Saturday, 5 December 2009
Attention, Saviours of the World
There is still great hope for humanity in this world. People still believe change is possible and that perhaps, someday mankind will actually live in utopia. Well, that’s all fine, but at what point did we start believing this would be easy? When will the clichés end? If all we needed to save the world was love, wouldn’t it have been saved by now?!?Let us assume, just for the sake of argument, that life is black and white, and love, joy and other happy things can save the world. Surely if that was the case, some bright spark would have had found a way to institutionalize love by now. Wouldn’t some intellectual have proposed establishing a Ministry of Care & Affection which could ensure that love was equitably distributed across the general populace? And why hasn’t anyone made love and caring mandatory behaviour in schools yet? Or found a way to tax hate?So, OK, maybe life is a little bit grey. And maybe, we don’t have all the answers. Isn’t it time that we admitted this to ourselves and stopped pretending? Ever wonder what that kind of honesty would be like? Here is my suggested viewing for all future saviours of the world - Hugh Laurie, from “A Bit of Fry and Laurie” singing “All We Gotta Do Is…”
Wednesday, 28 October 2009
A Satirical Approach to Disprove Neoliberalism
There have been many discussions in our class lately about neoliberalism and the Washington Consensus that have changed my outlook on the economic history of the world quite drastically. The Washington Consensus was basically the commonly held belief among the leaders of developed countries in the late 1970s and 1980s in neoliberalism and the superiority of market forces. For the uninitiated, let me just briefly explain. Basically, in a neoliberalist world, there are three key dogmas:
- Markets, market forces & privatization - Good
- Governments - Rubbish
- Government regulation & intervention - The spawn of Satan
For years, neoliberals have pushed for further deregulation of markets and privatization of strategically important national industries. Their argument is that only market forces work and are far more efficient than government forces, but just how efficient is a system, when it works great for a little while showing tremendous results and then blows up gloriously in your face, once every few years? Atleast that is what happened in the developed countries; in the developing world, it was just one catastrophe after another with economies collapsing like dominos.
We, now know, that neoliberalism can't work in the real world - thank you Wall Street for that valuable lesson. But if that wasn't proof enough for the neoliberals that market forces alone are not the solution to every situation, here is yet another argument for them, arranged, rather delightfully, in the comedic stylings of Hugh Laurie and Stephen Fry from their show, A Bit of Fry and Laurie. This wonderfully framed political satire was made as part of the pilot episode of the show, way back in 1987. It really makes one wonder what the world would be like if it had paid more attention to satirical BBC comedy shows... Perhaps, its time I started watching more comedy shows, all in the name of economics, of course...
Friday, 25 September 2009
What Economists can learn from Impressionists
So this may seem like a crazy idea – after all, what do economists have to do with an art movement originating in France in the 19th century? Not a lot and perhaps, that is the problem. Indeed, most economists might be indignant with this suggestion. What, pray tell, can scientists such as themselves learn from an art movement?
For the uninitiated, Impressionism was a 19th century art movement that originated in France. It was a reaction against the formalism that characterised the academic art of that time. Although, the Impressionists were still Realists, which was the accepted art movement of the time, their innovative methods led them to develop a different meaning of reality than the one the Realists sought.
The Impressionists were more interested in the effects of light and they sought to understand its effects on form. They understood colours and how they reflect from object to object and how the very nature of colour changes with time. Their quest to capture light led them to work ‘en plein air’, outdoors and in the very heart of the scene they sought to capture.
As the movement evolved, the artists realized that their depictions changed by the minute as the light in which they viewed them changed. Impressionism became an attempt to create a spontaneous, undetailed depiction of the world through careful representation of the effects of natural and reflected light on objects. And so their concern for representing the individual object faded, while concern for representing that fleeting instant, the subjective impression grew.
This realization - that objectivity is not achievable in art, was groundbreaking. It provided a natural disclaimer for all Impressionist art – this was not an objective isolated reality being depicted, it was the human impression of that reality and therefore could be imperfect. Reality became what the individual saw; it was subjective and dynamic.
Economists tend to think of themselves as above society or as part of some über-society filled Homo Economicus – the rational man. In this perfect reality, economic models function perfectly and all the assumptions on which they are based are true. But what if we don’t actually live in such a world? What if the Impressionists are right? What if reality actually is subjective?
Isn’t it time economists had the same realization about their work – that no matter how hard they try, they can never depict a completely objective reality? If you think about it, every single economic theory is deeply embedded in the very culture of the economist. Each measure, each hypothesis is trying to see reality from different coloured lenses and yet economists choose to pretend these colours don’t exist.
Colour and light should matter just as much for Paul Krugman as they mattered for Berthe Morisot. Of course, for economists, colour and light, are metaphors for the context of situation they are trying to assess. Everything is contextual and all economic theories should come with a disclaimer that clearly identifies the author’s perspective. I just think economics would be a more enlightening subject if it was less caught up in trying to validate itself as a science and more observant and aware of the ever-changing social paradigm in which it exists.
Merely recognizing the colour and light that falls through their lenses is not enough, however. Economists need to understand how the changing light affects the reality they are trying to understand. Just as in art, the economic landscape of a region looks very different in the darkness and in the light and economists need a more nuanced understanding.
Impressionism was an attempt to capture a snapshot of the dynamic surroundings we live in a way that reflected this dynamism instead of trying to freeze the viewer in that instant. Monet painted the bridge in his garden at Giverny over and over again during different times of day and in different seasons in order to really understand the different realities possible.
Perhaps it’s time economists worked ‘en plein air’ and immersed themselves in long periods of study in the very heart of the object of their study, in order to see it from different angles and understand how it changes. Economic history, therefore, becomes far more important than it is given credit for. Understanding the causal links between a change in our impression of the reality and an event in our environment will be crucial to creating a good depiction.
Camille Pissaro, one of the pioneers of the Impressionist technique and the most consistent contributor to the movement, once said to his young students, "We are all the subjects of impressions, and some of use seek to convey the impressions to others. In the art of communicating impressions lies the power of generalizing without losing that logical connection of parts to the whole which satisfies the mind." If only, some economists had attended that class.
For the uninitiated, Impressionism was a 19th century art movement that originated in France. It was a reaction against the formalism that characterised the academic art of that time. Although, the Impressionists were still Realists, which was the accepted art movement of the time, their innovative methods led them to develop a different meaning of reality than the one the Realists sought.
The Impressionists were more interested in the effects of light and they sought to understand its effects on form. They understood colours and how they reflect from object to object and how the very nature of colour changes with time. Their quest to capture light led them to work ‘en plein air’, outdoors and in the very heart of the scene they sought to capture.
As the movement evolved, the artists realized that their depictions changed by the minute as the light in which they viewed them changed. Impressionism became an attempt to create a spontaneous, undetailed depiction of the world through careful representation of the effects of natural and reflected light on objects. And so their concern for representing the individual object faded, while concern for representing that fleeting instant, the subjective impression grew.
This realization - that objectivity is not achievable in art, was groundbreaking. It provided a natural disclaimer for all Impressionist art – this was not an objective isolated reality being depicted, it was the human impression of that reality and therefore could be imperfect. Reality became what the individual saw; it was subjective and dynamic.
Economists tend to think of themselves as above society or as part of some über-society filled Homo Economicus – the rational man. In this perfect reality, economic models function perfectly and all the assumptions on which they are based are true. But what if we don’t actually live in such a world? What if the Impressionists are right? What if reality actually is subjective?
Isn’t it time economists had the same realization about their work – that no matter how hard they try, they can never depict a completely objective reality? If you think about it, every single economic theory is deeply embedded in the very culture of the economist. Each measure, each hypothesis is trying to see reality from different coloured lenses and yet economists choose to pretend these colours don’t exist.
Colour and light should matter just as much for Paul Krugman as they mattered for Berthe Morisot. Of course, for economists, colour and light, are metaphors for the context of situation they are trying to assess. Everything is contextual and all economic theories should come with a disclaimer that clearly identifies the author’s perspective. I just think economics would be a more enlightening subject if it was less caught up in trying to validate itself as a science and more observant and aware of the ever-changing social paradigm in which it exists.
Merely recognizing the colour and light that falls through their lenses is not enough, however. Economists need to understand how the changing light affects the reality they are trying to understand. Just as in art, the economic landscape of a region looks very different in the darkness and in the light and economists need a more nuanced understanding.
Impressionism was an attempt to capture a snapshot of the dynamic surroundings we live in a way that reflected this dynamism instead of trying to freeze the viewer in that instant. Monet painted the bridge in his garden at Giverny over and over again during different times of day and in different seasons in order to really understand the different realities possible.
Perhaps it’s time economists worked ‘en plein air’ and immersed themselves in long periods of study in the very heart of the object of their study, in order to see it from different angles and understand how it changes. Economic history, therefore, becomes far more important than it is given credit for. Understanding the causal links between a change in our impression of the reality and an event in our environment will be crucial to creating a good depiction.
Camille Pissaro, one of the pioneers of the Impressionist technique and the most consistent contributor to the movement, once said to his young students, "We are all the subjects of impressions, and some of use seek to convey the impressions to others. In the art of communicating impressions lies the power of generalizing without losing that logical connection of parts to the whole which satisfies the mind." If only, some economists had attended that class.
Friday, 8 May 2009
An Ode to a Little Black Book
Imagine your memory is an art gallery or a history museum - filled with exhibitions with different themes.
Like every museum, even your memory needs a guide - leading you through the exhibition - pointing out interesting facts about each artefact and narrating funny anecdotes that one would never understand with just a picture. "And this picture was taken when the camera fell from her hands because a busker on the Champs Elysee frightened her."
So in this museum in my mind, who is the guide? I like to think my little black book, my little diary is my guide. It contains a blow-by-blow account of the trip and I can write exactly what I saw and did, who I met and talked to and of course, what I was thinking at that minute. After all, even though a picture is worth a thousand words, sometimes, even that isn't enough, is it?
But I have often asked myself - why bother? Why bother building the museum? Why bother trying to remember every minute? This doubt reaches its peak when instead of sleeping on the beach in the glorious sunshine, I am desperately trying to note down what happened yesterday. Is it worth ruining the now to remember the past? Well, obviously the past must have been fantastic enough for me to want to document it.
I guess its just me desperately trying to hold on to my memories, hold on to the good times a bit longer. To continue the museum train of thought, this is essentially the same rationale for the success of gift shops and souveneir shops. People like to have something that reminds them of what they learnt or saw. I am like that one child clutching tightly at the cheap souveneir toy even though I know I would probably have lost it or forgotten it by the evening. That may have sounded far more depressing than was intended. Forgetting would be depressing but I don't want to forget - hence, the diary, the little black book. Therefore, keeping a diary is a sign of hope, something that will always help you remember.
As you might have guessed by now, if you are still with me, this is an ode to my diary. The one that got lost. My little companion traveled with me all over the world and contains an entire wing of the museum in my mind. And I lost him. If I were still in the place where I lost him, I would put up LOST notices all over that would probably read something like this:
LBB and I in happier times - at 1:56 a.m. at the LCC Terminal of Kuala Lumpur Airport last year
MISSING: LITTLE BLACK BOOK
Value: Priceless
Description: Faithful; Nondescript; Leather-bound; Filled with yellowing pages with beetle-tracks like handwriting on it; Answers to the name of LBB(if it could hear).
Please return immediately to Ridhima. Contact at xxxxx
Friday, 27 March 2009
The Ladder of St. Augustine
Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,
That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will but tread
Beneath our feet each deed of shame!
That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will but tread
Beneath our feet each deed of shame!
All common things, each day's events,
That with the hour begin and end,
Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.
The low desire, the base design,
That makes another's virtues less;
The revel of the ruddy wine,
And all occasions of excess;
The longing for ignoble things;
The strife for triumph more than truth;
The hardening of the heart, that brings
Irreverence for the dreams of youth;
All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds,
That have their root in thoughts of ill;
Whatever hinders or impedes
The action of the nobler will;--
All these must first be trampled down
Beneath our feet, if we would gain
In the bright fields of fair renown
The right of eminent domain.
We have not wings, we cannot soar;
But we have feet to scale and climb
By slow degrees, by more and more,
The cloudy summits of our time.
The mighty pyramids of stone
That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,
When nearer seen, and better known,
Are but gigantic flights of stairs.
The distant mountains, that uprear
Their solid bastions to the skies,
Are crossed by pathways, that appear
As we to higher levels rise.
The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.
Standing on what too long we bore
With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,
We may discern--unseen before--
A path to higher destinies.
Nor deem the irrevocable Past,
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
That with the hour begin and end,
Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.
The low desire, the base design,
That makes another's virtues less;
The revel of the ruddy wine,
And all occasions of excess;
The longing for ignoble things;
The strife for triumph more than truth;
The hardening of the heart, that brings
Irreverence for the dreams of youth;
All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds,
That have their root in thoughts of ill;
Whatever hinders or impedes
The action of the nobler will;--
All these must first be trampled down
Beneath our feet, if we would gain
In the bright fields of fair renown
The right of eminent domain.
We have not wings, we cannot soar;
But we have feet to scale and climb
By slow degrees, by more and more,
The cloudy summits of our time.
The mighty pyramids of stone
That wedge-like cleave the desert airs,
When nearer seen, and better known,
Are but gigantic flights of stairs.
The distant mountains, that uprear
Their solid bastions to the skies,
Are crossed by pathways, that appear
As we to higher levels rise.
The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.
Standing on what too long we bore
With shoulders bent and downcast eyes,
We may discern--unseen before--
A path to higher destinies.
Nor deem the irrevocable Past,
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Thursday, 26 March 2009
A Chance to Learn
When the hand of failure shatters your hopes
And reality lays siege to your dreaming spires,
Take an honest look at yourself, reassess and see
The dissonance between your actions and desires.
Dreaming the dream is not enough;
It is merely the map that guides your way.
The voyage will be long and hard to endure
Persistence and Diligence must be your mainstay
Accept your mistake - as a chance to learn.
Have faith that you will get there in the end.
Work hard and long and strive and toil
And make your Destiny your friend.
And reality lays siege to your dreaming spires,
Take an honest look at yourself, reassess and see
The dissonance between your actions and desires.
Dreaming the dream is not enough;
It is merely the map that guides your way.
The voyage will be long and hard to endure
Persistence and Diligence must be your mainstay
Accept your mistake - as a chance to learn.
Have faith that you will get there in the end.
Work hard and long and strive and toil
And make your Destiny your friend.
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Pick up your feet and pull up your socks
“If you want to leave your footprints
On the sands of time
Do not drag your feet”
- A.P.J. Abdul Kalam
“The expectations of life depend upon diligence; the mechanic that would perfect his work must first sharpen his tools.”
- Confucius
“Do not wait; the time will never be "just right'. Start where you stand, and work with whatever tools you may have at your command, and better tools will be found as you go along.”
- Napoleon Hill
“Laziness may appear attractive but work gives satisfaction.”
- Ann Frank
Sunday, 15 March 2009
Time Management & Habits
“Time stays long enough for anyone who will use”
- Leonardo Da Vinci
“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.”
- Aristotle
- Leonardo Da Vinci
“We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.”
- Aristotle
“Motivation is what gets you started. Habit is what keeps you going.”
- Jim Ryan
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
An Attempt at Steampunk
THE FLIGHT OF JUGGERNAUT
PRELUDE
According to Steampunk Magazine, ‘steampunk’ refers to a branch of science fiction that concerns itself with Victorian-era technology. Nowadays it is seen more as a burgeoning subculture that pays respect to the visceral nature of antiquated technology. My main objective was to write a steampunk story that felt more authentic – as though it were written in the past, speculating about the future. Another one of my objectives was to pay homage to one of my favourite authors, Jules Verne. Jules Verne is one of the pioneers of science fiction along with his contemporary H.G. Wells. Some of his best known works such as 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and Journey to the Centre of the Earth are good examples of steampunk literature.
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH RAM BAHADUR GIVES HIS MASTER A NEW DIRECTION TO CONSIDER
Sir John Dufferin was an enigmatic man, with many eccentricities. People at the local gymkhana often speculated about his past – how he had come to work in the Great Indian Peninsular Railway, how he retired as Chief Engineer and perhaps, the most mysterious of all, why he chose to stay behind in India after he retired when it was common knowledge that the Queen has bestowed upon him a large estate in Surrey.
No one knew much about him as he rarely spoke of himself. The only person who knew enough about Sir Dufferin was his faithful khansaman Ram Bahadur. Ram Bahadur had been with him ever since he alighted off the steamer from Aden at Bombay port. All people knew was that as an engineer for the Great Indian Peninsular Railway, he had spent many years travelling around the country drawing up rail routes through unmapped territories and had even been knighted by the Queen for his efforts for the East India Company.
After decades of travel and work, he had finally retired as Chief Engineer of the Great Indian Peninsular Railway. He settled down to a comfortable scholarly existence in his bungalow in Cawnpore cantonment. His home was filled with odd little relics and books and books of ancient Sanskrit text. And it was here that he spent most of his time poring over ancient scriptures. It was as though he was desperately searching for something, but no one knew what.
It was the spring of 1857. Sir Dufferin was sitting in his library hunched over sheets of Hindoo folklore. Presently, there was a knock at the door and Ram Bahadur came in bearing afternoon tea. “Already four o’ clock, Bahadur?” sighed Sir John
“Yes Sahib” responded the khansaman dutifully
“Where does the time go?”
“Not much progress with the structure, Sahib?”
“No Bahadur,” responded the Englishman sadly, “I am very close though. The scriptures that I have been looking at all have great descriptions of how the mechanics of the engine would work. I just wish I could see what it was supposed to look like.”
“Perhaps Sahib could be able to see what it is supposed to look like. Many Hindoo temples have sculptural depictions of what the chariots were supposed to look like. There is one famous one at Jaganath in the Orissa province.”
“I don’t think I have heard of this.”
“You must have Sahib. It is the chariot of the beloved deity, Lord Krishna. Religious zealots sometimes throw themselves under the unstoppable chariot in order to attain salvation.”
“Oh, you mean the juggernaut.”
“The very same, Sahib. It is one of the best preserved chariots structures still existing. Perhaps this could be a perfect way for Sahib to understand the structure.”
“So be it then. Make the arrangements Bahadur. We depart tomorrow.”
“Yes Sahib,” responded Ram Bahadur and left the room quietly leaving his master to his thoughts.
CHAPTER II
IN WHICH THE PRIESTS AT THE JUGGERNAUT TEMPLE LEARN WHY THE BRITISH HAVE BEEN ABLE TO RULE THEIR COUNTRY
Sir John sat at the steps of the ancient Hindoo temple in a thoughtless daze of heat. This question had plagued him for so many years now – had the ancient Hindoos mastered the science of flight? It was a question he had stumbled upon on his second year in India, during an expedition into the Bombay Presidency.
In a tiny village near Nagpur, he had come across a Hindoo priest who described the flying chariots of Hindoo divinities to him. Unlike his other countrymen, Sir John Dufferin had taken the trouble to learn how to read ancient Sanskrit and one look at the ancient scriptures had told him that these weren’t just folktales – they were almost like instructions. Being an engineer, he had immediately tried to understand the mechanics behind it.
Over the course of his many expeditions for the Railways, he began to gather more and more evidence over the existence of this machine. With Ram Bahadur’s help, he had been able to understand the mythology he was reading. Luckily for Sir Dufferin, Ram Bahadur also had a strong understanding of Hindoo mythology being of a higher caste.
Ram Bahadur was a faithful servant and Sir Dufferin confided in him absolutely. Having been with Sir Dufferin for his many years, he was happy with his master’s sensitivity to his countrymen and so was always happy to help the Englishman with his many questions. He had been fortunate enough to have learnt English in the household of Lord Dalhousie, the previous Governor-General of India, and so was able to understand exactly how English lords thought.
Despite having aged himself, Ram Bahadur still retained his boyish enthusiasm for each new adventure they went on and this visit to Orissa province was no different. He came flying down the stairs, his turban slipping slightly crying “Sahib, Sahib, the priest has agreed to meet with you.”
Sir Dufferin rose calmly and with the same deliberate slow dignity of motion, turned to see his faithful servant approach. “Good work Bahadur. Did you ask him about the temple plans?”
“Sahib, I think he has them but he does not want to share information with an Englishman.”
“We shall have to convince him otherwise then. Let us meet with this servant of God now.”
Sir Dufferin, for his apparent obtuseness, was a very shrewd man when he wanted to be. It was this same shrewdness that his countrymen had used to slowly take control over the subcontinent. He spent many days at the temple drawing sketches and discussing mythology with the priests. Finally, the head priest called Sir John for an audience.
“What do you want from us, Sahib? Why do you haunt our temple grounds?” asked the old priest wearily.
“All I want is to see the scriptures of the temple history.” Responded Sir Dufferin resolutely.
“But why? It is not your dharma. It is not your religion. Why do you care?”
Sir John Dufferin hesitated and considered his response carefully. He wondered how much he should tell this native. Should he tell him that he, a foreigner, was planning to recreate a flying craft that had been developed by Indian people from two thousand years ago?
“I want to understand your culture and I want to help you keep it alive.” Said Sir John, earnestly.
The priest considered these words and studied the Englishman’s face. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Sir Dufferin, he turned and beckoned him to follow him into the inner sanctum of the shrine.
When they had reached the inner sanctum, the old priest pulled out a crumbling, faded manuscript. Sir John leaned in and his eyes grew very wide as he caught a glimpse of a drawing of the juggernaut chariot. This was what he had been seeking. It was the missing piece of the puzzle.
CHAPTER III
IN WHICH THE LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF THE LOCAL GYMKHANA UNDERESTIMATE THE SUPERIORITY OF THE HINDOOS
A week later back in Cawnpore, Sir John Dufferin, was sitting at the head of the long table at the Cawnpore Gymkhana. It was the gayest party that Cawnpore Fort had ever seen. All the Sahibs and their Memsahibs had turned out in all their glittering finery to celebrate the foundation laying of the first railway tracks in the Central Provinces.
The celebrations had been a bit sombre with everyone anxious about the situation of growing unrest among the sepoys. Over cocktails, the gathering had agreed that the main source of this unrest was the annexation of the kingdom of Oudh. There were many boisterous opinions exchanged and possible solutions were almost being drafted until the first course was served. And in the midst of all that good food, as is usually the case, the conversation died down for a while and the topic was forgotten.
However, the topic came up again during the main course. Loud-mouth and pompous, Lord Bradshaw voiced his opinions. “I can’t believe Col. Birch allowed the sepoys to grease their own Enfield cartridges. It’s preposterous - pandering to the savage Hindoo faith. Those barbarians would never get anywhere if it wasn’t for us.” There were murmurs of approval from around the table.
Sir Dufferin had a very phlegmatic temperament and was not prone to participate in controversy. However, his recent success in Juggernaut emboldened him to venture a response to Lord Bradshaw, “My dear fellow, isn’t it a tad rash to call it a ‘savage’ faith? I think the Hindoos were actually quite sophisticated in the past. A lot of their advancements lie forgotten in ancient scriptures that very few can decipher.”
“Poppycock, my good man.” Said Lord Bradshaw
“Surely Sir Dufferin does not mean to suggest that he thinks that the Hindoos are civilized folk.” Interjected Lady Dalhousie
“But Madam, consider the facts. We know they had an ancient civilization that was about as sophisticated as Renaissance England even before Christ. They have clearly established many important mathematical concepts like the zero. And their advancements in the field of medicine were...”
“That is ridiculous, Sir,” interrupted Sir Thomas Jeffries, “Can you name even one thing that they invented that we don’t have today?”
“Your misconception is understandable. I myself was unaware of their advancements until recently. As it turns out, the Hindoos mastered the science of flight way almost as early as 2000 B.C.”
“I think Sir Dufferin has had a little too much to drink, perhaps.” Laughed Lady Dalhousie.
“You do me injustice, Madam. I have seen this with my own eyes. In fact, I think I have nearly unlocked this secret myself.”
The room grew deadly silent. Everyone turned around to stare at Sir Dufferin, who continued speaking implacably as though nothing had happened. “I think I have managed to rebuild the ancient Hindoo flying craft,” asserted Sir Dufferin, “but this is presumptuous of me to assume that you will take my word for it. I should let you see for yourself.” And in an uncharacteristic move Sir Dufferin, shy and obtuse Sir Dufferin, walked to the centre of the room and invited the gathering to see the wondrous machine. “Ladies and Gentlemen, in a month’s time, I will unveil the ancient Hindoo flying machine and I invite you all to join me as I take the first ever human flight.”
CHAPTER IV
IN WHICH SIR DUFFERIN CREATES HIS OWN JUGGERNAUT
Three weeks after this controversial banquet, Sir Dufferin found himself in a ramshackle shed on the outskirts of Cawnpore. Ram Bahadur had never seen his employer this determined or this worn out and approached Sir John hesitantly, “Perhaps Sahib would like to rest for some time. It has been two days since you ate or slept, Sahib.”
Sir Dufferin looked around dazed. “Good Lord! Has it really been two days Bahadur? Where does the time go?” Ignoring the odd sense of déjà-vu, Ram Bahadur insisted, “Yes Sahib. Now please sit down and have something to eat.”
As Sir Dufferin sat down to his first meal in two days, he still couldn’t get his mind away from the gleaming steel behemoth that he had been working on. “I think she is ready to fly Bahadur. What do you think?” Ram Bahadur did not answer. He was staring at the massive steel behemoth with the fascination of a little boy. How could this contraption move, thought Ram Bahadur, let alone fly. He examined the gleaming chariot that formed the centre of the frame and ran his hands over the levers and knobs that were to control the machine.
“Why don’t we test it out?” said Sir Dufferin rising from his repast. Together, he and Ram Bahadur wheeled the heavy structure out of the shed. They were quite isolated, in the middle of endless farmland – sugarcane fields as far as the eye could see. The steel wings that extended out from both sides of the main chariot gleamed in the sunlight. The main frame of the structure resembled a chariot of ancient times but with a roof overhead. There were two small seats inside in front of a large control panel that caught glimmers of sunlight here and there.
As soon as the machine had enough place to manoeuvre, the two men got inside the chariot. Sir Dufferin began to pull the different knobs and levers as Bahadur watched on in amazement. Slowly the steam motor in the rear of the chariot purred into life and Bahadur felt a peculiar sense of lightness as the frame slowly floated above the ground and hovered there for a few minutes. Sir Dufferin looked down at gap between the wheels and the surface and smiled, “Bahadur, it works.”
Ram Bahadur was speechless. He didn’t know what to say. He had never experienced such a thing before and was holding on to the sides for dear life as if the chariot was bucking violently even though it was floating steadily a few inches above the ground. “Shall we see how far it can go?” asked Sir Dufferin excitedly and without waiting for an answer, turned one of the brightly coloured knobs, pulled down a lever hard and the chariot jolted forward and upward.
Within minutes, they were hurtling forward at a height of three hundred metres. The usually calm and demure Sir Dufferin was cackling wildly with excitement as they sped over trees and endless sugarcane fields. The ancient flying craft, the Juggernaut, as he has christened it in his mind, was alight once again, after centuries. He couldn’t wait to reveal this invention to his colleagues at the Great Indian Peninsular Railway. They would be fascinated.
As they reached a constant altitude, he set the controls so that they would just fly straight instead of up or down. He couldn’t stop smiling. This was an elation he had never experienced. It was a strange sense of freedom – freedom from shackles of the earth but more importantly for him, freedom from his quest of so many years. Indeed, perhaps, the reason he was smiling so broadly was that at last, after so many years of searching he had at last found what he was looking for all these years in India.
CHAPTER V
IN WHICH SIR DUFFERIN AND RAM BAHADUR WITNESS THE BEGINNING OF THE END
Two hours later, Sir Dufferin began to notice the Juggernaut dipping slowly. The steady purr of the motor was beginning to weaken. Sir Dufferin quickly pulled at the controls and began to descend toward the surface. As they came lower, Ram Bahadur, noticed that they were just outside a large city of some sort. He was unable to identify which city it was though. In fact, he had completely lost his bearings.
When the flying craft was ten metres from the ground, the engine finally gave one last sputter and then died completely. The Juggernaut plummeted to the earth with both occupants screaming and holding on to each other for dear life. It landed with a deafening noise and Sir Dufferin and Ram Bahadur were hurtled into the front panel and then to the back of the heavy steel frame.
Bruised, battered and disoriented, master and servant emerged from the wreckage. As they began to assess the damage to the Juggernaut, they heard an uproar in the distance. It sounded like shrieks of agony and pain – it sounded like a war. “Good heavens, what was that?” said Sir Dufferin.
“I don’t know Sahib, but I think we should head into that nearby town and find out.”
“Do you know where we are Ram Bahadur?” asked Sir Dufferin. For the first time, Ram Bahadur thought he heard a hint of fear in that voice. It was a fear that he could not explain, nor could he allay.
They walked through more sugarcane fields in the direction of the screams, even though their instinct told them to go the other way. Within ten minutes they had reached a road and began to see houses but all of them were deserted. Suddenly, Sir Dufferin’s eye glanced up at the now overcast sky and saw plumes of smoke rising from the city ahead. He pointed them out to Ram Bahadur.
“Sahib, I have a bad feeling about this. Maybe you should stay here while I go into the city and see what is happening.”
“No, my good man. I will come with you.”
The two men continued down the road. Eventually a road sign informed them that they were in the city of Meerut, four hundred and five kilometres north-west of Kanpur. They did not have to marvel at the distance they had covered by air as suddenly they saw a man running towards them. As he drew nearer, they saw that he was English, obviously a junior officer. His uniform was ripped and bloodstained and his eyes had a wary look about them. But seeing that the approaching party contained an Englishman, he limped towards them.
“Whatever happened to you, my good man?” asked Sir Dufferin of the soldier.
“Haven’t you heard? The sepoys are revolting. They have already shot three English officers and have gone on a rampage through the cantonment. They are attacking all Europeans, even the women and children. I just barely escaped with my life.” said the injured man.
Ram Bahadur turned to Sir Dufferin worried, “Sahib, you should leave this place. It is not safe for you.”
“No Bahadur. I cannot abandon my countrymen this way. Surely there will be some way of reasoning with the sepoys. I am sure we can negotiate with them. I must go to see the commanding officer of Meerut Cant.”
“But Sahib...” protested Ram Bahadur.
“No Bahadur. I will go to Meerut. In the meantime, I want you to take this officer to safety. Rampur is not far from Meerut. The Nawab has always sympathized with the Queen’s views.” said Sir Dufferin, very firmly. Having said that, he turned on his heel and left Ram Bahadur and the junior officer there by the side of the road leading to Meerut and marched into hell.
Ram Bahadur never saw his employer again, nor did he ever get to behold the mysterious flying craft, the Juggernaut, ever again. He died on the way to Rampur, trying to protect the young officer in front of a mob of sepoys that was patrolling the highways. Mysteriously enough, no one ever found the wreckage of the Juggernaut. No one ever learnt of the technological leaps and bounds that been made and no one grieved at their loss. The ancient Hindoos might say that it was just not Sir Dufferin’s destiny to share his invention with the world. Whatever the reason, the secret of flight remained lost like the mysterious Juggernaut that revealed it.
PRELUDE
According to Steampunk Magazine, ‘steampunk’ refers to a branch of science fiction that concerns itself with Victorian-era technology. Nowadays it is seen more as a burgeoning subculture that pays respect to the visceral nature of antiquated technology. My main objective was to write a steampunk story that felt more authentic – as though it were written in the past, speculating about the future. Another one of my objectives was to pay homage to one of my favourite authors, Jules Verne. Jules Verne is one of the pioneers of science fiction along with his contemporary H.G. Wells. Some of his best known works such as 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and Journey to the Centre of the Earth are good examples of steampunk literature.
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH RAM BAHADUR GIVES HIS MASTER A NEW DIRECTION TO CONSIDER
Sir John Dufferin was an enigmatic man, with many eccentricities. People at the local gymkhana often speculated about his past – how he had come to work in the Great Indian Peninsular Railway, how he retired as Chief Engineer and perhaps, the most mysterious of all, why he chose to stay behind in India after he retired when it was common knowledge that the Queen has bestowed upon him a large estate in Surrey.
No one knew much about him as he rarely spoke of himself. The only person who knew enough about Sir Dufferin was his faithful khansaman Ram Bahadur. Ram Bahadur had been with him ever since he alighted off the steamer from Aden at Bombay port. All people knew was that as an engineer for the Great Indian Peninsular Railway, he had spent many years travelling around the country drawing up rail routes through unmapped territories and had even been knighted by the Queen for his efforts for the East India Company.
After decades of travel and work, he had finally retired as Chief Engineer of the Great Indian Peninsular Railway. He settled down to a comfortable scholarly existence in his bungalow in Cawnpore cantonment. His home was filled with odd little relics and books and books of ancient Sanskrit text. And it was here that he spent most of his time poring over ancient scriptures. It was as though he was desperately searching for something, but no one knew what.
It was the spring of 1857. Sir Dufferin was sitting in his library hunched over sheets of Hindoo folklore. Presently, there was a knock at the door and Ram Bahadur came in bearing afternoon tea. “Already four o’ clock, Bahadur?” sighed Sir John
“Yes Sahib” responded the khansaman dutifully
“Where does the time go?”
“Not much progress with the structure, Sahib?”
“No Bahadur,” responded the Englishman sadly, “I am very close though. The scriptures that I have been looking at all have great descriptions of how the mechanics of the engine would work. I just wish I could see what it was supposed to look like.”
“Perhaps Sahib could be able to see what it is supposed to look like. Many Hindoo temples have sculptural depictions of what the chariots were supposed to look like. There is one famous one at Jaganath in the Orissa province.”
“I don’t think I have heard of this.”
“You must have Sahib. It is the chariot of the beloved deity, Lord Krishna. Religious zealots sometimes throw themselves under the unstoppable chariot in order to attain salvation.”
“Oh, you mean the juggernaut.”
“The very same, Sahib. It is one of the best preserved chariots structures still existing. Perhaps this could be a perfect way for Sahib to understand the structure.”
“So be it then. Make the arrangements Bahadur. We depart tomorrow.”
“Yes Sahib,” responded Ram Bahadur and left the room quietly leaving his master to his thoughts.
CHAPTER II
IN WHICH THE PRIESTS AT THE JUGGERNAUT TEMPLE LEARN WHY THE BRITISH HAVE BEEN ABLE TO RULE THEIR COUNTRY
Sir John sat at the steps of the ancient Hindoo temple in a thoughtless daze of heat. This question had plagued him for so many years now – had the ancient Hindoos mastered the science of flight? It was a question he had stumbled upon on his second year in India, during an expedition into the Bombay Presidency.
In a tiny village near Nagpur, he had come across a Hindoo priest who described the flying chariots of Hindoo divinities to him. Unlike his other countrymen, Sir John Dufferin had taken the trouble to learn how to read ancient Sanskrit and one look at the ancient scriptures had told him that these weren’t just folktales – they were almost like instructions. Being an engineer, he had immediately tried to understand the mechanics behind it.
Over the course of his many expeditions for the Railways, he began to gather more and more evidence over the existence of this machine. With Ram Bahadur’s help, he had been able to understand the mythology he was reading. Luckily for Sir Dufferin, Ram Bahadur also had a strong understanding of Hindoo mythology being of a higher caste.
Ram Bahadur was a faithful servant and Sir Dufferin confided in him absolutely. Having been with Sir Dufferin for his many years, he was happy with his master’s sensitivity to his countrymen and so was always happy to help the Englishman with his many questions. He had been fortunate enough to have learnt English in the household of Lord Dalhousie, the previous Governor-General of India, and so was able to understand exactly how English lords thought.
Despite having aged himself, Ram Bahadur still retained his boyish enthusiasm for each new adventure they went on and this visit to Orissa province was no different. He came flying down the stairs, his turban slipping slightly crying “Sahib, Sahib, the priest has agreed to meet with you.”
Sir Dufferin rose calmly and with the same deliberate slow dignity of motion, turned to see his faithful servant approach. “Good work Bahadur. Did you ask him about the temple plans?”
“Sahib, I think he has them but he does not want to share information with an Englishman.”
“We shall have to convince him otherwise then. Let us meet with this servant of God now.”
Sir Dufferin, for his apparent obtuseness, was a very shrewd man when he wanted to be. It was this same shrewdness that his countrymen had used to slowly take control over the subcontinent. He spent many days at the temple drawing sketches and discussing mythology with the priests. Finally, the head priest called Sir John for an audience.
“What do you want from us, Sahib? Why do you haunt our temple grounds?” asked the old priest wearily.
“All I want is to see the scriptures of the temple history.” Responded Sir Dufferin resolutely.
“But why? It is not your dharma. It is not your religion. Why do you care?”
Sir John Dufferin hesitated and considered his response carefully. He wondered how much he should tell this native. Should he tell him that he, a foreigner, was planning to recreate a flying craft that had been developed by Indian people from two thousand years ago?
“I want to understand your culture and I want to help you keep it alive.” Said Sir John, earnestly.
The priest considered these words and studied the Englishman’s face. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Sir Dufferin, he turned and beckoned him to follow him into the inner sanctum of the shrine.
When they had reached the inner sanctum, the old priest pulled out a crumbling, faded manuscript. Sir John leaned in and his eyes grew very wide as he caught a glimpse of a drawing of the juggernaut chariot. This was what he had been seeking. It was the missing piece of the puzzle.
CHAPTER III
IN WHICH THE LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF THE LOCAL GYMKHANA UNDERESTIMATE THE SUPERIORITY OF THE HINDOOS
A week later back in Cawnpore, Sir John Dufferin, was sitting at the head of the long table at the Cawnpore Gymkhana. It was the gayest party that Cawnpore Fort had ever seen. All the Sahibs and their Memsahibs had turned out in all their glittering finery to celebrate the foundation laying of the first railway tracks in the Central Provinces.
The celebrations had been a bit sombre with everyone anxious about the situation of growing unrest among the sepoys. Over cocktails, the gathering had agreed that the main source of this unrest was the annexation of the kingdom of Oudh. There were many boisterous opinions exchanged and possible solutions were almost being drafted until the first course was served. And in the midst of all that good food, as is usually the case, the conversation died down for a while and the topic was forgotten.
However, the topic came up again during the main course. Loud-mouth and pompous, Lord Bradshaw voiced his opinions. “I can’t believe Col. Birch allowed the sepoys to grease their own Enfield cartridges. It’s preposterous - pandering to the savage Hindoo faith. Those barbarians would never get anywhere if it wasn’t for us.” There were murmurs of approval from around the table.
Sir Dufferin had a very phlegmatic temperament and was not prone to participate in controversy. However, his recent success in Juggernaut emboldened him to venture a response to Lord Bradshaw, “My dear fellow, isn’t it a tad rash to call it a ‘savage’ faith? I think the Hindoos were actually quite sophisticated in the past. A lot of their advancements lie forgotten in ancient scriptures that very few can decipher.”
“Poppycock, my good man.” Said Lord Bradshaw
“Surely Sir Dufferin does not mean to suggest that he thinks that the Hindoos are civilized folk.” Interjected Lady Dalhousie
“But Madam, consider the facts. We know they had an ancient civilization that was about as sophisticated as Renaissance England even before Christ. They have clearly established many important mathematical concepts like the zero. And their advancements in the field of medicine were...”
“That is ridiculous, Sir,” interrupted Sir Thomas Jeffries, “Can you name even one thing that they invented that we don’t have today?”
“Your misconception is understandable. I myself was unaware of their advancements until recently. As it turns out, the Hindoos mastered the science of flight way almost as early as 2000 B.C.”
“I think Sir Dufferin has had a little too much to drink, perhaps.” Laughed Lady Dalhousie.
“You do me injustice, Madam. I have seen this with my own eyes. In fact, I think I have nearly unlocked this secret myself.”
The room grew deadly silent. Everyone turned around to stare at Sir Dufferin, who continued speaking implacably as though nothing had happened. “I think I have managed to rebuild the ancient Hindoo flying craft,” asserted Sir Dufferin, “but this is presumptuous of me to assume that you will take my word for it. I should let you see for yourself.” And in an uncharacteristic move Sir Dufferin, shy and obtuse Sir Dufferin, walked to the centre of the room and invited the gathering to see the wondrous machine. “Ladies and Gentlemen, in a month’s time, I will unveil the ancient Hindoo flying machine and I invite you all to join me as I take the first ever human flight.”
CHAPTER IV
IN WHICH SIR DUFFERIN CREATES HIS OWN JUGGERNAUT
Three weeks after this controversial banquet, Sir Dufferin found himself in a ramshackle shed on the outskirts of Cawnpore. Ram Bahadur had never seen his employer this determined or this worn out and approached Sir John hesitantly, “Perhaps Sahib would like to rest for some time. It has been two days since you ate or slept, Sahib.”
Sir Dufferin looked around dazed. “Good Lord! Has it really been two days Bahadur? Where does the time go?” Ignoring the odd sense of déjà-vu, Ram Bahadur insisted, “Yes Sahib. Now please sit down and have something to eat.”
As Sir Dufferin sat down to his first meal in two days, he still couldn’t get his mind away from the gleaming steel behemoth that he had been working on. “I think she is ready to fly Bahadur. What do you think?” Ram Bahadur did not answer. He was staring at the massive steel behemoth with the fascination of a little boy. How could this contraption move, thought Ram Bahadur, let alone fly. He examined the gleaming chariot that formed the centre of the frame and ran his hands over the levers and knobs that were to control the machine.
“Why don’t we test it out?” said Sir Dufferin rising from his repast. Together, he and Ram Bahadur wheeled the heavy structure out of the shed. They were quite isolated, in the middle of endless farmland – sugarcane fields as far as the eye could see. The steel wings that extended out from both sides of the main chariot gleamed in the sunlight. The main frame of the structure resembled a chariot of ancient times but with a roof overhead. There were two small seats inside in front of a large control panel that caught glimmers of sunlight here and there.
As soon as the machine had enough place to manoeuvre, the two men got inside the chariot. Sir Dufferin began to pull the different knobs and levers as Bahadur watched on in amazement. Slowly the steam motor in the rear of the chariot purred into life and Bahadur felt a peculiar sense of lightness as the frame slowly floated above the ground and hovered there for a few minutes. Sir Dufferin looked down at gap between the wheels and the surface and smiled, “Bahadur, it works.”
Ram Bahadur was speechless. He didn’t know what to say. He had never experienced such a thing before and was holding on to the sides for dear life as if the chariot was bucking violently even though it was floating steadily a few inches above the ground. “Shall we see how far it can go?” asked Sir Dufferin excitedly and without waiting for an answer, turned one of the brightly coloured knobs, pulled down a lever hard and the chariot jolted forward and upward.
Within minutes, they were hurtling forward at a height of three hundred metres. The usually calm and demure Sir Dufferin was cackling wildly with excitement as they sped over trees and endless sugarcane fields. The ancient flying craft, the Juggernaut, as he has christened it in his mind, was alight once again, after centuries. He couldn’t wait to reveal this invention to his colleagues at the Great Indian Peninsular Railway. They would be fascinated.
As they reached a constant altitude, he set the controls so that they would just fly straight instead of up or down. He couldn’t stop smiling. This was an elation he had never experienced. It was a strange sense of freedom – freedom from shackles of the earth but more importantly for him, freedom from his quest of so many years. Indeed, perhaps, the reason he was smiling so broadly was that at last, after so many years of searching he had at last found what he was looking for all these years in India.
CHAPTER V
IN WHICH SIR DUFFERIN AND RAM BAHADUR WITNESS THE BEGINNING OF THE END
Two hours later, Sir Dufferin began to notice the Juggernaut dipping slowly. The steady purr of the motor was beginning to weaken. Sir Dufferin quickly pulled at the controls and began to descend toward the surface. As they came lower, Ram Bahadur, noticed that they were just outside a large city of some sort. He was unable to identify which city it was though. In fact, he had completely lost his bearings.
When the flying craft was ten metres from the ground, the engine finally gave one last sputter and then died completely. The Juggernaut plummeted to the earth with both occupants screaming and holding on to each other for dear life. It landed with a deafening noise and Sir Dufferin and Ram Bahadur were hurtled into the front panel and then to the back of the heavy steel frame.
Bruised, battered and disoriented, master and servant emerged from the wreckage. As they began to assess the damage to the Juggernaut, they heard an uproar in the distance. It sounded like shrieks of agony and pain – it sounded like a war. “Good heavens, what was that?” said Sir Dufferin.
“I don’t know Sahib, but I think we should head into that nearby town and find out.”
“Do you know where we are Ram Bahadur?” asked Sir Dufferin. For the first time, Ram Bahadur thought he heard a hint of fear in that voice. It was a fear that he could not explain, nor could he allay.
They walked through more sugarcane fields in the direction of the screams, even though their instinct told them to go the other way. Within ten minutes they had reached a road and began to see houses but all of them were deserted. Suddenly, Sir Dufferin’s eye glanced up at the now overcast sky and saw plumes of smoke rising from the city ahead. He pointed them out to Ram Bahadur.
“Sahib, I have a bad feeling about this. Maybe you should stay here while I go into the city and see what is happening.”
“No, my good man. I will come with you.”
The two men continued down the road. Eventually a road sign informed them that they were in the city of Meerut, four hundred and five kilometres north-west of Kanpur. They did not have to marvel at the distance they had covered by air as suddenly they saw a man running towards them. As he drew nearer, they saw that he was English, obviously a junior officer. His uniform was ripped and bloodstained and his eyes had a wary look about them. But seeing that the approaching party contained an Englishman, he limped towards them.
“Whatever happened to you, my good man?” asked Sir Dufferin of the soldier.
“Haven’t you heard? The sepoys are revolting. They have already shot three English officers and have gone on a rampage through the cantonment. They are attacking all Europeans, even the women and children. I just barely escaped with my life.” said the injured man.
Ram Bahadur turned to Sir Dufferin worried, “Sahib, you should leave this place. It is not safe for you.”
“No Bahadur. I cannot abandon my countrymen this way. Surely there will be some way of reasoning with the sepoys. I am sure we can negotiate with them. I must go to see the commanding officer of Meerut Cant.”
“But Sahib...” protested Ram Bahadur.
“No Bahadur. I will go to Meerut. In the meantime, I want you to take this officer to safety. Rampur is not far from Meerut. The Nawab has always sympathized with the Queen’s views.” said Sir Dufferin, very firmly. Having said that, he turned on his heel and left Ram Bahadur and the junior officer there by the side of the road leading to Meerut and marched into hell.
Ram Bahadur never saw his employer again, nor did he ever get to behold the mysterious flying craft, the Juggernaut, ever again. He died on the way to Rampur, trying to protect the young officer in front of a mob of sepoys that was patrolling the highways. Mysteriously enough, no one ever found the wreckage of the Juggernaut. No one ever learnt of the technological leaps and bounds that been made and no one grieved at their loss. The ancient Hindoos might say that it was just not Sir Dufferin’s destiny to share his invention with the world. Whatever the reason, the secret of flight remained lost like the mysterious Juggernaut that revealed it.
Sunday, 30 March 2008
Paris - City of Artists and Dreamers
Recently I visited Paris with my family. It was a week long and easier than I expected it would be. So what did I think of Paris? Somehow, it was charming and arrogant at the same time, historic and modern, mindblowing and impressive. I like to think of touristy Paris as a giant theme park called Art & Culture Land which has rides like 'Museum Jump' and games like 'Red Wine Swill' and visitors who wear berets, like Disneyland visitors wear their mouse ears. But that is not the Paris I will make nostalgias of. I want to remember the Paris of Artists and Dreamers. Here are a few of my favourite excerpts from my diary of the trip:
19th March
"It's so strange to write the words 'Paris, 19th March' on my diary. That is something I imagine is a copyright phrase of aspiring authors and the characters created by them, used to begin a description of their often romantic, often lawless, but always entertaining adventures in Europe and here I finally am."
20th March
"Our first close up view of the Eiffel Tower was from a park across the Seine, the perfect view in my opinion. It was probably also the perfect spot for a sunset picnic. It is quite odd to actually see this giant structure in reality after all the many times you see it on TV."
"We bought a five day metro pass and dove into the world below. The Parisian undergroun is a world of its own and definitely has a lot more character than the one in Copenhagen, but not as much as the one in London. What can I say? I am biased."
"After heading back to the hotel for a siesta of sorts, we dined on the Champs Elysees at a nautical themed restaurant where dishy waiters walked around dressed as sailors. Our waiter was a handsome fellow with a heavy charming French accent. The highlight of the dinner was when we ordered mojitos and I ordered one with champagne in it, aptly titled 'Bubble mojito'. Mr. Sailor Waiter repeated our order as follows, "Deux mojitos et un bebble. Oui?" After that I insisted on calling myself Bebble."
21st March
"Here I must mention and endorse the Lonely Planet as an I-Ching for travellers. In it was written very clearly how one could jump the queue at the Louvre by buying tickets at the Virgin Mega Store instead. Thus, we breezed through, okay, not exactly breezed through the line but atleast our wait wasn't longer than 30 minutes while others languished for eons outside the glass pyramid."
"The Louvre was not at all what I expected a museum to be; it was crowded, noisy and confusing. Our first goal was to pay our respect to the Mona Lisa which was much smaller than expected. I ended up taking more pictures of the crowd that stared at it agape than I did of the actual painting. After lunch in the over crowded self service cafeteria, we headed up to the less frequented Northern European sections. The lack of thronging masses was like a breath of fresh air."
22nd March
"I now know why it was good to be the King of France.
The view from the top step of the grounds of Chateau des Versailles of the rolling battlements is spectacular. It is so majestic that you really do feel that you own all the land as far as the eye can see. It was magical walking in the grounds watching the play of sunlight and cloud shadow in the wind and the sky's reflection in the water of the fountains. Also adding to the atmosphere was the stately Baroque music. There was one piece especially with heavy downbow notes for the violins and lots of intricacy from the cellos, that I enjoyed. Dad bought himself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice from the grounds and Mom made us wait there till 15:30 to witness the splendid fountain displays. A few photographs, many 'oohs' and a rainbow sighting later we headed back to the train station."
"The boat cruise along the Seine was perfect. The sky cleared up and the sun shone down. It was like a trip to the past and back. I enjoyed the sights. The guide on the boat was impressive as she spoke French, English, Spanish, Italian, German and Russian fluently, translating everything immediately. I saw the Notre Dame and learnt that its bells have names - Francois, Petite Sofie and big Emmanuel who is sounded only at important events and rings out in a loud F#. I learnt that D'Artagnan actually did live in Paris. I learnt that the oldest bridge in Paris is actually called Pont Neuf which means New Bridge and that second hand book sellers have been selling subversive banned literature there since it was built. I also heard that Joe Dassin song, 'Aux Champs Elysees'. Its so strange but everytime I walk on the Champs Elysees, I actually start humming that song."
23rd March
"The Metro station close to the Sacre Coeur is called Abssesses. I guess that means abyss in French because no other description better fits that station. The exit from the station was a wide spiral staircase that seemed to wind its up forever. Along the way, there were paintings and depictions of Parisian life above, which was quite pleasant. "
"It was a beautiful day outside and we walked up the gently ascending staircase to the Basilique Sacre-Coeur. Tourists and believers flocked everywhere but despite the thronging masses, it was beautiful. There was a spectacular view of Paris from the terrace half way up. Of course, the whole situation was enhanced by the harpist busking on the steps. I almost died of sheer joy looking out onto the City of Lights listening to Concerto de Aranjuez on the harp. One of those moments you want to capture for future nostalgias as Vikram Seth put it. Inside the Sacre-Coeur on Easter Sunday was a moving experience. It was crowded with a lot of disrespectful tourists, but somehow still blissful and calming. It reminded me very much of Tirupathi as there few places of worship where you are enveloped in such an atmosphere of calm despite the crowd."
"After lunch we walked around what seemed a shady part of town, near the metro station, Barbes Rochechouart. One metro ride later and we were in a completely different world - the peaceful suburb of La Muette, home to the Musee Marmottan Monet. Here for the second time in my life, I saw a Morisot up close and I confess I am in love. While Monet is the undisputed King of Impressionism, something about Morisot strikes a chord in me."
24th March
"I was up late as usual reading my Mansfield. The highlight of this trip has been my discovery of the Morisot and Mansfield Joys of Life. I was reading a story of a French writer who lives in Paris. The story describes his life, his apartment with sloping walls and views of the rooftops of Paris, the cafe lifestyle and I couldn't help but smile as I looked onto the sloping walls of my hotel room with its views of Parisian rooftops."
25th March
"Mom, Dad and I breakfasted in Cafe Pomme du Pain on Champs Elysees. We ate our croissants and coffee while sitting on the upper floor watch life float by on Champs Elysees and that was an awesome feeling. Watching the women with high heels stumble, the lost tourists unfurling the maps while busy Parisians went about their lives as usual. Watching the world go by. "
***************
Paris19th March
"It's so strange to write the words 'Paris, 19th March' on my diary. That is something I imagine is a copyright phrase of aspiring authors and the characters created by them, used to begin a description of their often romantic, often lawless, but always entertaining adventures in Europe and here I finally am."
20th March
"Our first close up view of the Eiffel Tower was from a park across the Seine, the perfect view in my opinion. It was probably also the perfect spot for a sunset picnic. It is quite odd to actually see this giant structure in reality after all the many times you see it on TV.""We bought a five day metro pass and dove into the world below. The Parisian undergroun is a world of its own and definitely has a lot more character than the one in Copenhagen, but not as much as the one in London. What can I say? I am biased."
"After heading back to the hotel for a siesta of sorts, we dined on the Champs Elysees at a nautical themed restaurant where dishy waiters walked around dressed as sailors. Our waiter was a handsome fellow with a heavy charming French accent. The highlight of the dinner was when we ordered mojitos and I ordered one with champagne in it, aptly titled 'Bubble mojito'. Mr. Sailor Waiter repeated our order as follows, "Deux mojitos et un bebble. Oui?" After that I insisted on calling myself Bebble."
21st March
"Here I must mention and endorse the Lonely Planet as an I-Ching for travellers. In it was written very clearly how one could jump the queue at the Louvre by buying tickets at the Virgin Mega Store instead. Thus, we breezed through, okay, not exactly breezed through the line but atleast our wait wasn't longer than 30 minutes while others languished for eons outside the glass pyramid."
"The Louvre was not at all what I expected a museum to be; it was crowded, noisy and confusing. Our first goal was to pay our respect to the Mona Lisa which was much smaller than expected. I ended up taking more pictures of the crowd that stared at it agape than I did of the actual painting. After lunch in the over crowded self service cafeteria, we headed up to the less frequented Northern European sections. The lack of thronging masses was like a breath of fresh air."22nd March
"I now know why it was good to be the King of France.
The view from the top step of the grounds of Chateau des Versailles of the rolling battlements is spectacular. It is so majestic that you really do feel that you own all the land as far as the eye can see. It was magical walking in the grounds watching the play of sunlight and cloud shadow in the wind and the sky's reflection in the water of the fountains. Also adding to the atmosphere was the stately Baroque music. There was one piece especially with heavy downbow notes for the violins and lots of intricacy from the cellos, that I enjoyed. Dad bought himself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice from the grounds and Mom made us wait there till 15:30 to witness the splendid fountain displays. A few photographs, many 'oohs' and a rainbow sighting later we headed back to the train station.""The boat cruise along the Seine was perfect. The sky cleared up and the sun shone down. It was like a trip to the past and back. I enjoyed the sights. The guide on the boat was impressive as she spoke French, English, Spanish, Italian, German and Russian fluently, translating everything immediately. I saw the Notre Dame and learnt that its bells have names - Francois, Petite Sofie and big Emmanuel who is sounded only at important events and rings out in a loud F#. I learnt that D'Artagnan actually did live in Paris. I learnt that the oldest bridge in Paris is actually called Pont Neuf which means New Bridge and that second hand book sellers have been selling subversive banned literature there since it was built. I also heard that Joe Dassin song, 'Aux Champs Elysees'. Its so strange but everytime I walk on the Champs Elysees, I actually start humming that song."
23rd March
"The Metro station close to the Sacre Coeur is called Abssesses. I guess that means abyss in French because no other description better fits that station. The exit from the station was a wide spiral staircase that seemed to wind its up forever. Along the way, there were paintings and depictions of Parisian life above, which was quite pleasant. "
"It was a beautiful day outside and we walked up the gently ascending staircase to the Basilique Sacre-Coeur. Tourists and believers flocked everywhere but despite the thronging masses, it was beautiful. There was a spectacular view of Paris from the terrace half way up. Of course, the whole situation was enhanced by the harpist busking on the steps. I almost died of sheer joy looking out onto the City of Lights listening to Concerto de Aranjuez on the harp. One of those moments you want to capture for future nostalgias as Vikram Seth put it. Inside the Sacre-Coeur on Easter Sunday was a moving experience. It was crowded with a lot of disrespectful tourists, but somehow still blissful and calming. It reminded me very much of Tirupathi as there few places of worship where you are enveloped in such an atmosphere of calm despite the crowd.""After lunch we walked around what seemed a shady part of town, near the metro station, Barbes Rochechouart. One metro ride later and we were in a completely different world - the peaceful suburb of La Muette, home to the Musee Marmottan Monet. Here for the second time in my life, I saw a Morisot up close and I confess I am in love. While Monet is the undisputed King of Impressionism, something about Morisot strikes a chord in me."
24th March
"I was up late as usual reading my Mansfield. The highlight of this trip has been my discovery of the Morisot and Mansfield Joys of Life. I was reading a story of a French writer who lives in Paris. The story describes his life, his apartment with sloping walls and views of the rooftops of Paris, the cafe lifestyle and I couldn't help but smile as I looked onto the sloping walls of my hotel room with its views of Parisian rooftops."
25th March
"Mom, Dad and I breakfasted in Cafe Pomme du Pain on Champs Elysees. We ate our croissants and coffee while sitting on the upper floor watch life float by on Champs Elysees and that was an awesome feeling. Watching the women with high heels stumble, the lost tourists unfurling the maps while busy Parisians went about their lives as usual. Watching the world go by. "
Lobbyists, Tintin and European Commission visits...
The drive to Brussels from Strasbourg took far longer than it should have. Our driver was a certifiable Hari Sadu. I remember how on the trip to Strasbourg he yelled at Mads because he thought Mads had dropped boiled egg on his seat, when actually it was Alex. The Rules of the Bus were as follows:
1) No Food.
2) No Drinks.
3) No using the microwave.
4) Stops at overpriced pit stops every two hours.
Oh well, you cant have everything, I suppose.. It was kinda cool the way we drove through three countries th
ough - France, Luxembourg and Belgium.
Brussels was a lot busier than Strasbourg. A lot of other parties to visit other than just European Union buildings. Our group was divided into two groups - staying at 2 different hotels - Manhattan and Arlequin. Hotel Manhattan where I was staying was a dingy old city hotel, two-star (you will see why this is relevant soon) which was in the red-light district and across the street from a strip club, which served us a stale roll for breakfast every morning. Hotel Arlequin where the others were staying was a three star, modern swank building, with a roof top breakfast lounge to envy. I think it is needless to say that we Manhattan people were jealous.
Anyway, the first day we arrived, we had a lecture by a Danish journalist who filled us in on the basic "wassup" with the European Union and how the future of any European Constitution hinges on Ireland's ratification of the Lisbon treaty. It was interesting to watch how the American students ask questions sometimes. Felt to me like they were challenging the speaker all the time.
The next morning we did a quite a bit of sight seeing the next morning. We walked everywhere from the Royal Palace to the Cathedral to the Tintin museum. That was fun. In the evening, we met a lobbyist for the Danish Shipowners Association who had prepared a powerpoint but unfortunately the hotel didnt have a projector so we had to imagine all his slides. And after that we went to Hong Kong Economic and Trade Office which had really good cookies. But not before Ole got us lost... :) That was really exciting for the Hong Kong students and understandably so.
In the evening, we all had a dinner in a restaurant on the restaurant street. Meriam had managed to in her adorable French get us a good deal so all 44 of us filled their restaurants. I sat next to Andrew and across from Oliver and Beth. And we participated in what was the Beth Challenge - getting Beth to talk to us. And she did. We got to know about her life, her hobbies, even her love life. And I am eager to see the beach in Hong Kong because a lot seems to happen there. Hmm.. I must explore this.
The next day was a meeting with the American Chamber of Commerce. None of the speakers there were even American - one was British and the other was Italian but they did a good job teaching us about lobbying the European Parliament. That was a very good presentation, indeed. We loafed around for a bit after that. Thu, Meriam, Jessica Tou and I had the best hot chocolate ever at a place close to the Danish Embassy there. The speaker at the Danish Embassy successfully managed to put all of us to sleep with his exact literal translation of Danish proverbs into English.
On our final day, we visited the European Commission which was really cool. The chairs on which we were seated actually had microphones next to them with translation functions. We actually got to talk to some from the department of External Affairs on the EU's stand on Tibet and David and Jessica grilled him on the EU's stand on Taiwan. That was an awesome moment. The EU has no real foreign affairs policy. Its all just talk.
After that was over we had some free time to pay our homage to the chocolate shops and Belgian Waffle. But before we sank our waffles into any waffles, we went to see the Atomium and by we, I mean, Awika, JTou, Thais, Sofia and I.. Sofia was too cute because for some reason she couldnt stop smiling. The Atomium was cool, especially considering it was built in the 1950s. After that we headed to Manneken Piss, or as someone famously said, "That little piss.." because the waffle shop next to it is supposed to have the best waffles ever.. And it was true. I had one with white chocolate sauce and dark chocolate sauce. yum..
After that we went to buy chocolate from this cute chocolate shop where the Belgian lady got very excited when she found out I was from India and she told me how much she cried when she saw Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham. Bollywood gets everywhere. Just outside the shop was a little bazaar of sorts and it was a charming experience buying perfume from a perfumer actually from Grasse who was selling his perfumes in big vats. And they were really good and cheap too. He really knew his stuff. I made him smell the cherry blossom one that I liked and he was able to suggest a perfume that I really loved.
Nothing much after that. Just the trip back home, which was fairly uneventful except Justin and Andrew lost money gambling on a slot machine in the middle of Germany at 2 in the morning. After getting back on the bus though, Andrew and I started what came to be known as the Kelvin Challenge - similar to the Beth Challenge. It wasn't as successful though. The rest of the night was merely a musical chairs games of seats on the bus. Eventually though we reached Copenhagen, and there were teary goodbyes and hugs like we would never see each other again. A feeling of fellowship. Perfect.
1) No Food.
2) No Drinks.
3) No using the microwave.
4) Stops at overpriced pit stops every two hours.
Oh well, you cant have everything, I suppose.. It was kinda cool the way we drove through three countries th
ough - France, Luxembourg and Belgium.Brussels was a lot busier than Strasbourg. A lot of other parties to visit other than just European Union buildings. Our group was divided into two groups - staying at 2 different hotels - Manhattan and Arlequin. Hotel Manhattan where I was staying was a dingy old city hotel, two-star (you will see why this is relevant soon) which was in the red-light district and across the street from a strip club, which served us a stale roll for breakfast every morning. Hotel Arlequin where the others were staying was a three star, modern swank building, with a roof top breakfast lounge to envy. I think it is needless to say that we Manhattan people were jealous.
Anyway, the first day we arrived, we had a lecture by a Danish journalist who filled us in on the basic "wassup" with the European Union and how the future of any European Constitution hinges on Ireland's ratification of the Lisbon treaty. It was interesting to watch how the American students ask questions sometimes. Felt to me like they were challenging the speaker all the time.
The next morning we did a quite a bit of sight seeing the next morning. We walked everywhere from the Royal Palace to the Cathedral to the Tintin museum. That was fun. In the evening, we met a lobbyist for the Danish Shipowners Association who had prepared a powerpoint but unfortunately the hotel didnt have a projector so we had to imagine all his slides. And after that we went to Hong Kong Economic and Trade Office which had really good cookies. But not before Ole got us lost... :) That was really exciting for the Hong Kong students and understandably so.
In the evening, we all had a dinner in a restaurant on the restaurant street. Meriam had managed to in her adorable French get us a good deal so all 44 of us filled their restaurants. I sat next to Andrew and across from Oliver and Beth. And we participated in what was the Beth Challenge - getting Beth to talk to us. And she did. We got to know about her life, her hobbies, even her love life. And I am eager to see the beach in Hong Kong because a lot seems to happen there. Hmm.. I must explore this.The next day was a meeting with the American Chamber of Commerce. None of the speakers there were even American - one was British and the other was Italian but they did a good job teaching us about lobbying the European Parliament. That was a very good presentation, indeed. We loafed around for a bit after that. Thu, Meriam, Jessica Tou and I had the best hot chocolate ever at a place close to the Danish Embassy there. The speaker at the Danish Embassy successfully managed to put all of us to sleep with his exact literal translation of Danish proverbs into English.
On our final day, we visited the European Commission which was really cool. The chairs on which we were seated actually had microphones next to them with translation functions. We actually got to talk to some from the department of External Affairs on the EU's stand on Tibet and David and Jessica grilled him on the EU's stand on Taiwan. That was an awesome moment. The EU has no real foreign affairs policy. Its all just talk.
After that was over we had some free time to pay our homage to the chocolate shops and Belgian Waffle. But before we sank our waffles into any waffles, we went to see the Atomium and by we, I mean, Awika, JTou, Thais, Sofia and I.. Sofia was too cute because for some reason she couldnt stop smiling. The Atomium was cool, especially considering it was built in the 1950s. After that we headed to Manneken Piss, or as someone famously said, "That little piss.." because the waffle shop next to it is supposed to have the best waffles ever.. And it was true. I had one with white chocolate sauce and dark chocolate sauce. yum..
After that we went to buy chocolate from this cute chocolate shop where the Belgian lady got very excited when she found out I was from India and she told me how much she cried when she saw Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham. Bollywood gets everywhere. Just outside the shop was a little bazaar of sorts and it was a charming experience buying perfume from a perfumer actually from Grasse who was selling his perfumes in big vats. And they were really good and cheap too. He really knew his stuff. I made him smell the cherry blossom one that I liked and he was able to suggest a perfume that I really loved.Nothing much after that. Just the trip back home, which was fairly uneventful except Justin and Andrew lost money gambling on a slot machine in the middle of Germany at 2 in the morning. After getting back on the bus though, Andrew and I started what came to be known as the Kelvin Challenge - similar to the Beth Challenge. It wasn't as successful though. The rest of the night was merely a musical chairs games of seats on the bus. Eventually though we reached Copenhagen, and there were teary goodbyes and hugs like we would never see each other again. A feeling of fellowship. Perfect.
Off to Germany for tequila flavoured beer...
Our study trip to Brussels and Strasbourg was perhaps the best first bonding experience we had in the GLOBE programme. We departed from Solbjerg Plads at midnight on the Saturday for Strasbourg and everyone had come prepared with their pillows and blankets. I suppose I was one of the only ones in our entire GLOBE class of 44 that was excited about the road trip to Strasbourg - that 14 hour long bus ride. As I told Razz (Rasmus) as we drove out of Copenhagen, who I ended up sitting next to for the whole trip, "I want to see what it feels like to drive on the Autobahn. I wonder how fast we will go." Razz burst my bubble though just by saying, "How fast do you think we can go in a bus?"
Anyways, as the trip got underway, the back row got progressively more drunk and our part of the bus swang between more chatty and less chatty. Finally though, I think a lot of people had dozed off when we stopped near the Danish-German border to refill the tank and a lot of disoriented GLOBErs got off wondering which planet they were on, let alone which country.
Our next pit stop was at breakfast time inside Germany, where for the first time, Meriam uttered the historic words of "Geghocten Aeg" which means boiled egg (I think). The rest of the bus ride was pretty uneventful. We watched a Danish film called The Flickering Lights and I finally understand what they mean by dark humour. I dont think I could get the humour in it. In my opinion, the highlight of that trip was crossing the bridge over the Rhine from Germany into France. After having heard so much of that historic river, I think that was really awesome.
Strasbourg is a really small town in the historic French district of Alsace. The reason we went there was because that was where the European Parliament was at the time. So we actually got to visit the European Parliament building which was awesome and talk to an MEP.
Jessica, Yvonne and I also visited the Strasbourg history museum with Ole, which was nice. It was great to go with him because that just meant that none of us had to read any of the signs. He just told us the history and we talked about our own family histories. It was a cosy time.
Another more social highlight from the trip was the night we were chilling and walked all the way to Germany to buy beer. Really not that far. In fact it was closer to go to Germany then it was to go into town from where our racy (literally, as it was called Hotel F1) hotel was. We sang, bought tequila flavoured beer, ran down hills, gave each other nicknames and chatted till 2 in the night. It was glorious and it was people from all three schools. Truly, an international feeling.
Anyways, as the trip got underway, the back row got progressively more drunk and our part of the bus swang between more chatty and less chatty. Finally though, I think a lot of people had dozed off when we stopped near the Danish-German border to refill the tank and a lot of disoriented GLOBErs got off wondering which planet they were on, let alone which country.
Our next pit stop was at breakfast time inside Germany, where for the first time, Meriam uttered the historic words of "Geghocten Aeg" which means boiled egg (I think). The rest of the bus ride was pretty uneventful. We watched a Danish film called The Flickering Lights and I finally understand what they mean by dark humour. I dont think I could get the humour in it. In my opinion, the highlight of that trip was crossing the bridge over the Rhine from Germany into France. After having heard so much of that historic river, I think that was really awesome.
Strasbourg is a really small town in the historic French district of Alsace. The reason we went there was because that was where the European Parliament was at the time. So we actually got to visit the European Parliament building which was awesome and talk to an MEP.
Jessica, Yvonne and I also visited the Strasbourg history museum with Ole, which was nice. It was great to go with him because that just meant that none of us had to read any of the signs. He just told us the history and we talked about our own family histories. It was a cosy time.Another more social highlight from the trip was the night we were chilling and walked all the way to Germany to buy beer. Really not that far. In fact it was closer to go to Germany then it was to go into town from where our racy (literally, as it was called Hotel F1) hotel was. We sang, bought tequila flavoured beer, ran down hills, gave each other nicknames and chatted till 2 in the night. It was glorious and it was people from all three schools. Truly, an international feeling.
Saturday, 23 February 2008
Hindi movies, kebabs and beer
Well, it finally happened. It was inevitable I guess. For the first time since my brother came to Denmark, (or so he claims)we went out together to do our own thing. And what did we do? We went to see a Hindi movie... In a theatre in Copenhagen... Ahh, the reason I love globalization.
Which movie? Jodhaa-Akbar, Ashutosh Gowariker's latest offering. The movie is alright, the acting good, the background score uninspiring but some of the songs are truly wonderful. The best part of the movie though is the dialogues. I love Urdu, the way it sounds, the way it rolls off your tongue, the sheer elegance and that is why the dialouges of this movie were so cool. Another awesome part was the sheer eye-candy provided by Hrithik Roshan. I am not really a fan of his. In fact, until recently I used to call him a "chusa-hua aam" (i.e. half sucked mango.. Man, that really doesn't sound good when you translate it) but in Jodhaa Akbar, he really looks regal, he looks like a Jahapanah character. Very majestic and his whole bearing and way of carrying himself is very noble too.
Anyways, after that Bhaiya and I went for Kebabs and Beer, a meal that Bhaiya holds very close to his heart obviously because I got a monologue recorded on my phone about its benefits. And it was great fun. Sure, he talked about his girlfriend a lot. But still it was fun. We had kebabs, biryani and beer. Heaven..
This one day adventure made me realize how Indian I am. OK. I know what you are thinking - it really isn't Indian to drink beer and eat kebabs. But after watching a Hindi movie on the big screen I realize how much I miss it. The past few days I have had a Bollywood fetish. I have been watching only Hindi movies, my iTunes is stuck on Hindi playlists and my head is constantly humming Jashn-e-Bahaara. Jashn-e-Bahaara is one of the songs from Jodhaa Akbar, it is in Urdu and it is so poetic that any listener just melts when one hears it. It makes me want to learn the language and become a poet.
Which movie? Jodhaa-Akbar, Ashutosh Gowariker's latest offering. The movie is alright, the acting good, the background score uninspiring but some of the songs are truly wonderful. The best part of the movie though is the dialogues. I love Urdu, the way it sounds, the way it rolls off your tongue, the sheer elegance and that is why the dialouges of this movie were so cool. Another awesome part was the sheer eye-candy provided by Hrithik Roshan. I am not really a fan of his. In fact, until recently I used to call him a "chusa-hua aam" (i.e. half sucked mango.. Man, that really doesn't sound good when you translate it) but in Jodhaa Akbar, he really looks regal, he looks like a Jahapanah character. Very majestic and his whole bearing and way of carrying himself is very noble too.
Anyways, after that Bhaiya and I went for Kebabs and Beer, a meal that Bhaiya holds very close to his heart obviously because I got a monologue recorded on my phone about its benefits. And it was great fun. Sure, he talked about his girlfriend a lot. But still it was fun. We had kebabs, biryani and beer. Heaven..This one day adventure made me realize how Indian I am. OK. I know what you are thinking - it really isn't Indian to drink beer and eat kebabs. But after watching a Hindi movie on the big screen I realize how much I miss it. The past few days I have had a Bollywood fetish. I have been watching only Hindi movies, my iTunes is stuck on Hindi playlists and my head is constantly humming Jashn-e-Bahaara. Jashn-e-Bahaara is one of the songs from Jodhaa Akbar, it is in Urdu and it is so poetic that any listener just melts when one hears it. It makes me want to learn the language and become a poet.
Saturday, 9 February 2008
S for Shameless
Hari Sadu, a new social phenomenon in India, is the protagonist from the advertisement of an online job portal in India. What does it mean to be called a Sadu? Well, 'sadu' in Hindi means grouch, but Hari Sadu has personified grouchy, uptight and taken it into the 21st century. Also available with uprades. This time in Bangalore, I could see huge billboards showing a desktop with an error message that reads 'Hari Sadu Virus ver. 2.5.' Naukri.com has not only created a good ad but an iconic figure for middle class India.
So why am I bringing up poor Mr. Sadu today? Well because it is the second most used phrase in my house today, "O stop being such a Hari Sadu." I have on occasion been called that myself. Sometimes though you need to cover it up and sugar-coat it and make Hari Sadu seem like an endearing name. But is there really anything adorable about being a Hari Sadu?. I guess there is because all of us have been a Hari Sadu at some point in time or another but never continuously. And part-time sadus are a different story altogether - when you see the contrast of them being nice, it appears very nice indeed, making them adorable.
So why am I bringing up poor Mr. Sadu today? Well because it is the second most used phrase in my house today, "O stop being such a Hari Sadu." I have on occasion been called that myself. Sometimes though you need to cover it up and sugar-coat it and make Hari Sadu seem like an endearing name. But is there really anything adorable about being a Hari Sadu?. I guess there is because all of us have been a Hari Sadu at some point in time or another but never continuously. And part-time sadus are a different story altogether - when you see the contrast of them being nice, it appears very nice indeed, making them adorable.
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