Cleansing the blog
This post is only so that the first post in my blog is not the pervert joke "howler or growler"....
Howler or Growler?
Q: What kind of bees produce milk?
A: Boo-bees.
Courtsey : Joke on the back cover of Salty Dog crisps
A: Boo-bees.
Courtsey : Joke on the back cover of Salty Dog crisps
Olio, Aglio and Pepperoncino
"Its pepper-on-chi-no", said the waiter. If its CHino like in Gucci, then where is the 2nd C I wondered. Aglio and Olio sounded as alien as things could sound and the ever familiar pepper also was pronounced with a twist, as Mr. Italian pointed out. OA&P is how I ended my day in Florence yesterday, a delicioso sphaghetti. Some pasta finally after all the thin crust Margharitas in venice.
For a consummate vegetarian foodie that I am, the chesse in the Italian dishes had started to get to me. Pizza with toppings of cheese, pasta with grated Parmesan, risotto with melted cheese.. What would not taste good with cheese I wondered. With my non-existant knowledge of meat dishes and my chessy knowledge of the vegetarian dishes, my trip down to Italiano did not excite any gastronomic desires. The Margharitas - the only affordable, vegetarian dish - in Venice did nothing to salvage the image of veggie Italiano dishes in my mind.
What made the OA&P taste so good, I know not. Whether it was the cheap Italian wines and Limoncello acting or whether it indeed was the cooks culinary skills. At this point my adventures with the wines deserve a special mention, a series that would make a true wine connoiseur cringe at its mention. A round of Chianti Rosso, followed by a round of some white Chianti with an accompaniment of potato chips(for lack of anything better). Ah well, I anyways do not understand wines. Gimme a Bud or Stella anyday, but this trip was all about trying new things. The wines were quickly followed by a round of Limoncello(chello..). This I got the pronunciation right and the guy behind the counter gave me an approving nod. Limoncello was unlike nything I ever tasted before - a lemon yellow, lemoney flavored drink. It came in a small shot glass looking very innocent, but did taste like a vodka mixed with lime. I read the "French Revolutions" as I sipped on. Halfway through the Limoncello my stomach started it own revolution, the grumblings could probably be heard over the music. A cursory glance at the menu and the only interesting dish was OA&P.
Enter OA&P. A lovely, lovely pasta. And as simple as it gets. The O stood for Olive oil, the A stood for garlic and the P for the pepper. And that is all the dish had. The flavor of roasted garlic and pepper in the warm olive oil with slightly undercooked sphaghetti was simply out of this world. The overflowing Olio in the dish.. Yummm... Would have licked the olio off my plate, if only I were at home. But then of course if I could whip up a meaty dish like that, I would not be going around to restaurants and making a fool of myself with all the wrong pronunciations.
At the risk of sounding like a tourist, I declare that OA&P was the best pasta I ever had. Three days down my Italian trip, having tasted only the Margharitas and not-so-different-from-ice gelatos, I realize I it is time to loosen my purse string and to get more experimental with food (and drinks of course). And off I head to try some new dish today. Here I come Firenze.
For a consummate vegetarian foodie that I am, the chesse in the Italian dishes had started to get to me. Pizza with toppings of cheese, pasta with grated Parmesan, risotto with melted cheese.. What would not taste good with cheese I wondered. With my non-existant knowledge of meat dishes and my chessy knowledge of the vegetarian dishes, my trip down to Italiano did not excite any gastronomic desires. The Margharitas - the only affordable, vegetarian dish - in Venice did nothing to salvage the image of veggie Italiano dishes in my mind.
What made the OA&P taste so good, I know not. Whether it was the cheap Italian wines and Limoncello acting or whether it indeed was the cooks culinary skills. At this point my adventures with the wines deserve a special mention, a series that would make a true wine connoiseur cringe at its mention. A round of Chianti Rosso, followed by a round of some white Chianti with an accompaniment of potato chips(for lack of anything better). Ah well, I anyways do not understand wines. Gimme a Bud or Stella anyday, but this trip was all about trying new things. The wines were quickly followed by a round of Limoncello(chello..). This I got the pronunciation right and the guy behind the counter gave me an approving nod. Limoncello was unlike nything I ever tasted before - a lemon yellow, lemoney flavored drink. It came in a small shot glass looking very innocent, but did taste like a vodka mixed with lime. I read the "French Revolutions" as I sipped on. Halfway through the Limoncello my stomach started it own revolution, the grumblings could probably be heard over the music. A cursory glance at the menu and the only interesting dish was OA&P.
Enter OA&P. A lovely, lovely pasta. And as simple as it gets. The O stood for Olive oil, the A stood for garlic and the P for the pepper. And that is all the dish had. The flavor of roasted garlic and pepper in the warm olive oil with slightly undercooked sphaghetti was simply out of this world. The overflowing Olio in the dish.. Yummm... Would have licked the olio off my plate, if only I were at home. But then of course if I could whip up a meaty dish like that, I would not be going around to restaurants and making a fool of myself with all the wrong pronunciations.
At the risk of sounding like a tourist, I declare that OA&P was the best pasta I ever had. Three days down my Italian trip, having tasted only the Margharitas and not-so-different-from-ice gelatos, I realize I it is time to loosen my purse string and to get more experimental with food (and drinks of course). And off I head to try some new dish today. Here I come Firenze.
A bloody affair
In a Kill-Bill world it would have been jets of blood spurting out. In my world it was just some blood gushing out happily from my foot. The water in the tub not really able to dilute the thick warm blood that just came out of my body. But the blood is not what I noticed or felt first. It was the thud, as my head banged against the hard ceramic of the bath tub. For a couple of seconds there I thought it was a harmless fall with just a bump on my head as a reminder. Only a couple of seconds later did I feel a painful sensation in my foot and saw the bloody blood.
It was one of those days when even if you fractured your skull, you had to report to work. There was a big meeting scheduled and there was no way I could pull out. Off I pulled myself out of the tub and washed my bloodied feet and rushed down to see if I could somehow stop the blood. As I searched frantically for a stopper, the blood oozed out like there was gonna be no tomorrow. The pitiful little plaster I had was no match for the ~1 inch cut in my foot. None of the medically approved items in my first-aid kit could stop the blood. It was time to get Indian. I rushed to the kitchen, pinched off some turmeric and sprinkled it liberally on the cut; not unlike how I usually sprinkle for my Cabbage Poriyal. And voila, after a few seconds the flow decreased!! But just the turmeric was not the solution, I still needed a plaster if I had to get to work. Enter uncle.
It would not have required a Sherlock Holmes to figure out that there was an injured animal from the trail of blood I left from the bathroom to my room. I can imagine that it was not the most pleasant of things for uncle to wake up and see. Uncle, however, came into my room and saw me fiddling around with the bloody foot. He immediately rushed up and got his first aid box which had just the plaster that I used to have wet dreams about. A good 2’’X3’’ plaster which would totally and completely cover up my wound. With no time to clean the turmeric off the wound, I quickly wrapped the plaster on the wound and tied it around with a cloth bandage to ensure it did not slip off. Quickly dressed(wore my socks and shoes with utmost care) and set off to work. Limping.
As luck be it, the meeting room was on the 4th floor. I climbed all the way up limping only to hear that the meeting room was overbooked and we had to go down to the canteen for the meeting. Just as we settled down there was a suggestion to try and find a proper meeting room. *&$%&*. The only meeting room we managed to get was the one across the street in Talbot house. Everybody set off in a hurry, I fell back limping at my own sweet pace. After the meeting, all through the day at workI kept imagining that blood was still oozing out . I kept my usual visits to the loo at a bare minimum and timed it such that I limped across when none of my managers/friends were around. But then it was meant to be my lucky day and the loo in my floor was ‘Not Working’(as the notice on the door indicated), so I had to limp down a floor to take a leak.
As the day ended I knew that I could not put up with so much theatrics at work – the limp, the blood, the meetings – and decided to take it easy and WFH today. Dunno why everytime I read WFH it looks like WTF.
While the world was sleeping...
…I was lying wide awake. Not the least bit sleepy. Tired I certainly was, it had been 3 days since I had a good night’s sleep. Must have slept for 12 hours in the past 3 days. My body complained and my legs ached(a weird sign of my bodily-rebellion). At work I am constantly yawning and can hardly concentrate. I come to work puffy-eyed and with dark circles and have to put up with Ageesh asking me if I took bath at all or just walked straight from my bed to work.
And while the world is sleeping what do I do? Not much really, I toss and turn around for a good 30 minutes till I realize that it is gonna be one of those nights when I will stay up all through. All kinds of thoughts start creeping in, most of them which disturb me more than calm me down and these go on for quite some time. I mentally spew venom at the people I hate. I imagine the conversations I would have if I meet them now. And when am all worked up, I try to calm myself down and try the famous ‘count sheep’ to fall asleep. Never really managed to get beyond 30 by when the next thought creeps in. There are of course nice thoughts as well, I do drift into the ‘Mungerilal ke haseen sapne’ mode during which my entire future gets planned.
My various attempts to fall asleep have been utterly unsuccessful up until now. Listening to soothing music has been an utter failure. Too lazy to go and change tracks in my laptop I end up listening to the same song nearly 10 times. And just before I can go crazy I go and turn off the stupid songs, the thought of anymore songs is also too repulsive. The musical approach to falling asleep lasts for a good 1 hour yielding no results whatsoever. Reading a book to fall asleep somehow did not work over the last few days. All I have at home are a few guidebooks and reading them at 12 in the night neither excites me nor does it bore me enough to fall asleep. How I miss Manoj’s book(just can’t recollect the name, just remember an Indiana Jones kind of protagonist), reading 2 pages of which would instantly put me to sleep. The worst and the least effective sleep-inducers was chamomile tea. The tea was definitely a relaxant, I felt my body pain disappear but even the faint traces of sleepiness disappeared. I was wide, wide, wide awake after the stupid tea. A second glass of tea soon followed after an hour, just to re-test the product, producing the same results. Changing my orientation from Portrait to Landscape also does not help, a 180 degrees turn does not help, dousing a liberal dose of 'Thengina Enne' on my head does not help. Nothing ever fuckin helps.
And amidst all the depressing thoughts and mind-numbingly boring music my stomach starts to grumble. Day 1 of my insomniac week I was ill prepared. I had no milk, no bread, no desserts, no cookies. All I had was some cold rice and I had curd-rice at 3 AM. But over the days I have smartened up and my fridge is loaded with cookies and cereal and desserts to keep me going through the night. There was round of weetabix in milk at 12Am and a round of Rice Vanilla Pudding at 3AM yesterday. Tonight is gonna be a Tiramisu night, the dessert is the only thing I am looking forward to tonight L. And then there is the pressure on my bladder every 30 mins. Where does all the water come from?
This attack of insomnia is apparently because I quit smoking cold turkey. I have all of sudden become a nocturnal creature, albeit without the hip-n-happening night-life. Makes me wonder if it would not be easier to simply go out and smoke and put myself out of this misery.
No coke for smoke
And apparently substituting coke for smoke is not a very good idea..
"When you quit smoking, the amount of coffee or colas you're used to drinking might now make you very jittery and anxious. Cut back on, or cut out caffeine completely for awhile, especially if you’re having trouble sleeping through the night. Chances are good that once you're through the withdrawal process, you'll be able to drink coffee again, though maybe not as much as you used to."Now that explains my sleeplessness in Harrow
Exciting days!!!
Yesterday was yet another party night. Hmmm...To call it a party would probably be taking it too far, let's say it was yet another get-together. Like we don't get-together enough, every lunch we meet up and now almost every weekend also we meet up.
Dunno when or how it started. Is it because Bhu and Senthil came here or is it because Nihar moved to a new place near a beautiful park or is it just the summer? Whatever the reason, the past few weeks have been exciting and interesting and fun. I have now started spending time with people other than myself (for a change).
- First it was 'meet the newbies and make them feel comfy'
- Then it was 'Use the morale budget, hog at Nando's'
- And before the hogging was 'play some mean-ass tennis in the park'
- Then it was 'kind of house warming at Nihar's, cook-your-own-food afternoon '
- There was the 'help-newbies-find-accomodation evenings'
- The usual 'Friday evenings at the Village Inn'
- Yet another visit to the Oxford circus, Piccadilly circus and Leicester square
- Then it was a Chinese night at the china town to have some authentic Chinese food(frowned upon by the waiter when I asked for vegetarian dishes)
- Football finale at the Yates pub followed by pizza night at Nihar's
- And then yesterday it was 'my landlord is away party at Shreeni's'
And in between all this I felt homesick and started thinking of the monsoon back home, saw Kaliyattam and was blown away by Gopi's acting and kept humming malyalam songs which I did not understand (which for some weird reason are to do with 'pinakkam') and was force-fed a prawn.
Whew!! The last few days have been amazing and looking forward to many more exciting, fun filled days and beer nights in London.
My monsoon-sickness
Is it the sudden change in weather here(the annoying drizzle after weeks of bright sunny days)? Or is just the month July - my friends celebrating birthdays and having parties? Or is it an overdose of beautiful Malyalam Songs? Or is it the simplest reason of all, am I homesick already? For the past few days I have been having this inexplicable urge to talk to my friends and family. It was not enough to just talk to friends; I had to talk to people in Tulu. I had to laugh at the Pappu's silly PJs and Yashas's jokes (don't know what genre that would be). I had to know what was happening back home, about every aunt and uncle and cousin. The hitherto annoying news about X getting married to Y became interesting news. And more than anything else wanted to know if it's raining back home. Am still not sure what triggered this homesickness, but I think it just might be the monsoon back home.
How I would love to be in Moodbidri now - Just watching the torrential downpour from the window, watching the roof leak and hearing my dad complain about it, sipping a hot cup of tea and eating my mom's not-so-perfect chattambade, hear the rhetorical conversations on how good the monsoon was this year and how 3 years back there was no rain, hear my mom talk about how clothes don't dry in this damp weather.
How the courtyard would now be slippery due to the pamaji(fungi). How my mom or dad would have a stock of sunna(lime) ready for that one day when it would not rain and they would attack the slippery fungi with sunna. How the inexpensive whitewash on the outer walls would start turning a shade of brown-green due the water dripping down. How the water-well would be so full that if only we had arms like Lord Rama, we could just dip the Kodapana(don't know the English word) and draw water. How tricky it would be to carry the kodapana back home(there is a stretch of cement and then 10 steps to scale and then another stretch of cement between the home and well and all of it would be slippery like hell). How green the fungi-covered walls are and how soon after the monsoon they would turn a shade of brown. How dark the already dark rooms of the house would get.
How it would now be the end of jackfruit season and the lovers of that terrible fruit would relish every last bit of it. How mom would make jackfruit dosa and kadubu and try to convince me that it was not very sweet and that I should try at least one before the season ends and how upon my rejection she would quip that I am missing out on something divine. How yummy the hot pathrode might taste now (not sure if the leaves would be able to survive the rain). How good would the red-rice ganji taste now with the dry mango pickle.
How the kids at Jain High School would get a day off when it rains very heavily in the morning. How the NCC would be cancelled if there was too much water logged in the grounds. How the rocket-fast buses would zoom past you splashing muddy water on you and how even the gentlest and most pious of persons would resort to swearing. How the shopkeeper in the cold-house would no longer stock ellu juice (made of sesame) or punarpuli juice(birunda).
How full the lake in Varanga would be that the priest would no longer take devotees in his rickety boat to the temple. How the truly religious would brave the rains and visit all the open basadis early in the morning. How the fields would be logged with water and how there would be kambala races in it.
Oh, how I would love to take my scooter out now and just go on and on and on and never ever stop. Oh, how I long for these familiar tastes and smells and conversations.
Malnourished in Karnataka?
Is it a classic case of ignorance or do we really turn a blind-eye even when facts are staring right in our faces?
Today I read an article in the Hindustan Times which had some statistics on the malnourished, underweight children in the greater states of India. As I scanned the table I was not surprised to see a few North Indian and central Indian states, but I was in for a shocker when I saw Karnataka and Kerala in the list. What was even more shocking is that Karnataka was second only to Kerala in terms of malnourished children.
| State | % of underweight children | % of undernutritioned children | % of hunger deaths under the age of 5 |
| Rajasthan | 40.4% | 14.0% | 8.5% |
| Gujarat | 44.7% | 22.3% | 6.1% |
| Madhya Pradesh | 59.8% | 23.4% | 9.4% |
| Maharashtra | 36.7% | 27.0% | 4.7% |
| Karnataka | 37.6% | 28.1% | 5.5% |
| Kerala | 22.7% | 28.6% | 1.6% |
| West Bengal | 38.5% | 18.5% | 5.9% |
I never did imagine that such basic thing as food was lacking in Karnataka. The only rural areas I have seen in Karnataka are in DK and everything around looked hunky-dory. I did not read/hear of any hunger issues. Or have these issues become so commonplace that I no longer choose to give it a second thought?
I am currently reading the Tracking Hunger series in HT and as I read that I am sure many more myths(in my head) are gonna be shattered as I find out many more ugly truths.
Multiculturalism – Good, bad or ugly?
Is multiculturalism indeed a good thing for society? Or is it just a romantic idea of people from different races and religious backgrounds living together harmoniously? A definition I picked from Wiki says "Multiculturalism is the acceptance or promotion of multiple ethnic cultures, applied to the demographic make-up of a specific place". And the definition of a specific place could extend from a small body like a club or school to an entire state or nation.
On the face of it, it does seem like a great concept, but does it really work? And do the advantages outweigh the disadvantages? This is an issue that we Indians are only too familiar with - the country is so huge and the cultures, languages, religions and even the skin colors so different. One of the first things we learn about India is the 'Unity in diversity' that we have. But is there really any unity? The North Indians and the South Indians do not get along, Hindus and Muslims butcher each other, Hindus look down upon lower caste Hindus, Indians from North-east will forever remain children of Mao.. The list just goes on. And this in a country that has had this mix from time immemorial, millennia of living together has still not rooted out some of the inherent problems of a multi-cultural society. Post independence India was divided into different states on a linguistic basis. And it does seem like a fair division because people speaking a common language are also culturally more similar. India as a country has probably never promoted MC as such (what with so many other problems to deal with) but as with most other countries in the world, people migrated to places with better prospects setting up their shop in a different culture. And as the influx increased, the problems slowly started showing up. The recent attacks of the MNS in Mumbai and that of the Kannada Rakshana Vedike activists in Bangalore have shown some of the problems of a MC society.
I remember discussing this very same issue with my cousin who thought that there is no credence to the call 'Bangalore for Kannadigas' or the 'Mumbai for Maharashtrians'. His thoughts were similar to those of the media which was crying hoarse that the cities were the great cities that they were not just because of the locals but also because of the migrant population who built the city. Media produced statistics of the number of non-local industrialists who helped build the cities and so on. Whilst the contribution of the non-locals is undisputable, the problems of a MC society are also not to be ignored. A MC society can only work when all people in it respect and imbibe the local culture – which means the language, the traditions, the beliefs, the idiosyncrasies and every small aspect of the culture. For without being one with the local culture and by continuing to be a cultural outsider, there will never be a melting pot of cultures but rather a salad bowl of it. As activists have pointed out, in spite of living in a place for decades together the migrant populace cannot utter a single word in the local language. This is not a problem indigenous to Indian society; it is a problem the world over and something that deeply does affect the local populace. A shocking survey in Britain revealed that a lot of the migrant populace could not speak a word of the local language even after living there for 20 long years. Yet this is also a point strongly mooted by the educated Indians who disagree that not speaking the local language is not a problem because it does not affect anybody and that life goes on as usual. But can MC survive when the local culture is ignored while a newer, stronger culture spreads its wings with utter disregard for the resident one?
When immigration started in late 19th and early 20th centuries it was based on a need for workforce, be it UK or the US. It had nothing, whatsoever, to do with trying to build a multi-cultural society and it definitely was not a desirable thing then. What gradually happened, and mind you it took many many years, is that the next generation of the migrant population was one with the local culture and then is when a peaceful, multi-cultural society was born. What started out as a necessity in the yesteryears and culminated in a multi-cultural hotchpotch is not an indicator that an ethnic mix is a necessity. The racist attacks against Indians and Pakis in Britain or the secondary citizen status to the Chinese in US were signs of trouble in adjusting to a different culture. And the same issues are cropping up even now with the newer set of migrants. The middle-eastern migrants have set-up ghettos in every city, just like the china-towns of a bygone era. The Eastern Europeans are widely unpopular for stealing jobs. Though statistics have shown that job market is not affected due to migrants, the fact remains that the general public will never be any the wiser or anymore richer due to the influx and there will always be the tensions with every first generation of migrants.
What got me thinking on this issue is an election broadcast here in London. With the general elections just round the corner, every party gets some screen time to talk about their policies and the issues they would tackle. Immigration is a fiercely debated issue here and the major parties Labour, Tories and the Lib-Dems dare not take a strong stand on this and talk about the problems it has created. British National Party (BNP) on the other hand was extremely vocal about the issue of immigration and the ills of it were the single most important point for the BNP. The video shows how immigrants have settled in and with utter disregard to the local culture have created ghettos which resemble a middle-eastern country, the job opportunities lost for the country men due to immigration and the special policies served in a platter by the government to appease the immigrants. What stood out in the broadcast was the mention of term 'political correctness'. BNP argued that most major parties were trying to be politically correct in allowing immigration, just because the neighboring country was allowing it. And when I think about it, I wonder if it is indeed not just political correctness? Is there really a shortage of workforce which forces the governments to encourage migration? It certainly does not seem so considering the new policies carved out for eastern-Europeans, majority of who are unskilled laborers.
What I sincerely believe is that migration is good and ought to be encouraged if it is a necessity, but tying to build a multi-cultural society because it sounds good or for the sake of political correctness is not the way to go about and sounds a little like building Angelina Jolie's 'Rainbow family'.
"It's been sometime since I started this article and a new government has been formed here in UK. The activist BNP has not secured a single vote, probably an indicator that the majority of the populace is unfazed by the migrant in-flux. This is overall a positive, healthy sign that outsiders are generally respected and welcome. But contrary to what the polls indicate, the sourness and unrest is still visible around. A friend of mine was recently on the receiving end of a speech by a shopkeeper which veered towards racist comments. I and my friend were subject to racist actions where a couple of guys in cycles came towards us on an empty street and made threatening gestures (like they would beat us up). Am I reading too much between the lines when in fact it was just a harmless prank? I don't know, but I was and am still a little shaken up and try to avoid empty streets."
Fact is stranger than fiction
Bamboo flowering, rats and famine
Mizoram has always suffered from famine known locally as 'Mautam' or 'Thingtam' every few decades. The problem is caused by the synchronous flowering of bamboo species which naturally flower and then die at regular intervals. When bamboo has flowered it produces many seeds and fruit causing rodent feeding frenzies. The Mautam / Thingtam always leads to dramatic increases in local rat populations as well as producing swarms of insects, which then spread to the human food storage areas after the natural harvest is expired - destroying stocks and food crops. Historically it led to death by starvation (102 in 1859) and even today presents much hardship to many rural communities whose very survival depends on a successful harvest.
The famines are called after the name of the bamboo that flowers. Meloccana baccifera is called "Mautak" in mizo and the famine that is caused by its flowering is named "Mautam". When Bambusa Tulda flowers, called "Rawthing" in mizo, the consequent famine is known as "Thingtam". The first Thingtam famine in 1739 was followed by a Mautam in 1769. A Mautam famine occurs 30 years after a Thingtam famine and the latter occurs 18 years after a Mautam. This gives a cycle of around 48 years. There was a Mautam famine in 2006- 2007 and so a Thingtam is expected in 2025. The next more severe Mautam famine is expected in 2055.
It was in October 2005 that the initial heavy flowering of the bamboo was first noticed at Chawngtlai bamboo forest in the southern district of Champhai. It then spread rapidly in 2006 - 2007 throughout the state. After the Mautam, desperate to control the rising rat population, the state government announced a reward of one rupee for every rat-tail taken. During 2006 alone more than 221,636 rats were killed.
The famines have played their part in Mizoram's history. The famine in 1958 led to the formation of the Mizo National Famine Front which lobbied for and set up relief to villagers by mobilising the youth to distribute rice and provisions. The MNFF later changed its name to the MNF and operated as a political unit to fight for the rights of Mizo people. Under the then Chief Minister Laldenga together with his supporters including the ex Chief Minister Zoramthanga, the group fought a bitter separatist struggle for twenty years against the Indian Army for self rule.
It’s limerick time baby!!!
There once was a plumber from Lee
who was plumbing his girl by the sea
she said Stop your plumbing,
there's somebody coming!
Said the plumber still plumbing... It's me!
A bear taking a dump asked a rabbit
"Does shit stick to your fur as a habit?"
"Of course not," said the hare,
"It's really quite rare!"
So the bear wiped his ass with the rabbit.
There once was a man from kanass
whose nuts were made out of brass
in stormy weather
he'd clack them together
and lightning shot out of his ass
There once was an artist named Saint,
Who swallowed some samples of paint.
All shades of the spectrum
Flowed out of his rectum
with a colorful lack of restraint.
A pirate, history relates
was scuffling with some of his mates
when he slipped on a cutlass
which rendered him nutless
and practically useless on dates
3 months in London
It's been 3 months today in London. 90 days.
I clearly remember my first day in London - the ride to the hotel in a Benz, breakfast of rolls, eggs and toasts, my efforts to not fall asleep during the day lest the jet-lag catch up at work the next day, the initial confusion in getting an Oyster card for the tube, the disappointment when I first entered the tube station (expected something state-of-the-art after having travelled in the Delhi metro), trying to call up my friend from a public phone which kept swallowing the coins so fast that I quickly ran out of change and the call ended abruptly, trying to locate the Ladbrokes office(which I finally did after some 30 mins), my dinner of veg aloo sandwich that I picked up from Sugar n Spice.
Over these last 3 months nothing much has changed. The weather, though considerably better, is still a bit chilly (Have still not stepped out of house without wearing my long johns). The initial apprehensions at work are still around, every time I am assigned a bug I wonder if I can do it or not and still get all worked up when I get stuck. I still am dressed in formals all weekdays though none of my colleagues here wear formals, keeping up appearances. I still get confused with the pennies and have never ever tried to call from the public phones. Breakfasts are still without any hint of spice, its either Muesli or toasts with butter.
Over these 3 months I have travelled a fair bit – to Oxford, Longleat, Greenwich and Scotland. Have covered a fair bit of ground in London as well. Went to a theatre, to a cinema, soared high in the London eye, got shit scared in the London dungeon, posed with Ash at Tussauds, clicked away to glory at the tourist places and did some stealth photography capturing people unawares. These 3 months have been a test of endurance at work when for days together I had absolutely no work and sometimes I would be overloaded with work. On no-work days I would finish a novel a day online and on work-overload days I would not even scratch my bum all day.
As I write this I realize that I have not travelled much and still have not been to Wimbledon, I have not yet had tea with the queen nor have I seen the Kohinoor diamond (which the Brits claim was gift to the queen from the Indians), I have not been to Europe, I have not gone hiking, not done a bungee jump……
So much to do and I have been lazing around doing nothing. Hopefully I will be here another 3 months and that the next 3 months will be better J Cheers!!!!
Working overtime
The bloody birds are working overtime. Chirping non-stop. They start at 5 in the morning and go on non-stop till 9:30 in the night. No, I am not talking of the nocturnal birds; its the usual daytime birds I am that are chirping aay to glory.The damn birds just do not realize that the mere mortals like me need some sleep. And I hear its only gonna get worse with the days getting longer and longer. How I wish these damn winged creatures had some sense of time and just shut up at 6PM irrespective of whether the sun is still out or not.
Just Shut Up!!!
Just Shut Up!!!
The real banking crisis
Don't be fooled by what the Financial Times says.. The real banking crisis is:
Mousetrap
T'was pitch dark and silent. Suddenly the screams of a woman filled the air. Silence. A broadcast on the wireless informs that Mrs. Maureen Lyon was murdered in London at 3:30 in the afternoon.
Curtains up. The scene is that of a living room in Monkswell Manor, a guest house. Mr. & Mrs. Ralston are expecting guests and are doing everything to ensure that things are up to the mark. The bell rings and in comes Christopher Wren, an eccentric, excitable young man – bordering slightly on insanity – who takes an instant liking to Mrs. Ralston but is disliked by Mr. Ralston. The next guest is Mrs. Boyle, an elderly woman who starts finding fault with everything from the time she enters the guest house. Major Metcalfe comes in next followed by Miss Casewell.
All the expected guests are in and settled and the wireless informs that there is a huge snowstorm. Monkswell Manor is totally cut off from the outside world due to the storm. And then the bell rings again. Who is this unexpected visitor at this time of the night? Could it be someone related to the terrible murder of Mrs. Lyon? There is a silence in the air and finally the Ralstons open the door to the unexpected visitor, Mr. Parvaccini, who claims that his car broke down nearby and needs a place to stay for the night.
The Ralstons get a call from the police that a sergeant is on the way to their house to enquire about something very important, despite warnings that their house is inaccessible due to the snow storm. Minutes later somebody taps on the window. The window is opened and one can hear the storm outside, winds blowing fast and hard; and outside the window is the sergeant who has come there on his skis. The sergeant comes in, gets everybody assembled and announces that there is a murderer amongst them. The same person who killed Mrs. Lyon. And that there will be 2 more murders. The Ralstons try to call up the police and realize that the phone lines have been cut.
And then a second murder takes place, Mrs. Boyle has been strangled. There is the tune of '3 blind mice' in the background. Everybody is under suspicion. The eccentric Wren to the Major to the foreigner Parvaccini. As the sergeant investigates further, Mrs. Ralston starts to suspect her husband also. Nobody knows Miss Casewell's past and she is not very forth coming with it.
Totally cut off from the entire world, everyone a probable murderer and one more murder on the cards.. Will the case be solved? Will there be another murder? What is the motive?
Superb twist ending and brilliant performances, Mousetrap is indeed a play not to be missed. Mousetrap has a quintessential Christie plot with everyone under suspicion. The only disappointing thing with the play was that it was not chilling enough, the haunting tune of '3 blind mice' should have been used more often to create an effect.
57 years and still enthralling audiences at the St. Martin's theatre, watching Mousetrap is must-do for every London visitor(or should I say every Christie fan).
Curtains up. The scene is that of a living room in Monkswell Manor, a guest house. Mr. & Mrs. Ralston are expecting guests and are doing everything to ensure that things are up to the mark. The bell rings and in comes Christopher Wren, an eccentric, excitable young man – bordering slightly on insanity – who takes an instant liking to Mrs. Ralston but is disliked by Mr. Ralston. The next guest is Mrs. Boyle, an elderly woman who starts finding fault with everything from the time she enters the guest house. Major Metcalfe comes in next followed by Miss Casewell.
All the expected guests are in and settled and the wireless informs that there is a huge snowstorm. Monkswell Manor is totally cut off from the outside world due to the storm. And then the bell rings again. Who is this unexpected visitor at this time of the night? Could it be someone related to the terrible murder of Mrs. Lyon? There is a silence in the air and finally the Ralstons open the door to the unexpected visitor, Mr. Parvaccini, who claims that his car broke down nearby and needs a place to stay for the night.
The Ralstons get a call from the police that a sergeant is on the way to their house to enquire about something very important, despite warnings that their house is inaccessible due to the snow storm. Minutes later somebody taps on the window. The window is opened and one can hear the storm outside, winds blowing fast and hard; and outside the window is the sergeant who has come there on his skis. The sergeant comes in, gets everybody assembled and announces that there is a murderer amongst them. The same person who killed Mrs. Lyon. And that there will be 2 more murders. The Ralstons try to call up the police and realize that the phone lines have been cut.
And then a second murder takes place, Mrs. Boyle has been strangled. There is the tune of '3 blind mice' in the background. Everybody is under suspicion. The eccentric Wren to the Major to the foreigner Parvaccini. As the sergeant investigates further, Mrs. Ralston starts to suspect her husband also. Nobody knows Miss Casewell's past and she is not very forth coming with it.
Totally cut off from the entire world, everyone a probable murderer and one more murder on the cards.. Will the case be solved? Will there be another murder? What is the motive?
Superb twist ending and brilliant performances, Mousetrap is indeed a play not to be missed. Mousetrap has a quintessential Christie plot with everyone under suspicion. The only disappointing thing with the play was that it was not chilling enough, the haunting tune of '3 blind mice' should have been used more often to create an effect.
57 years and still enthralling audiences at the St. Martin's theatre, watching Mousetrap is must-do for every London visitor(or should I say every Christie fan).
A westend night
Of late I have been in some sort of a slump. After the Scotland trip I have not brought myself to go visit any new places and mind has been pre-occupied with sad thoughts of not being able to visit any other country in the Europe(my VISA being valid only till August, I will have to travel 3 months the end date). After 2 uneventful weeks, it is again time to start rolling. The weekend is planned for with a probable visit to Oxford and the next long weekend might just be to Wales.. While these plans are yet uncertain and subject to change, tonight is all planned and confirmed..
Tonight is when one of my dreams will come true. That may be going too far, but what I am gonna do tonight is something I have always wanted to do. I am gonna watch the 'Mousetrap' at St. Martin's theatre. 'Mousetrap' is the longest running play in the world with more than 24,000 performances. 'Mousetrap' is a murder mystery written by the greatest Agatha Christie, whose ardent fan I am. The play has been running continuously for the past 58 years and even today the shows are all booked (or so I think, the online booking shows very few available seats for the whole of next month also). The audience is apparently told not to reveal the identity of the killer to anyone outside the theatre. Not of much help I guess, because the paperbacks of the same play are printed as '3 blind mice' and can be found world over. I am, however, glad that I never read the book even though it was in the local 'Star Library' in Moodbidri. Destiny, I say.
After a lot of deliberation I finally booked the tickets yesterday, the deliberation because the cheapest ticket was 18 pounds and the Indian that I am I was converting it to rupees. I quickly ran through the sites to see if there is a dress-code to be followed at the theatre(though not visible outside or at workplace, the pompousness and the overtly formal dressing of the Brits is legendary) and thankfully there was none. I am still playing it safe and am wearing my blazer to work today. The only other thing to do now is to take a print-out of my ticket and stop dreaming.
9 more hours to go and then I will witness a murder at St. Martin's..
MacBackpacking Scotland
A friendly bowling match arranged by the client marked the beginning of the exciting long Easter weekend. It was a 4 day weekend and my first trip out of London - to Scotland. The whole trip was planned and I was gonna tour Scotland with the MacBackpackers tour starting from Edinburgh. The bus ride from London to Edinburgh was memorable one, not because of the sights, but because of the snoring which kept me up the entire night. And after a long night I reached Edinburgh.
From the moment I met Haimish - the tour guide - I knew this would be a joy-ride. Haimish wore a Kilt and looked like a silly goat. Not because Kilts are silly, but because he was wearing one with army print on it. As long as the engine was on, Haimish also was on. He talked and talked and talked.. And when people were not listening, he talked to himself. Not really, but you get the idea. From the time we entered he regaled us with interesting stories about Edinburgh and Scotland's bloody past. From the rebellions to the murders to the myths to the legends. And when there were no stories he made fun of himself and the other travelers. He swore and then turned to the tour group and apologized and then swore again.
The tour first stopped at the William Wallace memorial and Haimish gave us some context on the building and the great hero.
For lunch we stopped by a beautiful lake – or Loch as it is called in Gaelic - with snow covered mountains visible in the far horizon.
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Post lunch the scenery only got better and better. Never before had I seen such stunning landscapes. Snow covered mountains, rolling hills, meadows, lakes (Lochs) at every turn, moors.. So tranquil, so quiet was the place, so unspoilt by human intervention. We passed by some moors which were actually the least inhabited regions of UK because of the harsh winter climates. Everything around was so peaceful, including the water in the lakes which did not have even a single ripple. The reflections of the hills in the lochs were breathtaking. It's a pity that we could not stop by in many places and could only have a passing glance because it was a no-stop zone on the highway. So I was constantly clicking away from the bus trying to capture the sights, with many a photo having my co-passengers reflection in the window. We also stopped by a lake that looked like the map of Scotland and the Eilean Donan castle which is probably the most photograph castle in Scotland. And it is in this castle that the title song of Kandukondain Kandukondain was shot.
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And it is on this trip that I fell in love with my camera. All along I thought there was something fundamentally wrong with the cam, but every pic I clicked this time came out perfectly. And the anti-shake is brilliant. The pic below was clicked from the bus by zooming up to 10X and there was so much vibration, and not the smooth undercurrent kid of vibration but the proper jumping kinds, but the pic came out so well that I was astounded.
We reached the Isle of Skye sometime around 6:30 in the evening. After quickly taking bath I set out click some pics of the beautiful, but weirdly asymmetrical, bridge which connects Skye to the mainland. A few great sunset pics later and after a short walk in the isle I headed back to the hostel. My fingers and ears were hurting by then, the temperatures in the highlands would dip notoriously low and though Skye was not technically the highlands, the temperature was equally bad. My hostel room had 6 beds and all six of us were IT Indians and for dinner we went to a Indian hotel in the island. It was zzzzzzzzz time after some real spicy food but thanks to my cold I had a blocked and runny nose together and the bouts of sneezing through the night kept me well awake.
The entire second day was only to explore the isle. Haimish took us to the Old man of Storr, a fairy river, Portree town center and then to a hill for trekking. The trek lasted for 90 minutes and the views all along were breathtaking. From atop the hill, I could see a huge lake in the far distance and a tiny port and the roads and the striking landscape below. It was time to try out the Panorama mode in my camera to cover the sweeping landscape. And surprisingly the Panorama pics turned out very well.An old lady in a make-shift shop at the base of the hill was selling exotic burgers (there was bison, zebra and kangaroo burger), I settled for a cuppa of hot chocolate topped with loads of cream. Hot chocolate never tasted better J
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The last days itinerary held nothing exciting except for the Loch Ness (the river Ness flows into the Loch Ness). Loch Ness is the biggest lake in Scotland and is home to the famous Nessie (Loch Ness monster). We visited Haimish's village Dores, one of the banks of the Loch Ness. Haimish had some interesting theories on the Nessie, which were quite Darwinian (am sure Darwin rolled in his grave). We then went to the Culloden battlefield where the last battle between the Scots and English was fought. Ruthven barracks is where we had lunch and got some great views of the mountains.
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After a few more silly stops we stopped at Pitlochry, a small town which was made famous by Queen Victoria's constant visits and by her mention of it in her memoirs. We spent some time shopping Pitlochry (where I bought some shot glasses with a very obvious indication to do bottoms up) and set off to Edinburgh.
Other than the cheerful banter, Haimish also gave us an Easter egg filled with chocolate, a MacBackpackers T-shirt and a bit of the 12 years old Highlander's whisky. We reached Edinburgh at 6 on Sunday and the whole tour group split. It's a pity that nobody thought of getting a group photoL. The next day's tour of Edinburgh is not worth mentioning due to some unbloggable reasons as my blog has public access, but I did have a good time with the Free Edinburgh Tour. Ronnie, the tour guide for the free tour turned out to be Haimish's baap. At the end of the funny and informative tour I paid Ronnie a 10 pound tip on behalf of me, Ageesh and Siva.
The trip was all that I expected and more. However, I am kicking myself for a few things like:
- Wearing a Kilt and playing a bagpipe
- Not posing enough for the photos ;)
- Not going on the Ghost Tour in Edinburgh
- Not going on the Pub Crawl in Edinburgh (The crawl takes u to 5 pubs with drinks/shots in all pubs and a free entry to a disco for only 9 pounds)
- Not getting even a single group photo (because there was a very cute Chinese in the group, whom I called Pazhtha Pazham)
Thank you
Apparently, you don't need to do anything for a Brit to thank you. I was just standing by the door and the guy who passed by said thank you. I can understand the Brits thanking me for holding a door open, but for standing by the door? A lil too much.. Or it was probably for minding my own business J
Cheery start to the scotland trip
I am fighting hard to stay awake. It's after a really long time that I am sleepy at work and I am hoping that my blogging efforts will keep me up(and also fool people around to think that I am working). Last night had nothing to do with my present state, I did sleep well. It is the after-effects of taking Avil, a drug for common cold. Ever since I have been trying real hard to not fall asleep, if only this had been my Aditi India office I would have gone home and slept for a couple of hours. Who could have imagined that a tiny pill could produce such a drowsy effect that lasts all day long.
I normally avoid taking drugs for common cold, but with the Scotland trip tomorrow I just could not take the risk. I took an Avil as soon as the first symptom of cold - sore throat - set in. I do not want to be holding a kerchief to my nose all through the trip, but in spite of my best efforts I think I will be busy tending to my leaky nose insteading of enjoying the sights. Cold is only the 3rd thing going wrong with this Scotland trip: First, it was a blizzard in Scotland which has covered most places in snow and weather forecasts predict heavy rains this weekend(as cheerful as it gets). Second, I cut my finger while chopping some veggies and the cut it pretty deep and the cold in London is doing nothing to help heal. My left hand is almost useless due to my crippled opposable thumb.. Wonder how other animals survive. And finally it is the goddamn common cold.
Scotland, here I come.. all bruised and broken.. :) :) :)
I normally avoid taking drugs for common cold, but with the Scotland trip tomorrow I just could not take the risk. I took an Avil as soon as the first symptom of cold - sore throat - set in. I do not want to be holding a kerchief to my nose all through the trip, but in spite of my best efforts I think I will be busy tending to my leaky nose insteading of enjoying the sights. Cold is only the 3rd thing going wrong with this Scotland trip: First, it was a blizzard in Scotland which has covered most places in snow and weather forecasts predict heavy rains this weekend(as cheerful as it gets). Second, I cut my finger while chopping some veggies and the cut it pretty deep and the cold in London is doing nothing to help heal. My left hand is almost useless due to my crippled opposable thumb.. Wonder how other animals survive. And finally it is the goddamn common cold.
Scotland, here I come.. all bruised and broken.. :) :) :)
Of Mojitos and Stellas
Last Monday the whole of Aditi UK team was to meet up for dinner - not an ordinary affair because we were to have dinner with the CEO, Paddy. And 'whole of Aditi UK' boils down to 7-8 people. This was my second dinner with the CEO, the first one during my fresher days with the ex-CEO Mr. Pradeep Singh. The first dinner was in the pompous, overtly formal Bangalore club. This time round the venue was less imposing, it was the Zenzer retaurant in a golf course. Was I excited? You bet, it's not everyday that one sits down for a dinner with the CEO. But then in a company like Aditi it is not very uncommon either.
I had done my homework before I left for the venue, did not want to look like a fool when the menu was handed out and as soon as the menu was handed over, I said '1 Mojito, please'. Now, this is not a drink that I am familiar with(except for all the good things I heard about it from my friends) - but with the confidence of a seasoned cocktail drinker(is it even a word) I ordered. The rest of my homework went waste because the starters was pre-decided and there was no main-course to be had. Anyways, the drink arrived and all I could taste was mint and lime - where was the rum I wondered. But by the time I finished the drink I could feel the rum though i could not taste it :)
Well there is not much to write about the talks we had, except for how accounts were growing and company was doing well and how the mouse ran up the clock and so on.. It was not really as bad as that, it was quite interesting, but not the kind of nonsensical stuff that warrants an entry in my blog. After Mojito it was Stella who was my second mate for the night - a tall fizzy Stella. A litle more chit-chat, a few sips and my drink was over. And it was also time to leave, the CEO, VP and AM called it a night while the rest of us mere mortals stayed back for another glass of Stella. The Stellas were soon had and it was time to pay heed to the now throbbing-in-pain bladders.
1 Mojito and 2 Stellas were not enough for my mates and upon their insistence I decided to go to a pub for another drink. Braving the London cold and rain we walked on till we reached a pub in Harrow-on-the-hill. One Heineken and 30 mins of nonsense later we called it a day. The very eventful night ended with me throwing up and then sleeping like a baby, i say baby because I woke up as many times as a baby would do to refuel my dehydrated body. Puffy-eyed I went to work the next day and settled down to the monotony of work. Hic Hic..
I had done my homework before I left for the venue, did not want to look like a fool when the menu was handed out and as soon as the menu was handed over, I said '1 Mojito, please'. Now, this is not a drink that I am familiar with(except for all the good things I heard about it from my friends) - but with the confidence of a seasoned cocktail drinker(is it even a word) I ordered. The rest of my homework went waste because the starters was pre-decided and there was no main-course to be had. Anyways, the drink arrived and all I could taste was mint and lime - where was the rum I wondered. But by the time I finished the drink I could feel the rum though i could not taste it :)
Well there is not much to write about the talks we had, except for how accounts were growing and company was doing well and how the mouse ran up the clock and so on.. It was not really as bad as that, it was quite interesting, but not the kind of nonsensical stuff that warrants an entry in my blog. After Mojito it was Stella who was my second mate for the night - a tall fizzy Stella. A litle more chit-chat, a few sips and my drink was over. And it was also time to leave, the CEO, VP and AM called it a night while the rest of us mere mortals stayed back for another glass of Stella. The Stellas were soon had and it was time to pay heed to the now throbbing-in-pain bladders.
1 Mojito and 2 Stellas were not enough for my mates and upon their insistence I decided to go to a pub for another drink. Braving the London cold and rain we walked on till we reached a pub in Harrow-on-the-hill. One Heineken and 30 mins of nonsense later we called it a day. The very eventful night ended with me throwing up and then sleeping like a baby, i say baby because I woke up as many times as a baby would do to refuel my dehydrated body. Puffy-eyed I went to work the next day and settled down to the monotony of work. Hic Hic..
Court room drama and a view from the top
It was raining the whole day, not the torrential downpour that we see in India, just a constant drizzle. Though the intensity was lesser, the annoyance was equal or probably more. Everytime I went to central London the dark, ominous clouds loomed large. And as always this meant that my pics would again be dark and that I would again doubt my choice of camera.
This weekend was a planned weekend with tickets booked for the London Eye, London Dungeon, Madam Tussaud's and the Aquarium. The constant drizzle had already downed my spirits a little and the visit to the aquarium was enough to suck out all the enthu. The bloody aquarium, supposedly the biggest in Europe, was a major let-down. There were lots of fishes but I was expecting a Singapore-like aquarium where I could see all the fishes floating above me, but all I saw was blown-up version of the aquariums we have at home. A vegetarian that I am, I could not even fantasize eating the different kinds of fishes. So rather than feeling bad I started exploring the underwater mode in my camera and tried to replicate the settings in the manual mode. While the underwater mode produced some nice pics, the manual mode pics were total wash-outs. A couple of good pics though.
After the aqua visit me and Siva had some homemade peanut candy(not chikki, it was a different kind) and set off towards the London Dungeon to get spooked. The scare began quite before we entered the dungeon - the queue to enter the dungeon was so huge!!! We waited for almost an hour outside and the rain kept us company. If only the it was a lil darker I would have imagined Raveena and her tip-tip barsa paani dance. After the long wait we finally entered the dark dark dungeon and the scares began. Live actors jumping outta nowhere, gory stautes lined all along, red fluids dripping from the statues, the mirror mazes(never thought it would be so confusing inside a mirror maze).. As we went along, the darkest stories of London history were enacted by the actors, all wearing victorian clothes (all girls wore the corset) and their faces painted to make them look scary. At every turn it was a different story. The only thing predictable was a crazy girl in the group you shrieked every now and then. T'was like the silly girl was programmed to shriek at periodic intervals.
In one of the rooms there was court room scene which was very very funny. Three people from the group were picked and had trial.
Scene 1 (a little girl was on trial):
Actor: Whats your name?
Girl: Page
Actor: Thats a silly name for a girl. Anyways, your honour, this girl was caught in the park pinching.
Judge: Pinching?
Actor: Pinching, you know.. Like stealing wallets.
Judge: So you..
Actor: And also pinching the bums of honorable young men. Page, show us how you pinched.
Judge: So Page, do you enjoy pinching young mens bottoms?
Page: No..
Judge: How old are you?
Page: 11
Judge: Wait another 10 more years and then you will enjoy. Plead guilty and you shall be shot by a canon. Plead very guilty and you shall be shot from a canon and plead innocent and you shall be..
Page: Innocent.
Judge: Hang her.
Scene 2 (Daniel, a german):
Actor: This man was found having a relationship with animals.
Judge: Animals? Relationship? Of what nature?
Actor: You know...
Judge: Daniel, which animal was it with? A horse?
Daniel: NO.
Judge: So it was not even a stable relationship. Hang him. (I was laughing so hard by now, the poor germans could not read between the lines and found nothing funny)
Scene 3 (Stephen):
Judge: Stephen, where are you from.
Stephen: Taiwan.
Judge: Hang him.
It was such a witty trial. After a few more stories from London's dark history we were all hanged to death, with a noose on a screen in front of us there was a free fall and then we were declared dead.
After the thoughly entertaining dungeon we went past the Tower Bridge and went to the London eye. The best part of the day was about to begin. The sun was setting, the city was waking up. As we soared higher and higher, the view got more and more breathtaking. By the time we reached the top the sun had set and all the night lights were out in full splendour. So beautiful was the experience that I will always stay with me. Before I return back to India, I am sure I will go the London eye flight again. The constant drizzle meant that I could not click any great pics, definitely not outdoors, what with the rain tring to get into my lens. Still managed a few good pics from my London Eye flight.
Ended the day with a quick visit to the Leicester Square and Piccadilly circus(there is no circus really, circus means circle in Roman and hence technically the Piccadilly Circus is like our corporation circle). After 12 hours in the rain I got back home to my cosy bed and slept like a log… zzzzzz…
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