“The quintessential American tourist”, was how Kavitha described me when we met. Indeed, I stood there sheepishly with my woolen jacket wrapped around me on the hottest day of the year (It was like being back in Bangalore), and my huge camera dangling around the neck. I had already clicked 30-odd photos at “The Crossroads of the World” – Times Square. She had donned her newest dress – as was evident from the price tag that still dangled from it.
Kavitha played the perfect host in New York (well, there it goes, da. As promised, I praise you…and well-deserved too). Two days before I was scheduled to make an appearance, she’d asked me to send her my list of “what-to-dos”, and I had quickly compiled up the “what’s what” list of New York City attractions. And there she was, with a small notebook in her hand, pointing out to me how well she’d planned my time in New York, complete with metro routes and all. Further, she wisely kept me away from the DVD shops.
After having seen the sleepy streets of Philadelphia where life moves along at a leisurely pace, New York was like an express train. It seemed to barely stand and notice, as people from all walks of life whiz past you. Exiting out of Penn station to find the Empire State Building towering up in front of me, Bangladeshi waiters waxing eloquent about the health system in India, “quotable quotes” from Kavitha on certain movies releases in India (I am not sure she would be amused if I mentioned the quote)...there are lots that I could write about, but choose not to (this post is not a tourist guide). Two days whizzed past, roaming around Manhattan – Broadway, Fifth Avenue, Central Park, the Museums, Brooklyn Bridge and even a ride in the New York Metro. Kavitha was perhaps disappointed that we could neither catch up on a Broadway show, nor get near Lady Liberty – she stood across the Hudson, her torch competing with the tall cranes in the distance. We would perhaps meet some other time.
“Sing a keertanam” said Kavitha, as we were having a short dinner at the Esplanade. I was taken aback for a while, but then obliged. Soon, she started singing...of all things, my favorite composition – “Alaipayuthe”. And then the raindrops fell. There was no connection between the rain and our singing, but strangely after two days of scorching heat, it seemed like curtain-down on my trip to New York. I wanted to get wet, but Kavitha was not so enthusiastic...as she said earlier during the day, i am in my second childhood now.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Monday, June 02, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 17
Today I finished the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It was beautiful. Philadelphia turns beautiful as the flowers bloom finally. But the city is indifferent. For all I know, I could have been anywhere else in the world - a stranger in a strange land.
Photo of the Day: Afternoon rainbow at Logan's Square Fountain.
Photo of the Day: Afternoon rainbow at Logan's Square Fountain.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 16: Memories from Montreal...
All good things come to an end.
On Friday evening, the departure gates of the Pierre Trudeau Airport were eerily empty. With just a few minutes to go for the flight, I wondered whether I was the sole passenger on the flight. At 5:00 PM I had been early, but not too bothered about being so. The lady at the counter had offered to put me on the 5:40 PM flight, but I had wisely declined – a decision vindicated as I passed through the immigration counter.
My worst fears seemed to be cropping up in my mind. The officer at the immigration counter was quite crude.
Him: “Why were you in Canada?”
Me: “I was here for a business meeting with a client.”
Him: “Where in the USA are you headed for?”
Me: “Philadelphia.”
Him: “Why?”
Me: “I work for SAP.”
Him: “Why are you in the USA?”
(What??) Me: “I work for SAP, and am in the USA for business meetings.”
Him: “I AM ASKING YOU, WHAT IS YOUR IMMIGRATION STATUS IN THE USA???”
(Huh!!) Me: “er…B1.”
Him: “Then where is your I94 form?”
(Oh No!!! There it goes) Me: “er…they took it from me when I boarded the flight in Philadelphia.”
He glared at me and thrust an I94 form at me.
Him: “Fill it up!”
I duly did. He pointed to the fingerprinting machine and said: “Your left finger.”
I extended my finger.
Him: “YOUR LEFT FINGER!”
In that moment of panic, I forgot which my left hand was.
After the disaster on Monday, recovery had been amazing. Within two days I could walk. On Wednesday, I headed out. The leg was still paining. It was not responding to flexion (it’s still not), but that didn’t deter me.
For those who think traffic in Bangalore is awful, welcome to Montreal.
Downtown Montreal is busy. Cars zip along at high speeds, oblivious of life on the roads. The youngsters are ever partying, especially after the hockey games at the Bell Centre. They are everywhere on the roads. Dorchester Square Park in the middle seems to have stopped in time. A few people can be spotted on the benches, reading books. The odd kid plays with the ball. As I turn my attention back to the road, I am suddenly transformed into another world. The cars are still zipping along…and amidst them, a beautiful girl in a white shirt and a black skirt printed with flowers is astride on a bicycle. A bunch of flowers jut out of the basket in front of the bicycle. It seems as if she’s been plucked out of a 1930s country scene. Time has indeed stopped.
Unfortunately, she’s too fast for my camera.
This week, Montreal is painted in three colors – red white and black. You can’t miss the fact that the Formula One craze has hit the town. When the cars roll out on the streets of Notre Dame the next weekend, you wouldn’t make a mistake as to who finds support here – the city is painted in red. I trudge along to the old town. It fills up with the tourists, who seem to be confused as to which pub to head for. I head for the huge souvenir shop.
I bought a bunch of things. And the young shopkeeper, he saw the bunch and asked me to pick something as a gift for me. I picked up a key chain. He gave me two more.
On Thursday, I headed up the hill to Mount Royal. It was a little adventurous of my part, since my leg was not fully healed, and half way through, my legs started to give away. They felt as if they were made of iron. But the beautifully quiet surroundings of the McGill University urged me along. By the time I reached the park, the sun was already on its way down. Looking down the steep road, I could see the river far away, through a small break among the crowd of skyscrapers. Their glasses gleamed golden in the evening sun. I went into the wooded park, and sat there for half an hour. A few evening joggers and old people went past; smiling courteously (people are so kind out here in Canada). But for them, it was just me and the birds chirping on the trees.
I am reminded of Blanche DuBois’s famous quote from Tennessee Williams’s 'A Streetcar Named Desire' : “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”
It was past 10:30 when I reached the hotel. I had walked down the beautiful Rue St. Denis, filled with restaurants featuring all kinds of cuisine. There are numerous Indian restaurants on this street. I had marveled at the huge campus of the Royal Victoria Hospital, an old Victorian-era complex that stands on the slopes of the hill. It reminded me of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from the Harry Potter movies. But I did not linger along. Hospitals always give me the creeps. They bring to me a sense of pain, a sense of suffering. As darkness descends, Downtown Montreal becomes increasingly ominous. A few cars still whiz along at high speeds, but the streets are empty and devoid of life. I walk along in the shadows, aware that there is still some way to go before the cozy confines of my room. I can see that there are people lurking in the shadows. A few youngsters venture out displaying their skills on roller skates. The massive Hotel de Ville glows triumphantly at the night sky. But the churches have closed their doors - eerie blue lights permeate their long windows. The homeless people, snuggled under blankets, try to catch some sleep on the steps of the churches or on the park benches of Victoria Square. At night I realize that beneath the gloss there is lot of poverty around.
It ended as it started – under clouded skies. The past five days have been exhilarating. It would be an understatement to say that it was a memorable trip. Montreal is truly beautiful. I do not know whether I will ever return here. But I carry with me a lot of memories, and one among them is the statement made by my TQM:
“My ideal country to live in would have…
The lifestyle of Germany and Switzerland
The weather of Venezuela (minus the rain)
The comfort of the USA
The beaches of the Caribbean
The food of Brazil
The beer of Ireland…
My friends keep telling me, you’re a crazy girl, you’ll never find such a place…but what’s wrong in dreaming? You don’t have to pay to dream…”
I hope the day never comes when we have to pay for our dreams…
On Friday evening, the departure gates of the Pierre Trudeau Airport were eerily empty. With just a few minutes to go for the flight, I wondered whether I was the sole passenger on the flight. At 5:00 PM I had been early, but not too bothered about being so. The lady at the counter had offered to put me on the 5:40 PM flight, but I had wisely declined – a decision vindicated as I passed through the immigration counter.
My worst fears seemed to be cropping up in my mind. The officer at the immigration counter was quite crude.
Him: “Why were you in Canada?”
Me: “I was here for a business meeting with a client.”
Him: “Where in the USA are you headed for?”
Me: “Philadelphia.”
Him: “Why?”
Me: “I work for SAP.”
Him: “Why are you in the USA?”
(What??) Me: “I work for SAP, and am in the USA for business meetings.”
Him: “I AM ASKING YOU, WHAT IS YOUR IMMIGRATION STATUS IN THE USA???”
(Huh!!) Me: “er…B1.”
Him: “Then where is your I94 form?”
(Oh No!!! There it goes) Me: “er…they took it from me when I boarded the flight in Philadelphia.”
He glared at me and thrust an I94 form at me.
Him: “Fill it up!”
I duly did. He pointed to the fingerprinting machine and said: “Your left finger.”
I extended my finger.
Him: “YOUR LEFT FINGER!”
In that moment of panic, I forgot which my left hand was.
After the disaster on Monday, recovery had been amazing. Within two days I could walk. On Wednesday, I headed out. The leg was still paining. It was not responding to flexion (it’s still not), but that didn’t deter me.
For those who think traffic in Bangalore is awful, welcome to Montreal.
Downtown Montreal is busy. Cars zip along at high speeds, oblivious of life on the roads. The youngsters are ever partying, especially after the hockey games at the Bell Centre. They are everywhere on the roads. Dorchester Square Park in the middle seems to have stopped in time. A few people can be spotted on the benches, reading books. The odd kid plays with the ball. As I turn my attention back to the road, I am suddenly transformed into another world. The cars are still zipping along…and amidst them, a beautiful girl in a white shirt and a black skirt printed with flowers is astride on a bicycle. A bunch of flowers jut out of the basket in front of the bicycle. It seems as if she’s been plucked out of a 1930s country scene. Time has indeed stopped.
Unfortunately, she’s too fast for my camera.
This week, Montreal is painted in three colors – red white and black. You can’t miss the fact that the Formula One craze has hit the town. When the cars roll out on the streets of Notre Dame the next weekend, you wouldn’t make a mistake as to who finds support here – the city is painted in red. I trudge along to the old town. It fills up with the tourists, who seem to be confused as to which pub to head for. I head for the huge souvenir shop.
I bought a bunch of things. And the young shopkeeper, he saw the bunch and asked me to pick something as a gift for me. I picked up a key chain. He gave me two more.
On Thursday, I headed up the hill to Mount Royal. It was a little adventurous of my part, since my leg was not fully healed, and half way through, my legs started to give away. They felt as if they were made of iron. But the beautifully quiet surroundings of the McGill University urged me along. By the time I reached the park, the sun was already on its way down. Looking down the steep road, I could see the river far away, through a small break among the crowd of skyscrapers. Their glasses gleamed golden in the evening sun. I went into the wooded park, and sat there for half an hour. A few evening joggers and old people went past; smiling courteously (people are so kind out here in Canada). But for them, it was just me and the birds chirping on the trees.
I am reminded of Blanche DuBois’s famous quote from Tennessee Williams’s 'A Streetcar Named Desire' : “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.”
It was past 10:30 when I reached the hotel. I had walked down the beautiful Rue St. Denis, filled with restaurants featuring all kinds of cuisine. There are numerous Indian restaurants on this street. I had marveled at the huge campus of the Royal Victoria Hospital, an old Victorian-era complex that stands on the slopes of the hill. It reminded me of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from the Harry Potter movies. But I did not linger along. Hospitals always give me the creeps. They bring to me a sense of pain, a sense of suffering. As darkness descends, Downtown Montreal becomes increasingly ominous. A few cars still whiz along at high speeds, but the streets are empty and devoid of life. I walk along in the shadows, aware that there is still some way to go before the cozy confines of my room. I can see that there are people lurking in the shadows. A few youngsters venture out displaying their skills on roller skates. The massive Hotel de Ville glows triumphantly at the night sky. But the churches have closed their doors - eerie blue lights permeate their long windows. The homeless people, snuggled under blankets, try to catch some sleep on the steps of the churches or on the park benches of Victoria Square. At night I realize that beneath the gloss there is lot of poverty around.
It ended as it started – under clouded skies. The past five days have been exhilarating. It would be an understatement to say that it was a memorable trip. Montreal is truly beautiful. I do not know whether I will ever return here. But I carry with me a lot of memories, and one among them is the statement made by my TQM:
“My ideal country to live in would have…
The lifestyle of Germany and Switzerland
The weather of Venezuela (minus the rain)
The comfort of the USA
The beaches of the Caribbean
The food of Brazil
The beer of Ireland…
My friends keep telling me, you’re a crazy girl, you’ll never find such a place…but what’s wrong in dreaming? You don’t have to pay to dream…”
I hope the day never comes when we have to pay for our dreams…
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 15
The Pony Express crossed the border on May 26th. But before that there was the small matter of catching up with Indiana Jones. Snag was waiting for me to log in on Sunday night. In my excitement, I'd forgotten to release some requests.
Me: Hi, I'm just back from Indy 4
Snag: How was the trip?
Me: I'm talking about Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
Snag: Is that a movie?
Me: Lady, which world are you from?
Me: You haven't heard of Indiana Jones??
Me: You haven't heard of INDIANA JONES??
Obviously, she gave me an earful.
"Bangalore? I've seen a lot of people from Bangalore out here" the security guard at Philadelphia Airport beamed, looking at my passport. Terminal F, exclusively for US Airways Express seemed empty. Soon I got to know the reason. The flights were tiny 40-seater aircraft. So small that the overhead compartment could just fit my laptop bag. "Can I have your case, sir? It needs to go into the cargo hold. You can collect it at the gate when you embark." said the crewman as I was about to enter the airplane. Obviously there was a lack of space. As I buckled up in my seat, I realised that all my documents were inside the case. All kinds of worst-case-scenarios started flashing through my mind. What if the suitcase is directly sent to the baggage claim area? What if I am not allowed entry into Canada? What if I am not allowed entry back into the USA?
The last question still haunts my mind. As for the others, I am now relaxing in my suite on the 30th floor of the Marriott Chateau Champlain in Montreal.
Montreal...the best thing about Montreal Airport is that they give you a city guide and a city map free of cost.
The Pierre Trudeau Airport is huge, but eerily empty. There was the absence of the ever-present queue, both at immigration and at the baggage counters. I was still tense. At the immigration counter I tried my best to present an innocent face like the baby in a topless bar. The girl at the counter put me to ease. She seemed confused about what to put as my last name. "You don't have a 'Singh' in your name?" she asked. I may have looked even more perplexed. Amidst all this confusion, she put the occupation as "Agricultural Engineer" in my work permit.
One could be forgiven to think that they are in France rather than Canada. Everything around is in French - the street sign, shop names, metro and bus stations, and what else. With lots of time to kill, I went out for a walk in the afternoon. Massive skyscrapers rise up on all sides of the hotel around downtown Montreal. A small park nestles beneath these steel monsters. Along with these monstrosities, the masonic buildings give the place a quaint European feel. Right in front of the hotel stands the massive Cathedral of Mary, Queen of the World, modelled after the St. Peter's Basilica. I spent an hour photographing the church, which meant that I had to miss out visiting the Notre Dame Cathedral.
Situated on the banks of the massive St Lawrence, the city has a massive promenade. But the place was thoroughly depressing. There was not a soul present at the promenade. Incredibly, there were no tourists - not even the one thousand odd Chinamen. I stood there under the grey clouds, watching the huge container ship crawling along the river. However, across the street was another story. It was as if I had stepped into another time. Stone roads dot the old quarter of the city. Life begins here. A hundred shops displayed their wares. Roadside restaurants and taverns were playing music. The place was full of smiling tourists - and among them I stood.
And then, disaster struck. I sprained my leg.
Me: Hi, I'm just back from Indy 4
Snag: How was the trip?
Me: I'm talking about Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
Snag: Is that a movie?
Me: Lady, which world are you from?
Me: You haven't heard of Indiana Jones??
Me: You haven't heard of INDIANA JONES??
Obviously, she gave me an earful.
"Bangalore? I've seen a lot of people from Bangalore out here" the security guard at Philadelphia Airport beamed, looking at my passport. Terminal F, exclusively for US Airways Express seemed empty. Soon I got to know the reason. The flights were tiny 40-seater aircraft. So small that the overhead compartment could just fit my laptop bag. "Can I have your case, sir? It needs to go into the cargo hold. You can collect it at the gate when you embark." said the crewman as I was about to enter the airplane. Obviously there was a lack of space. As I buckled up in my seat, I realised that all my documents were inside the case. All kinds of worst-case-scenarios started flashing through my mind. What if the suitcase is directly sent to the baggage claim area? What if I am not allowed entry into Canada? What if I am not allowed entry back into the USA?
The last question still haunts my mind. As for the others, I am now relaxing in my suite on the 30th floor of the Marriott Chateau Champlain in Montreal.
Montreal...the best thing about Montreal Airport is that they give you a city guide and a city map free of cost.
The Pierre Trudeau Airport is huge, but eerily empty. There was the absence of the ever-present queue, both at immigration and at the baggage counters. I was still tense. At the immigration counter I tried my best to present an innocent face like the baby in a topless bar. The girl at the counter put me to ease. She seemed confused about what to put as my last name. "You don't have a 'Singh' in your name?" she asked. I may have looked even more perplexed. Amidst all this confusion, she put the occupation as "Agricultural Engineer" in my work permit.
One could be forgiven to think that they are in France rather than Canada. Everything around is in French - the street sign, shop names, metro and bus stations, and what else. With lots of time to kill, I went out for a walk in the afternoon. Massive skyscrapers rise up on all sides of the hotel around downtown Montreal. A small park nestles beneath these steel monsters. Along with these monstrosities, the masonic buildings give the place a quaint European feel. Right in front of the hotel stands the massive Cathedral of Mary, Queen of the World, modelled after the St. Peter's Basilica. I spent an hour photographing the church, which meant that I had to miss out visiting the Notre Dame Cathedral.
Situated on the banks of the massive St Lawrence, the city has a massive promenade. But the place was thoroughly depressing. There was not a soul present at the promenade. Incredibly, there were no tourists - not even the one thousand odd Chinamen. I stood there under the grey clouds, watching the huge container ship crawling along the river. However, across the street was another story. It was as if I had stepped into another time. Stone roads dot the old quarter of the city. Life begins here. A hundred shops displayed their wares. Roadside restaurants and taverns were playing music. The place was full of smiling tourists - and among them I stood.
And then, disaster struck. I sprained my leg.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
The Chronicles of Indiana - the alien, the skull and the refrigerator
Close your eyes.
The "Raiders' March" starts slowly...builds up to a crescendo...and then we can see it in our mind - Harrison Ford, with his customary hat, whip in hand, jumping from trucks and vehicles to evade his captors. The image of Indiana Jones has been stuck in our minds forever.
The world can be divided into two parts - those who have heard of Indiana Jones and those who have not (No, I haven't switched allegiance. Star Wars is heavenly - not from this world).
"Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Crystal Skull" was definitely going to be the most awaited movie of the year - what with the master storyteller Steven Spielberg joining hands with the creator of dreams George Lucas yet again. Chases through warehouses and university halls, sword fights in amazonian jungle forests, man-eating ants...add to it, throw in the odd-snake to scare Indy and Indiana's quirky humour...Indy-4 does not disappoint.
Indy-4 begins off 19 years after the Last Crusade. An army of Russians, led by the ruthless and calculating Irina Spalko (Cate Blanchett, excelling in a chilling portrayal), have infiltrated Hangar 51 in Nevada on the day of a nuclear testing. With the help of the captured Indy, they are out to retrieve a box that contains the remains of an alien. Indy manages to escape - which will be dealt with later in this article - but is suspended from the college after being suspected as a red. A happy-go-lucky Mutt Williams (Shia LaBeouf) approaches him to save his mother Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen reprising the role she played in the first movie) and his teacher Professor Oxley (John Hurt). Indy agrees and what follows is a non-stop run across Peru and the amazonian jungles in search of lost cities and a crystal skull.
However, the movie leaves different tastes in your mouth. For Indiana Jones fans, you get what you expect from the movie. With almost 20 years gone since the last movie, if you expect something extraordinary, you are bound to be disappointed. For the uninitiated, Indy 4 appears as if it were a rehash of the Mummy movies. But what they fail to realize is that Indiana Jones was the "baap" of the likes of Benjamin Franklin Gates and Rick O'Connell. Of course, Indy 4 has weaknesses. The movie sometimes stretches your imagination - be it whatever, we are no longer in a world where reality can be mingled with fantasy. The script tends to be a little weak, stretching the viewer's patience towards the end. Oh, and by now, we definitely know how aliens look like. Like in every alien movie, they have elongated skulls, narrow eyes, slits for noses and a mouth so small that you might miss it if they don't speak to you. We can definitely say 'hi' if we find one walking down the road.
All said and done, Indy 4 is nevertheless a journey back in time, to the days when we used to adore Harrison Ford. Ford is old, but fits the role of Indiana to a T - thankfully because, he plays his age, with the creators having taken care that his age is accounted for in action sequences. Still, he manages to leave us breathless with his stunts. Shia LaBeouf passes muster, and evokes a few laughs with his addiction to his comb. It's great to have Karen Allen back in the movie. She is as delightful as she was in the first edition. And Cate Blanchett...to me, she stands tall, perhaps shoulder to shoulder with Ford, chilling in her portrayal of Spalko.
The movie ends with Jones and Ravenwood finally uniting in wedlock. The church door is blown open by a gust of wind, and with it flies in Indiana's hat. Mutt picks it up, ponders for a second, and lifts it to his head. Indiana passes by at that moment, snatches the hat from him and puts it on with a smile. That one shot symbolizes what every Indiana Jones fan truly knows. There can never be another Harrison Ford.
An appeal to Mr. Spielberg: Indy is our hero...but escaping a nuclear blast by hiding in a refrigerator lined with lead? Now that is stretching one's imagination a bit too much.
The "Raiders' March" starts slowly...builds up to a crescendo...and then we can see it in our mind - Harrison Ford, with his customary hat, whip in hand, jumping from trucks and vehicles to evade his captors. The image of Indiana Jones has been stuck in our minds forever.
The world can be divided into two parts - those who have heard of Indiana Jones and those who have not (No, I haven't switched allegiance. Star Wars is heavenly - not from this world).
"Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of Crystal Skull" was definitely going to be the most awaited movie of the year - what with the master storyteller Steven Spielberg joining hands with the creator of dreams George Lucas yet again. Chases through warehouses and university halls, sword fights in amazonian jungle forests, man-eating ants...add to it, throw in the odd-snake to scare Indy and Indiana's quirky humour...Indy-4 does not disappoint.
Indy-4 begins off 19 years after the Last Crusade. An army of Russians, led by the ruthless and calculating Irina Spalko (Cate Blanchett, excelling in a chilling portrayal), have infiltrated Hangar 51 in Nevada on the day of a nuclear testing. With the help of the captured Indy, they are out to retrieve a box that contains the remains of an alien. Indy manages to escape - which will be dealt with later in this article - but is suspended from the college after being suspected as a red. A happy-go-lucky Mutt Williams (Shia LaBeouf) approaches him to save his mother Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen reprising the role she played in the first movie) and his teacher Professor Oxley (John Hurt). Indy agrees and what follows is a non-stop run across Peru and the amazonian jungles in search of lost cities and a crystal skull.
However, the movie leaves different tastes in your mouth. For Indiana Jones fans, you get what you expect from the movie. With almost 20 years gone since the last movie, if you expect something extraordinary, you are bound to be disappointed. For the uninitiated, Indy 4 appears as if it were a rehash of the Mummy movies. But what they fail to realize is that Indiana Jones was the "baap" of the likes of Benjamin Franklin Gates and Rick O'Connell. Of course, Indy 4 has weaknesses. The movie sometimes stretches your imagination - be it whatever, we are no longer in a world where reality can be mingled with fantasy. The script tends to be a little weak, stretching the viewer's patience towards the end. Oh, and by now, we definitely know how aliens look like. Like in every alien movie, they have elongated skulls, narrow eyes, slits for noses and a mouth so small that you might miss it if they don't speak to you. We can definitely say 'hi' if we find one walking down the road.
All said and done, Indy 4 is nevertheless a journey back in time, to the days when we used to adore Harrison Ford. Ford is old, but fits the role of Indiana to a T - thankfully because, he plays his age, with the creators having taken care that his age is accounted for in action sequences. Still, he manages to leave us breathless with his stunts. Shia LaBeouf passes muster, and evokes a few laughs with his addiction to his comb. It's great to have Karen Allen back in the movie. She is as delightful as she was in the first edition. And Cate Blanchett...to me, she stands tall, perhaps shoulder to shoulder with Ford, chilling in her portrayal of Spalko.
The movie ends with Jones and Ravenwood finally uniting in wedlock. The church door is blown open by a gust of wind, and with it flies in Indiana's hat. Mutt picks it up, ponders for a second, and lifts it to his head. Indiana passes by at that moment, snatches the hat from him and puts it on with a smile. That one shot symbolizes what every Indiana Jones fan truly knows. There can never be another Harrison Ford.
An appeal to Mr. Spielberg: Indy is our hero...but escaping a nuclear blast by hiding in a refrigerator lined with lead? Now that is stretching one's imagination a bit too much.
Friday, May 23, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 14
The southern end of Hope Street is a dead end. At this end stands a small sand-coloured building that resembles an Egyptian temple or palace. The top of the building is crowned by a mosaic pyramid, and the words "Books Invite All They Constrain None" is carved out on its doorway. The huge skyscrapers of Citibank and US Bank tower over it from behind, as if guarding this little one from harm. This is the Los Angeles Public Library. Next to it, stood the massive structure that housed the Canadian Consulate.
Los Angeles is a strange place. New York has the glitz, Chicago is bustling with business, San Francisco retains its old charm, and LA, it gives me a mysterious feeling. This city stands as if it were a large oasis in a desert - a fact augmented by the presence of huge palm trees along the roadsides. Huge freeways, carrying more than 10 lanes of traffic crisscross the city, flying above the houses. This was my second visit to the city. My plan was to finish off the work at the Consulate and head towards Downtown Disney at Anaheim, in the hope of laying my hands on some elusive DVDs (and perhaps some rhinoceros soft toys). But Anaheim was far off, and due to the time taken at the consulate, i had to ditch the plans.
It took me one hour to walk from the hotel to the consulate. The Figueroa corridor, where the hotel stood was home to a few landmarks in the city. Opposite to the hotel, sprawled the majestic campus of the University of Southern California. A few blocks away, resplendent in Muslim Architecture stood the Shrine Auditorium, home to the Academy Awards Ceremony until a few years back. And further away was the beautiful Spanish building of the Automobile Association of America. Joel, the receptionist, was eager to explain to me about them. He was overjoyed that he could pronounce my second name at the first attempt. "Ravi! your first name sounds nice," he declared. "It means, the 'sun'" I told him. "My second name in Spanish translates to 'bread and wine'," he chuckled "But that's nothing! one of my cousins, he is named after a rare flower."
He was one of the jolly characters i would meet that day, the other being the jovial security guard at the consulate. Courteous and playful with everyone, he made everyone feel at ease in what would otherwise have been a dour environment. He sent me down from the 9th Floor to the reception downstairs claiming that I was "one minute early". And when I came up a minute later, he had a mischievous smile on his face.
Downtown LA is a strange place. As the hours pass by, life changes in these skyscrapers. At 8:00 in the morning, the traffic was heavy, with cars honking. Within two hours, the roads were completely empty. At 3:00 in the afternoon, people dressed in immaculate suits were busy running from one building to the other. Cars were crashing into each other. I decided to walk back to the hotel, rather than take a taxi. It seemed to be an interesting day. The finals of American Idol where scheduled down the street at the Staples Centre Auditorium. Huge limousines were pulling up close to the red carpet, and girls were screaming at the top of their lungs. Next door, at the sports centre, the cheerleaders of the LA Lakers were getting ready for the NBA match in the evening. I lingered for a long time before proceeding. I had just one more thing to see, before I left LA.
After a short breather at the hotel, I walked out. The huge United Airlines aircraft greets you at the front of the California Science Centre. It forms the part of the Theodore Alexander Jr. Science School. Under the shadows of the huge aircraft, kids were busy playing basketball. Further along, stood a US Air force fighter plane. But most surprisingly, at the entrance of the parking lot, was a unique exhibit - a lever, with a car hanging on it at one end, with the other end hanging free. Anybody wishing to do so, could pull the chains at the free end (marked 1X, 2X and 4X) and lift the car. If you pulled the chain with the right force, you could lift the car. I succeeded.
In the midst of the trees, as if a mute witness to the surroundings, stood the massive Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. The seating arena sloped down to the track at the bottom. I was finally there...
Observation: Perhaps the most romantic thing in the world is to fly up in the sky on a moonlit night. But then, airplanes are so depressing.
Los Angeles is a strange place. New York has the glitz, Chicago is bustling with business, San Francisco retains its old charm, and LA, it gives me a mysterious feeling. This city stands as if it were a large oasis in a desert - a fact augmented by the presence of huge palm trees along the roadsides. Huge freeways, carrying more than 10 lanes of traffic crisscross the city, flying above the houses. This was my second visit to the city. My plan was to finish off the work at the Consulate and head towards Downtown Disney at Anaheim, in the hope of laying my hands on some elusive DVDs (and perhaps some rhinoceros soft toys). But Anaheim was far off, and due to the time taken at the consulate, i had to ditch the plans.
It took me one hour to walk from the hotel to the consulate. The Figueroa corridor, where the hotel stood was home to a few landmarks in the city. Opposite to the hotel, sprawled the majestic campus of the University of Southern California. A few blocks away, resplendent in Muslim Architecture stood the Shrine Auditorium, home to the Academy Awards Ceremony until a few years back. And further away was the beautiful Spanish building of the Automobile Association of America. Joel, the receptionist, was eager to explain to me about them. He was overjoyed that he could pronounce my second name at the first attempt. "Ravi! your first name sounds nice," he declared. "It means, the 'sun'" I told him. "My second name in Spanish translates to 'bread and wine'," he chuckled "But that's nothing! one of my cousins, he is named after a rare flower."
He was one of the jolly characters i would meet that day, the other being the jovial security guard at the consulate. Courteous and playful with everyone, he made everyone feel at ease in what would otherwise have been a dour environment. He sent me down from the 9th Floor to the reception downstairs claiming that I was "one minute early". And when I came up a minute later, he had a mischievous smile on his face.
Downtown LA is a strange place. As the hours pass by, life changes in these skyscrapers. At 8:00 in the morning, the traffic was heavy, with cars honking. Within two hours, the roads were completely empty. At 3:00 in the afternoon, people dressed in immaculate suits were busy running from one building to the other. Cars were crashing into each other. I decided to walk back to the hotel, rather than take a taxi. It seemed to be an interesting day. The finals of American Idol where scheduled down the street at the Staples Centre Auditorium. Huge limousines were pulling up close to the red carpet, and girls were screaming at the top of their lungs. Next door, at the sports centre, the cheerleaders of the LA Lakers were getting ready for the NBA match in the evening. I lingered for a long time before proceeding. I had just one more thing to see, before I left LA.
After a short breather at the hotel, I walked out. The huge United Airlines aircraft greets you at the front of the California Science Centre. It forms the part of the Theodore Alexander Jr. Science School. Under the shadows of the huge aircraft, kids were busy playing basketball. Further along, stood a US Air force fighter plane. But most surprisingly, at the entrance of the parking lot, was a unique exhibit - a lever, with a car hanging on it at one end, with the other end hanging free. Anybody wishing to do so, could pull the chains at the free end (marked 1X, 2X and 4X) and lift the car. If you pulled the chain with the right force, you could lift the car. I succeeded.
In the midst of the trees, as if a mute witness to the surroundings, stood the massive Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. The seating arena sloped down to the track at the bottom. I was finally there...
Observation: Perhaps the most romantic thing in the world is to fly up in the sky on a moonlit night. But then, airplanes are so depressing.
The Pony Express - Part 13
Bhavan's Vidya Mandir, Thrissur: One day at school, our teacher made an announcement that we were to be taken to a nearby auditorium to watch the opening ceremony of the Olympics. I had never heard of the Olympics before. The teacher explained to me what the Olympics was. At the auditorium I watched, as the athletes went past the cheering crowd at the Los Angeles Coliseum. The huge arched doorway, with the Olympic Torch lit atop, stayed in my mind. In the days that followed, i made many a painting on what I had seen. It was the first time I had heard of the City of Los Angeles. Hence, it came as a surprise to me when I caught sight of it, late on Tuesday night. The Radisson Hotel where I was staying for the night, was situated directly opposite to the Los Angeles Coliseum.
It had been a long night. The flight was dreadful. I hadn't eaten anything. By the time I woke from my sleep, the food had got over. And the flight was already late, as we swooped down over the immense city of Los Angeles. The city seemed to stretch underneath wherever I looked. I had never seen a city bigger than this, from the air.
Fifteen beautiful pillars swathed in blue and purple light adorn the entrance to the LAX International Airport, and strangely, they reminded me of the pillars at the entrance to the town of Panaji. Getting out of the airport complex seemed to take ages. As we got on to the freeway, the first thing i noticed was the buildings that proclaimed "Raytheon". It seemed ominous. My taxi sped along the freeway at 90 miles per hour. Down below, the brightly lit city extended till the horizon - immaculately laid out roads crisscrossing each other to make rectangular patterns. The sky had an orange hue, masking out the beautiful moonlight that had lit up the ground as we flew across America.
"You're just in time, sir. You've received an upgrade, since we are running short of rooms today" said the receptionist as i walked into the lobby. As I stepped into the room, I saw two neatly laid out beds. The massive pool glinted outside.
I collapsed out of exhaustion.
Photo of the Day: None. I never carried my camera to Los Angeles.
It had been a long night. The flight was dreadful. I hadn't eaten anything. By the time I woke from my sleep, the food had got over. And the flight was already late, as we swooped down over the immense city of Los Angeles. The city seemed to stretch underneath wherever I looked. I had never seen a city bigger than this, from the air.
Fifteen beautiful pillars swathed in blue and purple light adorn the entrance to the LAX International Airport, and strangely, they reminded me of the pillars at the entrance to the town of Panaji. Getting out of the airport complex seemed to take ages. As we got on to the freeway, the first thing i noticed was the buildings that proclaimed "Raytheon". It seemed ominous. My taxi sped along the freeway at 90 miles per hour. Down below, the brightly lit city extended till the horizon - immaculately laid out roads crisscrossing each other to make rectangular patterns. The sky had an orange hue, masking out the beautiful moonlight that had lit up the ground as we flew across America.
"You're just in time, sir. You've received an upgrade, since we are running short of rooms today" said the receptionist as i walked into the lobby. As I stepped into the room, I saw two neatly laid out beds. The massive pool glinted outside.
I collapsed out of exhaustion.
Photo of the Day: None. I never carried my camera to Los Angeles.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 12
* I guess the Phillies (i mean the baseball team, not any Philadelphian) were playing today. I take that surmise by the number of people I saw on the train wearing a "Phillies" shirt or pullover. Small-time railway stations like Paoli are no different from their counterparts India - neglected, lonely and small, as if development seemed to have gone past, completely ignoring them. The local trains though are completely different. Sleek, smooth and soundless. That one fact sometimes puts me off - i miss the 'dhadak-dhadak' of the Indian train.
* Today is Israel's Independence Day. The country celebrates its 60th anniversary. As I walked down 22nd Street, i was greeted by a massive traffic jam leading on to the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. No wonder...there was a massive procession on. All the Jews in Philadelphia had descended on to the parkway today. The rain did not seem to bother them. There they were, happily waving the flags. Of course, the anti-Israel protesters were not far behind. A handful of them, wearing black all over, were following the procession, with placards saying "It's not yet time to celebrate, Israel" and "Remember Palestine". As for me, I just ambled along.
* "Go in at 2:00, and you can come out at 5:00. It does not take more than 3 hours." Kavitha had told me the other day, about the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It was my destination today. I spent 4 hours inside the museum, before I was chucked out at 5:00 - the closing time. I had only finished seeing half of the museum.
* You might be forgiven if you thought the Philadelphia Museum of Art was dedicated to the movies. Most people who come here are more interested in clicking a photograph at the top of the massive steps that lead up to the Eastern entrance. These steps are called the "Rocky Steps." The movie poster featured Rocky Balboa standing on top of the steps, his hands raised up in determination. Everyone wants to be a Rocky...by just posing for a photograph. Sure enough, there are metallic shoe prints with the word "Rocky" imprinted on the floor.
* I might have claimed that Budapest was better than Philadelphia, but the Quaker City scores one on the basis of the Museum. The Museum houses a huge collection. Impressions made by Budapest were changed out here. Cezanne, Rubens, Monet, Manet, Van Gogh and Picasso were all there. Talking about Picasso, they have a huge collection of Modern Art, most of which did not make sense to me. Picasso's paintings were the major attraction. There was a painting called "The Bullfight", in which I failed to spot the bull, another one called "Man with the violin" in which I could not find any violin, and one called "Man with the guitar" in which I could not find...guess what?
* The worst was yet to come. There was a huge rectangular canvas which was painted all over by just one shade of blue. It was called "River." A vertical rectangular canvas strip was split into black, white, black and blue painted rectangles. It was named, not surprisingly, "two blacks, a white and a blue". Another one was named "yellow, orange and red". You can guess how it would have looked.
* The adjoining room was dedicated to modern artwork created out of photographs and postcards by a British-Italian duo: Gilbert and George. I almost choked on seeing an artwork named "Blue World." It was made out of hundreds of postcards featuring...Govinda (the actor)!
* Pragati's favourite place in Budapest was Vaci ut, the shopping street - her version of Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium. Here in Philly, there are two of them - Chestnut Street and Walnut Street. I guess she would love them twice over.
Photo of the Day: Maternal Caress.
* Today is Israel's Independence Day. The country celebrates its 60th anniversary. As I walked down 22nd Street, i was greeted by a massive traffic jam leading on to the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. No wonder...there was a massive procession on. All the Jews in Philadelphia had descended on to the parkway today. The rain did not seem to bother them. There they were, happily waving the flags. Of course, the anti-Israel protesters were not far behind. A handful of them, wearing black all over, were following the procession, with placards saying "It's not yet time to celebrate, Israel" and "Remember Palestine". As for me, I just ambled along.
* "Go in at 2:00, and you can come out at 5:00. It does not take more than 3 hours." Kavitha had told me the other day, about the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It was my destination today. I spent 4 hours inside the museum, before I was chucked out at 5:00 - the closing time. I had only finished seeing half of the museum.
* You might be forgiven if you thought the Philadelphia Museum of Art was dedicated to the movies. Most people who come here are more interested in clicking a photograph at the top of the massive steps that lead up to the Eastern entrance. These steps are called the "Rocky Steps." The movie poster featured Rocky Balboa standing on top of the steps, his hands raised up in determination. Everyone wants to be a Rocky...by just posing for a photograph. Sure enough, there are metallic shoe prints with the word "Rocky" imprinted on the floor.
* I might have claimed that Budapest was better than Philadelphia, but the Quaker City scores one on the basis of the Museum. The Museum houses a huge collection. Impressions made by Budapest were changed out here. Cezanne, Rubens, Monet, Manet, Van Gogh and Picasso were all there. Talking about Picasso, they have a huge collection of Modern Art, most of which did not make sense to me. Picasso's paintings were the major attraction. There was a painting called "The Bullfight", in which I failed to spot the bull, another one called "Man with the violin" in which I could not find any violin, and one called "Man with the guitar" in which I could not find...guess what?
* The worst was yet to come. There was a huge rectangular canvas which was painted all over by just one shade of blue. It was called "River." A vertical rectangular canvas strip was split into black, white, black and blue painted rectangles. It was named, not surprisingly, "two blacks, a white and a blue". Another one was named "yellow, orange and red". You can guess how it would have looked.
* The adjoining room was dedicated to modern artwork created out of photographs and postcards by a British-Italian duo: Gilbert and George. I almost choked on seeing an artwork named "Blue World." It was made out of hundreds of postcards featuring...Govinda (the actor)!
* Pragati's favourite place in Budapest was Vaci ut, the shopping street - her version of Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium. Here in Philly, there are two of them - Chestnut Street and Walnut Street. I guess she would love them twice over.
Photo of the Day: Maternal Caress.
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 11
As I waited to be billed at "Giant", two guys in black jackets, earrings and all turned up at the next queue. They looked perplexed. "I need the least colourful Mother's Day card. I know it's too late, but that's what my mom likes" he blabbered to the clerk. This country is surely strange.
The drive to Washington DC was beautiful. As we entered I-95, the huge spans of the Delaware Memorial Bridge rose up in the distance. We would not be going up the bridge on our journey, but our ride would take us through a beautifully green landscape. The weather forecast had been cloudy, but the rain kept us company throughout the ride. For a change, we saw massive traffic jams, but thankfully not on our lane.
Washington DC was a major surprise. The city was more beautiful than i had ever imagined. Skyscrapers were conspicuous by their absence. Old masonry buildings hugged each other on well-planned streets. The streets were laid out in lattice patters, being named after numbers and alphabets. The bigger avenues were named after the states of the country. It was as if we had stepped into any European city.
We never needed a map, but then, we spent precious minuted finding a place to park. Every building seemed to have a huge park. "Colonial Park" - claimed the logo everywhere. Little do they know that "Colonial" had a different connotation in India. However, all the Colonial car parks seemed to be shuttered - until we realized that even though these were public car parks, they required some kind of card to be accessed.
We parked in the basement of a huge glass building - perhaps the only one in the neighborhood. Getting out of the basement seemed to be the biggest challenge for us. Following the "Exit" sign on the stairway, we stepped out into a corridor full of doors on each side, with flourescent lights hanging from above. It resembled something out of a science fiction movie - a laboratory where virus had been accidentally released.
As we ambled along, the beauty of the place was growing on us. Soon, I spotted the huge triangular top of the Washington Monument obelisk rising above the trees. A storm seemed to approaching and in the swirling clouds the immense structure seemed to sway. The sky was filled with the drone of aircrafts landing and taking off from the nearby airport. Behind us stood the massive dome of the Capitol, and ahead the sparkling fountains of the World War II Memorial, where thousands of tourists were busy clicking innumerable photgraphs. The long rectangular tank with its still water resembling a sheet of green tinted glass stretched all the way till the Lincolm Monument, a scene which I had until now, witnessed in innumerable movies. And on our right, nestled amidst a huge garden, lay what is considered by some as the most important place on earth - the White House.
But for every human, home is the most important place on earth...
Tossing him the bottle of shoe polish I had gotten from "Giant", I told Sandil: "You should be proud of it!" Written on it in small white letters were the words "Made in India".
Pic of the Day: Babies' Day Out
The drive to Washington DC was beautiful. As we entered I-95, the huge spans of the Delaware Memorial Bridge rose up in the distance. We would not be going up the bridge on our journey, but our ride would take us through a beautifully green landscape. The weather forecast had been cloudy, but the rain kept us company throughout the ride. For a change, we saw massive traffic jams, but thankfully not on our lane.
Washington DC was a major surprise. The city was more beautiful than i had ever imagined. Skyscrapers were conspicuous by their absence. Old masonry buildings hugged each other on well-planned streets. The streets were laid out in lattice patters, being named after numbers and alphabets. The bigger avenues were named after the states of the country. It was as if we had stepped into any European city.
We never needed a map, but then, we spent precious minuted finding a place to park. Every building seemed to have a huge park. "Colonial Park" - claimed the logo everywhere. Little do they know that "Colonial" had a different connotation in India. However, all the Colonial car parks seemed to be shuttered - until we realized that even though these were public car parks, they required some kind of card to be accessed.
We parked in the basement of a huge glass building - perhaps the only one in the neighborhood. Getting out of the basement seemed to be the biggest challenge for us. Following the "Exit" sign on the stairway, we stepped out into a corridor full of doors on each side, with flourescent lights hanging from above. It resembled something out of a science fiction movie - a laboratory where virus had been accidentally released.
As we ambled along, the beauty of the place was growing on us. Soon, I spotted the huge triangular top of the Washington Monument obelisk rising above the trees. A storm seemed to approaching and in the swirling clouds the immense structure seemed to sway. The sky was filled with the drone of aircrafts landing and taking off from the nearby airport. Behind us stood the massive dome of the Capitol, and ahead the sparkling fountains of the World War II Memorial, where thousands of tourists were busy clicking innumerable photgraphs. The long rectangular tank with its still water resembling a sheet of green tinted glass stretched all the way till the Lincolm Monument, a scene which I had until now, witnessed in innumerable movies. And on our right, nestled amidst a huge garden, lay what is considered by some as the most important place on earth - the White House.
But for every human, home is the most important place on earth...
Tossing him the bottle of shoe polish I had gotten from "Giant", I told Sandil: "You should be proud of it!" Written on it in small white letters were the words "Made in India".
Pic of the Day: Babies' Day Out
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Thank you...
...to all who came into my klavern, read my posts, commented on it, encouraged me to write...
This is my hundredth post...
--The Klansman...
This is my hundredth post...
--The Klansman...
The Pony Express - Part 10
Maybe it is an extension to Murphy's Law that when you are really in need of the camera, you never have it with you.
Yesterday, in the midst of my conference call, i got up to stretch. There were many people at the window. For a moment, i wondered why...and then i saw it. A yellow gosling was slowly strutting along (in Malayalam, we call it "annanada", but with reference mostly to women) in the parking lot. I groped around, and realized that i didn't have my camera. Further down the parking lot was the mother goose. A gaggle of goslings were around her, quacking away busily. The mother goose led her babies across the parking lot, and more than the goslings followed her. There were a host of onlookers, interested in seeing what she was up to. On the other side of the parking lot, an employee was feeding them. People watched with amazement, some of them clicking photos with their mobile phones.
This place is always on the move. People are too busy to be at the same place on two days. For a moment, nature seemed to have brought SAP to a standstill.
Today I took my camera along (oh...i bought a bag for it last week), and it was raining heavily. Geese are not so romantinc about the rain.
On Friday, i had watched "IT" - a horror flick based on Stephen King's acclaimed horror novel. The little town of Derry holds a dark secret. The children fear it, and they believe in it. The adults, who know everything, know nothing, and can't see it. For beneath the sewers of the town, "IT" lurked...coming up at times, to feed on the fears of the little children. Only their belief can save them.
Belief...
Little Eddie Kaspbrak goes into the chemist's store to buy his canister of asthma medicine. The chemist calls him aside, and tells him: "It's just a placebo. It's nothing but water with a dash of peppermint. Your doctor and your mother are making you dependent on it!" Little Eddie can't believe it. He runs out of the store.
Belief...
Yesterday, when I went to work I forgot my asthma canister at home. I realized it as soon as i reached office. For a moment I panicked. And then I told myself: "I'll resist an attack if it happens. After all it is just water with a dash of peppermint!" After lunch, I had a mild attack. I resisted. In ten minutes, it was gone.
Belief...
I was proud of myself. I survived the day. Snag didn't seem too impressed when i related the incident to her on chat. "You should take more care of yourself" she said. "What if you'd fallen sick while driving?" Frankly, I had never considered that possibility until she mentioned it.
Yesterday, in the midst of my conference call, i got up to stretch. There were many people at the window. For a moment, i wondered why...and then i saw it. A yellow gosling was slowly strutting along (in Malayalam, we call it "annanada", but with reference mostly to women) in the parking lot. I groped around, and realized that i didn't have my camera. Further down the parking lot was the mother goose. A gaggle of goslings were around her, quacking away busily. The mother goose led her babies across the parking lot, and more than the goslings followed her. There were a host of onlookers, interested in seeing what she was up to. On the other side of the parking lot, an employee was feeding them. People watched with amazement, some of them clicking photos with their mobile phones.
This place is always on the move. People are too busy to be at the same place on two days. For a moment, nature seemed to have brought SAP to a standstill.
Today I took my camera along (oh...i bought a bag for it last week), and it was raining heavily. Geese are not so romantinc about the rain.
On Friday, i had watched "IT" - a horror flick based on Stephen King's acclaimed horror novel. The little town of Derry holds a dark secret. The children fear it, and they believe in it. The adults, who know everything, know nothing, and can't see it. For beneath the sewers of the town, "IT" lurked...coming up at times, to feed on the fears of the little children. Only their belief can save them.
Belief...
Little Eddie Kaspbrak goes into the chemist's store to buy his canister of asthma medicine. The chemist calls him aside, and tells him: "It's just a placebo. It's nothing but water with a dash of peppermint. Your doctor and your mother are making you dependent on it!" Little Eddie can't believe it. He runs out of the store.
Belief...
Yesterday, when I went to work I forgot my asthma canister at home. I realized it as soon as i reached office. For a moment I panicked. And then I told myself: "I'll resist an attack if it happens. After all it is just water with a dash of peppermint!" After lunch, I had a mild attack. I resisted. In ten minutes, it was gone.
Belief...
I was proud of myself. I survived the day. Snag didn't seem too impressed when i related the incident to her on chat. "You should take more care of yourself" she said. "What if you'd fallen sick while driving?" Frankly, I had never considered that possibility until she mentioned it.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 9 - Epilogue
These Americans are crazy (by Toutatis)! Look what I found on Wikipedia about the City Hall and its clock tower:
"For many years, City Hall remained the tallest building in Philadelphia under the terms of a 'gentlemen's agreement' that forbade any structure from rising above the William Penn statue atop City Hall. In 1987, it lost this distinction when One Liberty Place was completed. (The breaking of this agreement is said to be the cause of the so-called Curse of Billy Penn, under the supposed influence of which no major-league Philadelphia sports team has won a championship since 1983.)"
Of all the things, he had to curse sports teams. I wonder if someone at the (soon-to-be) old airport has cursed the Bangalore Royal Challengers.
"For many years, City Hall remained the tallest building in Philadelphia under the terms of a 'gentlemen's agreement' that forbade any structure from rising above the William Penn statue atop City Hall. In 1987, it lost this distinction when One Liberty Place was completed. (The breaking of this agreement is said to be the cause of the so-called Curse of Billy Penn, under the supposed influence of which no major-league Philadelphia sports team has won a championship since 1983.)"
Of all the things, he had to curse sports teams. I wonder if someone at the (soon-to-be) old airport has cursed the Bangalore Royal Challengers.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 9
The motorists in Philadelphia seem to be short of patience. I've never heard so much of honking. It irritates you to walk along the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. Lining the Parkway are some of the most beautiful buildings that you come across in this city - the cathedral of St. Peter and Paul, the Free Library of Philadelphia, the Benjamin Franklin (him again) Institute Science Museum, the Moore College of Arts, and the Rodin Museum.
Splitting the Parkway in the middle stands the Logan Square, one of the first four squares to be built in the city, with the beautiful Swann Fountain. The huge fountain consists of three figures, each holding a swan-like bird (hence NOT the name - it was built by Maria Swann in memory of her husband) spouting water. They are bathed from the waters spit out by frogs and turtles that stand at the periphery of the fountain. At 2:30 in the afternoon, children were splashing around inside the fountain. I headed towards the science museum for a photo shot. The place seemed to be a beehive of activity. A couple sat on the sidewalk - the girl in tears, with her lover trying to soothe her with pleasant words. A father was trying hard to compose a picture with a huge camera, at the same time trying to hold his son at bay. The ice cream vendors were having a whale of a time. From behind the columns at the entrance, hung a huge banner, proclaiming an exhibit on Pirates. As I readied my camera for a shot, the sight before me took my breath away. Painted on the steps leading to the doorway, was the huge picture of Darth Vader.
The rest of the Ben Franklin Parkway reminded me of the Champs Elysee. Huge tree-covered pathways run along its side. Music blares from a zillion music players on the sidewalks. There are so less vehicles on the road that you could well have a temptation to jay-walk - a desire amply demonstrated by the youngsters who cavort on the road on the roller skates until an oncoming car honks them out of their reverie. I walked along, looking at the various flags. A middle-aged French woman was busy photographing her national flag, and lo, there flew the Indian tricolour. It was ironic to find it there, fluttering majestically in the wind, when in our own country, a citizen cannot have the liberty to fly the flag. A few feet away, atop the now-famous "Rocky Steps" (courtesy Sylvester Stallone), stood the beautiful facade of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. a huge banner of Frida Kahlo hung from its side, and ironically, she resembled Salma Hayek. The statue of Rocky stood to a side, and there seemed to be more people photographing it than heading into the museum. I walked around it, and headed towards the waterworks on the Schuylkill river, lured by the music emanating from a thousand music players. And sure enough, there was a crowd watching a brilliant display of dancers on skates. Evening was a revelry.
Across the 30th Street Station, on the banks of the Schuylkill stood "2400", the 30-odd storied apartment where Kavitha resided. It was just across the block, and I still had trouble finding it. She kept claiming on the phone that she could see me ambling along. I wondered whether she had binoculars for eyes, until i found the building (of course, it helped that she lived on the thirtieth floor - the view from her window was awesome). She'd said her house was a mess, but it was a garden compared to my room back home. "Is 2400 the address to the place?" I asked. "Yes. It's such a stupid name for an apartment" she relied back. "Well, what do you want? Would you prefer something like 'Mantri residency'??" I quipped back. We kept chattering until lunch was served. It was a quaint little restaurant called "Continental" and we were sitting on, believe it or not, swings. "Do you like chocolates?" she enquired. I couldn't hide my grin. The best was yet to come.
"It's pure unadulterated chocolate" she claimed, and so it was - Naked Chocolate Cafe. The place was full of chocolates. Bars, nuggets and what else. I slurped two cups of hot bittersweet chocolate - mine as well as Kavitha's. Forrest's Mama always said life is like a box of chocolates. I wonder why she limited it to a box...
Picture of the Day: It took me ages to capture the Indian Tricolor, as it fluttered freely in the afternoon breeze. Ironically, this was the only streetlight that was still lit at 3:00 PM.
Splitting the Parkway in the middle stands the Logan Square, one of the first four squares to be built in the city, with the beautiful Swann Fountain. The huge fountain consists of three figures, each holding a swan-like bird (hence NOT the name - it was built by Maria Swann in memory of her husband) spouting water. They are bathed from the waters spit out by frogs and turtles that stand at the periphery of the fountain. At 2:30 in the afternoon, children were splashing around inside the fountain. I headed towards the science museum for a photo shot. The place seemed to be a beehive of activity. A couple sat on the sidewalk - the girl in tears, with her lover trying to soothe her with pleasant words. A father was trying hard to compose a picture with a huge camera, at the same time trying to hold his son at bay. The ice cream vendors were having a whale of a time. From behind the columns at the entrance, hung a huge banner, proclaiming an exhibit on Pirates. As I readied my camera for a shot, the sight before me took my breath away. Painted on the steps leading to the doorway, was the huge picture of Darth Vader.
The rest of the Ben Franklin Parkway reminded me of the Champs Elysee. Huge tree-covered pathways run along its side. Music blares from a zillion music players on the sidewalks. There are so less vehicles on the road that you could well have a temptation to jay-walk - a desire amply demonstrated by the youngsters who cavort on the road on the roller skates until an oncoming car honks them out of their reverie. I walked along, looking at the various flags. A middle-aged French woman was busy photographing her national flag, and lo, there flew the Indian tricolour. It was ironic to find it there, fluttering majestically in the wind, when in our own country, a citizen cannot have the liberty to fly the flag. A few feet away, atop the now-famous "Rocky Steps" (courtesy Sylvester Stallone), stood the beautiful facade of the Philadelphia Museum of Art. a huge banner of Frida Kahlo hung from its side, and ironically, she resembled Salma Hayek. The statue of Rocky stood to a side, and there seemed to be more people photographing it than heading into the museum. I walked around it, and headed towards the waterworks on the Schuylkill river, lured by the music emanating from a thousand music players. And sure enough, there was a crowd watching a brilliant display of dancers on skates. Evening was a revelry.
Across the 30th Street Station, on the banks of the Schuylkill stood "2400", the 30-odd storied apartment where Kavitha resided. It was just across the block, and I still had trouble finding it. She kept claiming on the phone that she could see me ambling along. I wondered whether she had binoculars for eyes, until i found the building (of course, it helped that she lived on the thirtieth floor - the view from her window was awesome). She'd said her house was a mess, but it was a garden compared to my room back home. "Is 2400 the address to the place?" I asked. "Yes. It's such a stupid name for an apartment" she relied back. "Well, what do you want? Would you prefer something like 'Mantri residency'??" I quipped back. We kept chattering until lunch was served. It was a quaint little restaurant called "Continental" and we were sitting on, believe it or not, swings. "Do you like chocolates?" she enquired. I couldn't hide my grin. The best was yet to come.
"It's pure unadulterated chocolate" she claimed, and so it was - Naked Chocolate Cafe. The place was full of chocolates. Bars, nuggets and what else. I slurped two cups of hot bittersweet chocolate - mine as well as Kavitha's. Forrest's Mama always said life is like a box of chocolates. I wonder why she limited it to a box...
Picture of the Day: It took me ages to capture the Indian Tricolor, as it fluttered freely in the afternoon breeze. Ironically, this was the only streetlight that was still lit at 3:00 PM.
The Pony Express - Part 8
For a moment, it was like being back in Budapest - those last three days that I spent walking around the city - as i started the long walk down Benjamin Franklin Parkway (For the Mumbaikars: this guy is the Chhatrapati Shivaji of Philadelphia..and no, that's not the Thalaivar for the Tamilian.) Realization soon dawned that it was not to be so. Philadelphia is beautiful, but Budapest is better. As you walk along the Parkway, the first thing that catches your attention is the string of flags that dot the sidewalks. Far ahead you can spot a majestic building conspicuous with its Greek columns - the Philadelphia Museum of Art. Earlier in the day, this was to be my destination. But as the day progressed, I was just content to walk around.
The Benjamin Franklin Parkway, is a picturesque road that runs through the middle of the cultural heart of Philadelphia. On one end towers the black and grey walls of the world's tallest masonry building, the Philadelphia City Hall, cleaving the beautiful Broad Street into two. I got my first glimpse of the building as I crossed Broad Street further down the block. There it stood, further along the street, towering up as if out of a B-Grade Hollywood flick. I was immediately captured by its beauty. "I have to photograph it some time" I told Kavitha, as we headed further down.
The City Hall is frequented by few tourists - perhaps only those who find it beautiful enough to be a side distraction, as a prop in the background for a photograph. There seemed to be more beggars than tourists around the place. Around the corner stood the JFK Plaza, with its famous LOVE sculpture. Needless to say, there were many young couples, intent on taking photographs in and around it. What attracted me most was the lively atmosphere around the square. The fountain was gushing up, as if in a losing challenge to the huge clock tower of the City Hall in the background. Youngsters were busy flaunting their skills on the bicycles and skateboards. There was a sense of deja vu; a scene i had witnessed at Deak Ferenc Ter in Budapest. It seemed as if all and sundry had converged onto this small square (mind you, Minsk Square in Bangalore - technically though that is anything but a square in shape - is bigger than this), for there were no tourists to be seen on any of the side streets.
A small black mark on the map caught my attention. At the corner of Broad Street was marked a square symbolising the Masonic Temple. The dark and controversial history of the Freemasons piqued my curiosity. My map claimed that this was one of the oldest Grand Lodges in the United States. I ran towards it, only to find the huge building draped in a black cloth, resembling a woman in mourning. A mammoth flag of the United States fluttered from the top. It was under renovation.
Pic of the Day - 1:
"Who's taller? Me or you?"
The Benjamin Franklin Parkway, is a picturesque road that runs through the middle of the cultural heart of Philadelphia. On one end towers the black and grey walls of the world's tallest masonry building, the Philadelphia City Hall, cleaving the beautiful Broad Street into two. I got my first glimpse of the building as I crossed Broad Street further down the block. There it stood, further along the street, towering up as if out of a B-Grade Hollywood flick. I was immediately captured by its beauty. "I have to photograph it some time" I told Kavitha, as we headed further down.
The City Hall is frequented by few tourists - perhaps only those who find it beautiful enough to be a side distraction, as a prop in the background for a photograph. There seemed to be more beggars than tourists around the place. Around the corner stood the JFK Plaza, with its famous LOVE sculpture. Needless to say, there were many young couples, intent on taking photographs in and around it. What attracted me most was the lively atmosphere around the square. The fountain was gushing up, as if in a losing challenge to the huge clock tower of the City Hall in the background. Youngsters were busy flaunting their skills on the bicycles and skateboards. There was a sense of deja vu; a scene i had witnessed at Deak Ferenc Ter in Budapest. It seemed as if all and sundry had converged onto this small square (mind you, Minsk Square in Bangalore - technically though that is anything but a square in shape - is bigger than this), for there were no tourists to be seen on any of the side streets.
A small black mark on the map caught my attention. At the corner of Broad Street was marked a square symbolising the Masonic Temple. The dark and controversial history of the Freemasons piqued my curiosity. My map claimed that this was one of the oldest Grand Lodges in the United States. I ran towards it, only to find the huge building draped in a black cloth, resembling a woman in mourning. A mammoth flag of the United States fluttered from the top. It was under renovation.
Pic of the Day - 1:
"Who's taller? Me or you?"
Prelude to Pony Express Part 8
A splitting headache is my reward for what has perhaps been my most beautiful day so far...a day that I spent walking around the streets of philadelphia, clicking a 100 photographs. Perhaps it was a premonition that the train to Malvern from the 3oth Street station was late by a minute in the evening. The Pony Express may be delayed, but not derailed...it has to wait till tomorrow. Until then...the pic of the day (or weekend).
Pic of the Day: On bright summer days, the Promised Land State Park may be lively. But on Saturday, it was lovely.
Pic of the Day: On bright summer days, the Promised Land State Park may be lively. But on Saturday, it was lovely.
Friday, May 02, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 7
It finally rained on Monday. Not the drizzles, that have been permeating the air since the past one week, but real hard rain. It rained hard enough to drive people indoors. There was no more joy in walking in the mild drizzle as the temperature plummeted to below 10. A haze lingers around the trees just ahead of the office parking lot. It never rained cats and dogs, perhaps due to the fact that dogs are already superfluous in the USA. Somebody (maybe Joshy or Subhakanth) mentioned that the people over here are more sensitive about their dogs than their children.
The pouring rain meant that we could no longer walk to lunch. We were forced to take the inter-office shuttle. For most of you, the mention of the term "inter-office shuttle" would bring to mind that white-blue Swaraj Mazda with torn grey seats that used to terrorize motorists in the EPIP Area, as it made its rounds between the SAP Campus and GR tech Park. The shuttles out here have the name "King" emblazoned on their sides. They resemble a decked up school bus - in fact, on Friday, they even used a school bus as a shuttle. Yesterday, I got into one, and was completely blown away by the insides. It looked like a business lounge and a discotheque combined into one. The black cushioned seats ran along the sides of the bus (as in a limousine). It was all dark inside, with small coloured lights shining down from the roof. Periodically, they changed colours. A huge mirror looked down on us. I spotted something akin to a mini-bar, but that turned out to be a small wash basin. Perhaps SAP Labs India should take notice.
Sandil seems to be crazy about zombie and psycho movies. On Thursday, during Subhakanth's farewell dinner, we ended up watching one of the kind - "28 Weeks Later." Compared to its much appreciated predecessor - "28 Days Later" - this one was thoroughly awful, with an excess of blood and gore put in. Subhakanth immediately declared that he did not have the stomach to sit through the movie. Immediately after the movie I retired to my room. "Don't turn into a zombie on the way" declared Sandil. That was it...I began to feel afraid.
Kormann Communities does look scary at night. The place is situated on a hillside. Looking down, one can vaguely spot US202 speeding by. To the right, amidst the woods, stands a hospital. The apartment buildings are set into the hillside like little building blocks, with huge parking lots spaced in front. At night, the place is lit up by faint neon lights, lending an ethereal feeling to the surrounding. A single white light shines on from the sides of each building. They remind me of our home in the Cochin University Quarters, complete with the woods behind our building.
Walking back, i was wary of the shadows cast by each light. I felt as if someone was watching me from within the woods. I hurriedly stepped inside my apartment. I was already past 10:30, and I had promised to login late for some work. Unfortunately for me, mentioning the incident about the zombies to Snag was not a nice idea. She's been needling me about them since then.
The pouring rain meant that we could no longer walk to lunch. We were forced to take the inter-office shuttle. For most of you, the mention of the term "inter-office shuttle" would bring to mind that white-blue Swaraj Mazda with torn grey seats that used to terrorize motorists in the EPIP Area, as it made its rounds between the SAP Campus and GR tech Park. The shuttles out here have the name "King" emblazoned on their sides. They resemble a decked up school bus - in fact, on Friday, they even used a school bus as a shuttle. Yesterday, I got into one, and was completely blown away by the insides. It looked like a business lounge and a discotheque combined into one. The black cushioned seats ran along the sides of the bus (as in a limousine). It was all dark inside, with small coloured lights shining down from the roof. Periodically, they changed colours. A huge mirror looked down on us. I spotted something akin to a mini-bar, but that turned out to be a small wash basin. Perhaps SAP Labs India should take notice.
Sandil seems to be crazy about zombie and psycho movies. On Thursday, during Subhakanth's farewell dinner, we ended up watching one of the kind - "28 Weeks Later." Compared to its much appreciated predecessor - "28 Days Later" - this one was thoroughly awful, with an excess of blood and gore put in. Subhakanth immediately declared that he did not have the stomach to sit through the movie. Immediately after the movie I retired to my room. "Don't turn into a zombie on the way" declared Sandil. That was it...I began to feel afraid.
Kormann Communities does look scary at night. The place is situated on a hillside. Looking down, one can vaguely spot US202 speeding by. To the right, amidst the woods, stands a hospital. The apartment buildings are set into the hillside like little building blocks, with huge parking lots spaced in front. At night, the place is lit up by faint neon lights, lending an ethereal feeling to the surrounding. A single white light shines on from the sides of each building. They remind me of our home in the Cochin University Quarters, complete with the woods behind our building.
Walking back, i was wary of the shadows cast by each light. I felt as if someone was watching me from within the woods. I hurriedly stepped inside my apartment. I was already past 10:30, and I had promised to login late for some work. Unfortunately for me, mentioning the incident about the zombies to Snag was not a nice idea. She's been needling me about them since then.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The story so far...
It's half-way done...another 13 skeins of thread to go...hopefully, it will be done in 2 more weeks.
Monday, April 28, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 6
The wind chills outside. It is cloudy and dark, but it does not rain. The powdery white petals on the trees fly around in the breeze. The Valley Forge National Park - where the Continental Army spent the winter of 1778 during the American Revolutionary War – is coming alive in the spring. The meadows have turned lush green and the trees are covered in leaves of various shades of green. In a few weeks, the place could be ablaze in a multitude of colors. But today we are satisfied with the splash of green.
The National Memorial Arch towers over the landscape on the Southern side of the Park. The logo of the Freemasons’ Lodge – of which George Washington was a part of – dominates the structures around. For those who have seen the India Gate or the Arc de Triomphe, there is no novelty in the structure. It just serves as a reminder to the bravery of George Washington and his generals.
It's been two weeks here and Bangalore is now a distant, forgotten dream...Not for the so-called and much hyped up "comfortable life" in the USA, but because life goes on - forgotten and forgiven, harsh and ruthless. The sun would still be rising as people queue up for the shuttles, the endless hours spent cursing the traffic and listening to the oohing and aahing of the stupid radio jockeys, waiting hopefully for the masala dosa at the breakfast counter, the endless chatter at the coffee table at 10:00 O'Clock, those pleasant fifteen minutes after lunch when the eyes shut off for a short nap...and sitting on the sixth floor cafeteria, munching the egg sandwich, watching the fiery red sun set behind the chimneys of the nearby factories, is all a distant dream. Life in the USA is a little too smooth for comfort. But nobody else - neither in India nor in the USA - missed anything.
Last week saw “Family Day Celebrations” in the office. But unlike the silly song-and-dance extravaganza that we get to see back at home, the family day affair here seems to be more humane – just bring your kids to your workplace. The cafeteria was specifically set up for the day. The kids seem to have reserved seats. Somebody questioned the need for the bring-your-kid-to-office initiative. Joshy pointed out that this was a practice that was followed in almost all companies across the United States. I replied that perhaps it was intended at minimizing hiring and training costs – train your kids now and when they grow up, just recruit them. No pre-job training is required – maybe something similar to what Sonia Gandhi seems to be doing. Perhaps the best part of the whole day was the guy dressed up as a cow. He wore a red shirt that proclaimed “EAT MORE CHICKEN”. Did Vinay Shenoy land in the USA?
Finally I drove the car – to office, to shopping, and where else.
Pic of the Day:
Monday, April 21, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 5
It rained - albeit a slight drizzle. The sky was awfully cloudy. The weather forecasts had predicted showers on a Sunday, but knowing the accuracy of these back home, I never thought much of them. I was proved wrong. Perhaps this is what they call “April Showers”.
Philadelphia reminded me of San Francisco. We walked around for four hours around the Independence State Park. The city is covered in red – red brick structures dot the street sides of the Independence State Park. There are tourists everywhere. The omnipresent Chinese is ever clicking photographs featuring the whole family. They always inspire me, never hesitating to click a photograph. Philadelphia forms an integral part of the history of American Independence, and every icon associated with the image of independence is celebrated here. At the centre lies the Independence Plaza housing the famed Liberty Bell. Behind it, stands the Independence Hall. Take a walk around these places and you would find other icons of American Independence such as the house where Betsy Ross lived - she stitched the first ever American Flag, the grave of Benjamin Franklin and Franklin Court. Ben Franklin gets a little too much attention all around this place. The stars and stripes flutter from everywhere, quite contrary to our country where the common man does not have the right to fly the national flag.
On the banks of the Delaware, overlooking the Benjamin Franklin (again) Bridge is Penn’s Landing – the place where William Penn is supposed to have docked. The beautiful Columbus Boulevard lines the waterfront, and across the river, sprawls New Jersey. As you enter the waterfront, the barque Gazela catches the eye. A group of people were at work on the vessel. Built in 1901, Gazela was brought to Philadelphia in 1971, and is maintained by volunteers of the Philadelphia Ship Preservation Guild. Further up the waterfront stands a multi-tier amphitheater. Kids were enjoying the evening, chasing pigeons. We decided to end our walk here. Further along, beyond the Independence Seaport Museum, stands the huge baroque, Moshulu, used as a floating restaurant. The USS Becuna and the USS Olympia are also moored as part of the Museum.
The drive to and from Philly took more time than the four hours we spent in the city, as we kept taking wrong turns on the highways. We never had a GPS, and hence relied on Google Maps. Unfortunately, the directions we took from Google Maps pointed to some obscure shopping mall in the outskirts, leading to further confusion. But then the world is not flat (never mind Thomas Friedman), and you can always end up where you started. The irony was that, finally when we got hold of a map, we found that we never needed to take the highways.
Quote of the Day:
Me: “Do you think the FBI or the CIA would be spying on us now?”
Sandil: “No. They are not that intelligent”
Pic of the Day: Late for dinner...
Friday, April 18, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 4
Beware of Nesting Geese – proclaims a warning on the doors leading outside the offices of SAP America in Newtown square. Geese are aplenty out here, and amorous geese are considered dangerous to approach. Not surprising. Cackling geese can frequently be found in pairs everywhere outside. However, the other day, a lonely bird tried to force its entry into the office, and was thwarted in the attempt. It forgot the rule that it’s the goose that’s expected to lay the golden egg, and not the other way around.
This is perhaps the “All-American” country side, away from the hustle and bustle of the city of Philadelphia. We live, a couple of miles away from the office – a drive that takes us through narrow country roads lined with beautiful houses with lush green lawns and huge trees that are welcoming the spring. The apartment is small, but comfortable. This would be my home for the next couple of months. The office is nestled in a huge campus, which resembles more of a golf course, than a corporate headquarters.
It’s been four days now since I’ve been here, and still not a single photograph I have clicked – perhaps because I am in no big hurry myself. There is still about three months to go. There are so many of them out here…enough to form a cricket team…Ah…cricket! That will come later - in my subsequent posts.
Sandil was a bundle of nerves. Today, his fate in the USA would be determined – whether he would stay back to fly to San Antonio the following week, whether he would be bundled off in the next plane out of the USA or dispatched off to nearby Guantanamo Bay. Someone at the immigration had screwed up his passport, giving him time until 11th March 2008 (yes) to leave the United States of America. And now, he was an “illegal immigrant”. We needed to get to the airport in the morning to rectify the error. Some of our team mates suggested that we go later, since early in the morning, we would get have to sit in the heavy traffic. We decided to brave it out, and off we went in our newly rented Ford Fusion. Sure enough, we encountered “heavy traffic” – cars cruising along at 40 miles per hour. For people used to Marathalli Bridge, this was a race track.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness” – words from the declaration of independence stare down at us from the ceiling of the arrival hall of Terminal A-West of the Philadelphia International Airport. It is part of “American Dream”, an impressive artwork by Rob Fisher, which also consists of an 8 foot by 10 foot glass representation of the Declaration of Independence, split into thirteen parts to represent the original thirteen colonies in America. Also etched into the glass railings are the signatures of 56 signers of the declaration. The hall is impressive, to say the least. On our way to the airport, I kept mentioning about the new Bangalore Airport. But Sandil seemed not as keen at hearing about “returning back” and “Bangalore Airport”, understandable due to his status as an “illegal immigrant”.
But then, all’s well that ends well.
Observation: The biggest nuisance in the United States of America is a school bus.
This is perhaps the “All-American” country side, away from the hustle and bustle of the city of Philadelphia. We live, a couple of miles away from the office – a drive that takes us through narrow country roads lined with beautiful houses with lush green lawns and huge trees that are welcoming the spring. The apartment is small, but comfortable. This would be my home for the next couple of months. The office is nestled in a huge campus, which resembles more of a golf course, than a corporate headquarters.
It’s been four days now since I’ve been here, and still not a single photograph I have clicked – perhaps because I am in no big hurry myself. There is still about three months to go. There are so many of them out here…enough to form a cricket team…Ah…cricket! That will come later - in my subsequent posts.
Sandil was a bundle of nerves. Today, his fate in the USA would be determined – whether he would stay back to fly to San Antonio the following week, whether he would be bundled off in the next plane out of the USA or dispatched off to nearby Guantanamo Bay. Someone at the immigration had screwed up his passport, giving him time until 11th March 2008 (yes) to leave the United States of America. And now, he was an “illegal immigrant”. We needed to get to the airport in the morning to rectify the error. Some of our team mates suggested that we go later, since early in the morning, we would get have to sit in the heavy traffic. We decided to brave it out, and off we went in our newly rented Ford Fusion. Sure enough, we encountered “heavy traffic” – cars cruising along at 40 miles per hour. For people used to Marathalli Bridge, this was a race track.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness” – words from the declaration of independence stare down at us from the ceiling of the arrival hall of Terminal A-West of the Philadelphia International Airport. It is part of “American Dream”, an impressive artwork by Rob Fisher, which also consists of an 8 foot by 10 foot glass representation of the Declaration of Independence, split into thirteen parts to represent the original thirteen colonies in America. Also etched into the glass railings are the signatures of 56 signers of the declaration. The hall is impressive, to say the least. On our way to the airport, I kept mentioning about the new Bangalore Airport. But Sandil seemed not as keen at hearing about “returning back” and “Bangalore Airport”, understandable due to his status as an “illegal immigrant”.
But then, all’s well that ends well.
Observation: The biggest nuisance in the United States of America is a school bus.
Monday, April 14, 2008
The Pony Express - Part 3
APRIL 14TH 2008: PHILADELPHIA:
The tale of three cities is complete...
Philadelphia, The Cradle of Liberty, The Quaker City, and also, as its name translates, known rather embarrassingly as “The City of Brotherly Love” (Greek: philos – love and adelphos – brother) - the ancient capital of the United States of America. As we flew over the city at 4:00 PM, it looked much like any great European capital, with the mighty Delaware with its huge metallic bridges cleaving the city into two parts. Winter had given away to spring, and the ice and snow at the mouth of the great St. Lawrence River in Canada had started melting. The muddy waters of the St. Lawrence had greeted me when I opened my window during the flight. The earth was sheathed in a layer of snow, as if someone had sprinkled salt on the ground. The clouds were thick, resembling bales of cotton bundled up together and left to waste. This was a flight I would remember, in spite of “Enchantment” (I nearly wrote it as “Enhancement” – too much of work!) and “National Treasure: Book of Secrets”.
Philadelphia International Airport is one of the busiest International Airports in the world (as of 2008, it is the 10th busiest in terms of aircraft activity), a fact not lost on me, since it took me more than an hour to exit the airport after baggage claim and immigration clearance. As I waited at the entrance for the taxi, I noticed that most of the cab drivers were Asians. Not surprisingly, so was my taxi driver. And the taxi, it was a “Lincoln”. I gladly remembered that my previous car ride in the United States had also been in a Lincoln. “Hindi mein baat keejiye na? yahan pe bilkul sunne ko nahin milta” exclaimed the amicable Mr. Malik, from Lahore, Pakistan. What greeted me as I entered the cab was Lata Mangeshkar’s voice crooning one of the songs that I had unsuccessfully hunted for on the web: “Dil Ka Diya Jalaake Chala, Yeh Kaun Meri Tanhayee Mein…”
We drove through the countryside. Spring was breaking and the barren trees had started flowering. Colours of white and yellow dominated the roadsides, and the odd cherry blossom added to the revelry. It was almost six o clock when I settled down in my apartment. I switched on the television for relaxation and immediately found a Tele-Shopping Channel. And ironically, they were selling stones.
The Pony Express - Part 2
APRIL 14th 2008, FRANKFURT:
Today is a day of death. A couple of centuries ago, Abraham Lincoln was shot dead on this day, at the Ford Theatre. Seventy Seven years ago, a huge explosion aboard the “Fort Stikine” rocked the Bombay Docks, killing 1300 people and wounding 3000. And today marks the 96th Anniversary of the sinking of the unsinkable ship: The HMS Titanic.
I am superstitious. But I never believed in all the nonsense surrounding the number 13. This was my thirteenth visit to the Frankfurt Airport.
Frankfurt am Main as it is known (not many people are aware that there are three more places in Germany with the same name) is one of the biggest cities in Germany. A city more famous for its airport – one of the largest transit centres in Europe – than anything else. There is more to this beautiful city than the sprawling airport, but unfortunately, visitors to Germany never bother to explore the city. It perhaps serves as an example of human nature that we never bother to look into a person’s heart and are fooled by what is presented to us.
It was raining heavily when we landed in Frankfurt, with the outside temperature of 8 degrees. There was however no sign of the turbulence that had vexed me so much on the flight from Budapest. We were led to Terminal C from where the transit officer directed me to Terminal A. There seemed to be a few first timers in the Bangalore flight – evident from their comments comparing Frankfurt Airport to the upcoming Bangalore Airport. Hall C was a long and lonely corridor. A glance outside showed me how strong the incoming storm was. The place had grown dark like evening. At the end of the corridor was a signboard that announced Terminals A, B, C (I thought we were already in Terminal C), D and E with a directional arrow pointing up – which obviously meant we had to go up. Underneath this signboard was an escalator that went down. I can’t wait for the new Bangalore airport.
There were two security checks – one before entering the MagLev train connecting the terminals and one after exiting it at Terminal A. Strangely, they never asked me to remove my shoes. Some Indian families were facing familiar problems – pickles, masalas and other concoctions being confiscated. The ladies were adamant, not amused at being parted from their prized possessions. I was pushed along by the crowd.
The wide corridors of Terminal A are lined with a lot of duty free shops. The place is full of Indians eager to get on one or the other flights to the USA – Washington, San Francisco, Los Angeles and where else. Gate 51 was empty for the moment. I settled down there, near the window, as the sun broke through for a brief moment through the swirling storm clouds. In the distance, it was still raining heavily on the runway. A few characters had assembled together at this gate, to pass time till their next flight.
An Indian was fiddling with his Canon EOS Camera (not me), another was having a home-made breakfast of idli-sambar (I wonder how he got past the security check), and yet another was scribbling fast on a red diary (that’s me). A beautiful girl in a fashionable black and white outfit was engrossed in some German book. A Chinese couple was busily chattering in a foreign language, pointing animatedly at a map. Another young couple slept in each others’ arms, desperate to catch some rest before their next flight. A middle aged lady was sprawled across three or four chairs snoring heavily. Above her, towered a huge advertisement sign that proclaimed:
DEUTSCHE BAHN RUNS SAP.
It’s rude to take photographs unawares.
Observation: Indians are everywhere - be it on the fight to Skopje or on the flight from Vilnius.
The Pony Express - Part 1
APRIL 14th, 2008: BANGALORE:
The second hand of my watch ticked over to 12:00 AM. Happy New Year! This is one event I cannot escape with my dual or confused identity – for it’s the dawn of both the Tamil and Mallu New Year. This year there would not be any Vishu for me. No waking up before the sunrise for a glimpse of the Vishukkani (something that’s never been missed even during my Chennai days, when we used to switch on to Asianet to view the virtual Vishukkani), and fall asleep again. “Happy New Year, Sir!” I exclaimed to the startled old Tamilian couple who stood at the coffee kiosk with me. They gleefully wished me back. “It’s a strange way to spend your new year isn’t it? Travelling across the globe to various countries?” I quipped. It was indeed strange for me. Last year’s Budapest trip had changed my fortunes – for better or worse. I wondered what fate had in store for me the next year.
The first moments of the New Year was spent in the huge waiting hall of the (soon to be old) Bangalore Airport, under the auspices of its huge air conditioning ducts with vents sticking out like the tendrils of some mutant reptile creature from a Hollywood science fiction movie. This place is so old that one can still spot long fans hanging from the ceiling at every twenty-odd feet. I sat there for close to 3 hours swatting mosquitoes, reading, listening to songs and observing others. Perhaps someone else, like me, would be writing on me – I made quite an appearance sitting there with pieces of my baggage around me, clad in my favorite Singapore T-Shirt with a thick grey pullover wrapped around (in this climate), an I-pod sticking out in the front, reading short stories of Somerset Maugham.
The various pieces of luggage had been my first problem during the journey. I was charged for exceeding the baggage limit by 3 kg – guilty as charged! I did not bother to argue. Then came the shock. After checking my ticket, the check-in officer informed me that the rebooking charges had not been paid. I applied some quick thinking. In those few seconds I conjured up some ingenious swear words I could use on our travel desk counterparts. Thankfully, I didn’t get the opportunity to use them, as he waived it or decided to ignore it. The Lufthansa counter was conspicuous by the absence of a check-in queue. 10:00 PM was perhaps a bit too early for a 2:00 PM flight. Hence I was a little astounded when he informed me that the flight was fully booked and I would not get a window seat. I wonder why I don’t ever bother to do the e-check-in.
I had 3 hours to spend in the lounge. Somerset Maugham was not entirely the foremost of my priorities then. With no Pragati around to write about, I sat across the security check section and began observing people. There was a proliferation of babies with their grandparents, presumably travelling to the USA, some of them decked up in gaudy pattu sarees and veshtis, probably to celebrate the New Year. There was this plump girl going to Barcelona (I know because she was next to me at the check-in counter), who was continuously on the phone for those three unearthly hours. Where I had sat down seemed to be the reading corner. Everyone seemed to have a book for the occasion – from the obscure Bengali novel to R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps series to “Not Without my Sister” that Isabelle, the beautiful girl on the Air France flight was reading. The Swiss couple was engrossed in skimming through their photographs of India.
Across the floor, the wide-eyed cute little girl in pink was restless. She kept blabbering to her mother, who was finding it hard to keep herself awake. The girl would have none of it. From sweet-talking her mother to consciousness to showing her the pictures she’d make in her little book, she tried everything to keep her mother awake. She finally gave up and put away her green scribbles. She gradually leant her head against her mothers and went to sleep under the watchful eyes of all around who had witnessed her little spectacle. They disappeared on the Air India flight to Mumbai – just another set of strangers. But the evening sideshow was far from over. The best was yet to come in the form of the eight month old Anushka. Travelling with her mother and grandparents, she was one of those comic book babies, fully covered from head to foot, in a one-piece suit (again pink) with only her head visible. She reminded me of Jughead Jones’s sister, Jellybean. She was quite vociferous and seemed to possess great oratorial skills, as she had soon captured everyone’s attention with her baby goo goo. She seemed to be addicted to coffee as she kept jumping for the two cups of coffee her mother had got for her grandparents. I soon discovered another one of her hobbies – Somertset Maugham. Leaving the coffee aside, she sprang for my book, much to the chagrin of her ajji.
“Never mind!” I said and handed her the book.
“She’ll tear it” exclaimed Ajji.
“It doesn’t matter” I smiled. It would take some baby to tear THAT book.
Maugham, once again, was not entirely the foremost of my priorities then.
Observation: The worst seat you can get on a flight is next to the galley. Until dinner is served, our sensory organs are tormented by the sweet aroma of food.
The second hand of my watch ticked over to 12:00 AM. Happy New Year! This is one event I cannot escape with my dual or confused identity – for it’s the dawn of both the Tamil and Mallu New Year. This year there would not be any Vishu for me. No waking up before the sunrise for a glimpse of the Vishukkani (something that’s never been missed even during my Chennai days, when we used to switch on to Asianet to view the virtual Vishukkani), and fall asleep again. “Happy New Year, Sir!” I exclaimed to the startled old Tamilian couple who stood at the coffee kiosk with me. They gleefully wished me back. “It’s a strange way to spend your new year isn’t it? Travelling across the globe to various countries?” I quipped. It was indeed strange for me. Last year’s Budapest trip had changed my fortunes – for better or worse. I wondered what fate had in store for me the next year.
The first moments of the New Year was spent in the huge waiting hall of the (soon to be old) Bangalore Airport, under the auspices of its huge air conditioning ducts with vents sticking out like the tendrils of some mutant reptile creature from a Hollywood science fiction movie. This place is so old that one can still spot long fans hanging from the ceiling at every twenty-odd feet. I sat there for close to 3 hours swatting mosquitoes, reading, listening to songs and observing others. Perhaps someone else, like me, would be writing on me – I made quite an appearance sitting there with pieces of my baggage around me, clad in my favorite Singapore T-Shirt with a thick grey pullover wrapped around (in this climate), an I-pod sticking out in the front, reading short stories of Somerset Maugham.
The various pieces of luggage had been my first problem during the journey. I was charged for exceeding the baggage limit by 3 kg – guilty as charged! I did not bother to argue. Then came the shock. After checking my ticket, the check-in officer informed me that the rebooking charges had not been paid. I applied some quick thinking. In those few seconds I conjured up some ingenious swear words I could use on our travel desk counterparts. Thankfully, I didn’t get the opportunity to use them, as he waived it or decided to ignore it. The Lufthansa counter was conspicuous by the absence of a check-in queue. 10:00 PM was perhaps a bit too early for a 2:00 PM flight. Hence I was a little astounded when he informed me that the flight was fully booked and I would not get a window seat. I wonder why I don’t ever bother to do the e-check-in.
I had 3 hours to spend in the lounge. Somerset Maugham was not entirely the foremost of my priorities then. With no Pragati around to write about, I sat across the security check section and began observing people. There was a proliferation of babies with their grandparents, presumably travelling to the USA, some of them decked up in gaudy pattu sarees and veshtis, probably to celebrate the New Year. There was this plump girl going to Barcelona (I know because she was next to me at the check-in counter), who was continuously on the phone for those three unearthly hours. Where I had sat down seemed to be the reading corner. Everyone seemed to have a book for the occasion – from the obscure Bengali novel to R.L. Stine’s Goosebumps series to “Not Without my Sister” that Isabelle, the beautiful girl on the Air France flight was reading. The Swiss couple was engrossed in skimming through their photographs of India.
Across the floor, the wide-eyed cute little girl in pink was restless. She kept blabbering to her mother, who was finding it hard to keep herself awake. The girl would have none of it. From sweet-talking her mother to consciousness to showing her the pictures she’d make in her little book, she tried everything to keep her mother awake. She finally gave up and put away her green scribbles. She gradually leant her head against her mothers and went to sleep under the watchful eyes of all around who had witnessed her little spectacle. They disappeared on the Air India flight to Mumbai – just another set of strangers. But the evening sideshow was far from over. The best was yet to come in the form of the eight month old Anushka. Travelling with her mother and grandparents, she was one of those comic book babies, fully covered from head to foot, in a one-piece suit (again pink) with only her head visible. She reminded me of Jughead Jones’s sister, Jellybean. She was quite vociferous and seemed to possess great oratorial skills, as she had soon captured everyone’s attention with her baby goo goo. She seemed to be addicted to coffee as she kept jumping for the two cups of coffee her mother had got for her grandparents. I soon discovered another one of her hobbies – Somertset Maugham. Leaving the coffee aside, she sprang for my book, much to the chagrin of her ajji.
“Never mind!” I said and handed her the book.
“She’ll tear it” exclaimed Ajji.
“It doesn’t matter” I smiled. It would take some baby to tear THAT book.
Maugham, once again, was not entirely the foremost of my priorities then.
Observation: The worst seat you can get on a flight is next to the galley. Until dinner is served, our sensory organs are tormented by the sweet aroma of food.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Food for thought
The primary reason for best laid plans to go wrong on a long weekend is that you sleep till late morning. When I got up at 10:00 AM on Saturday morning I knew inwardly that my plans for shopping ahead of my trip to the USA would turn up to nothing. Hence, I found myself once again in the office, researching on how to drive in the USA. And not surprisingly, Moinu too turned up. In the whiff of the moment, we decided to head out for lunch. Moinu suggested 'Sinbad' in ITPL, but I felt it too gaudy for a routine Saturday lunch. Finally, after a round of negotiation, I agreed to his suggestion of Bhagini.
Bhaginis are a unique phenomenon. These are restaurants or restaurant look-alikes that seem to inhabit the suburb of West Bangalore. They can be frequently spotted in this locality, every few kilometers, especially on the Outer Ring Road. So when he said "Let's go to Bhagini", it left me wondering which one he was referring to. There was one just around the corner from our office. But we drove for some time, before he pulled up opposite to the Innovative Multiplex in Marathalli. My curiosity was answered when he pointed to a three or four storeyed building with a glass facade like one of those small scale software companies - Bhagini Palace.
Those who are familiar with these Bhaginis would instantly recognize one of their ilk, if they met them on the road. The prominent feature of any Bhagini is a gaudy, yet boring neon sign announcing its name. It seems to take up the whole space of the restaurant. As you step in, you are greeted with a fountain like structure that gushes out water. At night, the whole place is lit up with those little party lights, like a cheap tourist attraction. Inside a Bhagini, you are likely to find three different seating arrangements. One is the usual rectangular restaurant hall, that caters to some umpteen tables. There is also that long hall which runs from one end of the restaurant to the other, with tables next to each other and can be readily converted into one big table catering 50-odd software engineers ever on the look-out for cheap team lunch options to save company money. There there is the "upstairs" option - usually popular for evening get-togethers with liquor (As has been the case whenever i've been there).
That being the case, it definitely came as a surprise that Bhagini Palace did not follow the design standards used for the rest of the Bhaginis. I confessed to Moinu immediately that it was the first time I was visiting this place. The interior had more of a Shanthi Sagar look - immaculately (or trying to be) dressed waiters trying their best to accommodate the crowd on those cushion chairs with ornate metal. Each table had four folded banana leaves - in preparation for the meal to be served on them. Bhagini serves mainly Andhra cuisine. Their menu card does lay claim that they are adept at serving any cuisine, but i have not really been brave enugh to try them out. As far as time goes, i remember eating only one dish from these places - the regular Andhra meal. My memories of Andhra meals date back to the time I spent in Chennai, where we used to eat that delicious dinner of Andhra meals - The paruppupodi and the dal curry being my favourites - from the T-Nagar Mess - a place which if I described would make the girls who inhabit the software industry cringe with shock and shriek "how unhygienic!"
Now coming back to the Bhagini, there are a few characteristic traits to this place. By default all the orders are considered to be for Andhra meals, unless specified otherwise. Perhaps this would explain the existence of banana leaves. The next is that more than one waiter is eager to take your order (though the eagerness stops there). The species that inhabits the Bhagini the most is the one that infests this planet by hoards and has become a threat to the planet's very existence - the Software Engineer. Rarely a moment goes by when you don't hear a conversation from a nearby table, that doesnot contains words such as "issue", "object" and "hierarchy". The place sometimes gives you a feel that it is a breeding ground for the species where they multiply without control - akin to one of those In-Gen Labs in Jurassic Park.
The fourth, and foremost feature about the place is the long processing time. From the time you give the order to the umpteenth waiter who surrounds you to the time when you catch hold of a stray waiter and negotiate with him to serve your meal, governments could rise and fall in Djibouti. "Perhaps it is because of the Omelette we ordered" claimed Moinu as we waited for ages. The Omelette came, but still there was no sign of the food. It took so long that I have forgotten what we discussed (neither girls nor office politics - those are two topics i can never forget). "And people complain about us exceeding MPT in Message Processing!" growled Moinu finally. And we weren't the only ones complaining. "Meals? Sir, it would take minimum half an hour for us to serve!" said the beaming headwaiter to a family who had just walked in. It was not surprising that they chose to disappear immediately.
The food when it came was nothing to complain for, perhaps because I was already hungry. As the famous saying goes in Malayalam, "gathi ketta puli pullum thinnum" (A hungry tiger would even resort to eating grass). It never came down to eating grass though, as I finally got to gobble up my paruppupodi and dal curry mix - enough quantity to fulfil the hunger of a dozen Ethiopian kids. It had been quite some time since i'd had Andhra food, not to mention from Bhagini. As they claim in their website, "They are ready to give good quality of tastee dishes and bar items with good service. By the way they requires good satisfaction of routine of customers. There are 75 workers and staff working in the restaurant. The speciality of the restaurant is available all kinds of drinks."
Stanley Kubrick fans would swear by the name of "The Shining" - perhaps the best horror movie ever made in Hollywood - based on Stephen King's book of the same name, about a hotel which houses an unspoken evil. One of these Bhaginis would serve well as a backdrop if some smartass Bollywood producer took it upon himself to make an Indian copy of the movie.
Bhaginis are a unique phenomenon. These are restaurants or restaurant look-alikes that seem to inhabit the suburb of West Bangalore. They can be frequently spotted in this locality, every few kilometers, especially on the Outer Ring Road. So when he said "Let's go to Bhagini", it left me wondering which one he was referring to. There was one just around the corner from our office. But we drove for some time, before he pulled up opposite to the Innovative Multiplex in Marathalli. My curiosity was answered when he pointed to a three or four storeyed building with a glass facade like one of those small scale software companies - Bhagini Palace.
Those who are familiar with these Bhaginis would instantly recognize one of their ilk, if they met them on the road. The prominent feature of any Bhagini is a gaudy, yet boring neon sign announcing its name. It seems to take up the whole space of the restaurant. As you step in, you are greeted with a fountain like structure that gushes out water. At night, the whole place is lit up with those little party lights, like a cheap tourist attraction. Inside a Bhagini, you are likely to find three different seating arrangements. One is the usual rectangular restaurant hall, that caters to some umpteen tables. There is also that long hall which runs from one end of the restaurant to the other, with tables next to each other and can be readily converted into one big table catering 50-odd software engineers ever on the look-out for cheap team lunch options to save company money. There there is the "upstairs" option - usually popular for evening get-togethers with liquor (As has been the case whenever i've been there).
That being the case, it definitely came as a surprise that Bhagini Palace did not follow the design standards used for the rest of the Bhaginis. I confessed to Moinu immediately that it was the first time I was visiting this place. The interior had more of a Shanthi Sagar look - immaculately (or trying to be) dressed waiters trying their best to accommodate the crowd on those cushion chairs with ornate metal. Each table had four folded banana leaves - in preparation for the meal to be served on them. Bhagini serves mainly Andhra cuisine. Their menu card does lay claim that they are adept at serving any cuisine, but i have not really been brave enugh to try them out. As far as time goes, i remember eating only one dish from these places - the regular Andhra meal. My memories of Andhra meals date back to the time I spent in Chennai, where we used to eat that delicious dinner of Andhra meals - The paruppupodi and the dal curry being my favourites - from the T-Nagar Mess - a place which if I described would make the girls who inhabit the software industry cringe with shock and shriek "how unhygienic!"
Now coming back to the Bhagini, there are a few characteristic traits to this place. By default all the orders are considered to be for Andhra meals, unless specified otherwise. Perhaps this would explain the existence of banana leaves. The next is that more than one waiter is eager to take your order (though the eagerness stops there). The species that inhabits the Bhagini the most is the one that infests this planet by hoards and has become a threat to the planet's very existence - the Software Engineer. Rarely a moment goes by when you don't hear a conversation from a nearby table, that doesnot contains words such as "issue", "object" and "hierarchy". The place sometimes gives you a feel that it is a breeding ground for the species where they multiply without control - akin to one of those In-Gen Labs in Jurassic Park.
The fourth, and foremost feature about the place is the long processing time. From the time you give the order to the umpteenth waiter who surrounds you to the time when you catch hold of a stray waiter and negotiate with him to serve your meal, governments could rise and fall in Djibouti. "Perhaps it is because of the Omelette we ordered" claimed Moinu as we waited for ages. The Omelette came, but still there was no sign of the food. It took so long that I have forgotten what we discussed (neither girls nor office politics - those are two topics i can never forget). "And people complain about us exceeding MPT in Message Processing!" growled Moinu finally. And we weren't the only ones complaining. "Meals? Sir, it would take minimum half an hour for us to serve!" said the beaming headwaiter to a family who had just walked in. It was not surprising that they chose to disappear immediately.
The food when it came was nothing to complain for, perhaps because I was already hungry. As the famous saying goes in Malayalam, "gathi ketta puli pullum thinnum" (A hungry tiger would even resort to eating grass). It never came down to eating grass though, as I finally got to gobble up my paruppupodi and dal curry mix - enough quantity to fulfil the hunger of a dozen Ethiopian kids. It had been quite some time since i'd had Andhra food, not to mention from Bhagini. As they claim in their website, "They are ready to give good quality of tastee dishes and bar items with good service. By the way they requires good satisfaction of routine of customers. There are 75 workers and staff working in the restaurant. The speciality of the restaurant is available all kinds of drinks."
Stanley Kubrick fans would swear by the name of "The Shining" - perhaps the best horror movie ever made in Hollywood - based on Stephen King's book of the same name, about a hotel which houses an unspoken evil. One of these Bhaginis would serve well as a backdrop if some smartass Bollywood producer took it upon himself to make an Indian copy of the movie.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Of tourists and ponies
American Tourister - that's what i had planned to call my sojourn in the USA - An opportunist in the Land of Opportunities. There is no doubt that I am an opportunist. We all are - how much ever we deny it. But then the word "Tourister" has a strange inevitability to it, for I am not a tourist.
Today, I got my ticket, after a lot of deliberations about when to leave and how to leave. Finally I put in my money on Lufthansa, the least due to the fact that they are my customers. I do not carry any misplaced loyalties to my customers outside the office. It was merely a choice based out of experience and sheer laziness.
The third of April marks the anniversary of the foundation of the famous Pony Express, the precursor of the US Postage system, where mail was transported across the country on horse and rider relay teams. It had captured the imagination of a country. My imagination has to wait a few more days.
A week later I would be off, facing new challenges in the so-called Land of Opportunities. A week further, I would perhaps be roaming in the streets of the historic city of Philadelphia. Another week further - to the people of this city, to those who see me everyday today - I would be history.
For...we remember others only in the hour of our need.
Today, I got my ticket, after a lot of deliberations about when to leave and how to leave. Finally I put in my money on Lufthansa, the least due to the fact that they are my customers. I do not carry any misplaced loyalties to my customers outside the office. It was merely a choice based out of experience and sheer laziness.
The third of April marks the anniversary of the foundation of the famous Pony Express, the precursor of the US Postage system, where mail was transported across the country on horse and rider relay teams. It had captured the imagination of a country. My imagination has to wait a few more days.
A week later I would be off, facing new challenges in the so-called Land of Opportunities. A week further, I would perhaps be roaming in the streets of the historic city of Philadelphia. Another week further - to the people of this city, to those who see me everyday today - I would be history.
For...we remember others only in the hour of our need.
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Recommendations for the month
Books:
World Without End (Ken Follett): See review below. A good read for one time, if you like Follett's style of writing, but falls short of the high expectation set by its predecessor, "The Pillars of the Earth".
The Great Railway Bazaar: By Train Through Asia (Paul Theroux): Well-known for his travelogues, Theroux takes you along with him on his railway journeys across Eurasia - on the famed Orient Express, The Khyber Pass Local, The Frontier Mail, The Grand Trunk Express, The Golden Arrow to Kuala Lumpur and the Trans-Siberian Express. Theroux's account focuses on people and situations, and provides riveting reading, though a bit sarcastic at times.
Movies:
Zodiac: The story behind one of the unsolved crimes in history - the Zodiac killer used to terrorise the towns of California. After a much publicised manhunt, the killer was never apprehended. The movie takes a look at the lives of the people who were a central cog in the manhunt. Starring Jake Gyllenhall, Robert Downey Jr., and Mark Ruffalo, the movie moves along at a lively pace, looking at how the investigation affects the life of the three protagonists. Robert Downey Jr. excels as the eccentric detective who is determined to track down the killer.
Eight Below: An inspired story on the survival of a pack of dogs in the Antarctic winter, and one man's efforts to rescue them. Though endearing, it is a bit long for the average movie-goer, and tends to stretch one's patience at times.
All the King's Men: With an exceptional star cast featuring Anthony Hopkins, Sean Penn, Jude Law, Mark Ruffalo and Kate Winslet it would be natural to have huge expectations from this film, but it fails to live up to it. Based on the Pulitzer-winning book by Robert Penn Warren, on the life of Huey P. Long, the story follows Willie Stark on his rise to power and the inevitable fall from it. The plot has too many twists and moves at a pace which the viewer finds a little difficult to catch up with. Sean Penn's electrifying potrayal of Stark stands tall. The excellent cinematography and the presence of one of the most under-rated actors of our time - Jude Law - make the movie watchable once.
Miller's Crossing: A classic edge of the seat thriller from the Coen Brothers on the power struggle between gangsters, the movie features the extra-ordinary but not-so-stellar star cast comprising of Albert Finney, Gabriel Byrne, Marcia Gay Harden and John Turturro - established actors in their own right. The story moves at an electrifying pace and even though there seems to be umpteen twists in the plot, is never difficult to comprehend.
The Lord of the Rings - box set: The LOTR trilogy of movies has established itself in film folklore. There's nothing more to be said about them. But the six feature DVDs packaged along with the set is a treat to the 'Rings' fans. It is a treasure trove that delves into the efforts of the creators, and provides an insight into why the trilogy is regarded as the "best movie to come out of a book". A must-own for any movie collector.
World Without End (Ken Follett): See review below. A good read for one time, if you like Follett's style of writing, but falls short of the high expectation set by its predecessor, "The Pillars of the Earth".
The Great Railway Bazaar: By Train Through Asia (Paul Theroux): Well-known for his travelogues, Theroux takes you along with him on his railway journeys across Eurasia - on the famed Orient Express, The Khyber Pass Local, The Frontier Mail, The Grand Trunk Express, The Golden Arrow to Kuala Lumpur and the Trans-Siberian Express. Theroux's account focuses on people and situations, and provides riveting reading, though a bit sarcastic at times.
Movies:
Zodiac: The story behind one of the unsolved crimes in history - the Zodiac killer used to terrorise the towns of California. After a much publicised manhunt, the killer was never apprehended. The movie takes a look at the lives of the people who were a central cog in the manhunt. Starring Jake Gyllenhall, Robert Downey Jr., and Mark Ruffalo, the movie moves along at a lively pace, looking at how the investigation affects the life of the three protagonists. Robert Downey Jr. excels as the eccentric detective who is determined to track down the killer.
Eight Below: An inspired story on the survival of a pack of dogs in the Antarctic winter, and one man's efforts to rescue them. Though endearing, it is a bit long for the average movie-goer, and tends to stretch one's patience at times.
All the King's Men: With an exceptional star cast featuring Anthony Hopkins, Sean Penn, Jude Law, Mark Ruffalo and Kate Winslet it would be natural to have huge expectations from this film, but it fails to live up to it. Based on the Pulitzer-winning book by Robert Penn Warren, on the life of Huey P. Long, the story follows Willie Stark on his rise to power and the inevitable fall from it. The plot has too many twists and moves at a pace which the viewer finds a little difficult to catch up with. Sean Penn's electrifying potrayal of Stark stands tall. The excellent cinematography and the presence of one of the most under-rated actors of our time - Jude Law - make the movie watchable once.
Miller's Crossing: A classic edge of the seat thriller from the Coen Brothers on the power struggle between gangsters, the movie features the extra-ordinary but not-so-stellar star cast comprising of Albert Finney, Gabriel Byrne, Marcia Gay Harden and John Turturro - established actors in their own right. The story moves at an electrifying pace and even though there seems to be umpteen twists in the plot, is never difficult to comprehend.
The Lord of the Rings - box set: The LOTR trilogy of movies has established itself in film folklore. There's nothing more to be said about them. But the six feature DVDs packaged along with the set is a treat to the 'Rings' fans. It is a treasure trove that delves into the efforts of the creators, and provides an insight into why the trilogy is regarded as the "best movie to come out of a book". A must-own for any movie collector.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
The Book Without End
Six years ago, I discovered Ken Follett's writing. The first of his books that i had laid my hands on was "The Hammer of Eden". Before i could read a page, my room mate had finished it, and started ranting and raving about it. Once I finished the book, i found it difficult to share his enthusiasm. The second book however, converted me - a huge 1000-odd-page story about the construction of a cathedral with interwoven plots and characters, took me no time to finish. I immediately classified "The Pillars of the Earth" as one of the best fictional works i had read till date.
"World Without End", published as a sequel to "The Pillars of Earth", caught my attention precisely due to that reason. It had been a few years since I had read a Ken Follett novel. Whatever be the content, one can but fail to admit that his novels are fast-paced. It was a mixture of curiosity and ennui that prompted me to lay my hands on the book. The result is yet to be comprehended by my mind.
"World Without End" starts off generations after the life of Jack Builder. Two centuries have gone by, and Kingsbridge Cathedral has grown into one of England's most important priories. The story weaves us through the lives of the people whose destiny is linked irrevertably to the small town and its fortunes. The characters by themselves, are vivid as painted portraits. We follow the fates of Caris, the tempestuous girl, who is forced to shun the love of her life - Merthin, the Carpenter - and devote herself to a life as a nun and a prioress; the shrewd Gwenda, who struggles through her life to support her lover, Wulfric; Godwyn, the ambitious prior of Kingsbridge, who would stop at nothing to hold on to the power he has over the town; Ralph, younger brother of Merthin and in service of the king, who uses his power and position to advance his cause; and many more.
Typical of all his books, the narrative moves at a brisk pace through the intricacies of the plot. The reader is spellbound at the knotting and unravelling of the various situations that the protagonists find themselves in. Follett evens ventures to bring in real events into the narratives, such as the Battle of Crecy (which is considered widely as a kick-off to the Hundred Years War), and the Black Plague which plays a major role in the story. Whether Ken Follett's knowledge on the middle ages is exemplary is beyond me who cannot profess knowledge on the era. But the book is gripping...until the end, when the author seems to lose the plot.
Perhaps the biggest failing of the book is the last 100-odd pages. For what was a gripping story for 1000 pages, loses its plot completely in the last few pages, turning into a contrived ending as if it were a long drawn out mega serial forced to its end out of sheer boredom. The book starts off in intrigue, when the four children witness a murder in the forest near Kingsbridge, and contrary to expectation, this incident does not become a central cog in the machinery of the narrative. Rather, it is sidelined until the end, when the author contrives to pull it out from the dusted corner to fit it into the plot. The reader is left to wonder as to why so many plot twists were unravelled so easily.
The narrative loses its shine, as it meanders towards its uneasy ending, with the focus of the story shifting from one character to the other. As the focus of the story shifts from the intriguing character of Godwyn - who is conveniently killed off by the author - to the less impressive and weak Ralph Fitzgerald, the story weakens, and starts unravelling by itself as if it was cut through by a sword.
The book comes to a tame ending, as if upholding the old saying, "all's well that ends well". Many of the actions by the various characters do not make sense, but to fill in the narrative in an artificial manner. As I turned the last page, I felt that the book was aptly named: This was a World Without End.
Recommendation: Not one of his best, but worth a read.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
The Eternal Thirst
ye kooche ye neelaam ghar dilkashi ke
ye lut te hue kaarwan zindagi ke
kahan hai, kahan hai muhaafiz khudi ke?
jinhe naaz hai hind par woh kahan hai?
Those unforgettable words light up the screen as the viewer is spellbound by the magic of Guru Dutt. TIME Magazine rated it as one of the 100 best films of all-time, calling it the “soulfully romantic of the lot” among Indian films. Hindi cinema has come a further fifty years since, but “Pyaasa” has managed to carve a niche for itself in the annals of Indian cinema.
har ek jism ghaayal, har ek rooh pyaasi
nigaahon mein uljhan, dilon mein udaasi
Pyaasa tells the story of Vijay, a destitute and jobless poet, whose melancholic poems are rejected by a world which wishes to dwell upon the romantic notes of love. The dark tones in Vijay’s poetry stem from his college days, when his sweetheart, Meena, spurned his love to marry the rich Mr Ghosh, a newspaper publisher. The only person who loves him and his poems is Gulabo, a prostitute. A despondent Vijay is encouraged by his friends to turn to the bottle. In a drunken stupor, he gives away his coat to a shivering beggar, who in turn, saves Vijay from the lights of an oncoming train. The world believes Vijay to be dead, and he achieves demigod status when his book of poems is published on the insistence of Gulabo. His friends and brothers, who are busy making money out of Vijay’s death, refuse to identify him at the hospital where he is recuperating. In a dramatic climax, Vijay announces to the world, his existence. However, now that everyone is willing to acknowledge him, he no longer desires the fame and glory. With Gulabo beside him, he yearns to go away and establish a world of his own.
jahaan ek khilona hai, insaan ki hasti
yeh basti hai murda paraston ki basti
For the modern movie-goer, Pyaasa is too dark and melancholic to perhaps endure the whole distance, and one can pick holes in the script if one really wants to do it (such as how only the coat survived, when the beggar’s body was mangled beyond recognition). But for a connoisseur of the art, in spite of being a black and white film, Pyaasa is awash with colours – colours of despair, compassion, and resplendency. The lead actors give a splendid performance – Guru Dutt as the poverty-stricken poet, Waheeda Rehman – in her first major on-screen role – as the kind-hearted courtesan, and Mala Sinha, as the opulent society woman. Rehman as Ghosh, and Johnny Walker as Sattar Bhai, provide perfect foil to the lead cast. The camera work by V K Murthy is breath-taking. The whole film is dark, conveying the mood of the story perfectly. He paints the portrait of each character in their inherent state of mind – Vijay is shown with his face half obscured in the shadow, to reflect his despair and poverty, Gulabo has an angelic glow around her face, a mark of her kindness and compassion towards Vijay, and Meena’s face is fully lit with a milky effect reflecting on her opulence and suffocation in the marriage that she chose.
jawani bhatakti hai badkaar bankar
jawan jism sajte hai bazaar bankar
The musical score by SD Burman and the lyrical poetry of Sahir Ludhianvi are now part of legends. Mohammed Rafi moves comfortably from the light-hearted “Sar Jo Tera Chakraye” and “Hum Aapki Aankhon Main”, to the powerful “Yeh Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaaye” and “Jinhe Naaz Hai Hind Par”. Geeta Dutt is sensuous in the beautiful “Jaane Kya Tune Kahi” and “Aaj Sajan Mohe Ang Lagao”. And, Hemant Kumar delivers his punch in the soulful “Jaane Who Kaise Log The Jinke”. The film is also interspersed with beautiful poetic lines.
yeh duniya jahan aadmi kuchh nahin hai
wafaa kuchh nahi, dosti kuchh nahin hai
Guru Dutt’s master direction ensures that Pyaasa leaves us with a host of unforgettable cinematic moments – as Vijay lies on the grass, watching the world go by, he is crudely awakened from his dream as a passerby tramples and kills the bee. The image of Gulabo, flirting between the huge pillars of the building as she entices Vijay in her song, is captivating. Gulabo’s unfulfilled love for Vijay is dramatically captured in the song “Aaj Sajan Mohe Ang Lagalo”. The fickle-mindedness of the world is reflected in Vijay’s soulful rendering of “Jinhe Naaz Hai Hind Par”, after he witnesses a pimp who stops the tearful courtesan from attending to her sick baby, and forces her to continue dancing. And who can forget those powerful words that he utters, standing silhouetted against the door in the climactic scene:
yeh mahalon, yeh takhton, yeh taajon ki duniya
yeh insaan ke dushman samajon ki duniya
yeh daulat ke bhookhe rawaajon ki duniyaan
yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaaye toh kya hai?
ye lut te hue kaarwan zindagi ke
kahan hai, kahan hai muhaafiz khudi ke?
jinhe naaz hai hind par woh kahan hai?
Those unforgettable words light up the screen as the viewer is spellbound by the magic of Guru Dutt. TIME Magazine rated it as one of the 100 best films of all-time, calling it the “soulfully romantic of the lot” among Indian films. Hindi cinema has come a further fifty years since, but “Pyaasa” has managed to carve a niche for itself in the annals of Indian cinema.
har ek jism ghaayal, har ek rooh pyaasi
nigaahon mein uljhan, dilon mein udaasi
Pyaasa tells the story of Vijay, a destitute and jobless poet, whose melancholic poems are rejected by a world which wishes to dwell upon the romantic notes of love. The dark tones in Vijay’s poetry stem from his college days, when his sweetheart, Meena, spurned his love to marry the rich Mr Ghosh, a newspaper publisher. The only person who loves him and his poems is Gulabo, a prostitute. A despondent Vijay is encouraged by his friends to turn to the bottle. In a drunken stupor, he gives away his coat to a shivering beggar, who in turn, saves Vijay from the lights of an oncoming train. The world believes Vijay to be dead, and he achieves demigod status when his book of poems is published on the insistence of Gulabo. His friends and brothers, who are busy making money out of Vijay’s death, refuse to identify him at the hospital where he is recuperating. In a dramatic climax, Vijay announces to the world, his existence. However, now that everyone is willing to acknowledge him, he no longer desires the fame and glory. With Gulabo beside him, he yearns to go away and establish a world of his own.
jahaan ek khilona hai, insaan ki hasti
yeh basti hai murda paraston ki basti
For the modern movie-goer, Pyaasa is too dark and melancholic to perhaps endure the whole distance, and one can pick holes in the script if one really wants to do it (such as how only the coat survived, when the beggar’s body was mangled beyond recognition). But for a connoisseur of the art, in spite of being a black and white film, Pyaasa is awash with colours – colours of despair, compassion, and resplendency. The lead actors give a splendid performance – Guru Dutt as the poverty-stricken poet, Waheeda Rehman – in her first major on-screen role – as the kind-hearted courtesan, and Mala Sinha, as the opulent society woman. Rehman as Ghosh, and Johnny Walker as Sattar Bhai, provide perfect foil to the lead cast. The camera work by V K Murthy is breath-taking. The whole film is dark, conveying the mood of the story perfectly. He paints the portrait of each character in their inherent state of mind – Vijay is shown with his face half obscured in the shadow, to reflect his despair and poverty, Gulabo has an angelic glow around her face, a mark of her kindness and compassion towards Vijay, and Meena’s face is fully lit with a milky effect reflecting on her opulence and suffocation in the marriage that she chose.
jawani bhatakti hai badkaar bankar
jawan jism sajte hai bazaar bankar
The musical score by SD Burman and the lyrical poetry of Sahir Ludhianvi are now part of legends. Mohammed Rafi moves comfortably from the light-hearted “Sar Jo Tera Chakraye” and “Hum Aapki Aankhon Main”, to the powerful “Yeh Duniya Agar Mil Bhi Jaaye” and “Jinhe Naaz Hai Hind Par”. Geeta Dutt is sensuous in the beautiful “Jaane Kya Tune Kahi” and “Aaj Sajan Mohe Ang Lagao”. And, Hemant Kumar delivers his punch in the soulful “Jaane Who Kaise Log The Jinke”. The film is also interspersed with beautiful poetic lines.
yeh duniya jahan aadmi kuchh nahin hai
wafaa kuchh nahi, dosti kuchh nahin hai
Guru Dutt’s master direction ensures that Pyaasa leaves us with a host of unforgettable cinematic moments – as Vijay lies on the grass, watching the world go by, he is crudely awakened from his dream as a passerby tramples and kills the bee. The image of Gulabo, flirting between the huge pillars of the building as she entices Vijay in her song, is captivating. Gulabo’s unfulfilled love for Vijay is dramatically captured in the song “Aaj Sajan Mohe Ang Lagalo”. The fickle-mindedness of the world is reflected in Vijay’s soulful rendering of “Jinhe Naaz Hai Hind Par”, after he witnesses a pimp who stops the tearful courtesan from attending to her sick baby, and forces her to continue dancing. And who can forget those powerful words that he utters, standing silhouetted against the door in the climactic scene:
yeh mahalon, yeh takhton, yeh taajon ki duniya
yeh insaan ke dushman samajon ki duniya
yeh daulat ke bhookhe rawaajon ki duniyaan
yeh duniya agar mil bhi jaaye toh kya hai?
Friday, February 08, 2008
All I need is to be free...
The video was created by me using some of the photos I clicked during my Mumbai Trip. Please do leave your (preferably non-anonymous) comments.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Random Thoughts...
Still in Mumbai mode...Some random thoughts and learnings from the trip:
1. Tunnels can be very boring - especially when you spend around 15 minutes travelling inside them, as is the case with the Konkan Railway route. Thoughts of the Naples Black Market Express inevitably come to mind.
2. The taxi drivers in Mumbai are more honest than their counterparts down South. They charge you the exact fare in the card.
3. Apartments in Mumbai are never re-painted.
4. If you like something you see, click a photo! Else, you might regret it later (you can delete it later if it doesn't look good). I missed clicking the 'Photo of the Trip' at Haji Ali, and I regret it!
5. Never order a Dosa in Mumbai.
6. For all its hype, avoid Leopold Cafe!
7. And for all its hype, the Colaba Causeway has some great and cheap food joints - try "The Food Inn". It is small but good.
8. Biryanis on trains have a strange habit of changing appearance and taste, depending on the time of the day they are ordered.
9. How much ever people try to pull you down, it's never too late to enjoy your life. After all, there is a child inside everyone.
1. Tunnels can be very boring - especially when you spend around 15 minutes travelling inside them, as is the case with the Konkan Railway route. Thoughts of the Naples Black Market Express inevitably come to mind.
2. The taxi drivers in Mumbai are more honest than their counterparts down South. They charge you the exact fare in the card.
3. Apartments in Mumbai are never re-painted.
4. If you like something you see, click a photo! Else, you might regret it later (you can delete it later if it doesn't look good). I missed clicking the 'Photo of the Trip' at Haji Ali, and I regret it!
5. Never order a Dosa in Mumbai.
6. For all its hype, avoid Leopold Cafe!
7. And for all its hype, the Colaba Causeway has some great and cheap food joints - try "The Food Inn". It is small but good.
8. Biryanis on trains have a strange habit of changing appearance and taste, depending on the time of the day they are ordered.
9. How much ever people try to pull you down, it's never too late to enjoy your life. After all, there is a child inside everyone.
Friday, February 01, 2008
The Bombay Diary - Epilogue
In today's world it's a crime to enjoy your life. We take pride in the fact that we are old and mature, and work hard for a living - so much that we fail to enjoy our lives. And the moment someone wants to let their hair loose, they are ruthlessly pulled down and are told to act their age (it happens to me everyday). Today, a group of old ladies (and they were well over 50) showed us how to live.
On Wednesday, 30th January, we left Bombay for Cochin (I've somehow never come to terms with the new . Maybe that's why I always live in the past).
We still had some moments to savour. The trip ended just as it had started - on the Gateway of India, watching the sunrise. Since our train was only at 11:40 AM, we still had time to get up early and go on a walk - of course, the "intention" of the walk was to find something for breakfast, but Colaba wakes up only after 9 o'clock. We were unable to find a single open restaurant at 7:00 AM.
Some old guy was busy taking photographs at the Gateway - not like us, but SERIOUS photography, with a small team and a model. SS claimed he was the famous Gautam Rajadhyaksha, but on hindsight, it does not seem to be true since this guy was much older. He seemed to be shouting harsh instructions at the model, but his behaviour clearly indicated that he knew what he was doing. Well, all's well that ends well (no pun intended).
The drive to Lokmanya Tilak Terminus in the taxi was memorable in many ways:
On Wednesday, 30th January, we left Bombay for Cochin (I've somehow never come to terms with the new . Maybe that's why I always live in the past).
We still had some moments to savour. The trip ended just as it had started - on the Gateway of India, watching the sunrise. Since our train was only at 11:40 AM, we still had time to get up early and go on a walk - of course, the "intention" of the walk was to find something for breakfast, but Colaba wakes up only after 9 o'clock. We were unable to find a single open restaurant at 7:00 AM.
Some old guy was busy taking photographs at the Gateway - not like us, but SERIOUS photography, with a small team and a model. SS claimed he was the famous Gautam Rajadhyaksha, but on hindsight, it does not seem to be true since this guy was much older. He seemed to be shouting harsh instructions at the model, but his behaviour clearly indicated that he knew what he was doing. Well, all's well that ends well (no pun intended).
The drive to Lokmanya Tilak Terminus in the taxi was memorable in many ways:
1. It was difficult to make out which was older. The taxi driver was an old guy, but the taxi itself seemed older than him.
2. The music - you can't call it retro, you can't call it new. It was one of those T-Series collections.
3. The traffic in Bombay is irritating. I take back what I said about shuttle drivers in Bangalore in my Day Zero post. These guys are worse, and are looking for an excuse to honk.
There's a certain beauty to the suburban stations in this city - they are never empty. You always see people from various walks of life, racing from one place to the other. It's scary to get into a local train during rush hour - you are just pushed along in the crowd, without being aware of where you are heading. Sitting in the cosy confines of my long-distance train, watching life go past in the locals is a privilege. These trains crisscross the city like the blood vessels in the human body.
At Chiplun, SS decided to have Vada Pav. I just wanted a coffee. Just then, I told him that he should try out a 'pazham pori' (he couldn't pronounce it). It was the coldest pazham pori I had ever had in my life, but having not eaten one before, SS was amazed by it. As they say, Ignorance is indeed bliss.
At 6:30 PM, we pulled into the town of Ratnagiri, famous as the birthplace of Lokmanya Tilak. A horde of old ladies boarded the train. Their families and extended families had come to see them off. They were on their way to Thrissur to embark on a tour of Kerala, as one of the old ladies gleefully informed me. They were in full spirits, playing cards and antaksharis. Soon the enthusiasm spread to the other travelers. Everyone wanted to be part of of it...Well, almost everyone. "After all, they are North Indians. Only they can think of doing such things," my fellow traveller chipped in. I wondered why someone needed to be from a different part of India to enjoy life. The ladies taught us an important lesson - it is never too late to live your life.
Morning brings with it, the familiar feeling of being home - the train passes into Kerala. They say that home is where the heart is. Perhaps my heart is still here. And that's why i still love coming here. It was 1:3o PM by the time we got down at Aluva. A dozen stops at so-called important towns and snail's pace between Calicut and Shoranur had not dampened my spirit. Ah! Kerala...for Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety (...and she's better than Cleopatra). I hope I can keep returning here. Always and ever...
Pic of the day: For most of the year, Bharatapuzha, the largest river in Kerala, is just a sand bed with a few puddles of water here and here. Still, a fisherman angles his bait in a puddle, unsure of the catch.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)