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A Working Morning at NYU-London and a Visit to Dr. Johnson’s House

Oct17

Monday, October 17, 2016

London

Early Morning Accomplishments:

If you can believe it, I awoke at 4. 30 am today and simply could not go back to sleep. After 20 minutes, I gave up the effort and switched on my laptop. I would get some work done and catch up on Twitter–which has become an important source of news gathering for me. I also sent out some email messages and reviewed a few blog posts. Finally, I worked on my Italy itinerary. Since I have been invited to give a lecture at the University of Padua, I am using the occasion of my journey there to see a part of Italy I have not yet explored–the island of Sicily. Using Lonely Planet, I tried to identify some budget-priced accommodation that would work for me. Once my itinerary was in place, I began to send out email messages to the various towns and cities–Catania, Mount Etna, Toarmina and Syracusa–as those are all I will manage in the time at my disposal. Time flew as I sent my messages out. Hopefully, I will have all accommodation sorted in the next couple of days.

By 8. 30 am, I was calling my Dad and brother Russel in Bombay and catching up with them. About a half hour later, I decided to start getting ready for work. I organized my breakfast–coffee with muesli with honey yogurt–and then went in for a shower. Within 20 minutes, I’d got dressed and made myself a Stilton cheese sandwich for lunch. By 10. 15 am, more or less on schedule, I left my flat and set out for Bloomsbury.

A Working Morning in my Office:

I arrived at NYU at exactly 11.00 am and I stayed there till 2.00 pm. There was proofing to be done of the final chapters of my book as I have an end-October deadline to get them to my publisher. I also had loads of tickets to print out–air tickets, Easybus tickets for journeys to and from London’s airport, itineraries. There was also a conference abstract that I had drafted over the weekend and sent out to the organizers. I have already received an acknowledgement for it and thought it best to print it all and file it away. Similarly, I printed out two more chapters of my book.

By 2.00 pm, I had finished proof reading both chapters and had printed out two more–one of which I carried home with me to work on through the evening and another of which I left in my office to work on tomorrow. I also ate my sandwich and prepared my packaged soup and feeling quite ready to face the next part of my day, I left our campus and moved on.

Off to Dr. Johnson’s House at Holborn:

It has been about 30 years since I visited Dr. Johnson’s House in Holborn for the first and last time. As a grad student who had only very recently been inspired by the life and work of Dr. Samuel Johnson through one of my professors at Elphinstone College in Bombay, Dr. Homai Shroff, whose Ph.D. dissertation was on the greatest writer of the 18th century, I had made a pilgrimage to his home. I remember enjoying the visit then…but, as in the case, of every place that I am re-visiting now, I realize how fully I relish these forays, how deeply engrossed I become and how easily I am able to relate to the history and complexity of the times that are being portrayed because my knowledge and understanding of these periods is now so much more profound.

And so it was with 17 Gough Court where Dr. Samuel Johnson lived for a good part of his life, initially with his wife, Elizabeth whom he knew as Tetty and then for years as a cantankerous widower in the company of a black manservant called Francis Barber who had arrived in England from Jamaica where he had been a slave.

As one of the most prolific of all English writers, Dr. Johnson worked day and night–a never-ending list of ‘pot boilers’–that were literally written to keep his pot boiling (meaning: to put food on the table). He wrote reviews, essays, literary and theater criticism and, famously, a novel in a single week. His output was immense.

Given that he dodged poverty all his life, I was actually quite astonished to find out that the house is a handsome building with four floors–all of which were occupied by him and his family members. The visitor pays 6 pounds for the privilege of entering the home and perusing the rooms that are very well curated by a series of laminated handouts that give details about the use to which it would have been put in Johnson’s time as well as the art work and furniture to be found within.

There was a film crew in the ‘Parlor’ when I arrived but they left about a half hour later. Meanwhile, I walked through the Dining Room (which is now the Reception Room) into the Entry Hallway which has a barred window above the main door (to prevent thieves from inserting children through them to commit the robberies. There is also a heavy chain across the main door (another form of security) with a twisted corkscrew arm on one side to prevent rods being inserted through the windows to detach them. It was fascinating to see how these elements of domestic security have been retained. For Johnson, who was perpetually broke, a break-in would have been disastrous. Hence, the multiple precautions.

In the Parlor, Johnson would have received visitors–he had many literary contemporaries with whom he was friendly (for example, Oliver Goldsmith) and his publishers who visited him at home. It was in this room that he would take tea for Johnson was a prodigious tea-drinker and was known to consume as many as 20 cups at one sitting. There is a beautiful porcelain tea service that belonged to a friend of his, a Mrs. Thrale, in a glass cabinet on view. Copies of oil portraits of Johnson by his friend, the renowned 19th century portraitist, Sir Joshua Reynolds, are to be found in each room above the fireplaces (of which there is one in each room as the fireplace was the only source of heat in the rooms). The Parlor was also where members of London’s Fire Fighting Auxiliary took tea in the years when the house was being restored after severe bombing damage in World War II. They were provided tea by the care-taker of the home, a Mrs. Rowell, whose daughter ended up marrying one of them in the Church of St. Bartholomew in Smithfield followed by a reception for a hundred people in Dr. Johnson’s House.

Besides the fireplace in the Parlor is the little cupboard in which wigs would have been powdered with white or grey powder as was the fashion in the 18th century among both men and women. Johnson, as did all public personalities, was never seen without a wig.

On the first floor (American second) is the room that Johnson used as a bedroom and another used by his housekeeper, Mrs. Williams. On the floor above it is his Library–a really interesting room that showcases the eclectic collection of books he owned. All of them were sold soon after he died, but with careful attempts, many of them are being tracked down at auctions and returned to the home. Naturally, there is a full set of the famous Dictionary that he took 9 years to write in this home with the help of a number of assistants as well as a complete set of the many volumes of his Lives of the Poets. A copy of the first edition of the Dictionary is also on display. Johnson’s closest friend and associate was James Boswell and, in his company, Johnson spent endless hours. After Johnson’s death, Boswell produced a biography of his friend called Life of Johnson that has remained continually in print since the late 18th century. Most of Boswell’s works are also in the library. Above the mantelpiece is another oil portrait of Johnson.

At the very top of the house is the Garrett–a long room (far brighter than I had imagined garrets to be) in which the actual work on the Dictionary was undertaken at a very long center table at which a number of assistants would have worked under Johnson’s supervision. There is one oil painting in this room that is really moving–it shows Johnson doing penance at a marketplace where he stands in the open as rain pours down on him. It was his way of making amends for the fact that he disobeyed his father who was a shop keeper in the market and did not help him to sell his wares when requested because pride held him back. In his later years, Johnson realized the selfishness of his refusal and decided to make up for it by undertaking self-atonement.

It is also interesting to see a brick from the Great Wall of China in a showcase on one of the floors. Johnson had a great interest in China (the country) as well as the china (porcelain) that it produced. This interest was enhanced by his love of tea which, in those days came to England, mostly from China. As a gesture of goodwill, it seems that the Chinese government have presetned the brick to Johnson’s House as he had often expressed the desire to travel to China and to walk on its Great Wall.

It is also interesting to see a brick from the Great Wall of China in a show case in the house. Johnson had a great interest in China, the country, as well as the china (porcelain) that it produced. This interest was enhanced by his love of tea which, in those days, came to England mostly from China. As a gesture of goodwill, it seems that the Chinese government have presented the brick to Johnson’s House as he had often talked about having a desire to travel to China to walk upon its Great Wall.

It is also interesting to see a brick from the Great Wall of China in a show case in the house. Johnson had a great interest in China, the country, as well as the china (porcelain) that it produced. This interest was enhanced by his love of tea which, in those days, came to England mostly from China. As a gesture of goodwill, it seems that the Chinese government have presented the brick to Johnson’s House as he had often talked about having a desire to travel to China to walk upon its Great Wall.

It is also interesting to see a brick from the Great Wall of China in a show case in the house. Johnson had a great interest in China, the country, as well as the china (porcelain) that it produced. This interest was enhanced by his love of tea which, in those days, came to England mostly from China. As a gesture of goodwill, it seems that the Chinese government have presented the brick to Johnson’s House as he had often talked about having a desire to travel to China to walk upon its Great Wall.

In many ways, a visit to Johnson’s House offers insight into the hard work, dedication, ambition, perseverance and tenacity of the man. It enables us to understand his enduring love for Shakespeare (he wrote a criticism of all Shakespeare’s plays) and Milton and for the written word in general. He courted friendships with Shakespearean stage actresses whose work he admired at a time when they were thought of as no better than prostitutes. He paid his assistants well although never well endowed himself. But his greatest example of compassion was revealed in the relationship he created with the former slave Barber whom he employed to run his home and to whom he willed a very generous Endowment. A copy of his Will hangs in its entirely in one of the rooms and we see how equitably he thought of all human beings and how well he treated them irrespective of their skin color or race. ]

We learn that he was a sickly man, overweight (because he loved food too much and did not eat in moderation), plagued by gout and someone who fought depression all his life. In fact, he was often on the brink of a complete mental breakdown as was his friend Boswell (who had his first breakdown at the age of 17). We realize that, in the end, it was a series of strokes that left him with severe facial ticks and a speech impediment and ultimately, took his life.

But what a life! Truly, any writer can take inspiration and courage from Johnson’s life–for he teaches us that there is no such thing as Writer’s Block and that genius is 99 percent perspiration and one percent inspiration! He brought a new meaning to the word ‘prolific’ and I have to say that  I, for one, was deeply moved by my entire ‘experience’ of this house–far more than I can remember being when I was a grad student. Johnson is the second most frequently quoted writer after Shakespeare and he is the source of one of my favorite quotes of all time: “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life itself!” Hear, hear!

Outside, in the courtyard, I paused by the sculpture of Dr. Johnson’s cat, Hodge, of whom he was very fond and who was so indulged that towards the end of his life all he ever ate were oysters!  I took a few pictures of the exterior of the house and left the courtyard.

Walking through Holborn on my Way Back:

I got out of Dr. Johnson’s Gough Court and found myself on Fetter Lane from where I emerged on to High Holborn. It was part of the Dickens’ London Walk that I had started a few days ago and which I decided to complete. It took me to Barnard’s Inn (not a hostel–just another courtyard) where the famous Gresham Lectures are held, free of charge for the public and into Staple Inn, the only Elizabethan house that survived the Great Fire of London. It’s handsome black half-timbered façade leads you to another picturesque courtyard at the back and a very pretty second courtyard filled with late-summer roses and petunias. Out of Staple Lane, I got back on to High Holborn and disappeared down the stairwell of the Chancery Lane Tube Station from  where I took a Central Line train straight home to Ealing. It is always a pleasure to be in my former stomping ground–Holborn–but I was too tired to linger.

I stopped at Morrison’s on my walk home to pick up a few groceries and then put the kettle on for a cup of tea which I had with two pistachio biscuits and the last of a chocolate éclair. While I sipped and munched, I caught up on episodes of Cold Feet and then stopped to type this blog post.

It is now time for dinner to which I am looking forward as I shall watch another episode of Cold Feet and then get ready for bed. Tomorrow, I will probably proof read the chapter I have carried home with me–but for the moment, I have had a full and productive day and feel entitled to some more down time!

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Exploring Ealing with Barbara and Bus Ride to Kingston

Oct17

Sunday, October 16, 2016

London

Up and About Before Dawn:

I was awake by 5.30 am, I read Twitter till 6. 30 am, then I drafted a blog post and checked and responded to email. I also put together my itinerary for my forthcoming trips to Europe in November. I then booked Easybus tickets to get from Victoria to the airports and back. It is amazing how much time all this takes.  This has pretty much become my routine movements of the morning but today, there was a slight difference. Since it was Sunday, I intended to get to Mass. Plus I had plans to meet with my former Holborn neighbor and friend Barbara who was sweet enough to come to Ealing so that we could explore my new neighborhood together. It was about 9.00 am when I got out of bed to wash and have a bit of breakfast–toast with peanut butter, Nutella and Philadelphia Cream Cheese and coffee.

Off to Mass at the Church of Christ the Savior:

I left my house at 10.25 am for the 10.30 am Mass at the church which is literally one block away from my house. It is a beautiful church–Victorian Gothic, rich with exterior details that are appealing and attractive and equally rich inside with all sorts of sculptural and painted embellishments. There is a lovely huge stained glass window of the Risen Christ with an extraordinarily handsome, unbearded face, a very nice choir screen with the cross and twin figures flanking it (a common feature in many Anglican churches) and wonderful paintings on the ceiling, the side walls, plus many Gothic sculpted saints to keep one’s eye fascinated.

The Mass was well-attended. However, there were so many children that it was a very noisy service. It was a Sung High Mass with loads of incense and hymns of which all six verses were (badly) sung to the accompaniment of an organist who seriously needs some music lessons! Of all the services I have attended over the last two months, this has to have been the least satisfying. Although the children disappeared for Sunday School before the Readings began, they returned before Communion and the noise began again. What’s worse is that I saw grown adult women have a long and endless gossip session in the lines on their way to Communion, lots of hello waves and flamboyant kisses being given by members of the congregation as they made their way to the front to receive the Eucharist. I have never seen anything quite like this kind of socialization in the middle of Mass absolutely anywhere. It was shocking, disturbing and made the Mass very unruly. I will not be going back to that church–that’s for sure. That said, the very young curate preached an excellent sermon on the power of prayer and the ways in which we ought to pray. I learned a whole lot from it.

Back home, I barely settled down for just a few minutes when I got an email from Barbara to say that she was just about to board a Tube train at Chancery Lane. In about 45 minutes, she would be with me. I tidied my home in readiness for her arrival, folded and put away my laundry, then soon found myself greeting her at my front door. Barbara was my very first visitor and it was a real pleasure to welcome her in my new home. Naturally, I gave her a tour and then, as the sun had come out after what had been a very wet morning, we decided to take advantage of it and go out to discover my neighborhood.

A Lovely Stroll in Ealing:

As I have not had much time to explore my own neighbo0rhood, I was delighted to have Barbara for company. We took a random street right off Haven Green and walked up admiring the beautiful Victorian houses with their period details. Autumn is well and truly here and trees are shedding their leaves like golden confetti. There are tinges of red, orange and fiery yellows on every tree and crackling leaves underfoot–nothing, of course, compared to the glory of our New England autumn season…but this is bringing to mind the beautiful sugar maples in my back garden that are probably beginning to change color at this moment.

I told Barbara then about a sign I’d been seeing outside Ealing Broadway Station for the Pitzhanger Manor–and we decided to go out in search of it. Following a map on Broadway, we headed towards it but as it was already about 1.15 pm, we made a detour for lunch and chose to eat at Carluccio’s, the delicious Italian chain of restaurants to which Barbara and her husband Tim had first introduced me about nine years ago when we ate lunch together at the Carluccio’s at Smithfield Meat Market in Central London.

Lunch at Carluccio’s:

Well, we were seated very quickly in the eatery that we found at Ealing Green–and in the process of making our way to it, I realized yet again what a fabulous neighborhood I now have the privilege of living in–it is simply filled with shops and restaurants and bars and pubs that give it such a lovely warm neighborhood feel–almost like a little friendly village in the midst of the city.

When it came time to order, we both went for the Italian Peroni beer and while Barbara had the Spaghetti Carbonara, I had the Lasagna Traditonalle. My portion was huge and I ate just half of it with the intention of packing the rest up to take home for a future meal. You see, I needed to save room for dessert because I knew that no meal at Carluccio’s with Barbara or Tim is complete without a Lemon (Citron) Tart at the end for pudding. And that was precisely what we ordered and what we enjoyed–a  crisp tart shell and a tart creamy filling. It is a dessert also to which they had introduced me and which I never fail to enjoy.

Off to Find Pitzhanger Manor..and Stumbling Upon Walpole Park:

When we’d cleared our bill, we set off in search of the Pitzhanger Manor and discovered that it was being refurbished in a major project that will see completion only in 2018! Hard Luck indeed! But we also made the discovery that the house was designed by none other than the chap I am coming to think of as an old friend, Sir John Soane! Yes, he of the John Soane House and Museum in Holborn that I had visited only a few days ago! Soane designed it in the Neo-Classical style for which he is famous with straight severe lines, one half of the classical columns facing outward and classical maidens adorning the pediments of each of the pillars. We knew this from the pictures that surround the fence that encloses the property. Ah, too bad, we thought. We must come back together in 2018 and see how it looks in its new avatar.

Then, just around a corner, as we continued our walk, we chanced to come upon the gates of a park and, on impulse, stepped inside it. And what a lovely walk we had amidst its wide acreage! The park was park of the property that one would see from the back windows of the Pitzhanger House that had, apparently, been designed for the Walpole Family. It has been bequeathed to the people of Ealing and is, therefore, known as Walpole Park. It had everything you could desire in a park–a lovely avenue of plane trees, a serpentine (lake), a duck pond (complete with colorful mallards), a bridge (in the style of John Vanbrugh’s Blenheim Bridge at Blenheim Palace) over a brook, plenty of well-kept lawns filled with ecstatic dogs and their happy owners, lovely children’s playgrounds with sand pits and sliders, swings, see-saws, etc. and well-defined walking pathways. The day turned out to be simply gorgeous after all and it was a perfect way to spend an afternoon. No wonder the park was fairly full.

Back Home for Tea:

Having received our exercise for the day, we found our way back to my flat past Ealing Town Hall (a very handsome building in golden stone) and the new residential development that is coming up right outside the Tube station and adjoining the church. Once home, I put the kettle on and we sat and chatted some over a cup of tea and carrot cake with pistachio biscuits and Tunnock’s Tea Cakes. But since we had just eaten a big and very late lunch, all we did was nibble at tiny pieces of cake. By 4. 30, Barbara got ready to leave and I was very sorry to see her go as I do not know when I will see her next.

On the Bus to Kingston:

I decided to leave my flat and walk Barbara to the Tube station, but I also decided that since the evening was still so bright and the light so pretty, I would take a bus ride to Kingston. There was a 65 bus waiting right at the station stop and into it, I jumped. It turned out to be a most delightful ride–there was a time when I was a little girl in Bombay when my parents often took us for bus rides on a Saturday or Sunday. Alas, horrible traffic in Bombay put paid to such simple pleasures–so it was nice to be able to revive them and take a bus ride just for the sheer joy of it.

The bus route was lovely–we went past Ealing and towards Kew. In fact, we rode alongside the famous Kew Gardens and I could see the tops of the glass greenhouses and, later on, the Pagoda for which it is famous. Further along the route, we passed by wide parkland as we arrived hear the Thames at Teddington and then we were in the snazzy town of Richmond. We did not go towards Twickenham (which would require crossing the Thames on Richmond Bridge), but went straight toward Kingston. A few minutes later, we were there and at the last stop, I hopped off. It was then almost 6.00 pm and twilight was darkening the city quite rapidly. Besides, since it was a Sunday, all the shops had closed and there wasn’t much to see on foot. So I just sat at the bus stop opposite and jumped into a bus going back to Ealing where I reached at 6. 30 pm. It was a really impulsive but very satisfying outing and I felt very pleased that I had seen some of the more beautiful Thames-sides’ hamlets that I dearly love.

Back home, I got back to the itinerary planning I had begun in the morning and booked my ticket to get from Catania in Sicily to Padua where I will be giving a guest lecture. I was pleased to get a good price on a Ryanair flight and with that done, I continued watching the Lewis episode that I left half watched last evening. I finished writing this blog post and then got ready for dinner as I was quite famished by this point. I ate the last of the Lamb Korma from Tayyabs that I had frozen with a cup of tomato soup and chocolate ice-cream for dessert and while I ate, I caught up on past episodes of Cold Feet.

I had a very nice weekend indeed. It was one in which I managed to catch up on a lot of items on my To-Do List and although I haven’t managed to accomplish all of them, as Scarlett O’Hara said, Tomorrow Is Another Day.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Catching Up At Home While Chained to my PC

Oct16

Saturday, October 15, 2016

London

Waking Routine:

I still lament the fact that I cannot get more than five hours of unbroken sleep–an adrenaline high, perhaps? At any rate, even though I wake by 5. 30, I do spent at least an hour on Twitter–not posting, but reading tweets from around the world that keep me up with the news. For example, this morning, I found a link to the stirring speech that Michelle Obama gave on the campaign trail in New Hampshire pertaining to Trump’s attitudes towards women. I listened to it in its entirety and before I knew it, I was almost an hour into catching up with Twitter.

Next, I drafted out a post for my blog–as I am trying hard to catch up and keep it current–and I finally finished all my Eastern Europe posts. Email next. Responding to people who’ve sent me invitations to lunch or dinner was very gratifying. The Brits are being extremely hospitable to me and almost once a week, I find myself enjoying someone’s generosity.

By the time I got a text from my landlord Stuart saying that he needed to come in to fix handles on the laundry cupboard, it was almost 9.00 am and I figured I better arise from my bed and meet the day. But before I did that, I made a To-Do List of all the things I needed to do and before I knew it, I had to abandon all thoughts of going out and enjoying a Saturday of glorious sunshine as I simply had too much to get done. It would be a day to spend at home, chained to my PC–which was just as well as my feet could certainly do with the rest after being seriously overworked during my trip to Cambridge.

Stuart did arrive at about 9. 45 when I put my brekkie together–honey yogurt with fruit and nut muesli and decaff coffee–I offered him a cup but he said he had just eaten his breakfast. He got to work while I ate and watched some TV–I love a TV program called Come Dine With Me–I watched re-runs. Breakfast done, Stuart was on the way out and I returned to work. Since  I would be spending the day indoors, I decided to do my laundry and got the machine running. While it hummed, I returned to my bed (my preferred place to work for at least the last 15 years although it is terrible for my back) and caught up with my blog. That took me to almost noon when I stopped to lay my washing out to dry on the stainless steel wrack in the house.

I took a break to speak on the phone to my friend Bina and to send out a few texts and email messages to friends in London whom I have not yet seen and whom I would like to meet before I leave. Their responses poured in instantly and interacting with them made me feel as if I had good company even while I was alone at home.

Working on Future Travel Plans:

Steadily and slowly, I tackled my To-Do List which also included making arrangements for future travel–tickets needed to be booked, itineraries needed to be drafted, accommodated needed to be reserved. I stopped for lunch at 1. 30 pm (a blue cheese sandwich on multi-seeded bread with a cup of soup) and then got right back to work.

I have an invited lecture to give at the University of Leeds in early November–so that was my first priority as I booked tickets and looked for sights close to Leeds that I could cover. I would dearly have loved to see Hill Top, the home of Beatrix Potter in the Lake District (which I had somehow managed to miss the last time I was there with Llew and Chriselle); but I discovered that there is no direct route from Leeds up north–one has to go via Manchester and the entire journey takes about 7 hours!

Since this was not feasible, I turned my sights to visiting another place I have long wanted to see–Chatsworth House, the home of the Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. It turned out to be much more easily accessible from Leeds via Sheffield. So I went ahead and made my bookings on National Express coaches with my Road Map of the UK spread out before me, my calendar at the side of me and all sorts of travel sites open on my PC. In-between, as I was using a new credit card, my payments would not go through–and I had to switch to using another one. All this ate terribly into my time and before I knew it, 6.00 pm was looming.

I had a long Facetime chat with Llew, Lalita and the children in Southport and then decided to have a very late cup of tea with carrot cake and a biscuit. It provided the sustenance I needed before I went in for a very late shower. My routine of the morning had been disturbed by Stuart’s arrival and stay in my flat. Deeply refreshed, I returned to my PC for more work–this time creating an itinerary for Llew and my travels in the Holy Land in mid-November followed by our motoring tour around France, followed by my stay in Paris for a week.

As you can imagine, it was never ending and drafting email messages (in French) for my friends in France to inform them of our imminent travels also took a lot of time. I did not even manage to get anywhere near creating an itinerary for my travels in Italy in mid-November (as I have been invited to give a lecture at the University of Padua)–this time is still on my To-Do List and will be tackled tomorrow. After I had put down all travel timings in an itinerary, it was almost 9.00 pm and I decided to take a dinner break and watch Lewis on ITV3–which I did. Dinner was ravioli in a creamy bottled tomato sauce with a cup of soup and a Tunnock’s Tea Cake for dessert. I enjoyed the show but could not keep my eyes open after 10. 30–so I shall have to catch the end of it on my laptop.

It was about 11.00 pm when I finally switched my light off after brushing and flossing my teeth.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Visiting the Handel-Hendrix House and Getting to Know New Friends Over Dinner at Acton

Oct15

Friday, October 14, 2016

London

Morning Chores:

I am awaking later than I like these days–this means that I do not have as much time to finish all the things I want to do before it is time for me to get down to work. Still, that said, I read through my email, got a bit of the world’s news through Twitter, drafted one blog post and then sat down to make a call to my Dad in Bombay that went on for almost half an hour. With only enough time to wolf down my cereal and coffee, I rushed in for a shower and left my home on schedule at 10.15 am exactly as I had wished to do.

Meeting at NYU:

I arrived at NYU at exactly 11.00 am just in time for the Research Fellows’ meeting with Eric and Ruth that took place on schedule over tea and coffee and lovely biscuits. We did have a lot to talk about and meeting with the other Fellows is always an opportunity for me to get to know some of them better. It went on till 12 noon when Ruth had to excuse herself and the meeting ended. I rushed off to my office to print out two chapters of my book that I now need to get down to proof reading and revising in order to get the manuscript off to my publishers by the end of this month which is my deadline.  With those chapters safely in my bag (I intend to work on them over the weekend at home), I left NYU’s Bedford Square campus–but just before I did, I picked up mail from my pigeon hole and found that my MasterCard that Llew had mailed me had arrived from the US. I did not open it–just stuffed in my bag and ran to keep my next appointment.

Meeting Raquel in the Handel-Hendrix House on Brook Street:

My next appointment was at 12.45 pm with my friend Raquel who had the afternoon off and offered to do something fun with me. We mutually decided to visit the Handel-Hendrix House on Brook Street in Mayfair as neither one of us had been there before. As the day pass by and I get bogged down by work and then have to leave London to travel, I am trying to see all the items on my To-Do List that still require perusing. This place was one of them and Raquel was keen to cover it with me.

The entrance to the twin houses is steep–10 pounds per head (but then these small museums rarely receive public funding). I arrived about ten minutes before Raquel and together, we bought our tickets and entered through a very narrow door on Brook Street that could so easily go unnoticed (unless you are as astute about London sightseeing as I am).

The cool part about this place is that for years it used to be the Handel House Museum.  The composer George Frederick Handel had taken rooms in this house in Mayfair in the late 17th century and had lived here and composed quite a few of his best-known works. It was the house in which he rehearsed many of the leading sopranos of his day and in which many leading composers and musicians such as John Gay, composer of The Beggar’s Opera, had come to meet him.

I had never been to this place although it had been on my To-Do List for quite a while. What moved it higher on the list was that it was recently opened as the Handel-Hendrix House, a couple of years ago–for the American musician and guitarist Jimi Hendrix just happened to have rented out the house next door–literally separated by a common wall and 300 years of history! Friends of the Handel House had been trying for years to acquire the Hendrix House and to join the two together as a museum–and when this happened it became a magnet for modern rock music lovers around the world–who come for Hendrix and stay for Handel. Or vice versa, of course.

The Handel House is rather Spartan–as might be expected. There are three floors that showcase his parlor and composing room on one floor, his bedroom on the next together with a shop. In this part of the house, there are many portraits of Handel, a sculpted bust of him as well as portraits of his contemporaries–other musicians and public figures of the day. His bedroom has been retained in the way it would have been in his lifetime although none of the furniture is actually his own (everything was sold soon after he passed away). There are also a few contemporary harpsichords and spinnets in the house to give an idea of the kind of instruments on which Handel composed.

On the third floor, one enters into the Hendrix part of the house. This house was rented by Hendrix after he arrived in London in the mid-1960s and took up residence in it with his then girlfriend Kathy Etchingham. Having done rather poorly during the early years of his career in the States, Hendrix was heard by a British musician who thought him to be the finest guitarist ever. He referred Hendrix to his British friend who then decided to become Hendrix’s manager provided he moved to London. Hendrix did so–and his career simply took off as the Brits embraced his talent in a way his own countrymen had not.

In the house at Brook Street, Hendrix lived in harmony with Kathy, visited by many contemporary musicians including George Harrison who often crashed in the adjoining room after a few hours of hard party-ing. The place was furnished and decorated by Kathy and reflects the taste of the hippie generation: bright colors, wildly patterned cushions and rugs, feathers, mirrors, jazzy fringed lamps. There is also a vast collection of LP records that he owned and which he often bought from the neighboring Oxford Street stores. Hendrix made wonderful music in this space and worked on several of his hit records while living here.

Memorabilia from the Hendrix era is far more interesting and colorful and can leave one absorbed for a couple of hours. His record collection that embraced the works of artistes as varied as Bob Dylan, Ravi Shankar, the Beatles and Handel’s own works are all on display. In fact, Hendrix was tickled to know that Handel had lived next door to him, 300 years previously, and because he had never heard Handel’s music, he went out and bought a few of his records! You walk through the bedroom and into the record room as well as the main hallway where there are pictures, quotes and the like to liven one’s visit. There is also a short movie to watch with clips from Hendrix’s musical career which allows one to get a taste of his music. We spent a lot of time in this space and thoroughly enjoyed walking down Memory Lane probably because Hendrix’s journey towards stardom happened in our own lifetime.

There are frequent concerts in this space for which one needs to check the schedule–however, all of these required paid tickets.

Lunch at The South Audley Pub:

It was about 2. 30 pm when we left the house and I was starving–Raquel had eaten lunch before leaving home while I was surviving on biscuits from our coffee meeting. She wanted to take me to a cute glass café on the rooftop of a neighboring building, but she could not find it. Instead, we wandered around Mayfair actually passing by the US Embassy on Mount Street and the sculptures of Roosevelt and Reagan before arriving at The South Audley Pub where she had a pot of tea and I had one of their small plates: a delicious portion of Mac and Cheese made superlative by all the gooey Gruyere cheese in it. It provided Raquel and me a chance to catch up and have a lovely long natter and make plans for future meetings.

Not too long after, we said goodbye and I realized that the credit card I had received needed to be activated before I could use it. I could not use my UK cell phone for international calls (even if they are toll free) and so I decided to go back to my office at NYU to make the call. I jumped into a bus that took me to Marble Arch and from there into a Tube to get off at Tottenham Court Road. I made the call, stayed for precisely ten minutes and left. For some reason, I felt tired–possibly because of all my activity of the previous day in Cambridge!

Back Home and Then Off For Dinner:

I stopped at Sainsbury to buy a dessert (Mandarin Orange Cheesecake) for the family that had invited me to dinner. By the time I got home, it was 5. 45 and I thought I had enough time to brew a nice pot of tea and eat a couple of biscuits before leaving for my next appointment–for I had been invited to her home for dinner  by a lady I had met only two days ago on the Tube–if you can believe it! We got talking and somehow decided that we should meet again. She gave me her email address and then, before I knew it, she was inviting me to her home for dinner! It turns out that she lives in Acton, not too far from my place–and so I accepted the invitation very graciously.

At 7.00 pm I left my home for my 7. 30 dinner with Ami and her family. During the evening, we actually got to know a lot more about each other. It turns out that Ami is originally from Bombay and that she met her husband Raj while they were both students at LSE–as they say her, while they were “at uni”. They were married 25 years ago and have 2 young boys–whom I also had the pleasure of meeting.

Ami and Raj live in a gorgeous home that they built a couple of years ago and only moved into fully early this year. It is a beautiful modern home gloriously furnished. Over a superb home cooked meal that included Tilapia Fish Curry, Mushroom Curry, Palak Paneer, Rice, Parathas, Salad and Pickle, I had myself a great meal with white wine to sip through it. They had also invited another one of their LSE classmates called Anuj (Ticks) who was from Nigeria too and who was also fun to be with. Conversation flowed easily as they talked about their transnational and transcontinental path to the UK–from India and Uganda to Nigeria to London via New York where, for a while, Ami worked as an investment banker. Today, they run their own business in property acquisition from Central London and are looking at putting their sons through university while thinking about their next move.

I thoroughly enjoyed myself with this lovely couple who made me feel so warmly welcomed into their home and who embraced me with a tremendous sense of hospitality–something I truly appreciate being so far away from my own home and loved ones. I have to admit that fatigue was getting the better of me by the end of the evening when I actually felt myself drop off a couple of times–much to my chagrin!

At the end of the evening, Anju dropped me off in his car to West Acton Tube station from where, five minutes later, I hopped into a train that took me home in 10 minutes. Tired and determined to take it easy for the next couple of days, I got into bed in 10 minutes and fell fast asleep.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

The Magnificence of Ely Cathedral and Visiting the Village of Grantchester

Oct15

Wednesday, October 13, 2016

Cambridge-Ely-Grantchester

Waking and Wondering:

Fort the first few minutes, when I awoke in my giant four-poster bed in the Parlor Room in the Fellows’ Wing at Trinity College, Cambridge, I actually wondered where I was! Then, when it slowly dawned on me, I sighed and lay back and savored the next few seconds. It is blissful–to have this deep sense of contentment that comes from gratitude–gratitude for the incredible opportunities that have brought me to this place and enabled me to participate in its special privileges.

Not too much later, I hopped out of bed and got ready for a shower. The clock on the Tower Gateway leading to the Chapel in the Main Quadrangle of Trinity chimed 8.00 am. There was no time to waste as I wanted to cover a lot of ground. My coach back to London was scheduled to leave Cambridge at 5.00 pm–I had better get a move-on.

After I showered, I packed all my belongings into my little overnight bag, made sure I had left nothing behind, locked the door of my room behind me, and left down the beautiful narrow corridor (once the servants’ quarter, no doubt) to the lower floors along a gorgeous dark wood broad staircase with its dazzling brass chandelier (very American colonial) to the Fellows’ Dining Hall. This was still empty but I could hear sounds of clattering crockery and low voices from the floor below. This was the Dining Hall and it was here that I would eat a splendid breakfast.

Breakfast in Trinity College Dining Hall:

Trinity College Dining Hall is presided over by a giant portrait of Henry VIII. its founded, gazing forbiddingly at the diners below–in the manner of the famed portrait by Hans Holbein.  By his side are his daughters Mary Tudor and Elizabeth. The sides of the Hall are filled with portraits of its Masters through the ages–with Nobel economist Amartya Sen very easily discernible.

I placed my bags down on the floor at one of the long tables where dozens of students were already eating hungrily and made my way to the ‘Servery’ where I decided to have a Full English Breakfast–fried egg (although I do not eat a runny yolk), sausages, bacon, grilled mushrooms and tomato, hash browns and instead of toast, I picked up a croissant with butter. The steward very gallantly offered me a glass of OJ and with it, I took my tray out to the Hall where I helped myself to coffee and condiments. It was all very orderly and as I tucked into my brekkie, I contemplated my plans for the day ahead. They would take some ingenuity on my part as I wished to see and do a lot in very little time. So without lingering too long over brekkie, although I would dearly have liked to stay in such august surroundings, I reluctantly stashed my tray and other paraphernalia and left.

I then left my bag behind in the storage cupboard in the Porter’s Lodge at Trinity and made my way on foot to the Drummer Street Bus Station to take a bus to Ely (pronounced ‘Eelee’), the little town about 40 miles away from Cambridge and home to one of the UK’s most spectacular cathedrals.

On the Train to Ely:

Except when I got the bus station, I discovered that the next bus was about 25 minutes later and that it took about 50 minutes to get to Ely. Well… I did not have that kind of time to lose…so I made a lightning decision to try the railway station instead. Taking directions again from a very kind man who actually escorted me to the stop, I found a bus that would take me to  Cambridge Train Station (as it is quite out of the way from the main city buildings). There I found a train leaving in just 10 minutes that  would arrive in Ely in 15 minutes–so it was a win-win situation all around and for a return journey of 4.50 pounds, off I went hurtling into the Cambridgeshire countryside. I marveled at the fallow fields I passed and the little villages that dotted them with a lone church spire rising occasionally to announce Christian habitation.

Arrival at Ely and Visit to the Cathedral:

Once I arrived at Ely station, I asked for directions and went off on foot to find the Cathedral.  It was actually pretty easy to find as the spires of the cathedral tower above the city. A girl at the station pointed me in the right direction uphill and, in about 15 minutes, I was at the Cathedral Close. But before I got to the main door, I was struck by its architecture which is rather different from most English cathedrals. Instead of pointed spires, for instance, it has rounded ones–several of them. The Sculptural decoration on the outside is noteworthy for its complexity and I was repeatedly struck by it. Adjoining the cathedral is the Old Palace of Ely which was once occupied by the powerful Bishops of Ely–today it is a local parochial school.

You go through a very old small wooden door to enter the cathedral which, in the West Wing, completely dwarfs you by its soaring ceiling in which the figure of Christ is beautifully painted. Then, as you go deeper into the long Nave, you are struck by a most unusual ceiling–different from anything I have seen in any other cathedral. It is entirely painted with depictions of the prophets and scenes from the Bible in a Medieval style which looks surprisingly fresh and new–this probably has to do with more recent refurbishments. There is a lovely sliding mirrored table that the visitor can wheel along the Nave in order to see the paintings reflected in it (they have a similar contraption at Banqueting House in London to enable one to admire the grand painted ceiling by Rubens). I paused to take a close look at those paintings without straining my neck.

Past the Nave, the visitor arrives at the most architectural fascinating part of the Cathedral–the Octagon. You will need to raise your neck to gaze at the eight-sided ceiling–a combination of wood and stone–to take it its finely painted interior that glows in rather unusual colors for a cathedral–soft pinks, blues and apricots. It is absolutely beautiful and but for the threat of getting a crick in your neck, you will want to gaze at it forever. On either side of the Octagon are two more Wings–that imitate the shape of a cross: these have stunning timbered ceilings that are (again, most unusually) seemingly held up by superbly-painted angels with a wide arm span. These are some of the features of the cathedral that make it completely different from any other that I have ever seen (and I have seen a whole host of them, over the years).

The Shrine of St. Etheldreda and the Lady Chapel:

Just past the Octagon, one goes through the Choir Screen (again, a masterpiece of Medieval metal craftsmanship) and passes by the beautifully carved choir stalls. Just past them, one encounters a little shrine that is given pride of place in the cathedral–it is the Shrine of St. Etheldreda who in 973 founded an abbey on the site of the cathedral and spent her lifetime in holy activity despite enormous harassment from contemporary political forces. She is buried under the shrine and although it was once a very popular site of Christian pilgrimage, devotion to her seemed to have diminished in ferocity. St. Etheldreda’s Church at Ely Place at the end of High Holborn (near Holborn Circus) which was once my parish church when I lived in that part of London, is named after her as it was the Bishops from Ely who arrived in London in the 1100s to found the church that still carries her name.

I noticed closely the gilded reredos (altarpiece) by going really close to it and then took a side exit into one of the side aisles to admire the many funereal carvings, sarcophagi and sculpture that make Medieval cathedrals so atmospheric. I saw knights fully clothed in armor standing by their coffins, courtiers in full regalia leaning, almost seductively, against their own coffins, effigies of kings and queens and knights and their ladies lying down on top of theirs. On the floor, there are brass inlays (it is possible to get rubbings of any of these) and on the fan vaulted ceiling, there are bosses (carved stone disks that depict saints or Biblical symbols such as lilies, sheep, etc.). I skirted around the altar and walked over on the other side which was when I came across the Chapel to Our Lady.

Almost every Cathedral has its ‘Lady Chapel’ but this is the largest one in the UK. It is surrounded by intricate stone carvings that form individual seats for the prelates of the church. The sculpture of Our Lady itself in an unexpectedly modern one.

When  I emerged back in the Nave again, I knelt down to a say a prayer when a voice came over the PA system inviting all visitors to join in a few moments of prayers that were conducted by one of the canons. When they ended, movement across the cathedral continued again. Many people had arrived in small tour groups and they were receiving guided tours of the cathedral. Others signed up to take a Tower Tour which offered, I am sure, superb views of the surrounding countryside. There is a very good and very informative leaflet available at the entrance that one of the assistant hands out. With it, I was able to take a very good self-guided tour of the place.

Outside, the visitor can spend a great deal of time taking in what remains of the Cloister as well as the other medieval administrative buildings that are still in use by the clergy. I, however, did not have too much time to do this as I wished to take the 11. 52 train back from the station to Cambridge. However, before I left, I asked one of the assistants if she could tell me of any other significant places in Ely that I should not miss. She told me that right across the park from the Cathedral Close was the home of Oliver Cromwell and that it was open to visitors. So off I went in search of it.

Visiting Oliver Cromwell’s Home:

Oliver Cromwell, the puritan who called himself Lord Protector and overthrew the monarchy in 1642 to usurp the British throne, is one of those historical figures that the British do not seem to know whether to revere or revile. His rule lasted until 1660 when the political ‘Restoration’ brought King Charles II out of exile in France and re-established royal rule in the country.

His home in Ely is a lovely half-timbered cottage with stucco walls that have been turned into a museum. When I entered the place, I found that there is an entry fee and a guided house tour that goes with it. As I was the only person there, they would wait for a while before more visitors arrived to give the tour. In the meanwhile, I was invited to browse in the shop.

Of course, I did not have the time to do that and thanking the assistant, I left to walk briskly to the station to get my train back to Cambridge. I made it in good time, caught the 11. 52 to Stanstead “calling at” Cambridge which was the first stop and where I reached in 15 minutes. My next port of call was Grantchester Village and I had to find out exactly how to get there.

Trying to Find My Way to Grantchester:

I walked to the local bus station to find out if there was a local bus that would take me to Grantchester and was told that I would need to get to the City Center and take a bus from the Drummer Street Bus Station there. I was also advised to buy a Day Travelcard from the driver which would make my entire journey more economical.

There was nothing else to do but wait in an icy and very fierce wind that seemed to whip out of nowhere to torment passengers at the stop. Mercifully, the bus arrived in 10 minutes and I clambered on. At Drummer Street, I caught the 18 bus that then took me to Grantchester where, the driver said I would reach in about 15 minutes.

Why was I going to Grantchester? Well, for two reasons: when I was in the seventh standard in my convent school in Bombay, I had became aware of the poem by the war poet Rupert Brooke called ‘The Old Vicarage Grantchester’ which is simply filled with country images of Nature and folks who go about their lives in a kind of bucolic stupor. It has always stayed with me as did the final two lines of the poem: “Stands the church clock at ten to three/ And is there honey still for tea?” How could one not conjure up images of quiet happy serenity in the midst of crazy crowded Bombay, when reading those lines? Of course, I had no idea that Grantchester was a little village outside the university city of Cambridge and I think I really got to know that fact only very recently.

However, the second reason I chose to visit was because Llew and I have become fans of a detective TV show called Grantchester that is shown on PBS in the US. It features the Vicar of the parish church, Sidney Chambers(played by the handsome and brilliant James Norton), who gets involved in local murder mysteries which he helps solve with is friend, the local Inspector Geordie Keating (played by the handsome and brilliant Robson Greene). Set in the 1950s, the series of detective short stories was penned in the early 1900s by James Runcie. The idyllic village is very much a part of the series and local residents have often been invited to feature as extras in it.

I was keen to see the extent to which the village is accurately depicted and to find the source of Brooke’s great idealism. Hence, I thoroughly enjoyed the short bus ride that took me out of Cambridge and into the quiet country lanes and then country roads that led to Grantchester. A sweet lady told me where to get off and then pointed me in the direction of the church made famous by Brooke.

Discovering the Village of Grantchester:

I hopped out of the bus and turned a corner past one of  a set of lovely thatched roof cottages and found myself on the High Street. This really is a misnomer for the village could not be quieter or less low-key. You pass The Green Man pub and The Red Lion Inn (does not every village in the UK have a pub and an inn so-named?) and walk along the street towards the church whose tower you can see from the top of the street. All along are lovely period houses with stucco walls and rambling roses and country gardens filled with late-summer blooms.

The Church of St. Andrew and St. Mary sits quietly again with not a sound surroundings its grave yards except for the hum of an occasional car that travels up the lane. Its clock, a feature that every visitor comes to see, now strikes the correct hour (after recent repair and refurbishment). A lone gardener was working in one of the graveyards when I passed by the War Memorial that carries the name of Rupert Brooke who died in 1915 in the midst of World War I. His famous poem, however, was penned in 1912 when he was stationed at a hospital in Berlin and was seriously ill. There, hot, sweating and in a feverish stupor, his mind took him back to happier days, when as a student at Cambridge University, he had taken lodgings in the Old Vicarage. Those years were engraved in his mind as a supremely happy time. He recalled lilacs that bloomed in spring right outside his window as well as the vast number of other flowers, birds, meadows, etc. that surrounded the village. All these find a place in his glorious poem, a link to which is to be found here:

http://www.englishverse.com/poems/the_old_vicarage_grantchester

I entered the church and was struck by how dark it was. Few visitors had come on the day I arrived and, doubtless, there are plenty more during the summer. There are a lot of postcards and other tourist literature available at the entrance especially those proclaiming the role that the church is currently playing in the filming of the TV series. I knelt in prayer, then after a few minutes, toured the church to take in the varied features that do not make it much different from thousands of churches across the British Isles that sport similar features. Brooke died probably never knowing how firmly he had placed this church on the tourist and literary map. Once I left the church, I walked around the church yards (there are four of them) taking in grave stones that hail from several past centuries beginning with the 1600s.

I had a bus to take back to Cambridge in about a half hour (there is only one bus per hour after 1.00 pm) , so I did not have much time to waste as I tried to find The Old Vicarage that Brooke had depicted so well. Being that it was a vicarage, I expected it to be near the church,; but, in fact, from making inquiries of a couple that were walking past, I discovered that there was a house further down the lane and past a snaky curve that belonged to Lord Jeffrey Archer (yes, the novelist) with some sculptures in the front garden that was probably the Old Vicarage.

They also suggested I visit The Old Orchard Tea Room where there is a “museum”. They did not tell me that it was a museum dedicated to Rupert Brooke or I might have gone there. Still, it was good to pass by it and to know, from later reading, that they still serve honey and bread at tea-time (in a silent tribute to the poet). I must also say, at this point, that when I had read the poem as a 12 year old, I had assumed that the honey for tea referred to sweetening one’s tea with honey. I did not realize that it was a reference to spreading honey on bread to be eaten at tea-time! This, of course, is what the Old Orchard Tea Room offers–but I had no time to check it out.

I found the Old Vicarage and saw the lovely bronze sculpture of Rupert Brooke in the front garden, wearing his soldier’s garb, and looking ever like the idealistic young student who went gung-ho to World War I. I took pictures of the outside and of the gatepost that proclaims its literary antecedents–the Old Vicarage, it said.

Then, pleased as Punch that I had managed to accomplish all that I set out to do, I walked back up the High Street, nipped for a minute into Manor Farm that dates from the 1300s and belongs to King’s College, Cambridge, and then into The Green Man pub and The Red Lion Inn where recent filming of the Grantchester TV show has taken place. Just before I left, I walked behind the pub to get to the stile that leads to the Meadows and to the river where Sidney is often seen relaxing and picnicking with his lady love Amanda.

Grantchester was truly a delight to survey. It is these unexpected and impulsive forays that I make to places like these that make my stay and my travels in England so special and so significant. The bus trundled along on schedule and in I went for another lovely drive through the countryside to arrive at Cambridge.

Last Few Stops on a Whirlwind Tour of Cambridge:

By then it was about 2.45 and I had about an hour to see something else I had been meaning to cover–the Pepys Diaries in the Pepys Library at Magdalen (pronounced ‘Maudlin’) College. It was quite a bit of a walk from the Drummer Street bus station as Magdalen is one of those colleges that are outside the city center. However, the upside was that I got to pass right by the famous Round Church that I had never been inside or even seen before. I had no time to visit it, but I hurried on a bridge over the River Cam where dozens of punts were seen basking in the weak sunshine and entered the main entrance of Magdalen College where I followed signs that led to the Pepys Library–a rather plain looking but very elegant building that is jazzed up with tumbling baskets of bright fuschia.

Inspecting the Pepys Diaries in the Pepys Library at Magdalen College:

There is no fee to peruse the Pepys collection–a vast personal library of books that were bequeathed to the college by the famous 18th century diarist who so vividly documented The Great Fire of London in 1666. I entered it and was taken by the quietness and neatness of the space. A couple from America were the only other visitors and I believe the man was an academic whose work covers Pepys.

In addition to one of the volumes of Pepys’ Diaries (there are several of them)  that are kept open and has a page turned each day, there is a vast collection of original musical scores as Pepys was a great lover of music and spent a lot of money buying original Medieval and Renaissance scores. He was a singer and devoted several hours to his passion. The library is filled with oil portraits of Pepys done at various times in his life and of the interesting manuscripts that are part of his collection, including nautical ones associated with Henry VIII’s notorious ship, the Mary Rose and medieval artists’ sketching books of birds. It is all quite fascinating indeed and had I more time, no doubt, I would have lingered longer.

Back to the Bus for Journey Home to London:

I hurried back to Trinity College to pick up my bag from the Porter’s Lodge, bought a postcard from one of the souvenir shops and then arrived at the Green where National Express picks up and drops off passengers. Considering how much I had managed to cover in just two days, I was not amazed that I felt as if I had spent a week in Cambridge. I was early by half an hour but in 15 minutes, along came my bus and into it I jumped. I got the covered front seats and enjoyed my journey back to London as the evening gave way to twilight and darkness fell over the land.

In more ways than I can recount, my visit to Cambridge was marvelous and easily one of the most memorable experiences of my academic life. I felt deeply grateful to the Lord who has provided me with these sterling opportunities to garner memories that will dwell in my heart forever.

I reached Victoria at 8.00 pm and since I had eaten my sandwiches on the bus, I did not need to organize dinner when I got home at 8.30 pm. I had a bit of ice-cream, however, and fell fast asleep as I was quite wiped out by my excursions.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Cambridge, Here I Come! Lecture to Grad Students at Center of South Asian Studies.

Oct14

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

London-Cambridge:

I set my alarm for 6.00 am, but awoke at 5. 30 am–always happens when I am setting out on a trip (my body clock is better than any alarm clock!). This left me enough time to wash, get dressed (though not for a shower), prepare breakfast sandwiches (as well as sandwiches for lunch), tidy and settle my flat (there was a chance of it being shown to prospective tenants by realtors) and leave on schedule at 7.00 am for my 8. 30 am coach from Victoria to Cambridge–for yes, I was off to “The Other Place’ where I was invited to give a lecture to the grad seminar students at the Center of South Asian Studies by the dons from Trinity College. I felt honored and privileged–and all keyed up!

I arrived at Victoria at 8.00 am which left me adequate time to buy a coffee and board my coach. The journey was start and go all the way out of London (which took forever), plus I was seated right behind the driver in what, I thought, was a coveted place (except that he was in a non-stop conversation with a blind man who happened to have been a National Express coach driver and could not keep his mouth shut). He should know better, I thought, about distracting the driver with his constant chatter–but needless to say, the first chance I got (when the bus made a stop at Strafford in the East End), I changed places and went for some peace and quiet to the back of the bus as I had hoped, once again, to review my lecture and think about any possible questions it might provoke.

Given the terrible traffic delays leaving London, it is not surprising that we arrived in Cambridge 45 minutes behind schedule at 12 noon. Passengers waiting to board the coach for the return journey to London were tugging at the bit–and as I got off, I turned to a young black woman and asked her to point me in the direction of Trinity College where, I was told, a room had been reserved for me. Imagine my surprise when she told me that it was too complicated to explain and that she would run me there in her car as she had merely arrived to drop her friend off to the coach station. So, there was I, once again, getting a ride from a total, well-meaning stranger. We had a lovely chat together (she was called Malika and was from Guyana, a nurse at the local hospital) and fifteen minutes later, there I was.

Arrival at Trinity College:

Malika dropped me off at the Avenue of striking tall trees that go across the River Cam at The Backs and lead to one of the entrances to Trinity College. Naturally, since the sun had come out quite valiantly, I had to stop to take a couple of pictures of my first sight of visitors punting on the river and of one of the bridges of St. John’s College that was upstream. In two minutes, I was at the entrance and being escorted by one of the dapper, bowler-hatted porters who led me past the Tudor Quad and the Neville Court (which houses the famed Wren Library) and through antiquated wooden doors to arrive at the Main Quad where I could not help but gasp. He showed me the Porter’s Lodge under the main Gateway where I was expected to report to the Porter and pick up my room key.

Trinity College boasts the largest Cambridge College Quadrangle. It is focused around a beautiful ornate fountain that is surrounded by vivid red geraniums. As I walked by it, it could hear the musical lit of softly dripping water. I circled around it and walked under the grand Tudor Gateway with its sculpture of Henry VIII and women of the court and entered the Porter’s Lodge. There, sadly, I was told that check-in time was 2.00 pm–I had about an hour to kill, so I stashed my overnight bag in one of their cupboards for safekeeping and went out to discover the town.

Re-discovering Cambridge:

I had last been to Cambridge about eight years ago but I had rather vivid memories of that day. Apart from the fact that it was icily cold then, I did recall the wonders of the Fitzwilliam Museum that had been like a revelation to me as well as taking a walking tour of the colleges that had led me over the many milestone bridges over the Cam. This time, I intended to see parts of the town as well as parts surrounding it (as I would be staying overnight and had the whole of the next day to do my sightseeing). This time, however, I did not have a map–so my forays were haphazard. I went where the will took me and since it was past 1.00 pm (when  visitors are allowed inside) , I figured that the Wren Library of Trinity College would be the place at which I would start. So I retraced my steps through the Main Quad, past the little wooden door where the aromas of cooking and eating assailed my hungry nostrils (I would return to eat lunch here) as I was passing right by the ornate Dining Hall of the college. I entered it briefly to take a picture of it (a portrait of Henry VIII, its founder dominates it). Then I was hurrying through the cloisters of Neville Court to arrive at the Wren Library.

Perusing the Treasures of the Wren Library:

The Wren Library is so-called because it was designed by Sir Christopher Wren. It has a simple, almost plain, façade with a number of stained glass windows (which lead one to think it is a chapel). Upstairs, you are led into a hushed long space that is flanked on both sides by tall bookcases with a treasure-trove of leather-bound books topped by marble busts of Classical writers (such as Horace and Seneca) on one side and busts of English writers (such as Dryden and Swift) on the other. The main window is not of stained glass but is painted–it represents Sir Issac Newton (the most famous alumnus of the college) being presented before the King. At the bottom is Francis Bacon (also a luminary of the college).

The biggest treasure of the library, however, are its original manuscripts and these are placed in glass cases to allow the visitor to peruse them carefully. I was most delighted by the original manuscripts, written in his own handwriting, of A.A. Milne’s Tales of Winnie The Pooh (also with his original illustrations). These, together with the other treasures in the cases, were bequeathed to the Library. I looked at all of them very carefully and thought I lucky I was to be able to see these words that ranged from Medieval illuminated manuscripts penned by monks to contemporary works that date from our own times.

Lunch, Then In and Out of Other Colleges:

Crossing the Neville Court again and arriving at the Dinning Hall, I decided to get myself some lunch. I entered the ‘Servery’ (only Oxford and Cambridge still retain the use of antiquated words like ‘Servery’, ‘Buttery’ and ‘Infirmary’!) and chose to eat delicious Braised Lamb Chops with Gravy served with Fried Potato Disks and Brocolli. Gravy for the Potatoes was in the Main Hall and it was there that I took my tray, sat down and ate while being gazed upon my past Masters of the College, including India’s Nobel Laureate Economist Amartya Sen who was Master of Trinity till 2014. My meal, considering that it was an institutional offering, was quite delicious indeed, and replete with it, I set out to see some of the college. It was about 1. 30 pm by then so I still had a half hour to spend before claiming my room key.

I popped in next door to King’s College and discovered that there was a fee to enter its magnificent and famous Chapel. By then it had started to drizzle and I was grateful for the little umbrella I had taken out of my bag and carried with me. The entry fee to King’s Chapel is a steep 9 pounds (yes, that is 9 pounds) and I was loathe to pay it for a few minutes’ visit. Having already attended Evensong at King’s, a few years ago, I remembered it well and decided instead to try to return for the 12. 30 Afternoon Prayer service tomorrow when I could enter the chapel sans fees.

I then walked through the side street that led me into Gonville and Caiius (pronounced ‘Keys’) College where I had the chance to tour its quads, nip into its chapel and survey its Fellows Garden. Most of the colleges are open to visitors between 2 and 5 pm. and unless the college is able to boast a sought-after treasure that every visitor clamors to see, there is no entrance fee. Gonville and Caiius has rather unusual architecture in his arched gateways–but, other than that, it is not a big crowd-pleaser.

I arrived by then on to King’s Parade, which is a strip of road in front of the main entrance to King’s College, lined on the other side by shops. More recent viewers of British detective and crime drama in the US will recognize it as the street along which the Vicar of the Church in the neighboring village of Grantchester, Sidney, rides his bicycle, his gown flapping hard behind him as the brilliant actor James Norton plays him.  I was also close to Market Square, so I did decided to browse in it and discovered that it was taken over by a flea market of sorts. I also did find the Tourist Information Center in a side street and nipped inside to get a map and find out how I could get to two places I would like to visit tomorrow–as my return coach to London only leaves Cambridge at 5.00 pm: Ely  (pronounced “Eelee”)Cathedral in the town of Ely and the village of Grantchester. The assistant advised me to take the train to Ely (as he said it would reach much faster and cost the same amount) and he told me which bus to take to Grantchester (which was much closer to Cambridge than Ely). I thanked him and left.

Taking Possession of my Room in Trinity College:

I returned to the Porter’s Lodge at Trinity, got my bag and my key, took directions on how to get to my ‘Parlor Room’ (which overlooked the Main Quad) and ten minutes later, there I was, in the Fellow’s Stairway, climbing up a grand wooden staircase punctuated by portraits of past Fellows and arriving at the third floor and entering a narrow corridor where I pushed past my door and entered my most enchanting room. It was furnished in period style with a four-poster bed dominating my room and with a dresser, pull-down desk, bed side tables, a large cheval mirror and a huge armoire filling the pace–but still leaving much space to get lost in as the room was so huge.  I headed straight to the dormer windows, pushed open the curtains and looked down upon the Main Quad with such a sense of excitement that it is hard to describe. I had to pinch myself several times. How was it possible that I was occupying a room in the Fellow’s Staircase, past a Fellow’s Parlor and a separate Fellows Dining Hall, to take possession of a room in a college that had been founded by Henry VIII? As I gazed down at the courtyard, I thought, Nehru was a student here, Sir Issac Newton produced his Laws of Gravity here, Thomas Babbington Macaulay (whose notorious ‘Minute’ brought English education to the Indian sub-continent) studied here–and here was I? It was truly mind-blowing. And as I unpacked my few belongings and placed them in the drawers, I decided to take a nap in readiness for my lecture at 5.00 pm. So I curled up on the massive four-poster bed and tried to sleep.

It was impossible. I was much too keyed up. So I lay and took a rest, then decided to make myself a cup of coffee in the adjoining room where all the fixing’s were laid out and returned to my room. I sipped it while doing a bit of emailing and whatsapping through the wifi whose password had been given to me and then I still had a half hour before I intended to leave. I decided to take a shower (as I hadn’t showered in the morning) and was absolutely charmed by the completely adjoining en suite bathroom that was up-to-the-minute modern with a small rain shower cubicle and a full-size bath tub! Here was something more mind-boggling: a Renaissance College in a Medieval University with a Modernist bathroom! I discovered later than mine was the only ensuite room as other visitors to the college, occupying rooms down the same hallway, use bathrooms opposite the hall. Had I lucked out or what?

Shower done, I changed into the presentation clothing I had carried (crisp white shirt, grey jacket, formal dress trousers, Hermes scarf) and I left. I took directions from the Porter who directed me to the Center of South Asian Studies in the Alice Richards Building past the avenue of trees and on the main road outside from where I got Cambridge’s most iconic photograph: King’s College Chapel from The Backs. And then, ten minutes later, after I met Barbara Roe who had coordinated the entire lecture effort for me, I was being escorted to the lecture hall by Kevin Greenback who had set up my Powerpoint presentation and who asked me if it was okay to have my lecture live streamed. I told him it was fine.

Giving a Guest Lecture at the Graduate Seminar:

A few minutes later, I was meeting Prof. David Washbrook, a Fellow of Trinity and Ed Anderson, the Smuts Research Fellow, who made me feel welcomed and who would provide company for the dinner that would follow the talk. I settled myself at the podium and at 5.00 pm after the room had filled up considerably with MA., M.Phil and Ph.D. students from varied disciplines with an interest in South Asian Studies, I began my talk on “Britain’s Anglo-Indians: The Invisibility of Assimilation’. Very soon, as often happens, I eased into my lecture and was pleased to see that many students were taking notes, typing on their laptops or listening intently. My talk went on for the 45 minutes I had been given and was followed by Q&A that went on for at least 20-30 minutes. I was amazed at the number of questions that were asked and the quality of them. Although some of the scholars were mature, it was the younger ones who were most eager to ask questions and to comment. Their comments were astute, their insights acute and deeply inspiring–as might be assumed, of course, in one of the world’s premier institutions of higher learning. It was fun to grapple with them and provide more information and it was good to see that I had created enough interest in the subject that students wished to know more. David moderated the questions and called a halt to them about 20 minutes later when he invited the gathering to discuss the matter even more with me over drinks.

Drinks were offered two floors up in a small corridor. I had a glass of wine as I needed to relax after being nerve-wracked for most of the past couple of days. I felt relieved that the ‘work’ part of my assignment was over and that I could chat with the many students who crowded around me to ask more questions or make more comments. It was indeed another very satisfying half hour before we said goodbye to everyone.

Dinner at Loch Fyne Restaurant:

I was scheduled to have dinner with David and Ed who then led me on a beautiful night along Trumpington Road to Lock Fyne Seafood restaurant where we had reservations. It was a nice companionable walk during which time I got to know a bit about Ed who is a South Asianist working on the Emergency in India.

At the restaurant, my hosts ordered another bottle of white wine (a Portuguese wine, rather significantly) and the prix fixe three course menu. I went for the Soft-Shell Crab Pakora which was surprisingly delicious and interesting served with a blob of Tartar Sauce and Grated Carrot Salad, the Portuguese Seafood Stew which was a lovely mixture of prawns, octopus, squid and monk fish in a lovely well-flavored fish stock and for dessert, I had a really wonderful Clementine Tart served with Chocolate and Orange Ice-cream that was amazing. Wine and conversation flowed easily during our meal as we talked about folks we know in common and David’s presence at NYU events in the past in New York City. It was about 10.00 pm when we were all done and I was thanking my hosts for looking after me so well and for giving me the opportunity of a lifetime.

We walked back along what seemed to me like rather dark streets (far dimmer than the ones in Oxford) on Trumpington Road. Ed said goodbye halfway through and David and I continued as he has rooms in Trinity college. He saw me as far as my staircase and after I thanked him very much, I decided to have a coffee in the Fellows Parlor which is open till 11.00 pm. There I did some more emailing, sipped my coffee and then climbed the staircase to my room. Once again, I felt an acute ‘high’ at being in such an august space. It is one thing to be a student in such institutions–it is completely another experience altogether to be considered a peer and to be treated as one by colleagues who work in the same fields of research and scholarly endeavor. I was completely and fully psyched, chuffed and stoked (as Brits would say) by the entire experience and it was bathed with a sense of the deepest gratitude that I fell asleep when the clock on the Tower above the College Chapel chimed 11.00 pm.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Working at NYU, Sir John Soane’s Museum and Discovering Dickens’ London

Oct11

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

London

I am waking up, for some reason, between 4.00 and 4. 30 am each morning and staying awake for an hour. I then fall asleep again at about 5.00 or 5. 30 and do not wake up until 7.00 am. This is throwing my whole schedule out of whack and I am not even sure if, in the end, I am getting enough sleep. Luckily, when I am in London, I always seem to function on an adrenalin-fuelled high: I rarely feel fatigued and rarely crave sleep. So, let’s hope this unprecedented burst of energy continues despite disturbed sleep patterns.

Once I woke up, I did not waste much time. Cecil, my friend, was supposed to come in here with a TV set, but he texted to let me know he would come in the evening at 7. 30 pm. I caught up with my blog, then reviewed my lecture–all without getting out of bed as I usually work on my laptop while still in bed. When I had made a few changes, added more bits from another chapter of my book and was satisfied with my work, I emailed a copy to myself at my office at NYU. I then washed and got my breakfast organized: I had mango and passion fruit muesli with coffee. I also made myself a cheese and pickle sandwich and packed it up with a sachet of soup. Once done, I went in for a shower and finding out that it was rather chilly today, I dressed warmly and left my flat at exactly 10.00am.

I reached my NYU office at Bedford Square at exactly 10. 45 and worked at my desk till 1.00 pm. There was much printing to be done and much material to review as I prepared for my invited lecture tomorrow in the Center of South Asian Studies at Cambridge University.

At 1.00 pm, when I was all done, I went down to the Faculty Lounge to get hot water for my soup and to eat my sandwich lunch. By 1.45, with beautiful bright sunshine beckoning outside, I decided to take a look at one of my favorite places in London and a place I always make sure I visit on each prolonged stay in the city–Sir John Soane’s Museum.

Re-Visiting a Favorite Venue–Sir John Soane’s Museum:

Sir John Soanes was an 18th century architect who has left a lasting mark upon the city in a few iconic buildings that carry his markedly Classical signature: the Bank of England, 10 Downing Street, The Dulwich Picture Gallery and the Church of St. John’s at Bethnal Green (where I had attended Mass two weeks ago). He was also a passionate and compulsive collector and he devoted his life to attending auctions where he bet on literally thousands of architectural fragments and contemporary paintings that he somehow managed to accommodate in his home at Lincoln’s Inn Field–which, by the way, happens to be the largest Square in London.

Soon, his original home was inadequate to accommodate his treasures and he ended up buying the two houses that adjoin No. 12, i.e. Nos. 11 and 13. After his death, he bequeathed his houses and their contents to the nation with the stipulation that nothing should be moved unless absolutely necessary. Today, the three adjoining houses form one of London’s most unique and intriguing spaces. Being such an architectural buff myself, I adore this place and always make it a point to return. For me, it is not just the collection that is intriguing but the manner in which he displayed his finds that keep me enthralled.

Inside the Museum:

Apart from the multitudes of architectural fragments and models that one finds inside, the Museum is also a house that Soane shared with his beloved wife and an office in which he ran his firm, made his designs and maintained a career. The visitor goes through beautifully-appointed rooms such as the Main entrance hall, the living room-cum-dining room, the library. Upstairs are bedrooms. Downstairs is the kitchen and the crypt–a repository of even more items in the collection. There is everything you could possibly imagine: friezes, classical statues, sculpture, busts, plaster seals, urns, vases–anything of a classical nature was his obsession. There is even an entire sarcophagus from Egypt whose arrival in his home he celebrated with a three day party! There is also a Monk’s Parlor–the only Gothic part of the house which contains wonderful medieval architectural fragments and many stunning examples of stained glass.  It is truly hard to imagine that one man could have accumulated so many items in a single lifetime. I couldn’t help feel sorry for his wife and his servants–imagine all that dusting!

Also quite remarkable about the house and probably its most amazing feature is the picture gallery he designed which exists in three tiers or layers. The guide opens one set of doors to reveal another and then another. On one side, there are paintings of Soane’s designs as executed by Joseph Gandy, a good friend and an artist. There are also a couple of painting by Turner who was also a close friend. On the other side, there is the entire original set of Hogarth’s series of paintings known as The Rake’s Progress. I was very fortunate to catch a guided tour during which the guide gave a detailed explanation of the entire story of debauchery which meets its ultimate punishment. Really interesting stuff! It took me about an hour and half to peruse the Museum at leisure.

A Walk Through Dickens’ London:

Then, when I emerged from the museum and found that it was still bright, I decided to take advantage of the light and go off on another guided walk as delineated in my book on Memorable Walks in London by Frommer. The walk began at Lincoln’s Inn Field, took in the Soane Museum and led me to the other side of the field to John Foster’s House with its portico. Forster was a friend of Dickens and the house is said to have been the model for the home of John Jarndyce in Bleak House. At the end of that lane was The Old Curiosity Shop–and for the first time in my life, I actually went inside it! It is a shoe shop today, run by a group of Orientals, one of whom opened the door for me when I rang the bell. Inside, I saw a bevy of wonderfully-made shoes, each of which was like a work of art. I was really thrilled to have finally been inside the House that Dickens made popular in his novel The Old Curiosity Shop. Across the street is the new wing of the London School of Economics that my friend Barbara had especially taken me to see on a visit to London last year.

I then passed the Royal College of Surgeons (where the Hunterian Museum that I have visited before is located). It is a building built entirely in Neo-Classical style by none other than Charles Barry who designed the Houses of Parliament and Highclere Castle (setting of Downton Abbey). Right by it was one of the buildings of the LSE (London School of Economics and Political Science–Mick Jagger is an alumnus–although he dropped out before graduating). I decided to nip inside–because I had never been in before. Unfortunately, you need an ID card to enter the electronic stile. I had a quick look around, noticed that K. Antony Appiah of NYU gave a lecture there just a couple of days ago, and I left.

My next port of call was Lincoln’s Inn itself–one of the Inns of Court and the one that Dickens referred to repeatedly as the Court of Chancery in his novel Bleak House. It was a graduation day of sorts for I saw a number of young folk in gowns and wigs posing for pictures. I walked through the glorious gatehouse (the playwright Ben Jonson is said to have laid some of the bricks in his job as a mason) and entered the vast courtyard. I then made my way into the Chapel which is a masterpiece by another brilliant and famous English architect, Inigo Jones. The metaphysical poet John Donne was once the Dean of this Chapel and he preached here quite frequently. So much history–architectural and literary–wrapped up  in one place. A service was about to begin in ten minutes–so I merely made note of the glorious stained glass windows and the one above the main altar with its hundreds of crests worked into the design.

I passed Wildy and Co. (the oldest law book seller in the UK) and arrived at Carey Street where I entered The Seven Stars pub (one of the smallest pubs in the country) and one that Dickens frequented. There are illustrations from Dickens’ novels on the walls. Past Bell Yard, I arrived on Fleet Street where my attention was drawn to the obelisque crowned with a dragon that is known as Temple Bar and that marks the line of demarcation between the City of London and the City of Westminster.

At this point, I crossed the street to get a picture of the ornate and splendid Gothic façade of the Royal Courts of Justice (whose interior I have toured on a previous visit) when the Lloyds Bank Royal Court Branch caught my eye. Indeed, I have passed by this place on foot on many an occasion and had never really ‘seen’ it before. It is an exuberant collage of ceramic tiles that create twin fountains plus walls that are grand in their quiet pastel colors and Orientalist design. Inside, there are two more small chambers to cross where the ceramic tiles on the walls are so gorgeous that it is hard to believe I had not seen any of this before. Many of the tiles placed together on the wall form the features of characters in the plays of Ben Jonson. I took a bit of a rest in the main hall where banking operations were very much in progress and then I made a detour next door.

By this time, I was tired and thirsty–so it was handy that Twinning’s main store was just around the corner. I was aware that they do tea samplings and I joined in to taste a delicious herbal tea that was warm and refreshing and completely hit the spot. By then, it was about 5.00 pm and I had been on my feet for hours. I decided to suspend the walk and pick it up again another time.

It would be best for me to walk to Holborn to take the Central Line from there directly back home–but I got side tracked by a café that had a very good deal on Afternoon Tea (cake and a cup of tea or coffee for 3. 65 pounds!) I stepped in, ordered a decaff Americano and a thick slice of Green Macha Cake with Raspberries that was very good indeed.

Half an hour later, I was on the train and home by 6.00 pm. I Facetimed with Llew for a while and then opened the door to Cecil who arrived with my TV set. Unfortunately, although it looks good, he could not find the aerial–so I will have to wait until that is set up. Anyway, as I will be out of town and in Cambridge for the next two days, I would not be watching anything till Friday.

I got myself organized for my early morning departure tomorrow–packed a small overnight case with clothing and toiletries and then sat down to catch up on my blog. Dinner was Indian food that was leftover from a previous meal–lamb korma with bread and another cup of soup with ice-cream for dessert and then I called it an early night as I have an early morning wake up call.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Chained to my Laptop Preparing for Invited Lecture at Cambridge University

Oct11

Monday, October 10, 2016

London

Usual Morning Rituals:

My day began with the knowledge that I had to draft and prepare for the invited lecture I am to give on Wednesday in the graduate seminar at the Center of South Asian Studies at Cambridge University. I awoke at 7.00 pm (rather late for me but I also woke up in-between and was awake for an hour), blogged a bit, caught up with routine email and had my breakfast–fruit and nut muesli with passion fruit and mango yogurt and decaff coffee. While munching, I watched Making a Murderer (as I am now hooked on to the series once again). I next showered and shampooed my hair and while it dried, I got down to serious work.

Working on my Lecture:

From 10.00 am until 1.00 pm, with a pause in-between while I chatted with my Dad in India and Facetimed with Llew (I gave him a proud tour of my lovely new flat), I worked on my paper. It went faster than I thought as I gleaned most of the information from the Introduction to my book.

At 1.00 pm, I stepped out of the house to buy a couple of items I needed from Boots and Morrison’s and ended up having bought Fawlty Towers—The Complete Series from the Octavia charity shop for 4 pounds–what a steal! In the end, my onlky souvenirs from this stay in the UK will be a bunch of British DVDs.

Bach home, I had lunch: the other half of my sausage and onion roll (from my Saturday pub lunch with Roz)with lashings of English mustard and a cup of soup.

Then, it was back to my drawing board again and this time as I re-drafted and proof-read, I also created a Powerpoint presentation to go with my talk. I was quite satisfied with it when I finished at 6.00 pm. at which time I brewed myself a cup of tea and ate it with Carrot Cake from MandS–unfortunately, I found the cinnamon in it too strong and the cream cheese frosting too sweet–not a fave!

It was just beautiful outside today–the sun was bright, the sky cloudless and the temperature very comfortable if you were well-clad. At 6.00 pm (when it had already turned dark), I got a text from Greg who was supposed to deliver a TV set here–to tell me he had become tied up with his little boy and that his father would drop it off the next day.

I contemplated going off for a bus ride–but then I decided to get back to my laptop and continue working. And I did that till at least 9.00 pm, when I had my dinner (cup of soup with ravioli with tomato and herb sauce). I sent off the Powerpoint presentation to the chap at Cambridge who is in-charge of setting it up for me and quickly received an acknowledgement from him.

I fell asleep at about 10.15 pm after reading a bit more of On Chesil Beach.

It is amazing how sometimes what appears like a most uninteresting day can actually be the most productive. Tomorrow, I shall review my talk, re-draft and make changes, if necessary, and then go to my office to print it all out.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

 

Sunday Mass at ‘Farm Street Church’ and Visiting Florence Nightingale Museum

Oct10

Sunday, October 9, 20167

London

Having accomplished my weekend goal (getting out of town to see some place new) yesterday when my friend Roz and I drove to Runnymede, I decided to enjoy a leisurely Sunday in London before the pressure of the coming week hit me. So it was very casually (after waking up early to blog and catch up with email) that I had my breakfast and showered and decided to go for the 10.30 am Mass to Westminster Cathedral. Only when I reached Ealing Tube station, I discovered that there was a delay in the departure of the train as someone had messed up two of the seats and the railway’s entire cleaning crew seemed to have been deputed to clean it up. It took forever as they sprayed and scrubbed and did things with rolls of plastic sheeting! Needless to say, this delay would have made me very late for Mass—so thinking on my feet or on my butt (for I was seated in the train!) I decided to catch the 11.00 am Mass at The Church of the Immaculate Conception which is also known as Farm Street Church.

So I got off at Oxford Street and changed to the Victoria Line that took me to Greek Park from where I crossed Berkeley Square on foot and arrived at my destination well in time.

Mass at The Church of the Immaculate Conception:

I have forgotten how gorgeous the interior of this church is—it is pure Gothic Revival. In fact, it is a cross between the Gothic and the Baroque—for while it has a soaring nave and magnificent fan vaulting on the two side aisles, it is an exuberant burst of color and texture in the decoration employed—marble pillars, a stone carved reredos, painting on the ceiling, loads of statuary. There is so much visual excitement when you enter that you are kept awed for ages.

Then, as if this were not enough, it happened to be a Sung Latin Mass—and you had to hear the choir to believe it! I mean they were truly sensational. It was also very easy to follow as they had handy Latin Mass Books that you could pick up at the entrance and with those aids, I found myself fully engrossed. Of course, the Readings and the sermon were in English—but everything else was in Latin. The Church was quite respectably packed and I was happy to see a mixture of ages—from young to very old, participating in the service.

After Mass, we were invited to join in for coffee in the Rectory. It was there that I made friends with a very nice lady from Pimlico called Angela who then introduced me to one of the priests, Fr. Chris, who was a fine conversationalist. With a cup of coffee in my hand and something called a Tunnock’s cake (it was a chocolate covered marshmallow on a biscuit base—absolutely delicious!), I circulated and met a few people. The good priests of this church, Jesuits all, were pleased to know that I am from Fairfield, Connecticut, where their famous Fairfield University is located.

On the Bus to the Florence Nightingale Museum:

One of my goals for the day was to visit the Florence Nightingale Museum—because now that I am back in London, I have a few sights I want to complete ‘seeing’. Anyway, I got into the C1 bus near Green Park and hopped off at Victoria and from there I took a 211 across Westminster Bridge that dropped me off at St. Thomas’ Hospital on the South Bank in whose basement the museum is located. I paid the entry fee of 7.50 pounds and then tried to focus on what is a very small museum. However, when I discovered that they had no café inside, I decided to go out and find some food. I was directed to the Main Entrance of St. Thomas’ Hospital where there was an MandS Simply Food from where I bought Scotch eggs that I ate there before I began my exploration of the museum.

By the end of the visit, I was quite annoyed by the place. For one thing, it is really small—one wonders what they are charging 7.50 pounds for—there was really very little to see. A few items that personally belonged to the Lady with the Lamp were the highlight for me—her fire screen, a chair and a parasol. Several diaries, journals and medical note books that she maintained in her time and that are written in her own handwriting in faded sepia ink were also valuable. There were examples of the kind of clothing she might have worn in her time. Another big highlight for me was the actual kind of lamp she would have carried with her as she made her rounds among wounded soldiers during the Crimean War. Artists who depicted her presented the wrong sort of lamp in their paintings—a more English-style one, whereas she would have used a typical Turkish-style one as she was based a lot in Scutari and Balaclava.

What I found best about the museum was the information about her family life, her relationship with her sister, Parthenope, why she turned to nursing and how much she did for the profession. There is a section on Nursing since her time (which was very informative) but was shown mainly through pictures. I did not know, for instance, that she was very active in the Nursing School at St. Thomas’ Hospital—which is why the museum is located in its premises. There is also a small section on Edith Cavell who was trained in the same school and became a renowned nurse herself.

Finally, the museum contains a lovely section on Peter Pan and J.M. Barrie’s bequest of all proceeds of the play to the Great Ormond Children’s Hospital because he was closely associated with it during his own lifetime. There is marvelous information in this section on how Barrie came to write the play, his relationship with the children of the widowed Sylvia Llewellyn-Davies and her boys, his special affinity towards suffering children—we all know that for the first performance of Peter Pan in London in 1911 he brought in 25 orphans whose laughter was so loud and so infectious that they completely made the show the hit it became. Over the years, the hospital has gained vast amounts of money (from international productions of the play plus books, film and pantomime versions of it) and although they cannot disclose how much, let’s just say it has almost single-handedly kept the work of the hospital going.

Most annoying about the museum were the gun-throated parents who arrived with children and behaved as if they were in their own personal living-rooms. They read curatorial notes so loudly as to be a huge disturbance to everyone else around and interacted with their children incomplete disregard of the fact that there were other patrons inside who were trying to concentrate on what they were seeing and reading. With no guards in any of the ‘rooms’, it was impossible to seek assistance to get them to quieten down. Overall, among the many museums I have visited in London, I certainly liked this one the least. The staff at the front desk were also not the slightest bit friendly. The one who sold me a ticket in the afternoon was snooty, distant and cold. I have to wonder why they take on ‘people-oriented’ jobs when they barely have the skills to be civil.

Tea with Friends in Chelsea:

It was while I was in the museum that I received a phone call from my friends Michael and Cynthia in Chelsea. I had intended to visit them to pick up some items that I had left in their home for safekeeping. Now that I live in a flat that has super security in a neighborhood that makes me feel completely safe, there is no need for them to hang on to my things. I took a bus across Westminster Bridge, then nipped into the Circle Line tube to get to their stop at Sloan Square from where I walked to their place. It had started drizzling and it is coming home to me that since it’s rather unusually warm and sunny summer is past, England has returned to its regular weather pattern of rain at any time! It might be best for me to keep a small brolly always in my bag!

I had a lovely hot cup of lemony tea with a biscuit at Cynthia’s place where I stayed for over an hour. We lefttogether  at about 6.00 pm as Cynthia wished to attend Benediction at nearby Holy Trinity Church and I hopped into the Tube to get back home.

Dinner and Some Blogging at Home:

Just before I got to my apartment, I rang the doorbell of my neighbors’ flat as my landlord Stuart had told me they were from India. I met both Anu (short for Arnawaz—how pleased I was to discover that she is a Parsi!) and Vikram and their little one, Jesmine. Our visit was brief but they were lovely—young, warm and welcoming and wanted to know if there was anything they could help me with! I am sure I will see them again and get to know them better.

I spent the rest of the evening with my laptop as I caught up with more blog posts. About 9. 00 pm, I stopped to have dinner (my leftover Curry Laksa from Hare and Tortoise—so so delicious I could eat it daily!) and while I ate, I continued watching Making a Murderer on Netflix which is getting more intriguing as it goes along. At about 10.30, after reading a bit more of On Chesil Beach, I switched the light off and went to sleep.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Running Off to Runnymede with Roz and Playing Catch-Up at Home

Oct9

Saturday, October 8, 2016

London

Preparing for a Day Trip:

I was glad to spend most of the day with a friend as Chriselle’s departure has left me aching for her and for company in general. My friend Rosemary (Roz) and I had made these plans ages ago–that we would spend this Saturday on a day trip somewhere–preferably to a National Trust property as she is a member. Only even as the day dawned, the two of us had been so busy (she at work) and me with my move and Chriselle’s departure, that we were simply at a loss as to where we should go. She suggested Grey’s House near Henley (but I had been to Henley very recently), I suggested Ely Catehdral (she said it was too hard to fight traffic through the north of London before getting on the motorway), I also suggested Bateman’s, Home of Rudyard Kipling (she said it was also too far for the limited time we had) and Ely Cathedral (she said it was great but too far–as she needed to get back home by 4. 00 pm). In the end, she suggested Runnymede and since neither one of us had been there, well…that was where we went.

Accordingly, I awoke before 6.00 am to catch up with my blog and travelogue on my travels in Eastern Europe and had my breakfast (fruit and nut muesli with yogurt plus a croissant with peanut butter and coffee). By the time we spoke, it was already 9. 00 and I had not yet showered. We made plans to meet outside Sloan Square at 10.00 am but when I got to Ealing Broadway Tube station, there was no train for about 10 minutes–and when I got to Notting Hill Gate, there were no trains running towards the city. I needed to take a train going backwards to Earl’s Court and change there–long story short, the London Tube service is horribly aggravating on weekends and one must factor in far more time than usual to get anywhere. Live and learn. I called Roz, told her I was running dreadfully late and by the time I did reach her, it was almost 10. 45. What a dreadful journey!

Still, once we got together, time flew as we chattered on non-stop and she expertly negotiated her car out of the city and towards Heathrow airport because Runnymede (as I discovered) is not very far from there. Throughout the journey, I wondered if we were on a wild goose chase as I recalled what my friend Sue had told me. She had made the journey to Runnymede by public transport with her English friend and was put down by a bus in the middle of a roundabout. She said that all they could see was this endless field stretching out before them along which they had to trudge on a horridly hot day. In the end, she said, there was simply nothing to see there. I reported this to Roz–who had expected a palace or a house on the premises. She became less optimistic as we neared the venue–but, in the end, our excursion was far from fruitless.

Arriving and Exploring Runnymede:

As everyone knows. Runnymede, on the banks of the Thames, near Maidenhead and in the county of Surrey, was the venue where perhaps the greatest historical event in British history and one of the greatest events in World History occurred in 1215. King John, who had overstepped his position, was forced by his barons to sign a charter that limited his powers and placed more decision-making in the hands of his people. The King, it appears, signed it, but hoped to get it annulled by the Pope–something that never happened. The barons grew from strength to strength and British monarchy has since that time had its powers heavily curtailed. For the rest of the world, the Magna Carta, a single sheet of parchment written in Latin and sealed with the King’s seal at the bottom, became the definitive document on which all important legal and constitutional edicts have been modeled–including the Constitution of countries as varied as the US and India. Copies of the Magna Carta are on permanent display in several parts of the UK (the British Library in London and in Salisbury Cathedral, for instance, where I have seen them on many occasions) and last year (in 2015) when it faced its 800th anniversary, a great number of celebrations and commemoration services were held. It would have been nice to have visited Runnymede last year–but Sue was right. Getting there by public transport is a bear. Having a friend with a car drive you there is really the only way to go.

Not much has changed at the venue in 800 years–the River Thames still flows placidly only steps from the vast Meadow in which the signing was done. It is a wide green field filled with placid brown cows who act as natural lawn mowers. The property is maintained by the National Trust, but there is no entrance fee as it is simply an open-air venue (there is no palace or house to visit, although there is a small Tea Room).

What there really is to see at Runnymede is a series of Memorial Monuments that signify various important unions between countries. For instance, there is a gazebo or canopy that was constructed by the American Bar Association in 1957. From time to time, its members return to mark their allegiance to the document upon which America’s legal system is based. There are plaques around the monument stating the dates on which these re-commemorations have occurred–the last one being last year. Six oak trees were planted around the property with two more added by the current Queen and the Prime Minister of India in 1994.

There is also a Kennedy Memorial that Roz and I found very interesting. After President Kennedy was assassinated, the UK thought it would be fitting to create a memorial to mark his sterling Presidency. Runnymede was chosen as the spot because of his great devotion to the principles of freedom and liberty for all men. Hence, the Kennedy Memorial is a series of beautifully crafted Portuguese stone steps that lead to a massive Portland stone slab on which a dedication to the President has been engraved. A hawthorn tree was planted nearby to signify his religious–Roman Catholicism. The entire area–from the time one passes through the wooden stile to the slab–is land gifted to the USA. So when you pass the stile, you are technically on American soil. It was good to return home again (even if briefly). We had a few raindrops that appeared from out of nowhere while we were in this venue. Perhaps President Kennedy was weeping at the mockery that the American elections have become on the day that the damning tapes recording Trump’s deplorable attitudes towards women were revealed to the world.

Visiting the Air Forces Memorial:

Not too far away, although one needs to climb a hill called Cooper’s Hill (steps are well embedded in the slope) is the rather forbidding edifice of the Air Forces Memorial. Although it is easily accessible from Runnymede Meadow, it is technically in Englefield Green in Egham, Surrey. Roz and I crossed the meadow with difficulty as the cattle that eat the grass are heavy and in slushy soil their hooves make very deep indentations on which there is the great risk of twisting an ankle. The climb up Cooper’s Hill is not so challenging as the gradient is gentle and you have the occasional pleasure of picking and eating wild blackberries–now mostly dried up on the bushes. But it did take up almost 45 minutes to reach the venue from the field.

The Air Forces Memorial, designed by Edward Maufe, commemorates the lives of over 20,000 British and Commonwealth soldiers who died for King and Country in the two World Wars. It is a substantial, solid monument designed around a green quadrangle in the fashion of medieval cloisters–there are arched corridors through which one walks while passing through walls on which the names of every single one of these 20,000 odd soldiers in engraved. That task alone was a mammoth one and it is amazing that such a place exists. On the roof of the cloisters are seals and crests of the various regiments–I even caught an Indian one featuring the Ashoka Pillar and three lions on it and the names of several Indian air force personnel who gave their lives for the cause of freedom from Fascism and the Nazi scourge. There is also the crescent moon and star crest signifying the contribution of Pakistanis and I did see the engraved name of Inayat Khan as well. At several spots, we found tributes of flowers, poppies, poems, photographs, left behind by recent visitors who still affectionately remember a relative long gone on his birthday or death anniversary.

One of these tributes reduced both Roz and me to tears–it was left by the great grandson of an airman who died just before the D-Day Landings at Normandy in 1944–his son was born four months after he passed away. More than sixty years later, his memory is being kept alive by the great-grandson who never even knew him. The story was so poignant because the airman was the son of a British convict who had been sent to Australia for which he never forgave his country. He was so upset when his son left Australia to join the British air force that he never even shook his hand when he left Australia for training in the UK. He was sent to the battlefields with just three weeks of training. When his aircraft was hit by an enemy shell, he had to abandon it over water and was drowned at sea.

There are steps that lead up to the terraced roof of this memorial at its highest point. Roz and I climbed them to receive stirring views of the Barking and Surrey countryside. In the distance, we could see the Control Tower of Heathrow airport on one side as planes came in to land every half a minute. On the other side, we could see the grand soaring silhouette of Windsor Castle and the roofs of Eton College, the famed boy’s school on the banks of the Thames. Just for the views alone, it is worth visiting this monument. On a clear day, they are probably far better–but although it was cloudy, we had fairly decent ones ourselves. We took many pictures and commented on the fact that not much might have changed in 800 years since Magna Carta was signed–as there are no buildings or skyscrapers anywhere in the surrounding areas.

More recently, there was a dedication of the spot and the building by Queen Elizabeth who arrived there with her husband and her late mother, Their signatures in the Visitor’s Book are proudly displayed as is the key that she was given by the architect. We, more humble visitors, could also sign a Visitors’ Book. It is amazing how many people come to this little-known spot (I would imagine that the kin of those who died and are immortalized here would be aware of this place, but few others would even know it exists). There is a peace and quiet to the area (as is fitting) and beautiful manicured lawns that lead to its entrance. Both Roz and I found this monument far more engaging than Runnymede itself. If my friend Sue had discovered it, she would probably not have found her excursion to be so much in vain.

Lunch in Windsor:

By this time it was well past 1.00 pm and both of us turned our thoughts to lunch. No doubt the little Tea Room run by the National Trust would have served a sandwich, but we decided to get to Windsor to find something to eat. And it was there, in the Three Tuns Pub close to Old Windsor that we settled down for pretty light lunches–a BLT sandwich for Roz, a sausage and onion marmalade sandwich for me with chips and salad. I also had a half pint of Guinness as it is rarely that I get the opportunity to get to a pub and find draft stout. About an hour later, we returned to Roz’s car and started our drive home. Roz dropped me off at Earl’s Court where I hopped into a Tube that took me back home. Fortunately, this time round, it was a much less stressful journey.

A Relaxing Evening at Home:

As I was almost falling asleep in the car on the way back, I decided to take a little nap as soon as I got home–which I did. I am really thriving on the energy of Ealing and lapping it up. It is firing me up in ways I had well imagined–and seeing the way it has affected by psyche for the better is simply marvelous.

I spent the rest of the evening, catching up on my blog as I brewed myself a pot of tea and ate a chocolate éclair. I also settled all my papers which had faced great disarray during my move. Now that I have everything well sorted, I feel much more at ease. I also drafted several blog posts and managed to upload a few–all of which had to do with our travels in Eastern Europe. I still have several to go, but at 9. 30, I stopped to have dinner. I boiled water for some ravioli that I bought from Morrisons and together with a bottled tomato and herb sauce, it made a splendid dinner that I ate as I watched a TV show called Still Game–about a bunch of old codgers in Glasgow. Just their accents and intonation alone make me laugh (and the plots are just as wild). I am still awaiting the installation of a TV set which is imminent–but for the moment, my laptop will suffice.

It was about 11.00 pm that I settled down to do some reading before turning out the light. From Roz, I have borrowed On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan to re-read and it was the sheer beauty of his writing that saw me off to bed.

Until tomorrow, cheerio…