Carpe Imperium Mundo?

2007-08-18T18:49:00.000Z

Before one decides to get married, they say, one should have a discussion with the prospective spouse on several important issues to ensure a meeting of the minds. So, dutifully, I had all the "important" discussions with my dearly beloved betrothed [before he became the dearly beloved betrothed] regarding where we would live, children, careers, parents, the works. And I thought that we had a happy meeting of the minds and could live happily ever after.

But alas! There was one important topic we didn't touch upon...one that all the self-help books and agony aunt columns that I so avidly read never told me to talk about...the subject of the wedding itself.

My approach to a wedding has always been simple. Get it over and done with minimum fuss and mess. So accordingly, I suggested we go to court, sign a slip of paper and be married. But, no! We're Indian. It doesn't work like that. If you think the Greeks had big fat weddings, we Indians make them bigger and fatter.

So as a compromise to the court wedding I timidly proposed the three step Maharashtrian alternative instead, which was
1. Wake up in morning.
2. Get married.
3. Have lunch
But this didn't find acceptance with my dearly beloved betrothed. He practically recoiled in horror when I suggested this. "You mean there'll be no sangeet? No hiding of shoes? (which is quite economical for him, if only he could see that) No, that just won't do." I was surprised; I had no idea he felt so strongly about his wedding; I always thought it was girls who had this ideal vision of their weddings, but it would seem that men too had their dreams.

So now I have given in and said that fine, yes of course, we'll go the whole hog, song and dance, saat phere et al but I'm not letting him spend more than the cost of his shoes on getting them back. I have to crack the whip at some point of time!

And then of course there is my mother to contend with. Her only daughter. Getting married. Much excitement. She has her own vision of how things should turn out. And so too my dad. He called me excitedly the other day to tell me that he had bought a suit to wear to the reception. Never mind I haven't a clue what I'm supposed to be wearing to my own wedding or reception, at least my dad and brother are sartorially ready.

My mum-in-law-to-be is also pretty excited. She's been preparing for the wedding for the last two years, ever since the dearly beloved and I broke the news to her that we were seeing each other. She's frantically shopping for kilos of sarees for me among other things and has been asking me complicated questions about relatives, invitations and wedding food.

So now I've devised a pretty simple solution to all of this chaos. I just say yes to everything. So conversations become a lot simpler and go somewhat like this...

My dearly beloved betrothed (who has no idea of such things): Make sure you buy size S sarees - all the ones you have so far are too big for you.
Me: Yes dear.

It's the only way I can get through the next four and a half months without losing my mind. Though I can't really guarantee that I will not kidnap my fiance a week before the wedding and drag him kicking and screaming into a registry office to sign on a slip of paper and be married. Long live the big fat Indian wedding.

Be afraid, be very afraid...

2007-04-19T13:29:00.000Z

This is who I am...

What Famous Leader Are You?
personality tests by similarminds.com

Cafe Cough Up Day

2007-01-02T11:51:00.000Z

Had dropped in at the Cafe Coffee Day in Versova last weekend and was confronted with a new menu with a cartoon figure dancing and advertising some DJ Nasha show for New Year. Now we were hungry, tired and thirsty and CCD seemed like a good place to grab a quick bite and move on. So we asked for a sandwich and pasta and as an afterthought requested a frappe too.

The guy behind the counter says “Well, we have a special New Year menu and so we can’t give you the regular frappe, we can only give you the Friendship Frappe”. So we took a quick look at the menu and reeled in shock. The Friendship Frappe was priced at a whopping 114 bucks!! As it is, the regular frappe priced at 52 bucks (plus tax) is a steal (that would be CCD stealing from me); but this was just plain extortion!!

So we declined politely, paid for the sandwich and pasta and turned to go when he says “Oh, by the way, the regular frappe is available, would you like one?” I would have really liked to have socked him in the face but settled for a disdainful look instead.

The last thing I heard as we were walking out was him asking some unsuspecting woman “Ma’am would you like a Ludicrous Latte?”

2006-12-08T08:50:00.000Z

This probably isn't the most original thought, but I think that the smallest unit of time must be the time between a traffic light turning green and the first car beginning to hoot impatiently when waiting at a Mumbai traffic light.

2006-11-23T11:31:00.000Z

So now you know what you're letting yourself in for when you visit this blog...in case you didn't already.

You Are a Life Blogger!

Your blog is the story of your life - a living diary.If it happens, you blog it. And make it as entertaining as possible.

2006-11-10T11:20:00.000Z

Really? Wow.

2006-11-04T07:03:00.000Z

"Abhishek Bachchan and Aishwarya Rai should just get married" announced my grandmother firmly, the other day while reading the newspaper. I was a bit confused since I was under the impression that there is no confirmation from either of them that they are in any kind of relationship other than professional, so I pointed that out to granny dearest. "No, no, even Jaya Bachchan wants her as a daughter-in-law" said my grandmother, "Now they'll DEFINITELY get married."

"And where did you get that from?" I asked, even more confused now. "It's in the papers," she said triumphantly, "It's in the news!!" [This reminded me of a book called "The Truth" by Terry Pratchett in which he talks about the freedom of the press and how if it's in the news, it must be true, but that is a story for another day.]

We've truly become a nation obsessed with celebrities. From Jhalak Dikhla Ja results appearing as a segment on the nine o'clock news show, to people trawling Page 3 supplements for cutting edge gossip, it seems that across India we just can't get enough of celebrities (no matter how minor - Rakhi Sawant and Mika being a case in point) and stories of their lives (the more sordid the better).

And now we have Bigg Boss which is going to show us that celebrities are much the same as normal people. I lived in South Africa through two seasons of Big Brother where 12 ordinary people lived in a house for 12 weeks without newspaper, television or any contact with the outside world, the same as in Bigg Boss. And what a fuss was made of those people - they became celebrities for the duration of their stay in the house; once they were out they were consigned to the memory bin - only the winners matter. [I guess this malaise of celebrity obsession is not just limited to India.]

I guess on some level we want to see celebrities as regular people who just happen to get photographed a lot. That's why my grandmother likes to think of Abhishek Bachchan as someone who will defer to his mother's choice of bride for him, or we think that although Pooja Bedi might be Kabir Bedi's daughter and a talkshow host and actor, she still has two left feet and got booted off Jhalak Dikhla Ja so early. Or that some Bigg Boss contestant might be a messy slob and not ever wash their clothes. The very concept of Bigg Boss - putting 12 minor league attention-hungry celebrities in a house together - ensures that its TRPs will have Sony laughing all the way to the bank.

I visited the Bigg Boss site - www.biggboss.in . It's worth a visit. Any site that says "Can Bobby Darling last one week before being slapped?" deserves as many hits as possible and therefore I encourage you to go there too. An article on this site proudly proclaims...

"Well the contestants have been announced and the first episode has been screened. Here at BiggBoss.in we’re still rocking from the 9pm show from Sony and are simply flabbergasted about the amount of exposure Bigg Boss is receiving but also how much the Indian public are getting into the hit reality show that is Bigg Boss.

Keep it up guys. You’re doing us proud. "

Are they talking about the contestants or the viewers?

2006-10-13T06:34:00.000Z

The BBC Action network team have created this interesting site which details how to avoid defamation and libel suits and also tells you what to do when you have a case filed against you. Makes for an interesting read.

An equity investments story

2006-10-12T11:54:00.000Z

Once upon a time, way back in the 1960's my grandmother wanted to invest in fixed deposits with Telco and Tisco since they were giving a whopping return of 9% back then. But there was a catch - this was only available to shareholders of these companies. So after much grumbling, grousing and scraping together of money, she bought one share each in Telco and Tisco for the then princely sum of Rs 100 in return for which she got 2 share certificates which she parked with her other papers and forgot all about.

Many years passed, the fixed deposits matured and were reinvested someplace else and life went on for my grandmother. Until recently when she decided to clean out her papers and came across the share certificate for Telco, which brought back lots of nostalgic memories. So we all suggested to her that she sell those two shares, but she couldn't find the share certificate for Tisco. "It's only 100 bucks, forget it," declared granny dear.

"It's certainly worth more than hundred rupees, search properly and make sure you find it," ordered my mother, the ever so docile daughter. So, my grandmother turned her cupboard upside down and emerged triumphantly waving the other certificate as well.

And then began the process of selling the share. For that, my grandmother first had to open a demat account. So, complaining all the way about the taxi fare to go to the bank, my grandmother went and opened a demat account and began the process of getting her 2 share certificates dematted.

When she sold those shares, she got the shock of her life. All of us did in fact. Since she'd bought her two shares, Telco and Tisco had declared bonuses, share splits et al and by 2006, those two shares of Rs 100 each were now worth over Rs 70,000. I am not sure about the zeroes, but I think that's an absolute return of about 35000%.

Moral of the story: In the long run, equity investments give you higher returns than any other asset class.

2006-10-04T08:19:00.000Z

Stumbled across this blog in my wanderings - http://singaporemind.blogspot.com What a finely tuned sense of irony the writer has...or does he?

Liked this article especially http://singaporemind.blogspot.com/2006/09/feer-banned.html

The power of propaganda?

2006-02-15T05:45:00.000Z

Go to www.google.cn and do an image search for 'tiananmen'.

And then doo the same on www.google.com

Interesting results.

All the streets are paved with...

2005-12-03T12:59:00.000Z

I haven't understood the average Mumbaikar's need to spit. Is there something in the air that causes excess saliva production that causes people to have to spit more? And they spit EVERYWHERE. The other day I was in Phoenix Mills and this man walking in front of me spat right outside Bombay Blues.

Dr PS Vivek from Mumbai University actually did a study on the spitting habits of Mumbaikars and it is quite interesting to read what he has to say about his findings. It's not just your clean white shirt that's at risk from th paan-chewing public, it's your health as well. But people will still continue chewing paan for 'timepass' or to make their lips 'red for beauty' and dirty the streets.

Possessed

2005-11-29T13:06:00.000Z

Just finished reading 'Possession' by AS Byatt and I really loved it. It's a story of two twentieth century scholars researching the lives of two Victorian poets; at first mention it sounds rather boring as a storyline, but AS Byatt has written it so beautifully that I just couldn't get enough of the book and when I finished reading it I felt a sense of satisfaction that I get from very few authors (Ishiguro is one) of having read something worthwhile. Certainly a book I'd recommend to anyone.

On a not completely disconnected note, my copy of Possession is an American edition and on the back cover it says 'Winner of England's Booker Prize' - isn't that a wholly inaccurate way to describe the prize? To the best of my knowledge it is a prize open to writers from UK and the Commonwealth which is why Arundhati Roy, JM Coetzee and Ben Okri among others have been awarded the prize. Or am I supposed to put this down to American ignorance?

Feeling old...

2005-11-26T10:56:00.000Z

Two friends and I succumbed to the Harry Potter craze last weekend and watched 'Goblet of Fire'. Nice movie though the editing was a bit patchy at times. But I still think it is the most exciting of all the Potter movies so far.

The thing that struck us most about the movie though, was how young everyone in the audience was, compared to us. I felt like an old aunty at the movies with all the little kids around throwing popcorn, screaming in fright at some of the scenes and generally crying out loud now and again. I'd always thought the Potter craze wasn't age barred, but high pitched female voices getting excited every time Cedric appeared seemed to be the order of the day.

The world does get younger, it seems.

2005-11-17T14:16:00.000Z

"India’s Communist-backed government will on Thursday afternoon consider a sweeping liberalisation of foreign direct investment rules that would kick start a long-stalled programme of economic reforms." so says the Financial Times in this article. Technically I suppose they're right, the government is Communist backed.

Earlier it was the Hindu nationalist party and now it's the Communists. You can't win either way with the media. They just never get it right.

2005-11-02T05:28:00.000Z

Going down Marine Drive yesterday, I was overcome with a sense of homesickness. The drive along the beach with so many people gathered there, lighting crackers, thronging on Chowpatty beach, taking rides in horse-carts…I couldn’t help but be reminded of the Durban beachfront.

I’ve realized that a hometown isn’t defined by where you live or where you’re born or even where your parents live. For me, my hometown is defined by the feeling I have about the place and when I think of Durban, I think of the beach, the slopes, the green fields, driving my little egg shaped Corsa, my room with its big windows, my dog in the garden, and as I’m assailed by this feeling of nostalgia, I feel glad that I have those happy memories. I’m well aware that if I go back to Durban again, I’ll be seeing it differently, and perhaps even if I could, I don’t think I would want to have that same life again. That’s not to say I don’t miss it and wish I were home again sometimes.

2005-10-28T05:54:00.000Z

I wonder what you’d say if I asked you what you thought of ….

Saying something like that - that’s thinking aloud. That’s a statement. Not an invitation to voice an opinion. An opinion that is free and easy enough to come by whether asked for or not. Strange how we're all so ready to tell others what we think no matter whether they asked or not, no matter whether they even care. Stranger still is how they react when what the opinion they get is not the one they wanted to hear.

To eat intelligently is an art...

2005-10-20T07:15:00.000Z

So sayeth some wise man and right now I am quite willing to concur. I am feeling pleasantly full after a lunch at Five Spice, (which in my opinion, is one of the best Chinese restaurants in Mumbai), rounded off by a large helping of their wickedly rich brownie with ice-cream (it’s the best brownie in Mumbai, take my word for it; although a friend of mine did argue with me that Brownie Point was better, but then he was trying to score brownie points with a girl (his joke, not mine)).

Food has always been a favourite passion of mine. And my tubbiness will attest to that. I’m not very fond of Indian food but I like trying new stuff; I’ve eaten crocodile and ostrich in South Africa, kudu in Zimbabwe, reindeer in Sweden, stingray in Singapore…well, you get the idea. I’m glad I’m not a vegetarian.

Anyway, now that I’ve started on the subject of food, I think I shall take a rather pleasant trip down memory lane and talk about the five most memorable meals I’ve ever had.

One recent meal that will stick in my memory for a long time yet to come is the chocolate buffet at the Fullerton in Singapore. Chocolate is my favourite indulgence; truly a gift from up above and I worship at the feet of the genius who decided to make it the defining ingredient for an entire meal. There was SO much chocolate there, it made me think of Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. There were three types of chocolate mousse, four types of chocolate cake, eight different varieties of hot chocolate, Baileys & chocolate soup, green tea and chocolate brulee, sachertorte (Austria’s gift to the world), chocolate cookies, an assortment of chocolates…and, most fascinating of all, a chocolate fountain in which you could dip fruits or marshmallows and coat them with chocolate. I will forever be indebted to my brother for having taken me there as a belated birthday treat.

Another memorable meal, though hardly as grand, was the one I had while freezing on the Jungfraujoch. Waiting for a train, seeing snow for the first time, teeth chattering constantly, we were feasting on bratwurst, potato rosti and Toblerone, washing it down with sips of cognac to keep warm. Never thought that such simple food (ok, so the cognac wasn’t all that simple) could make you feel so warm and happy!

Then there was the apple pie with lavender icecream that I had at Suaviter, a quaint little restaurant in the KwaZulu Natal Midlands. I think I had quiche for the main course but the memory of eating the dessert still remains fresh in my memory as does the old lady Ruth who ran the place and did the most marvelous things with herbs and flowers. I even remember her telling me rather reproachfully at the end of the meal that I hadn’t eaten the flowers on my plate.

While I was on exchange in Sweden, I visited a friend in Copenhagen and stayed at her university housing apartment. Surprisingly enough, I got to eat a lot of interesting food there, since one of the guys who lived down the corridor was quite a cook. Thanks to Erwin, I tasted Schweinzpraten (I still don’t know how to spell it, but it’s Austrian pork cooked in beer sauce) and learnt how to make herb bread dumplings. But the really memorable meal that I had there was a Spanish meal that one of her floormate’s parents cooked one weekend. It was incredible. There were the usual meat and potatoes, cheese, fish, paella, prawns and three desserts. And those prawns were among the best things I’ve ever eaten. Not that the dessert was too far behind either. I just remember I had a terrible stomachache and just couldn’t sleep that night. I suppose it served me right for being so greedy.

The meals I loved best and miss the most now that I no longer live at home are the barbecues (or braai as we called it in South Africa) that we had practically every weekend. It was quite a process, having a braai. First the chicken needed to be marinated and that usually would happen on a Wednesday; my brother and father usually doing the honours. Come early Saturday evening and we would look out anxiously at the weather and start discussions on where to have the braai – by the pool or on the patio or what to do if it were to rain. A couple of hours later, the Weber is out, the coals are glowing and the smell of food cooking is wafting through the air. Ah, bliss!

And now I’m hungry again. :-(

Happy Birthday Blog!

2005-10-17T09:36:00.000Z

Carpe Imperium Mundo is one year old today.

Perhaps I will be less sporadic with my posts in the years to come.

Strong decisions

2005-09-28T04:16:00.000Z

I hope the fence doesn't break with the weight of the BCCI members sitting on it. What a strong decision to take - it must have taken hours of argument before they sorted everything out. I think the BCCI should pat themselves on the back for having the courage to take the stand that they did.

And then people wonder about the mess that is Indian cricket administration. Bah!

Media madness

2005-09-27T05:14:00.000Z

Two things from the newspaper this morning caught my attention, led me to question and made me wonder about the strangeness of people and this world in general.

1. Paheli to represent India at the Oscars??? I have to admit that I was rooting for Parineeta (which I really liked despite ‘Shekhar tod do!” scene) or Iqbal (what an awesome performance by Naseeruddin Shah) to make it to the awards. But I suppose the fact that the storyline of Paheli is based on an Indian folk-tale has convinced those who make decisions that this is the movie to showcase India. And of course, there is the Shah Rukh vortex that sucks people in, far and wide (though I have to ask, what was he thinking with that Lux ad???) though IMHO Shah Rukh Khan, performer par excellence though he might be, cannot really act. But a Bollywood favourite, he will always be.

2. How long before we get rid of Sourav Ganguly? By shooting off his mouth to the media the man has disgraced Indian cricket like very few before him have managed to do. And there are actually people supporting him in this childish behaviour? To me it seems that Ganguly’s little personal fiefdom is under threat from Chappell and now he is running, crying to Mamma. But it seems pretty clear that if India want to get serious about winning, then the age of Dada is over. It’s time to buckle down, be disciplined and separate the men from the cry-babies. Even a humble armchair sportsperson like me can see that Ganguly is no longer in a position to lead the Indian team to superior mediocrity, forget greatness. He’s done a great job until now, but his time has now passed. And sadly for him, he’s thrown away his chance to leave with dignity. And to me, that is why he will never be a great sportsperson.

Bus ride stories

2005-09-22T06:13:00.000Z

I like the easy informality and the anonymity of casual conversations that one can strike up while traveling by bus every day. It makes for a lot of amusing conversation later on as well because you invariably encounter a host of weird and wonderful people. For instance, there I once met a lady who asked me if I was reading a romance novel (can Kazuo Ishiguro be classified as romance?) after which she proceeded to tell me the story of a book she read when she was fifteen but of whose title or author she had no recollection. After she finished relating the plot of the book to me she stopped abruptly and I stared at her blankly wondering what was coming next. And then she says to me “Well, I thought that since you were reading a romance book (never mind that I wasn’t), you might know the name of the book that I was talking about.” Before I could do much more than gape she was already questioning me about what on earth a nice girl like me is doing in a city like Mumbai. I got off the bus in quite a daze.

But you do meet the most interesting people on the bus at times. An old man once told me that I should become a CA and proceeded to tell me about his son who was a CA and at whose firm I could do articles. One lady asked me if I knew that Mumbai used to be ruled by the Brits a long time ago (surely, I don’t look ignorant?) and then proceeded to tell me the history of every building that we passed in the bus. I even helped a schoolkid with his Maths homework once.

Very often people on the bus ask me which college I am in, making me feel very much like the lady in the Ponds advert many many years ago when someone asks her ‘Aap kaun si college mein padhti ho?’ at which point a little girl runs out from behind a wall saying ‘Mummy!’, leaving the asker of the question feeling rather foolish. When I first started working (and commuting in Mumbai), if anyone asked me whether I was in college, I used to get huffy and say no, and proudly describe my state of employment. Now I’ve learnt better. The moment I mention the name of my employers, I get responses such as ‘I have/want a credit card/account/investment/term deposit/house loan with your bank,’ and then they proceed to subject me to a tirade on all the problems that they’ve encountered with the particular product. But after two months of this sort of thing, I’ve become quite the veteran myself. Now I amuse myself by coming up with creative answers to baffle the other person and as I said earlier, the anonymity of it all means you can be whoever you want to be and do whatever you like for a living. Like the time I told a lady that I was doing a masters in the psychology of mass murderers and then asked her where she lived. Surprisingly I got no answer to that one. I wonder why?

Singapore Sling

2005-09-16T08:17:00.000Z

Well it is back that I am from Singapore and a most entertaining time it was that I had. Mostly what I remember from my one week there is the oh-so-excellent food that I had, as a result of which I have come back fatter and my bank balance thinner. Thanks to my brother and my friend Xintian, I managed to sample quite a bit of Singapore’s finest – ranging from chilli crab, to black pepper lobster, rojak, stingray, Korean hotpot, rijstaffel…and I even got to go to a chocolate buffet, which was memorable for the sheer concept of it, though I have to say that it was the first time in my life when I felt you could have too much chocolate! My heart did bleed for the vegetarians (and those who don’t eat seafood) though – there was so much good stuff that they were missing out on.

I didn’t spend all my time eating though. During the day we used to have training sessions, which were on the whole, pretty good, especially the experiential learning sessions that we had. In the evenings I used to hang out with my brother or a couple of friends who now live and work in Singapore, so I got to see a fair amount of Singapore and learn about what it is like to live there.

My primary feeling on being in Singapore was that of relief. Relief that the roads are clean, that the public transport system can be used without the fear of someone pulling your hair, ears or eyelashes out, that I can walk on the road at any time of the day or night, without having to dodge spitballs or garbage strewn on the roads. And I wondered why India couldn’t be this clean and why Indian systems couldn’t work as well.

It’s not so hard to figure it out though, once you think about it. In Singapore, politicians are paid well (or at least so I’ve heard) which leaves them with little or no incentive to take bribes. And apparently so are the police forces. So if you structure the system properly, you prevent the rot before it can set in.

And then there’s the question of accountability. In Singapore the philosophy is very simple. They are a little island nation and that is all they have. If a Katrina level disaster struck them, it would mean the end of a country and that is why they have to be absolutely careful. Last April, a tunnel collapsed during the construction of an MRT station killing four people. In India, we would have shaken our heads in disapproval, an inquiry committee would have been set up and nothing much would have happened for years altogether by which time everyone would have forgotten all about it. Not so in Singapore. A government inquiry set up to investigate the collapse of the tunnel concluded that top executives of the contracting company should be either fined or jailed.

Yeah, there are things about Singapore that aren’t so great. No freedom of press or speech. But people in Singapore have different priorities. There was a Singaporean lady that I met who said to me in rather a disgusted tone, ‘In some countries the media have total freedom and you should see the things they write!” By and large, Singaporeans would rather have clean roads and an MRT system which runs efficiently than have the right to picket in the street. Singaporeans have exchanged their democracy for wealth and it’s a bargain they appear to be happy with. I certainly can’t imagine the average Mumbaikar giving up his right to throw garbage in the streets in exchange for a train system that works more efficiently or for streets that won’t get flooded when the monsoons hit.

That’s not to say that all Singaporeans are happy with this depoliticized way of life that has been chosen for them. There is an opposition party which has all of three members in parliament. One of my Singaporean friends says rather sadly that she will never get to vote because the area in which she lives in is a ruling party stronghold and there’s only ever one candidate for elections. There are media critics and others who get thrown out of the country for protesting something that they don’t like too much. I came across this poem called ‘Singapore you’re not my country’ by Alfian Sa'at that goes,

Singapore why do you wail that way, demanding my IC?
Singapore stop yelling and calling me names.
How dare you call me a chauvinist, an opposition party, a liar
a traitor, a mendicant professor, a Marxist homosexual communist
pornography banned literature chewing gum liberty smuggler?
How can you say I do not believe in
The Free Press autopsies flogging mudslinging bankruptcy
which are the five pillars of Justice?
And how can you call yourself a country, you terrible hallucination
of highways and cranes and condominiums ten minutes' drive from the MRT?

It’s not all as good as it looks on the outside, I suppose.

Long time, no yap...

2005-08-29T10:28:00.000Z

Goodness. It has been quite a while since I last blogged. Time has passed, water has flowed under the bridge, and I have grown a year older. Not that I have changed much since then.

A lot has happened though, over the past two and a half months. For one thing, I’ve started my life as a salaried professional, a state that I am quite happy to be in for now. For another, I’ve left my beloved Bangalore and am trying to get used to life in this dirty city that masquerades as the financial capital of India. Yes, I know all Mumbaikars will go up in arms and yelp indignantly when they hear me trash this city that they, for some inexplicable reason, love, but that can’t be helped – it’s going to take me a long time to like, let alone love, this city if it ever does happen. It’s just very hard to feel much passion for a place where the streets are paved with saliva Anyway, let me not get started on that, it’s a never-ending rant.

Life at work has been pretty good so far. For the first month, I was, along with 33 others, being inducted into the bank, so rather than work, it was more a case of paid time-pass. It was an extension of campus in a manner of speaking – listening to presentations and struggling to stay awake during them, getting to know the organization and the different people in high places, and also getting to know my ‘batchmates’ (a peculiarly Indian term) who’ve joined the bank with me as Graduate Associates.

After the first month, I began a project that rates me as being only slightly higher up than the summer intern in the organizational food chain. Which means that I don’t have to do the photocopying, I just have to bring the coffee and tea when customers demand it. For the most part of it, I just have to go around being inquisitive, asking questions and try to learn something so that I don’t look completely blank during meetings. I’ve been told to enjoy my honeymoon period, and that is certainly what I’ve been doing so far.

To add to this, I’m getting to meet my brother in Singapore at my employers’ expense, so the life is a pretty cushy one so far, I’d say! I was really looking forward to meeting a friend of mine there, but she’s off to Moscow on exactly the same dates that I am there. Highly suspicious, I call it. But still, a week at the Grand Copthorne Waterfront Hotel is not to be sneezed at and I look forward to enjoying myself thoroughly in that one week. (I’m sure my brother is looking forward to enjoying himself too in my presence, and more crucially, at my expense. Sigh.)

Idle chatter

2005-06-16T05:05:00.000Z

I am back in India again and bliss...there is electricity here! Had a good two months in Nigeria and although at times I hated it, staying at home doing nothing does have a charm of its own. But it's good to be back here with the heat and humidity (yes, there was plenty of it in Lagos too, but there's nothing like desi heat and humidity), hearing the chatter of familiar languages in the background, eating vegetables that I never thought I'd miss.

Fifteen days of holiday left. And then I start my working life. I have to say I am excited about finally starting work, although this laziness of mine has become an easy habit to love (isn't that always the case?). Well, work would mean new adventures, new people to make fun of, new people to be made fun of by, and knowing me, more opportunities to showcase my silliness. Should be interesting enough, I guess!

My taste of Nigerian tourism

2005-05-07T16:10:00.000Z

When my folks announced that they were moving to Nigeria, I went to the official website and clicked on Tourism, thinking I might as well find out what the country has to offer, should I ever visit my parents during their stay there. When I clicked on Tours and Sights though, the site said ‘Under construction’. That pretty much sums up Nigerian tourism succinctly.

I had my first real taste of Nigerian tourism today. The plan was to drive to a place called Abeokuta (meaning ‘place under the rock’) and climb up the rocks that give the place its name. Abeokuta, about an hour and a half’s drive away from Lagos, is Nigerian President Obasanjo’s hometown. There isn’t really much in Abeokuta other than the rocks so we figured we’d be back in time for a late lunch if we left early enough.

The drive to Abeokuta is quite pleasant. For one thing, we travelled on the expressway which is a fairly broad well-laid out road, and for another, we drove past some beautiful surroundings – the river snaking through the forest and patches of unspoilt rainforest which we glimpsed while driving past.

Although the expressway is an example of good infrastructure in Nigeria, there is a noticeable absence of road signs which leave you wondering if you are going the right way or not. Once we got to Abeokuta it was worse. We wanted to get to the Olumo Rocks (that is what they’re called) and there were no signs posted to tell anyone which way to go. So we did what men apparently always refuse to do – stopped and asked for directions. The minute we stopped the car we were surrounded by fifteen people and when we asked for directions to the rocks, they all tried to hustle and use this as an opportunity to make money in true Nigerian style. One guy said he would give us directions if we bought something from his shop and when we refused to do so, he gave us some directions anyway. They weren’t complete directions though, so soon we had to stop and ask for directions again. This time, a guy told us that he would take an okada (a motorcycle taxi) and direct us to the rocks. For some inexplicable reason, one of the people with us agreed to this deal. This, of course, made the chap very happy for here was an opportunity to fleece some idiot tourists. So off we went in our motorcade, the okada leading the way and our two cars following.

I think we saw all of Abeokuta on that drive to the rocks. The smallest alleys, the widest roads, the biggest potholes – we drove through them all although all the time we could see the rocks just a little bit away. I think the guy took us through the longest route possible so that he could get more money. Once we got to the rocks, the negotiations began. The man wanted 2000 naira, we were willing to give him 100. We finally settled at 200 naira and then parted with a smile and saying God Bless, again in true Nigerian style.

The rocks were quite nice to climb up. Part of the way has steps carved into the rock making it fairly easy to climb but then after a while we had to climb up across the bare rocks, clambering up and down like mountain goats hoping that we wouldn’t slip. When we got to the top, there was a rather nice view from there. On the one side we could see the river going in between the trees and the expressway in the distance. On the other, we could see the roofs of Abeokuta – all asbestos roofs and mud walls – houses that looked like they belonged in another era. Although Abeokuta is President Obasanjo’s hometown and therefore should logically be getting more funds than the rest of the country, as far as development goes, it is pretty backward. There aren’t too many tar roads, many of the houses were made of mud, almost falling down – it is sad that people have to live like that. Yet they seemed perfectly cheerful when we passed by. But that is the Nigerian nature – to smile and get on with life. Maybe that is how they survive the country

Coffee money and corruption

2005-05-03T17:38:00.000Z

According to the Rough Guide to West Africa, departure taxes from Lagos airport are nil. Judging from the stories I have heard from people, a more accurate description would be that the ‘charges vary’. Just as you need an agent to show you around and guide you through immigration and customs when you arrive, you need someone to help you depart as well. When my brother left Lagos, the last time he visited his wallet was opened by the security guys who carefully examined its contents, sized up my brother and then asked for ten dollars as airport departure tax/coffee money/call it what you will.

Corruption is rampant in Nigeria. Long regarded as the most corrupt country in the world, it was recently beaten to the first place by Pakistan though most likely the Nigerians bribed the Pakistanis to take first place.

But here bribery is a way of life. People ask for money for doing something, doing everything or sometimes just doing nothing. Any company operating in Nigeria would show its biggest overhead as something called PR Expenses, what in common parlance is known as coffee money or just plain bribery – an expense that has to be incurred if you have to carry out business in Nigeria.

As you drive through Lagos, you periodically come to police checkpoints where the only thing the police seem to check is whether or not you have 100 naira to give them. Once you give them what they consider their due, they smile at you, wave you by, call upon God to bless you and hope you have a good day.

A colleague of my father’s shared a story recently where he was stopped at a police checkpoint and checked for papers. His papers were in order, but his driver only had a photocopy of his driver’s licence to show. Asked to pay 20000 naira, the man refused. He told the police, “You can take my driver to jail; my papers are in order, I’m going to drive off in the car.” That left the police rather dumbfounded – they’d never encountered a situation like this before. “But sir,” they offered rather lamely, “We only stopped the car because you’re an expatriate and can therefore pay!”

Shocking though it may seem this disease of bribery and corruption starts from the very top. The Nigerian Inspector General of Police was recently caught siphoning off funds from the reserves used to pay the police force’s salaries. If there is no money to pay the police, they’ve got to find some way of earning their livelihood, I suppose. And after all, they are serving the public. Perhaps if it weren’t for these police checkposts, there would be people carrying guns and crime would be more violent, as in South Africa. Does that justify this culture of corruption and bribery? I’m not sure.

Forget the police force, maybe they’re entitled to something – after all they give us the illusion of protection. But in the corporate context too, bribery, sorry, PR Expenses are just as prevalent. My father was telling me how it is an accepted practice to give ‘gifts’ to people that you do business with and he told me about his first experience with giving such a gift.

Apparently three government employees – a lady and two sidekicks – were to come and check some stuff at his office. The lady had been fixed but the assistants were to be given something for their troubles by my father at the meeting. All through that meeting, my father sat with money stuffed in his pockets, wondering when and how to give it to these men. They kept asking questions, most of them meaningless to make a show of going through the formalities, and every time anything potentially awkward came up, the lady used to tell her sidekicks not to worry about it, she’d take care of it. And throughout it all, my father was wondering how on earth you bribe someone politely. Finally, the lady excused herself for a few minutes at which point my dad politely pulled out the money and told the men, “This is the first time you are visiting this factory; I would have liked to get you a gift but I didn’t have time, so please get yourself something from this money on our behalf” Apparently the men accepted the money with practised ease. As for my father, he says accepted business practice or not, handing over a bribe is an uncomfortable experience.

At least the Nigerians, to give them their due, are honest about cheating. They will cheat you at every opportunity they can but they expect that you will expect them to cheat and that you must take every opportunity to catch them. And if you catch them, there are no hard feelings; if anything, they respect you all the more for it. Like the man at the petrol station who tried to keep some extra change from the money my father gave him, but when busted, handed over the change with a grin and no complaints.

Nigeria has a Corrupt Practices Act. Probably Clause No 1 states “Thou shalt not accept a bribe of less than 20000 Naira”. It’s quite possible in this country.

Home, sweet home?

2005-04-29T08:50:00.000Z

I live in an area called Apapa which is where the port is located. (Lagos, by the way, is the second largest port in Africa – the largest being my former hometown of Durban.) My father, however, calls it a dump. My mother thinks it is a dump but doesn’t say so because that makes the reality of living there even worse. And if you ask me, yes, I’d say it’s a dump, but I don’t tell my parents that because they will probably feel even worse about living there. Though in its favour, I have to say, it is an interesting dump.

There are suya bars at every corner (suya is the Nigerian word for bits of meat stuck on a skewer) and people in the Nigerian national outfits (the men’s costumes look very much like the Indian salwar-kurta; they probably wonder why Indian women wear something so similar to the national outfit of the Nigerian men) with the colourful headdresses, thronging the streets. There are shops that sell things that I can’t identify and there are vendors clutching their wares hoping for a go-slow. Down the street from my house there is a mosque which is the most compact mosque I’ve ever seen. It consists of a wall which has ‘This is mosque’ painted on it where people come and pray. There are quite a few like these all across Lagos, but to me they’re something new.

One of the most amusing sights in Apapa is the building which carries the sign ‘This house is not for sale. Nothing in this building is for sale. Beware of 419’. (419 is equivalent to what we call 420 in India which apparently originates from section 420 of the Indian Penal Code which deals with fraud.) It was a sight that initially made me smile but it also underscored the prevalence of scams that Nigerians are known for. Which one of us hasn’t received the ‘I have to take foreign exchange out of my country, I will give you half of it, please tell me your bank account number’ mail that supposedly has its origins in Nigeria?

And there is the multitalented man who has a shop with a sign offering stock-trading services, disposable contact lenses and haircuts for expatriates. I’m sure these are all closely linked if you just look below the surface.

And there are a multitude of smells that waft in the air. The smells of suya cooking mingle with the smells of petrol, unwashed people, exhaust fumes and some other general unidentifiable odours. A dump by any other name would smell so sweet…

The oddities of life

2005-04-11T18:01:00.000Z

The vagaries that rule life in Nigeria might seem the same as in any other third-world country. But I don’t think anybody would be so much at the mercy of these unpredictabilities as they are in Nigeria.

There is NEPA, the state provided electricity, an acronym that stands for Never Expect Power Again. NEPA is like a person – temperamental and moody. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t and sometimes it works in fits and starts only in some parts of the house. As I sit here typing this, NEPA is running (hallelujah!) and the airconditioner is on, but I cannot switch on the television which is in the same room because the NEPA phase is not working for the television. This erratic electricity came to me as quite a surprise in an oil-rich country. In many ways, NEPA is to residents of Nigeria what the weather is to the Swedes – something you can talk about at any opportunity. If NEPA didn’t have its little eccentricities and worked 24 hours a day, there would be a severe shortage of things to talk about in Nigeria. Or perhaps not; ‘coffee money’ can always be depended on to provide people with stories to tell and things to talk about. And of course, you can always complain about go-slows.

Everything in Nigeria comes at a price which usually masquerades under the misnomer of ‘coffee money’ and paying coffee money to the police, the airport staff, and whoever else might ask for it, does tend to make not only their lives easier, but yours too. Of course, the coffee money you give the NEPA guys is considered to be the best investment of all. The other day, we were stopped at a police checkpoint, and as usual, my mother’s hand went to her purse to take some money when the policewoman said in rather an offended tone ‘We are doing honest work here, we don’t take money’ and my mother was rather pleased to find an honest member of the police force (probably the only one). The car was duly checked and we were about to drive off when this very same policewoman says to my mother ‘What about my coffee money, Madam?’ So much for honesty I suppose.

Then there are the go-slows, the black holes of traffic. Rather naively, I thought that these were all-prevalent on the Nigerian roads and even went so far as to ask my mother to take me to one, but apparently they just happen at any given time with no warning whatsoever, holding up cars and people for hours at a stretch, and that wanting to find yourself in a go-slow is something only an idiotic foreigner would want. Guilty as charged. The only other people who welcome go-slows are the vendors hawking their wares, for they have a huge captive market with nothing better to do than buy things that they really don’t need, and this shopping would at least relieve boredom. A rather novel form of retail therapy, if you ask me. Since coming to Nigeria I have been in so many go-slows that I think I can write a book about them and the things that happen in a go-slow. I shall leave that for another post.

Living la vida Lagos...

2005-04-07T17:39:00.000Z

Before I arrived in Lagos, I’d been told a hundred scary stories about what to do and what not to do when I landed at the airport. So, I was obviously prepared to be kidnapped and relieved of my passport, cash and whatever else I possessed upon arriving at Murtala Mohammed Airport, but much to my relief, I managed to make it out of the plane and into the immigration line without any mishap.

I’d been told that I would be met at the airport by a man called Ajuma who would grease the appropriate palms and help me through the formalities and deliver me into the safe waiting arms of my parents. So as I stood in the line for passport control, I suspiciously scanned the faces of all those *agents* who were there to help sundry others through the immigration procedures, but not one seemed to be looking for Rashmi Dalvi. Anyways, I persevered on and got my passport stamped (all by my lonesome self with no help from Ajuma or any such equivalents) and proceeded on to baggage collection with a hope that I would be met there. As I picked up my suitcase and still saw no signs of Ajuma, I started worrying and the most improbable situations flashed through my head. What if my parents had thought that my arrival was an April Fools’ Joke? Surely they wouldn’t not come to pick me up? Rather nervously, I dragged my suitcases and joined the customs line right behind a woman with three children and nine suitcases for I figured that a little girl like me traveling alone wouldn’t be as interesting to the customs guys. And I figured right. I got waved airily through customs and as I arrived outside and breathed in my first breath of the smelly Nigerian air, I was wondering what on earth to do next, when I saw an arm wave in my general direction. As I followed the view of the arm, I found it was attached to my father and I have to say, I have never been so happy to see him in my life.

And so began my induction into living La Vida Lagos.

Coming up next...the vagaries that rule life in Nigeria...I'm slowly discovering them myself!

Placement fever

2005-03-10T05:32:00.000Z

Currently the hunt for a job has reached its peak. There's a frenzied atmosphere on campus as people study harder than they ever did in the last two years (I'm guilty of that too) and pray desperately to any being or deity that might influence one's chance of getting a job. After all, isn't this what we all came here for? A job.

Not many people seem to know what they want though. To tell the truth, I don't know if I know either what I want. But I do know what I don't want - a finance focussed job. So much for once having wanted to be a CA. But I was a different person then. Or so I tell myself.

Well, the pressure mounts, the process draws closer and then, before I know what hits me, it'll all be over. Two years of IIMB, culminating in a job. What do I think of that? I'll leave that for another post. For now, I have to go and read Kotler.

A love affair gone sour...

2005-02-09T13:54:00.000Z

Every relationship has its ups and downs...and right now I am going through a huge down in one very important relationship in my life...and it's quite depressing, I have to say. My computer has been struck by a barrage of viruses, and win32.pinfi is the main cause of the problems affecting the longstanding love affair between me and my computer.

And it's not as if I haven't tried to kiss and make up. Norton 2004, McAfee 6, AVG, Avast, Norton 2005...all these are peace offerings that I have tried to make to my dear old computer, but yet he refuses me for the favours of that Parite worm. *Gloom* What does the pinfi virus have that I don't?

Anyways, that is the reason I have not been updated my blog in all this while. The pain of this rejection has been too much. Sniff, sob, death, despair. Excuse me while I go to nurse my bruised heart.

Gawd of Large Things...

2005-01-22T10:59:00.000Z

This post is dedicated to Gawd – an old friend of mine from school whose progress from boy to man to larger man I have watched with great interest.

The first time I recollect seeing Gawd, he was a callow youth dedicated to the cause of standing in front of the school assembly and yelling, “School, attention!” or “School, stand at ease” while PT Ma’am hovered ominously in the background wielding her whistle cord very much as I would imagine a dominatrix wielding a whip. The voice and the moustache did rather stick in my mind and so when six years later I met a clean shaven soft voiced be-kurtaed Gawd, I certainly didn’t connect him to the shouting schoolboy of my younger days.

Certainly the man had transformed himself. Not only was the moustache gone, but the voice was now used for singing and drumming was his new passion. It was only a chance conversation about our respective pasts that led me to realise that we were from the same school. And then the penny dropped; I added two and two to get seventy-three as a result and blurted out, “Ah you’re the same guy who used to shout in school, weren’t you? And you had a moustache then – I remember you!” And he shamefacedly hung his head and acknowledged the charge before quickly changing the subject. (As an aside, since I have been harping on Gawd’s moustache – I have nothing against moustaches – I think some men could look quite good in them (Clark Gable for one) but Gawd…well, Gawd was more the Charlie Chaplin kind of look.)

In our early days at IIMB, Gawd certainly lived up to the promise of his name and being omnipresent. All you had to do was mention his name and his smiling face would appear around the corner with an enquiring expression. Uncanny it was, I tell you.

And his activities most certainly reinforced the fact that the man had come a long way from his schooldays. From being painfully shy, he became devoted to the cause of lavishing as much attention as he could possibly give (and then some more) to anyone or anything remotely female. Focussed in this mission, he certainly was (and talking like Yoda, why I am?), so much so that one of the objects of his attention named him, rather aptly, Gawdgeela.

And as TBLA jackets were burned around him Gawd persevered on with his gyan sessions to all-female audiences on Indian Society, when a life changing event, well, changed his life. His summer internship. And this was where he discovered his true love – food.

The first day on the job, Gawd had called me rather excitedly. “I fell asleep in my boss’s office today da – I’d had so much lunch – they have chicken sandwiches here for 2 bucks only!” For once, I was left speechless.

As he continued to gorge himself, his shirts grew smaller and he began to wear his trousers higher, Gawd also discovered the culinary delights that the roadside stalls of Mumbai had to offer and gradually there was more and more of Gawd to love and adore.

Until one day, the man decided that he had had enough. “I’m going on a diet da – I’m only going to eat the fruit lunch at the office.” I was filled with admiration for his willpower until I discovered that the fruit lunch consisted of banana chips, strawberry jam and apple pie. So much for a diet I guess.

Back in Bangalore for second year, it seemed as if Gawd was on a quest to be omnipresent once again. Only this time it was meant to be physical. And his girth expanded, the earth shook as he approached, he got breathless during his run-up while playing cricket – but the man remained steadfast in his affections.

As my friend Khunger once put it, “When Gawd looks at his food, there is true love there. His expression says ‘You are so beautiful, where have you been all my life? Why have you been alive so long?’” I couldn’t put it better myself.

Finally, being supportive friends who could not bear the thought of Gawd turning into a roadblock, someone came up with the idea setting up the Gawd Upliftment Fund in order to boost the sagging spirits that weighed down deep in his chest. The idea was to build him a strap-on thoracic support device and to this end, I was asked to contribute my t-shirt. And now, I do ask for your contributions for this very good cause since the procurement of this device would relieve not only Gawd of the traumas of mind and body, but also those of us who see him everyday.

And to make the situation clearer, I would like to leave you with Khunger’s version of John Lennon’s ‘Imagine’, dedicated to Gawd.

Imagine there’s a belly,
It’s easy if you try,
It wobbles like it’s jelly
Jiggling all the time,
Imagine Zulu’s T-shirt,
And shorts of satin too….

Imagine there’s double E’s,
It isn’t hard to do,
Life based on lunch, snacks and dinner,
And lots of AOE too,
Imagine all other people
Living life in scarcity…
He may say he’s getting thinner,
But he would be the only one…
We know someday he’s going to grow so big,
That we’ll all be shielded from the sun…

Imagine Gawd is dieting,
I wonder if you can,
No need for all those extras,
A roomful of Diet Coke cans,
Imagine Gawd is jogging
Faster than Icy too…..
You may say I’m a dreamer,
Guess I am the only one…
We know someday he’s going to grow so big,
That we’ll all be shielded from the sun…

Amen to that. I await your contributions.

Back where I belong...

2005-01-13T18:36:00.000Z

Home again...what exactly does it mean to me? No more complicated currency conversions, for one. Indian food whenever I wish to gorge myself on it, for another. But most important of all - the joy of having people who speak English as a first language to communicate with. Never again will I disparage the people who understand my sarcasm and jibes, even if incompletely.

Things have changed in my absence. Come to think of it, so have I. It's one of those overused tired cliches of the English language which says that nothing is constant except for change, but the fact remains that it is true. People, circumstances, attitudes, beliefs, thoughts - they all change. But then perhaps, that is what makes us so uniquely human.

Les examens Suédois

2004-12-15T20:20:00.000Z

I wrote my first set of Swedish exams today. Quite an experience. All those prim and proper men in suits invigilating the exam, making sure that we all had paper, pens, and the freedom to go to the bathroom during the four hour paper.

I spent more time staring fascinatedly at the other people and their exam rituals, than I did writing my own paper. The fellow in front of me had brought an orange, while another girl had brought sandwiches, candy and Coke to wash it all down. My favourite of all was the girl in the row ahead of me who had a stress ball for her hands so that her fingers wouldn't get cramped, and hand cream which she used to massage her fingers now and again. Perhaps for my next exam I will take sushi, complete with chopsticks, soya sauce and the works. Will give me something to do during the paper I reckon, seeing as I will likely know nothing in Central Banking.

And as I feel very little inclination to study, it seems as my fate in that subject is sealed. Waaaaaah!!!

Winter Wonderland

2004-12-09T13:27:00.000Z

A little girl with cold toes
Had icicles in her nose
This was in Lappland
Where the weather was so grand
The poor little girl, she froze!

Kiruna, Sweden. 100 kms, 130 kms or 200 kms north of the Arctic Circle,depending on which source you choose to believe. Whichever one it is, it isterribly cold anyways, so I doubt it matters very much.

17 hours from Stockholm to Kiruna. In a chair car. Sonali and me. We also had company in the form of a bored man who had nothing to do and who decided to befriend us though his company was quite repulsive to us. Which is a reason I actually studied on the train - to avoid having to make conversation with him. I took my readings for International Marketing with me and I finished a hell of a lot of stuff. And I also finished reading Calcutta Chromosome.

We arrived in Kiruna at 11am. Twilight had already spread across the town. Armed with the backpacks on our backs and wearing all the warm things we possessed (which does tend to play havoc with one's centre of gravity), we went in search of the Tourist Office which we found in the town centre. Kiruna is quite a charming little town. Small narrow streets(that I am sure are cobbled beneath all the layers of snow), not many cars,and people who all seemed to know each other.

We wanted to take an overnight dogsledding trip, but after repeated phonecalls, it transpired that there was only one dogsledding tour the next day and that was fully booked. Which seemed like a tragedy then, but in retrospect, not such a bad thing since some French students from SSE who went on that tour returned and told me it was terribly cold and uncomfortable. Or maybe they were just trying to make me feel better.Whatever it was, I did feel better later.

There's not a lot to do in Kiruna itself. We loafed around, examining theTown Hall and the Church, which was apparently voted the most beautiful building in Sweden. While it was pretty, I wouldn't say that it is *the* most beautiful building I have seen in Sweden. But it was nice - built inthe Lappish tradition, with several snow encrusted gables. While walking around in the cold, my nose and toes were the coldest part of me. And naturally of course, with that cold, my nose got a bit runny...but then,because of the weather, I actually ended up with icicles in my nose!! Most amusing!

There's an iron mine in Kiruna too and there exist mine tours that take you deep down into the bowels of the earth (where it is actually quite warm)and show you the workings of the mine. The surroundings of the mine are very beautiful - craggy rocks, covered with snow, the miners houses not too far off, lights all over the mountain - rather pretty!

Cold and half frozen, Sonali and I stumbled into the Yellow House (the name of the Youth Hostel where we were staying) and decided to thaw out over some soup. Around 8pm, we decided to go cook dinner, and as we came out of our rooms into the outdoors to go to the kitchen area, we were met with an astounding sight - the sky had turned green, the Northern Lights were up for view! Gorgeous, astonishing, beautiful, awesome...words fail me...Certainly worth having gone all the way up there for just the view of that.

The next day we went to Jukkasjärvi, a Sami village nearby, and the site of the Ice Hotel (made completely of ice - walls, beds, chairs, everything...)which was still under construction for this year. We gawked at it a bit and then walked around the village having a look at Sami traditions and crafts. Returning to Kiruna, we went back to the Yellow House kitchen where we de-icicled ourselves (with more soup) and decided to take that night'strain back to Stockholm as it was cold, there wasn't much to do and we didn't see why we should make ourselves miserable. Then we packed up our backpacks and trudged out into the snow, all ready to devour reindeer meat.
Reindeer meat tastes quite nice, a little salty perhaps, but that is how they make it in that part of the world, I reckon.

We were quite tired on the train back, not having slept much the previous two nights and ended up sleeping fitfully again. Got off at Stockholm and found the temperature to be a nice warm 4 degrees.

We spent that evening walking around Gamla Stan's Christmas market, drinking great quantities of glögg (which is this Christmas drink consisting of warm wine, spices like cinnamon, nutmeg etc, raisins and almonds - most excellent, I tell you;somewhat similar to gluhwëin actually) and tried lots of free samples of jam, mustard and other sorts of things (typical South Asian tendencies!!).

And then the next morning we went iceskating. It took us a bit of time, but we soon got the hang of it and were whizzing around the rink while little kids went scampering for cover when they saw us coming. A little Swedish girl took pity on me and decided to teach me, but as she fell over promptly while demonstrating to me, I decided I was better off on my own! Mybackside is at least no longer hurting as much as it was yesterday when I fell flat bang on the ice (ouch!!) and my knee still sports a bruise from my fall. But it was tremendous fun, nevertheless.

Two more weeks before I go home...though I have to say I am looking forward to it!

Ze snow, eet eez here...

2004-11-18T18:13:00.000Z

So now it is officially winter. The first snow has fallen and the city is white. 'Cool' says everyone. 'Cold' say I. But if I were to be totally honest, I would have to say I am excited by the snow - I want to rush around taking snowy photographs of all those things that I had photographed in summer. I would love to see Gamla Stan all white and snowy, though I doubt it is anything but wet, slushy and mucky right now since this is only the first snowfall of the year.

My admiration for Swedes and their driving skills has increased though, watching all the drivers navigate the slippery icy road. It must be quite a bitch to take the licence test in winter though - guess that would be the lean season for the driving schools.

I can't wait to get well - one reason for that is that I don't like being ill; the other is that I want to go out in the snow and explore Stockholm in this new avatar.

Oh and special mention for my brother for finally sending me a birthday present (albeit 3 months late). But the present makes up for the delay - the 2005 Discworld Special Edition calendar. Big smile all over me face. :-D

Copenhagen, here I come (again)

2004-11-11T18:34:00.000Z

I am escaping the long nights of Sweden by running off to Denmark this weekend. Instead of sunset at 15.30, now I shall experience sunset at 16.00. Woo hoo! A whole half hour! I'm so excited. And I am going to go ice-skating at Tivoli - the world's oldest amusement park. Wheee!! I'm one excited person right now.

Am trying not to think about missing Diwali at home right now but that is not really too hard because the only festive atmosphere here is relating to Christmas. The streets are lit up, the shop display windows are red and green and people are drinking Jul Beer. Definite signs that Christmas is on its way.

Got myself some books to read on the train but I am sure I will sleep blissfully for that is the essence of who I am. Plus it is winter and I am hibernating. Completely understandable. But I am sure I will have more stories to tell when I return from Copenhagen - more from me then.

Winter's here?

2004-11-10T13:59:00.000Z

Right now I can totally empathise with hibernating animals. I think I have turned into one in fact. All I do is eat and sleep and sleep and eat.

I was talking to a Swede today and we have fixed a meeting for tomorrow night at 16.30. Since when has 4.30 pm become night? Well, sixteen hours of darkness - what do you expect? Though I figured out recently that early nightfall means that you can goof off to a pub earlier and earlier everyday and not feel guilty as it is already night!

And today I found out about tickets to Kiruna - the northernmost town of Sweden. North of the Arctic Circle. I am feeling cold just thinking about it. Well, I didn't get to see the land of the midnight sun, so am going instead to the land of the midday darkness. Cheerful sounding, isn't it? Though what I really want to see there is the Northern Lights. I have always been fascinated by the Northern Lights after I read Philip Pullman's 'His Dark Materials' trilogy - I think I am harbouring this secret desire to be Lyra, go to Svalbard and find my own Iorek Byrnison, though I doubt very much I would be able to make it to the Svalbard archipelago. Well, one can always dream, I suppose.

The Northern Lights are supposed to be visible in Stockholm tonight (they're coming down all the way to see me?) but it is so cloudy tonight that I don't know if we'll be able to see them at all. But I am terribly excited about the idea of a trip to Kiruna - South Asians are going to invade Lappland!

Frozen in Finland

2004-10-20T12:55:00.000Z

Finland is one of those exotic seeming places which you hardly hear about anyone visiting. After going there, I understand why. There's just not a lot to do over there. It's a nice enough place in itself I suppose with friendly people and all, but there's just not much in terms of excitement over there. At least not in what I saw of it at least.

Sonali and I left Stockholm for Helsinki late on a Sunday afternoon. Our VikingLine ship was called Gabriella, and since we were students and trying to travel as cheap as we possiblycould, we were consigned to the bottom-most deck of them all - deck 2- even lower than the car deck! Seeing as we were the lowest form of life, I suppose it was only fitting.We were in cabin 2101, which was a 4 bunk cabin. Thankfully on a Sunday evening since not many people were travelling, we had the placeto ourselves. I say thankfully, because although we might have metinteresting people, considering that most people take the cruise purely for the duty free alcohol, I'd rather not have been closeted in a little cabin with inebriated individuals.

The cruise was great fun. We went up to the open decks to get a view of the sea and our surrounds. Since it was going to be cold out there, we wrapped ourselves up in sweaters, jackets, gloves, mufflers, caps and then we were ok. Until we wanted to take photos that is. Do you know how hard it is to take a photograph with your fingers encased in a Thinsulate padded glove? Well, I know now! Well anyways, we stayed up there until the sunset, when the sky all\around us was a riot of colours - shades of orange, pink, grey, blue, purple - an unforgettable sight. While we were up there, two Indian guys turned up (I tell you Indians, sorry, South Asians, they are everywhere - we are going to take over the world - tis reverse colonialization!) and decided that our shared ethnicity meant that they were obliged to talk to us, though we felt no comradeship with them of any sort. Anyways, they were working on some project in Helsinki and were most regretful that they had to go to office the next day so wouldn't be able to show us around Helsinki. I was bewildered when they suddenly made this comment out of the blue, and could see Sonali also gaping similarly. Anyways, we escaped from their conversational clutches as soon as possible and explored the other decks of the ship. We went right up to the captain's deck which is where the important guys reside, but sadly, access was restricted for plebians like us. So we contented ourselves with poking around the duty free shops, trying perfume (goodness, we did smell foul after that!), gawping at the old people dancing at the disco, watching people exhaust their coins at the slot machine and then we decided that it wasn't for us and that we wanted the cosy comfort of our cabin. So we retired downstairs to the second deck where the budget travellers dwell.

Now part of our strategy to save money was to carry food with us since Sweden is the least expensive of all Scandinavian countries. So while others gorged themselves on the Viking buffet upstairs, we were busy feeding on bread and ham with a touch of cheese for that added luxury!But we had ourselves a treat - we had got ourselves a bottle of cider - with all of 0.2% of alcohol (wild times, eh?!), so we had that and feeling mightily pleased with ourselves, we decided to read ourselves to sleep.

We docked at Helsinki at 9.30 in the morning and had the day there. Initially, we had been worried that 8 hours in Helsinki wouldn't be sufficient to see the place, but it turned out to be a futile worry. It didn't take us very long. The thing I think I will remember most of Helsinki is how terribly cold it was. The sun was shining, but the wind...oh it was a killer. Nevermind that we were so warmly wrapped up - we were running in order to keep ourselves from getting too cold.

Helsinki has a very different kind of architecture from the other parts of Scandinavia that I have been to - it's more Russian in its influence. I suppose that has to do with the fact that Finland was ruled by the Russians for several years. It's not a very big city - easy to walk around and get around the place. I liked the city actually, the atmosphere, the buildings, the quaint post office where you can get letters sent to you by Santa Claus for 6 euros, the trams in the street, the musical language...though I do wish it hadn't been so cold then. Sonali and I were freezing - every two minutes we'd rush into a shopping mall to get warm and then venture out into the cold again!

And then as we were walking down the street we saw a glint on the pavement and we came closer and it was a 10 eurocent coin and then we saw another glint and yet another and suddenly we were the proud owners of €1.15 and were terribly proud of ourselves. So off we went in search of a cup of coffee that fit in that princely budget of ours for we thought it would warm us up. Eventually we settled for small fries from McDonald's because that was all that we could afford and we didn't want to break a €50 note for that little amount. So we had french fries with our little windfall and felt most pleased with ourselves.

We boarded Gabriella once more for the return journey and went up again to the deck to wave the shores of Helsinki goodbye. This time we didn't really have much enthusiasm to explore the ship so we stayed up admiring the scenery till it got dark and we got cold and then we returned to dear old cabin 2101 for our princely dinner of ham and cheese. We were to wake up to disembark at 4.25am at Mariehamn which is on the Åland islands which belong to Finland but are closer to Sweden.

Now Finland is one hour ahead of Swedish time and I had changed my wristwatch to reflect that. But I hadn't changed my cellphone to Finnish time, so when I set my alarm to wake up to disembark at Mariehamn, I set it for an hour earlier than I needed to. Unfortunately for my beauty sleep, my cellphone was set to change time automatically so, unbeknownst to me, it was actually on Finnish time and we ended up waking an hour earlier. Of course that way we also bumped into a toga party of drunk Finns (not the most pleasant of sights at 3.15 am). Anyways when we discovered that we had woken up an hour to early, we went straight back to the cabin and crashed again, waking up just in time to jump off the ship and head into the warmth of the waiting area until 8am when it got light and then we headed out to the streets of Mariehamn.

Mariehamn is a cosy little fishing village with a beautiful view of the Åland islands from a hill on which the lighthouse is located. There was a nice little beach where there was a little canoe that we took out in the lagoon. The village itself was also quite nice - little shops, a beautiful church, a wild overgrown yet lovely park, tree-lined avenues et al.

We caught the afternoon boat (Amorella, this time) back to Stockholm and got back to meet up with our partners in crime for the Norway trip - Ma, Jayanty and Mundra. But that is a story for another day...

This idle mind of mine...

2004-10-09T22:19:00.000Z

I bought myself a new pair of gloves today. In the children's section of H&M, in fact. Well, at least they are nice warm gloves and will protect my precious little fingers all through winter. I hope so, at least.

Today was actually quite a beautiful day - the sun was shining yet there was a chill in the air (oh goodness me, I get more Swedishly obssessed with the weather every day - what will happen to me on long Scandinavian winter nights?), as we went to Norrtalje, the northern-most town in Stockholm county.

At the Turistbyra at Norrtalje, the lady was most apologetic about the fact that all of Norrtalje's museums were closed except for the art museum to which entry was free (there was that word that so appealed to my South Asian instincts!!). I don't understand what it is with Scandinavians and museums. I am sure this part of the world has the highest density of museums per square kilometre than anywhere else possible. Especially in Norway, where any collection of old buildings seems to be labelled an open air folk museum.

Anyway, Norrtalje was quite a commercial touristy kind of place but there was an island with an unpronounceable unspellable name, just off Norrtalje that was quite unspoilt - no inhabitants, just a dense wilderness that we walked through, with a beautiful view of the Baltic Sea and other islands of the archipelago. So, all in all, it was a good day out.

Tomorrow we leave for Finland. Helsinki and Mariehamn are about to be graced with our presence, but I wonder if they know it. Helsinki is full of streets with weird and wonderful names - Pikku Huopalahti, Lansisatamankatu and Kruununhaka, amongst others. I can just see myself asking the good burghers of Helsinki for directions when I get lost. Am sure that there will be many tales to tell.

Vincerò! Vincerò!

2004-10-07T23:14:00.000Z

Nessun dorma!... Nessun dorma!...
Tu pure, o Principessa,
Nella tua fredda stanza
Guardi le stelle che tremano
D'amore e di speranza!

Ok, so the Andrea Bocelli bug hath struck. Thanks to Subbu, I'm suddenly finding myself going 'Vincerò! Vincerò! ' in the shower, or while walking down the street, or waiting for the bus, causing anyone in the vicinity a great deal of concern for my health and sanity.

There is a reason behind this, however. (Isn't there always?) Subbu and I have decided to form the core of the Discerning Cognoscenti of IIMB. We have decided to let pretentiousness rule and look down our noses at the hoi-polloi who cannot understand Nietzsche, have never heard of Goethe and cannot tell the difference between a baritone and a tenor. So, with Nessun Dorma, this quest has begun. At least I'm getting to listen to very interesting music this way.

I finished my course on New Product Marketing today. My professor seemed quite pleased after my project presentation - I think he was relieved to be rid of me in his class. I saw him snoozing during the last presentation of the day - I guess he was as bored as the rest of us. And then, tomorrow, I have my last CCM class as well...and then two weeks off! Finland, Norway, here I come!

Sonali arrived in Stockholm today and we went over to Gamla Stan to walk around. I'd never been there before at night and it was really beautiful, all lit up. Gave it quite a different atmosphere, when compared to the daytime bustle.

Tomorrow we are planning on going to the largest IKEA store in the world. IKEA is so essentially Swedish, that we have to go there to understand how Swedes furnish their houses (I already have a good idea, considering that all the furniture in my room is from IKEA.) Another thing appealing to our South Asian instincts is that there is a free bus service to the store. So, tomorrow, off we go to view the biggest Swedish phenomenon since Abba.

More on that as it happens.

Everybody else is doing it, so why can't I?

2004-10-06T16:53:00.000Z

Practically everyone I know has started blogging or has been blogging for a while now. So I've decided to jump the bandwagon too. Even I'm egotistic enough to believe that people are truly interested enough in me and my life to know little details like what I had for dinner (pav bhaaji) or what music I've been listening to today (Nessun Dorma, thanks to Subbu) or what the weather in Stockholm is like today (10 degrees, dull and grey).

Actually perhaps, the weather might be of some interest to people. At least to Swedes it would. It's amazing how much time the Swedes spend talking about the weather. The slightest mention of anything remotely connected to the weather sets them off. "Oh, I forgot my water-bottle today" evokes a response of "Well, looks like it might rain today". I wonder if that means that I should go out into the street, look skyward and open my mouth if I am thirsty. I caught a bit of the Swedish news the other day - ten minutes out of thirty were spent discussing the weather forecast!

Today I found out that the correct term for someone of my ethnicity is South Asian. Not Indian, but South Asian. Never mind that South Asia also includes Burma, Thailand and Sri Lanka. The PC term is South Asian, and so shall it be. I am not quite clear on where China fits in, though.

I was coming back to Maple People (that is what it says on the entrance to my building) after class this afternoon, when I saw another South Asian student rushing out in a terrific hurry. Apparently it was China Day at school, and they were giving out free Chinese lunch. My own South Asian instincts pricked up at the mention of the word 'free'. (It is an incontrovertible fact that all Asian people, whether they be South, East, South-East, or just plain old Asian are all inescapably attracted to anything that is free - I mean, my roomie picked up a Swedish language newspaper the other day simply because it was free - she's Taiwanese, for crying out loud!) So, I turned around meekly, magnetically attracted by the mention of the word free - and would you believe it, there is such a thing as a free lunch! Even if it is only instant noodles swimming in hot water.

Anyways, China Day basically meant that a bunch of SSE students had managed to con a couple of Chinese companies and Swedish companies with interests in China to come to the school and give 'stimulating talks' to the students on operating in the Chinese economy. And also give the students free lunch. :-)

Just a quick note on the title of my blog before I stop rambling. It does not mean 'Seize the mundane empire', but actually means 'Brain, what are we going to do?' (Credits to my ever-so-brilliant and learned brother for this one - I am pig ignorant as far as Latin goes.) It kind of summarizes how busy I am in life right now...or perhaps not...more of my egotistic self-centred ramblings soon.