Latino Wonders

Don’t be misled by the title. It is not about wonder of Latin America. It is more about what Latinos found wondrous about us. I was flattered, amused and amazed – all of them put together at various points. Do tell me what you make of the following:

• “How long did you have to travel to reach here?”
•  “So, did you go to US to study English?”
•  “Do you wear Sarees to office?” This was from someone whose wife was an absolute India fan and found India fascinating. He, himself, seemed to have a fondness for the country.
•  “Do you eat with hand?” Same guy as above. He had to do this at some restaurant in Kuala Lumpur, where he had spent some years.
•  “How come you speak to each other in English?”
•  “Are all the people in India vegetarian? No? Then why are both of you?” This we got asked quite frequently, since both of us were Vegetarian.
•  “Is India really as spiritual as they show in Movies?”
•  “You have such nice skin colour? Everyone here wants it. I will give you a discount because you have such nice colour!”

Despite and because of everything, I found the people warm and friendly, as eager to show off their land and culture as any of us. Be it nodding a ‘no’ to our request of “English, please” or an “Ah, yes” when they did manage to understand what we were trying through bad mime. The clients and colleagues who very thoughtfully translated the Spanish menus, our queries for vegetarian food to uncomprehending waiters and waitresses and wrote down for us the places to visit during our free time.

So, Gracias, Latin America.

Latino Days

Yesterday, when the plane touched down on Kolkata’s NSC Bose Airport, I felt a huge smile split my face. Homecoming does that to me. And this time, I had returned from half the world away. Literally.

I was on a two week trip to Latin America. Chile and Colombia to be precise.

I was excited in the weeks leading up to the trip. But also very tired. It was an official trip and there was loads to be done in the days leading up to it. Late nights working. Whole nights working. Weekends. Early mornings. You name it and the chances were that I was working at that time. Add to that, the pressure of unseen clients, who were – surprise, surprise – very demanding. Even a few hours before we were to board our flight, my colleague and I were busy instructing the team who would be working at the office when we were gone. Phew.

Willy-nilly, we boarded the flight(s). And boy, was it a long trip. Forty eight hours, if you want a number. Including a twelve hour stopover in Sao Paolo. And no, we could not go out because that required a transit visa.

View of Andes from a plane

But the first sight of snow-covered Andes, as we approached Santiago, made me feel so glad. It was breath-taking. I have professed my love for the mountains in my previous posts. This sight took it to a new level. I had never seen the white peaks from the height of the sky. And there I was, having my jaw drop, eyes wide open and heart stopping with the sight of snowy mountains spread out like some feast for all hedonists below us. Awesome.

The first three days in Santiago were spent in a whirlwind of workshops, meeting, telecons and dinners / lunches with clients. But I still could savour the view of those mountains from my balcony. The darkness that still enveloped the city at 7.30 in the morning. The biting cold that penetrated the two layers of clothes. The wide, clean streets. The very European and chic feel of the city. The Spanish architecture in the older parts of the city. And of course, the chivalry of Latino men. Yes, they open the doors for you and would never precede you when leaving a room. (I don’t particularly need this but it does make a girl feel good, I swear). I also spotted a couple of Marutis (the cars, in case you are wondering) and made me realize that it is truly a global world.

But it was not all good. Finding vegetarian food feels like a quest for Holy Grail. It got a little easier, once we located the nearest Subway. And then there’s the language issue. Getting people to understand English is nearly always an exercise in frustration. And no, it’s not an accent issue. The Latinos generally do not know English. Spanish is the lingua franca. It is not that difficult a language to follow if you are reading it. The staccato speech, however, is a trial. And the place is expensive. A five minute ride in the cab would cost you a couple of thousand pesos or about hundred rupees. Compared to India, though people told us that it is cheaper compared to Brazil, Argentina etc. Especially the branded stuff. We, however, found that buying souvenirs was also exorbitant. I think, we were also limited by our ability to bargain, with language and our so obvious foreign appearances being the leading causes.

Colombia was another six hours flight away. Now, this was a country, I went to with a lot of pre-conceived notions. Drugs, lawlessness et al, fed by books and movies, led by Mr. Forsythe and company. Also, Wikitravel advised not walking alone at night, not hailing cabs on your own and locking the doors of the cabs, when sitting inside!

So, I was pleasantly surprised in Bogota. I am sure that those parts of Colombia exist. But the area that we were staying in and the places we went to were decidedly upmarket, with a distinct cosmopolitan feel to them.

Bogota was also cold but closer to Kolkata winters – chilly but pleasant. My hotel room was airy, spacious and cheery, with full-length windows dominating one wall. The food situation was also better, though French Fries would turn out to be our principal source of sustenance in these two weeks that we spent in Latin America.

Metal Sculpture of a Salt Miner, Zipaquira

We had a weekend at our disposal. We chose to visit Catedral de Sal de Zipaquirá on the first day. It came highly recommended by a Colombian we had met in Santiago. It is an underground Cathedral, built in a salt mine. It is some 200 metres below the surface of the earth and you walk the entire way in and out. It is quite awesome and you can taste salt on your tongue even as you speak. There is a salt waterfall – an entire wall covered with raw salt. We also took a tour of the miner’s route, which involved a five minute walk in a completely dark and narrow cave, with our headlamps turned off. And trust me, it feels like hours if you have to let you hands be your eyes.

But my favourite part was the wishing well. It was a small pool, with coins of various denominations glittering at its bottom. You could make a wish by turning your back to the well and throwing a coin (denomination and currency irrelevant) over your left shoulder with your right hand. I made a wish and threw the coin. And it hit the water. Not everyone’s did. So, I like to live in hope J

Anyway, what surprised me that this man-made wonder is barely thirty years old and not centuries, like I had originally believed. While I was still awed, I realized that it was a very clever piece of marketing that we could learn from back home. Same was the case with El Museo del Oro (the Gold Museuem). Beautiful prehistoric and tribal gold ornaments, weapons and other artefacts displayed artistically with cleverly designed videos, photographs, light and sound shows that reel you in. And entry is free. It is well-maintained, with no empty cases or missing descriptions. The thought of Indian Museum trying something similar crossed my mind several times.

Once, the weekend was over, we again spent most of our time working, though on the last day, we visited this delightful cafe called Crepes and Waffles. It turned out to be a chain of cafes, quite famous in Colombia. It had, much to our delight, quite a spread of vegetarian dishes, including one called Gandhi!

At the end of two weeks, though, we were ready to return home. And my heart soared higher and higher as we changed flights at Sao Paolo, Doha and then finally at Delhi. It was fitting that on the flight to Kolkata, I saw one of the most amazing visions. A huge white lion, sitting regally on the cottony clouds, with the morning sun, shining bright. A pity, I do not have a picture to share with you.

Quite a long post this has been. So, I will end it here. Although I will definitely do another one on the most common questions / comments that we heard. It was strange being a foreigner and being the object of some other people’s preconceived notions.

An experience to remember, to say the least. This travelling to places actually half a world, three continents and seven seas away.

Until next time. Ciao.

Light in a Salt Mine

Groping in the dark, through a narrow tunnel, 200 metres below earth. Knowing what’s ahead of you through precious touch – of a garment, a scrape of rough stone, a taste of raw salt. It’s an experience – a mix of excitement and novelty, and just a dash of fear. What if you can no longer touch anyone or anything but air? What if the murmur of excited voices that echo around you fade away and you find yourself all alone. But, luckily for you, some short moments later, there’s light at the end of the tunnel. Literally. Like you wished there to be light and there was light. And as you look behind into the gaping maws of darkness, you know that you would never again take Light, no matter how feeble, for granted.

Murphy – Part I

“Hi. I am Murphy.”

I turned around at the voice. You must be kidding, I thought, even as I took in his appearance. He could have passed off as a successful executive at his casual best in blue jeans and white shirt. Or he could have been a bohemian writer or an artist. Difficult to peg him.

In return, he just waited with polite patience.

“Sorry?” I managed.

“I said, I am Murphy”, he repeated, courteous and bland. “I believe you wanted to meet me.”

“Huh?” I surely wasn’t doing a good job of seeming articulate.

“I said, I believe...” he started to repeat but I came out of my stupor and cut him off.

“I know what you said. I don’t quite know what to make of it. And I am not sure I want to know any further. So, if you will excuse me, I am waiting for a friend.” I began to walk off towards the entrance of the restaurant in the swanky city mall.

“This is not a trick, you know.” Damn. He was still by my side.

“I don’t know what you are talking about”, I insisted. But what if it was. Nah. Such things don’t really happen to mundane people like me. I lengthened my stride. Well, as much as, I could, which wasn’t much.

And it was an exercise in vain. Because he still refused to go away.

“Look”, I turned and tried to give him one of my frosty glares (I am quite good at it, you know). “You could be Murphy, Brian or Murtaza. I don’t know why you are following me. Why you think that I ever wanted to meet you. Hell, I don’t know any man named Murphy.”

“Are you sure?”

When I just stared at him mulishly, he smiled and leaned back against the rails of the aisle in which we stood. “You are early”, he said pleasantly. “But your friend is likely to be late. Very late because of the traffic. And look you have not even brought a book to pass the time.”

“You can’t possibly know that.” I was adamant. It was true that I was early but I had not called my friend yet. I had been about to when he – I refused to consider him as Murphy – had appeared.

“I do.” His assurance was maddening. “Call and check.” With those words he simply sauntered off.

And guess what, he was right. Only, that entire episode seemed like some alternate reality. But I knew, even as a chill passed through me, that it was not.

He was Murphy.

The question was, would he meet me again?

One for Friends

Having passed a personal milestone very recently, I was wondering where life leads from here. And when I begin to think along these lines, I can be extremely brooding. But thank god for friends who pull you out from detrimental self-introspection.

I am lucky that way. I am not among those who make friends everywhere. And when I say friends, I mean ‘friends’, not just mere friendly acquaintances. I have plenty of those but friends I have only a handful and those I really cherish.

I am proud to say that I can count some of my family members among my closest friends. My cousins with whom I grew up and a few others I discovered late in life – they all bring such joy to me. I know I am always welcome in their homes and in their hearts. If I go to their city, they would meet me half-way and make my stay warm and cheerful.

Then there are those that I met along the paths of life. Some I have known for more than a decade (cheers to you, girls – you know who you are) and a few that my career has gifted me. I am so blessed that I have them in my life.

So, yeah. This post is about counting my blessings. And my friends, you are right up there. You make an ordinary day, extraordinary. You make cribbing seem like the best pastime. You add that extra zing to watching movies. Shopping with you is sheer bliss. Cards games with you turn unbearably hot afternoons into slices of paradise. Arguing, squabbling and quarrelling with you only makes me realize how much I miss you all when we are asunder. Coffee is just not the same without you.

We are so different. You, with your vivacious personality. You, with your deep soul of a poet. You, so brave and stoic in bearing your responsibilities. You, whose world revolves around her family. You, quiet and sober, until you are with us. You, such an adoring father. You, an incorrigible flirt. You, shy and timid. You with your love of uninhibited dancing. All of you. So different.

But it comes down to that one big commonality. Us. We are friends. And thank god, for Us.

Sunlit Perfection and Wodehouse

             Image via Wikipedia

I have been thinking about doing a post on one of my favourite feel-good authors for a long time. He is British, witty and a master of his genre. A final clue: Jeeves.

I discovered Wodehouse in college. I had heard of him earlier, of course. But it was finally in college that I finally had the chance to explore the world of beautiful comic timing, with and satire that he so effortlessly created.

I became a member of British Council’s library to have easy access to loads of reference books that they had on English Literature. But those who know me would tell you that I would never leave a library without taking something for my own pleasure. Since BCL in those days, stocked British authors almost exclusively (the result of literary myopia in my opinion), the choice of books to read for fun was limited to classics (I adore them by the way) and Wodehouse.

My first encounter with Bertie Wooster and his cronies, the Drones, his ensemble of aunts – from scary to the one with potential for affection – and Jeeves opened to me a whole new world of witty dialogue and situational comedy that is almost unparalleled. Wodehouse is laughing at the catastrophes that invade the lives of rich British aristocracy, abounding in absent minded peers, good-for-nothing bachelors, shrewd spinsters and occasional damsels in distress. And you know what the biggest laugh is – the rescue of the gentry by the supremely intelligent butler, Jeeves. There can be no greater commentary on the redundancy of the gentry than the ease with which Jeeves extricates Wooster and the entourage of his world from all sorts of hilarious (to us, not to them) situations.

There is humour in every line and in every expression. The names of the characters are full of comic delight. Who else can come with names like Wooster (sounds like a wuss), Pongo Twistleton and Fink-Nottle for characters. And what about Blandings as the estate name for his series about a pig-loving peer, Lord Emsworth. Yes, the peers have weird loves – pigs for Emsworth and newts for Fink-Nottle. The troubles in their world are no greater than the schemes to win the annual fat pig competition, the attempts to steal a prized French cook, getting bachelors engaged and married to rich heiresses and avoiding dictatorial aunts. I can clearly visualise the scene in one of the Jeeves’ novels where Anatole after work unwinding is rudely interrupted by the ungainly sight of Wooster teetering outside his window. And who can forget the mastery and cunning with which Jeeves persuades Wooster to get rid of his pride, an unattractive moustache.

Sample this gem of telegraphic exchange between Wooster and his Aunt Dahlia Travers, who stays near Market Snodsbury (really, how does he come up with these names) in Right Ho, Jeeves. Bertie has just returned has just returned home after spending nearly two months with the said aunt and therefore is perplexed when he get the following wire:

Aunt Dahlia: Come at once. Travers.

Wooster: Perplexed. Explain. Bertie.

Aunt Dahlia: What on earth is there to be perplexed about, ass? Come at once. Travers.

Wooster: How do you mean come at once? Regards. Bertie.

Aunt Dahlia: I mean come at once, you maddening half‑wit. What did you think I meant? Come at once or expect an aunt's curse first post tomorrow. Love. Travers.

Wooster: When you say “Come” do you mean “Come to Brinkley Court”? And when you say “At once” do you mean “At once”? Fogged. At a loss. All the best. Bertie.

Aunt Dahlia: Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. It doesn't matter whether you understand or not. You just come at once, as I tell you, and for heaven's sake stop this back‑chat. Do you think I am made of money that I can afford to send you telegrams every ten minutes. Stop being a fathead and come immediately. Love. Travers.

Honestly, when I read these books I can barely restrain myself from laughing-out aloud. The books are such a refreshing change from the slap-stick humour which abounds in today’s world – be it movies (remember the David Dhawan – Govinda presentations) or in writing. Sarcasm has replaced genuine humour. Most people seem to find only poking fun at others funny. Not that Wodehouse does not do that but it is done with such good-nature and warmth that you cannot help but bask in the ‘sunlit perfection’ as Stephen Fry calls Wodehouse’s world.

If you have never read a Wodehouse, you don’t know what you are missing. As for me, I have upon me the delightful urge to read them all over again. And this time, I would buy them for my collection.

Ciao.

Awesome Saturdays

Today’s a Saturday. Normally I sleep late on Saturdays but today I got up fairly early by my standards. And guess what? I am still feeling quite perky. That is next to impossible on any other days. So, this must be the Saturday effect.

I love Saturdays. Honestly, how can you not? The weekend is fresh, new and shiny. Like leaves after rains. Full of so many possibilities. Movies, lunch with friends. Shopping for something totally unnecessary. Glorious lazing and couch potato-hood. Gorging and binging on decidedly unhealthy stuff.  And sometimes the occasionally useful stuff like cleaning the room. You can do as you choose with it.

And you know what the best part is? You still have another day of no work to look forward to.

So, does that make Sunday as great as Saturday? I say not. See, Sunday is a precursor to Monday blues. You know that weekend is practically over and the long work-week looms large. Sunday evenings are in fact the worst. One short night and it’s all over. Another weekend disappears in the maws of the new week.

That is why on Sundays, I prefer not doing anything. Just stay at home and brood over the unfairness of Mondays in general. See? The mere mention of Sundays and its bosom buddy has turned my chirpy post into an almost melancholy litany.

Let’s get back to Saturday awesomeness. So, what are you planning on doing today? Me – I am still pondering the possibilities. I am vaguely nourishing the thought of catching Delhi Belly in a theatre very close to my home, late in the evening. I am also mentally making a list of pros and cons of using the afternoon / early evening to set my dresser right. Pros are obvious. But the con is bigger. It will eat into my don’t-feel-like-doing-anything mood. Decisions. Decisions. I am currently reading Golding’s Lord of the Flies. I might also add Austen re-reading to my current book mix. But which one? I am leaning towards Darcy big-time. It is hard not to. So, Pride & Prejudice, it is likely to be.

I think I might cook also today. Miracles do happen, you know. But what is the question. Nothing too strenuous for sure.

Sigh. There are just so many choices. I am spoilt for them on a Saturday. While I mull over my options for the day, what are your Saturday plans? I hope that they are fun.

Ciao.