Good Bye 2009!

This year changed me. This one goes out to everyone and every thing that made life happen this year.

Thank you for another degree.

Thank you for Italy.

Thank you for friends.

Thank you for the sense to discern friends.

Thank you for Africa.

Thank you for guardian angels.

Thank you for beach holidays.

Thank you for books.

Thank you for freinds and family that come back to base.

Thank you for fun times and memories.

Thank you for Hawaiian Shack, KFC, South Delhi, movies, impromptu weekend plans, Laura Ashleys, Chanel No. 5.

Thank you for Venice, Udine, Cuba Libres, hommade fresh bread & olive oil.

Thank you for Easter.

Thank you for Iringa.

Thank you for hope.

Impressions of a City – I

Note: Since I’m most comfortable with dimensions of Indian proportions, references herein are to Indian standards.

It’s not big, as far as cities go. Dar-es-Salaam is about as big as present-day Jaipur in terms of space. As to population concers, I’m guessing the entire population of Dar (as it’s known locally) would fit into South Delhi!

The first overwhelming impression is of a time warp; of being in South Bombay (Colaba Causeway side) or Central Delhi (Barakhamba Road et al), in the 1970s. The heyday of the Colonial regime has long receded but the first flus of independence has not been extended to maintenance of heritage facades. Yet, the “town” – as central Dar is known – has a very, very close affinity to the tree-lined lanes of Dockyard or Janpath.

There is of course, no town planning as such. Consequently, like everywhere else where land is at a premium, beautiful-but-old is rapidly replaced by new-but-very-unasethetic. Some of the new highrises are really not good on the eyes! But then, when it comes to the view, I suppose…

But walking along the tree-lined avenues of Dar is definitely an experience! It’s most gratituous to sit by a busy kerb-side, eating slices of fresh pineapple while watching the world go by. Aside: pineapples in Tanzania are something else. Think of those luscious slices, dripping with sweet juice that come out of cans. Now take the can away. That’s the quality of fresh pineapples in Tanzania.  But I digress!

It’s usually very pleasantly sea-breezy, though at times, one is subjected to an hour or so of a free sauna-like ambience when the winds change course! There’s an air of letting time wash over one, rather than the pressing hurry that prevades ciies like Bombay. Life’s taken easy here, just like the Bongo singers claim, from their fake CDs, merrily spread out on handcarts at every intersection.

There’s a book store which houses the most random collection of books I have ever been priveleged to see. There’s a Malay, a couple of standard Chinese and a whole plethora of Indian restaurants. That’s becuase Dar is economically Indian, regionally Tanzanian and ethnically a hotpot. There’s more temples in Dar than there are in the State of Goa. I don’t have recent figures but I’d bet a weeks’ supply of coffee on it. I base my claim on Temple Street – so called since it is home to 8 temples. That’s discounting the temples elsewhere in the city.

But that’s just a part of the city.

In case anyone’s wondering where I am and what I’m upto, I’ve been around, living life to it’ fullest. Well, almost!

First of all, was the visit to Arusha – the town of the ICTR. It’s some thing else to actually hear the voice of a witness who’s lived through a genocide. Alters one’s perspective on life.

Apart from that, there was the spectacular backdrop of Mts. Meru and Kilimanjaro – the highest peaks in Africa. The snows of Kilimanjaro are set to disappear by 2020. What a pity! Hemingway’s classic won’t ever be the same again.

Then of course, there’s Iringa. Now that I’ve been here for over a month, the place seems to be growing on me. The sky, for one, is spectacularly clear. Every night, I spend my last few moments of consciousness before drifting off to sleep, gazing at the clearest sky I have ever witnessed. It really does look like diamonds scattered across black velvet! There’s usually a crisp, cold wind around. All in all, this tiny town is not half bad…

The other bright spark was the International Night hosted by one of the International Schools here at the Hellenic Club. As you can gather, the name of the club conjured up some interesting ideas, what with previous experience of the Europeans and all that! But it turned out to be relatively tame. It did have its perks of course – for the time being, let’s name it Project Eden – and shall be divulged at the appropriate time!

There’s also been an addition to my existence. Rather, three additions. I introduce you to Mike, Jacky and Janet – the month-old canine trio that has been adopted by the family I am currently lodged with! Three rambunctious dolls – two bullys and one meek-mouse. But three dolls none-the-less!

Not to forget my tiny forays into the African wilderness, a couple of weekends ago, a bunch of us went down for a drive to Daraja Ya Mungo – the Bridge of God. A natural warm water spring about 40 kilometers from Iringa on the Ruaha National Park road. Rock climbing, water-splashing and hot coffee ensued. All-in-all fun was had by all.

In order to not rust away (since there is a zero-level social life in this place!!) I’ve taken up pool. Yeah, trying to get balls into holes using sticks. That’s the height of entertainment at the moment. So in the off-chance that your next conversation with me induces you to sleep, you’ll know what happened to my brains – they were Africa-ed out!

Life seems to carry on – and with that – I drift along…

 

Karibu sana!

The first glance of African soil was through a half-open aeroplane window. Open, dry space, as far as the eye could see. The odd thorn tree picking out the dust against it’s green, thorny leaves.  A continent that is possibly Where It All Began. And I am here to live my share of it…

Nairobi airport is reportedly the biggest in the continent. It most definitely is the busiest. But it still reminds one of the old Indira Gandhi Airport at Delhi around the 1970s. Unpainted concrete, unmanned consoles and a general air of overuse. Yet, it is remarkably efficient. My flight was delayed for 15 minutes since the number of people who’d boarded did not tally with the number that had gone through Security Check. Not too great a delay for a Third World country, what say! And that takes me to my final destination country.

Tanzania, the sum of Tanganyika and Zanzibar. An ancient land, known for its trade in spices and slaves. Tanzania – of Mount Kilimanjaro and Serengeti National Park.  Here’s some interesting bits to chew on:

1. Kiswahili – the local language – is a mixture of Bantu and Arabic. Though it usually sounds like an oddment of french, english, hindi and urdu!

2. There are three major libraries in the town of Iringa. The Regional Community Library has a surprisingly big collection.  I loaned out an old copy of Gerald Durrell only to discover that the last time it was taken out was in 1991!

3. The three really good eateries in town are all owned by Persons of Indian Origin.

4. When a shop says “New Arrivals!” it means just that – that the goods are newly arrived. The goods – however – are NOT new. They are all second-hand. Yes, clothes as well, of the inner kind!

5. Dala dala is what you call a dilapidated rectangle of metal that manages to convey people from one place to another. How they run is anybody’s guess since by any normal understanding of the laws of physics, these would have not existed. Ever. There is usually an air of rotten chicken inside, amongst the atmosphere of rotten everything. Music is exceptional – it takes the term “rotten” to a new level. Britney Spears and the likes are the usual fare.

6. Tea is chai. It is sweet. I mean four-heaped-spoons-of-sugar-in-a-cup sweet. It is had with bland, sugar-and-salt-less fired bread. The logic being, sweet things stick to the teeth and make ‘em rot. Don’t look like that, not my logic!

7. Milk is powdered. That is because fresh milk is mostly exported. To Kenya. Again, don’t ask me. In case you’re curious, tea bag tea with powdered milk is the best way to piss me off in the morning.

8. Everyone prays. All the time. Religion is a major identity factor here.

There’s a general air of a rugged expanse of terrain from which daily life must be wrested. The old concept of supremacy of man is a little more apparent here  - life is a constant struggle. Running water is common – but it’s usually unfit for much use since it’s heavily silted. Electricity is dirt cheap – on the occasions that it is actually available! Don’t think it’s all bad. It’s not. The problem with places like this is that given constant tourism, it tends to acquire an identity based on popular perception of the Western World. I have been here an exact two weeks tonight. I think with each passing day, I find there is more to the experience than what my Lonely Planet says! Each perception I have seems to dissolve with a contradictory experience soon enough… so I say we wait and watch, what say?

First Impressions

Vast, open spaces, as far as the eye can see, nothing but mud and the occasional thorn tree.

Vibrant, richly coloured textiles.

Really deeply black, glossy, smooth skin.

Coca cola & Fanta cheaper than water.

Abject poverty and decadent luxury being neighbors in blissful ignorance of each other.

Chai, Mahindra, Bata, Dabur, Cipla, Bank of Baroda, Bollywood, Altaaf Raja.

Imported Isuzu, Mitsubishi, Suzuki and Toyota vehicles cheaper than local productions.

A double-SIM mobile phone a common thing.

One in every five persons an HIV patient.  It is that apparent.

Thriving trade in second hand clothes, shoes, bags, home appliances, cars, mobile phones, laptops and what-have-yous.

Currency that is used in 100s and 1000s only. One Tshilling is no longer in circulation, the minimal denomination being 20 Tsh.

Greeting every person one passes – literally.

A rather in-your-face version of Christianity.

Persons of Indian Origin who have neither visited India nor have any particular sentiments towards the sub-continent. Yet they call themselves Indian. Officially.

Beautiful wood and leather craft.

Herds of wild elephants, zebras, gazelle, giraffes and bison that cross thin strips of national highways.

A night sky that is darker than black velvet and clearer than distilled water.

Food cooked over charcoal. Gasoline is not common.

Chips. Chips. And more chips.

Names such as Godbless, Brighton, Tito, Cleopatra, January, Pink & Tata. I kid you NOT.

A strong undercurrent of racial tension. Cross referenced by religious beliefs.

A country that is very aware of what is has not and needs to have…

The Perils of Packing!

I am emigrating to Iringa.

Which is in Tanzania.

Which is in Effrikka!

Which is FUN. Yay!

Now that we have THAT out of the way, I have to pack. A lot. Which is not so much fun.

I’ll tell you why.

1. Space is limited to three bags.

2. Necessity is not limited to clothes. It includes medicines, books, boots and other sundries.

3. Weight is limited to 47 kilos. Don’t ask me why, THEY made the rules.

So time is spent wondering if space should be sacrificed to fit in a pair of shoes awkwardly but which are light weight but or whether to wear them and pack the heavy boots which fit compactly but are 700 gms heavier. Hmm. Blonde moments galore!

Next come the books. Ah! Beloved jewels! Each a priceless companion! What would I do without them, I wonder and how would I ever travel with them, wonders the weighing scale! Law books are great as weights to train with, by the way! Average weight of each – about 800 gms. Books – about 10. Yeah, I know. I am like that.

We haven’t gotten to the shoes yet, don’t worry. I am no Imelda Marcos but I am pettily particular about my feet and that mandates shoes, lots of ‘em and really good ones! So bite me!

Bags, laptop, papers, medicines, spices, odds-and-ends… the list really is never ending!

I’ve come to the conclusion that travel is best done like the Colonists. I travel, 100 others carry my luggage and I don’t even have to pay them!

18 till I die!

Godmother did this on FB. Me likes. So me does a whole post to it here!

18. Bought my first vehicle – a 100 CC motorcycle.

17. Biked an insane 1500 kms within a month.

16. Had razor cropped hair.

15. Wore a nose ring.

14. Had acid washed jeans and torn, HD T-shirts as de rigeur uniforms.

13. Pulled off back-to-back partys seven nights in a row.

12. Pulled off 2 hours of running, an hour at the gym and an hour of swimming daily. Don’t look so skeptical.

11. Could down the ENTIRE sizzler Fish Peri Peri at The Place and still do justice to the fabulous orange ice cream they served! Nats is witness to this one!

10. Attended the second of the NDA balls. What a night that was! Again, Nats was partner-in-crime. A mad child was encountered, some heartache was eased and all-in-all fun was had.

9. Auditioned for a stint as a Radio Jockey. They called me back.

8. Binge-bought books worth a whole year’s savings. Trust me, it was a LOT for a student pocket!

7. Met His Holiness the Dalai Lama.

6. Had half-a-coffee with Richard Gere. Without realising it is him. Doofus? Yes.

5. Had my first club-night. So I’m a stickler for the Law?! So bite me!

4. Played the guitar publicly for the last time.

3. Won my first moot.

2. Found out about six awards I’d received two years ago. I still haven’t claimed them. Ha!

1. Spent 4 days without sleep. Literally.

That’s me at 18. Warning – Any resemblance to fiction is purely co-incidental and non-intentional. Wait – there is no resemblance to fiction.

A change in plans…

This space assiduously avoided political, legal, social, theological – in short, controversial – topics. I felt it necessary to keep this light. I no longer feel so.

1. The Right Against Self-Incrimination

International Law recognises the right against self-incimination before international tribunals. But i, true international legal parlance, it does not define the extent of this right. To date, the law as it has been interpreted and applied, does not reach the furthest outposts of this right. So where must the line be drawn?

By invoking this right, does the witness earn exemption from prosecution for the very same set of events or any other set of events that may consitute an offence?

Does the prohibition against the use of such self-incriminatory testimony extend to basing investigation on it or is the prohibition restricted to the use of such testimony in court?

Does this right protect the witness against the same set of events as a differnt crime under national jurisdiction as well?

Jurists opine that the right against self-incrimination is expansive, sacrosanct and all inclusive. I disagree. I have my own reasons for it but this is not the place to air my views.

2. The Nano – India’s cheap car

My question – if it is imperative for public safety that a family of four travel in a Nano instead of over-burdening a Bajaj scooter, why does Mr. Tata and the Government not have the collective sense to stipulate that any buyer of the Nano will have to surrender all two wheelers first? Given the state of our roads, the congestion, the lack of civic and traffic sense , the appalling traffic control, the pollution and fuel economy, one can see why the answer to all our prayers is yet another market-flooding cheap car that will be bought in the millions.

3. Swine ‘Flu

More people die on a remote village road when a long-dilapidated Tata truck overturns than when something like the “swine ‘flu” hits India. Why the hoopla? For a country that makes people-production it’s number one business, we sure are stingy with the product we like to sell!

4. Jaswant Singh & Jinnah

Jaswant Singh is no saint. Neither was Jinnah. But who died and made BJP God to sit in judgment over all and sundry?

5. India’s Dead Spinal Cord

Recently, the news carried a tiny item, tucked away in the corner of a page, about Chinese fake drugs being marketed as “Made in India”. There is no mention of this by the Government, forget any action that it might have taken. This is the non-existant spinal cord of India. We care more about England beating Australia in the Ashes series than we do about our public image in matters of global health and security.

Cheating.

Faced with an inexplicable writer’s block, I hereby cheat and put down here a copy that’s been doing the e-rounds. Have a laugh!

 
A new priest at his first mass was so nervous he could hardly speak.  After mass, he asked the monsignor how he had done.  The monsignor replied, ‘When I am worried about getting nervous on the pulpit,I put a glass of vodka next to the water glass. If I start to get nervous, I take a sip.’  So next Sunday he took the monsignor’s advice.  At the beginning of the sermon, he got nervous and took a drink.   He proceeded to talk up a storm. Upon his return to his office after the mass, he found the following note on the door: 

1)Sip the vodka, don’t gulp. 

 2)There are 10 commandments, not 12. 

3)There are 12 disciples, not 10. 

 4)Jesus was consecrated, not constipated. 

 5)Jacob wagered his donkey, he did not bet his ass. 

6) We do not refer to Jesus Christ as the late J.C. 

7)The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are not referred to as Big Daddy, Junior and the spook. 

8)David slew Goliath; he did not kick the shit out of him. 

9) When David was hit by a rock and was knocked off his donkey, don’t say he was stoned off his ass. 

10)We do not refer to the cross as the ‘Big T.’ 

11)When Jesus broke the bread at the last supper he said, ‘Take this and eat it for it is my body.’ He did not say ‘Eat me’. 

12)The Virgin Mary is not called ‘Mary with the Cherry’.

13)The recommended grace before a meal is not: Rub-A-Dub-Dub thanks for the grub,Yeah God. 

14)Next Sunday there will be a taffy pulling contest at St Peter’s not a peter pulling contest at St. Taffy’s.

If that didn’t get a chuckle out of you, you are poor indeed!

Bus Rides

From November 22, 2008, I have been vehicle-less. After 9 years of private transportation of the motorised form and an earlier 7 years of bicycling, I finally gave up private transportation last year. Since then, it’s been Shanks’ pony and public transportation for me. Let me elaborate – think of bus rides in hell (or popular travel programs, whichever direction you are inclined in!) - you know, people packed in, sweat-and-tobacco, dirt roads, backseats, sacks of potatoes, wickers baskets with squaking hens, hoes and shovels, goats and children, broken, scratchy radios half-tuned- yes, I’ve had bus rides like that. Oh and no, they don’t last a few minutes – they lasted atleast 6 hours and more! But never mind. The follies of youth, I say!

So anyways, the last few months, I was entirely dependent on the public transportation of Groupo Transporti di Torino – or GTT – the bus services in Turin, Italy. Fair enough. The worst they contend with is tardiness (a remarkable Italian ability to stretch time!). Spray painted graffiti on back seats was the closest they came to dirt and disfiguring of public property. Most buses are air-conditioned during warm weather (given that 28  degrees centigrade is considered as the onset of a heat wave) and during winter, they are usually internally heated. Unless the doors are shut, buses don’t move and the driver comes out to help in and out differently abled people, no matter the time of the day or the number of passengers in the vehicle.

Let’s see what Pune offers – in the peak of the monsoon season, the bus windows are glass-less. Oh wait, I started at the worng end as usual. Pune buses – althought not homicidal like the (in)famous Delhi buses – operate on the maxim “unless it’s in the scrap yard, it’s fit for the road”. Some pieces pre-date my parents, I’m sure! So do their seats! I used to wonder (and sometimes have nightmares) about what happens to all that really yucky coir in the seats of public buses when they are finally scrapped! Never mind, I know, I was a bit special!

So the Mater and me needed transportation today. Oh Lord! I must have paid of a million sins by voluntarily suffering being bussed today, in the rains, in Pune.  First of all, I seemed to attract a veritable plethora of “talkers”. Something about my face must scream out “I want to listen to what you have to say!” because no matter which bus I seem to be on, the person next to me needs to talk to me. Why, I ask you? What did I ever do to deserve this? I am NOT in the publishing business nor am I even remotely interested in being an Agony Aunt! So why?!

Of course we cannot forget the ubiquitous paan stains. What is it that prompts men to expel bodily fluids in places other than their own bathrooms? Or is that men and women see things so differently that where a woman will see the corner of a bus, a man will see an empty, unstained place and promptly correct the anomaly? It’s a uniquely Indian trait – I am guessing – since the betel leaf-areca nut-acacia tree extract mix is indegenous to this land, so must its use (and consequently, expulsion habits!) originate here as well. Well, so much for ancient wisdom!

As I sit here, slowly collecting my poor, dispersed molecules from having being jostled around all day, I wonder about all those brave souls that manage public transport in India on a daily basis for a major part of their lives. Makes one wonder about the true meaning of courage, doesn’t it?