Wander-some Thots

Bath - The Romance Continues

2011-10-30T13:19:00.000-06:00

..continued from Bath and My Regency Fascination

Having taken the waters at the pump room, it was time to go in search of other landmarks, to be found between the pages of a novel or in Bath.

We walked up Milsom street, where once stood the circulating library, and the best milliner's shops. Now, it has the same circulating library, high end stores, which, at a stretch of imagination are still milliner's shops among other things, and a paintball stall. Really, can't they forbid modernity!

Turning left at the top, we found ourselves in Gay Street, named no doubt when 'Gay' still meant 'Happy'. A little way into Gay street, we came to the house which used to be where Jane Austen lived, now the Jane Austen Centre. I paid my respects by having a photo clicked in front of it, then turned around and walked in the opposite direction, until we came upon the "Circus". Can't think why it's called that, other than a case of misplaced consonants, for it sure looks like a circle with a green in the middle and Georgian/Victorian/Regency houses all around. Also, standing on the green, one can see roads all sloping downwards, which explains why Bath never was much of a city for carriages. It would appear the Bath denizens loved their horses too much to allow them to pull heavy carriages up steep streets, hence they employed "sedan chairs" more. These were much like carriages, except carried by men (much like the Indian palki) and if the lady at No. 1 Royal Crescent is to be believed, they would drop you not only to the door step, but right inside the drawing room - on the 1st floor. (I personally don't believe that last bit)

Royal Crescent was where we walked to next - a set of houses built in the shape of a crescent, with a stretch of garden in the centre, which seems to be so common in UK. The houses themselves are still extremely inhabited and my guess would be that still as prime a real estate location. I went into No.1 Royal Crescent, which is maintained as a sort of museum to showcase the life and times of Regency days. Well, Sushi and I both went in, but Sushi, I suspect bolted soon after the dining room. Meanwhile, I continued on to the gentleman of the house's morning room, and upstairs to the bedroom and the drawing room. All was extremely fascinating, including the lovely old lady in the drawing room, who was evidently really enjoying bringing it all alive and fellow regency -enthusiasts who were according her as much interest as I was, by the way, no men among the visitors at all. There was the dressing table with the powder and patch in the bedroom, a work table with a screen, for sewing or embroidery presumably, a love letter in a frame on the table by the bed. There was in the drawing room, a piano, on which the daughters of the house and other visiting young ladies showed off their accomplishments. It was all so alive, as if this was still that time - when the gentlemen stayed to port after dinner and then joined the ladies in the drawing room upstairs, for a rubber of whist or perhaps cribbage. The tea things must have been brought in so..and a young and handsome viscount someone must have sighed over the fair lady sitting so demurely by her mama.

Reality did kick in after a bit, and I made my way down, by the servants stairs I think they were, to a very strategically located souvenir shop, where I equipped myself with a fan. Having found Sushi, I resumed my explorations and reached the Assembly rooms - the scene of so many balls! Like all things in Bath, where the modern and history seem to co-exist, the Assembly rooms are still used among other things, for the modern equivalent of balls - parties.

Next on the itinerary was Pulteney Bridge, which flows over the river Avon, where..well...needless to say there's history here too..and a somewhat decorative river bed, with semi-oval steps cut to give a bit of water-scaping.

Our day ended on a somewhat anti-climatic note - in a Thai restaurant, and here I was complaining against the modernity of paintball stalls(!), but my thoughts were for a long time with the Prince Regent, who ruled in the king's stead and was glad that authors with gifted pens, were inspired enough to write of the life and times.

Bath and My Regency Fascination.

2011-10-10T15:56:00.000-06:00

When girls usually graduate from Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys to their first romamce novels (preferably without momma finding out), at the age of 14 or thereabouts, I chanced across an author called 'Georgette Heyer'. The novel was called 'These Old Shades' - all about the Duke of Avon and his somewhat unconventional romance with a french heiress, masquearding as a page boy - though how should I have known it was unconventional romace I can't really explain, as it was my very first. The setting historic, 1700's, the language quaint, the costumes described all fantastic and quite the antithesis of a classroom history lesson.

I was hooked on to Georgette Heyer - the period, the sparkling dialogues, descriptions of flirtations in Hyde Park and the cotillions and balls. The dearest ambition of my teen years was to procure a voucher for Almack's ( an exquisite and elite club in Regency London, unfortunately no longer exists) and to dance the waltz with the most handsome marquis there was.

And then, about 2 decades later (i.e. now) I am here in London, working as a mainframe programmer, which as technology goes, is regency too. Having visited Hyde park and been to the balls and assemblies (not really, I have been to a few pubs though), the fancy took me to visit Bath.

Bath, by all accounts that I have heard, held a special place in the regency times. A fashionable resort next only to London, people (the royalty - or the "Quality" as they were called) brought their marriagable daughters here at the beginning of the "season" to attend balls and concerts, promenade in the pump room and hopefully to catch a husband. Jane Austen, who is now heralded as one of the most famous residents of Bath was brought down on just such a mission, which was never to be successful ofcourse.

The journey from London to Bath is now an hour and a half by train from Paddington station. In the days of long ago, this same journey was accomplished in several stages by a chaise drawn by a team of four horses. Back to the present though, it was a day of unalloyed pleasure for me. The journey was spent engrossed in the troubles of Bridget Jones, only looking up from time to time to admire the countryside going past. There is something extremely idyllic in the sight of sheep and horse grazing in picture postcard fields and the novelty still hasn't worn off.

Sushi, very gallantly decided to escort me ( he doesn't believe an unchaperoned female should be jauntering around the countryside on her own) despite my telling him that he was bound to get excessively bored, not being a reader of Regency romances or any romances for that matter. He reads Bruce Lee's philosophy from time to time, but that's quite besides the point. He assured me that he'd utter not a complaint and take as many pictures as I should have a fancy for - what more could a girl ask for!

We got down at the station and made our way up Manvers street, on to York street, and reached Bath Abbey. Sushi was moved enough to take a picture of his own volition -

Right next to the abbey, was the enterance to the Roman Baths. The waters are supposed to have healing powers for all sorts of diseases like gout and rheumatism. My use of 'are' and 'were' now gets confused as I have some trouble separating the past from the present. Right next to the Roman Baths, is the famous 'Pump Room' - a restaurant from 300 years ago, originally built for the princely sum of a 100 pounds. The pump room is where we breakfasted and although unverified, I do believe it is exactly as it was all those years ago. The actual curtains have naturally been changed but not the style in which they are festooned. The string quartet entertained us through our breakfast just as it might have done so many years ago. They even serve what they call 'champagne breakfast', a little strange but after all why not. It's never a bad time to have a good thing. They have computers now to record orders, just like all restaurants, which bothered me a little, because this was not how it was supposed to be. Next to the actual pump too, there stood a computer, which I preferred to ignore. The lady who was serving the waters asked me if I had a bar voucher, in which case the waters would be complimentary or else cost me 50p a glass. This slight aberration apart, I thoroughly enjoyed "taking the waters", slightly warm, and pumped up from a hot spring beneath, in the tradition of all those who had taken these very same waters as prescribed by their fashionable doctors. Happy Happy Day!

A Walk in The Wilderness and The Elusive Ceilidh

2011-09-28T16:29:00.000-06:00

..Continued from A Visit to The Highlands...

Cabbies in Inverness are incredibly chatty, tourist friendly or maybe fishing for tips. But we must not be cynical if we are to believe in the Loch Ness Monster, hence I'll leave the last bit unsaid. Take our cabbie for instance - he volunteered the names of all possible cruises we could take, all the castles we could see and all the places we could find Scotch at (pretty much everywhere). When questioned about the existence of the Loch Ness monster, he became all pleasantly intriguing, neither confirming nor denying. According to him, Tiger Woods would consider himself truly fortunate to have played in Inverness (?) .

We then asked him where we might catch some Ceilidh (believe it or not - that's pronounced "Kaylee"). After some thought, he advised us to gate crash a wedding.

Sometime during the course of this conversation, we found we were in the middle of the city, with a bright red castle sitting on top of a very green hill overlooking and guarding with all the might of its red stones. The Ness river flowed on placidly past between 2 narrow streets, which were apparently the 2 main streets of the city. It was all very idyllic and un-city like. In fact Inverness became a city only in 2001, but could easily have passed for a sleepy little hamlet. Or maybe not - we discovered that the place was in a right bustle because 'Boyzone' was playing in the park that night! I didn't know Boyzone played anymore and had been quite used to classing them with all the fashions of my teen years - as ancient history.

As we checked into our B&B, the land lady pointed out the finishing line to us - a sort of rope stretched across the river. As it turns out, there was to be a race that very afternoon - boats and canoes and all sorts of colourful thematic boats - themes like pink colour and parrots. - Can't say we really GOT the themes but nevertheless it was nice to watch the hard rowing as we nibbled at some home baked shortbread cookies in the blissfully relaxed - "we are on a holiday" vein.

We then stepped out to explore the immediate vicinity of the place and pick up some sandwiches, chocolate and water as provisions for the hike we were to take later that afternoon. I couldn't help but think of all the Famous Five adventures read between the ages of 8 & 11 and which I would happily re-read even now. We were packing sandwiches and going on a hike. All we were missing was Timmy the dog.

For some reason, possibly because our non-vegetarian(ness) doesn't extend to eating haggis, we stepped into what passed for an Indian restaurant. It was all bright and gold and red, extremely gaudy, food way too spicy, the naan sweet, very wannabe, but not quite getting there. Later, we were to learn that the restaurant was probably Bangladeshi, but 'Indian' being more easily recognizable, they just don't bother to be Bangladeshi. That would explain the over-Indian everything!

Soon after, we were picked up by our hike-guide, Gordon and his wife and transported in their car to what Gordon called "his special hill for brilliant views of the Loch Ness". The ride was quite an introduction to Scotland, the scenery, the wilderness, the history and the Scots love for nature and their country, if the two Scots we met with can be said to be fairly representative.

Gordon pointed out heather growing on the hill side and was rather amused when I got all excited because of the Enid Blyton associations it invoked. Much to our mystification, he promised us some "heather-bashing" later that day. He then very kindly pointed out some green leafy plants - but thank heavens, even I find "ferns" commonplace enough to merely smile. We learnt a bit of history too in the burnt down cottages dotted along the countryside as old as two hundred years ago. Turns out the English, burnt the cottages, forcing the dwellers to flee to America and then summarily decided to ban the Gaelic tongue as well as the kilts (spoil sports!). He then told us the story of some chap who gallantly came to do battle with the might of the English army with only seven men. I can tell you I thought and thought about the fella, who must have really believed he could win!! It's a pity I can't remember his name now. (Notes to myself : google diligently)

At the starting point of our hike, we were fitted up like true hikers - rucksacks, jackets, hiking boots, and duly warned about leaches. I was beginning to enjoy myself already, a few pictures in the attire and I would have been well satisfied even without all the the cardio stress test style exertion that was to follow....
..to be continued.

Little Ben

2011-09-20T15:12:00.000-06:00

This is Little Ben -

And this is what he says -

"My hands you may retard
or advance
My heart beats true..."

London Nights

2011-09-12T15:31:00.000-06:00

On Saturday, we went to Southall, to stock up on things that all Indian kitchens need - whole wheat flour, and gram flour, aachar (or pickles) and the like. Things, which only Southall can sell. From the moment we stepped off the bus, it was as if we had travelled back in time - to India in the 80's. Or perhaps small town India in the 2000's. We saw 'Punjab National Bank', no less, a Gurudwara, shops with colourful buntings selling jalebis and paan. Women in the traditional Punjabi attire - salwaar kamez far outnumbered those in jeans. And the number of shops showing off sari draped mannequins had me thinking that maybe it was time for me to update my wardrobe in that direction too. This was more 'India' than commonly found in India!

Our kitchen well stocked for about a month, it was necessary to get our sense of geography balanced. What could be more 'London' than 'London Bridge' or as Sushi says 'Tower Bridge'. He likes to be accurate in these things. Hence, it was thither that we were headed to on Sunday night. For a while it looked like TFL was going to beat us in this ambition with all its part closures and complete closures, but with sheer determination and cunning, we beat it right back -

It looks awesome by the moon light, doesn't it, if you ignore the big white bulb trying to outshine the moon. Kind of makes me think of some lines from some poem..something..something.."The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas" and then..something something..The Highway man came riding.

Thankfully none did, and we were able to enjoy a peaceful and shivery drink by the Thames.

A Visit to the Highlands.

2011-09-11T06:38:00.000-06:00

My Scottish 'dash' was as spontaneous as Paris was meticulously planned. Surprisingly, this way is fun too.
In order to catch the 9 o' clock morning flight from Luton airport we had to beat the early bird to its worm by a very fair margin. Up by 4 a.m., out of the house by 5, on the tube by 5:15 (still a.m.) and finally on a national railway train from St Pancras to Luton.

I have a little bit of a complain against the trains - we'll call it 'X' railways. Now, why must they align their trains one behind the other as if it was one train. We are standing infront of what we think is our bogey number clicking the button that opens the doors. But the door won't budge. Never mind, we think, it will, in good time, there's still 15 minutes to departure. In this manner, us and other passengers ( so you know we were not the only goofy ones) stand there clicking and waiting as the clock continues to count down minutes until departure. Finally with 3.5 minutes to go, we decide to look about us a bit - lo and behold! there's another train behind this one, that had in the beginning looked like one big train. This one looks very ready to chug off anytime now. This one's standing with doors agape at the correct bogey number, and we have to break into a mini-trot to get onto it just as it merrily starts to scream and sing away from the platform! Whew!

We make it to the airport in good time for a breakfast. I'm delighted to find that the food court is blaring songs from what I like to call 'back in the days' - Christina Aguilera at her dumb lyrics best. What an auspicious start to a holiday. We then get quickly aquainted with 'easy jet' and its mores. I believe no other airline allows you to grab the best seats possible (if you can) and reserve some for your friends, just like in a bus - but then I haven't flown them all by any stretch.

After a fairly normal flight, we touched down at Inverness, which was slightly colder than London(this is end of August we are talking about). As if to live up to the cliche - the moment we were out the airport doors, a man in a skirt ( or more accurately - a 'kilt' ) steps up and starts playing the bagpipes. (Sorry, but no puns intended).
--- to be continued.

In Quest of 10 Downing Street

2011-09-03T14:00:00.000-06:00

It was a fine bright sunny afternoon after a long time.
On a whim, I decide to go look up no. 10 Downing Street.
Accordingly set out mid-afternoon with GPS in hand.
Resist temptation to have a 'quick' look in at Cl*r*s. I should know better than that after 2 highly expensive, highly uncomfortable shoes.
Modification - that's 1 moderately priced, moderately uncomfortable shoe - one that I'm wearing while walking, so I do not want to hurt its feelings and 1 too dear, too uncomfortable shoe (resting peacefully in cupboard at home).
Do not look-in at Cl*r*s but walk on.
Notice a sign that says 'your dentist. walk in'. Definitely not my dentist and I most definitely won't be walking in - thanks for asking.
GPS says 10 minutes to walk, take a wrong turn, have to re-trace steps. GPS now says 13 more minutes.
Walk on - right track again.

Learn me some history on the way -

Have reached Westminster Abbey. Building especially beautiful in the afternoon sun. Take a photo.

Hear the deep throaty gong of Big Ben and stop to admire very intricately made building indeed - parliament house.

Getting very cultured taste in beautiful buildings I think.

Realise I'm on wrong track again. GPS still says 13 minutes.

Disheartened but persevering. Retrace steps again. GPS brightly declares 3 minutes! Spirits start to soar. And soon - there it is!

I suppose I had expected a neat house with the number '10' on it with a convenient bus stop or tube station opposite. But such as it is - I click snaps with rest of tourists.
Make way back, very pleased and smirking and feeling very superior to all the tourist groups with their guides.
Realised that in my head, I'm sounding very much like the 'Provincial Lady'. Oopsie, but fun trying to attempt the style.

Paris Diaries - The Final Word

2011-03-12T13:09:00.000-06:00

It's been over 3 months since we were in Paris. We have reached a point where the "Eiffel Tower" candy box has gone from being the green chili holder in the fridge to a pot for the money plant in the kitchen. While seeing movies like Bourne Identity - we feel pretty pleased with ourselves, having recognised some Paris landmark and with an inward smirk thought - "been there". Only this morning, we caught Salman Khan on TV (yeah - now we are just another couple with a TV) shaking his Dabangg booty in front of the Louvre with a whole bunch of French dudes.

In short, to get this out of our system and for the next adventure to begin, I must truly have the final word. Let's see now, last recorded, I had been going on and on about segways, how they were so much fun and so great to see the city on..and how Billy the guide was so cool.

The next day, we were booked to be on a wine and cheese tasting session. (http://www.o-chateau.com/) It was supposed to be in an original Louis the XV cellar (no reason to believe it wasn't) - low walls, the general feeling of being inside a barrel..dim lights - a round table - with knights all around. Not really - just tourists, pretty much like us, a majority from New Jersey, who were for some reason pretty excited to see each other, a few Californians, fiercely maintaining that their wine was way better than the French (Hey! I think I'm gonna start rooting for the Sula too.) and a few Spaniard types going "Ola".

Our session began with the sommelier showing us the wine map of France, so we got the placement of Chardonay, Champagne, Bordeaux, Beaujolais right. Then came the part that we had been waiting for - each of the 3glasses, the slim n tall flutes, and the rotund tumblers, were filled up to the brim. The wooden plates were laden with all kinds of cheese and another plate full of sliced meat, (cold and barely cooked, but awesome nevertheless).

We inhaled in the "bouquet" and tried our best to say "umm..spicy"..or.."I think fruity" with reasonable levels of conviction, even as the sommelier rattled of - " mostly fruity, open, with a hint of cinnamon, vanilla..and ummm grapes too". Next we learnt that it's pretty okay to slurp with the wine in your mouth, gargle, or do anything that would enable some air to pass over it. Apparently, this brings out the flavour but mostly it gives you the kick you'd otherwise expect from a good hearty gulp of vodka. We were urged to drink as much as we could (for practice) and also informed as to what would go best with tandoori chicken. I'd tell you if I remembered ..hang on let me refer to my notes. Hmm... all it says is "red wine = red meat". Chicken isn't red but then tandoori's spicy ..so based on my "expertise"..stick to red wine I'd say - spicy needs robust flavours.

Well, after all the diligent drinking and inhaling and gargling, we made our somewhat unsteady way out of the cellar and into the Louvre museum. We had plans of taking the "Da Vinci Code" trail - you know, the one followed by Robert Langdon and Sophie Neveu in the book. After taking a sufficient no. of pics in front of the "chalice" or the glass pyramid, we descended into the pyramid and so into the museum. Having bought a couple of 15 euro tickets, we started to follow the trail, but blame it on the wine or our utter non-understanding of art - all we could do was gape at the too big-ness of the place and balk at the idea of trudging all over it. After pointing and giggling at nude male sculptures( that was me, not Sushi), shaking our head in disbelief at the scores of art students camped out and taking notes, and wondering why the "winged victory on the boat" was headless - we finally ended up face to face with the Monalisa. That alone, I suppose made the 15 euros apiece worth it..it is nice to be able to say you saw her in her own salon.

After that, we turned right around and made our way out of the Louvre, into the streets, somewhere in the proximity of "Pont Neuf". It started to snow, so we ducked into a coffee shop, had some hot chocolat and creme brule..And that is the last picture in my mind that I carry of Paris - the Seine, the snow and us and hot chocolate...

Paris Diaries - 4

2011-01-12T12:05:00.000-06:00

....Continued from Paris Diaries - 3

The Big anniversary day - and we had Segways on our itinerary. I'm stuck with something of a 'writer's' block and quite unable to describe what was by far the most enjoyable experience of our entire trip. Still, I had best start somewhere. You see, while trip planning it did occur to me that while Pont du Alexandre, Grand and Petit Palace, L'ecole militaire, and numerous others might have a lot of 'tick them off your list' value, it would essentially involve looking at a lot of old buildings and bridges. Probably great pictures, but not much fun, hence Segways. Well, segways had a lot of entertainment value even before we were on the trip with two travel agencies fighting ..long story.

Back at 'pilier sud', or the south pillar of Eiffel tower, we were waiting with a lot of anticipation and a little anxiety as time wore on ( we were bright and early over the Seine..20 minutes before time). We stood around half heartedly clicking a few pictures, and fending off attempts to make us buy little souvenir key chains. We had Hindi spoken to us in this most iconic Parisienne location by African and expat Indian key chain sellers trying to out do each other's prices. I'm proud to say that we were still key-chain-less, by the time, much to our delight, our guide arrived on his Segway. As it happens, we lucked out and happened to be the only 2 people on the morning tour. We skipped along beside him to his office, where we were soon atop our own Segways.

Now, I have zero aptitude when it comes to any sort of sporting activity. It still surprises me that I managed to learn to cycle at all. With segways though, 10 minutes of practice and you are a pro. Even if you were trying really hard to, you'd find it near impossible to fall off. You lean forward, and well, the segway goes forward, you lean a bit more and it goes faster..you stick out your hind quarters and it breaks..that easy.

So, off we were winding our way through traffic, even as people turned to watch. We got a whole gamut of reactions from the loathing .."those things! too freaky" to the thunder stuck "awwwsome"! We saw Napoleon's school and learnt that the little guy set out to conquer the world on a pony..because..you know..he was little. We had "The tale of 2 cities" brought alive to us at "Place de la concorde". Sushi decided he'd be extra polite around Parisiennes when we learnt that Queen Mary Antoinette had her head chopped off at that very place for being just too snooty for their liking. We saw the tunnel where Lady Di had her accident and on the Pont du Alexandre we saw rows upon rows of locks. Bill, our guide explained, that these were put there by generations of lovers, who'd then throw away the key in the Seine - thus being literally locked in love forever. Ofcourse, nothing is for ever, as every couple of months or so, when the municipality decides the bridge is getting too "lockey"..they simply "clear" it all away thus making room for some new ones.

Speaking of Bill, he was American, and it's interesting how fellow foreigners can bond even though they might have nothing in common except the segway wheels. So we joined him in lamenting the lack of a Thanksgiving in Paris. Over a cup of cocoa in the Jardin de Tuileries, he went over his bafflement between "Baguette" and "Bonjour" (Bread and Good day) and we explained to him how arranged marriages work.

It was a chilly day and we were near frozen despite the warm clothing, but the grin never quite got wiped off our face for all of the ride. All good things must however come to an end and soon we were back on our own boring two feet.

Today was also to be our introduction to the Paris metro..a system very easily mastered and somehow less scary and confusing than the New York subway. Not that the map is quite indicative of its simplicity, but have a close look and you'll be a metro veteran soon enough!

From Rue de Edgar, we made our way to the Latin Quarter - the student are of the city with plenty of 2nd hand book stores, the Sorbonne University and Pantheon. Well, Pantheon is a grave for the really famous people, like Gailileo I think, so I'm not sure why I mentioned it as the theme of a student area, but we chanced upon it anyways and recognised it from the pictures. More importantly, it is here that we discovered our first road side crepe stand. Crepes are a sort of 'dosa', just that the batter is made of something else and it is stuffed with sweet things or not sweet things like jambon-fromage (ham and cheese), which still makes me want to drool. If you get a little too enthusiastic and order jambon-fromage-oeufs (ham and cheese and eggs), not so good..because the French idea of a cooked egg differs greatly from ours.

The day was wearing on. We caught a few pictures of the Notre Dame, which would have been more interesting had we enjoyed "The Hunch Back of Notre Dame" more than we did. We then made our way over to "Ile St Louis" a little island in the middle of the city, though it's hard to realise that it really is an island. It's a pity temperatures were so chilly, we could only look at the 'Berthilion' ice cream even as we sipped hot chocolate under the outdoor heaters in a cafe... Tired to the bone ..we took another train ride back to the toasty warmth of the hotel room.....
..Tomorrow was another day undiscovered...
....to be continued...

Paris Diaries - 3

2010-12-28T14:03:00.000-06:00

..Continued from Paris Diaries 2

It was getting close to lunch time and we found ourselves a little restaurant called "Le Saint Didier" in a little street called "Rue Saint Didier" off Avenue Kluber, close to where we were put up. All straight so far? Cool. Well, now, restaurants at nos Paris have what we call "prie fix" menus or "fixed price" menus, which is a life saver for folks at the wrong end of the currency conversion rate. Essentially, what that means is that you can have your choice of starter, main course and dessert for as less as Euro 20, lunch being cheaper than dinner even if you do eat the exact same things!

The restaurant was full when we reached, all packed with what looked like the corporate crowd out on their lunch break. Hey! Did you know that the French corporate types are allowed to consume alcohol (wine is alcohol, isn't it?) at lunch and then return back to work? Also, how they resist the temptation to eavesdrop is something very hard to comprehend, the tables being placed barely 1 feet apart. This seemed to be a feature of most restaurants in Paris that we saw and not just little ones in little streets!

The hostess, having found a youngish looking waiter who spoke a bit of English, put him in charge of us. Thanks to his part English explanations and a little chart on the wall depicting animals and their French names, we were able to satisfactorily place our order. We had to double check though, part English speaking waiter, the completely French speaking hostess and pictures on walls before we really believed that "assiette de fromage" translated to "plate of cheese" and it was one of the items for dessert! Also that dessert course would also include a freshly refilled basket of bread - talk of being in a foreign country!

One of the major November events in Paris, is apparently, the arrival of the Beaujolais - a red wine from the Beaujolais region of France. It is officially released on the third Thursday of November and generates a lot of marketting excitement. See, we always knew that when we planned on getting wed in November.

Later, in the evening, it was time for us to make our way to the Lido Show. Here's what it is..essentially a Moulin Rouge, but in a better part of the town. Although, walking down there, we did see 2 ladies who could only be described as "pretty women". Sushi wasn't so sure that's what they were, I was, but there really was no need to verify. So we let it go at that.

There was a bit of a discussion at the reception, where I thought I should be allowed to take care of my coat by myself and the Lido staff insisted that I should let them take care of it for a price of "deux" Euros. The Lido staff having won that argument, we were escorted to our seats ( again about 1 feet apart, perfect for eavesdropping if you are so inclined). We straight away set to work on our complimentary bottle of champagne nestled in a bucket full of ice. The night wore on - there were dancers, mostly ones without tops, and jugglers, acrobats, faux elephants, and an entiree half hour devoted to bollywood(which never would have made it past the censors in bollywood). There was also a very annoying woman of somewhat short stature hopping up on her seat, so I had to hop up on mine to see what was afoot. She had a bottle of the complimentary stuff too, so she didn't mind when I yelled at her and I didn't mind so much I could only see the top of her coiffure at times.

We returned home just as the Eiffel tower was doing its thing. No, it doesn't roll over or fetch (structurally impossible) , but it does send out sparkles on top of its regular lights for about 5 minutes, every hour. There we were, a crazy couple all decked out - Sushi in his party shirt, and me in a backless dress, posing in front of the Eiffel tower. The temp, I believe, was 1 deg above zero and windchill to boot. Even as the locals gaped, we realised that it was 12 and we nearly, but not quite, forgot to say "Happy Anniversary".

The best though, was yet to come....
....to be continued.

Paris Diaries - 2

2010-12-20T12:56:00.000-06:00

----continued from Paris Diaries - I

After a round of "au revoirs" and "bon soirs" by the air hosts and my timidly uttered "Merci's", we were on our way to immigration. Sushi was waved in with the briefest of glances up, while the immigration officer felt it incumbent upon him to verify not one, not two, but all 10 of my finger prints before very waveringly putting the stamp upon my passport! whew!

Soon we found ourselves in a nice warm car (the French drive on the other side of the road too), along with a few other tourists. The radio was blaring french DJs and songs..it all sounded tantalizingly familiar yet utterly incomprehensible when spoken at that speed. After willing them to repeat themselves slowly for a while, I too, like Sushi, gave myself over to observing the French ways of the road.

Hey! Did that guy just cut across lanes?? Surely the speed wasn't legal..and wait wait wait...wasn't that some sort of a two wheeler?! Sure..just that it had 3 wheels - 2 at the front and one at the back. Also, the "2 wheelers" looked extremely warm, being outfitted with a complete quilt to spread over your legs and the handlebars with gloves. Very impressed, we looked around more..graffiti on the walls..! That was familiar from back home..except that graffiti here looked like Leo Da Vinci might have been out scribbling on one of his off days. And there's Ikea!..McDonald's..some things don't change wherever you go.

From the back of the car, we heard a distinctly American twang - "Aww my wiife has done all of the reesurch, she knows all the best places to see" ..lots of things don't change - no matter where you go!

Soon, the road signs started to indicate that we were in the vicinity of the Place de l'Etoile area. As a result of all my google mapping, I was able to start fidgeting around excitedly in my seat and inform Sushi that we were close..very close..and there it was - the first of our big iconic monuments - Arc De Triomphe. It's exactly like you see it in the pictures. As we were staying so close to it, we never got around to taking an actual close up shot, but it is the French equivalent of India Gate - in body and in spirit.

Our hotel was a hop, skip and one more tiny hop away..and it is from here that we had our first view of Le Tour Eiffel. Quite frankly, our first reaction was "huh..that's it?", but of course the Eiffel tower is meant to be seen up close..which we were not at that moment.

Check-in time was not yet, so even though we had planned on hitting the streets of Paris in our fashionable best, it was in slightly jet lagged clothes that the city made our acquaintance. Map in hand, we set out on Avenue Kluber..and "oh yeah..there it is..Arc De Triomphe again..let's come back later and take a picture. "

Anyway, as we stood there, looking at the map, and then the streets and back again at the map, there stops a man and starts speaking to us in a lot of French. After about a minute of eloquence on his side, and two minutes of bewildered silence on our side, I manage to let out - "Je n'ai pas compris Francais"..The tense was all wrong, in hindsight, the pronunciation was all right, but I did manage to convince him that we didn't speak French. He then attempts English - "Madame, where you want go?" He was trying to help us! But, hey, don't I look like a "Mademoiselle"? Never mind, he probably observed the ring and hence the "Madame". Ohhh ..thank you..we want to go to Champs Elysees!

"La bas"..french french french "la bas"..lots of pointing in one direction.."BIG road..Champs Elysees." Correctly translating his "la bas" and following the general direction of his pointing we came to the BIG road that was Champs Elysees. It's known to be the most expensive street in the world..and it may well be..for all the famous designer names you see on it.."Chez Clement", a restaurant I had read about..and the Lido, which we were to visit that night. So, this is when we were "au soleil" on the Champs Elysees..and truly..Il ya tous que vous voulais....there's something for everyone.. Of course, in the course of our visit, we'd be here "a minuit", "sous la pluie"..living the song, "Aux Champs Elysees".
-----to be continued.

Paris Diaries - 1

2010-12-17T09:09:00.001-06:00

I can exactly say when my fascination with Paris started..and why. You see my grandfather was something of a globetrotter. So when the earliest "what will you be when you grow up?" questions were posed, at the ripe old age of 10, I gave it a big think and said "some job which will send me to foreign country". Back then no one had heard of IT, so my mom decreed I should join the Indian Foreign Services. That decision taken, it remained to be decided where I would be posted. With my limited knowledge of geography, I felt I had to not go somewhere too cliched, and yet somewhere wonderfully "foreign", hence London was eliminated and Paris chosen.

Naturally, 3 years later, when it came to choice of foreign language in high school, I duly selected French. Though of course, by this time I was not being an IFS officer at all. I had no real clue what I was going to be...or was for that matter, except that I was in my tumultuous teens. For the next 5 years I ploughed on diligently through verb conjugations and vocabulary. If my marks were anything to go by, I now knew French better than English. By a series of accidents, I did clear my board exams,('Bacalaureat' to the French, just in case you were curious) even my college degree and before I could gather my wits, hey presto! I was an IT professional(or as professional as I could be). See..ultimately I did land up in a job that sends you to "foreign country" - all expenses paid!

5 years ago - I landed my first visa and was to be packed off to USA. We learn to compromise as we grow up..it wasn't Paris..but hey! I was as thrilled as thrilled can be to have officially become a globetrotter! What's more, I got to change flights at Paris! - never mind if I was to not even peek outside the airport.

At this time, the "settling" instinct was taking over and it would have afforded me much happiness to look into the future and see that 5 years hence I would be visiting again (and not just the airport) in the company of Sushi on the occasion of our 3rd wedding anniversary. Yay!

This visit itself was no accident though - it was after years of subconscious wishing, anything but subconscious planning, at least a thousand hits apiece on tripadvisor and google maps, the nail biting wait for the visa...and finally we touched down at airport Charles de Gaulle..."oooooo shomps eleeseee" tra la la la la..
...to be continued.

Musings Over Maah Mornin' Brew

2010-03-31T12:29:00.000-06:00

Sushi's back in the same time zone and yes, back to home and hearth. He got me the above coffee flask as a memento of his tryst with the liberty lady. Brewing coffee now forms a part of my morning chores before leaving for work.

This Monday was my first day travelling to the new workplace; we'll call it "X" on the company bus. Uncharacteristically, I started from home earlier than was strictly necessary and arrived at my designated pick up (the bus dammit) point, after a 15 minute walk with plenty of time to spare.

As I stood there sipping coffee, waiting for bus "x", I saw bus "x-2" pass by. That brought on some slight nostalgia. Given the passage of a couple of years and your x minuses always make you nostalgic. "x - 1" bus was the next to be spotted. That was way too recent and so merely brought on a heartfelt sigh of relief I wasn't on it right now! 5 minutes had passed by and I was beginning to get anxious. Which is why I hailed the next passing IT looking bus and hopped right on. Thankfully, within 20 seconds I realised that the identity tags around seated employees necks weren't company "x" at all, but "y". That "y" might be "x + 1" or "x+2" is a possibility I can't deny, but at least I wasn't inexorably driven into the future a few years too early. All of this is to say that I got on the wrong bus and hopped right off without further ado.

Bus "x" finally arrived. I got on thankfully and settled down to sipping off the rest of my coffee. I was preening a little - "Look folks...I got my coffee flask here with my home brew in it! I am a coffee junkie!" Can't say for sure if anyone noticed, but wait a minute, lots of people I see here now; look like I have seen them before. Maybe they just resemble others I have met, or these are indeed people I have met before. Seven years is a very long time.

Something 'Unique'

2010-02-25T09:41:00.001-06:00

So, there I was winding my weary way back home on the company bus aided by little bits of mp3 humming on my ear drums. The sun hadn't gone down yet, so I could look out of the window and still discern shapes and colours and writing..especially writing. We pass through this rural looking stretch on the outskirts, choc-a-bloc with barber shops and butcheries, and general rural add ons.

In the middle of this stands an optimistic signboard - "Unique Management Course". Yeah, I'm sure! :-D
Not being sarcastic - just amused.

Perhaps No One Cares, But...

2010-02-02T08:23:00.004-06:00

I have the toothache - a genetic disorder. Not that my parents have it, but I have always been plagued by dentists, so maybe the condition skipped a generation. My last surviving grand parent now wears dentures and is past 85 summers. I wouldn't want him to recall past horrors in the dental chair.

Anyway, it has come to this -

Yeah, cold hurts my teeth, so does hot! Hence sipping coffee with a straw. It's no co-incidence that the "Esc" and "F1" keys are seen in the picture. I got a big pack of "Combiflam" on me. But once I've run through that, I suppose it's time to march bravely into Dr. Cruella's office and announce - "I'm back"!

So Far So Good

2010-01-19T11:14:00.005-06:00

We are 20 days into this year and, to use a popular expression - "Aall iss well" - so far.

2010 was ushered in quietly, as befits a bunch of would be 30 year olds. Sushi's already over the milestone, but he prefers the quiet too. We hadn't formed any new year eve plans beyond a vague - "some pub" and that too not until the last moment. So there we were, all dressed up hunting around for some place that would fit our pockets and a parking lot that would fit Coco in. After checking and discarding a couple of places, we were in a right state of panic, for the hour was getting on and we were still on the streets. Thankfully, Meridien let us in at just about the right time, so we were able to realise our ambitions of a "trying to be classy" new year. There was buffet and a complementary glass of champagne, some live music and plenty of toys on the table. Before imaginations run amok - by toys, I simply mean a pair of cardboard masquerade goggles, some whistles and things to make noise with and let the new year know it's welcome.

And so we piled our plates, dug in, polished off the champagne, critiqued the live music, counted down to the new year and here we are now...

The following day saw Sushi and me and Coco on way to Mumbai to visit the folks. One of the folks likes to sail - let's call him Sindbad - shall we? Well Sindbad took us on a guided tour of the INS Viraat. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to let on much, which is why I'll say, very cryptically, that that is one mean sailing thing ..and fast too! If you want a tractor transported some place...ask Virat. Need a quick surgery? Well, Virat it is. Did you miss your flight? - Never mind you can always board one off the Viraat. In short Viraat is your go to guy for all of life's little emergencies.

The view of "Queen's Necklace" at its illuminated best and a ride around Marine Drive aboard a Victoria (which, for the uninitiated, are decked out horse drawn carriages) ; that wound up the festivities for us.
It's back to life for now and we're all agog as to where it takes us next.

Buh Bye Old Annee

2009-12-31T01:03:00.004-06:00

Water man (that's cradle babe's man) got me this.

The possibilities are endless!!
I already got in my hands, 2 free holiday vouchers for Sushi and me. If this is a sign of things to come...then yay! Buh bye 2009. 2010, here I come!

It Seems Like Yesterday...

2009-11-27T10:32:00.016-06:00

...but it's been two years already since Sushi and I were wed! A week ago, it was our wedding anniversary. It's been nice, these past 2 years - minor skirmishes, but by and large peaceful. I have grown resigned to cries of "Ssttreeeet Fiighter" ringing through the house. At times, I have even been known to egg him on to "Knock 'em all out!" (For those of you who ain't married to Sushi, Street Fighter is a species of video game). He, in his turn has resigned himself to the inevitability of sitting through the last two Potter movies and has made a couple of brave attempts at Merengue.

All of this is to say that it seemed like a good idea to celebrate the day. So, on the eve of our anniversary, Sushi came home later than usual. He was buying about a kilo of mutton - the hind leg pieces. What? Oh no..that wasn't my present. My present was "Chalky" and he's a stuffed toy dog. I'll upload his pic at the end of the post, so you have to read all the way through to actually see him. Ha! The mutton (hind leg pieces) was for Biryani, which we were planning to take to a picnic lunch the next day. So, consequently, we stayed up cooking for the better part of the night, because we intended to start bright and early. Not the ideal choice for the occasion, but we watched "The Hangover" to fill in the time, whilst, the Biryani was on fire.

The next day, we took the day off from work, packed the Biryani into Coco's rear and took off. Now, now, don't let your imagination run amok! Coco, for the uninitiated, is our car..so his rear simply means the back seat. We were heading towards a winery, about 2 hours drive from where I live. The drive was nice, decent music, the aroma of Biryani wafting from behind, not bad roads, no heated political discussions. Well, we don't usually disagree politically...so if we had gone in that direction, we'd probably be collectively ranting at the way this country is being run and not really arguing. But that day, we were just content and happily nodding our approval at the rural landscape of the state, the general condition of roads and industrial development and pointing pleasedly at the various government primary schools dotting the villages. In summary, it was a very pleasant drive.

When we eventually reached the winery, we realised it wasn’t ready to be one at all, not at this time of the year. The people in charge explained rather apologetically that the wine tours wouldn’t happen until January, because of this little glitch they were experiencing with their grapes – there weren’t any growing on the vines and there wouldn’t be any until January. As we had to be back in office the following day, we couldn't afford to wait until then. Besides what would we do to kill the time? So, we prudently decided to just settle for sampling some wine and some sharabi chicken kebabs. I’m still wondering whether they get the chicken drunk before killing it or they simply marinate the meat in liquor. Sushi wouldn’t let me ask, so a mystery it still is!

Before making our exit, we picked up a bottle each of rose and white wine, very attractive at 20% off even the factory prices. We don’t claim to be connoisseurs, but those bottles looked rather dandy and we felt right elegant with them inside Coco.

It was finally time to dig into the biryani, which is extremely tasty when eaten by the road side watching the traffic going by and it is your anniversary. Having duly burped over the remains of the feast we headed back home. In our zealous bid to surprise the other, we had both ordered a cake each, fortunately in different flavours – black forest and vanilla if you really did want to know. So, the celebrations went on for quite a few days. And that, in a nutshell, was the story of my anniversary day.

It's That Time of the Year Again

2009-11-04T09:53:00.002-06:00

Take 3 guesses. What's that? Diwali? Nope that's long past. Sensex rising?..Yeah but who's to say it won't fall again and since when did that become an yearly phenomenon anyways?? D..uh!
Well, I'll just have to withdraw my offer of the 3rd guess...and state it straight out - It's appraisal time folks!!

Appraisal, that mystical annual/semi-annual ritual that your employers indulge in and consequently you are forced to join in too. Your boss encourages you to brag about yourself. Now that's something after your own heart, but suddenly you are hit by this bout of modesty. You can't think of things to say for yourself, you put things off until the last moment. Your boss threatens you with timelines, you break into cold sweat. And then you invoke your inner artist, you summon your entire self esteem, you recall each and every noble deed that you might have performed on the job. Then you put it down on paper. You word and re-word. And then, the old apathy of ways is back and you click "Submit".

MSI's announced this year..I am so dying to pay more taxes from the next quarter.
Is that just wishful thinking?

When Cobwebs Need To Be Swept Away - Right Now!

2009-10-13T00:28:00.004-06:00

It's election day - consequently a holiday from work. I'm stretched out on the divan with a big mug of very black coffee (I ground the beans myself before putting them in the filter) and an Agatha Christie. The book's called "One, Two, Buckle My Shoe" and it's about the murder of a dentist. I hate dentists, they do bad things to me, but I wouldn't go so far as to murder one. So, anyway, I am thoroughly gripped by the narrative and having a holiday in every sense of the word - no office work, no house work, no cooking, no laundry.

I read something and I can't seem to focus anymore. Here's what I was reading:
" There's got to be a new deal - the old corrupt system of finance has to go - this cursed net of bankers all over the world like a spider's web. They've got to be swept away. I've got nothing against Blunt personally - but he's the type of man I hate. He's mediocre - he's smug. He's the sort......"

I CAN'T concentrate anymore....it's the inner haus frau knocking. What does she want with me right now?! Wait a minute...."Spider's web. They've got to be swept away". I see..I see now. Broom in hand, I marched to the following spot in the house...where I had spotted the following a few days ago.

It's gone now. But I must blog first. So here I am...blogging away. That's done too. Now, back to the divan it is..hopefully nothing else comes up before the book ends.

Of Beaches, Feni and Stolen Moments

2009-10-01T08:33:00.020-06:00

Stolen Moments? Yes, I am serious. This was over one precious long weekend.I had to firmly inform folks at work (let them be nameless) that "um..no..quite impossible for me to work from home over the weekend". "In fact I am leaving town right now" - this to squeeze in some last minute shopping. Sushi, a little less blithely, left his office fellows in the lurch too. And at long last - we were away!

We landed in Goa. Things seemed to be going as per plan. The Marriott coach met us at the airport. We even spotted a TV artist (Nandu in Jassi Jaisi Koi Nahin) flying economy on the same flight as us, though admittedly that wasn't part of the original plan. Once in Goa, we had thought to hire a bike and drive around every where on it - simple yet effective. What we didn't realize, until we were blissfully sipping mineral water and admiring the view outside the coach window, was that Coco(the family car) still held Sushi's driving license. And Coco hadn't come on this trip with us. Also, in his zealous bid to reduce luggage, Sushi had persuaded me to not carry my purse - the one which normally holds my driving license. So, there we were, license-less. No license = no transport. Well not quite, because we still had our bargaining skills and plenty taxis to take us around. On the negative side, more expensive and less adventurous. On the positive side, no asking for directions and less sunburn.

We wouldn't need a taxi until the following day though. For now, we just had to check into the hotel, sip our complementary "Kokam Sherbat" and hope it was spiked. Now, I have been in nice hotels before, but that was before I met Sushi. Never before assuming the responsibilities of "Hausfrau" did I realize what great satisfaction it can afford to lounge around in a room in all its snowy whiteness, mess it up, and when you return, hey presto! it's as good as new. Clean white towel? Well, wipe off your mascara and toss it on the ground - I'll have a new one to replace it, thanks. And the pleasures of making coffee in an electric kettle over the mini bar - priceless. That, for me set the mood for the holiday. Sushi too I think, he discovered some beer in the depths of the (mini) bar and a TV and remote in a hidden cabinet.

We had initially planned on visiting the hotel casino that night. But cover charges of 2000 rs per person?! What if I found I didn't like it in there after having paid cover! And that's so not how it's done in Vegas! I think, behind his specs, Sushi might have rolled his eyes. It's been a little more than 24 months since we have known each other and a little less than 24 since we were married. He's heard tales of Vegas ..24 times over..hmmm..I think I gotta fix that.

Anyway, the casino plan abandoned, we took a walk down to Miramar beach which was in the neighborhood. It was past sunset, but our first view of the sea on the trip. We walked barefoot to the water's edge and splashed some.. I insisted on tracing out a heart shape on the moist sand and writing our names in it. Sushi thought that was way too cheesy, but I thought that was the point of it. Next, we found a local joint close by that seemed to be doing brisk business. Pork and bread and chicken and bread, some more exploring around in the area and then we were heading back to the hotel.

I seated myself on the bar stool and Sushi bade the bartender to get me something nice. I'd have chosen a long island iced tea..but bartender goes "tut tut". Then I zeroed in on a Daiquiri, but bartender doesn't think it worth his while to make it. I say "Mojito", he says "well if you must!" Totally nonplussed, I asked him what would he rather I have that evening. He suggested a Pinacolada. Now it's my turn to make a face. We then mutually decided that I should try their house special feni based cocktail. He's pleased, and I'm excited as he starts assembling his paraphernalia. He gives me a "choice" between the coconut feni and cashew feni. 'Course, he'd intended all along that I have the cashew feni, the coconut one being too foul smelling. I'm rather pleased with my drink. It tastes much like pinacolada minus white rum plus feni and I'm glad that I'm trying the local drink.

We proceeded for dinner as I was still working on my feni and ate every animal on offer - beef and squid, shrimp and pork, the odd chicken or two and maybe one silent lamb. The glass half down, I was feeling slightly funny, but I didn't want to hurt the bartender's feelings, so I drank a further third. Sushi was forced to finish the rest and late into the night or in the wee hours of the morning, most of it found it's way outside my system. Not at all pretty, but hey, I could keep it in for all of 5 hours 45 minutes!

Next morning, we got up, bright and early at 10 a.m. After breakfast and few other preliminaries got ourselves out of the hotel. Our first stop was at Fort Aguada. We felt that in the spirit of touristism, we must visit at least one of the points. So, having clicked a few pictures and taking in the view, we were out of there in 20 minutes flat. Next stop, where we we really stopped was at Calangute beach. Even in the comparatively slow tourist season of late September, we never had a chance to feel lonely here. Though, admittedly it would have been a bit more exciting had the water sports begun on the beach.

Nevertheless, we spent a happy few hours playing in the water, and remembering that long forgotten time from childhood where joy was just this simple - playing on the beach and collecting sea shells. At least, I was remembering my childhood, Sushi and I didn't really have a shared childhood. Which is, under the circumstances, for the best.

We downed some beer and other spirits, not feni this time, ate some fish by the beach. We got a pretend "tattoo" each. It was painted on but done in permanent ink, so slow to fade. I romantically had our initials painted on my arm and Sushi got a rather tough looking dragon done on his biceps. It's fading now and will soon be gone, but it has given him quite a rash. We think it's a rather bad omen and doesn't bode well for the Indo-Chinese relationship. We are thinking to get in touch with Mr Singh and put the whole matter in his capable hands.

The local market provided enough wares to warrant browsing around for bargains - semi-precious stones, and handicrafts and the like. Goa's local port wine was quite a discovery, though I'm not claiming to be the Columbus on this one. 2 bottles left our wallets lighter by only about two hundred and fifty rupees. If you like your red wine sweet, and don't mind that it's packaged in plastic bottles, this is definitely a recommendation.

We returned to base, tired but pleasantly so and dripping sand from our clothes. We virtuously made up our minds to get up early enough the following morning to watch the sunrise on the beach by the hotel. However, we were needlessly saved from doing so, by the hotel staff informing us that theirs was a "sunset" not "sunrise" beach. Phew!

That pretty much concludes this long winded tale of our stolen moments (and feni and beaches). Did you like the picture of the local canines playing on the beach? Me too..I mean I saw them live and was moved enough to make this picture.

These Shoes Are Meant for Dancing...

2009-07-16T03:27:00.014-06:00

These shoes have been places and done things. They've kept up with the brisk beats of salsa, hopped around jiving, chase-d to the cha cha, stepped along in merengue and swayed ever so slowly to the Rumba. I have taken them walking in snow to get to the nearest Tango class, where unfortunately they weren't allowed on to the dance floor because ..they had been out in the snow. I was allowed to dance bare feet, on the precious oaken floor..but I guess that's one disappointment they have long put past.

Recently though, with the house move, two house moves at that, they went into hiding. I only came upon them about a couple of weeks ago. There happened to be a salsa milonga in town and thus it was that my shoes went dancing after a some -what longish hiatus.

Sushi, he ain't much into dancing and neither is Mrs DP. DP is always game, though this time he did put up a token resistance about Wimbledon finals. And thus, we all landed up at the milonga and had the pub stamp duly on our wrists. I still love pub stamps just as I loved them about 12 years ago when attending my very first party, and I suspect, for exactly the same reasons. Back then it was a thing to be shown off, proof that you had been some place "cool".

Back to the current milonga then, not much of a party, but the starved aren't so discerning. My shoes were tapping the moment they stepped in. Since there were only very few of us, the organizers decided to give every one merengue lessons on the spot. So, it was me and Sushi and DP and Mrs DP on the dance floor.

The "instructor" would come over from time to time and admonish me with "Don't lead him. Let him lead you." Excuse me? Well, but he was right. That's the way it always is on the dance floor - the man leads. Except that I love to lead too. If, for example, I want to twirl, I simply raise my partner's hand above my head(if he's the kind that lets you lead) and twirl myself. Now, if I were in more demure shoes, I'd patiently wait until he raised my hand, a signal that I should twirl and I'd then comply. That being said, there's a strange exhilaration in being lead too. Like totally giving up control and being able to read and respond to your partner's signals and all in time to the beats is the only mission of your life - for the duration of the song that is.

Soon, it was time to switch partners. It was Mrs DP and Sushi. They seemed to do alright though I couldn't quite figure out who was leading whom. DP and I were having our own power struggles. We did some salsa then, and "The (and only) Fall" which we perfected about 4 years ago. Admittedly, it wasn't our own creation, but I suspect, since then the creators themselves have forgotten all about it.

Later, I was asked to take part in a Rueda. Since these shoes love venturing (dance-wise) where they've never been before, I plunged right in. It all seemed like confused motion of many feet, but we seemed to be proceeding in a general counter-clockwise direction. After a few minutes, I found someone politely suggesting that the moves were a bit hard for someone who'd never done them before. It was time to step back (sigh) and realise, at a distance, that the moves involved changing partners constantly, while still holding on to your first partner's arm. That explained the tangle! After we were tangled enough the men sat down and the ladies proceeded to all move clockwise until untangled. Is that what we'd been doing?!

Any way, their appetite's thoroughly whetted now and these shoes hope to dance some more ....

Let's Rock the Vote

2009-04-23T13:34:00.007-06:00

There's this girl I know since cradle days, hers that is, not mine. (I was well out of my cradle by the time I made her acquaintance.)

We fast forward a few years, say 10, no, make that 20. Then we pose this question to her - "Hey cradle babe, would you tell me who is the Indian president?" To which, cradle girl twirls a bit of her hair around her fingers, ponders and then comes up with - "It's that hair style guy you know" and then adds as an apologetic aside - "I'm really bad with names"
..Ummm..don't you mean Ms Patil?
...Naah, not so much, I know it's that guy with The Hairstyle.
...Sigh..very well.

A couple more years pass by. We are all sitting around watching TV, when we are suddenly hit with images of a few thugs marching into stations, hospitals, hotels and cafes and going bezerk with their guns. We are watching all of this Live on tv(brought to us by some Cola, no doubt) ; when cradle girl pipes up -
.... "Hey! those guys are Bad! Very very bad! They are not gonna get away?" she looks around hopefully.."Are they?"
Then we have Mr. Minister live on tv too -
"We most strongly, vehemently, from the bottom of our blah blah blah, where was I? Oh yeah! We Condemn these Attacks" "It's those kids in the neighborhood, totally out of control..sigh..no discipline whatsoever" "Hey kid, promise me little one you are not gonna repeat this ever?"

Naughty neighborhood kid - "Tee Hee Hee Hee. Sure thing, if you say so. Tee Hee Hee Hee"

Few more months pass. We are watching tv again(Dangerous gadget - the TV!) Live this time are images of a few girls hanging out at a local pub in a little city, when some goons march in and go bezerk all over the place. They contend that if women were to consume liquor, there would be too little left over for the men - the whole supply vs demand phenomenon.

Cradle babe is shaken and stirred. "Hey! I'm so gonna VOTE!! "

One thing leads to another(we are all getting jaago - re'd) and Cradle babe is on the electoral roll.. she is on a roll! She is often seen calling up the candidates in the good old constituency - "I'm gonna VOTE and I have a few questions for you" The poor hapless candidate can only stutter -
"erm...mein abhi ek sabha mein hun".

Election day rolls around - I happen to be at the polling station in our area . A few sad looking folks are seen standing around with their voter ids. Their names aren't on the electoral roll (and they are obviously not on a roll). The whole process of plonking you on to the ER is manually done ..leading to...ahh disappointments and such like. Hmmm...business opportunity here for IT Inc.!!

Cradle babe? Oooh she's right there ..she can vote. She's confirmed beforehand her presence on the rolls by the simple expedient of pestering the ERO guys (as she informs to the room at large). Well then, she has the vote mark painted over her nail skips over to the voting machine, punches her selected candidate hard (the election symbol that is). Having successfully cast her ballot, she skips some more, does a little jig that would abash even Shakira and then we head back home.

Me? Let's see "politically aware" is a rather pompous claim. I'm what you may call "politically, and otherwise, opinionated". I have wanted to vote any time these past 10 years , but just didnt know the rules and the technicalities involved. Why I didn't manage to get myself registered is a rather futile story, but hey! I did the next best thing I could - got my manicurist to paint my nails "a la election". Next time around though - it's going to be the real thing.

Tiger Tiger Burning Bright

2009-02-23T10:11:00.022-06:00

Cliched as it sounds..I can't help saying it -- I had a WILD valentine's...in the wilds that is. Really in the Wilds...well not so deep...cos it was a sanctuary you see.

In plain speak, I pestered Sushi and Coco until they both agreed to take me to Bandipur wild life sanctuary for valentine's day. For the uninitiated (if they are here), Sushi is my for better or for worse half and Coco is the latest addition to our family - our car. I always think of him as a big baby on four wheels sucking away contentedly on a milk bottle ...I should say petrol bottle, and then giving a little burp and getting all ready to go. Maybe I'm delusional, but the point I'm trying to make is that he was all full, in top shape and ready for any adventure. Thus, we started at the crack of dawn (7 a.m. in certain cultures is the crack of dawn), taking a more or less southern direction, through Mysore and finally on to Bandipur.

There's no other phrase that best describes this place other than "Tiger in the Air". What'd you say to "Pugmark Restaurant and Bar" . ...the Tiger's favourite watering hole no doubt! Then there are notice boards around proclaiming who saw a tiger and when, in fair mood or foul, single or with a date, family man or lone Casanova.. all tiger of course. By this time we were caught up with the tiger too and immediately determined to see some. What shored up our hopes was the sighting of no less than 5 ..a joint family in fact, just that very morning. The place was all abuzz, cameras were at the ready, and the safari jeeps held the promise of an exciting evening ahead.

But wait, I must go back a bit to the time we parked Coco and checked into our cottage. There must have been about a dozen of these, all set amid rolling greens with just a flimsy little fence separating us from the jungles beyond. We were all goose bumpy in anticipation of being attacked by an un-pacifiable, you guessed it, TIGER in the dark of the night. If no tigers were un-pacifiable enough, we were reasonable enough to expect to be attacked by an un-pacifiable leopard, but no deer. We really can't abide ill-natured deer.

Let's go forward to the safari now. Interesting isn't it, this moving backwards and forwards along the time line?

As I was saying, we were a jeep-full of eager tiger spotters brandishing our cameras and raring to go. There was a light breeze as we started on the twisting mountain road to the jungle. Before we had gone much further, most of us had abandoned our seats and were standing, holding on to the railings (or each other - it WAS after all Valentine's), in order to better enjoy the view of the setting sun, the mountains, any wild life that should chance by and the feel of the wind playing in our hair.

I have this to say, once in a while, let your hair loose, let the wind play around with it, mess it up and create havoc with it. The next day, there's always hair oil and shampoo and conditioner to tame it back in shape. Now, I mean this in the literal sense, but I do see that there maybe deeper, metaphorical, philosophical, heck! even metaphysical meanings to be derived. Take your pick!

Deer!! We found herds of them. Spotted ones and the dusky ones, called Sambhar I believe. Ones just beginning to sprout horns and others with well developed antlers. They didn't seem to mind us, merely looking up in mild curiosity and going back to their grazing or rushing off to tell others. It was like a scene from Bambi.

A bit different from the Bambi were the monkey. I do believe there were different species - but I am not so discerning. (I was keen on the Tiger remember?) The one thing they had in common was the boisterous confusion that they effortlessly created, swinging from trees, leaping around, chattering and generally partying with abandon.

In the middle of this monkey business, we heard loud trumpetting that thrilled us enough to suspend all activity momentarily. The naturalist (also the driver) immediately took off in the direction of the sound. It wasn't long before we were face to face, well almost, with what would have to be the shiest group of elephants. They insisted on staying just beyond our line of vision, going about their business and keeping themselves to themselves. No doubt it was the cameras, they'd obviously been hunted by paparazzi before and consequently were rather protective of their privacy!

All that changed, when one young and inexperienced little hot head, branch in trunk, charged at our jeep. When I say "little", it is to be taken in the relative spirit, for the "little" guy was breaking off huge branches of huge trees and brandishing them threateningly at us. We stood fascinated and frozen and still! It was lucky, in retrospect, that our collective instinct, when scared, was to be frozen and still, for it seemed to soothe the guy. He cooled down by degrees and thoughtfully started munching on the branches he had been brandishing. That, of course was the cue for us to go crazy with our cameras. We still-shot him , video-shot him too, until he beat a hasty retreat. But he had positively asked for it, privacy schmiracy!

Well, after this encounter, we kept our eyes skinned even more, but the tigers (and leopards) of the world seemed to have gone off for a snooze. We were happy to return to our cottage too, to the comfort of coffee and biscuits and dinner and campfire and the like. We canceled our early morning nature walk in favour of yet another safari, 'cause by now our appetites were thoroughly whetted...and I swear I'm not talking about deer! I'm a carnivore, but I do believe deer should live..at times.

The morning was a culture shock in terms of "crack of dawn", but get up we did. Not only did we get up, but we got ready and into the jeep, after putting ourselves outside of some breakfast, and all of this on time..as specified by the safari organizers! We saw plenty - peacock, peahen, kingfisher, eagle, the stray mongoose, more deer(I was full with breakfast already, thanks), monkey, no elephants(guess they don't wake up that early either), wild boar...ahh yes, no tiger yet.

Well, just as we were about to turn around and go back, we saw this -

The naturalist was moved enough to actually alight from the jeep to have a closer look, which i think was a most injudicious thing to have done! Imagine being accosted with the hot head from the evening before! We'd have been left with no one to drive us back and the cameras for our only weapons.

Anyway, we followed the pug marks as far as we were able, only to realize that we were tracing and retracing the same path. The big guy had eluded us. I personally feel he had done this on purpose, just to lead us on. I won't be too surprised to learn that he was hiding behind some bushes close by and having a good chuckle at our expense. Ah well...we can take a joke.

B'bye Mr. Tiger and hope you had a good Valentine's too.

The travelogue continues ....

2008-03-18T01:51:00.047-06:00

....This time around I went some place that didn't require the complications of a visa. Heck! I was born here..I should say close to "here".. The place was Ranchi, and it happens to be my new home, as the scriptures would say, my husband's home for the uninitiated.

The aircraft lets you off on the tarmac. A brief walk along a dahlia-lined path and you come upon the conveyor. Somewhere along its rotating circumference is our luggage and on the other side - of the doors (a circle can have no other side, or any side), our parents are waiting in what I hope is happy anticipation. On our way home, a drive of about 30 minutes at a cruising speed of 50 km/hr, we are pointed out the various landmarks of this newly minted capital town.

There's the governor's residence, a mini-white house, going by the colour scheme and a slight tendency of the gates to being imposing. Then there's MS Dhonis' bungalow, the son of the soil is rising to new heights on the cricket field and in real estate. Local legend has it that he fancied a swimming pool in his private retreat. His fancy is being given due consideration by the powers that be in view of the water supply shortage in the neighbourhood. Of great gastronomical significance, there are the local samosa - makers, the "imarti" makers and the "mutton waala to be avoided at all costs". This latter hapless bloke has an irreparably tarnished reputation of selling quite unpalatable animals. In a bid to resurrect his good name he is oft seen chasing cars, exhorting his once clients to re-sample his fare.

A quick ride around the CCL campus and we are finally home. This is a place where one watches TV, gossips over the latest piece of news of international, regional, national or family interest (not necessarily in that order), catches afternoon siesta and innumerable cups of tea. Mom's kitchen resembles a mini-industry. The "work-force" arrives early in the morning, to clean, swab, wipe, sweep, and re-clean as required. Meanwhile, mom, as the chief admin officer, director and chef - in - charge keeps the pots bubbling, the kettles humming and the pressure cooker whistling. Now, an eggplant might find itself plonked on the flame to be soon turned into "bharta" and a little later, potatoes might find themselves in a pickle. We hang around trying to keep up with the cooking tips and sampling dishes in various stages of cooking.

The kids, that's us, as a reward for being good, were taken off to "Machhli ghar" - the local aquarium. At the price of Rs.8 per ticket, we got to see turtles and sharks(the small variety) and goldfish. Not too bad a deal I would say, though mom insisted that we had been fleeced. Next in line was the rock garden, a smallish subset of its brethren at Chandigarh, but creative in it's own way with a huge replica of an adivasi drummer, drumming his way to the Egyptian pyramids. Geography sure has changing definitions.

The local sabzi market held me fascinated. Women stalk around peering at the stalls and suspiciously demanding if the stuff was fresh. If the veggies at a vendor's are to their liking, they imperiously ask to be told the price and then promptly name their own price. If the vendor sticks to his guns, they walk off to the neighbouring stall which obligingly names a much reduced price. This place is obviously far ahead in terms of consumer rights and in stark contrast to the unmoving austerity of the bar code and its reader at places where I normally buy my veggies. A stray goat or cow decides to do its own shopping among the greens for a moment uniting buyers and sellers in the general furore. Then it's back to business as usual.

On our way to Roka dam, we come across a phenomenon peculiar to the coal making cities of India like Dhanbad and Ranchi - the bicycle coal carriers. These men pick up coal from closed and abandoned mines and ferry them on their bicycle to cities to be sold. So goes the process of earning a livelihood for this group of people, who are not too far removed - geographically from the mushrooming malls and BIT Mesra.

We are soon at Roka dam. Built on Subarnarekha river, it presumably provides power to areas in and around Ranchi. A picturesque site, with mountain ranges in the background, schools of fish in the lake, and the setting sun, we get busy with our cameras.

Soon, it's time to say "bye for now"
And return to our "muddled" home
First impressions of a town, paced slow
Finds its readers is my hope!

A Toast to My Destiny

2007-11-14T03:29:00.000-06:00

Two strangers at a coffee shop,
Unspoken though words, they had asked-
'Sharing perhaps ur lives someday,
Had fate been always waiting
A caffeine shot away?'
Roads unexplored, rides galore
Kindred souls on a common quest
And so we pledged to be around
In a future where faith abounds
Together we came at destiny's behest
Know now, our life threads had meshed
In a coffee shop on a rainy day

Bridges of Madison County....a play in time

2007-07-05T11:36:00.000-06:00

Bridges of Madison County talks of a love affair between an Iowa farmer's wife, Francesca Johnson, and a freelance photographer from Washington, Robert Kincaid.

Robert Kincaid has had a failed marriage in the past, is a bit of a loner, and is headed, at the time of the story, to "make pictures" of the covered Bridges of Madison County.

Francesca is originally from Naples, settled in Iowa with her husband and two kids. She goes through her somewhat humdrum life doing chores around the farmhouse, when she would rather sip wine and contemplate Yeats.

Thus, when freelance photographer encounters wistful wife with family away from home, a sordid fling seems inevitable. Except that the author chooses to call it "love", and you want to believe him.

Perhaps the single factor that makes one want to see this tale the way the author intended, is the time line. The couple meet in their 50's, spend 4 days making memories together and the rest of their lives hanging on to those memories. It sure is a far fetched tale, but one is left unaware as to when scepticism slipped into reality and a few tears on the pillow.

Robert offers to explain all to Francesca's spouse and carry her off...she stays behind to do the right thing by her family. They seldom get in touch over the years that ensue. Francesca follows his life by going through the publications of "National Geographic", the magazine he photographed for. The only news that comes from him is at his death, 17 years later, when he leaves his cameras to her , his only worldly possessions..a poignant reminder of the "love" that had been.

One can picture Francesca carrying on with life, her kids, her husband, the farmhouse and the dog, a wistful part of her keeping memories of Robert alive.

Robert Kincaid, with his cameras, his truck - "Harry", and his dog "Highway", a medallion around his neck with "Francesca" on it..comes back to one like snatches of an old and haunting song on the breeze...

Counter#13

2007-05-22T08:39:00.000-06:00

The mind starts wandering, and in its travels, it stops to ruminate on the ‘Muddled in Minneapolis days’.

For some reason, it strays over to a bank (bank as in commerce not river) where I had gone of a somewhat chilly afternoon for some mundane reason, handing in a cheque to be precise. I had begun at a nice and steady pace, picking up a deposit slip, drawing out the pen, when someone behind the counter hollers – “I can help ya”.
“Really?.. Ah.. I was just putting in my a/c number…you know..em..”
“Sure!!! I can help ya with THAT”
“Okay…em..thanks..I am nearly done…just filling..you know..my address…er…where I live…”
“No Problem…that’s xxx zzz yyyy……
“Is it now? …oh how nice….well lemme just sign…“
…”I can help you with THAT
”…”You CAN??!!” ……….
……. A bit unnerving, wouldn’t you think so?. I mean, I get a bit self-conscious ..

Snap back to present! Haven’t I a couple things to do at the bank (bank as in commerce not river). Sure, I have to have a new password for my internet banking and there’s this stray check which needs to be put away safely. What are a couple of enthusiastic bank representatives anyway..it’ll be a breeze. So, I toodle along to the bank in question, ride my Activa up and down the row of parked two wheelers, find a miniscule opening and jam the bike in. Just in time too, there is this purposeful looking dame on her Scooty, on the prowl, looking, no doubt, for what I just took.

I leave her to her prowling, still on the breezy note; I bound up to the main door. There is this large complicated looking machine barring the way. It has lots of steel push buttons and what appear to be categories next to them.. “Account Services”…I guess I need that….”Customer Service” says the next. Well, I am a customer..aint I.. A stern voice stops short my soul searching.

“Medum!! What you want??”
….”er..”

I am guiltily shifting from one foot to another, trying to remember why I was there. Desperate to retain a calm mien as he fixes me with the glittering eye, I manage to blurt out –

…”1. Password request…er internet 2. Check deposit”

He smiles benignly and punches one of the steel buttons, (it has no label next to it – how curious..) holds out this little slip – NP939….I like that..NP939..has a certain ring to it.
“This medum”, pointing to the NP939, “internet. Check medum, boy in corner near dustbin”.
“I see”.

I still don’t see, but the brave don’t retreat.

I step inside what appears to be mass scale panic. Still with one foot outside the threshold and a hand on the doorknob, I begin to discern the different categories of human life form within. There are those on that side of the counters (there are no less than 16 counters) and those on this side. (I am on this side.) What makes the situation a trifle complicated is the fact that those on that side of the counters, sometimes venture on this side, while those on this side….they stay on this side. It takes a good deal of cunning to compare and contrast, but a little practice…and you have the thing pat. I see him now, the boy who stood by the dustbin! He has by his side what can only be described as deposit slips! With a delighted yelp, I dive for it!

“I am so gonna fill up this thing today!”

The only missing piece to the puzzle now is the little slip with NP939. A loud “DING” suddenly grabs the attention. As it turns out, the ding emanates from several monitors hung around the place all chiming a harmonious melody and flashing such things as CQ545 or NW777 with a number next to it. Something begins to whirr in my mind and the pieces finally fit. The NP939 is a sister to CQ545 and NW777. The CQ545 and NW777 are numbers on little slips held by my fellow bankees. The numbers next to them are the counters where we would eventually be summoned.

Sherlock Holmes would have figured this out in a jiffy!! He would have probably jumped out of his bathing tub and shouted “Eureka”….. Archimedes might have done something similar. Being of a more dignified nature, I take my decorous seat and proceed to wait and fill in the time by …well…filling in the deposit slip. This is where a technical snag is encountered. Owing to its length, I don’t quite remember my a/c number. Oh well…one of those people behind the counter is bound to know it by rote of course!

The monitors continue to chime and ding and dong until one of them lets out a sigh as if to say “Well if I must” and dings “NP939”. “Counter 13”, it elaborates.

Okay…I am getting somewhere now….here’s counter 10, then 11, 12…and …here’s counter 14. Hello? Did I miss something? Wait a minute!! Platform 9 and 3 quarters!!! That’s got to be it! Ms Rowling, were you ever here in this bank? (bank as in commerce not river) Speaking of Rowling, what does the J. K. stand for? What’s that? I am digressing? So, what would happen if J.K. Rowling and P G Wodehouse were to change personalities? ….

Absorbing thoughts….speaking of which brings me back to Counter 13. Where could it be, which barrier do I rush? Closer inspection reveals a “Bank Operations Manager” counter between counters 12 and 14. Could this be it? At any rate, the counter is not unmanned. I try for the breezy note again – “Hi, is this Counter 13?” The lady appears to have not heard me or seen me for that matter. She is calling at some one in the counter yonder and flits away in that direction rather in the manner of a hyperactive butterfly after a particularly nectary flower. I am pondering these thoughts when she flits back into view. I take my chance again and swoop in quickly - “Ma’am is THIS Counter 13??” She starts buzzing…do butterflies do that? Oh no…apparently she has a cell phone…and she quickly plunges into the deep …conversation that is. Matters are getting desperate. Now isn’t the time for preambles.

“Hi!!!! Gimme a password for my internet banking, will ya?!”

This time she cocks an eyebrow and a gives a lopsided grin. I am visible…thank heavens! And audible too!!

“Oh that! You need to call our customer care service”
“But!!!” I splutter and stutter….”They asked me to come pay you a call here!”
A disdainful shrug of the shoulders….”hrrrrrrrmmmmmmmph”…. (Horse or butterfly?)
“That form – fill it out.”

Whew! An intelligible instruction at last and out she flits again. This time, it is to join those on that side of the counters that are on this side of the counters.
I hit the technical snag again – no account number in memory to process or put on this form. I decide to tackle the flitting butterfly again on her next visit to that side of Counter#13.

“Could you please pull up my a/c number from my customer id?”
“Customer id??!!”
“Ya…Customer id…you know my identity as a customer in your bank….”
(Blank stare.)
“Do you have a debit card?”
“Yeah…definitely, yes, that I do have. It’s right here with me you know.” (Desperate to please)
“Give it to me.”

I don’t want to…but if it makes her happy! She stares long and hard at my debit card.

“You’re a/c number is 0 0 garble garble garble glug glug and gargle”

Frankly, I have broken into cold sweat trying to race my pen on paper and also with accumulating nervousness and stress.

“Ma’am could you repeat that for me”, the words are a mere squeak.
“Sigh”..”okay”.. it’s 0 0 garble……. Garble……garble….glug and so on and so forth.

Whew! That’s done finally. The form is affixed with a somewhat tremulous signature. I take care to copy the garbles and glugs on to my deposit slip as well.
She tears off the acknowledgement part of the form and throws it in the dustbin (different from the dustbin where the boy stood).

“Your password shall reach you in 7 working days at your postal address”(lopsided grin)
“Are you not going to give me the acknowledgement?” is met with a dismissive wave of the hand. Oh well, she did acknowledge me, didn’t she.

Thankfully, I make my way to the dustbin boy and wave about the cheque invitingly under his nose. He doesn’t snap at it - talk of strength of character! I wave my cheque AND deposit slip some more -

“Cheque deposit?” He caught on didn’t he!
“Get slip” “Deposit counter”

I stare at him dumbstruck. Am I to be at the mercy of the monitors again?
(Sigh) Who has ever escaped their fate? I drag my unwilling feet to the glittering eyed keeper of buttons. I have come to look upon him as a sort of parent figure in this mad world and start to remonstrate with him –

“You said dustbin boy takes cheques. You PROMISED.”

He gives another of his benign smiles. (I respect the man, he has reached his Nirvana.) He screws his eyes in concentration, there is a job to be done and the button keepers of this world do not take their work lightly. He punches in a complex combination of buttons and waits in tense anticipation. Sure enough, out pops another little slip in a little while. Wreathed in smiles, he hands it to me – ZA666.

“Okay, ZA666, I thee accept.”

After much hemming and hawing the monitors finally spew ZA666 – Counter 13. Well, it may have its resident butterflies, but I know what I am facing and its geographical location itself is not a mystery. Here it goes then – Counter 10, Counter 11, Counter 12, Counter 14 and the one in between – Bank Operations Manager, which is Counter 13. I am a little confused – they change their bank managers quickly around these parts!

What I encounter now is no butterfly, flitting or settled. There is this rather bigger lady glaring somewhat balefully at the world in general – ‘basilisk stare’ would about describe it nicely. I hold out the cheque tentatively. Never breaking eye contact she accepts it and undergoes a transformation, so to say. She breaks into a frenzy of activity punching at her keyboard, stabbing at her monitor, nodding her head vigorously. In short, things seem to be progressing rather well, when an interrupt occurs in the form of one of the ‘that side of the counter’ inhabitants. She appears on this side of the counter and is apparently pleased with herself.

‘Ma’am I couldn’t decide the number of printouts to take. How much is too much and how little is too little”
Profound thoughts abound! My basilisk is capable of normal human actions, I discover with a slight shock. Waving an airy hand, she inclines her head with a gracious smile.

“You did just right. This much is not too much. Don’t mistake me, this little is not too little.”

I consider joining in the quantitative discussion, when a fresh arrival (that sider on that side) brings up a whole new angle to this whole geometry.

“Ma’am, that customer is insisting on a “logical” rate of interest.”

The lady basilisk-encourager of quantitative thoughts looks over her massive shoulder.

“Oh just give him a “better” rate of interest.”
“But, ma’am he’s a senior citizen, he says he won’t leave without a logical rate of interest.”

I confess, I am too much out of my depth and give up any ideas on joining in the small talk.

The quantitative thinker joins in. “Why not call up Mr. Interests Informative. He’s bound to know all there is to know about it.”
“Nice Idea!” – (Another gracious smile and nod) – “I can pull up his number here.”

Hmm…it must be definitely smaller than my account number. My cheque? Let’s look at the bigger picture here, shall we. The number comes up….and wait a minute….she’s scribbling it on the back of my cheque!! She’s defacing it!! I can’t help myself. I want to look at the bigger picture but can’t help returning some of that basilisk stare. This thing is catching!

My new bank manager throws a random remark, a little irritably over her shoulder –
“I am waiting for this signature to match”.

Maybe she’s just not selective about who she addresses her remarks to. Maybe she really has a good heart and wanted to apprise me of the fate of my cheque and thus set my mind at rest. In the meantime, there appears a shiny black mobile out of nowhere. The numbers on my now defaced cheque are transferred on to the mobile. Mr. Interests Informative is apparently on line….

I have to confess to a character flaw here….I am unable to concentrate and alternate between some foot tapping and neck craning to spy on her monitor. At long last, she begins to look a little suspiciously at the screen, then at my check, even more suspiciously at me and then back at the screen again. Finally, she taps at my check in quick succession with her stamp thingummy, tears of a bit and hands it to me. The signature under consideration must have matched.

More character defects here - the inability to be grateful. I give her my own special stare – the frosty nosed stare. She looks up, blinks a bit, then punches at more keys …the keyboard of the mobile or the PC, I forget which one and it isn’t that important.

Mr. Senior citizen might get his logical rate of interest. What I need is some retail therapy and now!

Disclaimer: All characters and banks in this story have no intentional resemblance to any person living or dead or bank(bank as in commerce not river).

Trotting Goes On

2007-02-08T01:26:00.000-06:00

The migrating bird builds a nest
Settles down to ways of the west
Dress and diction subtly alter
Rarely does the stride falter …..

The explore bug has bitten and no opportunity is forsaken. Labour Day weekend finds me in Boston. This is the city of Harvard! True, MIT is rumoured to be hereabouts as well. As a techie it should probably interest me, but Erich Segal has my imagination firmly in his hold. I pester a very puzzled sister and an equally uncomprehending brother-in-law till they give in to my eccentric tourist preferences. My first reaction to the edifice of my dreams is that it looks not very different from Fergusson College back in Pune. But the glamour can’t dim, for this is the place where Oliver Barrett IV met Jennifer Cavillery.

The next big tourist attraction just crying out to be discovered is Orlando. Well, we didn’t know, my room mate and I, that it was Orlando that called us. We knew we were going to Disney World and the airport presented itself. Now, the Orlando vacation is a classic case of two pilots, or two sailors if you will, vying to take charge of the ship. The result,is a very “charged” situation. As to the ship, it rocks and rolls and manages to stay afloat. We start with diligent scouring of a gazillion websites for “DEALS”, and given the fact that we were planning to put the “OOO” on our office calendars during Thanks Giving weekend, this was no mean feat! But when two extremely determined females throw their souls into a cause,…the universe gets slightly confused. We are tired with the initial bout of deal browsing, and decide to do the dishes instead. Then, we think New York…closer is evidently cheaper. Then we decide to stay at home and do some Thanks Giving shopping. After that we argue about the rival merits of Universal Studios and Disney. Finally, we hit upon a steal DEAL - flight/hotel/cab/rides/gourmet food/designer clothes all inclusive…and strut off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, a satisfied smirk on our faces and roller coasters in our dreams.

Orlando is indeed a dream vacation. There are more roller coasters around than there are trees. They serve sumptuous breakfast at the hotel. If you care to look at the skies carefully enough, you realize there are aircrafts that fly all around, carelessly doodling messages among the clouds. The cabbies are flatteringly awestruck when you inform them you came from Minnesota – “COLD”. “Yes, yes so it is. Can you take us to Cinderella’s castle please.” Disney seems to be all about re-living your favourite fairy stories. This we do with gusto, trying our best to fit into the glass slippers. “Space Mountain” is no fairy tale though. We get into the ‘coaster car…it starts moving slowly, albeit in pitch darkness. So far, nothing alarming, we let out a few experimental yelps just to keep things lively. Suddenly the world starts spinning out of control. We are moving at an alarming pace, dipping down thousands of feet and then rising up again and then dipping, needless to say we are screaming in good earnest by the end of it. Still a little dazed as the clock strikes 12, we head homewards. Tomorrow is another full day of adventures at the Universal Studios.

I have to say this, I infinitely prefer Universal given a choice between Disney and Universal. If given a choice between Universal Studios and Universal’s Island of Adventures, I infinitely prefer the latter. It is as if you have entered a world of comic book characters. No surprise then that you find Beetle Bailey lounging around and Popeye preaching the benefits of spinach as you stroll along this make-believe city.
There were 3-D rides and 3.5 D rides and then 4 D..and so on. But what got our vote was being rescued by Spider man from the clutches of Green Goblin! The ‘Spider Man’ ride is a roller coaster with special effects and interaction with comic-book heroes, and in any given day, our favourite thing to do is to whiz up and down Manhattan high rises!

Another ride that we are proud we did was “Dueling Dragons”, - a pair of “inverted” coasters operating in tandem and each doing their thing barely 12 inches apart. We are properly psyched by all the build-up and start the ride with our eyes tight shut. When we do venture to open them, we can see nothing but clouds all around. The catch is that we don’t see them above – we see them below – a truly life altering experience. In comparison, all other rides seem like gentle rocking on the tree top, “as the wind blows, the cradle will rock”. A word of warning about the Jurassic Park ride for the uninitiated – never rent the lockers. There is a great deal of warning about your goods getting wet on the ride, so on and so forth, which is all a big scam. True there is a very thrilling drop, where what had hitherto been a gentle boat ride on a lazy river, suddenly ends in your boat toppling over a precipice of water. But nothing, repeat nothing, gets wet and you come out as dry as….as dry as you went in.

We leave Orlando with not a little reluctance. The cabbie offers by way of condolence – “ 2 days? But you aint seen nothin’ yet!!”….We’ll come back.

It is the last holiday of the year. I am sipping my egg nog in Hollywood Boulevard, Los Angeles, CA – 90046. I am told that on a bright sunny day, I may actually rub shoulders with any given star – a pity I am so Hollywood illiterate. Still, it is thrilling to walk the walk of fame, arguably the most hallowed of all “foot – paths”. Wandering among the stars’ hand and foot prints, there are some interesting things to discover. Tom Cruise has surprisingly small and pudgy hands, Michael Jackson writes in a loopy hand and Julie Andrews wore pencil heels. I grab my very own Oscar trophy and head back home.

In retrospect, most of the “Globetrotting” this year has in fact been “USA-trotting”. I don’t despair though - there still are plenty of pages in my passport….and the trotting shall go on……

….As yet dear, my native ditties
Tuneful companions, always with me
A home awaits in beloved of all cities
As yet unforgotten, my world within me.

Globetrotter - II

2007-01-11T01:52:00.000-06:00

I am on my way to US again...
This time around, my hop is at the London Heathrow airport. I am a little bit jet lagged and groggily pushing a tooth brush around my mouth, when the last and final call is made for my connecting flight. I somehow manage to get the tooth paste out of my mouth and myself to the aircraft doors.That was London.

Port of entry's Chicago, and a "seasoned" traveller swaggers through and flies "home"..away from my home. It is still Minneapolis, could be something to do with May, but I see no snow anywhere now.

Soon, it's July 4th, I am celebrating independence day at Sin City..Vegas while also getting some education in the wonders of this world at Grand Canyon and a helicopter ride at Hoover dam.

Las Vegas is unlike anything I have ever seen before. My eyes are wide and I can't open them any wider to take in all the sights and sounds and the whole feel of the Vegas strip.

We visit Stratosphere and take some hair raising rides...and then finally settle down to the business of "doing Vegas".Doing Vegas meant a 3 part action plan - catch the shows, gamble and last but not the least, do something WILD.

The first part is fairly simple. We rush all over the strip watching "burning" water falls, dancing fountains, dancing lasers and allied activities. Caesar, when he descends on Vegas, has the sky growing right inside his palace, while New York, Paris and Arabian nights all fight for a place on this 4 mile stretch of road. Our progress is somewhat impeded by the extremely high heels that two girls in the group (one being yours truly) have decided to put on - it is after all Vegas and we got to look glam. Unfortunately glam gives way to grief as we are forced to carry our sandals in our hands and tramp around barefoot.The rest of the group puts on a smug "We told you so" expression and is vastly amused.

Next, we decide to do the casinos and gleefully take to the slot machines,converting quarters to dollars. A few dozen machines later, I think it's time for some bigger adventure and head for the nearest green coloured table, which being not very crowded is not intimidating. I announce confidently I want to "play"....er what?..."You could put some of these counters on one of these here numbers"....that looks easy enough. As the roulette wheel is busily spinning, I am gazing fixedly at my stack of counters. It's puzzling, but they don't seem to be doing much, except just staying stacked, but suddenly something stops and my host announces I have won $124! I must have done something right!

The third part of the plan has us baffled, it's getting close to the time we must leave and the WILD activity remains elusive. We give it up, it's our last night in Vegas, we decide to just hang out and land up in a pub at New York - the Vegas New York. We order a screw driver each, but are so exhausted we make a "to go" of it and start walking back home. We are sipping our to-go vodka immersed in profound thought and ambling along our way.It is then that realization dawned..we just did something WILD - we drank on the streets of Sin City!!

The adventure continues....

Globetrotter - I

2007-01-11T01:49:00.000-06:00

An identity in a foreign land,
Familiar landmarks in an unknown town,
Like migratory birds I have come from afar
Flown far o'er the Himalayas

So, there I was in my home town in Pune, going along merrily, and occasionally fluttering my wings a little, wondering just what(if anything) lay beyond the Mumbai - Pune expressway, apart from Mumbai ofcourse. Then,like manna from heaven, I am granted....a visa..to come to the US of A.The whole flock is excited and turns out in big numbers at the Mumbai airport to see off the traveller, the next Columbus so to say.

The first hop is at Paris. My flight goes all the way to New York, but the powers that be, for reasons best known to them, have decided that I need to get down at Paris and then take myself to Cincinatti. As yet being wholly unaquainted with different time zones, I wake up from a somewhat uncomfortable slumber, convinced that I am on my way to New York and no one bothered to stop the plane. Very distressing thought, until the steward kindly informs,"No we haven't gone past Paris".

La Paris of all my French lessons, is an airport with some very cold rain drops and a shuttle that takes one to the main terminal as I crane my neck to catch sight of something, anything French outside the airport walls. Too bad I didn't have the foresight to wear more elevated foot wear.

Next stop is the all important port of entry - Cincinatti. I am not deported and allowed to fly on to my final destination - Minneapolis. It's colder than anywhere I have been before. The roads look anti-septic clean, I am tempted to wipe my feet before stepping on to anything. People seem to be driving on the wrong side of the road and walking on the wrong side too, reason why I keep bumping into every one as I make my way around.

Skyways soon become a familiar thing, so do the insides of an "American" disco, an "American Irish" pub, Hardrock Cafe, Applebees, Mall of America, and Target and Kohl's. I twirl around learning Tango and also put in an appearance at the other twin - St. Pauls posing for a few pictures with Marcie and Charlie Brown statues and discovering some chemistry at the National Science museum, besides getting holy at the St Paul Cathedral. The University of Minnesota is nice. Not so nice is skiing as I find myself down on all fours unable to even get up. My fellow ski-ers are afforded some good entertainment before themselves falling on top of the ski-coach in an unsuccessful effort to maintain balance. I look upon the ice-skating rink with deep foreboding, but realise that balance here is not quite as precarious.

It's nearly April, people tell me spring is just around the corner, it's time for me to go back to India. The inevitable Digicam, ipod and foreign make-up and perfume are duly distributed.

Soon,it's time to play Columbus again......

Page 3 Journalism

2007-01-10T12:30:00.000-06:00

Grape Vine

It's a White World After All

2006-12-31T16:44:00.000-06:00

Minneapolis procrastinated through late November.

It hemmed and hawed through most of December.

It was still undecided on Christmas...and even experimented with a few rain showers yesterday.

But now it's settled down and doing what it does best, which is to "Let it Snow,Let it Snow,Let it Snow". It's a white world after all....

Acrostically Happy 2007

2006-12-28T20:42:00.000-06:00

Hopes soar on wings that fly
A fresh sun rises in a clear blue sky
Pearly is each bud that blooms
Pearl in the oyster of my fading gloom
Year of dreams starts to stir in its bed

Noon seems a lifetime away
Early breeze sets each feeling a-sway
While each dry leaf is swept away

Yearnings now start to rise
Eager to end what's only surmise
A knowledge of my destiny I seek
Ripe in this new year, my dreams.

A note to Vikram Seth

2006-12-18T23:05:00.000-06:00

Hello Mr Seth,

I just finished reading "A Suitable Boy" and felt impelled to get in touch with you.

It didn't seem to me like I was reading one single novel, but multiple ones at the same time. Rather like playing musical chairs, just as I would settle down comfortably in a chair, it was time to move on to another. As the novel approaches its end however, I find I am switching chairs more often and by that time I love all the remaining chairs equally.

Some questions do come to my mind, the most prominent being the projection of the Chaterjee clan. Did families with tango-dancing, party-going women really exist back in 1952? I am inclined to take your word for it, it's just that I am surprised, not disbelieving.

It was interesting to see that politicians back then seemed to be a cultured, educated lot who believed in their ideas whether conservative or secular. Of course, it was also interesting to note that fore runners of the present day Indian politician had started mushrooming even back then. I thought your portrayal of Nehru was endearing but one does tend to lose patience with him and his too idealistic ideals.

You do notice that by now I am so hooked I am not even questioning your word, just absorbing the picture you have painted of an era that I myself wasn't born in. Speaking of word pictures, that was an awesome one line on what could have been a chapter in itself - the relationship between Firoz and Maan. It was easily the most surprising one sentence in the whole book and I had to read it over twice to make sure that I had grasped the context correctly!

Now, on to the "girl with 3 suitors and a mother". When the suspense got a bit too much for me I took a peek at the last pages and was thoroughly saddened at the result of the "Swayamvar", so to say. The Khatri shoemaker chosen over the Muslim cricketer and even the acrostic writing Bengali poet seemed like a let down. But when the lady in question quotes Clough's lines to explain her decision , I felt much consoled, even happy.
"I do not wish to be moved, but growing where I was growing,
There more truly to grow, to live where as yet I had languished."

Having said that, I can still empathise with the "most unsuitable boy" in his hopeless melancholy, as he takes a solitary walk along the Ganges while the wedding ceremony is in progress...

I wonder what "A suitable boy" would be like if you chose to move it about fifty years forward in time. If you do plan to write a 2006 version, I have a suggestion - how about breaking it down into 4 little volumes that are a little more easy on the wrists in particular and limbs in general for prolonged periods of reading. Otherwise I would have no option but to follow your own advice - "To take my pen- knife and slit the whole book into forty or so fascicles. That way I can roll it up and slip it into my pocket and read it as I am wandering around."

Suitably yours..
Muddled in Minneapolis

My Foray Into the World of Blogs

2006-12-13T00:10:00.000-06:00

Well, I figured, if one day I am to get into writing of some sort, other than half-crazed Cobol code, this might be a good place to get some net practice in.

Here I am eating up little bits and bytes in cyber space..and chewing my pen so to speak. (The keyboard here is not that chewy).

I could talk about what's immediately on my mind I suppose...or rather in my ears. It's my upstairs neighbour. S/He WALKS. and walks all the time. I wonder if it's a steam roller of some sort or just a pair of adult sized feet that they have. Would it be a size 10? What is the maximum allowable size in feet I wonder. If they are capable of thundering on my head as these
particular, well, "thundersome" pair, why isn't there a law that prohibits them from inhabiting anything other than the 1st level.

Here I sit and stare at the ceiling, transfixed, willing them to stop their ceaseless parading too and fro and right through my head.

And I do wish to make my downstairs neighbour aware of my plight. This bloke doesnt sit and stare at the ceiling, transfixed or otherwise. He does some thundering himself, when a feather weight me (yes feather weight is right) is practicing some quiet dance moves in the privacy of my own home. He bangs at my floor(his ceiling) with a ...could have been broom and if that doesn't suffice bounds up the stairs to lecture at me about ...neighbourly love and consideration!

Would that I knew my rights...