Eye on the past

One cannot expect too much of cinematic brilliance from a movie made in 1957 – The convict’s expressions are overly exaggerated, some of the scenes are exasperatingly long, the dialogues are delivered staccato. But it signifies the style of an era, the movie making of a lost generation. This was Do Ankhein Barah Haath on Sunday.

He has nice eyes, V. Shantaram. They evocate well. No fault with his acting. The same cannot be said of the convicts being reformed under him. Their instructions must have been, "Look as fierce as you can, extend your eyes wide, grunt whenever possible and swagger always". Their attempt in places is almost comic. The whole movie is overtly daramatic, sometimes funnily so – It reminds of Ramleela on big screen. Yet, it deserves credit for the innovative storyline, some clever shadowplay and amazing music. The toy woman (Sandhya, also Shantaram's third wife) – though her head and eyebrows never stopped twitching through the movie – holds the bits together and is the voice of reason among troubled men. Interesting movie – makes one go back in time and see a completely different genre of film making. It is also on Top 25 Must See Bollywood Films.

Are they our expectations of people that make them the way they turn out? We expect the maid to steal, the autowalahs to cheat, the vagabonds to tease, the men to stray, the women to nag. In MBA we called it the Pygmalion effect. DABH may have been too naïve to portray the six convicts to be good hearted men whose mistakes were momentary insanity – I mean can you see Jack the Ripper or Charles Sobhraj reformed by giving them freedom and singing devotional songs? Or is the culprit my low expectation of them? There is much truth in it, maybe with some exceptions. Innocent until proven guilty!

I was expecting a better end to The Deathly Hallows. Really!? 19 years later?! Why?why?why? Why couldn’t it just have been open ended - she could have kept the hopes of children alive, eagerly waiting for some more to churn out of her pen. And how corny were the grown up wizards with kids named after their dead loved ones. A sorely disappointing end, after having devoured and lived the Harry Potter series forever now!

Making Peace

I want to make a movie! I want, I want, I want!

Specially one like Salaam Bombay – of evocative eyes, muted expressions and tugging at your heart string moments. I sat still throughout the movie, enraptured by this portrayal of the children of the streets – Precocious kids adept at the ways of the world, smoking, gambling, stealing – they know not any better. Each bound by their destiny, each cynical about their dreams; caught in a vortex they can never escape.

Krishna or Chaipau does not fit. He still believes he can make the money to go to his village. He still abides by rules of honesty, friendship and trust. He commits crimes in the process, loses all his hard earned money, is unable to rescue ‘Solah sal' – the young prostitute he is fond of , goes to jail for walking late in the streets after a hard day’s work. It frustrates, a boy so tender and pure of heart, should go through so much!

By the way, where are these children now? They were exemplary. And Mira Nair – she is really, really good. Here is the story and some pics.

And why do all classics have to be sad, anyway?

Can I call Harry Potter a classic? Maybe, after a century. It’s been a few days since I have been devouring the last two books, alternately I admit, the excitement to know what happened is getting impossible to endure. My head is buzzing with Holcruxes, Curses, apparating, death eaters, The Order. Will they, won't they? Will he, won't he? Who dies, who lives? This is not kid stuff, no sir – with murders, deaths and dark creatures. It is mystery, suspense and a lot of gore. And ‘I am loving it’. Smaaack.

When you think of it - One person, down and out, writes a book that becomes an overnight sensation and some others live off the streets day to day, with no food and no future. You and I work at our desks all our lives, some get big, and some may die trying. In the end, it is best to make peace with our destiny. That is the easiest way.

Trivia - Shafiq Syed, aka the young Krishna, now lives with his family in Bangalore and repairs auto rickshaws for a living!

London: Why I do what I do

I get tired of explaining to people why I chose not to go inside Madam Tussaud's or The Tower of London. I saw no point in standing for hours in a queue and paying precious pounds to see wax structures of people I don't care about or a diamond that was stolen from my country centuries back. The latter infuriates me more than anything else.

I preferred walking along roads, peering into sidelanes and strolling amidst bustling marketplaces. That’s what I loved doing. Anything, that made me feel like a native.

The day before I left London, the heart was sinking as low as it could. I thought, since this was the last day, I ought to do one last walk. So, I did what the walks team terms as its best - The Along the Thames pub walk. Richard led this once again, and he was funny as always.

We started from the Blackfriar’s tube. This was the fringe of the erstwhile city of London. The name Blackfriars derives from the black cappa worn by the Dominican Friars who moved their priory from Holborn to the area between the River Thames and Ludgate Hill in 1276. By the way, some of these monks can also be credited with first brewing beer and whisky (Their Scottish cousins). Thus, we have much to thank God for! :)

Most in this walk I liked our stop at Borough market and The Market Porter pub (I guess this was named so because it was close to Borough and the porters stopped here to have a drink. Pubs in London have the craziest of names). Lots of pigs, fruits and vegetables available in the market. Noted on an eatery across the street – ‘If our fish were any fresher, you would have to slap it”

The Great Fire of London holds me in perpetual awe. Imagine, the negligence of a baker, and he is inscribed in history forever! And it has been four centuries since, but people still speak of it as a catastrophe that happened just yesterday. Standing by the Thames, I close my eye, and imagine the whole city ablaze, fire razing houses, scorching St. Paul's Cathedral, torching the pale, blue sky, egged on by an urgent east wind, people screaming, running, demolishing anything in the way of the fire.

Rebuilding the entire city after that; brick by brick, stone upon stone. Where would we be, but for the spirit of man!

The end of my notes. Amen.

Europe – Snippets

I am still in the Europe momentum. I compare - the rains bring along mud, the horns are too shrill, scores of people to elbow out; I wish I could go back. My wise friends say, I will be back to normal in a week's time. Sigh! My blog shall floweth with fond memories ‘til then.

Trains in Europe are fab. They are an expensive option, but are always on time, look good and offer great view. From Salzburg to Freiburg I took the ICE, and from Freiburg to Paris I took the TGV. (They were only one of the links in a journey which required changing trains thrice.)

In one of the trains, I did the Indian thing - put down the armrests, lay prostrate and dozed. Not for long. I was soon to be woken by the German police (ah! The thrill of it all!). They asked to see my passport, and as one of them called to verify details, the lady officer asked me questions.
“Business or tourism?”
“Tourism”
“Alone?” Eyebrows arched with surprise
“Yep” and the heart swelled with pride.

I associated each country with a colour – Scotland was violet (colour of Firstscotrail and signs), Austria is green (signboards), UK is blue and red (underground signs), France is orange and yellow (don’t ask me why, it just feels a ‘café’ish colour).

Try Haagen Daz. Max says it is the best ice cream in the world. Well, it comes close. Also, Flammkuchen and blue cheese - the latter is not half as bad as made out to be. Also smoothies, but do get the right combination. I messed up quite a few times.

Toilets are mostly paid, even in train stations. In front of each revolving gate, you would spot people frantically searching in their purses for 50 pence. Once when I inserted a 1 pound, it came back with not only my pound but two more as loose change. Everyone had a good laugh; but they let me keep the money.

In Paris, one can never identify METROs. You suddenly spot elevators going down the street and then you know. The signs are so different too!

There are also little green pillars at every street which sport posters - of plays, movies, and the like.

They love their cities, they do. Look how they keep ‘em. It's not just words…

Paris – Day Two: When dreams come true

I wondered idly, if I had ever been happier…

I was a kid when I had read it and it enamoured me - the emancipation of the underdog, the salvation of the pathetic. Remember, Quasimodo? And his love for the cathedral and the lovely Esmeralda? I had cried then. And I wept again – when I saw in real the beautiful, vivid church of Notre Dame.

The altar

It’s not so much the church, but where it is located. One needs to get down at the Chatelet tube stop and walk to Ile de la Cite in the centre of Paris - an island on the river Seine. The lovely La Chapelle is close by, as are the Palais de Justice and the imposing Conciergerie. Paris seems breathtaking from here, with the gentle river, flowers blooming over and the dark, towering church spires.

I went for a Latin Quarter walking tour in the morning. It was a good decision, despite the drizzle. No historical monuments to see, but I actually understood Paris in those two hours, why it is what it is. It was a literature tour - primarily of Ernest Hemingway and retracing his life on the streets of Paris - inspiration for his 'The Moveable feast'. Also, the story of the pie maker – who used human flesh to make his popular pies. Some priests of Notre Dame took a fancy to these, without knowing their blasphemous ingredients. When it was revealed, the priests were excommunicated and reduced to begging on streets. A visiting bishop took pity on them and allowed them to start Rue Mouffetard. So, we walked along hidden streets, marketplaces and quaint café’s - Along authentic Paris. Hemingway's Paris.

Spotted on my walk - says Poetry is an extreme sport :)

I went to Montmartre in the afternoon. This former wine village on top of a hill in North Paris is today an artist hub. On its foot, rests the famous Moulin Rouge, and on the top, the Basilica of Sacred Heart. Art and music all around. On the streets, lined with plush apartments, I could hear strains of violin from studios. At the central square, I could see painters busy with their brushes. I moved about trying to spot a bargain - a painter who had the prospect and also wanted to be sold cheap. Finally after much bargaining, I got one to sell me his miniature reproduction of Paris in oil. It was beautiful and it cost me all of 20 Euros. I never asked his name though, so I will never know if I he left a treasure in my hands. Because it is noteworthy that Pablo Picasso, Van Gogh and Claude Monet once lived here!

Montmartre Painters

Then, Louvre. Another dream, another wish, fulfilled. People had described it as big, but so big?! It was like a huge palace with priceless treasures in each room – Greek remains, Sculptures (most headless - I guess the necks were the weak points), paintings, royal jewellery. But despite the vast riches it houses, the museum rides on Mona Lisa – with posters, mugs and calendars sporting her insipid, smiling face - why I would never understand. It’s a small, nondescript portion of Louvre’s assets, but hogs a wall all for itself. I, for myself, quite liked another painting of Da Vinci. And also the magnificent works of Gericault, Delacroix, Pisanello and Michelangelo (the Slaves).

The Da Vinci I preferred - the same smile, but more spunk

It was an injustice, I agree. Paris in two days? But I will come back to undo. Surely deserves more.

Paris – Day one: Wet and wild

First impressions. Graffiti. On every wall, on every sidewalk. Second impressions. Gorgeous stone buildings with wrought iron balustrades. Third impressions. What you read is not what you hear. And what you hear, never attempt to repeat. Just point to the map; atleast that way you will get somewhere!

Why is Paris held in such reverence? London is a better kept city. It has almost equal history. But where London is the stiff upper lip, centre of business and hub for enterprise, Paris is artists, painters, poets and writers. It is avante garde. It is bohemia. And deep down in its essence – it professes eternal romance.

No time to waste – I took the L’ OpenTour and saw the city thrice. All the famous sights. Eiffel Tower, Les Invalides, Moulin Rouge, Louvre and Tuileries, Le Madeleine, Opera House, Seine, Ile De La Cite, Nortre Dame, Le Chappelle, Place de la Concorde, Bastille, Marais - mostly from outside. Tomorrow would be the day to explore.

Moulin Rouge

Les Invalides

Champs De Elysees - one of the widest streets anywhere. And very, very crowded. It was almost Oxford Street, only 4 times in width. But this famous Parisian shopping avenue is a treat to sore eyes, specially the Louis Vuitton showroom. If only money were aplenty. And some energy.

I had a good whole meal after a long time. And no, these French waiters were most pleasant. I had a tough time explaining to one of them that I wanted something that would be heavy. I tried showing a full stomach. She gave me a wide gray eyed stare and a helpless shrug of pretty shoulders. Finally after much improvised gesticulations, she understood somewhat and suggested tomatoes, beef and rice. I hungrily devoured.

Cafe lined streets

Cs and O’s home at Place De Fetes was quite something. It was huge, white and oh so prettily made up. Rugs, lamps, cushions and guitars. Books, posters, pictures and flyers. Their loo has Post Its all over it – their many foreign visitors had left comments. There was lots of wine and cheese in the fridge. As French as could be.

Turned in early. Long day ahead.

Alsace Valley – This time small town France

Enter the wine village

I would say this was the highlight of my trip – despite the fact that my guide spoke no English, and the bus was late. But we traveled through some very exotic wine villages, among them primarily – Strasbourg, Riquenwihr and Colmar.

Alsace – Lazy rivers, plump grapes and blooming sidewalks. The glorious, glorious Rhine valley. Sweet and dry whites. Riesling, Sylvaner and Pinot Blanc

I was tad disappointed when I first arrived at Strasbourg. It is one of the larger French cities, but the new town is quite ugly. It had buildings with scraping walls, graffiti and unchecked industrial structures. But My oh my! Old town is just so amazingly pretty!

In most such small towns, the river and the old town area around it are usually the main attractions. Most of the shops, cathedral (the one here is really tall!) and museums are roundabouts. I noted some interesting busts by the bridge. I am not sure what they represent – but typical Alsace valley women wear headgear like that.

Strasbourg - by the L'lle

Riquewihr is a town in warped in time – the most fascinating of all the places I have ever been to. Every building, store, person screams Middle Ages – each coloured in the deepest shades of blue and red. I am not sure if they keep the village that way for tourism. It’s flanked by green serrated vineyards for miles and miles around. Here life has stilled and time has stopped.

Riquewihr - Vineyards behind

Colmar. Colours and blossoms. Wines and toys. It won the most flowered city contest. I was literally walking among flowers everywhere. Pretty toy trains take tourists around explaining the sites of the city.

Colmar - Little green trains

My bus driver knew no English. So every time the bus stopped, I would gesture to my watch and ask him when I needed to be back, and he would write down the time for me. These places do teach you some unique ways of communication. There was also this old man who kept gushing to me in German, and for his every sentence, I kept repeating, do not understand, I do not understand. But he would not stop. And so I did the easiest thing, nod vigorously and smile.

My philosophy for traveling well - Make your smile cheap.

Freiburg and Heidelburg – Everything German

Maybe I would have never come to visit these places if my friends were not here. But to know a country’s people, one needs to visit where they really live, unadulterated.

Freiburg is a small town nestled in the Black Forest (Schwarzwald) – bustling with students, shops and dense trees (and hence the adjective Black). Bustling may give the wrong impression. It’s a very small town really, once more with a river running through it. I covered the whole city on foot (once guided by Max and once again by losing my way!). The city comprises mostly of retired rich Germans and students – the former who I mostly saw gardening and the latter riding around on their bikes. Small canals called Bachle flank cobbled streets, carrying fresh water from the Black Forest. But most I loved were dinners at Max’s place, wine, cheese, and hearty conversations. Her husband cooked too – despite our heated diatribe against Indian men and how they never did any house work ;)

Bachle

Heidelberg Aldstadt as seen from the fort

Heidelberg is another small German Town – it has a very famous university, functional since the 14th century and some old fort ruins. But by this time, I had grown to be really tired of Forts. I saw one at Edinburgh, Stirling, Salzburg, and London – and after a while all forts seem the same. This was a little larger though and was more ‘ruined’ – which added to its charms. I spent more time roaming around the streets, eating and window shopping. Almost no one spoke English, but by this time I was used to speaking with signs and gestures.

Beer place at Heidelberg

Most of these Austrian German towns were similar – they had a new town which was where most working people lived, often randomly built and not too great looking. Then there was the Aldstadt or Old Town, with most tourist attractions. It would have a fort/palace (Schloss), a market place (Marketplatz), a Cathedral (Munster), and the City Centre (Zentrum). There would be cobbled streets, quaint pubs and lots of colourful goodies to buy. The best part :)

Window shopping at Germany

They were not big, ‘must see’ cities. But it made sense to come to these places – because it was not to cover cities that I was traveling, it was to understand cultures, how people ate, dressed and behaved, and how these non cosmopolitan places really were.

And you know you have arrived as a traveler, when you are in a place which has no other Indian but you.