During my last five years of stay away from home, I have changed neighborhoods many times and realized that every neighborhood has its unique characteristics and although they feel disturbingly novel initially, as time goes on, the unique traits become part of your small world, giving a flavor of earthy familiarity – that you fondly miss when you have made a new locality your home.
I moved into my current residence one and half years ago. As time went on, the unique features of the place started emerging. The neighborhood is host to commercial and residential establishments. You have modern apartments and even villas coexisting with shops of varied sizes and interests. You can also find people of all stations – the rich, the poor and the ones between them.
The locality is home to a thick population of street dogs. They have divided the area into spheres of influence and each time a canine strays into a foreign territory, quarrels break out with ear-splitting howls. They bare their teeth menacingly and leap onto the transgressors digging their nails into the fleece. But, as a well-fed domesticated dog strays out on the road with its manicured fleece bouncing up and down, the street canines keeping their territorial conflicts aside gang up and bark from a distance. There are many ways in which dogs are similar to humans.
There is more to my neighborhood – a homeless man you can spot every now and then. He earns his leaving cleaning shops and also doubles up as rag picker. His real duality lies else where, though. While sweeping the porch of the shop opposite my building, he suddenly stands straight, lifts the broom and starts hitting the air angrily, shouting profanities vigorously. Then with his other hand positioned at waist height, he indicates an imaginary kid and his face breaks into a mock piteous bawl.
Repeating these actions, he goes across the road. A little further up, he stops, turns about, walks to the porch and resumes sweeping. As if the intervening moments didn’t exist. The other workers of the shop, tired as they are seeing this everyday, see in boredom and return to their work.
Completely oblivious to the goings on in the area, there is a miniscule flock of bovines seen grazing the weeds and small patches of green here and there. The absolute laidbackness with which they go about their lives makes me envious.
In a few months, I might leave Bangalore to return to Calcutta for good. I will miss my neighborhood.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Monday, January 4, 2010
Avatar - the 3D Way
After watching Aamir, a suspense thriller on terrorism, last year I had taken a hiatus from movie watching, not a deliberate one but because no movie really stirred my interest since. I decided to break my film fast with Avatar, the new movie made in 3D technology.
Avatar deals with a problem the world is currently grappling with: a huge corporation trying to displace a tribe to get access to natural wealth. In India, how a handful of mining barons hand in glove with governments are exploiting areas rich in natural resources upsetting environmental balance and displacing and dispossessing the inhabitants of the places – is reported by the media everyday. So it is elsewhere. My friend tells me the Amazon basin, being a delta, is a repository of natural resources with natural wealth from multiple directions flowing into it, and so shares the same plight of encroachment and exploitation.
The story of Avatar goes like this. A large corporation sets its eyes on a slice of land which is brimming with natural bounty and splendor. The only hurdle is a group of tribes, humanoids, inhabiting the place for ages. The corporation has to force their cooperation or submission to find unobstructed access to the natural bounty.
A highly trained marine recruit is found to have identical DNA with the tribes and sent there in disguise to learn their ways, win their trust and then either persuade them to cooperate or coerce them into submission. He succeeds in his mission but oversteps the line: he emotionally identifies with the tribes and switches loyalty. Trouble follows.
It was my first 3D experience, and I was a little skeptical to start with. I had expected every action-oriented event, like trading of blows or firing of a bullet, would give me the tactile feeling of being at the receiving end of the action, and I, mistaking the virtual for the real, would move away from the trajectory of the action. But I didn’t.
Although the 3D technology makes you feel that the characters and props in a scene are touchable, it doesn’t induce a feeling of fear – that you might be hit or hurt. An object hurled at you travels in your direction for a while and before it becomes too close for comfort for you, it disappears. The idea is to make the 3D experience pleasant and not scary.
The members of the humanoids tribe are a cross between humans and monkeys with long stout tails behind them. When the marine recruit (the imposter) in his new avatar as a member of the tribe was appraising the place with his back facing the audience and the tail swishing gleefully – a person sitting behind me told the person next to him: “I expected the tail to come and hit us.” The other person replied: “For those sitting in the balcony of the theatre, the effect is only virtual; the hitting-hurting part is for the people sitting below – because they have paid less for their tickets!”
Avatar deals with a problem the world is currently grappling with: a huge corporation trying to displace a tribe to get access to natural wealth. In India, how a handful of mining barons hand in glove with governments are exploiting areas rich in natural resources upsetting environmental balance and displacing and dispossessing the inhabitants of the places – is reported by the media everyday. So it is elsewhere. My friend tells me the Amazon basin, being a delta, is a repository of natural resources with natural wealth from multiple directions flowing into it, and so shares the same plight of encroachment and exploitation.
The story of Avatar goes like this. A large corporation sets its eyes on a slice of land which is brimming with natural bounty and splendor. The only hurdle is a group of tribes, humanoids, inhabiting the place for ages. The corporation has to force their cooperation or submission to find unobstructed access to the natural bounty.
A highly trained marine recruit is found to have identical DNA with the tribes and sent there in disguise to learn their ways, win their trust and then either persuade them to cooperate or coerce them into submission. He succeeds in his mission but oversteps the line: he emotionally identifies with the tribes and switches loyalty. Trouble follows.
It was my first 3D experience, and I was a little skeptical to start with. I had expected every action-oriented event, like trading of blows or firing of a bullet, would give me the tactile feeling of being at the receiving end of the action, and I, mistaking the virtual for the real, would move away from the trajectory of the action. But I didn’t.
Although the 3D technology makes you feel that the characters and props in a scene are touchable, it doesn’t induce a feeling of fear – that you might be hit or hurt. An object hurled at you travels in your direction for a while and before it becomes too close for comfort for you, it disappears. The idea is to make the 3D experience pleasant and not scary.
The members of the humanoids tribe are a cross between humans and monkeys with long stout tails behind them. When the marine recruit (the imposter) in his new avatar as a member of the tribe was appraising the place with his back facing the audience and the tail swishing gleefully – a person sitting behind me told the person next to him: “I expected the tail to come and hit us.” The other person replied: “For those sitting in the balcony of the theatre, the effect is only virtual; the hitting-hurting part is for the people sitting below – because they have paid less for their tickets!”
Monday, December 28, 2009
How 2009 was for Me and for Us
As 2009 recedes into the past making way for 2010, it’s time to recollect the events that marked the outgoing year. I will take a look both at personal and general events because, although our lives are often touched and shaped by events around us, there are certain matters that remain within the contours of the personal, disconnected with the world in general; and when we look back on a slice of time to assess whether it was good or bad, it is these personal matters that define the essence of the time. And yet grand world affairs like terrorism, climate change, elections, floods and riots tell us that we can never be completely insular.
We started the year with the knowledge that 2009 wouldn't mark the end of recession. Companies and financial institutions kept going bankrupt. Some lost their employments and others feared that they might be the next to follow.
On the personal front, the year started on a sad note for my office team, as our favorite team leader left the company to join another one.
But as the year rolled into February, Americans popped the bubbly. The US got a new president in Barack Obama. The coming of Obama created history – Obama being the first black president of the US – and promised to change the future. His coming brought a sudden rush of hopes. He promised to bail out the US from the crippling effects of recession and set it back in its role of global leadership (whatever the leftists make of that). He also set himself the difficult task of improving the global image of the US by mending relations with the Islamic world and solving the Israel Palestine problem.
Although the recession has slightly loosened its grip on America, the olive branch Obama had extended to Iran was snubbed and the Israel Palestine crisis rages on. But it would be fair to assess his performance when he completes his one year as US president in February 2010.
For me, the year marked the loss of a dear friend and colleague, Avishek Basu. One day, after bathing, when I was venturing out for lunch, I got a call from Avishek’s wife informing me that Avishek had passed away early that morning. Benumbed, I paced back and forth trying to make sense of it; I had never heard of him being ill. It was a sudden heart attack the doctors said later.
A few months later, the air became thick with political slanging match and parties running helter skelter to stitch together political alliances for power sharing. It was time for general elections in India. The Congress came to power to serve its second term in a row. Dr. Manmohan Singh became the first Indian prime minister after Jawaharlal Nehru to serve two consecutive terms.
We started 2009 with the hang over of Mumbai terrorist attacks and heightened security, but lived through the year in relative peace. Occasional periods of peace notwithstanding, terrorism is beginning to establish a constant connect with our lives: either through direct blood spill or hyper security or a ‘when and where will it strike next’ fear.
As the year further moved on, through the chaos of economic doom, politics and terrorism emerged the relief of literature. Hillary Mantel won the Booker prize for Wolf Hall, a historical novel with Tudor England as its setting. (I have bought the book but haven’t read it yet.)
Wish you all a very happy 2010.
We started the year with the knowledge that 2009 wouldn't mark the end of recession. Companies and financial institutions kept going bankrupt. Some lost their employments and others feared that they might be the next to follow.
On the personal front, the year started on a sad note for my office team, as our favorite team leader left the company to join another one.
But as the year rolled into February, Americans popped the bubbly. The US got a new president in Barack Obama. The coming of Obama created history – Obama being the first black president of the US – and promised to change the future. His coming brought a sudden rush of hopes. He promised to bail out the US from the crippling effects of recession and set it back in its role of global leadership (whatever the leftists make of that). He also set himself the difficult task of improving the global image of the US by mending relations with the Islamic world and solving the Israel Palestine problem.
Although the recession has slightly loosened its grip on America, the olive branch Obama had extended to Iran was snubbed and the Israel Palestine crisis rages on. But it would be fair to assess his performance when he completes his one year as US president in February 2010.
For me, the year marked the loss of a dear friend and colleague, Avishek Basu. One day, after bathing, when I was venturing out for lunch, I got a call from Avishek’s wife informing me that Avishek had passed away early that morning. Benumbed, I paced back and forth trying to make sense of it; I had never heard of him being ill. It was a sudden heart attack the doctors said later.
A few months later, the air became thick with political slanging match and parties running helter skelter to stitch together political alliances for power sharing. It was time for general elections in India. The Congress came to power to serve its second term in a row. Dr. Manmohan Singh became the first Indian prime minister after Jawaharlal Nehru to serve two consecutive terms.
We started 2009 with the hang over of Mumbai terrorist attacks and heightened security, but lived through the year in relative peace. Occasional periods of peace notwithstanding, terrorism is beginning to establish a constant connect with our lives: either through direct blood spill or hyper security or a ‘when and where will it strike next’ fear.
As the year further moved on, through the chaos of economic doom, politics and terrorism emerged the relief of literature. Hillary Mantel won the Booker prize for Wolf Hall, a historical novel with Tudor England as its setting. (I have bought the book but haven’t read it yet.)
Wish you all a very happy 2010.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Tale of a Naturalist
Among other things, I am currently reading the Crest magazine, a weekly edition from the Times of India house. The Crest is published in a news paper format with articles that give perspectives on current affairs and matters of general interest.
Two editions ago, the Crest commissioned an article on Charles Darwin’s – the naturalist – connection with India to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the writing of Darwin’s famous book the Origin of Species. I found the article most blog worthy.
Though Darwin never visited India, it didn’t prevent him from benefiting from the rich biodiversity available in India – for his thesis on Origin of Species. Darwin never had to come to India to find access to India's natural wealth because there were many collaborators primed to supply the naturalist with information on India; India was a British colony then and Darwin was a British. One such collaborator was Edward Blyth.
Blyth’s story is interesting as it typifies the hurdles naturalists had to face then, especially the ones who were not born to wealth and privilege. They had to earn their livelihood and also pursue their study of nature – because being a naturalist wasn’t a well-paying profession and the professional establishments were so exclusive that they usually didn’t allow the entry of people outside the circle of scholars into the profession. And how, despite the hardships, driven by their abiding love for their work, the naturalists carried on undeterred.
However, unlike many of his ilk, Blyth, who was a self-trained zoologist, worked as a curator at the Asiatic Society.
Edward Blyth was from a poor family who managed to scrape together money for his schooling and educated himself by spending long hours in library.
Darwin who was from a wealthy family of Industrialists was quite the opposite: the Origin originator always had family wealth to fund his pursuit and never had to work to make ends meet.
Blyth found three references in the Origin book for information sent by him to Darwin on Indian cattle, on wild assess of Kutch and cross-breed geese. Darwin and Blyth exchanged correspondence but never met.
Although Darwin never met his India correspondent, he met Indians in Maurituis who were exiled by the British Government in India for various offences. About them Darwin said: “Before seeing the people I had no idea that the inhabitants of India were such noble looking figures.” Particularly struck by the contrast between their dark skin and white beard of older men, he observed, “this together with the fire of their expression gave them a most imposing aspect.”
Joseph Hooker, a botanist, was also among Darwin’s informers. Joseph travelled extensively in the Himalayas to gather his data and was among closest friends and supporters of Darwin’s.
But, as the article says, no one among his informants stands out like Edward Blyth. Blyth died a forgotten man in a mental asylum in 1873.
And, while the Asiatic Society commemorated the 150th anniversary of Charles Darwin’s Origin of Species last month, Edward Blyth, the Origin’s chief contributor, remained a forgotten man.
Two editions ago, the Crest commissioned an article on Charles Darwin’s – the naturalist – connection with India to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the writing of Darwin’s famous book the Origin of Species. I found the article most blog worthy.
Though Darwin never visited India, it didn’t prevent him from benefiting from the rich biodiversity available in India – for his thesis on Origin of Species. Darwin never had to come to India to find access to India's natural wealth because there were many collaborators primed to supply the naturalist with information on India; India was a British colony then and Darwin was a British. One such collaborator was Edward Blyth.
Blyth’s story is interesting as it typifies the hurdles naturalists had to face then, especially the ones who were not born to wealth and privilege. They had to earn their livelihood and also pursue their study of nature – because being a naturalist wasn’t a well-paying profession and the professional establishments were so exclusive that they usually didn’t allow the entry of people outside the circle of scholars into the profession. And how, despite the hardships, driven by their abiding love for their work, the naturalists carried on undeterred.
However, unlike many of his ilk, Blyth, who was a self-trained zoologist, worked as a curator at the Asiatic Society.
Edward Blyth was from a poor family who managed to scrape together money for his schooling and educated himself by spending long hours in library.
Darwin who was from a wealthy family of Industrialists was quite the opposite: the Origin originator always had family wealth to fund his pursuit and never had to work to make ends meet.
Blyth found three references in the Origin book for information sent by him to Darwin on Indian cattle, on wild assess of Kutch and cross-breed geese. Darwin and Blyth exchanged correspondence but never met.
Although Darwin never met his India correspondent, he met Indians in Maurituis who were exiled by the British Government in India for various offences. About them Darwin said: “Before seeing the people I had no idea that the inhabitants of India were such noble looking figures.” Particularly struck by the contrast between their dark skin and white beard of older men, he observed, “this together with the fire of their expression gave them a most imposing aspect.”
Joseph Hooker, a botanist, was also among Darwin’s informers. Joseph travelled extensively in the Himalayas to gather his data and was among closest friends and supporters of Darwin’s.
But, as the article says, no one among his informants stands out like Edward Blyth. Blyth died a forgotten man in a mental asylum in 1873.
And, while the Asiatic Society commemorated the 150th anniversary of Charles Darwin’s Origin of Species last month, Edward Blyth, the Origin’s chief contributor, remained a forgotten man.
Monday, November 16, 2009
More Salt than Pepper - a Collection of Articles
I am reading a compilation of articles - More Salt than Pepper - by Karan Thapar. The articles have been appearing for many years in Hindustan Times under the title Sunday Sentiments.
Although I had read some of the articles, most were unread. The pieces are not about observations on politics and current affairs but reflections on anything you can think of - humour, people, books, trivia, including politics and current affairs.
The book has clubbed together similar articles under different sections and each section starts with a cartoon; each cartoon reflects an aspect of Thapar’s personality and illustrates the common theme of the articles to follow.
Those of you who are familiar with Karan Thapar and his interviews will find the pieces just like him: incisive, witty, sarcastic, and patronizing and grumbling at times. But above all, the pieces are fun to read and also very short.
Here are the nuggets of some of my favorites.
London the most civilized city in the world:
“I have just returned from a weekend in London, the city I consider the most civilized in the world. Civilized is not just a heritage or history, not merely culture and it’s a lot more than manners and behaviour.
London is a microcosm of the world. Oxford Street is witness to almost every nationality, skin colour, sex and dress style known to man, woman and transgender.
London has the best of everything – television, theatre, museums, shopping even news papers and magazines.
However, it’s the third quality that is the most important of all. It’s the Brutishness of the Londoner – and here I mean the natives – that makes the city truly special. I mean two characteristics – the British upper-lip and their sense of privacy. No matter what happens, they don’t make a fuss. If you spill your red wine over a damask table cloth, your hostess won’t get into a tizzy, If you stumble out of a pub and puke, no one will shout at you. They will just step aside and move on.”
I have never been to London. If you have, let me know your views.
Now in his middle or late fifties (I don't know the exact age), Thapar is a widower for over a decade, but people who don’t know that often ask him whether he is married – and he finds it difficult to answer the question. He doesn’t want to say 'no' because it’s untrue (he is married although his wife has passed away) and also because 'no' is a cruel reminder that his wife is no more which is emotionally wrenching.
Nor can he say 'yes' - because it’s only partially true (his wife is dead). However, he finds 'yes' more appropriate, and he settles for it. But at a party – where he is mostly asked this question – it leads to another question – where is she.
See what happened when he once tried to get out of the ‘yes no’ trap – and plainly said his wife is dead.
But once – and only because I was a wee bit tight – I answered with a bald, blunt, brutal truth. This is how it went.
‘Where is your wife?’
‘Dead.’
‘What do you mean? When did that happen? Oh God, how terrible! You poor, poor chap.’
The person got into a terrible fluster. In fact, he went beetroot red. I knew I was being heartless but who told him to start (the conversation) by assuming I was married and that my must be around? The fault was his. However, after a bit, I decided to soften the blow.
‘Don’t worry. She died thirteen years ago. You weren’t to know.’
It worked. His face broke into a smile. ‘Well,’ he said, his confidence restored. ‘Time for round two. I’d try again if I were you. You need a woman by your side when you head for the grave. Your second wife is bound to outlive you.
And then she can face the question, “Where’s your husband?’”
Check out this video where Thapar is interviewing his guest. Once you know him, you will be able to relate his views and wit with him.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98ruO7DiMx8
Although I had read some of the articles, most were unread. The pieces are not about observations on politics and current affairs but reflections on anything you can think of - humour, people, books, trivia, including politics and current affairs.
The book has clubbed together similar articles under different sections and each section starts with a cartoon; each cartoon reflects an aspect of Thapar’s personality and illustrates the common theme of the articles to follow.
Those of you who are familiar with Karan Thapar and his interviews will find the pieces just like him: incisive, witty, sarcastic, and patronizing and grumbling at times. But above all, the pieces are fun to read and also very short.
Here are the nuggets of some of my favorites.
London the most civilized city in the world:
“I have just returned from a weekend in London, the city I consider the most civilized in the world. Civilized is not just a heritage or history, not merely culture and it’s a lot more than manners and behaviour.
London is a microcosm of the world. Oxford Street is witness to almost every nationality, skin colour, sex and dress style known to man, woman and transgender.
London has the best of everything – television, theatre, museums, shopping even news papers and magazines.
However, it’s the third quality that is the most important of all. It’s the Brutishness of the Londoner – and here I mean the natives – that makes the city truly special. I mean two characteristics – the British upper-lip and their sense of privacy. No matter what happens, they don’t make a fuss. If you spill your red wine over a damask table cloth, your hostess won’t get into a tizzy, If you stumble out of a pub and puke, no one will shout at you. They will just step aside and move on.”
I have never been to London. If you have, let me know your views.
Now in his middle or late fifties (I don't know the exact age), Thapar is a widower for over a decade, but people who don’t know that often ask him whether he is married – and he finds it difficult to answer the question. He doesn’t want to say 'no' because it’s untrue (he is married although his wife has passed away) and also because 'no' is a cruel reminder that his wife is no more which is emotionally wrenching.
Nor can he say 'yes' - because it’s only partially true (his wife is dead). However, he finds 'yes' more appropriate, and he settles for it. But at a party – where he is mostly asked this question – it leads to another question – where is she.
See what happened when he once tried to get out of the ‘yes no’ trap – and plainly said his wife is dead.
But once – and only because I was a wee bit tight – I answered with a bald, blunt, brutal truth. This is how it went.
‘Where is your wife?’
‘Dead.’
‘What do you mean? When did that happen? Oh God, how terrible! You poor, poor chap.’
The person got into a terrible fluster. In fact, he went beetroot red. I knew I was being heartless but who told him to start (the conversation) by assuming I was married and that my must be around? The fault was his. However, after a bit, I decided to soften the blow.
‘Don’t worry. She died thirteen years ago. You weren’t to know.’
It worked. His face broke into a smile. ‘Well,’ he said, his confidence restored. ‘Time for round two. I’d try again if I were you. You need a woman by your side when you head for the grave. Your second wife is bound to outlive you.
And then she can face the question, “Where’s your husband?’”
Check out this video where Thapar is interviewing his guest. Once you know him, you will be able to relate his views and wit with him.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98ruO7DiMx8
Friday, November 6, 2009
Chennai - Meeting and Knowing People
When Mark told me he was going to travel to Chennai to attend a ‘one-day non-official and self-sponsored’ conference, I sensed it was an opportunity for me to visit the place I had never visited before.
We boarded the train to Chennai on a Thursday. Another friend, Joseph, who had arranged for our stay and knew some locals, would join us the next day.
This trip was more about meeting people than visiting places; we met two groups of people, one completely different from the other. But, along the way, we also visited Mahabalipuram, two hours’ drive from Chennai; and Marina beach and an old shopping mall in Chennai, Spencer.
We reached Chennai on Friday morning, and after freshening up Mark went to attend his conference while I decided to check out the places close to the hotel.
I found none that was worth braving the scorching afternoon heat and 15 minutes into the endeavor, I got exhausted and decided to return to the hotel. Although the flyovers, billboards, tall buildings and dust make every big Indian city look the same, each city has its distinct characteristics that it owes to its culture and economy. Chennai lacks the humdrum and outward gloss of Bangalore. Even places that are centrally located are old-world and lack-lusture. But the slow-pace and lack of new-money glitz lend a certain calmness and charm to the city.
The traffic is scantier and vehicles move faster than Bangalore. Traffic rules are enforced stringently; slight violation of rules can attract penalty. The public transport system is sound with buses that are in good condition and sparsely crowded.
The evening wasn’t as disappointing, though. We met a group of Mark’s former colleagues who had come to attend the conference. We went to their hotel to set up an evening soiree.
As two of them got busy receiving calls from home, Mark and I reviewed our plans for the next day. Next day, Joseph would join us in the morning and we would meet his local business contacts who would take us to Mahabalipuram, a city of ancient temples. We would lunch on the way.
As Mark and I were talking, one of Mark’s colleagues, who had ventured out of the room to attend a call, stepped in and announced that we would shortly be joined by Amit; Mark had told me a lot about Amit earlier.
A few minutes later, a short, heavyset and slightly stooped man walked in. It was Amit.
Amit brought fresh energy to our soiree. I found Amit very informed who can hold forth on any topic. Our discussion started veering into multiple directions, from history and science to religion through the medium of books and films Amit had read and seen earlier.
We took up desultory debates on various topics. With Amit spearheading the discussions, questions and views converged on Amit from every direction and Amit, instead of answering or countering them, gave views that were sometimes disconnected and led to a new debate altogether. We reached no conclusion on any of our arguments.
I sensed Amit liked to give his views and not exchange them. While talking, Amit was constantly closing his eyes, looking down and murmuring something as if mumbling a small prayer. I guessed it was a habit.
Joseph arrived at our hotel in the morning. A few hours later, Joseph's local business contacts - Vijay and John - also joined us. Together we were on the way to Mahabalipuram.
We stopped over for lunch at Fisherman’s Cove, a Taj property. Fisherman’s Cove is located on a beach. You have chairs laid out under parasols overseeing the sea. You enjoy your food as your hairs get messy and clothes are held stiff by the strong and pleasant breeze. If you couple your food with drinks, the experience feels more delightful.
The lunch wasn’t good for me, though. Vijay had ordered for a lobster platter and I am allergic to anything coming from the crustacean tribe. I ate a bit of rice with chicken curry, drank beer and munched chips.
Vijay and John are high-end real-estate-deal facilitators, working in a partnership, for last five years. Although they have restricted themselves mainly to the real estate market in and around Chenai, they have made a killing in it.
I found the two very different from the group we had met earlier: not for them the bookish discussions of culture and religion. They are completely philistine.
They frequently travel to various parts of the world but don’t know anything other than 'five-star room' tariffs of the places. John’s interest lies in something else also: erotica.
He told us many things I had never heard of earlier. Some of the details were a little lurid but nonetheless informative. John is also a liquor collector.
By the time we reached Mahabalipuram, dusk was settling down. We managed to see only a few ancient structures, and took photos of some of them.
Although over 1000 years old, the structures in Mahabalipuram (and in South India in general) are in better shape than their Islamic-north-Indian counterparts which, although built barely three to five hundred years ago, appear much more time-worn because of foreign invasions and pillaging they endured over the centuries.
On our way back, while I was arresting a sculpture on the wall of a dilapidated structure, a mendicant leapt before my screen breaking my reverie. His hairs were tied in a tight bun with locks flying apart in defiance; his eyes were glazed and looked as if they would leap out of the sockets and he was flashing his teeth in eternal glee. I froze him in my frame.
Next day, we were invited to John’s place for lunch and then it was time to board our train back to Bangalore.
John and Vijay were great hosts. Check out the photos below.
We boarded the train to Chennai on a Thursday. Another friend, Joseph, who had arranged for our stay and knew some locals, would join us the next day.
This trip was more about meeting people than visiting places; we met two groups of people, one completely different from the other. But, along the way, we also visited Mahabalipuram, two hours’ drive from Chennai; and Marina beach and an old shopping mall in Chennai, Spencer.
We reached Chennai on Friday morning, and after freshening up Mark went to attend his conference while I decided to check out the places close to the hotel.
I found none that was worth braving the scorching afternoon heat and 15 minutes into the endeavor, I got exhausted and decided to return to the hotel. Although the flyovers, billboards, tall buildings and dust make every big Indian city look the same, each city has its distinct characteristics that it owes to its culture and economy. Chennai lacks the humdrum and outward gloss of Bangalore. Even places that are centrally located are old-world and lack-lusture. But the slow-pace and lack of new-money glitz lend a certain calmness and charm to the city.
The traffic is scantier and vehicles move faster than Bangalore. Traffic rules are enforced stringently; slight violation of rules can attract penalty. The public transport system is sound with buses that are in good condition and sparsely crowded.
The evening wasn’t as disappointing, though. We met a group of Mark’s former colleagues who had come to attend the conference. We went to their hotel to set up an evening soiree.
As two of them got busy receiving calls from home, Mark and I reviewed our plans for the next day. Next day, Joseph would join us in the morning and we would meet his local business contacts who would take us to Mahabalipuram, a city of ancient temples. We would lunch on the way.
As Mark and I were talking, one of Mark’s colleagues, who had ventured out of the room to attend a call, stepped in and announced that we would shortly be joined by Amit; Mark had told me a lot about Amit earlier.
A few minutes later, a short, heavyset and slightly stooped man walked in. It was Amit.
Amit brought fresh energy to our soiree. I found Amit very informed who can hold forth on any topic. Our discussion started veering into multiple directions, from history and science to religion through the medium of books and films Amit had read and seen earlier.
We took up desultory debates on various topics. With Amit spearheading the discussions, questions and views converged on Amit from every direction and Amit, instead of answering or countering them, gave views that were sometimes disconnected and led to a new debate altogether. We reached no conclusion on any of our arguments.
I sensed Amit liked to give his views and not exchange them. While talking, Amit was constantly closing his eyes, looking down and murmuring something as if mumbling a small prayer. I guessed it was a habit.
Joseph arrived at our hotel in the morning. A few hours later, Joseph's local business contacts - Vijay and John - also joined us. Together we were on the way to Mahabalipuram.
We stopped over for lunch at Fisherman’s Cove, a Taj property. Fisherman’s Cove is located on a beach. You have chairs laid out under parasols overseeing the sea. You enjoy your food as your hairs get messy and clothes are held stiff by the strong and pleasant breeze. If you couple your food with drinks, the experience feels more delightful.
The lunch wasn’t good for me, though. Vijay had ordered for a lobster platter and I am allergic to anything coming from the crustacean tribe. I ate a bit of rice with chicken curry, drank beer and munched chips.
Vijay and John are high-end real-estate-deal facilitators, working in a partnership, for last five years. Although they have restricted themselves mainly to the real estate market in and around Chenai, they have made a killing in it.
I found the two very different from the group we had met earlier: not for them the bookish discussions of culture and religion. They are completely philistine.
They frequently travel to various parts of the world but don’t know anything other than 'five-star room' tariffs of the places. John’s interest lies in something else also: erotica.
He told us many things I had never heard of earlier. Some of the details were a little lurid but nonetheless informative. John is also a liquor collector.
By the time we reached Mahabalipuram, dusk was settling down. We managed to see only a few ancient structures, and took photos of some of them.
Although over 1000 years old, the structures in Mahabalipuram (and in South India in general) are in better shape than their Islamic-north-Indian counterparts which, although built barely three to five hundred years ago, appear much more time-worn because of foreign invasions and pillaging they endured over the centuries.
On our way back, while I was arresting a sculpture on the wall of a dilapidated structure, a mendicant leapt before my screen breaking my reverie. His hairs were tied in a tight bun with locks flying apart in defiance; his eyes were glazed and looked as if they would leap out of the sockets and he was flashing his teeth in eternal glee. I froze him in my frame.
Next day, we were invited to John’s place for lunch and then it was time to board our train back to Bangalore.
John and Vijay were great hosts. Check out the photos below.
Friday, October 23, 2009
The Bolted Door
Surprisingly, some incidents have a way of surviving the ravages of time. However dated they might get, they still manage to bristle with humour.
Last year, my parents were with me in Bangalore for one month. Mostly, they were indoors as this was their second visit and on the first one they had visited most of the spots that attract tourists in Bangalore.
One day, my father had briefly ventured out while my mother and I were at home. I was talking to my mother while it occurred to me that I had to go out on a personal errand. I walked to the door, unbolted (we have old-fashioned bolts) it and gently pushed the door. The door refused to open; someone had bolted the door from outside.
There was nobody within shouting distance I could call and have the door unbolted. It was not very long since my father had left for market, so he would take sometime to return.
Who would open the door? Who had bolted the door locking us inside? Was it a mischief of the building kids?
Although I was not venturing out on an extremely important chore, being disallowed to go out when I wanted to felt stifling. It was like being denied freedom.
I started pacing about in the room. I had told the landlord to replace the bolt outside with the one whose latch could be arrested with a lock, preventing a mischief monger from bolting the door from outside locking us inside. The owner procrastinated replacing the bolt, and here we were…locked inside.
My mother’s concern wasn’t so much about the present predicament as about a distant possibility: what if I was alone, famished (I don’t cook at home), wanting to venture out to eat and found myself locked without any one within earshot to come to my rescue. “We have to get it changed today,” as my mother said this, we heard a gnashing sound: someone was unbolting the door. My father was back from market.
“Who bolted the door,” my father asked as he stepped inside. “The do-gooder didn’t tell his name,” my mother replied.
My father was as perturbed about someone having bolted the door mischievously as my mother. He started deconstructing the mystery, but couldn’t figure out who did it. As his analysis failed to yield any plausible culprit, he turned his wrath to the landlord.
“When you introduced me to that guy, I understood he was an ‘all promise no service’ type,” he told me.
I told him that during my last one-year stay, this had happened for the first time; but failed to calm him.
Few hours later, while we – my parents and I - were lunching together, my father suddenly intoned, “ohhh..." “What happened?” my mother and I looked up and asked.
My father had loosely recalled that he had unmindfully bolted the door while going to market (my father is sometimes forgetful - like me - and always in haste – unlike me).
After my parents left for Calcutta, I reminded the landlord of the offending bolt, but somehow he never replaced it (he has fixed costlier things, though). I never forgot the bolt because my parents didn’t let me.
Though since then the bolt has never caused me trouble, it has sometimes reminded me of the incident and given me light-hearted moments.
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