So its been almost a month (probably just under) since my last post. Thanks, everyone, who wrote in, either online, or backchannel, to ask about the burglary. There's really not that much to report - came back late on Friday night to an empty house, with my door kicked in, and without several electronics and some cufflinks. The lack of a laptop, and my inertia in going to go get another one, is primarily the reason why I've not replied to several emails. So if you were wondering why I hadn't replied, let me just say that its not you, its me!
And there is so much water under the bridge. Too much to tell and not enough time to spend several posts on each, so let's do this by themes...
Life in London
Winter has definitely set in, and today there was ice and frost on the ground in Hyde Park. We didn't see much sunlight, and there is a wet, slightly damp smell of cold weather perpetually in the air. The tube is actually comfortably warm, and Oxford Street has its Christmas lights up. I'm wondering whether it will snow, but I'm not sure if I'm going to be around to see any..
Travels
4Q 2007 is definitely turning into travel season. I'm off to South East Asia with work for several weeks, and will be jetting around from one city to another. Given that its going to be about 25 degrees down there, you don't exactly see me complaining! I've never been to Taiwan before, and there's also a chance to sneak a trip to Beijing, so I'm definitely psyched! Oh, did I mention that I might try to nip across to Hong Kong and/ or Bangkok as well?!
But its not all travel for work...there was a weekend spent in Berlin, which I have to admit is the only city in Europe after London that I could see myself living in. The city has an amazingly historic sense to it, especially the parts that are close to the former Berlin Wall. It's also incredibly moving to go and actually see the Reichstag which has been restored to its pre-1933 grandeur, with the addition of a spectacularly gauche glass cupola that is totally out of place with the Gothic architecture otherwise seen.
I think that the two things that moved me the most, out of the entire visit, was walking after dark along the one stretch of the Berlin Wall that is still standing, and getting an incredible sense of being fenced in, so to speak. Given my own claustrophobia, the thought of being trapped behind a wall, unable to move because of global geopolitics, was a very disturbing feeling. And what made me even more troubled was that there are so many places in the world where similar walls and boundaries exist - the latest Israeli attempts to fence in the West Bank being a case in point.
The second most moving place in the whole of Berlin has to be Bebelplatz, a large square in the centre of old Berlin. The square is ordinary enough by itself, but its only when you look at the cobblestones and realise that this was the site of the Nazi's great book burnings does the chill set in. A German philosopher (whose name eludes me) said in the 1800's that anyone who started out by burning books would end up by burning people, and we all know how prophetic those words are. As someone who's pathologically obsessed with books and knowledge, I can't actually imagine what it must be like to be crazy enough to want to burn books. And I hope I never have to find out, or meet anyone who does...
But Berlin was not all doom and gloom - this is Germany, remember! The city has a vibrancy and feel that is gritty and exciting, with real artists painting or sketching on the streets, large tree lined avenues and grand classical buildings sitting next to districts with punks and hippies with large warehouses and industrial architecture. And of course, how could I forget...
Bollywood!
Getting back to my hotel room in Berlin at something like 2 am (yes, I was out partying...) I turned on the TV and had the somewhat dubious pleasure of watching the opening credits of Dhoom 2! In full three hour, unedited glory, there was Hrithik, Abhishek, Bipasha and Aishwarya, speaking GERMAN! I confess that my German is not good enough, and neither am I crazy enough to stay up till 5 am watching a movie that was timepass at best, but I think that my last recollection of the movie is a scene of Abhishek Bachchan going, "Wohin ist diesen Herr A?!"
(Curiously, they don't dub the songs, but because I guess it may be somewhat boring to watch a song where you don't understand the words, they edit out the verses completely...so all you get instead is a series of five minute sequences of the dancing, but just when you expect to hear, "na usko ko pata..." all you get is "crazy kiya re.....crazy kiya re..." ad infinitum... )
And finally, books...
I can highly recommend Orhan Pamuk's Black Book, (which is called Kara Kitap in the original Turkish)... a slightly surreal, dreamy recollection of a simple life turned complex, it has the best of Pamuk - Istanbul, love, Turkish identity, and that smell of winter...
Anyway, so that's pretty much where things are at this point in my life. Mad, hectic, but so far a good 2007, and one to look back at fondly. A friend said today that the past few years had been reasonably "unbalanced" and I know what he means. I just hope that I get a few more years lacking balance, because in the words of the Goo Goo Dolls, yeah you'd bleed just to know you're alive...
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Saturday, October 27, 2007
I was robbed!
Okay guys, I know I've been terrible at updates, but I now have a valid excuse. My flat was burgled last night (actually, let's call a spade a spade and admit it - BROKEN INTO). My laptop was taken away, along with my camera and a few other things, so this is from a friend's PC.
The cops (side note - London police are unbelievably friendly and helpful) said that it looked like they were drug addicts looking for something to sell to get their next hit. The bastards kicked my door in; it was splintered down the middle. Barbarians at the gate, anyone?!
I hope the bastards die of a drug overdose.
More later....
The cops (side note - London police are unbelievably friendly and helpful) said that it looked like they were drug addicts looking for something to sell to get their next hit. The bastards kicked my door in; it was splintered down the middle. Barbarians at the gate, anyone?!
I hope the bastards die of a drug overdose.
More later....
Saturday, October 13, 2007
An Indian summer....
It's October in London, but after a miserably wet summer, a dawns bright and cheerful. There is a nip in the air, but once the fog & rain have been burnt back, the days are pleasantly sunny. Riding in Hyde Park is a pleasure, with the horses walking with a spring in their step.
Saturday has dawned cheerfully. The tall church spire that my bedroom window looks out over is dappled in a warm yellow glow as the sun nips back and forth from behind the clouds. My t-shirt is covered in fine white hair, left there by Seamus the funny little horse when he threw his head back and brushed my front with his mane. And I'm listening to what could be a melancholy song, but actually it feels so right...
I heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth,
the minor fall, the major lift,
The baffled king composing Hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelu----jah
Your faith was strong but you needed proof,
you saw her bathing on the roof,
her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.
She tied you to a kitchen chair,
she broke your throne, she cut your hair,
and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelu----jah
Maybe I have been here before,
I know this room; I have walked this floor,
I used to live alone before I knew you
I've seen your flag on the marble arch,
love is not a victory march,
it's a cold and its a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelu----jah
There was a time you let me know
whats really going on below,
but now you never show it to me, do you? (and)
Remember when I moved in you;
the holy dark was moving too,
and every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelu----jah
Maybe there's a God above,
and all I ever learned from love
was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
And its not a cry you can hear at night,
its not somebody who's seen the light,
its a cold and its a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelu----jah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelu----jah....
Lyrics by ?
(I've got the Leonard Cohen, Rufus Wainwright & K.D. Lang versions...)
Saturday has dawned cheerfully. The tall church spire that my bedroom window looks out over is dappled in a warm yellow glow as the sun nips back and forth from behind the clouds. My t-shirt is covered in fine white hair, left there by Seamus the funny little horse when he threw his head back and brushed my front with his mane. And I'm listening to what could be a melancholy song, but actually it feels so right...
I heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth,
the minor fall, the major lift,
The baffled king composing Hallelujah.
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelu----jah
Your faith was strong but you needed proof,
you saw her bathing on the roof,
her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.
She tied you to a kitchen chair,
she broke your throne, she cut your hair,
and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelu----jah
Maybe I have been here before,
I know this room; I have walked this floor,
I used to live alone before I knew you
I've seen your flag on the marble arch,
love is not a victory march,
it's a cold and its a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelu----jah
There was a time you let me know
whats really going on below,
but now you never show it to me, do you? (and)
Remember when I moved in you;
the holy dark was moving too,
and every breath we drew was Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelu----jah
Maybe there's a God above,
and all I ever learned from love
was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
And its not a cry you can hear at night,
its not somebody who's seen the light,
its a cold and its a broken Hallelujah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelu----jah
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelujah,
Hallelu----jah....
Lyrics by ?
(I've got the Leonard Cohen, Rufus Wainwright & K.D. Lang versions...)
Sunday, September 30, 2007
A Crumbling Palace of Glass
Things are stirring in Burma.
I've been following news reports of the protest marches that have been ongoing for several days now in Myanmar, as the crowds have gotten bigger and bigger, the protesting voices louder. Myanmar's people are, yet again, raising their voices against the tyranny of a junta that has stayed in power intermittently since 1962. Similar protests have been brutally suppressed, in 1988 & 1996, and pro-democracy activists arrested, beaten, tortured and killed in what has to remain, along with North Korea, one of the most isolated countries in the world.
The world has been watching with worry as the most recent protests have gotten louder. Everyday people expect news of the imminent crackdown, expect to see scenes of violence and brutality unfold through the few camera crews in the country. This week saw first signs of such a crackdown - monasteries raided at night & isolated, monks beaten up and arrested, live rounds fired into crowds attempting to reach Shwedagon Pagoda.
The UN Security Council has already expressed concern. But the organisation remains toothless, because even though the US, UK & EU continue condemning the oppressive Burmese junta, Russia, China & India have developed close economic & defence links with the regime over the years. All three have been attracted by the lure of Myanmar's oil & natural gas deposits, with Indian petroleum minister Murli Deora most recently making a trip to the troubled country earlier this week.
Calls have been increasing for both India & China to respond to the crisis, leveraging their historic & current econoimc & political ties to the country and impose either change or restraint. India, home to many Burmese refugees, is almost expected to take a stance in what is unfolding in its immediate neighbourhood. India, traditionally a supporter of pro-democracy movements around the world, has taken a different stance in its own neighbourhood. It has chosen, instead, to forge military & economic ties with the miltary junta in Myanmar.
India's decision to engage with the junta is predicated on three key factors; and for a change, none of the three factors relate to India's desire to be the moral compass of the world, in which realpolitik was replaced with idealism. The first, and perhaps most directly relevant reason for establishing relations with the junta has to do with insurgencey movements in the Northeast of India. Naga & Mizo rebels have long used the western jungles of Myanmar to regroup and establish logistical centres. Falling outside the area that could be accessible to Indian security forces, the insurgencies have managed to remain active. India's decision to support & engage with the junta has been a direct result of its desire to eliminate these outposts. The strategy, so far, has seemed to work.
The second factor is similarly related to regional stability, but in a more tangential way. With most of the Western world having shunned economic & political ties with Myanmar, the country's greatest supporter has been China, a country with which India itself has a complex relationship. In the dance of the elephant and the dragon, where countries are reduced to areas where the two jockey to extend their spheres of influence, to stand back and let Myanmar get totally overwhelmed by China became a position India could little afford to take. Myanmar has an extended border with India along the Northeast, and securing this border remains, as always a key concern for the Indian security establishment.
And finally, in the most prosaic of terms, India is severely energy deficient.To have massive oil & natural gas reserves in your own neighbourhood, as is the case with both Iran & Myanmar, and not be able to tackle them for reasons of diplomatic morality is a difficult & economically unviable position.
So while understanding why India has chosen to do business with what is quite arguably one of the worst regimes in the world helps contextualise India's current silence on the situation, it does not answer the question of whether or not taking a stand against a brutal and tyrannical regime in its neighbourhood is the appropriate strategy. Because whether we like it or not, India has moved away from its historical blunder of being the world's moral police, adopting the idealistic high ground and wagging a finger at other powers in the world. India has increasingly moved away from this limiting position, towards one where pragmatism has taken root.
The idealist would argue that India should step in, take a stand against the junta, and use its political & economic leverage with the regime to force change, or if not change, at least prevent the sort of bloodshed and brutal suppression that the entire world fears is already underway. I would argue that this is probably incredibly counterproductive; not for Myanmar's people, but for India's longer term ambitions in the country & wider region.
India lives in a pretty bad neighbourhood. With the exception of Bhutan & China, all of our neighbouring states are in the grips of the sort of political turmoil and armed conflict that at worst could flare up into civil war, if they haven't done so already. General (President?) Musharraf is battling to retain control over Pakistan, which is steadily getting out of his hands; Nepal is in the throes of a Maoist uprising, Sri Lanka has yet to resolve the Tamil civil war, Bangladesh looks like a coup is underway, and don't even get me started on Afghanistan. To step into Myanmar, which itself has a long history of ethnic turmoil and political instability, and jeopardise the regime that has allowed India access to valuable energy reserves & cooperation in tackling military training would be pretty self-defeating.
The pro-interventionists argue that if India were to support the move for democracy, it would gain credibility with the local populace, who on forming a democratically elected government would continue to support India the way the junta has done. I'd point out a few facts here first. India has economic clout with Myanmar because it was able to access the market without competing with Western companies. ONGC & CNOCC have access to Myanmar's oil & natural gas reserves because the BP's, Chevron & Texaco's of the world do not. Were Myanmar to gain democracy, the chances of these countries remaining out of the race would decline significantly, taking away the cost advantage that the current arrangement provides.
We also have historical precedents of our intervention not quite going to plan. When India entered Bangladesh in 1971, with the full understanding that it was breaking up Pakistan, its soldiers were greeted with cheers by the local population. Within weeks, those cheers had turned to hostile sloganeering, with India being accused of "separating brother from brother". To expect our grandstanding in Myanmar to be received better in the long term is a delusion we would do well to consider carefully. India has an unusual position in South Asia. It is the largest country, and its sheer size, scale & power act as both an advantage, and an immense disadvantage, in its relations with significantly smaller neighbours, who operate out of a mentality of inferiority and resentment.
Finally, Myanmar is today a stable country (not counting the past few weeks). The price of that stability is the brutal suppression we see in the country today. I do not condone that suppression, and neither do I suggest that it should remain in place. However, for India to act unilaterally against it is not in our best interests. Because let's not forget that political allies are fickle friends in the world, and to expect eternal gratitude or friendship from any country is nothing short of delusional.
So what's the way forward? Whether we like it or not, the UN must remain the key tool of international dispute resolution. Myanmar's regime should go, but it is NOT for India to force it to do so.
The title of this post is inspired by Amitav Ghosh's novel, The Glass Palace, which takes place extensively in colonial Burma, and deals with the historic ties between India & Myanmar. No other direct link is implied.
I've been following news reports of the protest marches that have been ongoing for several days now in Myanmar, as the crowds have gotten bigger and bigger, the protesting voices louder. Myanmar's people are, yet again, raising their voices against the tyranny of a junta that has stayed in power intermittently since 1962. Similar protests have been brutally suppressed, in 1988 & 1996, and pro-democracy activists arrested, beaten, tortured and killed in what has to remain, along with North Korea, one of the most isolated countries in the world.
The world has been watching with worry as the most recent protests have gotten louder. Everyday people expect news of the imminent crackdown, expect to see scenes of violence and brutality unfold through the few camera crews in the country. This week saw first signs of such a crackdown - monasteries raided at night & isolated, monks beaten up and arrested, live rounds fired into crowds attempting to reach Shwedagon Pagoda.
The UN Security Council has already expressed concern. But the organisation remains toothless, because even though the US, UK & EU continue condemning the oppressive Burmese junta, Russia, China & India have developed close economic & defence links with the regime over the years. All three have been attracted by the lure of Myanmar's oil & natural gas deposits, with Indian petroleum minister Murli Deora most recently making a trip to the troubled country earlier this week.
Calls have been increasing for both India & China to respond to the crisis, leveraging their historic & current econoimc & political ties to the country and impose either change or restraint. India, home to many Burmese refugees, is almost expected to take a stance in what is unfolding in its immediate neighbourhood. India, traditionally a supporter of pro-democracy movements around the world, has taken a different stance in its own neighbourhood. It has chosen, instead, to forge military & economic ties with the miltary junta in Myanmar.
India's decision to engage with the junta is predicated on three key factors; and for a change, none of the three factors relate to India's desire to be the moral compass of the world, in which realpolitik was replaced with idealism. The first, and perhaps most directly relevant reason for establishing relations with the junta has to do with insurgencey movements in the Northeast of India. Naga & Mizo rebels have long used the western jungles of Myanmar to regroup and establish logistical centres. Falling outside the area that could be accessible to Indian security forces, the insurgencies have managed to remain active. India's decision to support & engage with the junta has been a direct result of its desire to eliminate these outposts. The strategy, so far, has seemed to work.
The second factor is similarly related to regional stability, but in a more tangential way. With most of the Western world having shunned economic & political ties with Myanmar, the country's greatest supporter has been China, a country with which India itself has a complex relationship. In the dance of the elephant and the dragon, where countries are reduced to areas where the two jockey to extend their spheres of influence, to stand back and let Myanmar get totally overwhelmed by China became a position India could little afford to take. Myanmar has an extended border with India along the Northeast, and securing this border remains, as always a key concern for the Indian security establishment.
And finally, in the most prosaic of terms, India is severely energy deficient.To have massive oil & natural gas reserves in your own neighbourhood, as is the case with both Iran & Myanmar, and not be able to tackle them for reasons of diplomatic morality is a difficult & economically unviable position.
So while understanding why India has chosen to do business with what is quite arguably one of the worst regimes in the world helps contextualise India's current silence on the situation, it does not answer the question of whether or not taking a stand against a brutal and tyrannical regime in its neighbourhood is the appropriate strategy. Because whether we like it or not, India has moved away from its historical blunder of being the world's moral police, adopting the idealistic high ground and wagging a finger at other powers in the world. India has increasingly moved away from this limiting position, towards one where pragmatism has taken root.
The idealist would argue that India should step in, take a stand against the junta, and use its political & economic leverage with the regime to force change, or if not change, at least prevent the sort of bloodshed and brutal suppression that the entire world fears is already underway. I would argue that this is probably incredibly counterproductive; not for Myanmar's people, but for India's longer term ambitions in the country & wider region.
India lives in a pretty bad neighbourhood. With the exception of Bhutan & China, all of our neighbouring states are in the grips of the sort of political turmoil and armed conflict that at worst could flare up into civil war, if they haven't done so already. General (President?) Musharraf is battling to retain control over Pakistan, which is steadily getting out of his hands; Nepal is in the throes of a Maoist uprising, Sri Lanka has yet to resolve the Tamil civil war, Bangladesh looks like a coup is underway, and don't even get me started on Afghanistan. To step into Myanmar, which itself has a long history of ethnic turmoil and political instability, and jeopardise the regime that has allowed India access to valuable energy reserves & cooperation in tackling military training would be pretty self-defeating.
The pro-interventionists argue that if India were to support the move for democracy, it would gain credibility with the local populace, who on forming a democratically elected government would continue to support India the way the junta has done. I'd point out a few facts here first. India has economic clout with Myanmar because it was able to access the market without competing with Western companies. ONGC & CNOCC have access to Myanmar's oil & natural gas reserves because the BP's, Chevron & Texaco's of the world do not. Were Myanmar to gain democracy, the chances of these countries remaining out of the race would decline significantly, taking away the cost advantage that the current arrangement provides.
We also have historical precedents of our intervention not quite going to plan. When India entered Bangladesh in 1971, with the full understanding that it was breaking up Pakistan, its soldiers were greeted with cheers by the local population. Within weeks, those cheers had turned to hostile sloganeering, with India being accused of "separating brother from brother". To expect our grandstanding in Myanmar to be received better in the long term is a delusion we would do well to consider carefully. India has an unusual position in South Asia. It is the largest country, and its sheer size, scale & power act as both an advantage, and an immense disadvantage, in its relations with significantly smaller neighbours, who operate out of a mentality of inferiority and resentment.
Finally, Myanmar is today a stable country (not counting the past few weeks). The price of that stability is the brutal suppression we see in the country today. I do not condone that suppression, and neither do I suggest that it should remain in place. However, for India to act unilaterally against it is not in our best interests. Because let's not forget that political allies are fickle friends in the world, and to expect eternal gratitude or friendship from any country is nothing short of delusional.
So what's the way forward? Whether we like it or not, the UN must remain the key tool of international dispute resolution. Myanmar's regime should go, but it is NOT for India to force it to do so.
The title of this post is inspired by Amitav Ghosh's novel, The Glass Palace, which takes place extensively in colonial Burma, and deals with the historic ties between India & Myanmar. No other direct link is implied.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Lost in the ashes of time....
Another late night, the moon barely perceptible behind low clouds... Autumn is here, and despite the horrors of a hellish commutes thanks to Tube staff on strike, I can't help but smile as I look out onto the city that has become a home of sorts.
So I sit in my flat, doing nothing but reading Evelyn Waugh and listening...
Here I am, lost in the light of the moon that comes through my window
Bathed in blue, the walls of my memory divide the thorns from the roses
It's you and the roses
Touch me and I will follow in your afterglow
Heal me from all this sorrow
As I let you go I will find my way when I see your eyes
Now I'm living in your afterglow
Here I am, lost in the ashes of time, but who wants tomorrow?
In between the longing to hold you again
I'm caught in your shadow, I'm losing control
My mind drifts away, we only have today
Touch me and I will follow in your afterglow
Heal me from all this sorrow
As I let you go I will find my way
I will sacrifice 'til the blinding day when I see your eyes
Now I'm living in your afterglow
When the veils are gone as I let you go, as I let you go
Touch me and I will follow in your afterglow
Heal me from all this sorrow
As I let you go I will find my way, I will sacrifice
Now I'm living in your afterglow
Bathed in blue, the walls of my memory divide the thorns from the roses
It's you who is closest
Lyrics by INXS, "Afterglow"
So I sit in my flat, doing nothing but reading Evelyn Waugh and listening...
Here I am, lost in the light of the moon that comes through my window
Bathed in blue, the walls of my memory divide the thorns from the roses
It's you and the roses
Touch me and I will follow in your afterglow
Heal me from all this sorrow
As I let you go I will find my way when I see your eyes
Now I'm living in your afterglow
Here I am, lost in the ashes of time, but who wants tomorrow?
In between the longing to hold you again
I'm caught in your shadow, I'm losing control
My mind drifts away, we only have today
Touch me and I will follow in your afterglow
Heal me from all this sorrow
As I let you go I will find my way
I will sacrifice 'til the blinding day when I see your eyes
Now I'm living in your afterglow
When the veils are gone as I let you go, as I let you go
Touch me and I will follow in your afterglow
Heal me from all this sorrow
As I let you go I will find my way, I will sacrifice
Now I'm living in your afterglow
Bathed in blue, the walls of my memory divide the thorns from the roses
It's you who is closest
Lyrics by INXS, "Afterglow"
Monday, September 03, 2007
Okay, so I'm finally back...
Well folks, I'm back.
After a long hiatus (if that's not a cliche, I don't know what is) life has regained some stability, even as the financial markets seem to have lost theirs. I'm back from training, travelling, holidays, and family visiting, and let me just say that the past few weeks have been incredibly hectic.
A couple of material developments:
1) After spending two weeks in the Big Apple, I've decided that while the city is great fun for shorter durations (i.e. up to two weeks) I really couldn't live there. It's far too hectic, too chaotic, quite grubby, and....well, too American. Also, I think I enjoy earning in sterling to be able to go spend in dollars - its SUCH fun! :)
2) I passed those exams I was studying for back in June... (so party time!!)
3) I've been frantically reading, watching movies, partying, holidaying, and (!) working as well. So some things to look forward to in the coming days:
A review of Chak De India (short version - it's very good, so go see it)
Some pictures from my latest trip to Wales (I'm not going to post NY pics, because that's too much of a cliche as well)
A couple of book reviews to get the ball rolling again...
Watch this space...
After a long hiatus (if that's not a cliche, I don't know what is) life has regained some stability, even as the financial markets seem to have lost theirs. I'm back from training, travelling, holidays, and family visiting, and let me just say that the past few weeks have been incredibly hectic.
A couple of material developments:
1) After spending two weeks in the Big Apple, I've decided that while the city is great fun for shorter durations (i.e. up to two weeks) I really couldn't live there. It's far too hectic, too chaotic, quite grubby, and....well, too American. Also, I think I enjoy earning in sterling to be able to go spend in dollars - its SUCH fun! :)
2) I passed those exams I was studying for back in June... (so party time!!)
3) I've been frantically reading, watching movies, partying, holidaying, and (!) working as well. So some things to look forward to in the coming days:
A review of Chak De India (short version - it's very good, so go see it)
Some pictures from my latest trip to Wales (I'm not going to post NY pics, because that's too much of a cliche as well)
A couple of book reviews to get the ball rolling again...
Watch this space...
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Leaving on a Jet Plane
I'll be flying in a couple of hours to New York, where I'm being sent by work for two weeks of corporate training....I will have blog & email access, but work schedules threatening to be what they are, I'm not sure if I will get time to update...
So I guess I'm ending this on a Bollywood in New York note...
Image courtesy: Bollywood Mantra
So I guess I'm ending this on a Bollywood in New York note...
Image courtesy: Bollywood Mantra
Sunday, July 08, 2007
We Won! We Won!
The results for the voting for the Seven New Wonders of the world came in yesterday...apparently, the Taj Mahal made it as well! :)
Check out the list of winners here
Check out the list of winners here
Friday, July 06, 2007
Don't Try to Bleed Me...
Long days, late nights... lots to do, things to plan, events to manage, deals to execute, friends to meet, passions to fulfil....lives to live.
One small life, with too much to fit in. Where is there room to let up? I'm alive, but sinking in the living of it...
And so its late on Thursday night, or really early on Friday morning, I got back from work a little while back, and all I can think of is about a black-winged bird ...
When I think of heaven (Deliver me in a black-winged bird)
I think of flying down into a sea of pens and feathers
and all other instruments of faith and sex and God
In the belly of a black-winged bird
Don't try to feed me
I've been here before and I deserve a little more
I belong in the service of the Queen I belong anywhere but in between
She's been crying I've been thinking And I am the Rain King
Mama, why am I so alone?
I can't go outside
I'm scared I might not make it home
I'm alive but I'm sinking in
If there's anyone at home at your place
Why don't you invite me in
Don't try to bleed me
I've been there before and I deserve a little more
I belong in the service of the Queen
I belong anywhere but in between
She's been lying
I've been sinking
And I am the Rain King
Hey, I only want the same as anyone
Henderson is waiting for the sun
Oh, it seems night endlessly begins and ends
After all the dreaming I come home again...
When I think of heaven (Deliver me in a black-winged bird)
I think of dying Lay me down in a field of flame and heather
Render up my body into the burning heart of God in the belly of a black-winged bird
Don't try to bleed me
I've been here before and I deserve a little more
I belong in the service of the Queen
I belong anywhere but in between
She's been dying
I been drinking and I am the Rain King.
Lyrics by Counting Crows
One small life, with too much to fit in. Where is there room to let up? I'm alive, but sinking in the living of it...
And so its late on Thursday night, or really early on Friday morning, I got back from work a little while back, and all I can think of is about a black-winged bird ...
When I think of heaven (Deliver me in a black-winged bird)
I think of flying down into a sea of pens and feathers
and all other instruments of faith and sex and God
In the belly of a black-winged bird
Don't try to feed me
I've been here before and I deserve a little more
I belong in the service of the Queen I belong anywhere but in between
She's been crying I've been thinking And I am the Rain King
Mama, why am I so alone?
I can't go outside
I'm scared I might not make it home
I'm alive but I'm sinking in
If there's anyone at home at your place
Why don't you invite me in
Don't try to bleed me
I've been there before and I deserve a little more
I belong in the service of the Queen
I belong anywhere but in between
She's been lying
I've been sinking
And I am the Rain King
Hey, I only want the same as anyone
Henderson is waiting for the sun
Oh, it seems night endlessly begins and ends
After all the dreaming I come home again...
When I think of heaven (Deliver me in a black-winged bird)
I think of dying Lay me down in a field of flame and heather
Render up my body into the burning heart of God in the belly of a black-winged bird
Don't try to bleed me
I've been here before and I deserve a little more
I belong in the service of the Queen
I belong anywhere but in between
She's been dying
I been drinking and I am the Rain King.
Lyrics by Counting Crows
Monday, June 25, 2007
Democracy in Action
An earnest request to all readers - you have only 11 more days to vote for the Seven New Wonders of the World. The short list of monuments is over here, so exercise your democratic right and go choose the seven monuments that you think ought to be included.
Just to make a subtle point, my list of seven included the following:
So, as they say in India,
आपसे यह आग्रह है कि आप अपने मत का उचित प्रयोग करें और हमारे चहेते ताज महल को विजयी बनाए!
And as they also say in India,
भोट फ़ॉर ताज!
Thanks goes to fellow Desicritic DesiGirl for jogging my memory and reminding me to vote through her post
Image pinched from Incredible India!
Just to make a subtle point, my list of seven included the following:
So, as they say in India,
आपसे यह आग्रह है कि आप अपने मत का उचित प्रयोग करें और हमारे चहेते ताज महल को विजयी बनाए!
And as they also say in India,
भोट फ़ॉर ताज!
Thanks goes to fellow Desicritic DesiGirl for jogging my memory and reminding me to vote through her post
Image pinched from Incredible India!
Sunday, June 24, 2007
How now, Sir Salman?
Given the hullabaloo in our literary orchards recently over the be-knighting of the writer formerly known as Salman, I was trying to get my head around why I think he deserves the honour. Because when I heard that news that he was to be made a knight, I didn't think it out of place, or disagree with it at all. It just seemed appropriate. So while I was chewing over why I think its a good idea, I thought it would be good to try to express why I supported the knighthood.
Sunny Singh, however, managed to capture my thoughts pretty succinctly. I'm sure they're really her thoughts, but I just agreed with everything she said. So rather than repost, or try to say it all over again, I'm going to cop out and just redirect you to her article instead.
Oh, and by the way, can you imagine Padma Lakshmi as the first supermodel/ TV celebrity chef to become a lady? If only she'd married the man when she had the chance!
Anyway, snide comments aside, the one thing that really bugs me as a liberal Indian capitalist is the fact that India continues to be one of a handful of countries that maintains the ban of The Satanic Verses. (Most of the others are tin pot Islamic fundamentalist whackos like Iran & Pakistan). It goes against every grain of what it means to be a democracy to put in place bans like that. And that extends to ridiculous things like the MF Hussain mess, the Chandramohan fiasco, etc. What is with the stupid moral-religious police?!?! I find actions like that incredibly invasive of my personal decisions to read what I want, say what I like, and basically express my fundamental rights of freedom of choice & expression.
I'm tempted to start a campaign to un-ban the book in India...so watch this space.
(Image pinched from Ultrabrown)
Sunny Singh, however, managed to capture my thoughts pretty succinctly. I'm sure they're really her thoughts, but I just agreed with everything she said. So rather than repost, or try to say it all over again, I'm going to cop out and just redirect you to her article instead.Oh, and by the way, can you imagine Padma Lakshmi as the first supermodel/ TV celebrity chef to become a lady? If only she'd married the man when she had the chance!
Anyway, snide comments aside, the one thing that really bugs me as a liberal Indian capitalist is the fact that India continues to be one of a handful of countries that maintains the ban of The Satanic Verses. (Most of the others are tin pot Islamic fundamentalist whackos like Iran & Pakistan). It goes against every grain of what it means to be a democracy to put in place bans like that. And that extends to ridiculous things like the MF Hussain mess, the Chandramohan fiasco, etc. What is with the stupid moral-religious police?!?! I find actions like that incredibly invasive of my personal decisions to read what I want, say what I like, and basically express my fundamental rights of freedom of choice & expression.
I'm tempted to start a campaign to un-ban the book in India...so watch this space.
(Image pinched from Ultrabrown)
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
What happens After Dark?
Children of the night; dark alleyways. Lives small and limited, but simultaneously interconnected and expansive. Coincidence, destiny, chance encounters, randomness.A series of unrelated concepts & events unfolding through the course of one night. Spare, precise prose. Japanese minimalism, white walls, brushed sand, polished river pebbles.
But perhaps, most of all, a haze. That slightly nauseating dizziness, a sense walking through clouds, where images don't seem quite solid, when moving figures seem lose shape as they pass through air thicker than mercury, where the boundaries that define images begin to blur, when nothing seems real anymore. The intoxication brought on by insomnia, by fatigue, by watching the change from dark to light as a new day breaks.
All of these permeate After Dark, Haruki Murakami's latest novella. And it is a novella of several firsts. For starters, it is a short work by most standards, but doubly so for one by Murakami, whose novels tend to be long and complex narratives that allow the reader the luxury of many, many pages of the sparse prose so characteristic of his writing. Another departure for Murakami is the time span of the story, starting just before midnight and ending soon after dawn breaks the next morning. The one thing that Murakami retains is his the simplicity and honesty of his characters; their utterly ordinary lives, which are at the same time unique & quixotic.
If that seems oxymoronic, it is, because in true Murakami style, while initially each character appears, at least on the surface, to be totally unexceptional, it is when you get under their skin that their unique circumstances paint them in a more unique light. It's almost like you're walking down the street and ignore the ordinary masses all around you, but suddenly have one deconstructed in front of you to reveal the complexity within.
And then, there is the emergence of Murakami the voyeur, the film-maker. His prose veers eerily close to the tightness of a crafted script, minutely filling out the mise-en-scene; the music in the background, the colour of her jumper, the half eaten sandwich on a plate. There are directions for the cameraman, of when to pan out and take in the room, of when to focus in on the twitch of her lips as she sleeps.
What is the story? To be honest, it doesn't matter. The specifics of the events that take place during the night are irrelevant to the overall writing. There is meaning and symbolism in everything, but at the end, do the events of the night make a difference?
Ask someone who spends the entire night awake, only to see the morning wipe away all the fantasies that the darkness allows.
But perhaps, most of all, a haze. That slightly nauseating dizziness, a sense walking through clouds, where images don't seem quite solid, when moving figures seem lose shape as they pass through air thicker than mercury, where the boundaries that define images begin to blur, when nothing seems real anymore. The intoxication brought on by insomnia, by fatigue, by watching the change from dark to light as a new day breaks.
All of these permeate After Dark, Haruki Murakami's latest novella. And it is a novella of several firsts. For starters, it is a short work by most standards, but doubly so for one by Murakami, whose novels tend to be long and complex narratives that allow the reader the luxury of many, many pages of the sparse prose so characteristic of his writing. Another departure for Murakami is the time span of the story, starting just before midnight and ending soon after dawn breaks the next morning. The one thing that Murakami retains is his the simplicity and honesty of his characters; their utterly ordinary lives, which are at the same time unique & quixotic.
If that seems oxymoronic, it is, because in true Murakami style, while initially each character appears, at least on the surface, to be totally unexceptional, it is when you get under their skin that their unique circumstances paint them in a more unique light. It's almost like you're walking down the street and ignore the ordinary masses all around you, but suddenly have one deconstructed in front of you to reveal the complexity within.And then, there is the emergence of Murakami the voyeur, the film-maker. His prose veers eerily close to the tightness of a crafted script, minutely filling out the mise-en-scene; the music in the background, the colour of her jumper, the half eaten sandwich on a plate. There are directions for the cameraman, of when to pan out and take in the room, of when to focus in on the twitch of her lips as she sleeps.
What is the story? To be honest, it doesn't matter. The specifics of the events that take place during the night are irrelevant to the overall writing. There is meaning and symbolism in everything, but at the end, do the events of the night make a difference?
Ask someone who spends the entire night awake, only to see the morning wipe away all the fantasies that the darkness allows.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Shopping...
So after finishing my exams last week, I finally have control over my own free time again. No more needing to lug study notes around on the London tube, or wake up on weekends workplanning my study schedules for the day. So to celebrate, I walked into a bookstore earlier this week, and sort of went a little mad...
First I saw this, which I just HAD to buy...
And my excitement was further heightened when I saw this one:
I was somewhat disappointed to know that this one isn't going to be out in the UK until September, but then soon overcame that when I realised I could buy it from Amazon and have it shipped out from the US.
So that came in today!
I'm already almost through with the Murakami - and I find it fascinating to see how his writing style has evolved over the years. It's still the same spare, whittled down prose that is classically Japanese in its minimalism, but he is suddenly so much more attentive towards the mise-en-scene. At times I get the sense that I'm not so much reading a novel as I am a screenplay - each scene, each frame is composed in his mind and almost effortlessly communicated...
Watch this space for the reviews....
First I saw this, which I just HAD to buy...
And my excitement was further heightened when I saw this one:
I was somewhat disappointed to know that this one isn't going to be out in the UK until September, but then soon overcame that when I realised I could buy it from Amazon and have it shipped out from the US.
So that came in today!
I'm already almost through with the Murakami - and I find it fascinating to see how his writing style has evolved over the years. It's still the same spare, whittled down prose that is classically Japanese in its minimalism, but he is suddenly so much more attentive towards the mise-en-scene. At times I get the sense that I'm not so much reading a novel as I am a screenplay - each scene, each frame is composed in his mind and almost effortlessly communicated...
Watch this space for the reviews....
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Waxing Poetic...
A classic from ee cummings...
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
This one's been done to death in popular culture (remeber Cameron Diaz reciting this to Toni Collette in In Her Shoes? Or Abby reciting it to Luca in ER) Despite all that, it's still an amazing poem, and one worth sharing...
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
This one's been done to death in popular culture (remeber Cameron Diaz reciting this to Toni Collette in In Her Shoes? Or Abby reciting it to Luca in ER) Despite all that, it's still an amazing poem, and one worth sharing...
I think I just found my perfect holiday....
" This wild and rugged 11-day trek begins at the edge of the wide open plains of Argentine Patagonia and proceeds into the rugged mountains, forests and volcanoes of the Chilean Lake District. Ride through ancient larch, beech and monkey puzzle forests while learning the real meaning of the word ‘bamboozled’ as you forge a path through the bamboo thickets with experienced guides. The huge rock formations, towering overhead give rise to the myths and tales about secret cities hidden here in the Andes. The breathtaking peak of Lanin Volcano at 13,000 feet is an inspiring backdrop to this adventure."
(Check out the tour at here)
(Image courtesy Riding Tours Blog)
" This wild and rugged 11-day trek begins at the edge of the wide open plains of Argentine Patagonia and proceeds into the rugged mountains, forests and volcanoes of the Chilean Lake District. Ride through ancient larch, beech and monkey puzzle forests while learning the real meaning of the word ‘bamboozled’ as you forge a path through the bamboo thickets with experienced guides. The huge rock formations, towering overhead give rise to the myths and tales about secret cities hidden here in the Andes. The breathtaking peak of Lanin Volcano at 13,000 feet is an inspiring backdrop to this adventure."
(Check out the tour at here)
(Image courtesy Riding Tours Blog)
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Cairo Claustrophobia
It's funny, isn't it, how travelling to a place always somehow makes something written that much more real and identifiable? I always find that once I've been to the place that a particular novel is set in, the stories that I may have read before become that much more magical for me when I read them again. Perhaps all I do is colour in the narratives in my own head with what I now know of the place, but in any case, I somehow find the second reading so much more intimate.
This is exactly what happened with a book I'd read some months back, but hadn't thought to write a review of. But after my whistlestop tour of Cairo, which only served to whet my appetite for going back, I picked up The Yacoubian Building again. The book itself was a gift from a friend who was passing through London from Cairo last year. When I'd read it originally, it had seemed a good read, but nothing exceptional. But after spending just over 36 hours in Egypt, with a hotel view that looked out over Garden City towards Mohandiseen & the Citadel, I was somehow drawn back to the novel, and picked it up again last week.
First published in 2004 in Arabic, The Yacoubian Building is the work of Egyptian author Alaa al Aswany, a dentist by profession. The story traces the lives of several characters, each from different walks of life and different social strata, with very little to connect them to each other other than the fact that they all live in The Yacoubian Building, a typical Egyptian residential block in the old city. While the more affluent & powerful residents live in the large apartments in the main building, the roof contains small rooms which are inhabited by the poorer characters in the tale.
The story reads like a mosaic, moving fluidly between multiple narratives and tracing the ordinary lives of its protagonists, each of whom is in a unique way a victim of their own circumstances. There is Zaki Bey, an affluent man from a landed family, who was destined for power and influence, but had that deprived by the 1952 revolution. Taha just wants to be a police officer, but his humble antecedents deprive him of a place in the academy. Busayna does her best to earn enough to feed her widowed mother and younger siblings, but ends up in all her jobs as the victim of sexual exploitation. And there are many, many others.
Through all of their troubles and worries, the Yacoubian Building is the recurring leit motif. The story takes place in many locations, but at several points the scene is set in one of its apartments or on the crowded rooftop. On the whole, the story is not particularly cataclysmic, and there the ending of the story is somehat abrupt, leaving you feeling as if you were being led along, but were not given any catharsis. The small joys and sorrows that are spread through the novel continue until the end, perhaps appropriately illustrating what the realities of its characters must be like to live through. But there are two things I found remarkable about this novel, and more so after my trip to Cairo.
The first is this incredible sense of claustrophobia that pervades the novel. The overwhelming sense of entrapment, of being stuck in a situation from which you cannot get away, is one that affects each and everyone of the characters. Whether due to a lack of money, or for other, more complex circumstances, each protagonist is a prisoner of their own reality, unable to break out of a cycle of corruption, fraud and exploitation, whether a perpetrator or victim. While this claustrophobia came across even the first time I read the novel, it was magnified after I went to Egypt, and could see the streets and city for myself. Like so many developing countries, people in Egypt are either extremely rich or extremely poor, with very few individuals qualifying as "middle-class". And associated with these extremes are the classic cycles of exploitation, whether economic or sexual.
The second point that, at least for me, was quite unusual, was the sexuality of the writing. The Yacoubian Building was originally written in Arabic, and was for some time a best seller across the Arab world. Perhaps this is symptomatic of my own ignorance of the region and its multiple realities and complex social mores, but there is a frankness in dealing with so many things that I would have thought would be taboo. Whether it is the detailed exposition of Busayna's exploitation at the hands of her many bosses, the extensive lovemaking between various couples (never graphic or titillating, nor even erotic, but suggestive) or in the extensive description of the gay scene in Cairo, I was suprised by the extent to which Aswany deals with what I would have thought taboo, especially in a country like Egypt.
Finally, and perhaps appropriately for our present day realities, there is one subplot that is worth mentioning. Aswany describes in one of his subplots the evolution of an Islamist, one who is motivated by the desire for change in what is perceived to be a corrupt and decadent establishment to one that is fair, egalitarian and just. The sense of inevitability that surrounds the birth of the extremist is handled adeptly, but also sensitively, without going into any moralising or political grandstanding. Aswany reminds us that there are no black & whites - just one really confusing grey.
This is exactly what happened with a book I'd read some months back, but hadn't thought to write a review of. But after my whistlestop tour of Cairo, which only served to whet my appetite for going back, I picked up The Yacoubian Building again. The book itself was a gift from a friend who was passing through London from Cairo last year. When I'd read it originally, it had seemed a good read, but nothing exceptional. But after spending just over 36 hours in Egypt, with a hotel view that looked out over Garden City towards Mohandiseen & the Citadel, I was somehow drawn back to the novel, and picked it up again last week.
First published in 2004 in Arabic, The Yacoubian Building is the work of Egyptian author Alaa al Aswany, a dentist by profession. The story traces the lives of several characters, each from different walks of life and different social strata, with very little to connect them to each other other than the fact that they all live in The Yacoubian Building, a typical Egyptian residential block in the old city. While the more affluent & powerful residents live in the large apartments in the main building, the roof contains small rooms which are inhabited by the poorer characters in the tale.The story reads like a mosaic, moving fluidly between multiple narratives and tracing the ordinary lives of its protagonists, each of whom is in a unique way a victim of their own circumstances. There is Zaki Bey, an affluent man from a landed family, who was destined for power and influence, but had that deprived by the 1952 revolution. Taha just wants to be a police officer, but his humble antecedents deprive him of a place in the academy. Busayna does her best to earn enough to feed her widowed mother and younger siblings, but ends up in all her jobs as the victim of sexual exploitation. And there are many, many others.
Through all of their troubles and worries, the Yacoubian Building is the recurring leit motif. The story takes place in many locations, but at several points the scene is set in one of its apartments or on the crowded rooftop. On the whole, the story is not particularly cataclysmic, and there the ending of the story is somehat abrupt, leaving you feeling as if you were being led along, but were not given any catharsis. The small joys and sorrows that are spread through the novel continue until the end, perhaps appropriately illustrating what the realities of its characters must be like to live through. But there are two things I found remarkable about this novel, and more so after my trip to Cairo.
The first is this incredible sense of claustrophobia that pervades the novel. The overwhelming sense of entrapment, of being stuck in a situation from which you cannot get away, is one that affects each and everyone of the characters. Whether due to a lack of money, or for other, more complex circumstances, each protagonist is a prisoner of their own reality, unable to break out of a cycle of corruption, fraud and exploitation, whether a perpetrator or victim. While this claustrophobia came across even the first time I read the novel, it was magnified after I went to Egypt, and could see the streets and city for myself. Like so many developing countries, people in Egypt are either extremely rich or extremely poor, with very few individuals qualifying as "middle-class". And associated with these extremes are the classic cycles of exploitation, whether economic or sexual.
The second point that, at least for me, was quite unusual, was the sexuality of the writing. The Yacoubian Building was originally written in Arabic, and was for some time a best seller across the Arab world. Perhaps this is symptomatic of my own ignorance of the region and its multiple realities and complex social mores, but there is a frankness in dealing with so many things that I would have thought would be taboo. Whether it is the detailed exposition of Busayna's exploitation at the hands of her many bosses, the extensive lovemaking between various couples (never graphic or titillating, nor even erotic, but suggestive) or in the extensive description of the gay scene in Cairo, I was suprised by the extent to which Aswany deals with what I would have thought taboo, especially in a country like Egypt.
Finally, and perhaps appropriately for our present day realities, there is one subplot that is worth mentioning. Aswany describes in one of his subplots the evolution of an Islamist, one who is motivated by the desire for change in what is perceived to be a corrupt and decadent establishment to one that is fair, egalitarian and just. The sense of inevitability that surrounds the birth of the extremist is handled adeptly, but also sensitively, without going into any moralising or political grandstanding. Aswany reminds us that there are no black & whites - just one really confusing grey.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Dreaming of Dublin
So these stupid exams are doing my head in. Not only because I have to study, but because my life seems to have stopped until they're over. Not much travelling, not too much socialising, no movies, no theatre, no partying...nothing. Just getting to work in the morning, trying to leave early, and coming home to study...
So today I was flipping through some old photos and found a few that I really liked. They're from a business trip that I made to Dublin, Ireland, back in January 2005. It was cold, dark and incredibly windy, but the city had a welcoming feel to it...
So tonight I'm thinking of Dublin...on a chilly spring night in London...
So today I was flipping through some old photos and found a few that I really liked. They're from a business trip that I made to Dublin, Ireland, back in January 2005. It was cold, dark and incredibly windy, but the city had a welcoming feel to it...
So tonight I'm thinking of Dublin...on a chilly spring night in London...
Monday, May 14, 2007
Nursery Rhymes
This is another slightly gratuitous post, but in light of our good बहन मायावती winning the UP elections, क्या करें, control नहीं होता!
I got this in an email from a relative in Lucknow, and thought it was worth sharing...
( Full disclosure - as a quarter Bihari, three-quarter UP wala, I have full authority to post Bihari jokes ...so if you want to pick a fight, go find Sheila Dikshit, okay?!)
I got this in an email from a relative in Lucknow, and thought it was worth sharing...
( Full disclosure - as a quarter Bihari, three-quarter UP wala, I have full authority to post Bihari jokes ...so if you want to pick a fight, go find Sheila Dikshit, okay?!)
Monday, May 07, 2007
Dreaming of Istanbul...
Okay - this may be cheating, but given that between work and study (I have an exam coming up in June) I haven't really done much interesting stuff for the past month. So in order to spare you folks the agony of my currently boring life, I'm recycling something very cool that I did back in the winter of 2005 - it was my trip to Istanbul. I had sent a travelogue-esque email to friends with pics when I came back, so I'm reproducing excerpts for you to read below (especially since a reader asked for a detailed travelogue). I really want to go back - don't think I've gotten Turkey out of my system just yet!
Just got back after five fairly hectic days in Istanbul (and if you're Greek, that's Konstantinoupoli to you...) It's a fascinating city, and one that I was almost being haunted by. For those of you who haven't heard the stories, here's how it goes.
We got to our hotel, reasonably dry thanks to the taxi, and after checking in, decided to be gung ho adventurous tourists and go out and walk along Istiklal Caddesi, which is a pedestrianised avenue in the Beyoglu/ Pera district (I don't have a Turkish keyboard, so you'll just have to pretend). However, given that we were slightly disoriented and that it was still POURING down with rain, we actually only ended up wandering around in almost zero degree monsoon style rain and got thoroughly soaked. Suitably chastised, we spent the rest of the evening in the hotel, warming up with hot showers, food, and really bad Turkish TV.
Post-cistern, we decided that we might as well go to Topkapi Palace, the old Ottoman palace, and ended up spending a fair bit of time (almost four hours) inside, because its so big and also because you need to take a tour to see the harem section. I think the best part of the Topkapi tour for me was seeing the Peacock Throne. For those not in the know, this was the old Mughal throne from India which was looted and taken away by Persian marauder Nadir Shah, and then gifted (!) to the Ottoman sultans as a present. Not having realised that it had ever left Persia, I was not prepared to see it in the Treasury at Topkapi Palace, but there it was in all its glory.
After finishing up at Topkapi, we went to the Sultan Ahmet mosque, which I think was the first mosque that I've ever been inside. And its going to be a hard act to follow, I'm afraid. Built to rival the Hagia Sophia (like most big Ottoman mosques in the city) its quite spectacular.
After that, and a quick trip on the Istanbul tram, we were back at Hagia Sophia, which I must admit is not as spectacular on the outside, except for its size. The only thing I could think of outside it was how large it is. But on the inside, its a lot more serene and quite tranquil really. The mixture of Roman brickwork, Byzantine mosaic and Ottoman calligraphy is eclectic, and quite sweet really. That building really feels like an old, old person, someone who's weathered a lot of things, and is really tired and almost spent. A large part of the central dome was taken up by scaffolding as they renovated it, but it was still quite impressive.
Just got back after five fairly hectic days in Istanbul (and if you're Greek, that's Konstantinoupoli to you...) It's a fascinating city, and one that I was almost being haunted by. For those of you who haven't heard the stories, here's how it goes.Basically, I've always been intrigued by Istanbul - it was such a historic place, with so many stories and myths and legends and events attached to it - truly one of the few great historic places in the world. I think somewhere deep inside I always wanted to go there, but over the past year, it felt as if I was being haunted by the city. Every book, movie, music, novel, you mention it, seemed to have a connection to Istanbul. I think I had the decision to visit made for me the weekend I rented three movies - a Bond film (The World is Not Enough), a German movie (Gegen Am Wand, or Head On) and a Jackie Chan movie (can't remember the name) and all three of them ended up in Istanbul. I was like, OK FINE I'LL GO!!!! I mean, seriously ... Jackie Chan??
So finally I went there in December 05 with a good friend who coincidentally is Greek. We got there on Sunday evening, after a rather turbulent flight (we were flying British Airways, and while passengers in the row next to us were clutching to their arm rests and praying with tears streaming down their face, the pilot said, "I'm sorry this isn't a very comfortable flight!" Ah, the British) Anyhow, the turbulence was caused by a ridiculous storm that had turned the streets (and runway) of Istanbul into rivulets of water and mud that cars threw up at pedestrians as they raced by. (By the way - if you go to Istanbul, be warned - the traffic is MANIC, so avoid driving)
We got to our hotel, reasonably dry thanks to the taxi, and after checking in, decided to be gung ho adventurous tourists and go out and walk along Istiklal Caddesi, which is a pedestrianised avenue in the Beyoglu/ Pera district (I don't have a Turkish keyboard, so you'll just have to pretend). However, given that we were slightly disoriented and that it was still POURING down with rain, we actually only ended up wandering around in almost zero degree monsoon style rain and got thoroughly soaked. Suitably chastised, we spent the rest of the evening in the hotel, warming up with hot showers, food, and really bad Turkish TV.The next day was cloudy and damp, but adventurism was alive and well. We decided to take a ferry across the Halic (I probably need a quick geography sketch here. Istanbul is split into two parts by the Bosphoros into Europe and Asia. The European side is further split into a North & South by the Halic, and we were in the northern part, while the old Ottoman & Byzantine city was on the Southern side). Anyway, we decided to go to the covered Egyptian Bazaar (in that weather, we weren't too concerned about the shopping, but the word "covered" really appealed to us.) After walking through what felt like Chandni Chowk in Old Delhi with really tacky touristy goods, and swarthy Turkish shopkeepers trying to sell me Indian saffron, we got out and decided to follow that big dome we saw at the top of the hill to get to Sulemaniye Mosque. Unfortunately (or fortunately) the dome ended up being Hagia Sophia, which we had been trying to avoid since we knew it was closed on Mondays. Forty minutes later, outside the Hagia Sophia, we're like, right! And then we got accosted by a Turkish carpet seller. I decided to humour him, and got ten minutes in his shop and a hot cup of apple tea for my pains, but also really sore ears as he tried to sell us Turkish carpets & kilims. Best of all, he was talking in sterling!
Extricating ourselves from his oily grasp (okay that's a little cliched, but seriously - he looked greasy) we went to the Byzantine cisterns, which are a remnant of Roman Constantinople, and are actually quite nice, if a bit humid and really drippy (seriously - watch your head and where you put your camera). But they're quite beautiful, and as long as the drops of water don't fall on you, the sound of the water is quite therapeutic. There are also two Medusa's heads on two pillars, carved there to ward off the evil eye.
Post-cistern, we decided that we might as well go to Topkapi Palace, the old Ottoman palace, and ended up spending a fair bit of time (almost four hours) inside, because its so big and also because you need to take a tour to see the harem section. I think the best part of the Topkapi tour for me was seeing the Peacock Throne. For those not in the know, this was the old Mughal throne from India which was looted and taken away by Persian marauder Nadir Shah, and then gifted (!) to the Ottoman sultans as a present. Not having realised that it had ever left Persia, I was not prepared to see it in the Treasury at Topkapi Palace, but there it was in all its glory.
After finishing up at Topkapi, we went to the Sultan Ahmet mosque, which I think was the first mosque that I've ever been inside. And its going to be a hard act to follow, I'm afraid. Built to rival the Hagia Sophia (like most big Ottoman mosques in the city) its quite spectacular.We also managed to squeeze in a trip to Kapali Carsi, the covered "Grand Bazaar", which was again like being in Chandni Chowk. My haggling skills from Delhi came in quite handy though. Funnily, most people thought we were Turkish, and when they realised we didn't speak much Turkish, they guessed that my friend was Greek, but their next judgement for me was that I was Iranian. Only when that was knocked out did they think "Indian"?
The next day was sunnier (and warmer) and we spent this going to Dolmabahce Palace, which was built in the 1850s to demonstrate Ottoman glory to the Europeans. It is consequently decorated alternately in Baroque, rococo & Ottoman styles, and the results are spectacularly HIDEOUS! Complete sensory overload, and very over the top - definitely worth a see, but don't blame me if you come out an advocate of minimalism....
After that, and a quick trip on the Istanbul tram, we were back at Hagia Sophia, which I must admit is not as spectacular on the outside, except for its size. The only thing I could think of outside it was how large it is. But on the inside, its a lot more serene and quite tranquil really. The mixture of Roman brickwork, Byzantine mosaic and Ottoman calligraphy is eclectic, and quite sweet really. That building really feels like an old, old person, someone who's weathered a lot of things, and is really tired and almost spent. A large part of the central dome was taken up by scaffolding as they renovated it, but it was still quite impressive.
A quick coffee and snacks later, we ended up in Sirkeci railway station, in the Grand Exhibition Hall next to the historic Orient Express bar for a Sufi music concert and sema, or ceremony. Even if it was a bit touristy, the mixture of the music and the whirling did make it fairly mystical. I was intrigued to see that of the seven dervishes, four were women, since I had always assumed them to be male...but definitely a good experience.
After that rather whirlwind tour (no puns intended) we ended up in Kurucesme for dinner. We were meeting someone who is a friend of a friend of mine and while she was quite busy with work, she really wanted to catch up so we were chez hers for dinner. Her mother had cooked a really fantastic meal, and it was a really pleasant evening to sit down with a Turkish family and see what life is really like in Turkey. Also, their living room looks right onto the Bosphoros, and the view is fantastic. I mean, how many people can say they live in Europe and their view is of Asia? Our hostess was also really friendly and warm, and gave us some good tips on clubs and bars to go to - something that I don't trust the Lonely Planet on, because the last thing I want to do when on vacation is end up at a bar with tons of grubby backpackers.
We spent two more days walking around different parts of the city (we went and visited the Greek Patriarchy and the Bulgarian church as well - I'd like to think that I'm probably the first Indian to go to either; the caretaker of the Bulgarian church definitely thought) and we also got lost walking around in the old Fenar & Balat districts, which are amazingly like Dariba Kalan and Karol Bagh in Delhi.
But the best experience of the last two days had to be the Galata House restaurant. After trekking around on the Asian side and seeing yet more mosques, we headed back to Galata, and decided we needed lunch. Our trusty Lonely Planet assured us that the Galata House restaurant had to be visited, and so we did. It was definitely worth it. Housed in the old British civil prison, the building was restored by a husband & wife architect couple in the last decade, and they've also opened a Georgian restaurant in it. They both are quite the traditional hosts, and Mr Goktug, the owner & restorer, spent a long time chatting to us and telling us stories. His wife was equally charming - they were like a picture out of the old world, with the restored building and the furnishings. Most interestingly, they have left pieces of plaster untouched from the prison cells to show off the graffiti that prisoners drew on it. My favourite one was a quote "A terrific wind has caught the ship of my destiny and brought it to this strange shore"....
But the best experience of the last two days had to be the Galata House restaurant. After trekking around on the Asian side and seeing yet more mosques, we headed back to Galata, and decided we needed lunch. Our trusty Lonely Planet assured us that the Galata House restaurant had to be visited, and so we did. It was definitely worth it. Housed in the old British civil prison, the building was restored by a husband & wife architect couple in the last decade, and they've also opened a Georgian restaurant in it. They both are quite the traditional hosts, and Mr Goktug, the owner & restorer, spent a long time chatting to us and telling us stories. His wife was equally charming - they were like a picture out of the old world, with the restored building and the furnishings. Most interestingly, they have left pieces of plaster untouched from the prison cells to show off the graffiti that prisoners drew on it. My favourite one was a quote "A terrific wind has caught the ship of my destiny and brought it to this strange shore"....
Till next time....
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