Front seats for the sunset

Dreamy. Disoriented. Small.Charmed. Confounded. Captivated. Disturbed. Overwhelmed.
That is what going backpacking around Europe with my friends felt like.

Our itinerary was: (departure- 1st November) London- Brussels- Paris- Nice- Monaco- Venice- Rome- Vienna- Salzburg- (Linz)- London (arrival- 12th November).

There were several times during the trip when we found ourselves before a spectacular view when we weren’t really expecting it. It is one thing to know that you are heading towards a highly celebrated site but something else to turn a corner or climb a bridge or exit a metro station to suddenly see something so strikingly beautiful that everyone falls into a reverential silence before it. These silences and the gasps we let out were, to me, the essence of this trip.

Apart from the sights that worked their magic instantly, the trip was also one effective lesson in history, music, art, religion, politics and architecture. Sometimes, what we learnt about the lives of artists and composers and their times left us as stunned as did seeing an architectural wonder. We also have our cynic-sense in place and could partially see why a particular travel book describes Continental Europe as “that pile of elegant decay”. We did have our minor let-downs and the tourism-oriented marketing at some places did seem excessive. Despite any such flip-sides, I don’t think a trip to Europe can ever be anything less than extraordinary regardless of how and when it is done. All it takes is to see how an everyday occurrence as a sunset can seem like a grand opera in the backdrop of art and history and it becomes clear what the fuss is all about.

While the sights and sounds form the foreground of the trip, the researching, the unending debates while setting the itinerary, the reading of maps and figuring out the public transport systems and living in youth hostels, the great food we stumbled upon in places that inconspicuously happened in the background was equally significant in terms of recall-value. There is something about being a backpacker that makes it easy to talk to strangers and to other backpackers with itineraries that are more chaotic than our own. In almost every journey, our co-passengers shared with us stories of their own favourite fulfilling-yet-crazy trips after they discovered we were among the mavericks who holiday in their country in the wrong season. And very often, we would be asked “So where will your next holiday be?”. I was initially surprised that anyone was even suggesting we attempt another trip like this one, especially as it had been as more work than holiday with the visa application procedure and the bookings that sometimes wore us out. But then I now realize that my appetite for travel has just been kindled and it is a good state of mind to be in- to be planning for the next trip at any point of time. It places the business card, the deadlines, the worries and the task lists in perspective.

Il fait beau sur la France!

This is Padma Sharma blogging from sunny Nice in France.

That is the most I can manage to get across with a French keyboard and after two days of talking in French. More shall follow when I return to good ole Brum.

P.S: I am heading to the beach now :)

Somewhere Else

Well, there’s only one way to say this. I fell in love with a little Welsh sea-side town called Conwy 15 days ago- and hopelessly at that. The river Conwy flows through this town that is surrounded by purple-red flower-laden mountains and a grand 12th century castle runs along the town's perimeter. This basically means that from any given standpoint within Conwy, you are bound to find a picture postcard-like view before you that you want to capture and permanently freeze in your mind. Somehow, writing about my visit seems like it isn't the right way to save for posteriority the memories of the trip. When I write, it feels like I am trying to organize memories in convenient packages, just like those cans of processed food with their customary levels of preservatives that occupy miles of shelf-space in super-markets. And just like those cans, I know that anything I write will simply not have the intended effect.

This, my friends, is Conwy:







(pictures courtesy Trambak, Suryadip and Dam- muchas gracias guys! :))

P.S: I should have written this earlier- just that I did not have access to the internet at what is now "home". I am in the UK on work for the next five months. I would appreciate it if anyone has any suggestions on places that must be visited and things that must be done around here. We have been making our own plans too for almost every single weekend we'll be spending here- but then any local knowledge always adds significant value to what the maps and travel guides tell us.

Making a point in 90 minutes

The only thing about me that has remained constant in the last one year has been the fact I have been reading regularly, irrespective of the extent of work load, the state of my mind and errm..my heart, the temperature, the migratory cycles of the local feathered population, the phase of the moon and other such variable factors. Since I would like to remember the details of some books that I have read recently, I have decided to blog about them for a while now.

The book “90 Minutes at Entebbe” by William Stevenson comprises of two main parts. The first and more significant part narrates the build-up to and the actual execution of one of the most well-planned and successful rescue missions carried out by a government in a foreign territory viz., the mission carried out by Israel in 1976 to rescue over a 100 of its citizens who were held hostage in Uganda by hijackers. The second part contains the transcript of the discussion that took place at the United Nations Security Council during the proceedings against Israel for alleged violation of Uganda’s sovereign rights in the course of the rescue mission.

The book states, while describing the process of planning the rescue mission, that there was one particular incident that convinced all the parties involved in decision-making that Israel must switch gears from diplomatic negotiations with the hijackers to direct military intervention. This incident involved the hijackers releasing all passengers of all nationalities on board the Air France plane that was bound to Paris from Tel Aviv but hijacked to Entebbe, Uganda, save the Israelis. Through this act of the hijackers, what had been an international crisis affecting several countries became solely Israel’s national concern. This act of the hijackers is said to have brought back to Israel’s collective consciousness, the memory of ‘Selekzia’- the term used by the Nazis to separate Jews from the rest of the crowd before sending the former to harrowing concentration camps.

This, the author seeks to establish, enabled the Israeli government to identify its immediate concern- that of saving the lives of its citizens, regardless of the consequences on its standing in the international community. The result was Operation Thunderbolt- an operation in which a fleet of 4 military aircrafts, in conditions of complete secrecy, took off for far off Uganda to bring back all the Israeli citizens on the midnight of 4th July, 1976 after a brief combat that left all the hijackers and some Ugandan troops dead. The deftness with which the mission was handled can be understood from the fact that the eccentric Ugandan dictator, Idi Amin, could not help praise the efficiency of the Israeli troops even as he was fuming about the loss of lives of Ugandan soldiers that this mission had caused. Incidentally, the exact role played by Idi Amin in this hijacking incident is not clear throughout the book,. There are parts where he comes across as sympathetic to the cause of the hijackers and others where he seems to have made a genuine effort at negotiating on behalf of the hostages.

There is a sense of irony that comes across towards the end because it is clear that Israel, through its meticulously planned and boldly executed rescue mission that lasted for only 90 minutes, made its stance regarding foreign policy and terrorism more eloquently than the Israeli diplomat could during the proceedings that lasted for days on end at the United Nations Security Council. While I was at my seat’s edge while reading about the mission and was taken aback by the precision with which it was executed, I was bored while reading the arguments put forth by the diplomat before the Security Council that come across as lukewarm and unconvincing (to me at least). On reading the entire transcript of the arguments, I could actually understand the cause for some of the ill-will that Israel had to face from other nations at the end of the hearings at the Security Council.

I completed this book in a little over a week while reading it in the morning in the bus on my tryingly long (sigh!) journey to work. Since I cannot help but think about work on my way there, I think this led me to look at the entire rescue operation from an efficiency of execution angle and left me admiring the planning skills of the Israelis. This does not, however, mean that I admire Israel’s military activism, since I have looked at things from an admittedly narrow perspective here. The book did make me wonder if, for a country to become exceptionally efficient militarily or economically, it takes the strong emotion generated by the memory of an incident (the Holocaust in this case) that has affected the individuals of the population at a personal level, only by dint of he or she being part of the bigger group. This also occurred to me when a colleague recently mentioned how it is widely believed that it was the shame of the memory of defeat in WW2 and the eagerness of the Japanese to wipe it out that contributed to Japan’s miraculous turnaround in the post-War years. This, too, seems to corroborate the notion that the psyche of a group is reflective of that of the individuals that constitute it. But then again, there could be a Fallacy of Composition at work somewhere here. It is possible that what may come across as a bold and domineering country in terms of its policies is made up of simple-minded individuals who can be satisfied with a good life and are not keenly ambitious for anything else. There must be millions of pages of printed matter out there about the role of the constituent individuals in influencing the mind of a group and I need to get my hands on some of it. Any recommendations will be deeply appreciated!

It was fantastic!

One year after coming back home from IGIDR, it is surprising to look at how my perceptions of the two years spent there have changed.

As soon as I had arrived, when anybody asked me how my experience in Mumbai was, I would say that it was good for the most part but add a qualifier to convey the fact that it was not all easy and pretty. I would occasionally talk about how, when we all started off, all the people there were the diametrically opposite personalities of each other and that we took time to get used to having each other around and some more time to find friends. Sometimes, I complained about how I was always sleep-deprived because of the amount of work there was to do and at other times about how the institute is isolated from the city and there was not much scope to explore Mumbai.

But now, when I occasionally talk about the place, all I can say is that it was simply, wonderfully, abso-blooming-lutely, fantastic! I probably have only distorted memories of the time spent there. I am now immersed in work and memories of IGIDR comprise only of bits of the kind of conversations and incidents that can only occur within the confines of a university campus that is away from civilization. This is probably also the memory I will guard in my mind for the future.

I couldn't help typing this out when I realised it has been exactly one year since I came back. This is especially for all those friends of mine who are still studying or about to graduate- take it from me, you people will be talking this way about the places you now complain of. Yes, I know, how bizarre!

..and the Bheja Fry for me, thanks!

(I'm still vegetarian...the title is just me trying to be witty)

There was one particular aspect about the movie Bheja Fry that I found simultaneously heartening and realistic. The protagonist of the movie, Bharat Bhushan, is an incorrigible dimwit, a smug bore, a cuckold and yet, there is just one relationship that has remained intact despite all these personality disorders. The man has a "bestest friend" who completely shares the former's passion for watching cricket and empathises with his love for Bollywood music and his tendency to display his meagre singing abilities at the most inopportune times and places. I particularly enjoyed watching the chemistry between the two characters when they are completely tickled by each other's pitifully dull jokes even as they are trying to help another man who is in serious trouble.

I found this depiction refreshing because, for once, two men were shown to be thick buddies and there was no sacrificing of loves or lives by either of them to make the audience understand just how deep their friendship is. The said best friend is not just a lame sidekick to the protagonist whose only role is to make the male lead look good, as is the case in most of our fillums. On the contrary, Bharat Bhushan is full of praise and admiration for his friend's abilities as a tax officer while the friend does not really reciprocate any of this reverence.

The reason I am even writing about how two grown, uninteresting men are shown to be friends in a realistic manner in a movie is only because I think that very rarely do we get to see something like that. Bollywood, over the years, has slaughtered every kind of relationship between people and stuffed it up with its own fluff comprising of imaginary and in some cases, ghastly emotional upheavals and excessively complicated situations. The relationship between the male lead and his best friend has been vicitm to this kind of treatment very frequently. Given this context, I was surprised to see how the two friends in the movie are like some of the people I see and know. In everyday life, for a lot of people I know, to go out and help a friend in need while there is an important cricket match being aired on TV is the ultimate testament to one's concern for the friend's wellbeing . There have been other movies, such as Dil Chahta Hai that have succeeded in depicting warmth and bonhomie among male characters without leaving the audience cloyed by the end. But these are only the exceptions and not the norm. Well, at least it looks like there is some hope of watching men in movies discuss cricket or Bollywood and give each other imperfect advice and spend less time saving each other from getting electrocuted, drowning, being thrashed by 12 dark-skinned and bald men etc.,.

That leaves us with the question of the relationship among saheliyaan in movies- but let's not even get into that just yet!

My Biggest Regret

(A State of Mind Update)

The One thing
That tops the huge list of things
That vie for space
In that encumbered zone in my mind
That specializes strictly
In Brooding, Over-analyzing and Enervating Myself
Is the fact that I have not travelled
As much as I should have, by now.

Of Microphone Abusers

To those who still don't get it, for the last time, "madrasi" is not a word in any language.
Sunil Pal, who gets away with calling himself a stand-up comedian, was invited to perform in our company's annual party. To sum up what I thought of his show, it would just do to say that the title to this post is all about him. I repeatedly heard the words "madrasi", "lungi", "Tamil" and "hamare South ke bhai" in a span of about five minutes. I had switched off long ago, then, I stood up and left.
Anyone who has visited Bangalore and paid attention would know that the folks here have a highly evolved sense of humour that is usually marked by caustic sarcasm - the kind that can mercilessly scald the likes of the Pal fellow. Well, there sure is a lot to laugh about Bangalore as there is with any other city, but it takes a receptive mind to find the right things to say that would be both relevant and humourous. Our colleagues came up with wittier one-liners about Bangalore that evening than what the nitwit performing on stage can ever hope to even after a lifetime in the business of stand-up comedy.
The "madrasi-lungi" drill has probably been going on for the last fifty years in the name of humour. In these fifty years, there have been wars, revolutions, insurrections, huge swings of business cycles and innumerable events that have brought about irreversible changes in the culture, economy and demographics of most cities. With changes of this magnitude, the content of art, cinema and humour is expected to change naturally. Yet, we hear the same old tripe about "madrasis" and jokes about skin colour and the way the languages of the South sound being made. The irony is that these jokes are gleefully being broadcast in places which is home to the people whose culture is being insensitively ridiculed.
Mr. Sunil Pal and all the others who earn their bread doing what he does must be warned to take a reality check the next time they perform before an audience that has a cultural quotient that's greater than theirs. They must, for their own good, try to find out whether the audience is laughing with them or at them.