To all that is Brit

One of my favourite scenes in a movie is in Notting Hill, where Hugh Grant is in the bookstore where he meets Julia Roberts for the first time, and is browsing through the travel section. He picks up a book on Turkey and asks the shop owner for what he thinks about the book. Without as much as batting an eyelid, the owner of the store replies “Unlike the other travel writers, this one’s actually been to Turkey.” I must have gotten the words out of order, but I’m glad I remember the essence of the statement from that scene. In putting down my thoughts here, I feel like one of the ‘other writers’ that hasn’t been to the proverbial Turkey; Britain in this case.

I’m not sure where and why it started, quite like the Industrial Revolution, which also (you’ll see why) started in England. My guess is it might have been that evening in December when I was out bargaining with the street vendor to knock off a couple of bucks from the skull cap I was looking to buy. He wasn’t too keen on giving me a monetary kickback on the cap, but he threw in a freebie and said I could have a bandanna with the skull cap if I bought it at the quoted price. The last time I wore a bandanna was 5 years ago when we were skiing for 2 weeks in Solang Valley near Manali. I have the photograph to prove it, and it was the Union Jack bandanna. I asked the cap-seller on the street that wintry evening if he had a Union Jack bandanna, and as it turned out, he had one last piece remaining. It was a good deal for the buyer and the seller.

It isn’t unreasonable to assume that somebody wearing an ‘I love NY’ tee on the streets in Bangalore has in fact returned from NY (or has someone he/she knows who’s returned from NY, in which case it makes the person nothing short of a complete twat). But that same assumption doesn’t qualify for the Union Jack bandanna. An over-sized kerchief around your head bearing the colours of Great Britain doesn’t suggest anymore than deducing that the cost of onion, petrol and beer this week are all on an even keel. But I must have anticipated it that very moment, and since clarity lies only in hindsight, I am only now allowed to see that all this while I had been swooning to sparkles that could only be British. Allow me elaborate.

In a world that is so American as in what it eats, wears, reads and sings, it is easy to overlook what Britain gave us. I can only speak for myself here, and I will point out how British influences have been filing the good part of the day for an average guy like me. In the books category, I started off reading Jeremy Clarkson’s ‘The World according to Clarkson’. The book was a breezer, and it could as well have been an audio book for the voice of Clarkson was distinct as it is on television. I’m not sure if it was chance, or divine order, but the next book was Bill Bryson’s 'Notes from a Small Island'. Now, I haven’t read any other travel book on Britain, but I can be forgiven in assuming that none other gets better than Bryson’s work. As the critical acclaim on the cover says that there is as much of Bryson in the book as there is of Britain itself. I have now moved on to another Bryson hit, 'Down Under' about his travel through Australia, which for the record is taken as Britain’s cousin. There’s just no getting away.

The shows I was playing on my computer were quintessentially Brit. There was the world’s best TV show currently, Top Gear (of course), and if you haven’t already I would urge you to catch their Middle East special that came out during Christmas. For me, personally, TG is a travel, fun and adventure show where the occasional car breaks out. But then, you haven’t gotten your head around British Television if you haven’t watched Yes Minister and Yes Prime Minister. I had always intended to watch both these shows, but it had remained there on my to-do-sometime-in-the-future-list; like reading the Mahabartha and Ramayana. I had just never gotten around to it. But then the timing was right, and I settled in my head once and for all the debate about the greatest sitcom ever made. Meanwhile, I got a category ‘A’ recommendation to watch 'The Office'. I inadvertently ended up downloading 'Office' which is the original British series after which the American 'The Office' is made. Coincidence? Maybe not.

It would be criminal to leave out the music playing on my i-pod these last couple of days. I find it more than a mere chance that they have been The Who, Beatles, Dire Straits and U2 (Irish can count as UK). I spent my Sunday watching the rockumentary 'Flight 666' about the heavy-metal band Iron Maiden. What blokes in the band! From the first minute, the hair at the back your neck is standing straight, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

I turned on the cable television to find that BBC Entertainment was now being aired, which means more awesome shows. I spent considerable time at the British Library last week looking for a book they didn’t have but instead ended up reading Jeeves. I paced the aisles at Marks and Spencer waiting on a friend as she was let loose on the sale they had going there. The weather in Bangalore this winter was most certainly Brit, what with cloudy overcast skies and cold mornings. The cricket was great. The coffee was hot. The beer flowed freely. In short, this could just as well have been Britain, except that it wasn’t.

A two months' road-trip through England is on my bucket-list. But given the glimpse of England I have witnessed right here at home, I feel safe in saying that the feeling of walking through customs at Heathrow and into the warm London summer morning when the day comes, is going to be almost an anti-climax.

Surely, there must be another way of putting it.

It took three days of loneliness and solitude away from the madness of the city to bring me back to terms with what has been happening around me. We just inaugurated the largest nanofabrication research facility in India in the academic setting on the 5th of Jan 2011 at IISc Bangalore, and I’ve lost many nights of sleep in the walk up to it. But all-in-all it’s a proud moment for all of us involved in it, and certainly a landmark event that should set the pace for India’s foray into nano-scale R&D over the next decade.

I escaped to the some-what lonely beaches of Gokharna, a getaway in coastal Karnataka about 12 hours drive from the capital Bangalore. I spent the good part of my vacation lying in a hammock, drinking beer and reading Bill Bryson’s Notes from a Small Island. Short walks, morning pranayam and conversations with strangers happened too, though not necessarily in that order. And then I got back home, because I just couldn’t wait to show up at work on Monday morning. But this post (after a break of some 5 odd months; apologies (not like anyone cares)) comes on a totally unrelated subject, the signs for which have been jumping at me from all corners.

This one’s about… I don’t really have a smart phrase/word that will capture the whole idea, but let’s just say it’s about phrases/words that leave you a bit confused than you initially were. Let me take an example here to get started. I was traveling in a bus only recently, and you see these advertisement hoardings. I saw one, and for the life of me I can’t remember where this was, or what the ad was for. But I did take the catch line away with me and that’s enough fodder for my case. The line for this product read ‘Changing rules. Changing lives’. Right, I’m sure you’ve heard a similar version of that a zillion times before, as have I. But for kicks, and also because my i-pod had run out of battery and I wasn’t exactly sharing my seat with a pretty 20-something that I was sketching my opening lines, I began to replay what I had just read: Changing rules. Changing lives.

Let us take the first part i.e. ‘Changing rules’. What do these two words mean? Well, for one it could mean that the act of ‘changing’ (goodness knows what!) was one that commanded a superlative compliment- Changing rules! Like you would say Iron Maiden rules, or the sight from the mountain top rules, implying that there is no comparison, because the object in question is by far superior to anything else comparable to it. Hence, by that equation, changing rules. The other meaning is the obvious one implying the change of rules, like the change of weather, or a change of clothes. The third meaning of this phrase could be one to point the change of power or authority, as in the ‘the rule of such-and-such dynasty’. Therefore ‘Changing rules, changing lives’; well, not necessarily. You might think that I’m merely trying hard here to show you other cases similar to ‘time flies like an arrow’. Probably, yes!

Only this evening, I was driving down near Palace Grounds and like always they’ve got these exhibitions going. The organizers had a giant board put out at the entrance that announced ‘Old Hindi film songs and food mela’. Now you must help me here. Like many others, I have trouble using ‘and’ in its right place. But I spotted this one, aha! What was the mela about afterall? Take your pick:

a) Old Hindi film songs (cds, records whatever) + food (food in general)
b) Old Hindi film songs + Old Hindi film food (?)
c) Old Hindi film songs + Old Hindi food (?!)
d) Old Hindi film songs + Old food (doctor’s fee included in the entrance ticket).

I haven’t slept well last night in the bus from Gokharna to Bangalore. We had some gear box problems, and came to a halt in the middle of a forest. And somehow, just somehow, the driver managed to fix the issue temporarily till we got a mechanic to fix it for good at the nearest town 40 kilometers away. And that was at 3:30 a.m. So, I will have to end this here since my eyes are sagging like Preity Zinta’s face in the IPL auctions earlier today. But I will leave you with this thought, and I’ve said this earlier on Facebook as well: if 'thrifty' refers to someone who's diligent with the his/her money, how come 'spendthrift' means exactly the opposite?

Srinagar

I wrote this account based on my trip to the Kashmir valley in April 2010, before recent violence broke out.

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Our cabbie reckons we ought to visit Chashmashahi, the Mughal Garden. We walk up the steep flight of stairs to be greeted by a pleasant view of lush greenery of the hills, the well manicured lawns and a flowing stream of water. Kids here speak the language they grew up hearing; we chance up on two young boys splashing water at each other near the fountain. One is saying to the other “Hamare beech mein abhi encounter hoga.” (There’s going to be an encounter between us now).

A Shikara in Dal Lake.

From the minute you land in Srinagar, capital of the picturesque Kashmir valley, you smell hope all around. The people here are clearly waking up to life after spending years in fear and only a dead-end in sight. The roads are well kept, life moves at the pace of any large town and the place in inundated with ad-boards of mobile phone service providers and private airlines announcing connectivity to all the major cities in the country. Security forces like the CRPF, State Police, and the Army are stationed at every second turning on the road. But we are assured by Mr. Billal, our guide, that this place is safe. Our home for the next couple of days is going to be on a boat-house in Dal Lake. The lake in its sheer existence is a microcosm in itself. Kids are born, families are raised and entire life times are spent on Dal Lake for thousands of people. There are close to two-thousand house boats in the lake, many of which are lodging facilities for tourists. They usually have well decorated interiors, and complete with all amenities. Shikaras ferry you back and forth to land. One can see floating markets, flower shops, and photographers all over the place.

Billal talks about places like Kargil and Drass in the same breath as someone living in Bangalore would say of Mysore. “It’s just a drive down”, you know what I mean. In the late nineties, these places were battlefields that made the country hold on to its breath and pray for the safe return of its soldiers. Today, the situation is a bit different. You can hop into a car and drive the distance to Kargil, en route to Leh from Srinagar. As Billai explains, Kargil is also the focal point for some of the best treks in the region, the Zanskar route being the most popular. As it turns out, it takes a 15 member back up crew providing supplies for a 2 member trek party on the 3 weeks Zanskar trek through the Karakoram Range.

We spend a day in the beautiful hill station of Gulmarg. You get around the place on mules that can be extremely annoying and the rides are grossly over-priced. But there’s really no other choice. Army trucks keep whizzing past our car on the way back from Gulmarg to Srinagar. As you re-enter the city, you can see posters of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the current president of Iran. Our driver is vary to take us close to Lal Chowk, the central part of town where the Secretariat is housed. Most violence in the city usually breaks out here, and hence news channels have their vans stationed at the square all the time.

Cable car rides in Gulmarg subject to frequent power cuts.

 

 

 

Back in the comfort of out boat-house, I get talking to Billal over a cup of khava, the traditional Kashmiri tea. Here’s a well traveled guy with good knowledge of the history, geography and politics of the place. Azad Kashmir (or POK) and the Kasmir valley on the Indian side are the same in terms of the composition of the people, their tastes and lifestyles. “It’s just like East and West Germany; or North and South Korea”, he explains. There are families separated by the border hoping to reach out and reunite someday.”

“They don’t want the people. They just want land”, he says referring to the games Pakistan is playing. He explains how the tourism industry died for many years, and people had to sell off ornaments to make a living. Things are looking better in the last 4 to 5 years, and the Kashmiris just want to keep it going that way without looking back. This is one possible reason why tips are relatively higher here than in other places.

Everyone must do themselves a favour and visit the Kashmir valley at some point of time. The place is way too rich to let it pass.

Mr. Billal organizes city tours and treks in and around Srinagar, and in the other parts of the region.

Did we get it right?

Sagar and I made the dreadful mistake of crossing an unmanned railway track at a local train station in Mumbai a couple of years ago. What a mistake. We were greeted by the railway police in normal clothes on the opposite platform. They lined us (along-with twenty others who made this stupid mistake) and took us into the station to have a ‘discussion’ with us, I guess. They kept us all in one room. The others were mostly day laborers, and being unaware of the consequences, had unassumingly walked across the tracks. A couple of minutes later, a constable came in and announced that each person would be taken into the inspector’s room where they would have to choose between spending 24 hours in jail, or paying Rs. 1500 as fine. Sagar immediately told me that till we left the station, the two of us would talk only in English or Kannada, and pretend to not know Hindi or Marathi. Guess what? That worked! The top cop gave us an earful, saw our college IDs and let us go.

Only yesterday, I was riding around my Hayabusa and the front number plate literally broke off and came out while I was on the road. I stopped, put the broken piece of metal in my bag and continued to ride. I was out looking for the first place where they make number plates. As rotten as luck can get, a few turns later at a signal, a cop spotted my bike sans the number plate, and as they so often do, he promptly walked up, turned off my gaddi and confiscated the key. So when a cop catches you, what do you do? Whatever you do, pretend like you don’t know the local language. If that ideology worked with the cops in Mumbai, then logically it should work with the cops in Bangalore too, I thought. How far from the truth was that? I rattled and rambled on in English and Top Cop wouldn’t reduce the fine by a rupee. After close to five minutes of this nonsense, I decided to give Sagar’s theory a rest and started off in Kannada. Result: Fine amount cut in half, Top Cop says he acknowledges that the number plate breaking off was unfortunate, and lets me know that his daughter is in eight semester of engineering at ABC College (don't ask why).

The approaches were of opposite nature in the above events, both leading to a desirable result. Which then is a better approach? You can most surely understand how knowing a language can help get your work done faster and in many cases as in mine, it can mean money in your pocket. But not knowing a language can sometimes cause sympathy and end up in a positive result as well.I was telling a friend recently about taking up Dutch classes. After a brief discussion, we came to a consensus that a foreign language class could be expensive. So we said, “Junk it.”

If Bachi Karkaria were to write about this fact- “How much does it cost to learn a language?” she probably would have concluded her article with:

Alec Smart said: “I know how much it costs to learn a language, but I sure don’t know how much it costs not to learn the language.”

When Sting came to town

If you like 60’s and 70’s rock, the place to visit is a popular corner in Kathmandu called Thamel. Kathmandu is a place of several shades. The city is an old one but is fairly young in terms of development. The kingdom of Nepal as such sees a vibrant mix of Hinduism and Buddhism. You could think of it as the place where India meets China, since the heavy influence of both these countries is very evident all over. But the city of Kathmandu retains the air of an ancient capital, untouched by the British, as it can be experienced when you go to Patan, the old part of the city. At the same time, being very active on the tourist radar, it’s a great place to spend a few days and meet new people from many different countries.

During my stay here for close to ten days, Pratik and I went down to Thamel almost every other evening. The place is abuzz with pubs, most of which have bands playing some of the best music from the golden age of Rock. As you walk through the narrow and crowded lanes of this area, it’s often hard to separate the beats of Seven Nation Army from Send me an angle coming from adjacent joints. The music is here and there and everywhere. This is where the nightlife of the city unfolds. No place in India comes even remotely close to the ambiance Thamel carries.

Though you get Carlsberg and Tuborg at most of the sit-ins, the beer to try here is the locally brewed Gorkha beer. You might begin to question the authenticity of Budweiser as the king of beers. In the midst of music, beer, fries and talks we got chatting up about the several hikes around the city. In due course, my friend was charting out the route to Lhasa in Tibet from Kathmandu on a paper napkin; and how this course can be done on an Enfield. But as the night came to a close and we were driving back, he told me the story of a man.

The story of a man called Sting. The singer. Sting was in Kathmandu a couple of years ago. He had checked into one of the hotels in the city under a pseudonym. He came into the hotel with a scarf around his head, and heavy stubble. He wasn’t in the city to perform. Later that evening, Sting went into one of the pubs and sat unassumingly in a corner sipping his bottle of beer and listening to the band play. A few songs into the evening, the band began to play Every breath you take. Sting sat and listened to his song being played. Not one person but Sting himself was aware that the guy who wrote this song many years ago was in the audience.

As the story goes, Sting took off his headgear and made his way to the stage as the band finished playing the song. He borrowed the guitar from the lead guitarist and went on to replay Every breath you take. He was doing this because the guitarist had apparently got some notes wrong, and Sting was correcting him. Before long, the whole place knew who the visitor was. In a couple of minutes, the entire press of Kathmandu had flocked on the road. And Sting gave interviews.

A Perfect Circle

11-11-07, 5:45 p.m.

"For the last two hours, one thing has been constant on this desktop. That bearded mo'fucker on the steps there; yeah, he's more jobless than us."

I turn around and through the glass wall I see this guy on the flight of black stairs that connects The Mall to the Ridge.I can see him. He's got his hands on his head and his knees are joined. His head is bowed and is oscillating with a time period just sufficient to cover 27 human footsteps. And from where I'm seated, I can say that his cap is more to conceal the stares rather than to keep his hair in place.

"But he's jobless, dude. I'm writing. You're playing the guitar.He's holding his head."

"I'm dedicating this song to him. Let it be."

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be

Words of Wisdom: There are two ways to see the world go by. One requires you to check in and out of airports, hail taxis, ride buses, walk where wheels can't tread, cycle around streets that have no name and talk to people stranger than yourself. And here's the other: Sit down by the window side table in Barista Coffee House on the Mall and do nothing besides sipping on a hot latte and watch city beautiful (and I believe that 'beautiful' describes the people living here) as she walks past you.

Twenty four hours earlier
"Your telling me that this store crushed the competition?" Pratik asks looking at Rohit 'Good Host' Kondal.

And we burst out laughing.

"Imagine the competition in that case.", I'm quick to dish out my smart arse comment hoping to put the situation from Funny Gear 3 to Funny Gear 4.

We oscillate The Mall (Solan) a couple of times. No bro, this ain't anything like her cousin Shimla. But yes, every smackin' 'ol ATM is here, trust me.

I'm hungry. I can eat a whole Jumbo Burger. We walk into 7's Cafe. And this is when it dawned on me: this is the best interiors of a restaurant I've seen in the hill state. Probably the first floor at Balajees in Shimla compares distantly.And then maybe the bar at HHH ;).

We order. I didn't, they did.And 15 minutes later, it dawned on me again that I hadn't tasted tastier butter naans before.

She's wearing a pink top and a lovely black pant. I say 'lovely' because it tells me she's 30. But her company suggests she's 40 (I do think of Demi Moore). And as she throws her hair aside and glances towards my table, I figure it all out. She's 20.

We pay the chek. I have eye-balled her one too many times to walk away under a pretence of her absence. I go over and say it all in one breath - "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I think you have great eyes."

She mouths a thank you in between a smile.I flash a thumbs up and send her out of my life by walking away.

That night, we smoked a vanilla cigars over some fine Raffles Whiskey; the English way.


Five hours earlier

Every bus that stops is crowded.

"I aint making a two and a half hours journey to Chandigrah on my feet. I'd rather do it on my arse. And I say you take my word." Some things are best thrust up on others for their own good.

Pratik starts the day on two shots of whiskey. I prefer the conventional soap and hot water.

Ten minutes later, we cross the road. Literally. We decide to head back to Shimla. The chiks are better there, it seems. And besides that, what to do in Chandigarh anyways?


11-11-07, 5:45 p.m.

We pay up and walk out into the cold winter evening. We know why we made this trip. One person was to be healed. And the other guy was running out of ideas for his blog.

We got what we wanted, and so did you.

Travelling heals.