I had to rest twice on the way up, but managed to reach the citadel. The statue of liberty towered tall over me. This was the highest point in the city of Budapest.
The souvenir shops had already started closing but there was still quite a crowd around. The reason was the spectacular panoramic view that the spot offered. The sun was also setting, casting its orange glow on one side of the Danube. The whole city was visible from here from one end to the other. I sat there for quite a long time, quietly contemplating the view. Soon, it was evident to me that it was time to leave. This was my last view of the City of Budapest. I got up for the last trip back.
So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, good night,
I hate to go and leave this pretty sight.
As Pragati had remarked a few days back, it always pains to leave from anywhere, and I had finally fallen in love with this beautiful city
Reason argued that I cross the Elizabeth Bridge and take the metro from Ferenciek Tere. But a last wish to walk across the chain bridge took me to Roosevelt tere. Perhaps it was poetic justice, for my last walk in Budapest was to trace back the path me and Pragati had taken on our first day here – from Deak Ferenc Tere to the Chain Bridge.
Observation of the day (rather, the trip): The most common quote by Pragati during this trip: “Are you mad?”
Pic of the Day: “The Sleeping Woman”, a Hungarian painting that hangs in the Palace
Once again, I headed for Vorosmarty Ter. No surprises today – no public performances were being staged in the morning and the Square was deserted. People seemed to have set up their wares on Vaci ut, since the faint notes of a violin was audible. I headed for Roosevelt Ter, and for the umptieth time, to the Szechernyi Lanchid. I could have opted to take the metro to the Buda side, but my obsession with the Chain Bridge won the day, and I decided to walk across it. The day was hot but pleasant and a faint breeze was flowing across the Danube. My first destination was the Budavari Castle on the top of the hill.
The castle can be accessed either by twisted walkways, or more romantically, by a funicular railway. Two cars, Gellert and Margit, take tourists and visitors up to the gates of the Royal Palace. As the car descent upwards, you get to see a breathtaking view of the Pest side all round. On the courtyard of the palace, they were setting up some kind of stalls, completely spoiling the look of the façade. I was of two minds – whether to head into the palace and spend the next few hours immersed in the museum or head for the Fisherman’s Bastion and the Matthias Church. The possibility that today being a Sunday the church might be closed for mass, prompted me to opt for the former option. Before heading into the palace museum, I had to shop for souvenirs. The lady at the shop seemed to be excited to hear that I was from the “far away exotic land of India”. She gave me a might 20 % discount on the souvenirs. As I had vowed to Pragati, I did buy those beautiful Hungarian dolls – in fact three of them (“he is a 30+ guy who plays with dolls” she had remarked).
The palace is another grand museum – in fact it houses two. I limited myself to one of them – the Hungarian National Gallery that houses paintings by Hungarian artists. They may not be as famous as the likes of Picasso, Rembrandt or Van Gogh, but the paintings are lovely and spectacular. I spent a full three hours over there before heading towards the Fisherman’s Bastion. From up here, you can get a beautiful glimpse of the Danube with all her bridges and the sprawling view of the city stretching out on the Pest side. On the backside of the palace, the hills of Buda stretch out, packed with houses on their slope. The grand courtyard behind the castle is famous for the Matthias Well, a drinking fountain famous for its statue of a hunter and a pack of dogs. All the tourists, especially the Chinese and the Germans were going gaga over the superb panoramic view. There were a few Indians too, but most of them had an air of superiority over them and behaved like snobs, avoiding any attempt at socializing – especially the ones who were alone. The families were quite nice, and I even had lunch and a cup of coffee with a couple from Kolkata.
The claim to fame of the Matthias Church, as far as we Indians are concerned is that it is here that Salmon Khan screamed his heart out: “Agar Mile Khuda Toh, Poochhoonga blah blah blah…” in that movie. It is a beautiful gothic cathedral with huge stained glass windows (I admit I’ve got something for them). The steeple is currently under renovation, and hence one is not admitted up there. But the interior of the church is enough to captivate you. The cathedral was extremely crowded with tourists, with some insensitive bunch of people even clicking photos with flashes, in spite of usage of flash not being allowed. I was constantly changing my camera lenses to take photographs. Out of the blue, a group of Portuguese tourists (How do I know? The guide was holding a Portuguese flag to indicate to the crowd where she was standing) suddenly started singing Gregorian Chants. Their voices reverberated into multiple echoes in the vast interior of the building. Soothing and scintillating as it was, the sudden voices made me drop my camera lens! Thankfully, the floor was carpeted and my preciousss lens was not damaged.
The Hungarians are almost like us Indians. Their national sport is something they are not successful in – in this case, Soccer. The Hungarians are however quite successful in other sports (remember Krisztina Egerszegi, the Olympic medal winning swimmer in the late eighties?). The success of the greatest woman chess grandmaster, Judit Polgar, seems to have had its effect in the popularity of chess in the country. In the streets you can find people setting up chessboards, challenging passer-bys for a game of chess. It was a pleasant surprise to see the announcement that a live chess match, featuring live chessmen (now if that is deemed feminist, perhaps I should use “chesspersons”) would be held at 5:00 pm. I stayed back to watch the same. Here was a group of young men and women (some of them little boys and girls), enacting out chess matches on an enormous chessboard. It was an experience unto itself.
I had purposefully purchased only a one-way ticket for the funicular, with the intention of climbing down the hill on foot. My next stop was Gellert Hill and the Citadel on top of it. I climbed down to the chain bridge and continued further south on the Danube Promenade on the Buda side. This was a stretch I had not walked on before. The walkway is flanked by the tramway, covered by the canopy of trees. Cars whiz past the huge old gateways of the palace. Even though the palace (and even the whole city of Budapest) is a UNESCO World Heritage monument, the old gateway has fallen into disuse and is ‘decorated’ by graffiti at many places – a habit which is not restricted to India as we would like to thing.
Towering over the Danube between the Elizabeth bridge and the Liberty Bridge, Gellert Hill was a challenge. The old lady and the gentleman I met at the foot of the hill warned me that I was a strenuous half-hour climb. I smiled at them and said that I would still like to risk it. He wished me luck and I started the climb. The pathway snaked up through the shrubs and trees on the hill. A Hungarian guy had placed a game of chance on a glade in the pathway and a stupid American Tourist was trying to lose his dollars by betting. Soon I started growing tired, as by now I had been walking for 8 hours and I was hungry. I had to rest twice on the way up, but managed to reach the citadel. The statue of liberty towered tall over me. This was the highest point in the city of Budapest.
The souvenir shops had already started closing but there was still quite a crowd around. The reason was the spectacular panoramic view that the spot offered. The sun was also setting, casting its orange glow on one side of the Danube. The whole city was visible from here from one end to the other. I sat there for quite a long time, quietly contemplating the view. Soon, it was evident to me that it was time to leave. This was my last view of the City of Budapest. I got up for the last trip back.
So long, farewell, Auf wiedersehen, good night,
I hate to go and leave this pretty sight.
As Pragati had remarked a few days back, it always pains to leave from anywhere, and I had finally fallen in love with this beautiful city
Reason argued that I cross the Elizabeth Bridge and take the metro from Ferenciek Tere. But a last wish to walk across the chain bridge took me to Roosevelt tere. Perhaps it was poetic justice, for my last walk in Budapest was to trace back the path me and Pragati had taken on our first day here – from Deak Ferenc Tere to the Chain Bridge.
Observation of the day (rather, the trip): The most common quote by Pragati during this trip: “Are you mad?”
Pic of the Day: “The Sleeping Woman”, a Hungarian painting that hangs in the Palace
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 15
Today is the Night of Museums. A great concept, where all the museums in the city would remain open throughout the night, and with a single ticket, you can hop on to the umpteen museum buses that ferry people between the museums. The same ticket can be used for accessing all the museums. Quite a good concept since for me today was the Day of Museums, and without such interventions I was no way going to complete more than one museum on this day.
I am a ‘flaneur’ – a wanderer with no purpose to the world. This weekend is one for wandering and today perhaps with its museums was the best time. So I thought. But before the day would be over, I would be proved wrong – for I managed to visit only three museums. When I emerged out of the Heroes Square station, the day had already turned hot. There was no more photography left at the Square after yesterday’s heroics (pun unintended). My first destination was obviously from where I left off last week - The Museum of Fine Arts. This time I got myself a guide book and headed into the museum. With the guide book, I could locate specific paintings that I was looking for. Unfortunately, the Night of Museums program was turning out to be a thorn in the flesh since some of the portions were closed to the public as preparations for the time. I still managed to spend a lot of time in the company of the “Old Masters”. The biggest throng of the crowd was reserved for the temporary exhibition on the Incas – a collection of artifacts from various periods of the Inca Civilization. Pragati would have dismissed it as “all that sh**”, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.
By the time I got off the exhibitions it was nearly 2:00 pm. I had to head to the Hungarian National Museum. But on a sudden hunch I stepped off at Vorosmarty Ut (different place from the one I’ve been mentioning until now). Andrassy Road ran busy in all splendor – as I have already mentioned yesterday, it is the city’s most beautiful thoroughfare. But strangely, both the terror regimes that ruled this country – the Arrow Cross Party during World War II and the Communist regime after that, chose one of the picturesque neo-renaissance buildings as the headquarters for their reign of terror – No. 60 Andrassy Road.
“The deeper we descend into the past, the fewer witnessed remain, oral tradition subsides into silence, memories are lost in the mists of time…” said Alexander Solzhenitsyn. The House of Terror is the Hungarians’ attempt to prevent that. Like the name implies this is not a haunted house, but a museum on the atrocities committed by the two terror organizations during their reign – a memorial to their victims. At the same time, it is indeed a haunted house, as what you experience inside does haunt you. On the outside wall are embedded small pictures of the people who went “missing” during the period. A small wreath and a memorial plaque adorns the wall – a perfect setting to entice the unsuspecting tourist inside for a haunting experience. The building has a dull courtyard that houses a huge Soviet tank. On one side is a huge wall that runs up the three floors of the building. The wall is again dotted with black and white photographs of all the victims of the terror regime. Starting on the second floor with the headquarters of the Arrow Cross Party and their atrocities, you are taken through a journey of terror, from the torture chambers down to the basement prison cells, where hundreds of so-called state enemies were housed while being tortured for days on end. The place is a must-visit for anyone coming over here.
It was past five when I was done with the House of Terror, and I headed for the National Museum that concentrates completely on the history of Hungary, from the pre-historic period to the fall of the communist government. The big attractions however were the temporary exhibitions on Genghis Khan (yep, he and his hordes had conquered Hungary) and the Mongolian Invasion. The museum was in its final stages of preparation for the big night. The good news was that there was no ticket required – only the sticker that I had purchased for the night earlier in the day. And the bad news, a photography ticket cost 3000 Forints – ten times more than that at the Museum of Fine Arts (The House of Terror is one step ahead. They don’t even allow photography, but for good reasons. You can’t have people gleefully clicking photographs in that place). I mumbled to myself as I shelled out the money. The girl at the counter stuck a sticker on my chest which proclaimed “photography allowed” (with a picture of Genghis on it) as if I were some exhibit.
By 6 O’clock there was quite a crowd at the place. A small queue was forming up at the entrance to the Genghis exhibition so I decided to see that later (the queue would have gone by them, I surmised) and headed for the historical exhibitions. Precious time spent at the Terror House came to my aid as I helped out a couple of ladies in identifying some of the figures in the communist regime exhibition such as Matyas Rakosi and Janos Kadar (@ Pragati, Ila and others: I’m not showing off. Just stating what happened). After a couple of hours of history classes, I stepped out and found to my horror that the queue for the Genghis exhibition stretched a few kilometers. A grueling half-hour later, I was inside the exhibit hall. There were a gew guys distributing a newspaper copy. It proclaimed itself as the “London Evening Post”, but was fully in Magyar. I wondered why.
The exhibition was indeed awesome, except for some exhibits – little iron pieces that proclaimed to be some portion of Genghis’s chariot or sword. And people were gaping at these pieces as if they were out of this world. Now how the hell can you say that this particular piece of iron formed the 36900th part of a chariot that existed some zillion years ago? The Mongol Invasion exhibit was another half-hour in the queue. After sweeping every nook and corner of the building for hidden exhibitions, by the time I got out of the museum, it was 10:00. The queues I saw inside were nothing compared to what I saw outside the building. It seemed as if the whole population of Budapest had descended at this place.
The queue at the entrance of the museum snaked around the gardens, and outside I could see more people disembarking from the museum buses that had turned up. It would take a person an hour or two just to gain entry, not counting the queues inside. But these people seemed to be quite enthusiastic about it. One look at the scene convinced me that it would be futile to visit any other museum today.
In front of the main façade, there seemed to be some kind of drama being enacted out. I went closer and understood why those guys were giving away the newspapers. It was a solve-it-yourself murder mystery. It seemed to be the scene from an English country house. A body lay sprawled in blood. A couple of guys dressed as English policemen were hopping around the body. There was even a Sherlock Holmes and a Dr. Watson on the scene. I checked the program guide and found that this would go on until 1:00 pm. I sat down on the steps of the museum for some rest – it was 1 hours since I had started walking. I sat there for almost half an hour, just soaking in the atmosphere. It’s not everyday that you see such enthusiasm to visit museums in the middle of the night. And never in India!
Observation of the Day: Having Ice Tea after a cup of Cappuccino is not a good idea
Pic of the day: Terror has a new address in Budapest – No. 60 Andrassy Road
I am a ‘flaneur’ – a wanderer with no purpose to the world. This weekend is one for wandering and today perhaps with its museums was the best time. So I thought. But before the day would be over, I would be proved wrong – for I managed to visit only three museums. When I emerged out of the Heroes Square station, the day had already turned hot. There was no more photography left at the Square after yesterday’s heroics (pun unintended). My first destination was obviously from where I left off last week - The Museum of Fine Arts. This time I got myself a guide book and headed into the museum. With the guide book, I could locate specific paintings that I was looking for. Unfortunately, the Night of Museums program was turning out to be a thorn in the flesh since some of the portions were closed to the public as preparations for the time. I still managed to spend a lot of time in the company of the “Old Masters”. The biggest throng of the crowd was reserved for the temporary exhibition on the Incas – a collection of artifacts from various periods of the Inca Civilization. Pragati would have dismissed it as “all that sh**”, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.
By the time I got off the exhibitions it was nearly 2:00 pm. I had to head to the Hungarian National Museum. But on a sudden hunch I stepped off at Vorosmarty Ut (different place from the one I’ve been mentioning until now). Andrassy Road ran busy in all splendor – as I have already mentioned yesterday, it is the city’s most beautiful thoroughfare. But strangely, both the terror regimes that ruled this country – the Arrow Cross Party during World War II and the Communist regime after that, chose one of the picturesque neo-renaissance buildings as the headquarters for their reign of terror – No. 60 Andrassy Road.
“The deeper we descend into the past, the fewer witnessed remain, oral tradition subsides into silence, memories are lost in the mists of time…” said Alexander Solzhenitsyn. The House of Terror is the Hungarians’ attempt to prevent that. Like the name implies this is not a haunted house, but a museum on the atrocities committed by the two terror organizations during their reign – a memorial to their victims. At the same time, it is indeed a haunted house, as what you experience inside does haunt you. On the outside wall are embedded small pictures of the people who went “missing” during the period. A small wreath and a memorial plaque adorns the wall – a perfect setting to entice the unsuspecting tourist inside for a haunting experience. The building has a dull courtyard that houses a huge Soviet tank. On one side is a huge wall that runs up the three floors of the building. The wall is again dotted with black and white photographs of all the victims of the terror regime. Starting on the second floor with the headquarters of the Arrow Cross Party and their atrocities, you are taken through a journey of terror, from the torture chambers down to the basement prison cells, where hundreds of so-called state enemies were housed while being tortured for days on end. The place is a must-visit for anyone coming over here.
It was past five when I was done with the House of Terror, and I headed for the National Museum that concentrates completely on the history of Hungary, from the pre-historic period to the fall of the communist government. The big attractions however were the temporary exhibitions on Genghis Khan (yep, he and his hordes had conquered Hungary) and the Mongolian Invasion. The museum was in its final stages of preparation for the big night. The good news was that there was no ticket required – only the sticker that I had purchased for the night earlier in the day. And the bad news, a photography ticket cost 3000 Forints – ten times more than that at the Museum of Fine Arts (The House of Terror is one step ahead. They don’t even allow photography, but for good reasons. You can’t have people gleefully clicking photographs in that place). I mumbled to myself as I shelled out the money. The girl at the counter stuck a sticker on my chest which proclaimed “photography allowed” (with a picture of Genghis on it) as if I were some exhibit.
By 6 O’clock there was quite a crowd at the place. A small queue was forming up at the entrance to the Genghis exhibition so I decided to see that later (the queue would have gone by them, I surmised) and headed for the historical exhibitions. Precious time spent at the Terror House came to my aid as I helped out a couple of ladies in identifying some of the figures in the communist regime exhibition such as Matyas Rakosi and Janos Kadar (@ Pragati, Ila and others: I’m not showing off. Just stating what happened). After a couple of hours of history classes, I stepped out and found to my horror that the queue for the Genghis exhibition stretched a few kilometers. A grueling half-hour later, I was inside the exhibit hall. There were a gew guys distributing a newspaper copy. It proclaimed itself as the “London Evening Post”, but was fully in Magyar. I wondered why.
The exhibition was indeed awesome, except for some exhibits – little iron pieces that proclaimed to be some portion of Genghis’s chariot or sword. And people were gaping at these pieces as if they were out of this world. Now how the hell can you say that this particular piece of iron formed the 36900th part of a chariot that existed some zillion years ago? The Mongol Invasion exhibit was another half-hour in the queue. After sweeping every nook and corner of the building for hidden exhibitions, by the time I got out of the museum, it was 10:00. The queues I saw inside were nothing compared to what I saw outside the building. It seemed as if the whole population of Budapest had descended at this place.
The queue at the entrance of the museum snaked around the gardens, and outside I could see more people disembarking from the museum buses that had turned up. It would take a person an hour or two just to gain entry, not counting the queues inside. But these people seemed to be quite enthusiastic about it. One look at the scene convinced me that it would be futile to visit any other museum today.
In front of the main façade, there seemed to be some kind of drama being enacted out. I went closer and understood why those guys were giving away the newspapers. It was a solve-it-yourself murder mystery. It seemed to be the scene from an English country house. A body lay sprawled in blood. A couple of guys dressed as English policemen were hopping around the body. There was even a Sherlock Holmes and a Dr. Watson on the scene. I checked the program guide and found that this would go on until 1:00 pm. I sat down on the steps of the museum for some rest – it was 1 hours since I had started walking. I sat there for almost half an hour, just soaking in the atmosphere. It’s not everyday that you see such enthusiasm to visit museums in the middle of the night. And never in India!
Observation of the Day: Having Ice Tea after a cup of Cappuccino is not a good idea
Pic of the day: Terror has a new address in Budapest – No. 60 Andrassy Road
Friday, June 22, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 14
The little girl’s gone home. Today morning was Pragati’s flight back to Bangalore. Now I’m on my own for the next three days. I’ll miss her wisecracks and her ‘pearls of wisdom’.
Yesterday’s rain left its after-effects. Or maybe I should mention it as “the day before yesterday”, as it is just past 12 and Saturday has already begun. But let’s not break the chain. It was a gloomy day. Grey clouds still lingered in the morning sky. But the city looked more beautiful – like a maiden who had just come out of the lake after a bath. The waters of the Danube were sparkling like silver. It was overall gloomy in the office too, as most people chose to either bunk or leave early. Peter had left for home after lunch and Frank had to leave shortly after to catch his flight. By 5 O’clock only Gabor and I remained. Soon it was time to say goodbye. As I exited the outer gates of the building for the last time, the office wore a deserted look. Weekend had already started.
I headed for Deak Ferenc Tere, with the intention of exploring Andrassy Street up till Hosok Tere, but I took the diversion and decided to have a look at Kiraly Street first. It was a small and narrow street flanked by huge old buildings on either side. It seemed like a legacy left over from the days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, since I came across cobblestones at some places. Dominating all the old buildings is the Liszt Ferenc (more popularly known to the world as Franz Liszt) Academy of Music, a massive structure situated in a beautiful little square. Once I crossed this building, the complete appearance of the road changed. It had now become a busy thoroughfare with trams and cars whizzing past. I headed for Andrassy Street.
Andrassy is perhaps one of those so-called “main streets” in Budapest – glamour personified. It runs from Deak Ference Tere at one end to Hosok Tere or Heroes Square at the other. As you proceed down the road, the massive column of Heroes Square dominates the horizon. It could perhaps be compared to the Raj Path or the Champs Elysee. The street is one of the busiest, with cars and buses (mostly city tour coaches) whizzing past. On either side massive old buildings housing shops boasting the latest brands, loom up and huge trees provide a canopy for the walkers. The most common sights on this road would be the yellow boards announcing the metro stations that exist under this street and the ubiquitous presence of the yellow-green telephone booths. Unfortunately Pragati did not set her eyes on this street. Else she would surely have forgotten Vaci ut. The magnificent Opera House interrupts these flashy surroundings. Like our trip on Saturday to this place, it was again closed today. Unlike other monuments, this opens only at 4:00 pm and 5:00 pm. As Obelix would have liked to say, “These guys are crazy!”
A huge octagonal intersection called “The Oktogon” breaks the Andrassy into two. The rest of the street from here to the Heroes Square is a picturesque drive, clattered with museums and embassies. Wide cycle tracks covered by a canopy of trees run on both sides. The first museum that you come across is the dark and grey building of the House of Terror – a place that houses the memories of the dark periods of the world wars and the communist rule. Right opposite is the Liszt Ferenc Museum, a small building that you might give a pass by, if you did not consult your map. There are innumerable other museums that dot this street until you reach the run down and dilapidated Andrassy Palace. From here the cycle tracks become cobbled pathways with benches and people walking their dogs. The grandiose Heroes Square stands at the end of the vast street.
Storm clouds were already gathering in the distance. Gabor had warned me that there was another storm expected today at 8:00. Nevertheless I decided to take a risk. Crossing the road here is a momentous task, as most of the motorists give scan attention to the traffic lights. And being a huge intersection, one has to cross at least three roads to reach the square. This was my third visit to this place, but the first time that I was going spend much time over there. Built in 1896, the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier stands in front, but it is masked by the towering column behind it and the immense statues of the people – from Szent Istvan to Kossuth Lajos - who shaped the formation of the country that we know today as Hungary. Conspicuous by his absence was Attila the Hun. For all his “exploits”, perhaps they don’t consider him a hero.
I still had enough time, so I decided to do a round of the City Park, and proceeded towards the castle, that was build across the small iron bridge. This bridge spans a small artificial channel which is used to construct the grand ice rink in the winter. But today, it was empty. The water is held at bay by a dam-like structure. Just beyond this structure was the restaurant, “Robinson’s” where we had had a 2 hour long lunch last week (later mentioned by Gabor as one of the most expensive in Budapest). “The castle” is not exactly a castle by definition, but was a cardboard model built for the millennium celebrations in 1896, and later restored since it became quite popular with the kids. The beautiful Hungarian Museum of Agriculture is seated next to the walls of this castle. The city park, a huge green expanse filled with shady trees stretches out on all sides of the place. I roamed around for some time and met Vijay and his family – a group of Punjabis who were here on vacation. They were quite amused at the fact that I was here for work. We talked about the beauty of Budapest as we walked back to Heroes Square.
It was almost dark now. A few kids cycled around or skated under the watchful eyes of their parents. As darkness descended, even their numbers were dwindling. Quite a few bag-toting men and women were sitting near the tomb, and I realized as before that they were just waiting like me, to get a photograph of the place once it was lit up. The actual lighting up of the square was not an elaborate spectacle as that of the Chain Bridge, but once it was fully lit, it was indeed a spectacle. I set up my newly bought tripod and camera, and started clicking. Of course I, lying there on the ground and clicking the photos, seemed to amuse some of the photographers around. But one look at the photo and they seemed to be impressed.
The real fun started once it became completely dark. Until now, there were hardly few people on the square. But now, it was a party. Young men and women appeared out of nowhere, on bicycles and skates. Music blared from some small trucks which had suddenly appeared. And then the dance began – on skates and on bicycles. It was a spectacle worth the wait. I sat there for long before realizing that perhaps I cannot walk all the way back to the hotel.
The day was not done yet. The girl in the train was very pretty. But that’s nothing new out here – most of them are. She was wearing a simple long skirt, a pink in color with a pattern of tiny roses. She was sitting opposite to me, had a small but distinguishable smile on her lips and a sparkle in her green eyes. But what made me notice her so much was that her eyes lingered on each and every person sitting on the opposite side – including me. It was clear that she was studying everyone - quite a talent that would be to have. She knew that I had noticed. She gave me a smile before getting off.
Pic of the Day: The Heroes Square, built in 1896 to commemorate the millennium celebrations of the country
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 13
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Black copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things…
We all have our list of favorite things. Pragati confessed that in all of Budapest, the shopping street - Vaci ut - was her favorite. I am yet to put down one place as my ‘favorite’. But without doubt, “raindrops” are one of my favorite things. And today, it rained like hell!
It was like being back in Bangalore. Not only because of the rains, but also due to the meetings that filled the first half of my day. The rains came out of nowhere. In the afternoon, we went up to the terrace of the building to enjoy a cup of coffee. The view was nothing as spectacular as the panorama that you get of Budapest from Gellert Hill, but it did give us a bird’s eye view of the Graphisoft campus, with a small glimpse of the Danube. “This place looks better than Salarpuria!” exclaimed Pragati.
There is a small museum next to our office – the Aquincum Museum – which houses the ruins of the old Roman settlement of Aquincum. Until today, I never realized that it was so close to our office and missed a golden opportunity to visit the same – of course, from the look of it; I did not see anybody else doing the same. “After all, it’s just a collection of stones” reminded my colleague, Gabor. As for Pragati, her response was as usual: “Are you mad?” Nevertheless, the place looks quaintly romantic.
In the morning, Frank suggested that we go out for drinks and dinner today – a suggestion readily accepted by us. Gabor suggested a place on the shores of the Danube in Aquincum. “It’s just 20 to 30 minutes of walk from here” he claimed. Pragati’s heart sank at the mention of the walk. We left at five o’clock and started walking towards the main road. “Are we seriously going to walk all the way?” questioned Pragati. I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders. “If that is the case, I’ll just head back to the hotel!” she exclaimed. Thankfully, we stopped at the bus stop and Gabor pointed out a name on the list of stops where we had to get down – it was just two stops down the road.
The bus however, seemed to take ages to reach the place – going round and round the place. After getting down, it was another 10 minute walk, making Frank wonder what exactly “20 minutes” meant over here. The beautiful restaurant was modeled on a boathouse. The river flowed by peacefully. There were quite a few boats anchored to the shores here and there. The steel trusses of the long railway bridge visible from the office sparkled in the evening sun. A few cruise ships and barges cut through the waters on their way up the river to new destinations. We were given a table under the sun, and ordered drinks. There was a wide variety of topics to discuss – Hungarian politics, world politics, beer gardens in Germany, driving to Las Vegas, and ironically, my fondness for rains. There were a few clouds in the distance and I remarked about how the sky becomes extremely dark when the monsoon arrives in India. True to my words, the sky darkened up in a few minutes. This was no ordinary shower. It was a thunderstorm.
Soon we had to scurry inside to take shelter from the forceful winds that lashed across the shores of the Danube. Quite a few of the hanging lights were broken. We somehow managed to find a table in the porch, well away from the torrential rain which had, by now, started pouring down. Fortunately, we had managed to finish the dinner by the time it had started. Our next worry was how to get back to the hotel. Frank and Gabor called for a taxi and were promptly informed that it would be there to pick us up in 20 minutes. Frank’s suspicions about the term “20 minutes” in Hungary seemed to be well-founded since it took the taxi driver ages to appear. They dropped us off on Deak Ferenc Ter from where we could get a train to the hotel, but not before I finally managed to get the glimpse of the beautifully lit Nyugati Railway Station. I pointed it out to Pragati. She seemed to be very impressed, for she immediately asked me: “Which hotel is it?”
Streaks of lightning still dominate the sky. As I write this in the hotel, it’s started raining again…
Quote of the Day: Pragati: “When I was young, I wanted to be a graffiti artist”. When I was young, I wanted to be a train driver (they are called “locomotive pilots” as I’ve already mentioned in one of my earlier diaries. But then, as a kid I never knew that)
Pic of the Day: Graffiti – perhaps one day it would be housed in famous museums
Black copper kettles and warm woolen mittens
Brown paper packages tied up with strings
These are a few of my favorite things…
We all have our list of favorite things. Pragati confessed that in all of Budapest, the shopping street - Vaci ut - was her favorite. I am yet to put down one place as my ‘favorite’. But without doubt, “raindrops” are one of my favorite things. And today, it rained like hell!
It was like being back in Bangalore. Not only because of the rains, but also due to the meetings that filled the first half of my day. The rains came out of nowhere. In the afternoon, we went up to the terrace of the building to enjoy a cup of coffee. The view was nothing as spectacular as the panorama that you get of Budapest from Gellert Hill, but it did give us a bird’s eye view of the Graphisoft campus, with a small glimpse of the Danube. “This place looks better than Salarpuria!” exclaimed Pragati.
There is a small museum next to our office – the Aquincum Museum – which houses the ruins of the old Roman settlement of Aquincum. Until today, I never realized that it was so close to our office and missed a golden opportunity to visit the same – of course, from the look of it; I did not see anybody else doing the same. “After all, it’s just a collection of stones” reminded my colleague, Gabor. As for Pragati, her response was as usual: “Are you mad?” Nevertheless, the place looks quaintly romantic.
In the morning, Frank suggested that we go out for drinks and dinner today – a suggestion readily accepted by us. Gabor suggested a place on the shores of the Danube in Aquincum. “It’s just 20 to 30 minutes of walk from here” he claimed. Pragati’s heart sank at the mention of the walk. We left at five o’clock and started walking towards the main road. “Are we seriously going to walk all the way?” questioned Pragati. I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders. “If that is the case, I’ll just head back to the hotel!” she exclaimed. Thankfully, we stopped at the bus stop and Gabor pointed out a name on the list of stops where we had to get down – it was just two stops down the road.
The bus however, seemed to take ages to reach the place – going round and round the place. After getting down, it was another 10 minute walk, making Frank wonder what exactly “20 minutes” meant over here. The beautiful restaurant was modeled on a boathouse. The river flowed by peacefully. There were quite a few boats anchored to the shores here and there. The steel trusses of the long railway bridge visible from the office sparkled in the evening sun. A few cruise ships and barges cut through the waters on their way up the river to new destinations. We were given a table under the sun, and ordered drinks. There was a wide variety of topics to discuss – Hungarian politics, world politics, beer gardens in Germany, driving to Las Vegas, and ironically, my fondness for rains. There were a few clouds in the distance and I remarked about how the sky becomes extremely dark when the monsoon arrives in India. True to my words, the sky darkened up in a few minutes. This was no ordinary shower. It was a thunderstorm.
Soon we had to scurry inside to take shelter from the forceful winds that lashed across the shores of the Danube. Quite a few of the hanging lights were broken. We somehow managed to find a table in the porch, well away from the torrential rain which had, by now, started pouring down. Fortunately, we had managed to finish the dinner by the time it had started. Our next worry was how to get back to the hotel. Frank and Gabor called for a taxi and were promptly informed that it would be there to pick us up in 20 minutes. Frank’s suspicions about the term “20 minutes” in Hungary seemed to be well-founded since it took the taxi driver ages to appear. They dropped us off on Deak Ferenc Ter from where we could get a train to the hotel, but not before I finally managed to get the glimpse of the beautifully lit Nyugati Railway Station. I pointed it out to Pragati. She seemed to be very impressed, for she immediately asked me: “Which hotel is it?”
Streaks of lightning still dominate the sky. As I write this in the hotel, it’s started raining again…
Quote of the Day: Pragati: “When I was young, I wanted to be a graffiti artist”. When I was young, I wanted to be a train driver (they are called “locomotive pilots” as I’ve already mentioned in one of my earlier diaries. But then, as a kid I never knew that)
Pic of the Day: Graffiti – perhaps one day it would be housed in famous museums
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 12
Pragati’s “10,000 Chinks” are back. Today at breakfast, there was another large posse of Chinese. In fact you find them almost everywhere in the city. Look further, and you will find large groups of them in every other city you visit. I love the way they like to travel.
There are stones everywhere in the office (no, nobody’s got stoned). They line the roadway that leads into Graphisoft Park (the Electronics City of Budapest), they line the Danube riverside, they are also placed “strategically”, here there and everywhere and people even sit on them under the trees to discuss office gossip over a cup of coffee or a cigarette. Look closely, and you will find that each of them have patterns on it – no wonder, since all of them are taken from the ruins of Aquincum. Today, there was this guy (or was it a girl? We couldn’t make out, since we were quite far away) wearing something that looked like a shorter version of a toga, standing besides one of these stones. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of a Roman Forum. No wonder perhaps that Sanay Leela Bhansali tried to pass off Budapest as Rome.
Pragati and I, we never venture out to sit on the stones. We prefer to have our discussions in the confines of the coffee corner. Today, Pragati had a desire to drink coffee instead of tea – a difficult thing to do, since in all the options that are written on the monstrous coffee machine, the only one legible to us is “Cappuccino”. I boldly pointed at an entry on the machine (I don’t remember what it was now) and assured her that it was “Tea”. The machine suddenly whirred into life and deposited something into the cup, mixed with a huge amount of milk. Pragati took one sip at it, and gave me a look that said, if looks could kill she would gladly have murdered me. She went around hunting for a tea bag. I pulled out a drawer to show her a zillion flavors of stacked up tea bags. I also pulled out a couple of flavors for her to choose from, but she wisely declined them.
We had to wait a short while for the bus, during which Pragati found it difficult to stop laughing at my statement that Cochin was a metro. Pragati headed straight back to the hotel whereas I headed for the city. There was a band performing a beautiful Bulgarian dance at Vorosmarty Square, as part of the Duna Festival. I stood transfixed there for a long time. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned back alarmingly. There stood a Hungarian guy and a girl dressed in kurta-pajamas with beads around their necks.
“Are you from India?” they asked. This seems to happen to me everyday, I thought
“Yes, I am” I said
“Which part of India?”
“Bangalore”
“Oh! Bangladesh?” asked the girl (There we go again!)
“No! No! Bangalore. It’s in South India”.
Before she could completely exhibit her ignorance, the guy quickly intervened:
“Bangalore! Ah! Lovely place! I like it a lot. I have been to the ISKCON Temple. It’s beautiful”. The guy introduced himself as Mangal Das, the name he had adopted after he became a “Monk” (the girl’s “name” was Nirmala Devi). He also showed me an ID card of the ISKCON society, which had his Hungarian name on it. Out of courtesy, I introduced myself.
He: “Ravi…Ravi Shankar?”
Me: “Sort of…let’s say”. Going into further details with my surname would have been trouble.
He: “Plays the sitar. You know of course!”
Me: “Oh yes! I know”
He: “Do you also play the sitar”
“Oh no, I can’t play any instruments”, I confessed. We continued watching the performance for sometime more, before I excused myself.
I continued on to Kossuth Lajos ut, and headed in the direction of Ferenciek Tere. My intention was to visit the Dahony Zsinagoga – the Jewish Synagogue on Dahony Street. My hopes were however dashed, as the synagogue had closed at 6:00 p.m. The building was however worth ogling at. It is a huge orange-red structure built in Moslem-style, with two minarets extending up into the sky. I spent a few minutes silently staring at this structure before heading towards Rakoczi ut and the Keleti Palyaudvar – the huge railway station at the end of the street.
Rounding the corner at the junction of Rakoczi ut and Erszebet korut, your eyes fall on the majestic steeple of the Boscolo Hotel. Inside this hotel is housed the magnificent New York Café. I changed direction and headed into the café. It was a beautifully laid out place with the vast pillars and corners gilded with gold. Small chandeliers hung over the tables, and the ceiling sported colorful paintings. I soaked in the atmosphere and ordered a glass of “Budapest Coffee”, casually enquiring to the waitress about what was special about it. “Well, it has milk…and more milk!” she said with a smile. I simply shrugged and smiled back. The coffee cost 1000 Forints, but it was worth the cost!
At the end of the street, situated on a vast square is the Keleti Palyaudvar – one of the three big railway stations in Budapest. Established in 1884, it has an immensely large façade that reminds one of the Haupt Bahnhof in Frankfurt. Statues of James Watt and George Stephenson flank the sides of the entrance. I remembered that tour guide telling me that Stephenson was actually here when the railway station was being built. I don’t know how true it is, considering the fact that George Stephenson died in 1848. Near to the railway station, in a quiet little square, you can find the huge St. Erszebet church. Unfortunately, the church was also closed for the day. I stood staring at the statue of St. Elizabeth and the vast steeple of the church for some time before deciding to head back to the hotel.
Plans to cook something for dinner came to nothing, as we realized that we had no spoons or plates to eat from. So we headed for the restaurant downstairs and had a quiet dinner under the canopy in the garden. “Quiet”, if you leave out the noisy group of Americans at the next table. “Americans are always noisy, wherever they go” - one of Pragati’s pearls of wisdom.
Surprise, surprise! Tonight on the German Music Channel “Viva”, they were featuring “Indische Musik” (or whatever it is called). And guess what they were playing? Himesh Reshammiya’s “Aap ka Suroor”. Talking about “…Suroor”, I did casually mention to Pragati that there is a sequel planned for that movie of his, even before it’s been released.
“You’ll go and see it, won’t you?”
“Why would I?”
“Of course, you like him!”
“No, I don’t”
“Yes, you do! Everybody in office says you do!”
End of argument.
Well, I’d like to lay my hands on this everybody who says “I like him”. Let me just remind you that I started wearing the cap before he did.
Quote of the day: From Pragati: “I have not repeated any of my dresses. In fact some days I have worn two dresses. But still I have not used even half of my dresses”. I’m speechless.
Pic of the Day: In the backside enclosure of the Dahony Synagogue stands the Weeping Willow – a metallic willow tree structure built as a memorial to the Jews killed during the Holocaust.
There are stones everywhere in the office (no, nobody’s got stoned). They line the roadway that leads into Graphisoft Park (the Electronics City of Budapest), they line the Danube riverside, they are also placed “strategically”, here there and everywhere and people even sit on them under the trees to discuss office gossip over a cup of coffee or a cigarette. Look closely, and you will find that each of them have patterns on it – no wonder, since all of them are taken from the ruins of Aquincum. Today, there was this guy (or was it a girl? We couldn’t make out, since we were quite far away) wearing something that looked like a shorter version of a toga, standing besides one of these stones. He looked as if he’d just stepped out of a Roman Forum. No wonder perhaps that Sanay Leela Bhansali tried to pass off Budapest as Rome.
Pragati and I, we never venture out to sit on the stones. We prefer to have our discussions in the confines of the coffee corner. Today, Pragati had a desire to drink coffee instead of tea – a difficult thing to do, since in all the options that are written on the monstrous coffee machine, the only one legible to us is “Cappuccino”. I boldly pointed at an entry on the machine (I don’t remember what it was now) and assured her that it was “Tea”. The machine suddenly whirred into life and deposited something into the cup, mixed with a huge amount of milk. Pragati took one sip at it, and gave me a look that said, if looks could kill she would gladly have murdered me. She went around hunting for a tea bag. I pulled out a drawer to show her a zillion flavors of stacked up tea bags. I also pulled out a couple of flavors for her to choose from, but she wisely declined them.
We had to wait a short while for the bus, during which Pragati found it difficult to stop laughing at my statement that Cochin was a metro. Pragati headed straight back to the hotel whereas I headed for the city. There was a band performing a beautiful Bulgarian dance at Vorosmarty Square, as part of the Duna Festival. I stood transfixed there for a long time. Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder and I turned back alarmingly. There stood a Hungarian guy and a girl dressed in kurta-pajamas with beads around their necks.
“Are you from India?” they asked. This seems to happen to me everyday, I thought
“Yes, I am” I said
“Which part of India?”
“Bangalore”
“Oh! Bangladesh?” asked the girl (There we go again!)
“No! No! Bangalore. It’s in South India”.
Before she could completely exhibit her ignorance, the guy quickly intervened:
“Bangalore! Ah! Lovely place! I like it a lot. I have been to the ISKCON Temple. It’s beautiful”. The guy introduced himself as Mangal Das, the name he had adopted after he became a “Monk” (the girl’s “name” was Nirmala Devi). He also showed me an ID card of the ISKCON society, which had his Hungarian name on it. Out of courtesy, I introduced myself.
He: “Ravi…Ravi Shankar?”
Me: “Sort of…let’s say”. Going into further details with my surname would have been trouble.
He: “Plays the sitar. You know of course!”
Me: “Oh yes! I know”
He: “Do you also play the sitar”
“Oh no, I can’t play any instruments”, I confessed. We continued watching the performance for sometime more, before I excused myself.
I continued on to Kossuth Lajos ut, and headed in the direction of Ferenciek Tere. My intention was to visit the Dahony Zsinagoga – the Jewish Synagogue on Dahony Street. My hopes were however dashed, as the synagogue had closed at 6:00 p.m. The building was however worth ogling at. It is a huge orange-red structure built in Moslem-style, with two minarets extending up into the sky. I spent a few minutes silently staring at this structure before heading towards Rakoczi ut and the Keleti Palyaudvar – the huge railway station at the end of the street.
Rounding the corner at the junction of Rakoczi ut and Erszebet korut, your eyes fall on the majestic steeple of the Boscolo Hotel. Inside this hotel is housed the magnificent New York Café. I changed direction and headed into the café. It was a beautifully laid out place with the vast pillars and corners gilded with gold. Small chandeliers hung over the tables, and the ceiling sported colorful paintings. I soaked in the atmosphere and ordered a glass of “Budapest Coffee”, casually enquiring to the waitress about what was special about it. “Well, it has milk…and more milk!” she said with a smile. I simply shrugged and smiled back. The coffee cost 1000 Forints, but it was worth the cost!
At the end of the street, situated on a vast square is the Keleti Palyaudvar – one of the three big railway stations in Budapest. Established in 1884, it has an immensely large façade that reminds one of the Haupt Bahnhof in Frankfurt. Statues of James Watt and George Stephenson flank the sides of the entrance. I remembered that tour guide telling me that Stephenson was actually here when the railway station was being built. I don’t know how true it is, considering the fact that George Stephenson died in 1848. Near to the railway station, in a quiet little square, you can find the huge St. Erszebet church. Unfortunately, the church was also closed for the day. I stood staring at the statue of St. Elizabeth and the vast steeple of the church for some time before deciding to head back to the hotel.
Plans to cook something for dinner came to nothing, as we realized that we had no spoons or plates to eat from. So we headed for the restaurant downstairs and had a quiet dinner under the canopy in the garden. “Quiet”, if you leave out the noisy group of Americans at the next table. “Americans are always noisy, wherever they go” - one of Pragati’s pearls of wisdom.
Surprise, surprise! Tonight on the German Music Channel “Viva”, they were featuring “Indische Musik” (or whatever it is called). And guess what they were playing? Himesh Reshammiya’s “Aap ka Suroor”. Talking about “…Suroor”, I did casually mention to Pragati that there is a sequel planned for that movie of his, even before it’s been released.
“You’ll go and see it, won’t you?”
“Why would I?”
“Of course, you like him!”
“No, I don’t”
“Yes, you do! Everybody in office says you do!”
End of argument.
Well, I’d like to lay my hands on this everybody who says “I like him”. Let me just remind you that I started wearing the cap before he did.
Quote of the day: From Pragati: “I have not repeated any of my dresses. In fact some days I have worn two dresses. But still I have not used even half of my dresses”. I’m speechless.
Pic of the Day: In the backside enclosure of the Dahony Synagogue stands the Weeping Willow – a metallic willow tree structure built as a memorial to the Jews killed during the Holocaust.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 11
“Lightning does not strike at the same place twice” I pointed out the Pragati. She just scoffed at it. I was referring to her comment that she expected me to be late for breakfast today also. But as I have always said, traditionally, I am always on time to eat. “Without our traditions our lives would be as shaky as, as... as a fiddler on the roof!”
Well, crossing the road is always a shaky affair for me – be it in Bangalore or be it in Budapest. Over here, we have to wait for the walking signal to turn green before we can cross the road, and Pragati had perfected the practice of crossing the road on a red signal. Today was no different for her, but I was left standing on the wrong side, and there she was, laughing at me from across the road, for running back and waiting for the green signal. Once inside the metro, she confessed that she was going to miss the train rides to the office. I consoled her with the fact that soon we will have our own metro in Bangalore. “Yeah, Bees Saal Baad (In another 20 years)”: she quipped.
We had a lengthy discussion about our trip back, with Pragati insisting that I help her with her baggage, and carry some of her luggage:
“You’ll never have 20 kg to carry” she argued.
I protested that I still have my Hungarian dolls to buy.
“I know you will never buy those” she retorted back (under-estimating someone is very dangerous)
“Fine” I replied “But if I find that I don’t have space in my baggage, I might leave it behind”
She looked shocked
“Don’t worry," I said "I’ll put an entry in the Labs India Bulletin Board - if anybody is traveling to Budapest and staying in Hotel Ibis Aero Room 308, please pick up some luggage I have left behind”
You can guess what her response would have been.
In the evening, we decided to go on a cruise on the Danube. On the way, we ran into an old gentleman, who seemed to be excited to meet us.
Him: “Excuse me, you’re from India?”
Us: “Yes”
Him: “Where in India?”
Us: “Bangalore”
Him: “Where is that? Madhya Pradesh” (Huh??)
Us: “No. In South India”
Him: “Ah! Maharashtra?” (!!!)
Us: “No. Karnataka”
Him: Said a lot about Kerala, Tamil Nadu, Hindus, Dravidian Languages and a lot of things, but nothing about Bangalore, and finally wished us “Namaste”. And I thought Bangalore was the new face of India.
The cruise boat was on Pier 8, in front of the Marriott Hotel. “Should be just around the corner” said Pragati, and we started walking. Needless to say, by the time we reached Pier 8, she was exhausted from walking. The cruise was only for an hour, with the lady guide explaining the history of the buildings and the bridges. I remember that she talked something about Margaret (after whom the Island and the Bridge were named), a lot about the medicinal baths in Budapest, the history of the liberty statue, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and how, sadly, most of the families in Hungary cannot afford paid education. It was informative but I just wish her English was more legible…
On the banks of the river were tied various kinds of boats and cruise ships. There was even one which was modeled on a Mississippi steamboat. Some of these ships even act as hotels with their own restaurants and casinos. We could have stayed in one of these, we wondered. Maybe next time ;)
Pic of the day: If only time stood still...
Well, crossing the road is always a shaky affair for me – be it in Bangalore or be it in Budapest. Over here, we have to wait for the walking signal to turn green before we can cross the road, and Pragati had perfected the practice of crossing the road on a red signal. Today was no different for her, but I was left standing on the wrong side, and there she was, laughing at me from across the road, for running back and waiting for the green signal. Once inside the metro, she confessed that she was going to miss the train rides to the office. I consoled her with the fact that soon we will have our own metro in Bangalore. “Yeah, Bees Saal Baad (In another 20 years)”: she quipped.
We had a lengthy discussion about our trip back, with Pragati insisting that I help her with her baggage, and carry some of her luggage:
“You’ll never have 20 kg to carry” she argued.
I protested that I still have my Hungarian dolls to buy.
“I know you will never buy those” she retorted back (under-estimating someone is very dangerous)
“Fine” I replied “But if I find that I don’t have space in my baggage, I might leave it behind”
She looked shocked
“Don’t worry," I said "I’ll put an entry in the Labs India Bulletin Board - if anybody is traveling to Budapest and staying in Hotel Ibis Aero Room 308, please pick up some luggage I have left behind”
You can guess what her response would have been.
In the evening, we decided to go on a cruise on the Danube. On the way, we ran into an old gentleman, who seemed to be excited to meet us.
Him: “Excuse me, you’re from India?”
Us: “Yes”
Him: “Where in India?”
Us: “Bangalore”
Him: “Where is that? Madhya Pradesh” (Huh??)
Us: “No. In South India”
Him: “Ah! Maharashtra?” (!!!)
Us: “No. Karnataka”
Him: Said a lot about Kerala, Tamil Nadu, Hindus, Dravidian Languages and a lot of things, but nothing about Bangalore, and finally wished us “Namaste”. And I thought Bangalore was the new face of India.
The cruise boat was on Pier 8, in front of the Marriott Hotel. “Should be just around the corner” said Pragati, and we started walking. Needless to say, by the time we reached Pier 8, she was exhausted from walking. The cruise was only for an hour, with the lady guide explaining the history of the buildings and the bridges. I remember that she talked something about Margaret (after whom the Island and the Bridge were named), a lot about the medicinal baths in Budapest, the history of the liberty statue, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and how, sadly, most of the families in Hungary cannot afford paid education. It was informative but I just wish her English was more legible…
On the banks of the river were tied various kinds of boats and cruise ships. There was even one which was modeled on a Mississippi steamboat. Some of these ships even act as hotels with their own restaurants and casinos. We could have stayed in one of these, we wondered. Maybe next time ;)
Pic of the day: If only time stood still...
Monday, June 18, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 10
Early to bed and early to rise…that proverb still haunts me. Today, I got up on time, but took forever to get ready. By the time I got down for breakfast, Pragati had finished hers and was glaring at me from the reception.
At lunchtime we discovered that the Deak Ferenc Tere Metro Station has umpteen exits (rather than ‘one’) and we were waiting at the wrong one for Thomas on Saturday. Lunch was not exactly a pleasant experience for Pragati, since she took a complete dislike to all the food items served. For the Hungarians, there’s only one item that goes by the name of “spice” – Paprika (what we call as “laal mirch”). They swear by its name whenever we mention “spicy food”. Well, at least it is better than Germany where “spice” is not part of their vocabulary. Pragati already has a disagreement with the revolving door over here, which never responds to her access card. Today was no different, as she stood there, waiting for the door to move. I watched amusingly from the other side, wondering why she could not see the open door next to the revolving door.
Pragati also made the great discovery that the office shuttle here was air-conditioned, and started questioning as to why we do not have air-conditioned shuttles in Bangalore. I pointed out that not only the shuttles, but also most of the buses manufactured in India were not air-conditioned. The Europeans meanwhile, do not have a choice – all the buses manufactured here are equipped with air-conditioning and they have to put up with it. The bus journey seemed to bring the best out of her as she made one important observation after another:
1. Bryan Adams has made Bangalore his home. He keeps coming back every year
2. It would be nice if the whole of SAP Labs India was shifted to Budapest (comparisons can be made to a similar statement made by Mrs. Shanthi Srikanth, a couple of years back in Germany)
3. My car looks like a bicycle when compared to all the cars over here
I finally got to buy the mini-tripod that I was looking for during the weekend. Thankfully the shops did not close off early today. Pragati had, in the meantime, stated that after all she had to buy that Pierre Cardin watch. We had a short discussion on the street to decide whether we should have a look at the old railway station building – an argument which Pragati won hands down.
I wonder what they feed the escalators over here. Every new one I come across seems to be longer than the previous one.
Observation of the day: Today, nobody asked Pragati for her passport.
At lunchtime we discovered that the Deak Ferenc Tere Metro Station has umpteen exits (rather than ‘one’) and we were waiting at the wrong one for Thomas on Saturday. Lunch was not exactly a pleasant experience for Pragati, since she took a complete dislike to all the food items served. For the Hungarians, there’s only one item that goes by the name of “spice” – Paprika (what we call as “laal mirch”). They swear by its name whenever we mention “spicy food”. Well, at least it is better than Germany where “spice” is not part of their vocabulary. Pragati already has a disagreement with the revolving door over here, which never responds to her access card. Today was no different, as she stood there, waiting for the door to move. I watched amusingly from the other side, wondering why she could not see the open door next to the revolving door.
Pragati also made the great discovery that the office shuttle here was air-conditioned, and started questioning as to why we do not have air-conditioned shuttles in Bangalore. I pointed out that not only the shuttles, but also most of the buses manufactured in India were not air-conditioned. The Europeans meanwhile, do not have a choice – all the buses manufactured here are equipped with air-conditioning and they have to put up with it. The bus journey seemed to bring the best out of her as she made one important observation after another:
1. Bryan Adams has made Bangalore his home. He keeps coming back every year
2. It would be nice if the whole of SAP Labs India was shifted to Budapest (comparisons can be made to a similar statement made by Mrs. Shanthi Srikanth, a couple of years back in Germany)
3. My car looks like a bicycle when compared to all the cars over here
I finally got to buy the mini-tripod that I was looking for during the weekend. Thankfully the shops did not close off early today. Pragati had, in the meantime, stated that after all she had to buy that Pierre Cardin watch. We had a short discussion on the street to decide whether we should have a look at the old railway station building – an argument which Pragati won hands down.
I wonder what they feed the escalators over here. Every new one I come across seems to be longer than the previous one.
Observation of the day: Today, nobody asked Pragati for her passport.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 8 and Day 9
The West End City Centre seems to be pretty famous. You can see its advertisements in all the Metro stations. According to Wikipedia it was, until recently, the largest shopping mall in Central and Eastern Europe. I do not know what they define as “Central and Eastern Europe”, but nevertheless, it should be of quite a big size. So we decided to make our shopping trip to the West End City Centre. The mall is situated next to the Nyugati Palyaudvar – the Western Railway Station. It is an imposing structure built in the old architectural style (as is every other building over here). I pointed it out to Pragati and remarked at its beauty, to which she replied: “It’s rotting” and headed towards the shopping centre.
As usual, I ended up buying a zillion kilo chocolates. Pragati in the meantime, had picked up two bottles of liquor. When her turn came, the lady at the counter asked for her passport, and said something illegible. We stood there looking at each other bewildered. Thankfully, the pretty girl standing behind me in the queue came to our help:
Pretty Girl: “How old are you?”
Pragati: “xyz” (where xyz > 18. Am not sure whether I have the authority to mention her age here)
Pretty Girl: “They don’t sell alcohol if you are under-18”
There were three different expressions:
1. The lady at the counter looked shocked at hearing her age
2. I looked amused at the whole incident
3. Pragati had turned pink
“I can’t believe she actually thought I looked under-18!” she would later remark.
Words fail me…
There was another Douglas Store here, and Pragati had no intention to miss it. There we bumped into one of the store assistants who had helped us out at the store in Vaci ut on Friday. He was quite delighted to see us. And it was here that Pragati had her biggest adventure so far in Budapest – she forgot her wallet, with all the money, and all her cards. Thankfully she realized the same before boarding the train, and we rushed back to the store to claim it back.
Unfortunately, by the time we reached the camera store to buy a mini-tripod for my camera, they had closed. So we decided to shop for souvenirs, and headed for the Szt. Istevan Square. As expected, there were only a few shops open, and the remaining stores were downright expensive. I ended up buying a small bag from an exquisitely laid out shop. Balazs, the gentleman at the counter was delighted to know that we were from India, and professed that he was a big fan of Indian movies – he claimed to have the DVDs of “Haathi Mera Saathi” and “Love in Tokyo”, gifted to him by his Indian friend.
Budapest is a city of parks and gardens – like Bangalore, where we have Lal Bagh and all that. Somehow Pragati does not agree – not with the Budapest’s parks, but with Bangalore’s gardens. The classic Erszebeth tere with its huge fountain and the adjoining modern Deak Ferenc Tere is one such park where the youngsters gather to spend the evening. It seems like a structure that was created as part of some contest, since one can see a plaque proclaiming “Second Prize”. The place has a huge rectangular pool where you can just dip your feet into and relax. We were there to meet up with a colleague of ours for dinner at Salaam Bombay. Unfortunately, he never turned up.
For the naked eye, the imposing structure of the Museum of Fine Arts is perhaps dwarfed by the huge columns of Hosok Tere, or The Heroes Square. But once inside, you are completely transported to another world – the world of history and art. I spent more than half a day in the company of great artists like Claude Monet, Paul Gauguin and Eduard Manet. Pragati was quite impressed by the prices at Museum Shop. There’s going to be some change of plans for the next weekend. The Museum is situated in the corner of one of the biggest parks in Budapest – the City Park. Situated close to the museum is another imposing structure – the Szechernyi Gyorgifuerdo – the open air medicinal bath.
By the time it was evening, the Danube beckoned once more, and I spent the time till dusk, walking along the banks under the imposing Parliament building, and exploring the second oldest bridge on the Danube – the Margit Hid (the Margaret Bridge). There’s an Elizabeth and a Margaret. I wonder whether the bridges are related.
Pic of the day:
Shoes on the Danube – a memorial to the people who fell victim to the Arrow Cross militiamen in Budapest. It depicts their shoes left behind on the bank when they fell into the river after having been shot during World War II.
As usual, I ended up buying a zillion kilo chocolates. Pragati in the meantime, had picked up two bottles of liquor. When her turn came, the lady at the counter asked for her passport, and said something illegible. We stood there looking at each other bewildered. Thankfully, the pretty girl standing behind me in the queue came to our help:
Pretty Girl: “How old are you?”
Pragati: “xyz” (where xyz > 18. Am not sure whether I have the authority to mention her age here)
Pretty Girl: “They don’t sell alcohol if you are under-18”
There were three different expressions:
1. The lady at the counter looked shocked at hearing her age
2. I looked amused at the whole incident
3. Pragati had turned pink
“I can’t believe she actually thought I looked under-18!” she would later remark.
Words fail me…
There was another Douglas Store here, and Pragati had no intention to miss it. There we bumped into one of the store assistants who had helped us out at the store in Vaci ut on Friday. He was quite delighted to see us. And it was here that Pragati had her biggest adventure so far in Budapest – she forgot her wallet, with all the money, and all her cards. Thankfully she realized the same before boarding the train, and we rushed back to the store to claim it back.
Unfortunately, by the time we reached the camera store to buy a mini-tripod for my camera, they had closed. So we decided to shop for souvenirs, and headed for the Szt. Istevan Square. As expected, there were only a few shops open, and the remaining stores were downright expensive. I ended up buying a small bag from an exquisitely laid out shop. Balazs, the gentleman at the counter was delighted to know that we were from India, and professed that he was a big fan of Indian movies – he claimed to have the DVDs of “Haathi Mera Saathi” and “Love in Tokyo”, gifted to him by his Indian friend.
Budapest is a city of parks and gardens – like Bangalore, where we have Lal Bagh and all that. Somehow Pragati does not agree – not with the Budapest’s parks, but with Bangalore’s gardens. The classic Erszebeth tere with its huge fountain and the adjoining modern Deak Ferenc Tere is one such park where the youngsters gather to spend the evening. It seems like a structure that was created as part of some contest, since one can see a plaque proclaiming “Second Prize”. The place has a huge rectangular pool where you can just dip your feet into and relax. We were there to meet up with a colleague of ours for dinner at Salaam Bombay. Unfortunately, he never turned up.
For the naked eye, the imposing structure of the Museum of Fine Arts is perhaps dwarfed by the huge columns of Hosok Tere, or The Heroes Square. But once inside, you are completely transported to another world – the world of history and art. I spent more than half a day in the company of great artists like Claude Monet, Paul Gauguin and Eduard Manet. Pragati was quite impressed by the prices at Museum Shop. There’s going to be some change of plans for the next weekend. The Museum is situated in the corner of one of the biggest parks in Budapest – the City Park. Situated close to the museum is another imposing structure – the Szechernyi Gyorgifuerdo – the open air medicinal bath.
By the time it was evening, the Danube beckoned once more, and I spent the time till dusk, walking along the banks under the imposing Parliament building, and exploring the second oldest bridge on the Danube – the Margit Hid (the Margaret Bridge). There’s an Elizabeth and a Margaret. I wonder whether the bridges are related.
Pic of the day:
Shoes on the Danube – a memorial to the people who fell victim to the Arrow Cross militiamen in Budapest. It depicts their shoes left behind on the bank when they fell into the river after having been shot during World War II.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 7
Cricket in Hungary? You must be joking! So naturally I was surprised when I saw Sachin Tendulkar’s picture in one of the Hungarian newspapers, with an article on “Krikket” and “India”. Over here the biggest sportsperson is the lovely Judit Polgar – the chess gramndmaster, but ironically, as the lady on the bus remarked, “Football is our national game. We were a very good team once, and now we are not”. The Magic Magyars are alas no more. They are yet to find another Ferenc Puskas or Sandor Kocsis.
Today was shopping day for Pragati, and I tagged along. It was back to one of my favourite locations in the city – Vorosmarty Square. Vaci ut (which Gabor had described as “a street set up specifically to loot tourists) beckoned ahead. Pragati had decided that today she would attack each store on Vaci ut, one by one. And no sooner had she reached the place than she darted into the first one. By the time she’d come out of the fourth or fifth shop, she’d not bought anything.
As for me, it was an education in fashion – something that I could perhaps use while “rutting for quizzes” in Herr-Vinai-Schenoi parlance. It was the first time I had seen the inside of a Marks and Spencers store. Until now “the ignorant me” had thought they sold glasses (aka ‘Lawrence & Mayo’, ‘Bausch & Lomb’ etc). My understanding was that “Zara” was the surname of a Shah Rukh Khan Movie. And “Mac”? I’d always eaten them – never knew that they were cosmetics. One look at the prices and I decided that everything in these stores look better as exhibits and not as sale items. Pragati also (self-confession) seems to have changed her shopping habits, since she was looking at the price tags. There was that small matter of buying a pair of jeans at the Zara store, where she could not find a pair that had the brand of Zara in it. My silly suggestion that she stick the bill from the store on the jeans to announce that it had indeed been bought there was met with the usual response: “Are you mad?”
I liked the “Douglas” store though, since this was the first time I was seeing so many products of the so called famous names of fashion – Yves Saint Laurent, Christian Dior, Estee Lauder etc. – at close quarters. The store was set up on the ground floor of a building with beautifully colored tiles on the roof and the walls. But if there was one particular shop that interested me most, it was the one next door to this. On the display window was one of the eeriest “product” exhibitions I’ve ever seen. The scene was that of an enchanted forest. Roots and branches filled the window, as if barely a ray of light would penetrate the forest. An old wizard with a crooked nose was waving his lantern from one side to the other. A cat slept on one of the tree branches. A couple of elves flapped their wings. It seemed to have come right out of Diagon Alley.
We decided to have dinner from one of the cafes set up on the street sides, and headed back to Vorosmarty Square. The place was now extremely crowded, thanks to a superb song and dance performance being enacted out by a band. We found a table under the canopies of the Gerbeaud Haz, right in front of the performing artists. Pragati was completely enamored by their dance performance. The square was now completely filled with families. Kids were freely running helter-skelter, with more than one kid licking on ice creams (Pragati included). We just sat there for almost an hour enjoying the whole performance.
After dinner (or what amounted to it), I took her to the river side, to show her what she missed yesterday – the lit up bridge. And her response: “There can’t be anything better than this”. As for me, this is my fifth trip to the bridge during the last one week, and I can’t seem to get over it.
Observation of the Day:
The Hungarian people are really beautiful. According to an unnamed source, “5% of Indians are good-looking and 5% of Hungarians are not good-looking”.
Pic of the Day: Life is always beautiful when you have no worries
Today was shopping day for Pragati, and I tagged along. It was back to one of my favourite locations in the city – Vorosmarty Square. Vaci ut (which Gabor had described as “a street set up specifically to loot tourists) beckoned ahead. Pragati had decided that today she would attack each store on Vaci ut, one by one. And no sooner had she reached the place than she darted into the first one. By the time she’d come out of the fourth or fifth shop, she’d not bought anything.
As for me, it was an education in fashion – something that I could perhaps use while “rutting for quizzes” in Herr-Vinai-Schenoi parlance. It was the first time I had seen the inside of a Marks and Spencers store. Until now “the ignorant me” had thought they sold glasses (aka ‘Lawrence & Mayo’, ‘Bausch & Lomb’ etc). My understanding was that “Zara” was the surname of a Shah Rukh Khan Movie. And “Mac”? I’d always eaten them – never knew that they were cosmetics. One look at the prices and I decided that everything in these stores look better as exhibits and not as sale items. Pragati also (self-confession) seems to have changed her shopping habits, since she was looking at the price tags. There was that small matter of buying a pair of jeans at the Zara store, where she could not find a pair that had the brand of Zara in it. My silly suggestion that she stick the bill from the store on the jeans to announce that it had indeed been bought there was met with the usual response: “Are you mad?”
I liked the “Douglas” store though, since this was the first time I was seeing so many products of the so called famous names of fashion – Yves Saint Laurent, Christian Dior, Estee Lauder etc. – at close quarters. The store was set up on the ground floor of a building with beautifully colored tiles on the roof and the walls. But if there was one particular shop that interested me most, it was the one next door to this. On the display window was one of the eeriest “product” exhibitions I’ve ever seen. The scene was that of an enchanted forest. Roots and branches filled the window, as if barely a ray of light would penetrate the forest. An old wizard with a crooked nose was waving his lantern from one side to the other. A cat slept on one of the tree branches. A couple of elves flapped their wings. It seemed to have come right out of Diagon Alley.
We decided to have dinner from one of the cafes set up on the street sides, and headed back to Vorosmarty Square. The place was now extremely crowded, thanks to a superb song and dance performance being enacted out by a band. We found a table under the canopies of the Gerbeaud Haz, right in front of the performing artists. Pragati was completely enamored by their dance performance. The square was now completely filled with families. Kids were freely running helter-skelter, with more than one kid licking on ice creams (Pragati included). We just sat there for almost an hour enjoying the whole performance.
After dinner (or what amounted to it), I took her to the river side, to show her what she missed yesterday – the lit up bridge. And her response: “There can’t be anything better than this”. As for me, this is my fifth trip to the bridge during the last one week, and I can’t seem to get over it.
Observation of the Day:
The Hungarian people are really beautiful. According to an unnamed source, “5% of Indians are good-looking and 5% of Hungarians are not good-looking”.
Pic of the Day: Life is always beautiful when you have no worries
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 6
There are only two Indian actresses who are recognized out here – one of them is Aishwarya Rai, whose photo you’ll see in any shop that sells L’Oreal (er…yes, I’ve gone into such shops) and…Shilpa Shetty! I woke up quite late today. Without bothering to rise from the bed I switched on the TV, and almost fell off the bed. Here was Shilpa Shetty on DW (that’s German) TV, in a full-fledged interview, harping all about her self-respect and all that we’ve heard umpteen times before. I wonder why she never had the self-respect to walk off that show in the first place!
There’s nothing much to talk about office, though the guys over here seem to have a quirky sense of humor. In the meeting room, someone had given ample display of his/her talent for drawing with pictures of a cat begging for food and highlighting the similarities between Berndt – whoever he was – and a sparrow. I failed to see the similarity though since Berndt – whoever he was – had a pair of spectacles and beard, neither of which the sparrow had. I try to be serious and somehow succeed. I fell asleep for a short time in the afternoon in what was a drowsy day. In addition to reading specification documents, I also spent a lot of time reading on the Ku Klux Klan (no! that doesn’t amount to Ego Surfing!).
My learning curve seems to be going up. Frank had asked us to confirm with the bus driver as to whether he would stop at the HEV railway station. For the past three days, he had indeed, and hence today we took it for granted that he would stop today too. To our utter surprise, he sped past the station, and finally stopped after the Arpad Bridge a full ten minutes later. To our delight we found out that this route took almost 20 minutes off our travel time. Tomorrow might be a day for experiments.
After dropping Pragati off at the hotel, I decided to head back into the city, with the idea of exploring the Elizabeth Bridge. I had somehow made up my mind that I had to get down at Kalvin Tere, without even consulting a map. It was only after I alighted from the metro that I found that I had got off a station too sooner. Ahead of me lay the dark green Liberty Bridge. But as fate would have it, the road leading to the bridge was blocked. I had to take a round-about way to reach it, during the course of which I almost managed to lose the direction and run over by a tram.
It was once again an evening to enjoy. Storm clouds were gathering and the sun was playing hide and seek and cast its golden glow all around. The Royal Palace was once again, a sight to behold, silhouetted against the evening light. The Szabadság híd or the Liberty Bridge is the third oldest bridge in Budapest, being built in 1896 (the chain bridge being the oldest, built in 1849), and is painted in a dull green color. Gellert Hill - which houses the Liberty Statue and the citadel - towers over the bridge on the Buda side, where as numerous piers dot the Pest side. I crossed over to the Buda side and as usual, walked along the river side to the Elizabeth Bridge. It was the first time I was walking across a suspension bridge. I had missed the golden opportunity (pun unintended) to walk across the Golden Gate Bridge last year, and the KR Puram Hanging Bridge does not exactly qualify as a suspension bridge in my standards. The bridge quivered uneasily each time a huge bus or truck passed by.
To my dismay, I found that my camera was running out of battery. Not surprising since I hadn’t charged it even since I had arrived here. So I decided to shut it down and conserve the battery for the big shot of the day (I would still go on and click 20-odd photos). Roosevelt square was as usual busy with crisscrossing cars and tram. One guy was so enamored by the sight of the trams that he was chasing every one of them for taking photographs – even walking into the tunnel under Roosevelt Square to click them. The place was thronged by tourists, and one look at the crowd confirmed the obvious – that they were all waiting for the same thing as I was – the lighting up of the Chain Bridge.
I sat there on the river side for an hour and a half – listening to the band playing classical music – for the magic to begin. And I was not disappointed. At Nine O’clock, the lights along the roadway blinked on (immediately followed by a long ‘ooh’ from the three girls who were sitting on the edge of the pier). A minute later, the lights adorning the cables came on, and a further minute later, the huge towers were lit up. In the meantime, the lights in the palace were slowly brightening up. A few minutes later, with the lights fully functioning the whole structure was lit up like in a fairy tale. It was another half an hour before I left the place – trying desperately to find a perch to keep my camera for shooting the spectacle. I succeeded only partially.
Pic of the Day: Once upon a time, there was a bridge...
Observation of the day:
Pragati had a look at all the applications installed in my laptop and exclaimed: “Yeh kya? Apne laptop ko Brigade Road banake rakha hai!” (You’ve converted your laptop into Brigade Road)
There’s nothing much to talk about office, though the guys over here seem to have a quirky sense of humor. In the meeting room, someone had given ample display of his/her talent for drawing with pictures of a cat begging for food and highlighting the similarities between Berndt – whoever he was – and a sparrow. I failed to see the similarity though since Berndt – whoever he was – had a pair of spectacles and beard, neither of which the sparrow had. I try to be serious and somehow succeed. I fell asleep for a short time in the afternoon in what was a drowsy day. In addition to reading specification documents, I also spent a lot of time reading on the Ku Klux Klan (no! that doesn’t amount to Ego Surfing!).
My learning curve seems to be going up. Frank had asked us to confirm with the bus driver as to whether he would stop at the HEV railway station. For the past three days, he had indeed, and hence today we took it for granted that he would stop today too. To our utter surprise, he sped past the station, and finally stopped after the Arpad Bridge a full ten minutes later. To our delight we found out that this route took almost 20 minutes off our travel time. Tomorrow might be a day for experiments.
After dropping Pragati off at the hotel, I decided to head back into the city, with the idea of exploring the Elizabeth Bridge. I had somehow made up my mind that I had to get down at Kalvin Tere, without even consulting a map. It was only after I alighted from the metro that I found that I had got off a station too sooner. Ahead of me lay the dark green Liberty Bridge. But as fate would have it, the road leading to the bridge was blocked. I had to take a round-about way to reach it, during the course of which I almost managed to lose the direction and run over by a tram.
It was once again an evening to enjoy. Storm clouds were gathering and the sun was playing hide and seek and cast its golden glow all around. The Royal Palace was once again, a sight to behold, silhouetted against the evening light. The Szabadság híd or the Liberty Bridge is the third oldest bridge in Budapest, being built in 1896 (the chain bridge being the oldest, built in 1849), and is painted in a dull green color. Gellert Hill - which houses the Liberty Statue and the citadel - towers over the bridge on the Buda side, where as numerous piers dot the Pest side. I crossed over to the Buda side and as usual, walked along the river side to the Elizabeth Bridge. It was the first time I was walking across a suspension bridge. I had missed the golden opportunity (pun unintended) to walk across the Golden Gate Bridge last year, and the KR Puram Hanging Bridge does not exactly qualify as a suspension bridge in my standards. The bridge quivered uneasily each time a huge bus or truck passed by.
To my dismay, I found that my camera was running out of battery. Not surprising since I hadn’t charged it even since I had arrived here. So I decided to shut it down and conserve the battery for the big shot of the day (I would still go on and click 20-odd photos). Roosevelt square was as usual busy with crisscrossing cars and tram. One guy was so enamored by the sight of the trams that he was chasing every one of them for taking photographs – even walking into the tunnel under Roosevelt Square to click them. The place was thronged by tourists, and one look at the crowd confirmed the obvious – that they were all waiting for the same thing as I was – the lighting up of the Chain Bridge.
I sat there on the river side for an hour and a half – listening to the band playing classical music – for the magic to begin. And I was not disappointed. At Nine O’clock, the lights along the roadway blinked on (immediately followed by a long ‘ooh’ from the three girls who were sitting on the edge of the pier). A minute later, the lights adorning the cables came on, and a further minute later, the huge towers were lit up. In the meantime, the lights in the palace were slowly brightening up. A few minutes later, with the lights fully functioning the whole structure was lit up like in a fairy tale. It was another half an hour before I left the place – trying desperately to find a perch to keep my camera for shooting the spectacle. I succeeded only partially.
Pic of the Day: Once upon a time, there was a bridge...
Observation of the day:
Pragati had a look at all the applications installed in my laptop and exclaimed: “Yeh kya? Apne laptop ko Brigade Road banake rakha hai!” (You’ve converted your laptop into Brigade Road)
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 5
What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died? That she was beautiful and brilliant? That she loved Mozart and Bach, the Beatles, and me?
I was up late into the night watching what is – arguably - the greatest love story ever filmed. Maybe that’s why it is simply called “Love Story”. There’s nothing in the story – you would have come across it in innumerable Hindi films. But still, it makes you shed a tear. The review of the movie will come later sometime.
“Listen, what are you wearing today?” I asked Pragati when I called her up in the morning. For the past three days, we’ve been wearing identical colors, and I didn’t exactly want another “coincidence”. You might think I’m crazy to have such considerations, and yes, I am crazy in my own way.
Vorosmarty tere is one of the terminuses of the old metro line (Metro 1). It is a small dimly lit underground station, quite different from the spanking and bright stations that you see on the 2nd metro line. The everyday commuter would perhaps not even give it a second glance. But look closer and you would notice that the whole station is laid out in white and brown tiles, as in the style of the old underground stations of London and all other cities. Green ornate metal pillars support the roof. Even the trains have the old look – perhaps the best way to preserve the historic aspect of the railway. I read yesterday that the line is more than a hundred years old.
The exit from the station leads you into the grand and exquisite looking Vorosmarty Square (that’s what ‘tere’ means, I presume). The place is filled with small cafes. A huge statue is almost dwarfed by the buildings all around it. A steel monstrosity (called “Heroes” or something) that claims to be a multipurpose building juts out like a sore thumb amongst all those beautiful old-style buildings. We discovered that this place was near to the Intercontinental Hotel, about which we had had an interesting discussion on Sunday (as to, in how many years with SAP could we afford to stay in such a hotel). A few steps further to the west lead you to the pier on the Danube.
It was raining when we stepped out of the metro station. But now, it had stopped temporarily. The rays of the sun were streaming out from behind the dark clouds, casting a golden glow on the dome of the Royal Palace upon the hill. On my left, with the backdrop of dark storm clouds stood the Elizabeth Bridge and the Liberty Statue (no relation to the lady who stands on Ellis Island). And on the right, loomed the majestic Szechernyi Lanchid – the “Chain Bridge”. I decided to head for it.
By the time I reached the bridge, the sun had come out of the clouds, and was not painting the waters of the Danube in a golden hue. It was a glorious evening. A small restaurant under the shades of the bridge had a troupe playing lovely music. I stopped for some time to take in the atmosphere. The bridge was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.
It took me close to forty five minutes to cross the bridge and return back. I later discovered that I had clicked at least a photo per minute. There are obviously some advantages in having a digital camera – you do not need to be stingy about the film that you use up. You do not need to consider that perhaps once I develop the photo, the shot might not look good – just delete it if it doesn’t! But then the shots were worth the trouble. The American family from Indiana, who made the crossing along with me, had perhaps outdone me.
During dinner at Vaci ut (one of the major shopping streets in Budapest) Pragati educated me about Mango – no not the fruit, but one of the leading clothing brands in the world. I professed my ignorance about fashion, when I promptly stated that I had never heard of it. She informed me about how the latest trends in fashion appear in India only six months after Europe. Well, as I already stated yesterday, you learn something new everyday.
I still hate that escalator!
I was up late into the night watching what is – arguably - the greatest love story ever filmed. Maybe that’s why it is simply called “Love Story”. There’s nothing in the story – you would have come across it in innumerable Hindi films. But still, it makes you shed a tear. The review of the movie will come later sometime.
“Listen, what are you wearing today?” I asked Pragati when I called her up in the morning. For the past three days, we’ve been wearing identical colors, and I didn’t exactly want another “coincidence”. You might think I’m crazy to have such considerations, and yes, I am crazy in my own way.
Vorosmarty tere is one of the terminuses of the old metro line (Metro 1). It is a small dimly lit underground station, quite different from the spanking and bright stations that you see on the 2nd metro line. The everyday commuter would perhaps not even give it a second glance. But look closer and you would notice that the whole station is laid out in white and brown tiles, as in the style of the old underground stations of London and all other cities. Green ornate metal pillars support the roof. Even the trains have the old look – perhaps the best way to preserve the historic aspect of the railway. I read yesterday that the line is more than a hundred years old.
The exit from the station leads you into the grand and exquisite looking Vorosmarty Square (that’s what ‘tere’ means, I presume). The place is filled with small cafes. A huge statue is almost dwarfed by the buildings all around it. A steel monstrosity (called “Heroes” or something) that claims to be a multipurpose building juts out like a sore thumb amongst all those beautiful old-style buildings. We discovered that this place was near to the Intercontinental Hotel, about which we had had an interesting discussion on Sunday (as to, in how many years with SAP could we afford to stay in such a hotel). A few steps further to the west lead you to the pier on the Danube.
It was raining when we stepped out of the metro station. But now, it had stopped temporarily. The rays of the sun were streaming out from behind the dark clouds, casting a golden glow on the dome of the Royal Palace upon the hill. On my left, with the backdrop of dark storm clouds stood the Elizabeth Bridge and the Liberty Statue (no relation to the lady who stands on Ellis Island). And on the right, loomed the majestic Szechernyi Lanchid – the “Chain Bridge”. I decided to head for it.
By the time I reached the bridge, the sun had come out of the clouds, and was not painting the waters of the Danube in a golden hue. It was a glorious evening. A small restaurant under the shades of the bridge had a troupe playing lovely music. I stopped for some time to take in the atmosphere. The bridge was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.
It took me close to forty five minutes to cross the bridge and return back. I later discovered that I had clicked at least a photo per minute. There are obviously some advantages in having a digital camera – you do not need to be stingy about the film that you use up. You do not need to consider that perhaps once I develop the photo, the shot might not look good – just delete it if it doesn’t! But then the shots were worth the trouble. The American family from Indiana, who made the crossing along with me, had perhaps outdone me.
During dinner at Vaci ut (one of the major shopping streets in Budapest) Pragati educated me about Mango – no not the fruit, but one of the leading clothing brands in the world. I professed my ignorance about fashion, when I promptly stated that I had never heard of it. She informed me about how the latest trends in fashion appear in India only six months after Europe. Well, as I already stated yesterday, you learn something new everyday.
I still hate that escalator!
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 4
Escalators are funny things. If you are on one of them, and you look to the side at the other escalators running parallel, you’ll notice that people would seem to be either leaning forward, or leaning back, depending on whether they are going up or going down. That’s the beauty of physics. Here they have huge escalators in the metro stations, some of which scare me because of my vertigo. I was reminded of Universal Studios, Los Angeles, where they use some six or seven escalators to take people down a mountain. But they are not as scary as some of these escalators.
The train was also quite funny. First of all there was this lady who was carrying a fluffy dog, as if she were carrying a baby, on her shoulders. Second, the loco pilot (yeah, that’s what you call a ‘train driver’) seems to be driving the train for the first time. Just like what I did to my car (refer to my report on Day 0), she seemed to be “stalling” the train every time it started from a station. Fortunately we reached office safely enough.
At nine o’clock, as the office starts, the blinds open automatically. And then, there is a collective groan from everyone around, who do not want the light streaming in. Today, the people and the place looked livelier. During lunch I decided to have my first taste of a traditional Hungarian dish called Hortobágy Palacsinta, a sweet Pancake from the Hortobagy region made from a filling of meat or sweets. The experience was quite good, unlike what I have experienced in Germany, where trying out traditional dishes had always ended in disaster. The office is situated on the riverside and after lunch we went for a walk on the shore of the Danube, and I found many huge stones, perceivably from the Roman times, displayed all along the software park. I remembered that the ancient Roman settlement of Aquincum was nearby. Frank also pointed out that I would get to see more such stones if I decided to visit that place.
By evening, it had drizzled a little, but there was no effect of that when we left office. The sweater that I’ve brought with me, anticipating “European weather” (my definitions have definitely gone wrong) has been lying in the wardrobe till now. Well, you learn new things everyday. And today I did see a new side of Budapest. Stretching from the Arpad Bridge to the Margaret Bridge on the banks of the Danube, you can see the poor quarters of “The Pearl of the Danube”. A row of old worn-down apartments dot this stretch, their walls faded, and the paint replaced by the bright colors of spray paint that make up the new form of art that’s now quite familiar to me here – graffiti. Believe me; these guys draw some awesome pictures with those cans of spray paint.
It seems that Budapest has the most shopping centers in Europe. At least wikipedia says so. Maybe I should try and find out before I leave this place
The train was also quite funny. First of all there was this lady who was carrying a fluffy dog, as if she were carrying a baby, on her shoulders. Second, the loco pilot (yeah, that’s what you call a ‘train driver’) seems to be driving the train for the first time. Just like what I did to my car (refer to my report on Day 0), she seemed to be “stalling” the train every time it started from a station. Fortunately we reached office safely enough.
At nine o’clock, as the office starts, the blinds open automatically. And then, there is a collective groan from everyone around, who do not want the light streaming in. Today, the people and the place looked livelier. During lunch I decided to have my first taste of a traditional Hungarian dish called Hortobágy Palacsinta, a sweet Pancake from the Hortobagy region made from a filling of meat or sweets. The experience was quite good, unlike what I have experienced in Germany, where trying out traditional dishes had always ended in disaster. The office is situated on the riverside and after lunch we went for a walk on the shore of the Danube, and I found many huge stones, perceivably from the Roman times, displayed all along the software park. I remembered that the ancient Roman settlement of Aquincum was nearby. Frank also pointed out that I would get to see more such stones if I decided to visit that place.
By evening, it had drizzled a little, but there was no effect of that when we left office. The sweater that I’ve brought with me, anticipating “European weather” (my definitions have definitely gone wrong) has been lying in the wardrobe till now. Well, you learn new things everyday. And today I did see a new side of Budapest. Stretching from the Arpad Bridge to the Margaret Bridge on the banks of the Danube, you can see the poor quarters of “The Pearl of the Danube”. A row of old worn-down apartments dot this stretch, their walls faded, and the paint replaced by the bright colors of spray paint that make up the new form of art that’s now quite familiar to me here – graffiti. Believe me; these guys draw some awesome pictures with those cans of spray paint.
It seems that Budapest has the most shopping centers in Europe. At least wikipedia says so. Maybe I should try and find out before I leave this place
Monday, June 11, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 3
First day in office! I thought I would dress decently, in a shirt, and appear before the colleagues who had never seen me before – not even a photo on the SAP Address Book (If you’ve bothered to check my address book page, you’ll know why). However, when I checked the shirts I found them badly crumpled. Hence I decided to switch back to T-shirts and put on my favorite tiger-eyed black garb. To avoid an extra bag I decided against carrying the lap-top case. The result was a huge backpack containing my camera and the laptop, and I looked the part of someone on the way for a trek in the Austrian Alps. First day in office!
It’s a long way to office from the hotel – three trains, totaling to almost an hour. The journey takes me from one end of the city to the other. It is quite beautiful in its own way – on one side is the sparkling water of the Danube, and on the other, the apartments filled with graffiti. These guys seem to have something for graffiti. You can find it everywhere – even more than what you find in US city. As is the case in Bangalore, the office is situated in a remote location on the outskirts of the city, in a so-called software park. Over here, software parks are not characterized by hip-hop crowds and shopping malls aka ITPL.
Once I reached the office all the guilty feeling that I was not properly dressed for the occasion evaporated on its own. There was hardly anyone who was formally dressed – most of them were in shorts. The office itself is quite pretty, more of the Bangalore model than the Walldorf model, with open cubicles, which my colleague declared that it irritates him at times. Pragati found it quite to her liking, and for me it doesn’t matter. Lack of meetings in the morning meant that I could finish my work faster. Lunch was nothing much to talk about, and now, we were back on the Walldorf model, with me not able to figure out what I was eating!
The afternoon, as expected was spent in meetings, discussing what we are doing, and what we had to do (the usual stuff), and the evening was spent in the shadows of the enormously beautiful Hungarian Parliament building, where Pragati was adamantly staying away from a cute dog, with an ever more cute owner.
Observation of the day:
On the whiteboard of the meeting room was scribbled the following phrase:
Make oneself heard/understood/felt.
No matter how ugly/homely/plain (however ugly/homely/plain) she is.
Am still wondering what it means
It’s a long way to office from the hotel – three trains, totaling to almost an hour. The journey takes me from one end of the city to the other. It is quite beautiful in its own way – on one side is the sparkling water of the Danube, and on the other, the apartments filled with graffiti. These guys seem to have something for graffiti. You can find it everywhere – even more than what you find in US city. As is the case in Bangalore, the office is situated in a remote location on the outskirts of the city, in a so-called software park. Over here, software parks are not characterized by hip-hop crowds and shopping malls aka ITPL.
Once I reached the office all the guilty feeling that I was not properly dressed for the occasion evaporated on its own. There was hardly anyone who was formally dressed – most of them were in shorts. The office itself is quite pretty, more of the Bangalore model than the Walldorf model, with open cubicles, which my colleague declared that it irritates him at times. Pragati found it quite to her liking, and for me it doesn’t matter. Lack of meetings in the morning meant that I could finish my work faster. Lunch was nothing much to talk about, and now, we were back on the Walldorf model, with me not able to figure out what I was eating!
The afternoon, as expected was spent in meetings, discussing what we are doing, and what we had to do (the usual stuff), and the evening was spent in the shadows of the enormously beautiful Hungarian Parliament building, where Pragati was adamantly staying away from a cute dog, with an ever more cute owner.
Observation of the day:
On the whiteboard of the meeting room was scribbled the following phrase:
Make oneself heard/understood/felt.
No matter how ugly/homely/plain (however ugly/homely/plain) she is.
Am still wondering what it means
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 2
It looks nice outside. Today it rained in Budapest. In fact we encountered a storm itself. I am not exactly in a mood to write, and hence the report falls short of its length. And of course, not everything can be conveyed through words…
Early to bed and early to rise, makes you healthy, wealthy and wise. I could not exactly follow the golden rule, as I got up pretty late today. It does not exactly matter since:
1. Healthy: I consider myself healthy enough by my standards
2. Wealthy: I’m wealthy enough to survive on my own
3. Wise: It’s too late. If I had been wiser, I would have been better off
However, it didn’t take me long to get ready. Breakfast is always something that I enjoy in Europe, and it was no different today. Soon, we hit the road for our first real glimpse of the city. The day could be summed up in three phrases: the castle district, the Heroes Square and the great basilica of Szt Istivan. But then, as I said before, not everything can be conveyed through words. This is a place that has to be seen with the eye to be experienced fully.
After a glimpse of the enormous parliament building, we headed off across the river into the castle district in Buda. This is the old city, as compared to the plush shiny buildings of Pest – a fact that prompted Pragati to say, “Ganda Hai”. The Heroes Square, built in 1896 is a tribute to all the heroes who were instrumental in building up Hungary as a country. Overlooking the square is the huge Museum of Fine Arts. It reminded me of the Asiatic Society Building in Mumbai reminiscing the night when I and Sumeet walked the whole distance from Colaba to the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, so that I could take photographs of the building.
A pleasant surprise in the form of a mild drizzle greeted us in the afternoon. We headed for the Szt Istivan Basilica which had enamored me the previous day. Similar to most other big European churches, the basilica is situated in a huge tiled square. We were greeted by a huge crowd, which seemed to be captivated by a group of dancing ladies. We stood there watching them for quite some time. The interior of the church was grandeur in its own with enormous murals and tinted glass windows. Pragati in particular seemed overawed by her first visit to a European Church.
The rest of the day was spent in shopping (more of window shopping), until Pragati declared that she could walk no more…
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 1
The flight was immensely forgettable. Cramped up in the middle row, with barely room to move my legs; my sleep was filled with nightmares – one of which was the dinner served to me. Waking up in the morning was of no help since the first thing I saw was the nightmare playing on the in-flight monitor – Dhoom 2. Needless to say, I was quite relieved when we arrived in Frankfurt. And to my surprise, the flight from Bangalore seemed to have got a promotion today, as we were directly led to a gate, instead of having to suffer the ignominy of waiting for a bus on the tarmac.
We had an hour and a half to kill, and I pointed out the Duty Free Shops to Pragati. She was completely enamored by what was on display. Little to wonder since, even after making three previous trips to Frankfurt, the airport never ceases to amaze me. And perhaps, traveling with a girl who loves to shop (thought I’m yet to come across one who doesn’t love to), can sometimes be useful since you can also indulge in something which you have absolutely no idea about. I vowed that on our way back, I’ll buy something from here. Memories of my last stop at Frankfurt brought a smile to my lips. I had held up the flight to Bangalore because I had to buy a Brazilian football jersey.
Pragati spent the rest of the time frantically trying to make calls from her calling card, but to no avail. She finally gave up and chose to immerse herself in her i-pod instead. By the time our flight was called, she was ready to go to sleep again. This time, we could not escape the bus. Pragati was quite amused that except for a couple of aircrafts, the only airline visible anywhere was Lufthansa. The flight was, as expected, a small one, with barely perhaps a hundred passengers. We were seated next to the emergency exit and that meant that we would at least have enough leg room. Pragati immediately curled up and went to sleep. I too, gave myself up to the temptation, and slept for half an hour, before the smell of food woke me up. Breakfast consisted of a chocolate and a sandwich. It was good exercise to the teeth and the jaw muscles as the bread as well as the cheese was really hard. Pragati gave up after a few brave attempts, but I managed to finish it.
We landed in Budapest at 10:30 AM, to huge applause from the passengers. “Umeed nahin thi kya?” Pragati asked me jokingly. Perhaps they were not expecting a smooth landing. The Feirhegy Airport looked comparable to the Bangalore Airport, and just when I was about to dismiss the airport as fairly commonplace, my eyes fell on an impressively huge Delta Airlines jet stationed among all those small and ignorable planes from the Hungarian national airline.
The terminal though, was spic and span, and resembled a mini-Frankfurt. It took quite a while for Pragati’s gargantuan suitcase to appear on the baggage belt, and after dilly-dallying for a little bit, we were finally on our way to the hotel. As soon as we exited from the airport, Pragati gave a gasp at the speed at which cars we flying. “We’re going at 80!” she exclaimed. I reminded her that German highways would see speed up to 150. The old gentleman driving the taxi was exuberant about what a nice country India is. We could not help agreeing, though I had the impression that he was talking about Indianapolis, since he happened to mention it once.
The hotel was situated just on the outskirts of the city, and resembled an apartment complex from outside. The first thing that I noticed about it was that it was located in one of those “Zentrum”s. Opposite to the hotel, there was a bus station, a tram station and to top it all, a huge Euro Park shopping mall, replete with Pizza Hut, Mc Donalds, KFC etc. The hotel closely resembled that nice place we had stayed in Leimen on my last visit to Germany. We split up and decided to catch some sleep before lunch. Once in my room, I promptly headed for the tub.
At 2:30, we decided to hit the road. The weather was not much different from what we have in Bangalore, though it was not sweltering hot. My first job was to educate Pragati about crossing the road. She however, seemed to be keen on frequently running across the road at most junctions, and I had to frequently keep reminding her that over here, it does not exactly work like India. We headed to the mall for lunch, and I need not explain what the effect was on Pragati. I wanted to get a decent tourist guide which we could refer on “what to see in Budapest”. Unfortunately, I could not lay my hand on a single one in English language. In fact the whole place doesn’t sport many English words or names. Most of the Hungarian names seemed unpronounceable, with the Magyar language seeming to have a curious aversion to the use of the vowels in words.
Pragati solved my problem about the tourist guide by promptly declaring that she wanted to see the chain bridge. I concurred that she wanted to see the famous suspension bridge across the Danube – the Széchenyi Lanchid (you can realize what I meant about pronunciations in the previous paragraph) – that’s been made famous in innumerable photographs. So be it, I decided, and led her into the metro. The Budapest metro is not as complicated as the one in Singapore, except for the fact that the station names can be easily remembered in Singapore. After getting off at a station with yet another unpronounceable name, we came up to ground level, for our first glimpse of the beautiful city of Budapest.
We were in a grand square, with plush modern buildings on one side, and the looming facades of old-style apartments on the other. The huge dome of the Szt. Istvan’s Basilica dominated the surroundings. For a moment, I was completely disoriented by the surroundings, and forgot our bearings. I rummaged through the map for five agonizing minutes (for Pragati), before I finally found the way to proceed. We walked around for quite some time. The roads were lined with exquisitely laid out parks. All kinds of mighty motorbikes were whizzing around. Pragati spotted a casino and wanted to immediately go in. I restrained her pointing out that European casinos would perhaps require a proper dress code of an evening gown and a tuxedo, and we cannot simply walk in dressed as tourists. As we looked ahead, the Danube sparkled in front of us. Across the river loomed the castle district. And to our right, spanned the majestic bridge, made famous as “Rome” by Sanjay Leela Bhansali.
I wanted to walk on the bridge, but Pragati was not exactly in the mood for that, so we decided to proceed to the city centre. But halfway through she declared that she could walk no more. So it was back to the metro.
We had an hour and a half to kill, and I pointed out the Duty Free Shops to Pragati. She was completely enamored by what was on display. Little to wonder since, even after making three previous trips to Frankfurt, the airport never ceases to amaze me. And perhaps, traveling with a girl who loves to shop (thought I’m yet to come across one who doesn’t love to), can sometimes be useful since you can also indulge in something which you have absolutely no idea about. I vowed that on our way back, I’ll buy something from here. Memories of my last stop at Frankfurt brought a smile to my lips. I had held up the flight to Bangalore because I had to buy a Brazilian football jersey.
Pragati spent the rest of the time frantically trying to make calls from her calling card, but to no avail. She finally gave up and chose to immerse herself in her i-pod instead. By the time our flight was called, she was ready to go to sleep again. This time, we could not escape the bus. Pragati was quite amused that except for a couple of aircrafts, the only airline visible anywhere was Lufthansa. The flight was, as expected, a small one, with barely perhaps a hundred passengers. We were seated next to the emergency exit and that meant that we would at least have enough leg room. Pragati immediately curled up and went to sleep. I too, gave myself up to the temptation, and slept for half an hour, before the smell of food woke me up. Breakfast consisted of a chocolate and a sandwich. It was good exercise to the teeth and the jaw muscles as the bread as well as the cheese was really hard. Pragati gave up after a few brave attempts, but I managed to finish it.
We landed in Budapest at 10:30 AM, to huge applause from the passengers. “Umeed nahin thi kya?” Pragati asked me jokingly. Perhaps they were not expecting a smooth landing. The Feirhegy Airport looked comparable to the Bangalore Airport, and just when I was about to dismiss the airport as fairly commonplace, my eyes fell on an impressively huge Delta Airlines jet stationed among all those small and ignorable planes from the Hungarian national airline.
The terminal though, was spic and span, and resembled a mini-Frankfurt. It took quite a while for Pragati’s gargantuan suitcase to appear on the baggage belt, and after dilly-dallying for a little bit, we were finally on our way to the hotel. As soon as we exited from the airport, Pragati gave a gasp at the speed at which cars we flying. “We’re going at 80!” she exclaimed. I reminded her that German highways would see speed up to 150. The old gentleman driving the taxi was exuberant about what a nice country India is. We could not help agreeing, though I had the impression that he was talking about Indianapolis, since he happened to mention it once.
The hotel was situated just on the outskirts of the city, and resembled an apartment complex from outside. The first thing that I noticed about it was that it was located in one of those “Zentrum”s. Opposite to the hotel, there was a bus station, a tram station and to top it all, a huge Euro Park shopping mall, replete with Pizza Hut, Mc Donalds, KFC etc. The hotel closely resembled that nice place we had stayed in Leimen on my last visit to Germany. We split up and decided to catch some sleep before lunch. Once in my room, I promptly headed for the tub.
At 2:30, we decided to hit the road. The weather was not much different from what we have in Bangalore, though it was not sweltering hot. My first job was to educate Pragati about crossing the road. She however, seemed to be keen on frequently running across the road at most junctions, and I had to frequently keep reminding her that over here, it does not exactly work like India. We headed to the mall for lunch, and I need not explain what the effect was on Pragati. I wanted to get a decent tourist guide which we could refer on “what to see in Budapest”. Unfortunately, I could not lay my hand on a single one in English language. In fact the whole place doesn’t sport many English words or names. Most of the Hungarian names seemed unpronounceable, with the Magyar language seeming to have a curious aversion to the use of the vowels in words.
Pragati solved my problem about the tourist guide by promptly declaring that she wanted to see the chain bridge. I concurred that she wanted to see the famous suspension bridge across the Danube – the Széchenyi Lanchid (you can realize what I meant about pronunciations in the previous paragraph) – that’s been made famous in innumerable photographs. So be it, I decided, and led her into the metro. The Budapest metro is not as complicated as the one in Singapore, except for the fact that the station names can be easily remembered in Singapore. After getting off at a station with yet another unpronounceable name, we came up to ground level, for our first glimpse of the beautiful city of Budapest.
We were in a grand square, with plush modern buildings on one side, and the looming facades of old-style apartments on the other. The huge dome of the Szt. Istvan’s Basilica dominated the surroundings. For a moment, I was completely disoriented by the surroundings, and forgot our bearings. I rummaged through the map for five agonizing minutes (for Pragati), before I finally found the way to proceed. We walked around for quite some time. The roads were lined with exquisitely laid out parks. All kinds of mighty motorbikes were whizzing around. Pragati spotted a casino and wanted to immediately go in. I restrained her pointing out that European casinos would perhaps require a proper dress code of an evening gown and a tuxedo, and we cannot simply walk in dressed as tourists. As we looked ahead, the Danube sparkled in front of us. Across the river loomed the castle district. And to our right, spanned the majestic bridge, made famous as “Rome” by Sanjay Leela Bhansali.
I wanted to walk on the bridge, but Pragati was not exactly in the mood for that, so we decided to proceed to the city centre. But halfway through she declared that she could walk no more. So it was back to the metro.
Friday, June 08, 2007
Budapest Diary - Day 0
It was the BIG day! My first attempt at driving a car started out disastrously (No, this is indeed me writing, and not my ghost). It took me almost an hour to reach office, and I stopped counting the number of times I stalled. But thankfully no accidents! Of course, it proved the point raised by Venkat yesterday that, perhaps I should not try driving the vehicle home from the showroom.
Our much awaited Hungarian Visa would be arriving. It was like waiting for Godot. Even though I had been advising Pragati every day to be ready for traveling, I personally had given up on the trip, and had planned elaborate jaunts in my car. And yesterday suddenly the call had come, that our visa would be arriving. The whole day was spent preparing and planning for the trip. In between there was the small matter of work (the half-hour presentation I had to give to the team) and some driving lessons from Namratha. By the time I had made my third trip of the day to the campus, I had got better – provided I decide not to park my car.
Campus…now that was something nice. For a change, I went there and did not get into a fight with anyone. After collecting our tickets and the money, the travel desk informed us that the passport would take another 20 minutes. “Why don’t you guys go back and return after 20 minutes?” they quipped. Being wiser by experience, we decided to stay put. I decided to use the time to drop a cheque at the basement, and had to wait for five minutes for that lift to make its appearance. And to my surprise I found that the drop-box had now been shifted to the cafeteria. All that trouble for nothing!
It was seven by the time I reached home. I was driving the bike like I was in the car – not bothering to ground my feet whenever I stopped. It sure is a good day, since for the umpteenth time, I didn’t have any accidents. I had to finish my packing, but I ended up watching Nikolai Davydenko matching Federer shot by shot. By the time I actually finished packing, my cab was almost at the doorstep. At the last possible moment, the driver had called me up to inform that my cab booking had been advanced from 9:30 to 8:30 due to some (later found to be non-existent) politician holding up traffic on Airport Road. As is usual with every cab driver, it took him quite some time to figure out where exactly I lived in that small village. I took the opportunity to call up my friends and say goodbye (as if I were not going to return, but then you never know).
The airport was a buzz of activity. And of course, as I had anticipated, it was way too early for me. I sat down in front of the Departure Terminal, to observe the crowd. There stood a long queue, stretching to the horizon. To circumvent the trouble, some intelligent persons decided to remove the barriers kept at the entrance to control the queue and make way for themselves. Contrary to “popular” belief, it was a group of foreigners who were indulging in such “niceties”. There were some feeble protests from some Indians standing in queue. They fell on deaf ears until some foreigner decided to raise a ruckus about it. Soon enough there was a horde of policemen heckling with those “nice guys”. Yeah, I know you will never find a queue to enter Frankfurt or Los Angeles airports, but wait till we have that International Airport of ours up and running.
As I sit in the airport and write this, I notice that the place has indeed changed for the better.
Our much awaited Hungarian Visa would be arriving. It was like waiting for Godot. Even though I had been advising Pragati every day to be ready for traveling, I personally had given up on the trip, and had planned elaborate jaunts in my car. And yesterday suddenly the call had come, that our visa would be arriving. The whole day was spent preparing and planning for the trip. In between there was the small matter of work (the half-hour presentation I had to give to the team) and some driving lessons from Namratha. By the time I had made my third trip of the day to the campus, I had got better – provided I decide not to park my car.
Campus…now that was something nice. For a change, I went there and did not get into a fight with anyone. After collecting our tickets and the money, the travel desk informed us that the passport would take another 20 minutes. “Why don’t you guys go back and return after 20 minutes?” they quipped. Being wiser by experience, we decided to stay put. I decided to use the time to drop a cheque at the basement, and had to wait for five minutes for that lift to make its appearance. And to my surprise I found that the drop-box had now been shifted to the cafeteria. All that trouble for nothing!
It was seven by the time I reached home. I was driving the bike like I was in the car – not bothering to ground my feet whenever I stopped. It sure is a good day, since for the umpteenth time, I didn’t have any accidents. I had to finish my packing, but I ended up watching Nikolai Davydenko matching Federer shot by shot. By the time I actually finished packing, my cab was almost at the doorstep. At the last possible moment, the driver had called me up to inform that my cab booking had been advanced from 9:30 to 8:30 due to some (later found to be non-existent) politician holding up traffic on Airport Road. As is usual with every cab driver, it took him quite some time to figure out where exactly I lived in that small village. I took the opportunity to call up my friends and say goodbye (as if I were not going to return, but then you never know).
The airport was a buzz of activity. And of course, as I had anticipated, it was way too early for me. I sat down in front of the Departure Terminal, to observe the crowd. There stood a long queue, stretching to the horizon. To circumvent the trouble, some intelligent persons decided to remove the barriers kept at the entrance to control the queue and make way for themselves. Contrary to “popular” belief, it was a group of foreigners who were indulging in such “niceties”. There were some feeble protests from some Indians standing in queue. They fell on deaf ears until some foreigner decided to raise a ruckus about it. Soon enough there was a horde of policemen heckling with those “nice guys”. Yeah, I know you will never find a queue to enter Frankfurt or Los Angeles airports, but wait till we have that International Airport of ours up and running.
As I sit in the airport and write this, I notice that the place has indeed changed for the better.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
What a Misconception!
"Immaculate Misconception" - well, purists might wonder what in the world that's supposed to mean. But here in our company it is a cubiclehold name (if I may boast so), for that is the name of our immensely successful - measured on a scale defined by yours truly - quiz team.
The origin of the name dates back to January 2006, when in a pathetic attempt to steal the best team name prize, me and Herr Vinay Schenoi (sic[k]) scourged the net and stole the name from a list published in one of those pub quiz sites. We thought it was hilarious, but the quiz organizers failed to concur and we missed the prize. Of course, we went on to win a few other prizes, but that is an entirely different story ("singin' in the rain" and all that), and it is not my intention to cover that here.
A long time ago (in 2006 to be precise), in a galaxy not so far far away (in our galaxy - location: Goa to be precise), our story starts. On the holy day of Ugadi, four friends decided to spurn all the thoughts of lying half-naked on the sun-baked sands of Goa, and decided instead, to visit its temples and churches to atone for their sins. And so it happened that after a visit to the magnificent Bom Jesus Basilica, there we were, sitting in that small dingy restaurant opposite to the church, eagerly awaiting our lunch. Priyananda Shenoy, as usual, was quiet and sporting that now-familiar look of a geek in a porn movie show. Aravinda Hegde was busy lecturing us on the virtues of using Coconut Oil (for the contents of the lecture, please contact Professor Hegde), whereas Herr Schenoi was wasting no time lambasting about what big hypocrites we were (being an "auspicious" day, me and Hegde had vowed that we would refrain from eating non-vegetarian food for the whole day). As the speakers were blaring out "Jhalak Dikhla Ja" for the umpteenth time, I took out our tourist guide, and decided to skim through it, reading out word by word, intent on irritating Herr Schenoi. Needless to say, Schenoi did get irritated, until I stumbled upon the entry for the "most photographed church in India" - the Church of Our Lady of Immaculate Conception in Panaji.
Schenoi immediately sat upright. A grin appeared on his face extending from one ear to the other, even though he was yet to be served with his umpteenth order of pomfrets. "Man! is that for real?" croaked Schenoi. "So we named ourselves on a church that really exists!". I was quick to point out that he'd perhaps missed a spelling or two. It was Conception, not 'Mis'conception. "Never mind!" he said "you could always use that as a question in one of your quizzes!" I strived hard to hide a smirk, for that was exactly what I had in mind, as we resolved to pay a visit to the church before we left Goa.
Come the final day of our stay and we still had not seen the church. The guide said "the church is situated on a hill, overlooking the town of Panaji", and we had not seen anything that resembled a hill in the town. Perhaps the Goans' idea of a hill was completely different from that of the rest of the world. Nevertheless, we decided to drive down from Dona Paula and search the whole town to find the elusive church. Schenoi screamed his usual warning at Hegde: "Don't rip on that bike!" , perhaps peeved by the fact that Hegde, on that Hero Honda Passion, always managed to speed past Schenoi on his sleek and shiny Bajaj Pulsar. Unperturbed by Schenoi's threats, Hegde took it upon himself to be the navigator for that last leg of our Goan adventure. No sooner had we come down from Dona Paula to the outskirts of the town, it was evident to me (riding behind Hegde on the bike) that he had no idea where he was going. He wisely stopped the bike in front of an old lady and blurted out: "Madam, where is the Immaculate Misconception church?"
Needless to say, the lady was taken aback by the question, but she managed to compose herself and guided us to go straight into the town, all the time sporting a look on her face which clearly indicated that she would be happy to see us vanish from there. Taking the cue, we sped on right into the town and again lost the way. This time it was my turn and I repeated the question to an old gentleman: "Sir, where is the Church of Immaculate Misconception?" Thankfully, he didn't notice anything wrong and showed us the way. We finally did manage to find the church, an imposing white structure, with multiple steps that faced a thoroughfare. One look at the church and Herr Schenoi was not convinced that this was it. Hegde meanwhile, had not yet seen the church. His eyes were riveted on a Kamat Hotel on the roadside. Soon we started arguing over a plate of dosa, as to whether he had indeed found the church. Finally, Hegde had the brainwave: "Why don't we ask someone?". Coming out of the hotel, he promptly corned the first person he saw, and pointed at the church: "Boss, yeh Immaculate Misconception church yahi hai kya?" Unfortunately the guy couldn't answer. He was too busy laughing.
We'd finally found our church...
Dedicated to the memory of Mr. Vinay Shenoy whose name I have Germanized, ever since he left our shores in search of greener pastures in Eastern Europe. May he rust in piece.
The origin of the name dates back to January 2006, when in a pathetic attempt to steal the best team name prize, me and Herr Vinay Schenoi (sic[k]) scourged the net and stole the name from a list published in one of those pub quiz sites. We thought it was hilarious, but the quiz organizers failed to concur and we missed the prize. Of course, we went on to win a few other prizes, but that is an entirely different story ("singin' in the rain" and all that), and it is not my intention to cover that here.
A long time ago (in 2006 to be precise), in a galaxy not so far far away (in our galaxy - location: Goa to be precise), our story starts. On the holy day of Ugadi, four friends decided to spurn all the thoughts of lying half-naked on the sun-baked sands of Goa, and decided instead, to visit its temples and churches to atone for their sins. And so it happened that after a visit to the magnificent Bom Jesus Basilica, there we were, sitting in that small dingy restaurant opposite to the church, eagerly awaiting our lunch. Priyananda Shenoy, as usual, was quiet and sporting that now-familiar look of a geek in a porn movie show. Aravinda Hegde was busy lecturing us on the virtues of using Coconut Oil (for the contents of the lecture, please contact Professor Hegde), whereas Herr Schenoi was wasting no time lambasting about what big hypocrites we were (being an "auspicious" day, me and Hegde had vowed that we would refrain from eating non-vegetarian food for the whole day). As the speakers were blaring out "Jhalak Dikhla Ja" for the umpteenth time, I took out our tourist guide, and decided to skim through it, reading out word by word, intent on irritating Herr Schenoi. Needless to say, Schenoi did get irritated, until I stumbled upon the entry for the "most photographed church in India" - the Church of Our Lady of Immaculate Conception in Panaji.
Schenoi immediately sat upright. A grin appeared on his face extending from one ear to the other, even though he was yet to be served with his umpteenth order of pomfrets. "Man! is that for real?" croaked Schenoi. "So we named ourselves on a church that really exists!". I was quick to point out that he'd perhaps missed a spelling or two. It was Conception, not 'Mis'conception. "Never mind!" he said "you could always use that as a question in one of your quizzes!" I strived hard to hide a smirk, for that was exactly what I had in mind, as we resolved to pay a visit to the church before we left Goa.
Come the final day of our stay and we still had not seen the church. The guide said "the church is situated on a hill, overlooking the town of Panaji", and we had not seen anything that resembled a hill in the town. Perhaps the Goans' idea of a hill was completely different from that of the rest of the world. Nevertheless, we decided to drive down from Dona Paula and search the whole town to find the elusive church. Schenoi screamed his usual warning at Hegde: "Don't rip on that bike!" , perhaps peeved by the fact that Hegde, on that Hero Honda Passion, always managed to speed past Schenoi on his sleek and shiny Bajaj Pulsar. Unperturbed by Schenoi's threats, Hegde took it upon himself to be the navigator for that last leg of our Goan adventure. No sooner had we come down from Dona Paula to the outskirts of the town, it was evident to me (riding behind Hegde on the bike) that he had no idea where he was going. He wisely stopped the bike in front of an old lady and blurted out: "Madam, where is the Immaculate Misconception church?"
Needless to say, the lady was taken aback by the question, but she managed to compose herself and guided us to go straight into the town, all the time sporting a look on her face which clearly indicated that she would be happy to see us vanish from there. Taking the cue, we sped on right into the town and again lost the way. This time it was my turn and I repeated the question to an old gentleman: "Sir, where is the Church of Immaculate Misconception?" Thankfully, he didn't notice anything wrong and showed us the way. We finally did manage to find the church, an imposing white structure, with multiple steps that faced a thoroughfare. One look at the church and Herr Schenoi was not convinced that this was it. Hegde meanwhile, had not yet seen the church. His eyes were riveted on a Kamat Hotel on the roadside. Soon we started arguing over a plate of dosa, as to whether he had indeed found the church. Finally, Hegde had the brainwave: "Why don't we ask someone?". Coming out of the hotel, he promptly corned the first person he saw, and pointed at the church: "Boss, yeh Immaculate Misconception church yahi hai kya?" Unfortunately the guy couldn't answer. He was too busy laughing.
We'd finally found our church...
Dedicated to the memory of Mr. Vinay Shenoy whose name I have Germanized, ever since he left our shores in search of greener pastures in Eastern Europe. May he rust in piece.
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