Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts

Tuesday, 27 May 2014

15 Things I Miss About the UK

I was sure I’d miss the UK the moment I left it. One week in at my sunny and stunningly beautiful new home across the pond, I knew it for a fact – and now almost half a year later I still miss Old Blighty. Of course most of what I miss has to do with my friends and the life I had built over my 4 years there. But my daily interactions with the outside world have made me realise that I miss quite a few things about the country that has given the world Wodehouse, wickets and whinging. As someone with a natural aversion to lists, here is a list of the 15 things I miss most about the UK, in no particular order. Feel free to rub it in by suggesting quirks, habits or characteristics I have missed.

1. English

I currently live in California where everyone speaks Spanish or American. The cliche that the Americans and the English are ‘differentiated by a common language’ is visibly true here and I miss the language I have grown up with as an Indian. It has been ages since I picked up a Wodehouse book but he remains the first author I look for when judging the quality of a new library. To be fair, many English words I did not know until I moved to England and in many ways these are what I miss the most. Crisps, Faff, Waffle, Whinge, Suss, Tosh, Bollocks, Cheers (a word as ubiquitous as Bitte, in German) are just some examples. Gosh it felt good to say those out aloud! I also miss bin-bags. An equivalent word for these doesn’t exist in the land of trash-cans. And not just that. The rich vocabulary of swear words, the subtle and overt humour, self-deprecation, the love of puns… the list is endless. My next item on the list is closely related to this one but is something that is so apparent I felt it deserves a special mention.

2. The letter ‘u’

Humour, colour, vigour, rigour, succour, fervour.  To this under-appreciated letter, I say - I dread the day I’ll forget u! And on a similar note, I’ll throw in defence, offence, sceptic, practice, inflammable and the classic - aluminium.

3. Pubs

What better motivation can a man have for walking over multiple hills with muddy shoes, tired legs and a wet raincoat than the prospect of arriving at a friendly local that opens just for his group of tired hill-walkers, with a log fire and tall, cold pints of local ale, while the weather outside continues to be grey, wet and an excellent topic for conversation? Our hill-walking society was after all also known as the extreme pub-crawl society.And not to forget, pub quizzes. Monday evenings aren’t half as entertaining without the mandatory underwhelming but fun pub quiz!

4. Public Transport

In California there is one train line along the coast – admittedly stunningly beautiful – that goes from San Diego to San Franciso which is the greatest public transport achievement in this state, one of the most friendly for public transport in the US. The US of A simply does not do public transport to the extent that the UK does. To be fair, the UK is helped greatly by the fact that it is 1/30th the size of this humungous landmass. Still – and despite its exorbitant fares and underwhelming efficiency – I miss National Rail. At the very least I’d have something to whinge about!

5. Pancake Day

I don’t mind that the Americans smile at the drop of a hat and don’t believe in Easter holidays but I cannot excuse their total ignorance of Pancake day. I refuse to allow the only day that celebrates my favourite dish (who cannot like pancakes?!) to be lost in a marketing driven random-relative-day oblivion. Pancake day – you shall not be forgotten!

6. Grumpiness

Can’t have it all good, now can we? I sorely miss the grumpiness that goes with grey weather – My smile-muscles feel over-worked for no reason. By nature I am confused by unwarranted cheerfulness and as I am fast finding out, I am in the world’s worst place for a natural grump. Ah well, I’ll keep calm and smile on for as long as I can!

7. Tea

Though grown anywhere but in the UK the English love for the stuff is legendary. And as I realise in this uncivilised land of iced-coffee and coke drinkers it is black tea that is sorely missed. I’ve given up being a reverse-snob and hankering after PG Tips. Earl Grey or English Breakfast would do just fine thank you very much. As long as it’s black and I can choose whether to add a dash of milk to it.

8. The Weather

Yes OED, I am aware every place on earth has its own weather. But I still assert that no other country in the world lays claim to the weather as a topic of conversation, discussion and debate quite like the UK. I say this especially since conversations about the weather in the UK are not limited to the English. Anyone staying anywhere in the UK will inevitably start relying on his/her knowledge of the local weather systems for anything from deciding what to wear to a filler in an awkward conversation. No other country in the world, I am willing to bet, has companies encouraging weather-wise consumers to bet on the ‘chance of rain tomorrow’ for a free packet of crisps!

9. Charity Shops

Gosh, I almost forgot to mention these uniquely British and endlessly delightful dives. I haven’t seen charity shops anywhere else in the world (except for one chain in Norway, but that doesn’t come close). A charity shop is a treasure hunt venue, a haven of randomness, a Pound-land and a good cause all rolled into one. As someone who ordinarily can’t stand shopping I cannot fathom why there aren’t more of them!

10. Queues

While the English cannot lay sole claim to this polite habit they definitely are alone in the efficiency and severity with which it is practised. Nowhere else have I seen a two-person queue. And nowhere else have I seen the common sense practice of forming a common queue for multiple counters. I don’t get it – why isn’t this a universal standard?!

11. The Food

OK, I am sure this will raise a few eyebrows. The national food for vegetarians in England is curry, followed closely by pizza. But I am realising, the longer I am away that there are items I’d eat in England that I definitely miss. Sticky toffee pudding, bread-and-butter pudding, pies and gravy, hash browns and – this is certainly not English, but I am yet to find it/someone who knows about it here  – Halloumi. Oh, and to all my friends who promised me that the US is the land of the curly fries I regularly killed my heart with at uni – I am still to see any. Thank heaven these people know of cheddar!

12. The BBC

Not always appreciated in the UK, the BBC still brought me the best of English humour, drama and documentary. Black Adder, Yes Minister, Have I Got News For You, Mock the Week, Live at the Apollo, Sherlock, Silk and David Attenborough are a few examples. Yes, I can VPN into BBC Iplayer in today’s connected world, but I still miss the luxury of having Paul Merton’s face appear on TV when I switch it on (Apologies to the Dr. Who fans – I am not yet fully English).

13. Brevity

I learnt English in India and brevity in England. It is, in my opinion, something unique to the English. The contrast here in the US is stark. The Americans are like the Italians of the English-speaking world. Take the following example: A train driver in England announcing a delay would say (grumpily):

“We’re waiting for a train to pass us and may be here for 10 minutes. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

In the US – at least on the one train-line I’ve been on the extra-cheerful announcement would go thus:

“Hey folks, our train’s been held up at a signal, and we are waiting for the oncoming train, which is the south-bound, to pass us. They have been delayed by 10 minutes, and as I said, we will have to wait for them, and so, we’ll be held up here for like 10 minutes. In the meanwhile, enjoy the view, and just to remind you – the cafe is open and serving drinks, so feel free to come here and buy food and drinks while we’re waiting. Thank you.”

14. Cathedrals

My favourite city in England and favourite get-away from PhD woes in Southampton was Salisbury. Less fancy than Winchester – and arguably less pretty on the whole – but what drove me there repeatedly was its cathedral. A magnificently long and high structure with a large lawn and a quaint Cathedral Close, it never failed to give me peace of mind. And I miss that. I miss being in a country where having a cathedral used to be necessary for becoming a city. The cathedral also figures in Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth – a great book I would recommend to anyone even remotely interested in cathedrals or in that corner of the world. Why have we stopped building such wonders?!

15. Marmite

As the last item (for now) on my list I’ve added the most “English” thing I know of. You could not be more English than if you were a sandwich with a thin layer of Marmite on butter. But who am I kidding - I can’t stand the stuff. Maybe next time.

Sunday, 14 April 2013

Tantalising TN

A whistle-stop tour of Tamil Nadu in pictures to commemorate Tamil New Years Day 2013 and this varied, beautiful and fascinating state that is my home!

I’ll start this off with a classic sunrise-at-the-beach in the capital, Chennai – India’s 4th largest city with a population of 4.6 million.

Bessie Beach

A quick stop at the historic town of Mylapore to admire the Gopuram (gate) (and the traffic!) of the 2000 year old Kapaleeshwarar Temple, before we head south along the Coromandel Coast…

Mylapore Temple

A few hours drive south along the exhilarating East Coast Road, we reach the relatively younger (400 years) scene of Danish trade with the Tamil kingdoms – the fort and trading town of Tranquebar. The Danes were quite serious about protecting their trade interests from other marauding Europeans – the Dutch, French, Portugese and English…all of whom left their mark on this coastline!

Tranquebar Danish Fort

Driving on, half-way down the Coromandel Coast, we reach a fabled point, the apex of the Cauvery River Delta – Point Calimere. There is a tranquil, beautiful bird and deer sanctuary, best visited in the winter months…

Point Calimere

Still heading south, we now branch off the coast and explore the green and fertile Cauvery delta regions – the Cauvery is Tamil Nadu’s life-giver, making the state India’s chief producer of rice.

Paddy field, Cauvery Delta

We head back to the coast for a quick stop at the historic island temple town of Rameswaram, and pay obeisance to the monkey-god Hanuman at Dhanushkodi, where Rama returned victorious with his queen Sita, after defeating the demon king of Lanka. There used to be a railway line here connecting India and Sri Lanka that got destroyed in a freak storm in the 1960s.

Dhanushkodi Hanuman

So much to explore! Having seen much of the coast, we take a train to to the north-western corner of the state, and 8000 feet up to the hill-resort of Ooty…a different world altogether!

Ooty viewpoint

The city of Ooty and the surrounding hill-side towns all survive on tea grown in the breath-taking tea plantations that cover the slopes here.

Nilgiri Tea slopes

For our final stop we head to the Mudumalai wildlife sanctuary, and to our luck see some wild elephants!

Asian elephant

Time to hit the road again and head back to Chennai and all its noise, life and confusion!

Traffic

Sunday, 7 April 2013

Sunlit England

 

England, sun-shine and a telephoto lens – a wonderful combination! Here are some results from a lovely walk near Romsey with some lovely people…

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Friday, 15 February 2013

The Great Indian Tatkal Experience

Act 1

7.15 AM. The parrots and cuckoos had started calling, and the morning newspaper had just landed on our driveway, but the house was still slumbering. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and cursed, “Pick up, you lazy ass!” I waited six rings, put the phone down and went into the kitchen for coffee prepared by woken-solely-for-this-purpose-mum. Typically, my phone rang, out of earshot, and I missed my friend’s call. After playing cellular hide-and-seek for a wasted 10 mins we finally got to one another.


Me: Dude, you do realise we don’t have tickets for our Chennai-Nagpur train tomorrow?

VK: Of course. Tatkal only, no option.

Hm. Should we postpone? … Actually, no, scratch that. Fine. Tatkal. The window is 8-10 right?

Yeah. Cool, I’ll come over to yours at 8, I’ll bring my laptop as well – you have wi-fi right? We will need at least two log-ins to get the tickets.

Ahem… dai, this is why I called at 7.15! I told you yesterday – no internet at home, broadband’s down. I’ll bring my laptop to your place, that ok?

Nope.

Eh?? Wtf? Why not? No… don’t tell me….

Yep. Sorry. Power-cut times at my place are 8-10 this week… Hold on, I got it – dude, we’ll go to your dad’s office. You have two computers and printer, and all that. Sorted.

Gaaaahhhh…nope. Dad’s office is in the same zone as you – 8-10, no power. Haha. I would laugh if this weren’t true.

Nice. Kinda screwed. Ok, internet parlour.

Yes – only option. Aiyo, been ages since I used one! I think there’s one nearby, though it may not be open this early. We might have to scout. Listen – I’ll get my bike, and pick you up in 10 minutes at the end of my street.

15 minutes.

Machan – its 7.30 now. By the time we find a parlour and log-in, it will be 8. We need to be in the tatkal booking system at 8. Cya in 10, bye.

Fine, fine…goodness! Cya.

Act 2

7.45AM. I dodged early morning joggers, cyclists, cows, proud Tata Nanos and water tankers, with VK riding pillion, looking out  for an internet cafe. My hunch about the first one was right – it was closed. In fact, very permanently closed. VK said he knew one near our ice-cream/chat shop guy, but we didn’t find any there. We drove through the streets behind the temple, but no luck there either. We finally found a shopping mall on the main road and were directed to an internet parlour. Yay!

Me: Hahaha, ahhh, hilarious.

VK: Crazy fellow, what’s up?... Oh.

Hehehehe, the irony! A candle-lit, power-less, internet parlour. We are soooo screwed! Goodbye holiday plans!

Machan, chill, let’s find out.

VK (to a forlorn, sleepy looking man who looked every inch the owner of an internet parlour facing a power-cut): Excuse me, when does the power come back on?

Internet guy: 8 am.

VK: Phew! Thank goodness! It’s…7.52 now.

Me: Good, I need sustenance. 8 minutes – there’s a chai-wala next door.

5 minutes, a chai and a banana later…

Dude – we better go – there’s a queue building to get into that parlour!

Gosh, looks like all of Kilpauk has descended here.

Yeah – it is tatkal time after all!

Act 3

With trepidation we join the ridiculously long queue to get into that tiny parlour. We look around, spot two free PC’s and grab our seats. One, in a corner, barely has place for me to stand, but what the hell, needs must, and all that. Sigh of relief. We boot up our computers, and fish out our IRCTC (online Indian railway reservation) log-in IDs and details.


VK: You have a credit card, right?

Me: Yeah, yeah… borrowed dad’s  – first let’s get into the IRCTC system.

Me: Yes! Woohoo!

VK: Booked??

Haha, very funny. But I have logged in, and selecting trains. You?

Not good. My… computer….just crashed.

Whaaaa? Crap, I’ve been logged out. Must be the whole of India booking tatkal tickets right now. Gaaahh.

Random Guy (sitting next to me): Hi. You are booking tatkal as well?

Me (glaring at potential competition): Yes. Where are you going?

Random Guy: Bangalore. You?

Me: Ah good. Nagpur. Have you logged in?

Random Guy: Yeah… ive even selected my train, but the page is stuck on the user details form.

Me: Ahhh. You’re ahead of us! VK – we need to catch up.

VK: Yeah, yeah. My computer’s still booting up. Give me the passenger details, meanwhile.

10 minutes of silence punctuated by mouse-clicks, frantic keyboard taps and frustrated sighs.

Random Guy: Damn. I got to the payment page, entered my card details, and it crashed!

Me: The computer?

Random Guy: No, no, the internet. Have to log in again now. Torture. You? Any luck?

Me: Hmm, I keep getting stuck on the user form details. Its already 8.20, I don’t even think there’ll be any tickets left after 8.30.

VK: Boo, yeah! Sid, credit card, quick! Grand Trunk Express okay with you?

Me: Dude! Yeah! Hell, I’ll be happy if we can get there sitting on the roof. Stud! You got it? Here, take card, go, go go!

VK: Passenger details, check. Card details, check. Proceed to payment. HDFC Gateway….waiting…not looking good…yeah! Done, and done! Four berths – Grand Trunk Express, tomorrow evening 19.30, booked…. I. Am. The. Man.

Me: Awesomeness! Yeah! (to Random Guy) Any luck, mate?

Random Guy: What, you guys got your tickets? Man, no, I had to start all over again. Bangalore sector is the worst.

Me: Yeah – Bangalore is terrible. Keep trying!

VK and I make a victorious exit and head straight to the nearest restaurant for a well-earned breakfast of coffee and masala dosa. We had just emerged victorious from a trial that millions of Indians go through everyday, a trial where victory is by no means guaranteed, and on which holidays, businesses and journeys depend – the Great Indian Tatkal Experience.

Friday, 7 March 2008

A Windswept Piece of Land


Readers of this blog - if such a class of people does exist - You're lucky! :-D

Here's my latest, a write-up on my trip to Auschwitz-Birkenau in Poland. A statutory warning: some descriptions may be quite graphic, though in this case, I could not help that!

Read on...

A Windswept Piece of Land

The bus was jam-packed, filled with tourists of all imaginable colours, sizes and shapes, chattering away merrily as they rode the three kilometres to this remote piece of land in the very heart of Europe…a piece of land with innumerable stories to tell.

“Here we are, please form groups of six or seven and follow your tour guides. The tour will last approximately half an hour. This place is a historic heritage site. We request you to please therefore, observe the rules posted. Photography is not permitted inside the cabins. The bus will leave from here in 45 minutes, so, at 16:00 hrs. Make sure you are not…..”

By this time, all conversation had died down and though the well trained guide finished her speech, she had lost her audience – lost it to that white ice-covered, windy piece of land and its frost laden pine trees that shouted out, for anyone who would care to listen, one of the most compelling tales ever told.

We trooped in through the main gates, not at all prepared for what we would experience. I felt a shiver run down my spine and a lead ball settle in my stomach at the sight of those tracks. Three sets of rail tracks led straight from the entrance right through the fenced-off area to where the chambers had once stood – the biggest of World War II, the gas chambers of Auschwitz-Birkenau, the world’s largest concentration camp.

The pictures came unbidden playing like a movie reel inside the head, with the slightly hushed voice of the guide providing a cruelly graphic narrative as past atrocities came alive and the very sanctity of the human mind was called into question. I saw the prisoners being bundled out of the coal-carts, bewildered and confused, clutching their possessions as they looked around for their promised accommodation. Nothing would have met their eyes but the two bleak buildings, meant for them, built by their predecessors. More than half of the prisoners were then marched into a huge hall where they were asked to undress, leave their belongings and step into a shower room for “desanitisation.” Little did they know that those innocent looking shower heads were designed not for water, but for lethal gas that in the space of a few breaths took their very lives away - a punishment for having been born into a certain community.

The ground crunched under our shoes as we walked around, as we started realizing how lucky we were, simply, to be alive. The wind picked up, howling through the rows of low brick-cabins in the adjacent complex, leaving our hands and feet benumbed by the piercing cold, our minds benumbed by a horrific past relived. Cameras clicked away mechanically as the more sturdy of us filed the moment away in digital memories. We entered the huts where the prisoners were kept…and this part of the story was no better.

Each brick in these huts was put in place by the prisoners themselves. Each hut housing around 600 to 800, the prisoners found themselves sharing a single 2ft by 6ft bed with 6 others. A single row of toilets ran across the middle, serving all 800 and the walls and the floors, till today, bear the stains of innumerable struggles as a million incarcerated souls fought over basic needs that we now consider our birth-rights. Our tour guide then presented to us an irony so grim it was an effort to even imagine it;
The most coveted job in the camp was the cleaning of those choked, overflowing toilets. The soldiers in charge of picking prisoners for execution would reportedly not go anywhere near these people filthy as they were and thus this was the only job that offered a guarantee against execution. The full horror of the situation hit us like a sledgehammer and our stomachs churned at the thought of what the world had allowed to happen.

We walked out in a daze, by now too nauseated by what we had seen to absorb anything else. The guide, seasoned as she was, had a quaver in her voice as she pointed out the tower over the entrance from where soldiers would snipe at unsuspecting prisoners…for sport. What’s more, these prisoners were made to work in driving winds and snow and sub-zero temperatures wearing a single shirt and trousers, 12 hours a day, with nothing to go back to-no warm home, no family, no soft bed-nothing but a cold, dank hell-hole of a cabin.

As we left those fences behind, whatever else we may have felt in our lives, on this day we felt lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to be living in a time of relative peace and comfort, to be able to take for granted what some people had to fight with their lives for – lucky beyond measure. And whatever else we may come across in Life, whatever else we may forget…we must not and can not forget this.

Tuesday, 12 February 2008

On Pedestrianism and Kerala

Due to the mysterious absence of my fellow blog-mate and my not-so-mysterious lethargy...this blog has been dumped by the roadside for a while. I'm therefore attempting to redeem it, with an article I wrote ages ago, which is, hopefully, still relevant today. Here goes...and please let me know if the situation has changed, for the better or the worse. :)

Chennai, it is said, has given the world two famous dance-forms. One of them is Bharatanatyam, the other Pedestrianism. And Bharathanatyam is by far the more esoteric of the two. Any thing, man or beast that spends more than half an hour on Chennai’s roads finds itself performing a most complex tap dance that would put the world’s best flamenco artists to shame. Undecided cyclists, people in a hurry, autorickshaws on the prey, well-aimed projectiles of spit and the vagaries of the road itself all form part of a list of obstacles that meet a normal living being who erred in one thing before setting out – trusting its own two… or four legs, as the case may be. For all that, however, just as a hunter thrills in the excitement of the chase, just as a warrior is exhilarated by blood-lust, so does the average chennaiite love to “walk.”

Till he visits small, unassuming, quiet, green, deadly Kerala. Every hunter, every warrior and every Pedestrian (yes, it is spelt with a capital P) has his limit. For the Pedestrian it is Kerala. It is in Kerala that the fine line between an art-form and a suicide attempt is crossed. It is here that the Pedestrian meets, or rather, comes in contact with his match. Uncontrolled, they roam the streets at will tearing limbs and hearts asunder without the slightest respect for the laws that form the bulwark of a society. These monsters that do not even merit a mention in the tourist guides under the heading “Dangerous Creatures and Life Hazards” are but the ubiquitous Buses of Kerala. Yes, this too shall be spelt with a capital B. One accords his opponents the merit they deserve.

They bear down upon you without a toot and by the time you’ve recovered sufficiently enough to realize that you are Providence’s favourite child, the next one is upon you. Providence is a mighty fickle parent. When posed this problem, one Pedestrian survivor remarked pithily, “You learn to live with it.” And so one learns to live life on the edge, with the Devil on the one hand and the Deep Sea on the other – no kidding – Kerala’s got a long coast. Worse off are the poor folks who still cling on to the interiors… getting caught between the Devil and a barbed wire fence isn’t exactly my idea of a peaceful evening stroll.

That however, is only till you get into the Bus…if you can survive that long. Once in, the ride of your life awaits you. Never was a roller-coaster ride obtained cheaper. Never was the transition from victim to murder-accomplice so smooth. Small wonder then, that almost all the famous martial art forms originated here – martial arts are mostly about reflexes and balance…right? With a National Highway the width of my corridor with plants butting in on either side, it isn’t surprising that the Bus assumes right of way…on a single lane road.

“What about Lane Discipline?” the cry goes around ¬– one does not get a meaningful phrase by putting together two non-existent ones.

“Give us a plus-point!” begs the adamant cry – you get to see Kerala as you would never have seen otherwise.

To sum up - if questioned about it, one could say, “Life in Kerala is like Life in slow-motion - It’s beautiful. Death however, travels pretty fast.”