Snippets. Random snippets.

 Kanchana

It was my parents who told me about a Malayalam film that they had recently seen and loved that took me to a whirlpool of emotions that made me feel heavy inside. Being unable to comprehend what that feeling has been like for the last few days, now I can only conceive of it as longing and loss. The first thing I came to know about this film was that it was based on a real story. Naturally I was inclined to know what the story is and who were the people in it. It is when I began to know them that I started getting pulled into this whirlpool. And that is what I feel every time I think of Kanchana Mala and Moideen. Perhaps the sadness is caused by the fate that met these two lovers. Also, do people love like that anymore? Their story really sounds like one out of a book. Thankfully, the story is true. J

Krakow is full of Americans

They are either tourists or have been drawn to the city permanently. Reason- Schindler’s List. Americans think that they are well-loved here. As is evident from the conversation happening at the table beside me in this café. Seems like they are two Americans who just met a few hours ago. But Anya says that they hate the Americans. Ever since Krakow was put on the map of world tourism, all thanks to Spielberg’s heart-wrenching adaptation of the novel based on Oskar Schindler’s life, Americans have been flooding this city. Some claim ancestry to the exterminated or displaced Jews from here. Some are real stories. But many just like to think they are related. There’s always some kind of a pull one feels to relate to a tragedy. Like the few months last year I spent feeling extremely low about what I seen and felt in Auschwitz-Birkenau and imagined that maybe the cause of my sadness was that in my previous birth I died in that concentration camp.

We the commode people

I have said more than many times that Czech Republic has very few Indians. Seeing an Indian face here is a novelty and such things happen mostly in Prague. However yesterday I was walking to the bus stop near my university. I saw this guy who looked very Indian. Not Spanish, Iranian, Afghani as we are sometimes mistaken for. Upon seeing each other we started a conversation. Because Indians are few here you see.

Me: Hello

Him: Hi, I am *********

Together: Are you Indian?

Me: Where in India are you from?

Him: Kerala, and you?

Me: hahaha… മലയാളീ  ആണല്ലേ?

Did I say that Indians are very few here? Probably. But did I forget to mention that many many many of them are Malayalees? At this moment I fondly remember my friend Richa Bhatia (no, she’s not dead) who said this to me years ago- “ You Malayalees are like cockroaches. You can find them everywhere. Even in the commode.”

Winter wardrobe

I used to think that Czech women are crazy. In Autumn it gets as low as 1-4 degrees centigrade, you know! And they continue wearing their skirts, many of which are really short to the great annoyance yet amusement of Hanna. But after coming to Krakow I have realized that Polish women are crazier. Underneath their skirts they do not even wear leggings. The very thought makes me feel feverish with cold. Oh wait, maybe that is because I actually am falling ill. All thanks to the….

Spa Weekend

Last weekend was spa weekend with the girls. After the initial showdown between the punctual German and the tardy Indian, things calmed down. The next day was very good though. This wellness centre was everything I imagined a European sauna place to be like. More about it in post that will come far far in the future. And the German taught me how to swim. And I did swim. Halleluijah! Also, I suck at bowling. Made a mental note to go bowling often in Pardubice. Need to get better at it.

Ok Cupid, let’s Tinder

Kim is a really nice guy. The kind that makes you feel at ease and can cheer you up on the darkest day. I never thought he could fall head over heels in love with someone. Neither could he. But it did happen. He found the one. On OKCupid! “Good for you” I told him. He did not insist but he did tell me enough about OKCupid to raise my curiosity. So I registered myself on it. It turned out to be worse than what I had expected. At first it was nice talking to some of the people on it but eventually I started getting the kind of messages that simply made me dread even looking at the app icon on my screen. So that was my two-week long stint with online-dating. Maybe I should just realise that I was better off telling “Good for you Kim, good for you.” and ended it at that.

Sangeet scenario

I mostly listen to old Hindi songs. There is something about their lyrics that touches you. However, I am not fond of the melody of many of these songs (for example, Chalo ek baar phirse, Tumhe dekha tumhe chaaha, Hum intezaar karenge, etc,.). I listen to new songs out of necessity though. I find the melody of many way better than those of the 50’s-70’s. However, the lyrics are so shallow and pretentiously poetic that there can be quite some “what the copulation” moments. For example, this-

It does not even deserve a mention but I just did because I like the melody. Especially the female part. It’s a strange kind of world that we live in now where we cannot anymore write words that would bring the average melody to life but instead string irreconcilable words together that put a damper on even the most soulful melodies. Stranger is the fact that most youngsters these days find these lyrics good. Strange, strange.

Harold Robbins

Never love a Stranger is a book that one must simply not read. Harold Robbins is the worst writer I have had the misfortune of reading. Also, his way of writing about women is crude. I tried reading that book thrice when I was in my teens. Failed everytime. One might as well invest some time in learning how to make escargot. Whatever that takes. Even fly to France for a weekend. All the money you end up paying to go to France and see the grotesque monument that is the Eiffel Tower will not burn a bigger hole in your pocket than the hole that will be drilled into your heart if you read Harold Robbins.

Nine

Had to have nine snippets in this post. It is my favourite number, you see. But I am all too happy to write about Harry Potter now. I am in the process of slowly making my bedroom into a Harry Potter shrine. The work is progressing very slowly because I am lazy and all I want to do at night after coming home is sleep. Talking about sleep, I am really sleepy. And tired. Goodnight.

(Pssttt…..this café people are trying to throw me out and I no longer have lights in my sitting area.)

Of Heineken, Holland and Aubergine.

 3^rd September, 2015.

Dear brother,

Sitting at a desk beside an open window with a view of the city centre’s towers, I am just a few hours from going back to Pardubice after spending a nice long summer in Ghent (Belgium). Reflecting on how the last two months were spent, I cannot help but feel amused by a lot of things that I learnt about Europe by being here with my research group. So I am going to write to you about some of the things that might be of interest to you.

For the longest part of this summer there were some of us, Indians, who are the younglings/interns/call-us-whatever of the group who had come to the Centre to study. Dutifully, our senior members gave us periodical run downs on the different kinds of people who make up the population of this great continent during lunch breaks or whenever there was a gathering in the evenings. With all the things I heard, I cannot help thinking about how back in India we think of some cities of Europe.

A year ago, I accompanied you for what was going to be my first Euro-trip. Not wanting to spend a lot of money and owing to my base being in central Europe, we decided to tour mainly the eastern and central parts of it. However, we chose one city from the western part which we simply did not want to leave out. That this city was Amsterdam is not something that should come as a surprise to anyone. The four days spent there were arguably some of the best days of my stay in this continent. Among the many many things we did there, the Heineken Experience is one that needs a mention for what I am about to say. Like other Indians who have visited Amsterdam, we could not stop talking about what an amazing experience the tour of the brewery was. After the trip, we made it a point to have only Heineken beer at drinking sessions in India because we were convinced that it is better than the rest (because as the staff at the brewery told us, “It has yeast ‘A’” and obviously as experts on beer, we understand what that means, unlike other Indian mortals). 

© Don Martin

Now let us agree that Belgium has some of the best beers in the world because that really is the case and we did try some of them while being in Amsterdam. Being in Belgium for the last two months, I noticed that within minutes of spending time with any Belgian, it becomes clear how proud they are of their beers and how this industry forms an integral part of their national identity. Also about their opinion of beer from their Dutch neighbours. During this summer in Belgium I made a one-day trip to Amsterdam again with the company I had in Ghent on a weekend. To my utter surprise and amusement, I was told that Belgians call Heineken “horse-piss” or “drainage-water”. Some days ago, seeing a can of Heineken that had somehow made its way to the house I lived in, my host declared that this brand of beer should never be brought into his house. This declaration was followed by statements that by now I had heard many Belgians echo about this beer. Brother, we were utterly mistaken. Heineken is not the best beer in the world L It is bottled horse-piss glorified as beer to us, the poor people from the Third-World. And as we thought, Amsterdam is not the greatest city in the world. The Belgians never miss an opportunity to ridicule the Dutch from the Netherlands. Listening to their reasons and the personal experience of an Indian friend who lived in Netherlands for a considerable amount of time, I am not surprised that such an attitude has brewed towards the Hollanders. I was told by many people, even the Germans that Amsterdam is the only tolerable place in the Netherlands.

Remember in school we were taught about how good the cows of Holland were and how its cattle industry was the chief reason behind Holland being one of the most-sought after country for animal husbandry. Of course, they have good cows. And their’s is a land of over-flowing milk. But even then, they are known to be the stingiest people in the world. Should it come as a surprise that the phrase ‘going Dutch’ has a mention of the people of this country? Remember how I had told you long ago that these Europeans have strange practices for paying bills and each person pays for only what they had? I would not be surprised if the practice began in Holland. Also, they are not well-known for their hospitality skills. I have heard plenty of such experiences from people of all nationalities but let me recount just one to make you understand how stingy these people can be. So there is this guy from India who went to Netherlands for an international sailing competition. He has been for many such competitions all over the world. So he was surprised to find out that in Holland and only in Holland, despite it being an international competition, the participants were not given food and refreshments. Apparently the Dutch never provide such amenities because you see, their principle belief is that money should not be spent. The maximum they do in such cases, which did not happen at this competition, is that they provide milk and their typical bread with raisins. That is all! You know how we make fun of Marwadis for being stingy? The Dutch can put the Marwadis to shame when it comes to this! At least the Marwadis treat their guests beautifully and provide them with way more refreshments than one can handle.

As my image of Netherlands came crumbling down and became less glorious, I could only think of you and feel sorry for how wasted you might feel your feelings for the country was. As an attempt to make you feel better, let us cherish memories of the other good places we enjoyed visiting like the Our Lord in the Attic Church, the Anne FrankHuis but not and definitely not that abomination of a tourist spot, namely, the Oude Kerk. Oh wait, sorry for bringing that up. The thought of that Church still makes my blood boil.

On a completely different note, there is something I noticed only recently although I had been seeing it the whole time. I was invited to a friend’s place recently and the Belgian, who is a remarkable cook made an amazing dinner. I especially liked the starter which had aubergine as its base ingredient. Yes, I call brinjal aubergine while I am here because it sounds classier and nobody has heard of brinjal. I asked the cook what it was and this was the reply- “this is aubergine with mozzarella cheese, olive oil, etc., etc.” It was then that it struck me. You ask most Europeans what the name of a particular dish is and it often contains all the ingredients of the dish. If you do not believe it, watch Masterchef Australia or US again. When the judge asks “what did you make?”, out comes the response “I made a steak with garlic sauce and pepper with french beans sautéed in olive oil on the side”. You see the difference? When we are asked what we made we generally say saambaar. The only reason I can think of is, is because if we start stating all the ingredients of the dish, because we have so many, by the time the dish gets fully christened, it might have reached the large intestine of the person eating it. Imagine what saambaar would have been called if it was a European making it. S/He would have said “This is a stew made of okra, drumsticks, carrot, radish, pumpkin, potatoes, tomatoes, aubergine and onions with roasted lentils, dried whole red chilies, fenugreek seeds, coriander seeds, asafoetida, curry leaves with cumin, black pepper, grated coconut, cinnamon and tamarind pulp (phew!). And I am pretty sure I have left many ingredients out.

Okay then, I have to pack my bag now as I have to leave for Czech early morning tomorrow. Autumn is coming and Czech becomes even more beautiful in this season.

Love,

T.

Of Smelly Indians and Elephants!

Sensations can be one of the things we most take for granted. Yet there are many of us who romanticise that first gush of cool air in November in Bombay or the first drop of the most awaited rain in the hot months of July or it could be the smell of Cuticura powder that reminds you of your childhood. The point is, we are barely aware of these sensations unless they strike us in unexpected ways.

For me, there is one particular sensation that instantly makes me feel comfortable. It comes everyday when I reach home in the evening and smell the food that is being cooked for dinner. It is that beautiful smell of ginger, cumin and garlic crackling in oil with many other spices. For those of us who have stayed away from home and Indian food for some time at least, we know how comforting that smell could be. And despite walking home to this smell everyday I still appreciate it. That smell is heaven. That smell is home.

It so happened that a few months ago on an early autumn day I was at a friend’s for dinner. That night the temperature fell unexpectedly low and my friend lent me her jacket so that I wouldn’t feel cold while walking back home. The very next morning I brought it to the department so that I do not forget to give it back to her. But forgetful that I am, the jacket remained in the department room for a good two weeks before I could return it. Upon returning it, the first thing my friend did was to smell it. I could not believe my eyes! I did not know whether to be offended or appear calm. At that point, all I managed to do was tell her (with a smile on my face) that I do not smell. I did not know what to make out of that incident for a long time because she was my friend and offending me would have been the last thing on her mind. But unresolved questions have their way of getting resolved and understood in due time and for me that time came when I spent the Valentine’s Day Weekend (as we called it) in Plzen- the European City of Culture 2015.

You see, the people in my friend circle are those who have lived in at least 4 different cities in the last ten years and have interacted with people of many nationalities. And more often than not, they would talk about the strange ways of Indians and in particular, about the way they smell. This topic was brought up and discussed extensively at the dinner table on one of the nights in Plzen. Their common experience of Indians was that we always smelled of Indian food. My friend explained the jacket incident mentioned earlier saying she expected it to smell the same. At this point I remembered that some other friends had long ago told me that Indians smell of food and it dawned on me that this statement was not meant as an offence but just an observation. I know this because some of these people are crazy about Indian food.

So the primary culprit is the Indian spices and techniques we use in cooking our food. As one of them explained, some compounds of garlic, onions and a few other things pass through the stomach linings and are absorbed directly into the bloodstream causing body odour. They demonstrated this by telling how the bachelor Indians started smelling different once they got married and brought along their wives who cooked Indian food for them. They asked me if I could notice the change in the way they smelled. Obviously I couldn’t!

If you guys do not believe me check this out. Till that weekend in Plzen I did not know that a common stereotype about Indians is that we smell bad. Going through the different links that Google provided me on the subject only reassured me that-

1.    Indeed Indians smell bad and the older they get, the worse they smell. Especially men.
2.   The food is the main culprit. Too bad for Britain where Chicken Tikka Masala has officially been declared the national food
3.   That people attribute the bad smell to lack of hygiene culture in India. Indians apparently do not bathe!
4.   And Americans can be really idiotic! Not to mention extremely racist.

Well, it might be a stereotype for all we know. Or maybe we really are smelly and need a European/ American to make us aware of that fact. So where do we go from here? My solution is to liberally use my Victoria’s Secret perfume, to afford which I had to sell my kidney last summer. Once this bottle is over, maybe I will ask my friend who is an expert at making cosmetics with home supplies and natural ingredients to teach me how to make perfume so that I do not have to sell any other body part.

So while we figure out what else to do about our foul smell let me talk about this completely unrelated and hilarious issue that my Iranian friend and I cannot stop obsessing over. One of the first things I realized when I moved to a cold country is that the weather here makes your eyes water and nose run. So you always have to carry tissue with you so that you can clean your nose at regular intervals. In the beginning when I was still getting used to this I noticed that somehow I had managed to slightly irritate my friend with whom I was taking a walk. Soon enough he told me the reason. You know, how in India and many other Asian countries we softly sniff when our nose runs a little even after draining it out completely? Well, in these parts, sniffing is offensive. Especially if women do it, it is considered uncultured and unladylike.  So I asked him what to do when I do not have enough juice in my nostrils to blow it out. He said that there is always enough juice if you blow it out properly and then demonstrated that by blowing into his handkerchief loud enough for me to get shocked for a second and for my eardrums to go numb for a while. That lesson did not remain for long in my mind until last November when a series of illnesses made me have a runny nose till the beginning of January. In one of the department meetings on Monday I sniffed quite loudly (obviously like it was the most natural thing to do) and everyone just paused and looked at me. I wondered what was happening. And then my supervisor laughed and said “It’s okay Tess, we all do things in India that can be perceived strange”. It was only then that it dawned on me that the meeting had been disrupted because of my sniffing. I shared this episode with my Iranian friend who I generally go to for discussing the strange ways of the Europeans and he never disappoints me and gives me the semi-Asian assurance that I seek. That day at the dinner table he complained of people generally blowing their noses loudly at the dining table while the rest were eating and we both agreed that it’s seen as a bad practice to do it in front of people if they are eating in both our countries. Funnily, right at that moment, a friend at the table blew his nose hard enough for the whole restaurant to hear. And no, nobody blinked. Because that was a normal thing to do. Because many other people at other tables were doing the same. But, oh my, try sniffing softly and then try to ignore the stares!

As the Iranian said, when it comes to nasal etiquettes, Europeans are like elephants who blow their trumpets anytime and anywhere.

Oh, and we are smelly. Now please excuse me while I go and have some khichdi with garlic pickle. 

Until next time.