Kolkata

It was very strange. I didn't remember the camera until I was halfway
to the train station. I was going to Kolkata to get a restamping of my
U.S. visa. Always a very painful experience, rubbing in the
patronizing attitute of the embassy officials and workers. The
chowkidar (gatekeeper) will not talk to you in any Indian language.
Fine, we get that it is the Consulate General of the United States of
America. Please keep your attitudes!
So I forgot about the camera, which was very strange, and I tried to
figure out why. As I was driven from the station in Kolkata to the
guest house, didn't even miss having the camera. Either I was so used
to the place, my country, my home that none of the subjects struck me
as novel, or I was so guilty for being priveleged that I didn't dare
think of taking photos. I guess I need to get over my guilt soon if I
am to keep up photography.
It was a day and a half of pure indulgence. Dinner at a three storeyed
Haldiram's food 'mall' was an experience in itself, and I wasn't even
conscious of eating by myself as I had felt in Venice, having being
stared at by the waiters in a cheap pasta place.
The next day, after my appointment at the embassy, I had lunch at a
very traditional South Indian tiffin house. I had been looking forward
to their dosa all morning. Again, there was absolutely no awkwardness
at eating alone, but what was amazing, besides the dosa and coconut
chutney, was the italian part of the menu.
My eyes opened wider till the eyelashes touched my hairline as I read
the Pizza menu. Il formaggi, Champignone, Siciliana,
Napolitana......was I in Toscana? What helped to reorient me was one
odd word amongst the italian items - brinjal.
It is a word that doesn't exist in the English lexicon. The English
use the French 'aubergine' and the Americans call it 'eggplant'. I am
still trying to figure out the origin of Brinjal.
Post lunch was a session at the hardware market in Kolkata called
Chandini, to look up some cabinet handles. The narrow gullies that
wound through the maze of hole in the wall store after hardware store
were dark and yet the dinginess didn't scare me. After my stint at
trying to help my parents (I endeded up getting quotes that were way
too high, still in the USD frame of mind) I was deposited at Howrah
station. My neighbour on the train was an engineer at a Uranium
enrichment plant!
I reached home, quite confused, comfortable with being there yet
marvelling at the newness and advances of the nation.

A for Aayi*

The monsoons were late. Just before the Ganapati festival, the rains came down heavily. Little Arvind and his mum were stranded at the railway station. Even on the platform, water leaked through the roof. The ladies' waiting room was the only place where one could stay or get dry. The ladies came in one by one and the far end of the L-shaped waiting room became the temporary changing corner as one after another the women streamed in to change sari or salwar-kameez. As three year old Arvind was entertaining himself with a handkerchief, his mother took the opportunity to revise the alphabet with him.
"A for..??"
"Chikoo" said Arvind promptly.
I burst out laughing as his mum looked embarrassed.
"A for!!" she repeated.
"Uncle" came the instant reply.
"Aunty!" I prompted, but Arvind had decided. It was A for Uncle.
Finally, after entertaining himself for a while longer. He abruptly walked up to his mum.
"A for Aayi" he said nonchalantly.
His mother smiled and hugged him tightly.

*Aayi means mother in Marathi

Particle physics, Doomsday, The Godfather, Jai Maharashtra

All of the above was in a week's work for India.
The Large Hadron Collider (LHC) that would smash two beams of particles head-on at super-fast speeds, recreating the conditions in the Universe moments after the Big Bang was declared to bring on the end of the world, because the "Black Hole" it would create would engulf the Earth and the entire Solar system.
No sooner had the myth been dispelled, and the country heaved a sigh of relief did descend the wrath of Raj Thackrey, leader of the Maharashtra Navnirman Sena (MNS) on the first family of Bollywood, the Bachchans. Because the audio release was addressed in Hindi, the National language instead of Marathi the local language.
Wha? Why?

Going Solo

Nonna Maria and Daniel


Fontanelle, Emilia Romagna

I had a rough night. At first I couldn't decide if I should sleep at all with that obnoxious, short, fat, bald, bejewelled Italian in dark glasses (lets call him OI for now) in the next room. I had feigned ignorance when he asked me to go for a walk with him.
Ya right!
But Nonna Maria said she would be sleeping downstairs and that I shouldn't worry, so I finally went to my room. When I eventually decided that leaving the television in the room on was not helping, and if I had to wake up at 5:30 am, I had beter sleep, I found it was too hot. I kept waking up drenched in perspiration.
At some point I must have finally fallen asleep, but then the skies went berserk. There was a long thunderstorm complete with lightening effects. I woke up not exactly perky.
Nonna Maria had prepared breakfast at 6:00 am in the morning! The home made butter, bread and jam and coffee in a soup bowl were the best I have ever had. It was an unexpected treat.
In addition, Iuri would not accept the fact that I could walk to the bus stop myself and was up and ready to drop me off. Nonna Maria sent me off with kisses and lots of good wishes and though I did see that OI again that morning, my trip to the Bassa was an experience like none other.

Going Solo

Fontanelle, Emilia Romagna

Sandro

Although there was the excitement of seeing Il Mondo Piccolo, I was apprehensive about the place. In La Provencia Della Parma, Fontanelle (not to be confused with Fontanellato) was in the middle of nowhere, literally. And as fate would have it, that is where I met Alessandro.
With eyes as blue as the legendary British cornflowers and golden
brown hair, and that smile!
With just "you", "me" and "stop" the only words in his English lexicon, we managed communication just fine.

We had exchanged a few polite sentences with Iuri as the translator before I had left for Fontanellato with the two Canadians.
Upon return from Fontanellato, I asked Iuri whether I could borrow his bicycle to tour Fontanelle. Sandro was in the backyard and I asked Iuri if he might like to join me. It would be nice to have company in the Bassa (flatlands of Emilia Romagna). Sandro was more than happy to join me and even took it upon himself to be my tour guide. We pedaled over the bridge into the little village, the birthplace of Giovannino Guareschi. While he kept looking over his shoulder to check if I was alright, I kept fearing he might fall over if he didn't look ahead.

The afternoon was wearing down and the village folk were cooling off in their front yards, greeting neighbours and catching up with the day's gossip in general. Sandro would greet them with a hearty "bongiorno" and ask how they had been as we cycled by.

He warmed up to my idea of taking pictures, and soon there was no field, bale of hay, turnstile or flower bush that he would not pose in front of. All I could do was laugh and click wherever he decided was good place to pose. I wish there were more willing models.
Sandro knew all the local vegetation in the Bassa and I found ourselves making sudden "stops". He plucked some grapes from a vineyard and we laughed as we screwed our faces for the grapes were literally sour. We then tasted some blackberries. These were audaciously taken from someone's front yard even as the owner himself was watering his garden.

As we rode back, Sandro suddenly veered into another front yard. He found a rosemary bush, rubbed his hands on it and made me smell them. He then took it into his head to pluck roses from a stunted rosebush, the same time as an elderly Nonna walked into the yard. I looked sheepish and was trying to make excuses in Italian accented English, while Sandro boldly walked up and asked if he could have the two roses. Nonna smiled and asked us to wait while she fetched a pair of scissors and clipped the flowers for Sandro. He handed me two pink roses and said "you". When I suggested that we could take them for Nonna Maria, the owner of the B & B, he shook his head and repeated "you". I couldn't stop myself from smiling.

When we headed back, I told Iuri about the roses, feeling guilty. He smiled as he said, "Sandro is a true Gentleman".

Back at the bed and breakfast, I realised it was dinnertime and Nonna Maria said that if I wanted to get something, I would have to go to the Cucinella soon. I picked up the bicycle again to pedal into Fontanelle and Sandro came running out. He said he didnt have enough time, but would go with me to the store. He insisted and I allowed him to come with me. We bought some sorbetto, hoping to eat it on the bench outside the Nonna Maria. However, we couldn't have the icecream together, for Sandro's parents were waiting to pick him up. It was way past the nine year old's bed time.

Going Solo

Riomaggiore, Le Cinque Terre, Liguria

GG left yesterday. After a brief visit to Vernazza (see right) and a fantastic ferry ride back, that allowed us to see the villages from the sea, GG boarded the train to Pisa.

I didn't know what to do with myself and it didn't take more than ten seconds for a serious bout of homesickness to set in.

Made a call to daddy. "Dad, can I please cancel my trip and go home?"
"Sure kid". Then dad laughed lightly at the other end, "just like that day at Cafe 100?" I could hear the ring in his laughter acknowledging that his daughter had not really grown up. I had no access to the Internet websites required to change my plans, so I asked Dad to ask B to do it for me.

B called back immediately. "I will do it for you, but remember, you will never break free of the Cafe 100 spot." I sighed as I realised he was right and asked him to hold off while I thought some more.

I made up my mind. I really wanted to go further, but it was the thought of spending time in the Cinque Terre, a complete set of beach towns that was bothering me. I would take advantage and go snorkeling tomorrow. That should help me spend major chunk of the day.

So after having made the decision, feeling proud of the self and turning in early, I was all prepared for Going Solo.

Travels with GG

Riomaggiore, Le Cinque Terre, Liguria

We woke up in Firenze in good time, but with waits and delays finally arrived at Riomaggiore after 1 pm. We found the reception and checked in to the assigned accomodation. The rooms allocated were not at that site but higher up somewhere in the cliff-side village.

The reception woman directed us to the steps that would take us to our rooms, and asked us to wait at the top, where another woman would appear and take us to our rooms. The stairs appeared to wind around so we couldn't see the end of them. When asked how many there were, the reception lady shook her head and said "very steps!"

With a 40 pound suitcase and two backpacks, we began the ascent. With GG and me taking turns, panting and sweating in the oppressive weather of the Cinque Terre, we arrived at the top of the steps. It was a Herculean feat. As we looked around feeling silly waiting in the middle of a road, another woman indeed appeared to take us to the room. We were soon to realise that the second leg of the journey was another set of "very steps" too!!

I was annoyed, but it wasn't the poor woman's fault. She was only the cleaning lady who had to make the same journey, sans suitcase, everyday to do her job.

GG counted about 400 steps on our way down!