Budapest Diary - Day 3

“She’s too scary!” Said Snag, looking at the little princess. “I prefer the statue of that girl with the dog”. I was on familiar territory now, walking down the riverside towards the Szechernyi Lanchid. As we crossed the Danube, Snag finally agreed that this was indeed the bridge featured by Sanjay Leela Bhansali in his movie. But she was far from happy!

She: “But why did they say in the movie that it was Rome?”

Me: “Because they think the audience is stupid! Nobody would have visited Rome so much during those times to know”

She: “But why couldn’t they simply say it was Budapest?”

Me: “Who would know about a place called Budapest? Even our Admin team doesn’t know there’s such a place. They asked us where it is!”

On seeing the Funicular Railway going all the way up the castle, she got scared. The fear lasted until I forced her to stand up in the train and take a look at the receding view of the bridge down below. The grand palace looked less beautiful than the last time around, thanks to the wooden stalls set up on all sides. They were everywhere – on the front, in the courtyard and all around the Matthyas fountain, taking most of the beauty away from the majestic structure. But Snag seemed mighty impressed!

“They should give me this palace to live!” she remarked

“How will you maintain it?” I asked

Pop came the reply! “The maintenance, they can keep to themselves.”

But she was hardly impressed by the paintings, remarking as to why they only painted in dark colours and about war! “I am not going to step into any more Art Galleries now!” she fumed. There goes the next three museums!

We had lunch at the small restaurant (with high aims, as the bill indicated). The chef whipped up something “off the menu” for me, when I asked for “something Hungarian”. According to Snag, it looked like Thayir Saadam with Sambar (of course, if only colours determined everything). And indeed the gravy tasted a lot like Indian Curry, except that instead of the spices, they had used Paprika – on which the Hungarians swear oath.

There was nothing much I had to buy from the folk fair. I had already done a hell load of souvenir shopping from my previous trip. The “not-so-good” tablecloths seemed overpriced. And the other stuff, I already had. Curiously, the glass paintings were completely absent! I still managed to buy a couple of trinkets. But the best of the day was the delicious Hungarian Funnel Cake that Snag spotted being sold all over the place. The funnel cake is a hollow cylindrical cake, made by wrapping dough spirally over a rolling pin. After baking, they are coated with a choice of powders – chocolate, nuts, sugar, cinnamon, you name it…it was piping hot and delicious.

At the end of the day, Matthias Church and Fisherman’s Bastion were disappointing. Major portions of both the places were closed for renovation. The little spires of Fisherman’s Bastion prompted me to try out some experimental shots. “So what’s so great about black and white photos?” questioned Snag. “Creativity!” I remarked. Frankly, I could not think of any other reply. By the time we were on the Lanchid, the photography bug had bitten her.

“I am proud of my photos. I am really good at this!” she squealed. “I can probably sell these photos”

“I won’t buy them” I said “And don’t try to blackmail me into it, saying that you wouldn’t solve any messages if I didn’t!”

“Now that’s a good idea to think about!” she smirked.

Did I dig my own grave?

Budapest Diary - Day 2

The hotel has been impressive. Though situated in a small street off the Danube Promenade, the apartment is spacious, with a non-so-small drawing room and a (big enough) bedroom. The view is nothing great. A tan-colored structure with a few boarded up windows stares at me outside the window. But, on the far right, I can see the tower of the Erszebet Bridge, with the green water of the Danube underneath glowing golden at night. Gellert Hill with its monument is visible next to it. It was raining through the night, blocking out all the noise, but today evening I realized that there was more than one church in the vicinity, and their clock towers were not synchronized!

Right at the corner of the Marriott Millenium, starts Vaci Ut, (made famous by Pragati during my previous trip) the most expensive shopping street in Budapest. I explained to Snag its importance: “In Bangalore, we have Brigade Road and Chickpet. This is like the Brigade Road of Budapest. Everything is expensive”. There were Swedes everywhere, dressed in their football jerseys and chanting the name of Zlatan Ibrahimovic. Today was the day of their World Cup qualifier against the host nation.

No sooner had we reached the Parliament than I started shooting pictures. “Pragati would chide me if she saw this!” I told Snag. “According to her, I have already taken a million photos of this building”. Today, I wanted to attempt to enter the building. There was a small queue, which seemed to put off Snag a bit – there were hardly about 30 people in front of us, but it took us an hour to reach the front of the queue. And to my surprise, it was just a queue to “buy” tickets. We had to return at 3:15 p.m., to enter the building.

I suggested lunch on the Promenade, overlooking the Buda Palace. Snag agreed, but not for walking all the way there. She dragged me on to a tram – the first time I was getting on to one in Budapest. “Why should we walk, when we have the option of a tram?” she quipped. We sat down at one of the roadside cafes outside the Ambassador hotel. There were Swedes here too. Familiar sights greeted me. Across the river stood the grand palace, and as if reaching out to it across the river, spanned the Szechernyi Lanchid. I pointed it out to Snag as the bridge Aishwarya Rai ran across. Further from it, on top of the hill, stretched the Fisherman’s Bastion. The big monstrosity of a shopping mall on Vorosmarty Square had been completed, but the spire of Matthias Church was still under renovation. We spent lunchtime discussing about Verdigris, as I ended up eating half her pizza.

The interior of the parliament was something I had missed on my last trip, and it was worth everything that I paid. The huge corridors were lined with red carpet. The massive arches were painted in gold. The lady guide kept babbling about the history of the building, which seemed nothing much different from the stuff I had already read up on Wikipedia. Hence, I could concentrate on taking photographs.

Before returning to the hotel, Snag wanted to buy milk and sugar, and for that, we combed Vaci Ut. It was like searching for an idli-vada joint on Brigade Road or Forum Mall. The place was again, full of Swedes. She looked at the hawkers selling embroidered cloth.

“I don’t find these tablecloths so good” she remarked.

“But this is the specialty of this place” I said.

“What? Selling not-so-good tablecloth?” she retorted back.

Just when we had given up hope, we found a small shop that ACTUALLY sold milk and sugar. Er…is there really an idli-vada joint on Brigade Road?

Budapest Diary - Day 1

By the time we boarded the flight, snag was a bundle of nerves. “I don’t want to fly! I am scared” she cried. Ours were the last two seats. And seated in front of us, was the dog-lady. Snag somehow seemed to be impressed with the dog. “I am scared! Let’s talk about something to distract myself from the flight!” she said, and picked up the topic of Calvin and Hobbes, as we taxied on to the runway. “What would Calvin do in such a situation?” she asked. I couldn’t resist the reply: “He would think of how to crash the flight!”

She pointed to a few lights glowing on the ground below: “Is that Bangalore?”

“Nah!” said I “Bangalore can’t be so small”

She: “Then which place is that?”

Me: “I don’t know...I think we are too far up to make out”

She: “Well wouldn’t it be nice if they could just put up a sign up in the sky so that people flying can make out?”

And then we hit the clouds.

“I hate turbulence” moaned I

“Why? Haven’t you gone on those roller coaster rides? “She asked

Me: “No. I am scared of them”

She: “This is nothing compared to what we go through in our shuttles. People like you who complain about turbulence should be made to travel from the office to where I live, in the shuttle”.

I couldn’t find a suitable answer. Surprisingly, the dog was quiet. It never even whimpered in that turbulence.

Thankfully, I was not made to starve. I guess no one told the stewards that food had not been reserved for me. Snag somehow liked the offering: “The food is good! And you were saying it is unpalatable? Isn’t it any day better than our canteen food?”

Again, I couldn’t find an answer. And, the dog was still quiet.

Breakfast was a different issue altogether. The hard and rubbery idli was unpalatable, and the masala vada seemed to be a leftover from our Onam celebrations a week back. Add to that the fact that I had not slept comfortably - a fact refuted by snag (“whenever I saw, you were just curled up asleep”). As we started descending, Snag got more excited. “Look, those farms – they look just like Farmville!” she exclaimed!

It was my first glimpse of Frankfurt City. Snag seemed as excited. For her, it was her first trip abroad in any sense, and she was all agog at the massive building of the Hauptbahnhof. We walked towards the river. The riverside was quiet – a few children played on the makeshift playgrounds, and a few guys were jogging along the riverside path. We walked towards the Altstadt. It was beautiful, but no different from a host of others in cities across Europe. Romer Renterum was a huge square with old building around it. A little fountain stood in the middle and all around the square people were oohing and aahing. Soon Snag was complaining that her bag was heavy. I convinced her to walk till the end of the street and catch the metro back to the airport. Along Liebfrauenstrasse, were florists selling all kinds of flowers. Snag seemed happy. She pointed to one of them and said: “look…that’s very popular in India now!”

“Oh! Is it? I don’t know anything about flowers.” I replied back

“It is Ganesha festival now no? That’s why” she said.

“I don’t think they celebrate that here” I said.

At the end of the street was the familiar sight of Galeria Kaufhof. I pointed it out to Snag, telling her that it was a huge shopping mall.

“Don’t they have seasonal sales here?” she asked. “I guess so, but I don’t think they’ll have it for Navratri” I replied back.

At one o’clock, we decided to turn back. I turned out to be a good decision, as the storm hit Frankfurt minutes after we left.

For the whole day, we were confused by the time zones. The in-flight monitor informed us that we had landed in Frankfurt at 6:45 AM. Too good to be true, and it was. The guys at the waterfront had corrected me. “It is 11 O’clock, and not 10. Happens all the time with these time zones”, they’d chucked. And now, as we sped towards Budapest under the darkening skies, the taxi driver informed me that it was 5:47. Again, too good to be true. Sure enough, at the hotel I found out that he was one hour behind.

We seem to have lost two hours and I don’t know where…Whoever said “Time Flies” was more than right!

Budapest Diary - Day 0

“Are you crazy?” asked the cab driver. “What the hell are you going to do at the airport for 5 hours?” 5 hours? It‘d probably take me 3 hours to reach the place. Which city was he living in? I was made to eat my… thoughts. We covered the 30-odd kilometers in an hour. But then, airports are always interesting places. No sooner had I got off the cab, than a posse engulfed me. “Sir? Taxi? Where do you want to go?” they screamed. “How about inside?” I quipped back.

Sleep was already tugging at my eyelids. Any hopes of having a quick nap were dashed by the two gentlemen seated behind yapping away happily in Bengali. I couldn’t make any sense of it – hardly a surprise if you do not happen to know Bengali. Soon, I was surrounded by three beautiful ladies – all blabbering on their mobile phones. So much for sleep! I plugged in my I-pod.

Snag arrived an hour later. We had done an e-check-in, and she had deliberately chosen the last row of seats! The baggage drop-off was taking a hell lot of time, thanks to the lady with the fluffy black dog. I mentioned it to snag. “How can they allow a dog inside? What if it came and bit me?” I assured her it would be well packed up in a bag. I pointed to the dark blue bag at the lady’s foot. It was bouncing up and down. Snag insisted on checking out whether her food preference had been booked. Needless to say, it had been, and to my shock, I found out that there was no food option booked on my ticket!

I almost forgot to declare my camera. I pulled Snag out of the security check queue to return back to the customs desk. She was cross, since there was hardly anybody at the security counter. “Should I declare my mobile phone?” She innocuously asked the official. He smiled wryly. “You can also declare your bangles, chains and everything else, madam. Namaskara. Have a nice journey!”

As the clock ticked over to the next day, I perceived the all-too-familiar argument at the security check counter. This time, it was an American lady, with a huge bag full of lotions and potions and other liquids. “I cannot drop it here! I have to carry it! It is allowed in America, if it is packed in a sealable container! This is not how security checks are done in our country!” She screamed at the officials. In her country, they only believe in frisking.

And thus, I passed on into my tenth year with SAP.

The Last Day...

At night it rained, but by then we were well on our way back to Bangalore. I couldn’t enjoy the rains since we were boxed inside the AC compartment thanks to an upgrade from second class. To top it, I was coming down with my fourth sore throat infection in the past three months. It was cloudy enough when we started from Bijapur. There was hardly a soul in the train. The first sign of company was unfortunately, a drunk. He tried his best to engage us in lively conversation, but we would have none of it. He was soon followed by a huge (literally) family, who were not satisfied the space available for luggage in the compartment. They wanted the whole space under the berth, and ordered us to move our baggage. Thankfully, they themselves moved away after a while.

The day had started very early and ominously – we had to hunt around for breakfast. Our “adda”, Mysore Restaurant was closed and we were informed that it would open only at 8:30. So would all other hotels. Visions of famished mornings in Rajasthan loomed. Thankfully, a small “darshini” was open, which served us probably the best Kesari Bath I have ever had!

Juma Masjid was crowded with worshippers even at 7:30 in the morning. We decided to skip it and headed to our next two destinations – Mihtar Mahal and Asar Mahal. According to The Bible, the former was a monument and the latter a ruin. To me, it looked the other way around.

Mihtar Mahal was a dark brown structure serving as a gateway to a little mosque. Even with its ornamental designs it was highly disappointing. A stream of filth flowed in front. A tied rope tied to its top window, passed overhead. Enormous amount of patchwork were visible on the upper deck. We did not linger.

Asar Mahal was entirely a contrast. The huge white building served as a court of the king, who would walk across the moat on a bridge leading to the upper story, where he held court. The rooms were full of beautiful paintings, all of them shown to us by Mr. Inamdar, the lone caretaker of the structure.

As we got out, children engulfed us. “What country are you from?” asked little Mohsin. Do we look like foreigners? But that was the invitation to join their game of cricket, and we obliged. Mohsin seemed to be a real champ (his hero is Yuvraj Singh), even switch-hitting SS. They wanted us to play a full match, but we had to let go. After a series of photographs and a promise that next time we were in Bijapur, we’d join them, we left…

...to the Gumbaz. The short ride on the auto-rickshaw was fun. Music was blaring (Mauja hi Mauja). The driver was dancing all the way. He offered us to take all over Bijapur, an offer we declined. The Gumbaz was crowded and the whispering gallery had turned into the shouting gallery. Every Tom, Dick and Harry wanted to test out the echo. SS tried to invoke Sherlock Holmes again, with no success. One guy even wanted to call up his dad so that he could hear the echoes through the phone. Thankfully there was no signal inside the dome. He was heard complaining that there was “no tower”. The last thing we need is a network tower inside the dome.

Lunch, back at Mysore Restaurant, was a struggle. The place was overflowing. We had to wait for 15-20 minutes. One guy even refused to move. “I want to have an elaborate lunch”, he averred. But then, as Milton said, “They also serve those who stand and wait”.

After time, it was finally time to wrap up the trip. But I still had time for shopping, and the only things I bought from Bijapur were…two rolls of Poppins.

The End.

Day Two

27th June 2009 - Saturday

We spent the evening sitting on the steps of Barah Kaman, watching the colours of the sky change. There was nothing else to do in those two hours preceding sunset. A recap of yesterday’s sights did not appeal anymore. All because, they couldn’t match up to the grandeur and magnificence of the two monuments we visited today.

The day started early, at 6:30 AM, in an effort to beat the usual crowd at the Gol Gumbaz. The monument is housed inside a large garden, thanks to the wholesome efforts of the Archaeological Survey of India. Early morning walkers were aplenty. The lady at the ticket gate seemed to be asleep, and we had to holler a couple of times to get her attention. Entry fee was only 5 rupees (for Indian nationals. For foreigners, it is around 20 dollars!), but we were incensed on being asked to pay an additional 25 rupees each for using a “digital camera” – of course, all those guys who use their mobile phone cameras do not need to pay anything.

The flat and somewhat ugly Archaeological Survey Museum blocks the full view of the Gumbaz from the gates. The Bible said the museum was “missable” and we faithfully followed its word. A small archway behind the building leads to the monument. Through the arch, one can spot an enormous doorway in the distance – the entrance into the Gol Gumbaz. As you step through the doorway, the monstrous structure towering over you takes your breath away. A huge façade with three arches reach up to the heavens. On either side, rise up octagonal towers seven tiers high. And on top, rests the massive dome – the largest in India.

The guard at the door stopped us saying bags are not allowed! No one told us about that, and we confessed the same to him. After a seemingly endless tirade against the guys manning the ticket gate, he let us in with our bags. We stepped though one of those doorframe-like contraptions (popularly termed as “metal detectors”) that never beep regardless of whatever things you carry with you.

The Gol Gumbaz is the mausoleum of Mohammad Adil Shah, and being a “resting place” if you expect it to be quiet, you’re grossly mistaken. The first thing that assaults you as you enter the square chamber is the noise. The massive hollow dome of the Gumbaz magnifies even the smallest whisper by more than 10 times. Above the mausoleum lies the “Whispering Gallery” and people are always testing out the phenomenon by shrieking and screaming at their fullest. It felt as if we were in a B-grade horror movie or in a Nirja Guleri serial.

The climb up to the dome leads through the minarets and is tiring with huge stone steps winding through claustrophobic passages. But the view from the top is fantastic. The city stretched out on all sides. A strong wind kept tugging at us. True to its fame, the Whispering Gallery was indeed a miraculous experience. Thankfully the screaming jokers had disappeared and we had the place almost to ourselves. I tried some shots of the place and was amazed at the echo. The soft pop of the flash and the click of the shutter reverberated through the dome. We sat down. As time passed, I felt increasingly sleepy inside that dark chamber. Something seemed to have come over SS also. He was blabbering all the time about Sherlock Holmes, The Hitchhiker’s Guide and James Bond.

Nevertheless, we sang our Harem Globetrotters’ anthem inside that dome!

After coming out of the gallery, I sat there on the upper deck gazing out at the city, as SS got busy clicking his 2014th, 2015th and 2016th shot of the adjacent minaret. Walking past, an employee of the ASI looked at me curiously.

Him: “Where are you guys from?”

We: “Bengaluru”

Him (pointing at me and smiling): “You look like the actor Ravichandran!”

Huh???

It is sad that many of us know Bijapur only for the Gol Gumbaz! For, at the other end of the city lies the immensely beautiful Ibrahim Rauza. During the afternoon, there was hardly anybody at that place. In many ways it reminded me of Hampi and Rajasthan, An elaborate green lawn with yellowish-green hedges adorned the tomb. Lush green coconut trees abutted the compound, providing a cool breeze all the time. The mosque on the right hand side had beautiful patterns adorning its walls. In front of it was what would have been a fountain, and facing the mosque across it, stood the immensely beautiful and richly carved mausoleum of Ibrahim Adil Shah. It reminded me of the Sheesh Mahal in the Amber Fort. The place would have been more beautiful if only it had been restored and maintained properly.

We spend three hours just gawking at it and clicking photos. As time passed, more people started coming in. Soon, children were running around the courtyard. At the door of the old mosque, I sat down to write. A couple of tourists got curious and came over to watch. “He’s an author. He writes books and takes photos!” SS made up a story. The guys said they were from a nearby village named “Halli”. SS couldn’t believe that (‘Halli’ itself means ‘village’ in Kannada). Soon he started relating about our travels to them. One of them even started pouring through The Bible.

By the time we left the place, the crowd was well in. We were no longer the only tourists in Bijapur – a fact that would hurt us later.

And…do not drink tea from that bajji place I suggested yesterday. Just be happy eating the bajjis.

To be concluded…

Day One

26th June 2009 - Friday

I woke up and found myself in Maharashtra. The train was approaching Sholapur. Where were we headed? Pune or Bijapur? “We’ve been all over the world…first Andhra Pradesh and now Maharashtra!” exclaimed SS. From Sholapur, we turned back to Karnataka, towards Bijapur. There was hardly anyone in the train ever since we’d left Gulbarga. Not surprising, considering the route.

Through barren lands we sped along. But still, it was a picturesque journey. En route, we stopped at the tiny village of Nimbal, where nothing interesting happens except the arrival of the occasional train. And as if it were a festival, there were people dressed up in all colours. The most ubiquitous is the yellow-saffron turban that everybody seems to wear – be it while plowing the field or tending the sheep.

A few minutes before we reached Bijapur we were assaulted by a barrage of Nadeem Shravan songs from somebody’s mobile phone. Thankfully not for long! At 10:10 we pulled into Bijapur. The first sight that greets you as the train slows down is the magnificent dome of the Gol Gumbaz, rising above the railway buildings! Truly a majestic sight!

Bijapur is like any other quintessential middle-class towns in India. Nothing much happens over here. Autorickshaws and bikes crawl past in hordes, with the appearance of an occasional car. There is only one main road, which serves as the “city centre”. There are no “Nikes”, “Reeboks”, “Mac Donaldses” and “Pizza Huts” – only the local “Fashion Stores” and “Darshinis”. The roads are narrow and filthy, but sparsely crowded. Life moves at a leisurely pace.

“Hotel Tourist” was quite shady to say the least, but we had stayed in much more shadier places. After all we just needed some place to dump our stuff. And what more, with a perennial power problem in the city, the hotel possessed a generator! It was next to the city market. Colorfully dressed ladies were selling juicy yellow mangos on the street side. It took just one photograph from me for them to starting clamoring for more of their photos. Even the tangewalas were not to be left behind. It took all of our diplomatic skills to break loose from there.

Mysore Restaurant is set in a corner of Gandhi Chowk. “The locals swear by it”, says The Bible, and so do we. The dosas are awesome! It comes with a sprinkling of chutney powder inside, and served with thick coconut chutney. The place is always brimming with people and for a little town it’s tough to find a place to sit. This would be our “adda” for the next three days.

Nestled behind the hotel are the ruins of the Barah Kaman – a mausoleum of curving arches named so because it has 12 windows and once had 12 tiers (according to the guard – pretty hard to believe, and of course, there are other versions on the origin of the name). Today there’s only one tier, sans the roof. The arches are nevertheless beautiful, forming intricate geometric patterns. The gardens surrounding the structure were crowded with people – the men in their yellow turbans and the women in their colorful garments adorned with metal ornaments. They are a sight to behold, the ornaments being made out of 25 paisa coins. I soon realized that this was some kind of ritual gathering. They sat in circles – the men and women separately – and seemed to be in some debate or discussion. Food, which they had brought with them, was being served. The women seemed to be singing some folk tunes. It was like a mini-carnival.

On top of Barah Kaman, we were accosted by a group of curious and enthusiastic kids – Rukhsar and her little friends. They wanted their photographs both in groups and alone. We playfully obliged. After a zillion photos in various poses, they were still not sated, until we finally gave up, fully tired. They continued playing around us, singing nursery rhymes. Just as we were leaving, one of them unexpectedly posed the question: “Yeh kab paper mein chhapega?” Uh…oh! We had to lie: “Do din mein…”

Opposite the Barah Kaman stand the ruins of the Citadel, which houses structures like the Jal Manzil, the Sat Manzil and the Gagan Mahal – all of them in various state of ruin. Touching the sky, the marble façade of the Gagan Mahal is majestic among them. The place was closed for renovation, but the caretaker beckoned us inside. That is when we realized that in the whole of Bijapur, we were the only tourists!

If you happen to be here, try the chilli bajjis from the roadside stall next to the Gagan Mahal. It was the spiciest chilli bajji I had ever had in my life.

Behind the bus stand rise up the twin domes of the Jod Gumbad. As we were clicking snaps, a chap shouted at us: “Andar mat jaana! Masjid hai!” We obliged, standing well outside. The kids were still enthusiastic – one in particular wanted SS to photograph him in various poses. He seemed impatient with SS’s focusing: “Why are you fretting around so much? Just click the photo!”

The evening was complete at the gates of the city. The city is enclosed inside the fort, on the walls of which stands Upli Buruj, the huge watch tower that gives a view of the whole city. It has two long cannons installed on top. But the more majestic cannon was the one at Malik-e-Maidan at the outer gate of the city – a huge 1.5 m diameter and (allegedly) 4m piece, intricate carved with the mouth resembling a lion sinking its teeth on a scampering elephant. As the sun started its descent, we sat there, discerning the huge saffron flag flowing in the strong wind.

The old lady at the gates tried to sell us post cards on our way into the Maidan, but we declined the same, with an excuse that we would buy them on the way out. She just smiled and did not utter a word of complaint. On our way back, we purchased two sets, for Rs. 20. She was happy to see us.

Swapna Restaurant was next door to our hotel. According to The Bible, it has a “70s lounge feel and outdoor dining” - probably a perfect place for dinner. According to everyone around, it was a favorite hangout for the tourists. The place turned out to be almost as shady as Brindavan Palace. The interiors were dimly lit, just like any other bar and restaurant. The place definitely had a “70ish” feel. The tables and chairs seemed to be 30 years old. A small TV at the centre of the hall was playing comedy scenes from Kannada movies of the 70s. Being thirsty, I ordered a Pepsi – the only thing I could trust to drink in that place. And for the second consecutive day, the dinner was nothing to talk about!

To be continued...

Day Zero

Halfway to the office, I realized I’d forgotten my ID card – Naturally, that’s the last thing to forget about, but today was not a normal day.

You see, I’d been packing for hours…to select three T-shirts and a couple of underclothes for a three day trip to a place not more that 600 km away. Naturally, forgetfulness can set in.

And naturally, I reached office late – at 10:45. And at 11, I went back home – I’d forgotten to pack a jacket.

The arduous journey to Yeshwantpur Railway Station was a mini adventure. I waited 30 minutes for a bus to Yeshwantpur (“Naturally”, Yeshwantpur is so far away from our office that no buses will ever want to go there - It’s easier to flag down a spaceship to Betelguese). Then I waited 5 minutes for a bus to anywhere else in Bangalore. The bus to Shivajinagar was crawling along like a snail, taking more than an hour to reach there. The connecting bus to the station seemed to be in no mood to move. The driver simple refused to budge for a full ten minutes. Thankfully I had cut my nails before starting on the journey. By the time I reached the station there were just minutes to find the train.

The evening train ride was nice and jolly. Of course, SS seemed a bit miffed when he saw the train passing by his backyard. If this were Bihar, he could have flagged it down from there. We chugged along parallel to the road lined with flaming red Gulmohar trees, without stopping anywhere…until we reached Hindupur. And as if to compensate for the non-stop journey, we stood there for an hour, until the sun set.

The station was empty. No sign of those annoying hawkers who try to sell you everything under the sky. Locals were out for an evening walk on the platforms, and few of my fellow passengers joined them. The Iyengar family in the adjoining seat was in the midst of a lively discourse. The topics ranged from Shivaji’s court to Max Mueller to the phenomenon of Blogging. The elder gentleman was explaining what blogging was to the others: “The term ‘blogging’ stands for ‘board logging’. It is like a bulletin board on the internet, where one person puts up his opinion on a topic. Everybody else should reply to it and give their opinion!”

At 7:30 PM, we pulled out of Hindupur…and to my amazement; I noticed that there was still some daylight left in the sky. Perhaps it’s the same everyday, but in Bangalore you can never see it…Naturally.

At night we committed the biggest mistake of the day – we ordered food from IRCTC. We should have taken the egg biryani from the hawker…Naturally!

To be continued…

Peek-a-boo: Interview with the Vampire: The Vampire Chronicles

Frankly, I was surprised that most people had not heard of this 1994 star-studded (by today's standard) movie adaptation of Anne Rice's best-selling novel. A stellar cast consisting of the likes of Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, Kirsten Dunst, Antonio Banderas and Stephen Rhea is certainly mouth-watering. And Neil Jordan's "Interview with the Vampire: The Vampire Chronicles" does not disappoint on this count.

This is a story about vampires...oh yes, those creatures who have sharp teeth, drink blood, and sleep in coffins. But no...contrary to popular perception, they don't fear ordinary light, crucifixes or the stake through the heart. But they too have their Achilles Heels - one should not drink the blood from a dead body, ordinary light may not harm them, but sunlight is deadly. And so is fire...

This is a story about vampires...and if you thought this was a run-of-the-mill horror film, you're grossly mistaken. For "Interview..." is a grand story-telling experience - lavish and grandiose in its application. "Interview..." is a story of love, betrayal (of one's own soul), cruelty, treachery and the inner struggles of an "immortal with a mortal soul". Daniel Mallory (Christian Slater), a newspaper reporter manages to lure Louis (Brad Pitt) to relate the story of his life. Louis was an 18th century Louisiana planter, who after the death of his wife and child, is out looking for death. A chance encounter with the vampire Lestat (Tom Cruise) alters his life once and for all. Lestat offers him the choice of being young and immortal for ever, and he readily accepts it to become a vampire and a companion to Lestat. However, he still possesses a soul that hesitates to kill humans and is tormented by his choice.

In his loneliness, he turns a little girl Claudia (Kirsten Dunst) into a vampire, with Lestat's help, and the three of them start a life together as a family. As years pass by, Claudia matures into a woman, but is imprisoned in the body of a 12 year old. In despair, she plots to kill Lestat and with Louis, runs away to Paris in search of more vampires. In Paris, they meet some of their own kind - Armand (Antonio Banderas), Santiago (Stephen Rhea), and their coven, who run the "Theatre des Vampires", a society of vampires that masquerades as actors killing their victims on stage as part of well-orchestrated plays. However, their past catches up with them.

This movie is all about its two leading actors. Brad Pitt has the more difficult role as the conscience-ridden Louis, brilliantly conveying his emotions through his eyes. But Cruise steals the show. As the supremely evil Lestat, he is brilliant and chillingly exudes a devilish charm. Kirsten Dunst as the 12-year old Claudia is good enough, but struggles to portray the role of a young woman trapped in a child's body (a role which is really difficult to carry out). The others, though they have shorter roles, do justice to their part. The movie has high production values. For a story set across centuries, it travels at a good pace, never boring the viewer, thanks to the brilliant screenplay. The scenes are brilliantly executed. Some of them really stand out in your mind - the constant verbal duels between Lestat and Louis, the drama scene in the theatre where the vampires kill a helpless young woman in front of an unsuspecting audience, the gruesome murder of Madeleine and Claudia at the hands of the vampire society, by exposing them to the rays of the rising sun, and Louis donning the role of the grim reaper to wreak his revenge on the vampires - to name a few.

"Interview..." is definitely not for the weak-minded or the average cinema-goer, who would balk at the thought of the constant gushes of blood on the screen - be it from all the bites on the neck or from the rats who are fed upon frequently by the lead cast. This one is for the movie buffs who appreciate the cinematic values on screen.

Drink from me and live forever...

What a day!

I was unable to write. I was unable to comprehend. Words refused to form a sentence. That was all before this weekend. And what a horrible one it has been.

Even before it started i knew it was a goner. There's nothing more I hate than attending a marriage where i knew no one. And here i was, dragged to one of those on the Saturday. I spent the whole day sitting by the corner, staring ahead at no one particular. I was relieved when the day ended, but things were about to get worse.

In the torrential rain, i hit something - a stone or the median, i do not know. All i could see was that i had damaged two wheels, and was lucky to survive. I was grounded for Sunday.

..and Sunday just got worse! I could list it down

1. Waking up all alone in an empty house.
2. The recollection that my car had two damaged wheels in yesterday's rain. Why can't they provide cars with two spares instead of one?
3. The ordeal of changing the spare..
4. The long, three-hour lonely wait at the office while my car was being repaired at the service station

...and the drive to the service station was filled with more depressing sights:

1. The beggar child on the streets hitting her little brother so hard that the kid burst out in tears.
2. A bunch of kids bullying their playmate near the railway tracks.
3. The 2-year old child running helter-skelter on the road, as the cars in front of me screeched to a stop.
4. ...And three villainous kids trying to stone a helpless chameleon to death!

It reminded me of the days when kids in Kerala used to tie stones under the belly of dragonflies. The poor thing would try to fly with the stone, and eventually die. I never took part in such heinous activities - not because I had any love for fellow creatures, but because i was scared stiff of anything small that crawled or flew.

I managed to save the chameleon. It sure feels good to save a life...be it even a chameleon's. Not bad for a depressing weekend.

But this was the weekend that wished came true. Life has a strange way of doing it:

1. The whole week I was grumbling: "Why doesn't it rain?" And it did, I got caught in it, and had an accident.
2. I was grumbling that I didn't want to go for the marriage. I had an accident and was grounded.
3. I was unable to write...and here I am describing about a depressing weekend.

Those who want their wishes to come true should read the story of "The Monkey's Paw".

Peek-a-boo: Good Morning Vietnam

"Goooooooooodddd Morrrrrnnnnninnnnggggg Vietnaaaaaaaammmmmmm!!!", he hollers to welcome listeners to his show. His shriek shatters the monotony of the drab tunes that act as "entertainment" to hordes of American GIs stationed in Vietnam. He makes them shake their leg, he makes them smile, he makes them laugh, and he makes them realize that they too have a life. For the average GI Joe, Adrian Cronauer (Robin Williams) is more than just a voice.

'Good Morning Vietnam' was perhaps the first movie to look at Vietnam with a comin touch, through the world of a radio jockey. Williams, as Cronauer, not only enlivens the lives of the soldier, but also endears himself to the locals through his English Classes. In the process he also crosses paths with his superiors who are not really amused with his antics and method. And they, are out to get him busted.

GMV is all about Robin Williams. The role gives him full freedom to let loose his energy and bring in the elements that has made him a top stand-up comedian. His performance is addictive. There's not much scope in the role of Forest Whitaker, but he does a credible job in the limited screen time he has. The movie also has some brilliant moments - Cronauer's rebellious broadcast of the report of a bomb-blast in a pub in Saigon, the brilliantly pieced together music track. Lastly one cannot forget the immensely eloquent shots of mass bombing and destruction as the voice of Louis Armstrong floats through the radio singing "What a wonderful world". Shades of "Apocalypse Now" and "The Doors"?

Bees saal baad

It was more than 20 years since i had stood under the "Thekke Nada" (North Gate) of the massive Vadakkumnathan Temple in Thrissur...

The huge beasts towered over me. They stood about 20 meters away - 15 of them. Behind me stretched an ocean of people - about half a million heads. Far away, in the midst of this ocean of black heads, rose 15 more elephants. Decked and adorned, they were performing the visual spectacle of 'Kudamaattam' (the changing of umbrellas), literally a competition between two temples. For an hour and a half i stood there. The crowd swayed, as if in a trance induced by the spectacle. Those close to me were in a frenzy, kicked up by the 'melam' (the pipes and drums).

As night descends, the city doesn't go to sleep. People throng the streets, trying to find a seat on the footpath, for the big fireworks at 3:00 in the morning. Fortunately for us, we had a pass to get on to the terrace of one of the buildings that stand around the temple ground. At 3:30 a.m., the spectacle started. As it rose to its crescendo, I could scarcely keep my eyes open at the flashes produced by the explosions, as one hundred and forty four explosives burst forth at once. So loud was it that my hands automatically went to my ears to cover them. The heat wave generated was pushing against us, and the whole building shook in the impact. This was Thrissur Pooram at its best.

It is impossible to describe in words, the sights and sounds of this spectacle. Right from the morning, when elephants from the temples surrounding the city of Thrissur bring in their deities, to the arrival of the deities of the two main temples - Thiruvambady and Parammekaavu, their face-off culminating in the extravaganza of the fireworks, crowds throng the place unmindful of the terrible heat. Pooram is not only about elephants, but also about the sound of the 'Panchavadyam' and the 'melam', which drives the immense crowd into such a frenzy that they dance to its beats even as midnight draws near. How can one explain in words, the enchanting effect of those beats?

Perhaps its best left unsaid, and given the chance, i would head there again, next year.

On the road...

* We're late by an hour...it's 6 o'clock by the time we start off. Journey time is estimated to be 16 hours. Even at this early hour, there's no mercy on the roads of Bangalore.

* Stop for brakfast at Kamat. There's a new one open on this side of the road, further down. Nevertheless, we decide to have it at the usual joint. The showpiece of this stop is a bunch of monkeys.

* The monkeys are more intelligent that the family of 9. First, at the payment counter, the lady can't decide how many of them are there - seven, eight or nine. By the time they decide, the vadas are over.

* Due to my bad luck, i run into the father, mother and daughter from the group at the dosa counter. The lady can't wait. She starts chastising the cook for not being able to make 20 dosas in 20 seconds. By the time the dosas are brought out, the three of them want everything for themselves. The waiter does not oblige, and gives us, the lesser mortals, some helpings. Needless to say, the lady is livid.

* I run in to the girl again during coffee. As i am drawing my coffee, the girl comes in with a cup and tries to push mine away. I give some advice, and she runs off to her mother. The mother glares at me, and i glare back with more venom. Battle won!

* We stop for tea at a wayside stall in Gundlupet. Nobody else does. They all stop next door at the spanking Coffee Day. Needless to say, the tea is good, but the place would shock all you so-called social human beings .

* Bandipur: We spot a handful of deers. Other than them, the only animals visible are a  hundreds of malnourished cows.

* We pass the border into Tamil Nadu. "They'll ask for money" says RM. "You're going for festival, no? Give us some money, they'll say. If they see the camera, they'll ask for double." Surprisingly, nobody asks to money.

* 36-odd hairpins to Ooty. The little Marutis that showed such great hurry and overtook us, are seen struggling to make the turns

* There's a huge traffic jam leading into Charing Cross. But the vehicles are lined up obediently in a single file - except for a couple of cars with Bangalore licence plates who try to jump the line.

* Charing Cross is empty. There are hardly any shops that are open. We struggle to buy chocolates.

* Descent to Mettupalayam is worse...People simply can't wait to overtake. One guy almost bangs us from behind.

* I almost forget my camera after lunch in Mettupalayam. Lucky escape!

* Another traffic-jam half way to Coimbatore. On the way, we had spotted a huge arena for amma's election rally. I hope the jam's not due to some stupid politician. People are thankfully well behaved, except for the Indica fellow. He was crawling along the road at 10 km per hour, and now he cannot wait in a queue!

* We stop for bajji and tea at Palakkad. Oil seems to be cheap in Kerala now. The bajji is overflowing with it

* The buses on the Palakkad-Thrissur route are still driven by madmen.

* Arrival time in Ernakulam: 9:00 PM - one hour before the ETA

Peek-a-boo: Midnight Cowboy

The proverbial 'gaon ka chhora' comes to Bombay, in search of glory and stardom. He believes that he has it in him to make it big in tinseltown. But life in the city is harsh. He struggles each day, in the walk of life. But in the end, everything turns out well...we've seen it in innumerable Hindi movies.

New York...the big apple. The Empire City. The City that never sleeps. The city of hope for millions of people who turn up on her shores in search of fame and money. Joe Buck (JonVoight) wants to make it big in this city of dreams. He is a male prostitute from Texas who believes that the women of New York would not be able to resist his charms and would be willing to pay for his services. In his struggle to survive, he befriends Ratso Rizzo (Dustin Hoffman), a tuberculosis-infected conman, who's dream is to move to Florida one day. Together, they eke through a living in the harsh, cruel and corrupted city.

Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman give excellent performances as the lead pair. The movie is a must watch. Midnight Cowboy portrays a realistic view of the harsh life on the streets of New York - the struggles of the ordinary man on the streets of an unforgiving city. And unlike the proverbial Hindi movie, there is no rags to riches story here. Not all clouds have a silver lining.

Till date, Midnight Cowboy remains the only X-rated movie to ever win an Academy Award for Best Picture.

Peek-a-boo: Shoot the Piano Player

'Shoot the Piano Player' is confusing, 'Shoot the Piano Player' is a muddle. But make no mistake, 'Shoot the Piano Player' is a classic.

Coming from the stables of the acclaimed director Francois Truffaut, 'Shoot the Piano Player' tells the story of a pianist, who gives up fame after his wife's suicide and leads a quiet life playing in a bar. But his brother's troubles in the world of crime soons pulls him into the same.

'Shoot...' takes us by surprise as it changes track from the slow and dragging facets of the pianist's life and unravels his mysterious past.

Peek-a-boo: Reservation Road

Returning from a school concert, Ethan Learner and his family stop for a breather at a gas station. A speeding SUV, while trying to avoid another car, fatally hits Ethan's young son Josh. Unable to come to terms with what he has done, Dwight Arno, driver of the SUV speeds away into the night. Frustrated with the local police's inability to find the perpertrator of the crime, Ethan decides to hire a lawyer to track down his son's killer and extract revenge. Ironically the lawyer turns out to be Dwight.

The lead cast is magnetic, with Joaquin Phoenix as Ethan and MarkRuffalo as Dwight squaring up against each other. These acting powerhouses are two of the most overlooked actors in Hollywood. Every time they come on the screen produces a memorable moment in the filem - especially the scene where Ethan tries to extract the truth out of Dwight as they visit the crime scene. However, the rest of the cast have not been given as much importance - Jennifer Connolly as Grace (Ethan's wife), and Mira Sorvino as Dwight's estranged wife Ruth. The deterioration in relationship between Ethan and Grace after the gruesome incident is left undeveloped, whereas Ruth's presence is reduced to a few handful scenes.

Coming from Terry George, the director of the aclaimed Hotel Rwanda, Reservation Road disappoints majorly. The culprit in the movie seems to be the screenplay. What was a powerful premise is weakened by the screenplay. The climax of the movie looks contrived, as if taken out of a cheap bollywood tearjerker. At 90 minutes, one feels that the movie could have been longer, and the unexplored relationships between the actors been explored more. It's true that Joaquin Phoenix and Mark Ruffalo light up the screen with their presence - the duo probably make up for the rest of the fallacies in the movie. But what promises to be a mouthwatering recipe turns out to be a half-cooked meal in the end.

Peek-a-boo: The Boy in Striped Pyjamas

Should i call it a war movie? or should I call it a horror movie? Not everybody ranted and raved about this movie. Some said that it was the most depressing movie of the year! I ventured to watch it, since the book had taken by breath away!

'The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas' tells a brutal story. Bruno cannot fathom the great horrors that happen around him. He is protected by the high walls of his father's large mansion (though not large enough in his eyes compared to their house in Berlin). He cannot image why his father left the cosy comforts of Berlin to come to the countryside. And neither can he fathom awhy the people in the neighbouring farm don't wear anything except striped pyjamas. His search for a playmate leads him to the huge barb-wire fence and the little figure who sits staring at it all the time. As their friendship blossoms across this barrier, the reader is swept into the maelstrom of its heartbreaking an inevitable ending. The stunning narration reads like a children's book, as if written to be read out to a kid tucked cosily under sheets, waiting for his bedtime story.

However, 'The Boy...' as a movie disappoints. To me it would perhaps qualify as one of the weakest screenplay adaptations of a book. It's perhaps futile to expect such a narrative to be efficiently transferred on to the silver screen, but the emotions of the little child is lost in the screenplay. Asa Butterfield as Bruno just about passes muster. The innocence of little Bruno that one comes to imagine in the book is not completely conveyed through the eyes of Butterfield. Both David Thewlis and Vera Farmiga have excelled in their parts. But Farmiga paints a picture of an aristocratic lady, who seems to want to ignore what happens outside, rather than that of the anguished mother who is concerned and wants to protect her children from the actions of her husband, and Thewlis is good, but not as menacing as he is presented in the book. The most lovable character is little Shmuel, the little Jewish boy, and the best moments in the movie are those little conversations he has with Bruno across the fence. They are bound together in their solitude, but neither of them can comprehend the other's world.

The second world war was one of the darkest periods of the last century - a time in which unimaginable horrors were enacted. 'The Boy...' makes muted and veiled references to these horrors, completely staying away from the graphic depiction of them. There is not a single shot fired, nor are there bloodied bodies falling like flies. Even as the screenplay takes us through the comfortabl life of the aristocratic soldier's family one cannot but shudder at the thought of what goes on outside that cocoon of comfort. Perhaps it is this foreboding sense of doom that really gives "The Boy..." its magnetic appeal. It is indeed depressing. The movie IS depressing. If you do not want to spend the rest of your weekend with a heavy heart, stay away from this movie on a Friday night. It's sure to make you cry.

As for me, perhaps I should not have read the book first...I would then have cried more.

The cruelest month...

The concerts don't inspire me. And neither do i have music classes to fill my time. Ideas for T-shirts have dried up. The new-found interest in movie piracy doesn't enthuse me anymore. But I won't hunt for new hobbies. There are enough of them. 

Senseless wandering... Pune seems just a blur, and Rajasthan seems to have happened in another year. Two long weekends came and went, and i was shut up in office, desperately trying to work. The heat saps all my energy - i can't lift my camera. The precious springtime, when the trees of Bangalore bloom to their fullest was lost without a single photograph - thanks to the sweltering heat...breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory with desire, fear in a handful of dust, my cousin's sled, coffee in the Hofgarten, summer coming over the Starnbergersee and dull roots stirring in the spring rain.

Rain? What rain? There's no rain on this scorched earth!

Somebody asked me where ginger was. I woke from the daydream and pointed up the road. And then, I stepped into a Bangalore local Volvo bus for the first time in my life!

Anybody who reads this might roll over with laughter. These things have been in existence for years now...and here i am, never to have stepped into one. Am i a Neanderthal, a lesser life form, or one of those precious creatures who think it below their dignity to step into one of the local transport vehicles? Perhaps the answer might be evident in the fact that i live in a locality that is shunned by Volvo buses. So why bother hunting one down? After all, i have my Vishalu...

Nevertheless, on that Saturday I stepped into one, headed for MG Road. I queried the conductor about the destination, and he gave me a look that asked "are you stupid?" Some of the finely dresses ladies sitting in the front seemed to concur with his opinion. This lesser life form decided to head to the back, and disappear amongst the empty seats. The ride seemed to be just like one of those European bus rides (stop sniggering!) except for the fact that in Europe, you don't get to hear "Aaye ho meri zindagi mein" thrice, "Do dil mil rahe hai" twice and "Dil ne yeh kaha hai dil se" four times. I guess Nadeem-Shravan cassettes still have a sale thanks to the Volvo drivers. Ever since then, i have been listening to songs from the nineties.

T. S. Eliot was right...April is the cruelest month!

Goonight Bill. Goonight Lou. Goonight May. Goonight. Ta ta. Goonight. Goonight. Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night. 

Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.

Shantih...shantih...shantih

Huh???

Thanks to Yella Reddy for opening my eyes to http://www.genderanalyzer.com/. But my results were not really different from his:

What's really hilarious is their description of themselves:

"We created Genderanalyzer out of curiosity and fun. It uses Artificial Intelligence to determine if a homepage is written by a man or woman. Behind the scene, a text classifier hosted over at uClassify.com has been trained on blogs written by men and women. In our lab it seems to works pretty well, we want to see how it performs on the web! We hope you like it! "

Oh yes! I am loving it!

Life's surprises

The T-shirts that he was churning up with his paintings were awesome. His shop was situated in a small gully in the winding lanes of Udaipur. It was difficult to miss it, since it was crowded with tourists. But...we were the only Indians among the group, and soon I understood why!

He was just not interested in us. He was interested only in selling his overproced T-shirts to foreigners. Such snobbery put me off. "If he can do it, why can't I?", I thought. A week later, I was at "Hobby Ideas" - the multi-purpose store in Indira Nagar. Within an hour I had acquired the set of the basic six colours. Brushes took longer, since for that, i had to visit Odyssey - and Odyssey being a book and DVD store, naturally took more time.

The first attempt was a small Mickey Mouse head on a handkerchief. I was encouraged! During the week i discovered another aspect of me - that i could sketch! Star Wars characters sketched in pencil started taking shape on white sheets of paper. It was just a wait till the next weekend. 22 more colours were added to my armoury. No more mixing complex colours!

That handkerchief became my work area. I started work on my first serious effort. 

Our (Prags, me and Nam) glass painting came first. And then, there was the slight delay of the Pune trip. But by last weekend, a slightly bemused Anakin Skywalker adorned that handkerchief. I couldn't wait. On Saturday, i went hunting for T-shirts.

Five days later, i was done. And the result? Given below:

Sometimes I surprise myself with what I can do...