Archive | January 2009

Historic Presidential Day Across the Pond and Lunch with Loulou!

Jan20

Tuesday, January 20, 2009
London

A new era has dawned! Change is here!!! Finally! There is a Black President in the White House. And not just any man! What a Man! Someone to look up to. At last there is someone of whom I can feel proud and supportive. It’s been a Loooonnnnng eight years and we have waited a Loooooonnng time for this moment. I awoke this morning to the awareness that this was going to be a day like no other. It is said that one will always remember where one was when Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th President of the United States and for me the response will be “all alone at home in my flat at High Holborn”. In a way, it is great that my stay in London will be immortalized through this historic event and I could not have felt more proud to be an American in London as my eyes teared up frequently while watching the goings-on at Pennsylvania Avenue. Never in my lifetime did I ever imagine that I would see a Black President in America.

This is the culmination of a long journey–one that began on those infamous ships that traced the Middle Passage carrying human cargo. One that continued on those bloody plantations of Virginia and South Carolina. One that revolted on the non-violent streets of Alabama in the 1960s. One whose struggle was given voice in those stirring words, “I have a Dream”–a dream that became reality today as Black people can now claim their place in American History not as African-Americans but as Americans.

This is a man I can look up to because he does not come with an impressive pedigree preceded by a dynasty that allowed him to be raised in the lap of luxury. This is a man with whose background, in so many ways, I can truly identify: a man born of an immigrant father whose struggle in his early days in America led him to bus tables in a restaurant. A man whose very father abandoned him when he was six so that he grew up without the influence of this male role model. This is a man who did not allow that absence in his life to hold him down or tear him apart. This is a man who used no family connnections, no Godfathers…nothing but his determination to succeed–his audacity–to take him to Harvard and then on to Congress. This is a man who was rasied by a single parent–a mother who wished him to have nothing but the finest education (which led her to send him to live with his grandmother in Hawai’i to study at the fabulous Punahou High School in Honolulu) and by a grandmother for whom he was not a grandson but a son itself. As someone whose daughter was co-raised by a grandmother, my eyes swim when I think of how cruel fate was in not allowing the gracious Madeline to watch as her beloved grandson assumed the oath of Office of President of the United States of America.

Given the time lag, I began watching BBC coverage at 4 pm local London time which was 11 am in Washington DC. Of course, being the BBC they pulled no punches when commenting on America’s outgoing President and took a few good jabs at a man whom I will always remember with loathing. I could not wait to see the last of him and to know that he is being replaced by a man of such sterling quality is beyond heartening. I had considered joining my American students and even getting together with my American colleague Karen to watch the historic coverage. But Karen was busy and I figured that I’d really be most comfortable in my sweats and my slippers lounging around on my couch in my living room and taking it all in with total ease.

My day began with my 10 am Global Cultures Class which has a total enrollment of 2 students. They were delighted when I informed them that the course would be taught as an Independent Study Module and through Tutorials in true British style. I packed them off with a long reading list, tons of photocopied material to get them started on their research and a list of films to watch. I spent a while photocopying more material, then an hour later, I left for the British Museum where I had lunch plans with Loulou Cooke, a lovely English lady with whom I had made friends a few weeks ago. Since I was early, I spent an hour in Room I completing the exhibit on ‘The Enlightenment’ that I had started watching several months ago but had to abandon when plantar fasicitis hit me.

At 1.00 pm, I arrived at the main gate of the British Museum and was joined a few minutes later by Loulou. We adjourned to the Museum Tavern, a lovely historic pub that is located bang opposite the museum, a pub which Karl Marx once frequented. Over fish and chips and a half pint of Strongbow cider, Loulou and I got to know a little more about each other and discovered that we have a lot in common including daughters who both love acting and who are working in New York City.

Loulou and I walked back home after lunch. We parted company at the Holborn Library where I stopped to pick up paperback copies of Harry Potter as I am determined to read all the novels in the next few months. Fortunately for me, both the first and the second titles in the series were available and I was able to bring them home. Though I had read the first one a long time ago, I figured I would start at the beginning and go right through the series. Tim and Barabra have lent me three more of the books–all hardbound–so I have my reading cut out for me. Back at home, I decided to take a bit of rest as I still don’t feel too well. Crocin is suppressing my flu-like symptoms and after months–and probably for the first time since I arrived in London–I actually took a short afternoon nap.

Then, it was 4 pm and I became glued to the telly as I watched history being made. I sent an email to Llew, Chriselle and Chris in order to feel part of the jubilant spirit of the nation and of the American people on this day–and all three of them communicated back with me so that, across the pond, we were truly united on this red-letter day in America.

Spring Classes Begin and Seeing an NHS Physiotherapist

Jan20

Monday, January 19, 2009
London

Rain poured down at dawn on the first day of classes as I showered and breakfasted and left my flat early to take the bus to get to Bedford Square. The idea was to beat every other faculty member to the basement copy machines. I needn’t have worried. No one else had surfaced for a first class on a Monday and I had the premises entirely to myself. In fact, I had only 7 students in my Writing II class in the lovely ornate Room 12 with its brass chandeliers and its ornamental ceiling plasterwork and moulding.

Class One is devoted to going over the syllabus and explaining course requirements and getting to know new students. The way I did this was through an assignment entitled ‘Primary Sources’ in which I ask students to pick any 6 words or short phrases that best describe their journey through life. They then expand on these phrases by writing an accompanying paragraph that fleshes out the essentialist idea and helps create a mosaic that informs the reader about the writer’s past. They set to work cheerfully as sunlight flooded the room. I am looking forward to this course which includes field trips with accompanying assignments to Cornwall as well as Portsmouth and Winchester when the weather turns warmer.

During my hour long lunch break, I caught up on email, did some more photocopying and noticed that life had returned to the campus’ academic building, former home of Lord Eldon, Chancellor of London. Other professors started to descend down to the copy machine. I had a chat with Llew who was headed to Manhattan to meet Chrissie to pick up the stuff my parents and I’d sent through her for him from India. We decided to speak again later in the day.

At 2pm, I left for my second class which is located in the University of London’s Birkbeck College. This Writing II class had a larger enrollment–16 to be precise. Several were returning students who’d taken my Writing I class last semester but several were new faces, three of whom are from Turkey. It is like a mini-United Nations in this classroom with students from India, China, Korea, France and the United States and, no doubt, they will bring a great deal of their own background and heritage to bear upon our study of London’s multi-cultural and multi-racial quarters as well as the ethnographic profile that I have asked them to create based on individual research and personal interviews. It promises to be an exciting semester and I am looking forward to it.

I left this class early at 3. 30 pm (instead of 5 pm) as I had an appointment with the specialist physiotherapist that the NHS has finally allotted me. Imagine… I had to wait for three whole months to be granted an interview with a specialist physiotherapist. This, I guess, is the down side of socialized health care. In the United States, I’d be able to see any specialist of my choice within 24 hours. Here, I had to wait for three whole months! On the other hand, in the United States, the visit would have cost no less than $400–of which I’d have to pay a co-pay of $30 per visit, my medical insurance covering the rest. In this country, I was not required to spend a penny but imagine if I hadnt seen a private physiotherapist as I did in October itself since my Aetna Global Insurance covered it, I’d have been writing in agony for 3 months before I could find relief from pain! It is truly hard to imagine such a situation and it explains why the United States is so reluctant to go the socialized medicine route. The wealthy would never tolerate this sort of time lag even while the poor would finally have access to quality health care. It is an impossible dilemma to resolve and today, the day on which the first African-American President of the United States is sworn in as the leader of the First World, I have to wonder whether we Americans will ever be able to settle this impasse.

Paul was very professional indeed as he started from scratch. I had to go through the plethora of questions–where, when, how did the affliction (Plantar Fascittis) assault me. What have I done so far to relieve my condition? What sort of exercises have I been prescribed? etc. etc. He started from Square One, asking me to walk across the room so he could assess my gait. I was pronounced to have a right foot that is flatter than the left (hence the persistent pain in its arch), a right foot that flares out slightly when I walk, weak hip and knee muscles (that are probably responsible for the pain in my knee every time I have done a bit too much walking). Paul recommended a series of exercises (I will be retaining two of the old ones and adding two newer ones) as well as an exercise that involves the use of an elastic rubber band to strengthen the muscles on my right ankle. He too (like my homeopath Alpana Nabar of Bombay) has suggested that I avoid all unnecessary walking for the next two months at least to allow the muscles and tendons to relax completely. This means that I will have to scrap all self-guided walks though I can still do the museum visits in short spurts. I have to admit that I was rather “naughty” (as my friend Cynthia Colclough puts it) and as soon as the pain in the knee disappeared over the two weeks that I stayed in Bombay (where the warmer weather also helped), I was out and about again…hey, you can’t keep a good gal down! Now I know better and shall follow doctor’s orders walking no more than for 20 minutes at a stretch and carrying as light a load as possible. The very thoughtful gift that Chriselle gave me for Christmas (a pedometer) will prove very useful as it measures the number of steps I’ve taken, the number of miles covered as well as the number of calories that have been expended with each step that I take.

On the way home, I felt the beginnings of a cold. My throat felt raspy and dry and I became aware of a strange weakness descend upon me. I took a Crocin immediately and had an early dinner and got into bed with the idea of turning in early. Then the phone began ringing off the hook–first it was Cynthia catching up with me after my return to London, then Stephanie Provost called. She is a close friend of my close friend Amy Tobin and has also been posted in the UK for a year from the States. She is a marketing whiz and works for Twinning Tea Company and will be launching this product line in Europe. Her work involves a great deal of international travel but she is certainly up for doing anything cultural or artsy as well as taking daytrips with me on the weekends. The good news is that the company has given her a spiffy car–a Lexus–and pays her gas bills! This will allow us to take daytrips at the weekend once the spring thaw arrives. The bad news is that she doesn’t work in London but in Andover and, therefore, lives right now in Wimbledon (on the outskirts of London) and will likely be moving shortly to Richmond. We have made plans to meet on Sunday, January 25, to take a day trip to Oxfordshire to see Blenheim Plaace and Klemscott Manor (home of William Morris) and will synchronize our respective calendars at that point and try to find weekend slots during which we can take in a few new plays and go to the opera. So many wonderful plays have recently opened in the city starring some really big names (James McEvoy, Imelda Staunton, Hayley Atwell, Patrick Stewart, Ian McKellen, Edward Fox, Christopher Timothy, Steven Tomkinson, etc.) and I am keen to see them all.

Just then Llew called and we had a long chat and caught up with everything that had happened that day. He had the day off (Martin Luther King Day) and with the USA gearing up for Obama’s big inauguration tomorrow, it promises to be an exciting and very historic day in the country.

I was asleep by 9. 30 and awoke at 5. 30 am (which I guess is better than awaking at 3.30am!) but I still keep hoping that I will sleep until at least 6 am each morning. I guess I am slowly getting there.

Westminster Cathedral, National Gallery and Lunch at Carlucci’s

Jan18

Sunday, January 18, 2009
London

Since I had resolved when I first arrived here, that I would go for service to a different historic church every Sunday, I did some research last night and discovered that Westminster Cathedral (not to be confused with Westminster Abbey which is Anglican) is the largest as well as principal Catholic Church in the UK and, therefore, well worth a visit. I awoke again at 5 am and continued reading Bombay Tiger in bed before I stirred, took a shower, had my breakfast sandwich (purchased from Waitrose yesterday) and set off.

There wasn’t a soul on Fleet Street as I awaited the bus at 8. 30 am. London is lazy on a Sunday morning and but for the fact that it was bright and sunny, I might have felt a little uneasy waiting at the bus stop while entirely alone on “Grub Street”. Bus Number 11 arrived about ten minutes later and deposited me at the Cathedral within 15 minutes while the 8 am mass was concluding. This allowed me to admire the vast exterior of the cathedral which resembles streaky bacon and is matched by the other streaky bacon buildings in the vicinity which is to say that they are all striped horizontally in red and white! The cathedral is a fanciful Byzantine structure complete with massive dome and towering campanile or spire. It has a grand semi-circular mosaic panel at the entrance which is echoed by a similar one behind the main altar.

Inside, I spent a few moments in prayer at the Chapel of the Blessed Sacrament before I was able to admire the grandeur of the main sanctuary that has an impressive baldachino or altar canopy made of eight columns of yellow Veronese marble. The domes are darkened and the cathedral is in the process of being refurbished as was evident from the metal scaffolding that mars the back of it. It is the sheer size of the structure that is most striking but I have to say that it was freezing cold as there was no heating in evidence at all. I shivered throughout the service and wondered why anyone would attend mass in such a cold and uninviting space. The mass itself was short and sweet. There was no choir and no hymns at all (something I sorely missed and which would have added a great deal to the ambiance). Three new altar servers were inducted into the Guild of St. Steven and they received an ovation from the congregation.

I left the church and walked right into a freezing winter wind that whipped all around me as I stood at the bus stop to wait for the bus to take me back to Trafalgar Square. I intended to return to the National Gallery to finish the last 7 rooms comprising the 17th century painters and when I got there at 10.15, I found the Gallery quite empty. As I was saying, Londoners start slowly on a Sunday!

The rooms I saw this time round comprised the work of the Flemish Masters especially Peter Paul Reubens whose canvasses are most awesome in their size and scale and variety of subject matter. I also saw wonderful work by Zurbaran, Velasquez and Anthony Van Dyke including the famous equestrian portrait of Charles I. I will now begin my examination and study of the paintings from the 18th to the early 20th century before I turn my attention to the Tate Modern where the collection continues. What a marvelous journey this is turning out to be! I feel so fortunate that I have the time to study these works in such detail. I am also indebted to the policy that keeps the museums in London free of charge because I know I would not be able to afford to pay a fee each time I entered to view the collection.

Then, it was time to take a bus again and get to Sainsburys to do some grocery shopping for the week. With some cold cuts and cheese, I have ingredients to fix myself a few sandwiches as classes begin tomorrow and I will need to carry lunch. I also bought a couple of quiches as I find it so much easier to eat simple dinners of this kind rather than to cook myself.

Back home, I had time to start writing a letter to my parents before I rang the doorbell of my next door neighbors Tim and Barbara to see if they were ready for our 1 pm lunch appointment at Carlucci’s. This wonderful Italian chain to which they introduced me is extremely popular in London and has a location just a ten minute walk from our place close to the Smithfield Meat Market. We have been here before and it is now starting to feel rather homey! All three of us went for the Lunch Special which included either a Mixed Salad or a Bread Basket, a Pasta of our choice and a coffee for 8.50 pounds. Tim chose the Ravioli, Barbara had the Tortellini and I had a Linguine with Seafood. With beers to go around and coffee and ‘pudding’ (Tim had a Key Lime Tart while Barbara had a Crepe stuffed with Vanilla Ice Cream and a Raspberry Sauce) which I passed on as they ran out of the Tuscan Sponge Cake soaked in rum and served with toasted almonds and chocolate shavings which I had absolutely adored the last time I was there, we had ourselves a really great meal.

Best of all, we caught up on so many things that have happened since Christmas which they spent at Eastbourne. It is always fun in their company and by now they have grown to feel like old friends. I was sorry that I had to turn down Tim’s invitation to join them for a kedgeree dinner on Thursday evening when his nephew will be visiting as I have made plans to see Slumdog Millionnaire with my friend Rosemary Massouras.

The evening passed by as I caught up on some grooming chores, made my sandwiches and a TV dinner. I finished the letter to my parents and emailed it to my brother Roger in Bombay, then made myself comfy on the couch watching an Inspector Lynley Mystery. One long conversation with Llew later, my day came to an end.

Tomorrow starts a new semester. I can hardly wait to meet my students and get back into the swing of an academic routine.

Spectres and Super Sleuths from Mayfair to Marylebon

Jan17

Saturday, January 17, 2oo9
London

I am still having difficulty sleeping through the night. Today, I awoke at 4 am and spent an hour or so cleaning up my Inbox. As soon as my Inbox messages exceed 1000, I get rid of them by the hundreds. I also began reading Kamala Markandaya’s posthumous novel Bombay Tiger, published only in India and gifted to me by my friend Firdaus Gandavia in Bombay last week. It is a heavy tome comprising hundreds of pages, so will take me until the end of the month to complete, no doubt. The interesting introduction by Charles Larson, a personal friend of the author for over thirty years, has brought to light many little-known facts about this very reclusive author and though I was one of those rare scholars who had the privilege to meet her 22 years ago in London and was given the opportunity to work with her while doing doctoral research at Oxford, there are so many facts about her life that remained unknown even to me.

Over a carb-heavy breakfast (I am afraid I simply cannot resist the croissants and pains au chocolat that call my name so insistently from the bakery aisle), I watched the Alibi channel that features only murder mysteries and detective stories. I have become familiar through it with the Hamish Macbeth series starring Robert Carlyle (of The Full Monty fame) that is set in picturesque Scotland and with the Father Dowling Mysteries which is an American series set in Chicago! Then, I had a little nap on the couch before I forced myself to wake up, take a shower and head out for my lunch appointment with Rosa and Matt Fradley.

Only I made such a blunder. It was not today that I was supposed to meet them but next Saturday! When I arrived at our appointed spot at noon, they were nowhere to be seen. A short call on my cell phone cleared up the confusion. But no harm, no foul. I had carried my book 24 Great Walks in London with me, so I simply selected a walk in Mayfair and off I went. I will now see them next week at Shepherd’s Market, a tiny tucked-away cobbled square right behind Piccadilly which is full of old pubs and small neighborly shops.

This walk was by far the least interesting of the many self-guided walks I have taken so far–in fact, it was positively dull. The walk on New Bond Street took me past some of the fanciest designer shops and I did stray into a couple to try on merchandise that at the discounts being offered seem too good to be true–Cartier and Burberry’s, for instance. Then, I arrived at the Old Bond Street Underground Station where the walk officially began.

I passed by the house of composer Handel (now the Handel House Museum) but did not go inside. It is a rather nondescript brick building right besides the Jo Malone salon where I had my unforgettable facial the other day–and it is said to be haunted by the ghost of a perfumed woman who could be one of the two sopranos who vied for roles in Handel’s operas. Right next door, for a while lived the famous guitarist Jimi Hendrix, and he too is reported to have seen a female ghost there.

On Vere Street, I stopped to see the inside of pretty St. Peter’s Church which is rather ornate. The streets behind Oxford Street are basically residential–lined with Georgian terraced houses punctuated with the occasional mews. These lanes that once hid stables in which the horses of the owners of these fancy homes were kept have been converted rather ingeniously into expensive contemporary housing, the ground floor stables being used as garages today while the upper rooms that once housed the syces and grooms are now occupied by yuppies who enjoy the proximity to their places of work in London that such housing offers.

In one of the mews is concealed the home of a Dr. Steven Ward, an osteopath, who in the 1960s, obtained a lucrative second income by introducing influential society men to young and attractive girls. One of these was a 17-year old named Christine Keeler who moved in with Ward and was visited here by two men–a Russian diplomat named Eugene Ivanov and an Englishman named John Profumo who just happened to be the English War Minister at the time. This liaison posed a potential security threat and resulted in the infamous Profumo Scandal.

A few streets ahead, I arrived at No. 2 Wimpole Street where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle leased a consulting room in 1861 as an ophthalmologist and awaited his patients’ arrival. When none turned up, he began to spend his time writing short stories about a dapper detective named Sherlock Holmes which he sold to the local publications. These caught the public imagination and made Holmes a household name in Victorian England and Doyle one of the most successful writers of the time.

From this point, my rambles became rather pointless. I passed by a garden called the Paddington Street Gardens where I stopped to eat a sandwich lunch (I had picked up a sandwich earlier from the Waitrose on Marylebon High Street). This was once a burial ground and 80,000 people are buried under the well manicured lawns (though you would never guess this) and mature trees–now, of course, devoid of their foliage. On Manchester Street, I passed by the home of a Joanna Southcott who in 1814 fooled the world into believing that she was going to deliver the Messiah though she was 64 years old. 22 doctors pronounced her pregnant but when 9 months passed and she did not deliver her child, the medics continued their vigil by her bed side until she died three months later. The false pregnancy turned out to be internal flatulence and a glandular enlargement of her breasts! Thank God for modern-day sonograms!!!

Soon I was crossing into busy Baker Street and arriving at the home of the world’s most famous detective–Sherlock Holmes– at 221 B. This is the only location in London that actually has a blue plaque depicting the home of a fictitious character. So many readers kept arriving at 221 B Baker Street looking for the famous home, then occupied by the Abbey Bank that it was necessary to mark the location in some way. The bank even had to employ a full-time secretary to deal with the correspondence that flooded its premises from faithful fans. Today, the venue has been converted into The Sherlock Homes Museum complete with interiors and a great deal of memorabilia from the Age of Victoria. There is no charge for browsing through the very interesting souvenir shop and I did just that.

By then, my feet were almost caving in under me and I made my way to a bus stop and got back home as soon as I could so that I could rest my weary feet and indulge in a foot massage. I intended to do nothing more strenuous than watch TV for the rest of the evening as I had enough exertion for one day.

In fact, I think that I shall also take it easy tomorrow and but for lunch with my next door neighbors, Tim and Barbara, I’m glad that I have nothing lined up.

Brompton Cemetery, First Snowdrops and Yet More National Gallery

Jan16

Friday, January 16, 2009
London

A cemetery is not a place in which you want to get lost–and certainly not on a dull sunless day! So I did feel quite edgy at Brompton Cemetery this morning as I examined the grave stones and admired the sculpted statuary. I had first heard about Brompton Cemetery from Bill Bryson’s video version of his famous travel book called Notes From a Small Island and when I passed by its gates while in a bus, a few weeks ago, I decided that I would explore it when I could.

As it turned out, the cemetery was deserted. But for a few dog-walkers and cyclists who studiously ignored the signs posted everywhere that said “No Cyclists”, there was no one around. The sun was conspicuous by its absence and while I was in the cemetery between the two gates that flank Brompton and Old Brompton Roads, it actually started to spritz–thankfully this spray lasted only a few minutes.

Brompton Cemetery, designed by Benjamin Baud, is one of the finest Victorian cemeteries in the UK. Several well-known Londoners are buried here such as the suffragette Emmeline Pankhurst and there are walking tours given by “The Friends of Brompton Cemetery”, twice a month on Saturdays. The grounds are laid out in a formal style and there is a chapel, built in Neo-Classical design, in the center that is surrounded by private family tombs. Though it is still a working cemetery, most of the burials were carried out from the mid-1800s to the mid-1900s.

What I found most interesting is the fact that Beatrix Potter is said to have taken the names of many of her animal characters from tombstones in the cemetery as she lived in a nearby complex called The Boltons. Without a map it was impossible for me to find the prominent Victorians buried here, so you can imagine how delighted I was to discover that when I paused to take a picture of a particularly well designed gravestone of an artillery officer who died in World War I, I found myself bang in front of a tombstone of a certain Mr. Nutkins! Other characters in Potter’s work, such as Mr. McGregor, Tod and Jeremiah Fisher also have namesakes in these burial grounds. Though this is hardly the kind of venue that might be considered a tourist site, I found myself enjoying the peacefulness of my surroundings and it was hard to believe that I was in the midst of Earl’s Court in the bustling village of Kensington.

It is easy to understand why Potter was inspired by this space for in the absence of human beings, there were a large number of furred and feathered friends keeping me company. Fat squirrels with bushy tails followed me everywhere, pink (yes, pink) pigeons were perched on angelic gravestones and I even saw a raven right besides a grave that had been freshly decorated with a bouquet of very brightly colored flowers.

And talking about flowers, I was so delighted to come upon my first ever snowdrops, the tiny little white flowers whose drooping heads are so-called because they bloom even in the midst of blankets of snow. In the United States, these flowers are rarely seen (I have certainly never seen them except in pictures). When I found them ringing the periphery of a gravestone, I gasped, then bent down closely to examine them before I took pictures to immortalize this moment. Snowdrops are also said to be Nature’s first sign of the arrival of spring and if that be true, then it won’t be long before other more colorful flowers will bloom everywhere.

It wasn’t long before I caught a bus that brought me to Trafalgar Square where I spent the afternoon examining the work of Dutch painters of the 17th century including Rembrandt. I took a much-needed rest at the computers where I have been trying to find the locations of the paintings cataloged and explained by Homan Potterton in his Guide to the National Gallery. When I finished this task, I started my exploration through the galleries and was especially struck by the work of Franz Hals and Vermeer. And, of course, I paused for a very long time to admire my favorite painting in the entire gallery–Pieter de Hooch’s Courtyard of a House in Deflt. Though this is only a small painting, I find it exquisite in its portayal of detail. The ordinary life of middle-class Dutchwomen during the 19th century is so evocative that it never fails to hold me spellbound every time I feast my eyes on it.

By 5 pm, London was draped in a dark shroud and it was time to get back on the bus home. I paused at Foyle’s, perhaps London’s most famous bookshop, on Shaftesbury Avenue and browsed through some of their current titles, then stopped off at Sainsburys to buy a few groceries, before I made my way home to write this blog.

I am still waking in the wee hours of the morning (4. 10 am today) but I forced myself to return to sleep and then awoke at 5. 45 am only to discover that I still did not have Internet connectivity. I was on the phone with an Indian call center assistant who called himself ‘John’, who informed me that my connection was rather weak and that I should call again after 8 am. This time, I spoke to an assistant with an Afro-French accent who apologized and told me that the technicians at Virgin Media are aware of my problems and will try to fix them as soon as possible. Since it was still early in the day I sat down to tackle my Scotland scrapbook and by 9.30 am, all my pictures were mounted in my album. Now all that’s left is captioning of the photos and I will be done.

I then turned to the designing of my South Asian Civilization course as an independent study module and had a great deal of fun working out challenging assignments for the 2 students who will take my class through occasional tutorials and a monthly ‘lecture’ style meeting. This took me over an hour to accomplish, so that by the time I went in for my shower it was past noon. I only got out of the house today about 12. 45 pm which left me with only four hours of daylight to play with. That’s when it occurred to me that a visit to Brompton Cemetery might be the best thing to do–and off I went!

It was a rather unusual way to spend an afternoon but I have no regrets. Now all I have to do is visit the other famous London cemetery, Highgate, and that I shall do when it gets a little warmer.

Still More National Gallery, NYU Orientation Lunch and a Bus Ride to Hampstead

Jan16

Thursday, January 15, 2009
London

I do not have Internet connectivity at home, which is the most frustrating thing in the world! As a result, I could not check my email as soon as I awoke this morning (at the slightly less unearthly hour of 4. 50 am now, not 3. 30 am!). I used the time to finish reading Scattered Seeds, an anthology of photographs and short essays edited by Dorothy Dady, containing profiles on diasporic Anglo-Indians in various parts of the English-speaking world. I had the pleasure of meeting Dorothy in Richmond in November when she gifted a copy of her book to me. Reading the material it contains carefully has been a deeply enriching experience and I hope that she will now assist me in networking with the many Anglo-Indians of all ages based in the UK whom she had the occasion to meet through her work.

At 8.45 am, when I finished reading the book, I finally got out of bed to eat my breakfast frittata (with a sausage and coffee—I am trying to avoid carbs) and take a shower. By 10 am, I was heading out the door and walking to Fleet Street to take the bus to Trafalgar Square as I wanted to see a bit more of the 17th century European paintings. Trying to locate them through the basement online catalog took me a good half hour and left me with another half hour to browse through a couple of the galleries before I hurried to the Reception desk in the Sainsbury Wing to catch the 11. 30 am “taster” tour of the collection, which was given by a docent named Elizabeth Allen. I was rather disappointed by the tour because it covered only 5 paintings and dwelt on them in so much detail as to become rather uninteresting after the first five minutes. She chose to present The Battle of San Romano by Paolo Uccello, an Altarpiece of the Madonna and Saints by Andrea Mantegna, The Finding of Moses by Nicolas Poussin and a version of the same subject by …. And Turner’s Hercules Deriding Polyphemus, which is considered the Number One item in the entire collection. A great deal of time was spent on the history of the museum and the manner in which the collection came to be accumulated and I often feel that viewers can always read this up on their own. It seems a pity to waste time while they are in the galleries on such extraneous information.

Then, I was hopping into a bus to get to Bloomsbury for the NYU Orientation Lunch for sophomores who have arrived in London for their spring semester. The luncheon that was held in The Venue in the ULU (University of London Union) building did not, thankfully, comprise the small tea sandwiches that I have grown to expect on every such luncheon menu. Instead, there was a decent hot lunch with Chinese Noodles with Mixed Vegetables, a Vegetable Lasagna and really good Chicken with Cashews in a Mushroom and Wine Sauce. Dessert was Lemon Cake and Chocolate Cake but having fuelled up on lunch, ( I was starving by the time I filled my plate), I merely tasted the cake and decided to forego the pleasure. The luncheon was a chance to meet my colleagues again and catch up with them and to force myself to think about the return to the grindstone next week.

After lunch, I spent about an hour in my basement office catching up on my email, which I finally managed to retrieve. I discovered that there are only 2 students registered to take my South Asian Civilization course. However, since one of them needs it to fulfill a degree requirement, it cannot be dropped. Dean Schwarzbach has suggested that I run it as an independent study course rather than a formal course, which means that it is now left to me to restructure it entirely as I see fit. I will probably meet with the students informally in my office in tutorial setting and I shall assign readings and movies to be watched by them in their own time. I am excited to have the opportunity to teach a course in this way—apart from the fact that this will now free up my Tuesdays leaving me with a regular teaching assignment just once a week.

Since there was still daylight outside my basement window, I decided to take a bus ride to Hampstead Heath in order to be able to view London by night from Parliament Hill (so-called because Guy Fawkes and his fellow-conspirators met here to plot the overthrow of Parliament in the Gunpowder Plot and intended to watch the building blow up from this high vantage point!).

The Number 24 bus from Bloomsbury took me to Camden Town, which allowed me also to discover where the famous Camden Lock Market is located—perhaps something I shall explore tomorrow as I hear that it is mobbed on weekends. In less than half an hour, I was at Hampstead Heath and on asking for directions, found my way up Parliament Hill to a fine peak studded with wooden benches from which the sparkling lights of London’s landmark buildings made an appealing sight. Despite the fact that darkness had fallen, there were still enough people on the Heath walking their dogs and the setting reminded me very much of Salman Rushdie’s novel Fury as the male protagonist lives in Hampstead, as also of a number of movies I have seen in which scenes were shot on Hampstead Heath. I really did enjoy my twilight foray into this lovely park and I intend to return to it again when the weather turns warmer and the days are longer.

Back on the Number 24 bus, I arrived in Bloomsbury where I caught another bus home. To my disappointment, I discovered that while I am able to receive messages, I cannot send any. I also cannot access the Web from home. Deciding to make the most of the rest of the evening, I began scrap booking—putting into an album the pictures and other memorabilia that I collected on our August trip to Yorkshire and Scotland. Since I arrange all my photos in albums of uniform design—all with burgundy covers–I managed to bring one back with me from the States during my Christmas trip and it is this one that I can now fill with my clippings. I spent a good hour and a half doing this before I decided to get myself some dinner.

Jetlag is still dogging me and I find myself nodding off by 8 pm and awaking at 5am. Hopefully, I will be able to return to a more stable routine soon.

More National Gallery, A Jo Malone Facial and a Mayfair Walk

Jan14

Wednesday, January 14, 2009
London

I had a lovely day to remember. Despite the fact that the sun was nowhere in sight, it was mild enough to make walking pleasurable and I stashed a variety of experiences into my day. I haven’t yet gotten over jetlag and I did awake at 3. 30 am once again, tossed until 4, 30 am, then spent an hour in bed finishing up The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga. I have to admit that I find the book sorely disappointing and simply cannot understand why it received the Booker Prize. Amitav Ghosh’s Sea of Poppies was far more impressive in its sweep, its historical perspectives and its literary achievements, I think.

I lost internet connectivity this morning, so decided to make myself some breakfast before I had a shower and left at 9. 45 am for the National Gallery where I hoped to cover the six rooms that comprise works from the 16th centuries. The huge canvasses by Paolo Veronese and Titian were quite marvelous indeed and The Four Elements by the Belgian artist Joachim Beuckelaer featuring Earth, Air, Fire and Water were a revelation. Since I got there early in the morning, I found the galleries quite deserted–a fact that made my contemplation of them much more enjoyable.

Then, I took a bus to Brooke Street just off Old Bond Street where I had a 12 noon appointment for a Facial Workshop at Jo Malone. I was really looking forward to this session as I do love Jo Malone products very much and it is always interesting to discover her new lines and fragrances. I was offered a choice of champagne or tea and, of course, no marks for guessing that I chose the former.

As I settled down to my one hour session that included a complimentary facial and a hand massage, Ranjeeta, one of the Sales Associates introduced herself to me. Together with Caroline, her beautiful black colleague, I felt thoroughly pampered. It was no surprise to me that “Jo’s” Avocado Cleanser and Rosemary and Mint Toner would feel divine. I am quite familiar with her fragrance line, of course, my own favorites being Grapefruit, Pomegranate Noir and Orange Blossom. However, when Ranjeeta slathered my face with a luxurious White Nectarine and Honey Mask and gave me a relaxing massage, it felt quite blissful indeed.

While the mask did a deep nourishing job, she worked on my hands, massaging them with the exfoliating Vitamin E Scrub that contains sugar crystals and salts and almond oil and then treating them to the Vitamin E Gel for which Jo Malone is famous. When she was done, she sprayed a combination of Pomegranate Noir and Orange Blossom colognes all over my hands and then returned to my face.

When the mask was wiped off, she slathered on a small amount of the magical Vitamin E serum and a goodly amount of the Jojoba Cream and mixing them together, she applied them lovingly to the contours of my face. I have to say that my skin glowed and felt like a million quid!!! So heavenly! I noticed then that all the tiny black scabs that had formed after my face was cauterized in Bombay to remove a collection of minuscule skin tags and warts on it have entirely disappeared. After the beating it took during the cauterization, this was really the best time to pamper my complexion and nourish it and hopefully the little red spots that have clustered around my face in their wake will disappear completely with time. I am glad I had the courage to go ahead with the cauterization process in Bombay and I am glad that I chanced to come upon this promotion at the Jo Malone salon–indeed it could not have come at a more opportune time for the cauterization and the pollution in Bombay have done a number on my skin and it is time to get it back on the road towards healing. As if all this were not enough, I was presented with a small bag containing a sample of the Vitamin E gel and the newest fragrance, Sweet Lime and Cedar, in a small purse spray. As the treatments were being carried out on my face, I sipped my chilled champagne and felt as if I could not have asked for a more delightful treat.

Then, I browsed in a few stores in the swanky Mayfair area. Everything is the stores is heavily discounted and were I someone who enjoyed shopping, I guess I could have had a field day. As it is, I prefer to window shop. When a bus came along, I hopped into it as far as Marble Arch from where I intended to launch on another one of my self-guided walking tours. I am resuming them a long time after becoming diagnosed with plantar fasciitis, so I chose a rather easy one based on the heart of the Oxford Street area.

The walk is entitled “Hangings and Hoaxes” and when it left the bustle of Marble Arch behind–interestingly, the site was once known as Tyburn Street and was the venue of grizzly public hangings that attracted countless spectators–it took me into the quietest mews. I passed by the blue plaques that proclaimed the sites of former homes of famous authors–Wilkie Collins, author of The Moonstone and The Woman in White, the first detective crime fiction ever produced; T. S. Eliot; and American patriot Benedict Arnold. Passing by a couple of hotels in the vicinity, I learned about Victorian murders and subsequent hangings. There were a couple of interesting stories associated with parliamentary conspiracies as in the Cato Conspiracy and a hoax associated with Lady Tichborne’s family. I particularly enjoyed visiting a pub called The Windsor Castle on Crawford Place which was filled to the ceiling (quite literally) with royal commemorative memorabilia such as plates and mugs and bowls and busts that were piled in the windows and on the walls and in specially constructed niches on the ceiling. Indeed every inch of space inside is taken by this amazing collection and I was very glad that I asked the bartender’s permission to browse through the rooms and marvel at their treasures.

Then, quite by happenstance, I found myself on Portman Square passing right by the premises of Habibsons Bank, in which our family friend Bande Hasan is the CEO. On impulse, I decided to pop in and, if he were free to see me, to say Hello to him. As it turned out, he had just finished his lunch and insisted I have a cup of coffee and some biscuits before I set out once again on my tourist route. We caught up on the happenings of the past few weeks and I was particularly intrigued by his accounts of the many shoots he has undertaken. As someone who has recently taken to shooting, he talked about his success with stalking and shooting pheasants, partridges and pigeons and about the feasting that is a part of this very English tradition. After exchanging pleasantries for a good twenty minutes, I was on my way again arriving on Edgeware Road, at the end of the walk.

I hopped into buses that took me slowly back home. Indeed it was excruciatingly slow along Oxford Street and I couldn’t for the life of me see why the bus crawled the way it did as there wasn’t the sort of frenzied crowds that were in evidence prior to Christmas. By the time I arrived home, darkness was falling over the city (the sun now sets at about 4. 30 pm) and I was relieved to discover that I did recover internet connectivity and was able to retrieve my email. A couple of hours spent with my PC gave my feet a much-needed rest before I decided to do a bit of cooking–a Sausage and Feta Cheese Frittata and a Stir-Fry with Mixed Vegetables.

Then, it was time to eat my dinner while watching some innane commentary by the “Fashion Police” on th red carpets outfits worn at the Golden Globe Awards. By the time they were half way through it, I was nodding off on the couch.

It was that darn jetlag playing up again!

Tea with Blair, Post-Christmas Sales and Return to the National Gallery

Jan13

Tuesday, January 13, 2009
London

Being still jetlagged, I awoke at 3. 15 am, tossed and turned until 4. 15 am then gave up attempting to fall back to sleep. Since I am clearly still on Bombay Time it made sense to spend an hour reading The White Tiger, Aravind Adiga’s Booker Prize winning novel that my friend Firdaus Gandavia, aka Dr. G, gifted me in Bombay. While it is stylistically unusual and entertaining, it is hard to see what made it deserve so prestigious an award. But perhaps I should reserve my judgment until I finish the book.

A half hour devoted to my blog followed by a call to my parents in Bombay made me realize that I miss them sorely, every single one of my family members with whom I spent two recent weeks–Chriselle and Chris included. Dying to hear their voices again, I dialled eagerly and was delighted to catch up again with my parents whose new refrigerator has been delivered. All is well at Silverhome with geyser, water filter and lights all behaving as they should and a brand new fridge in the kitchen to boot. My mother is stress free for the moment, she says…

Breakfast (eggs and coffee) was followed by an exercise session (I am trying to be religious about getting in four sessions a day) as I continued to stretch my plantar fascia while watching Vikas Swarup, author of the novel Q&A appear on the Breakfast Show. He is the new Boy Wonder, now that his novel has become an international cinematic success with a new name–Slumdog Millionaire. Unlike most authors who have a stack of rejection slips and several unpublished manuscripts tucked away somewhere before they attain recognition, Swarup’s first novel, written within two months, found an agent in merely a few tries and a publisher soon after. Bravo!

More chores followed–the folding and putting away of laundry, the washing of dishes. Then a long and lovely shower and I felt prepared to face the day. First stop: The Leather Lane Street Market where I bought fresh fruit and vegetables. With the new year having dawned, I am trying to eat more salads and intend to end each meal with fresh fruit. I then disappeared down the Tube stairwell to buy myself a monthly bus pass. Back at home, I stacked my produce on the kitchen counter before I ran out to the bus stop to take the Number 8 to Marble Arch where I had made an 11 am appointment to meet my friend Blair Williams and his wife Ellen, visiting from New Jersey, in the basement cafe.

I stopped en route at the Jo Malone store on Brooke Street to make an appointment for a Facial Workshop for 12 noon tomorrow–a session that will be accompanied by a Champagne Tea! My, my, how special that made me feel! I intend to try a variety of their newest products as I am a huge Jo Malone fan. Then, I hurried off to M&S and found Blair and Ellen entering the same elevators that I took to get downstairs. How was that for timing? I was next enveloped in a warm bear hug as my friends reunited with me on British soil.

Over a pot of lemon and ginger tea, we caught up. Blair and Ellen are on a long spate of travels around the world. Their next stop is India tomorrow and then on to Singapore and Hongkong, Vietnam and China. We talked about my research on Anglo-Indians as Blair had been my chief source of inspiration and encouragement as I had launched upon this inquiry. We were joined shortly by Hazel Egan, a college classmate of the Williams’. After about an hour, I left the group to their own nostalgic reminiscences and made my way out.

Having missed the post-Christmas sales for which the major department stores in London are noted, I decided that I simply must take a look even if it is rather late in the day. So, hear this, all your shopaholics out there, ALL of London is on sale! From the glitz of Harrods and the High Street to the smallest holes in the wall, retailers have slashed prices and massive signs proclaiming sales everywhere seem determined to entice the shopper. I took a bus to Knightsbridge, heading straight for Harrods, and found myself overwhelmed by the number of items piled high up in bins that are up for sale. After browsing through a few, I chose a few luxurious goodies in which to indulge–Woods of Windsor Soap Packs in Lily of the Valley and Lavender fragrances and silky body moisturizer from Floris in the … range, to which, believe it or not, I had become introduced on Air-India flights. The airline used to stock Floris’ moisturizer and cologne in its restrooms once upon a time!

In the food halls, I picked up a loaf of fresh Walnut Bread, an almond croissant and a chocolate scone and over a cup of free Java at Krispy Kreme donuts (courtesy of the new Obama Presidency), I had myself a carb-rich lunch–sigh…just when I made a resolution to cut them down. I could not resist strolling through Laduree, the upscale Parisian tea shop that has a branch at Harrods, but I did draw the line at indulging in their world famous macaroons–another time for sure when I am feeling less virtuous! Someone had once told me that you needed to spend a penny (or a pound, quite literally) to use the rest rooms at Harrods, but I discovered that this was far from true as the basement restrooms were not only free but well stocked with a variety of free cosmetics as well!!!

Another bus took me to Fortnum and Mason where I browsed around their Sale merchandise. I was disappopinted to discover that there wasn’t a fifty per cent sale there as everywhere else. I did walk out with a lovely perfumed candle in Pink Grapefruit though–I really do have a weakness for this aroma–one of the few items that was offered at half price. It felt wonderful to have been able to buy a few things at least at these satisfying prices and though all Harrods’ Christmas puddings had gone, I was glad I did buy two earlier in the year–one of which we ate in Southport at Christmas and the other at New Year in Bombay!

I then hopped into a bus again that took me to Trafalgar Square where I intended to spend a few good hours back in the galleries. ‘Back’ because after Plantar fascitis had hit me, I had given up my study of the paintings there and intended to resume them after my feet felt less strained. Having covered the Sainsbury Wing last semester, I started my perusal of the 16th century with Homan Potterton’s Guide to the National Gallery to help me along. Locating the most important canvasses through the catalogue in the basement, I then spent a while in the company of Leonardo da Vinci and Michaelangelo and Corregio, Lucus Cranach and Hans Holbein, Andrea del Sarto and Raphael. The galleries were largely empty and, in many cases, I had them entirely to myself. I realized that I have missed my solitary sessions in museums and that I am happiest when wrapped in lone contemplation of canvases by Old Masters.

Then, it was time to take the bus and return home to a quiet dinner and some TV. London is usually mild for this time of year and it was a pleasure to walk its streets and browse through its attractive shops. As the week goes by, I hope to fill my moments with many more such pleasurable activity.

Just before I switched my PC off for the day, I did make a booking to Oslo, Norway, for the end of February. At a pound per journey on Ryanair, it was irresistible and since the Youth Hostel in downtown Oslo was able to offer accommodation, my plans were made within minutes. It is just such offers as these that make my stay here in London so worthwhile and I look forward very much to many more such spontaneous trips of this kind as the semester moves on.

Back ‘Home’ in London

Jan12

Monday, January 2009
London

London slumbered under leaden skies as my Jet Airways aircraft landed at 7 am from Bombay. It was one of the speediest flights I can remember taking. Nine hours vanished in a blink as I slept soundly for almost six of them, then spent the last three watching The Duchess, a film I had wanted to see in the theater but missed. It was spellbinding from start to finish and I could see why comparisons were made between the spirited Georgina, Duchess of Devonshire in the late 18th century and Lady Diana Spencer, who just happened to be her descendant. Played quite splendidly by Kiera Knightley, the portrayal of the Duchess was one of sheer pathos that was matched scene for scene by Ralph Fiennes who played her callous and powerful husband, the Duke. Apart from the injustice that women, even aristocratic women, had to contend with in a hypocritical age that was rife with double standards, the film was extraordinary for its settings and locations and at the end of the movie, I took down the names of the various locales used during the shooting with the idea of visiting these estates.

I also saw the end of the Bollywood movie Taare Zameen Par–I had watched most of it en route to Bombay, two weeks ago, but we had landed in the city before I saw the heart warming denouement. As I sniffed my way through the two movies, my travel companions seemed bemused by my sadness. I can see why my mother is so much in love with Aamir Khan. As for me, I am no longer besotted by movie stars.

Jet Airways’ Inflight service is just fabulous. I did not just feel well looked after, I felt positively pampered. Meals were substantial and delicious (yes, I know that this is airline food we’re talking about here) and the crew were courtesy personified. Apart from the fact that my one bag took forever to get to the conveyor belt, my travel from Bombay to London was worry free. I tried calling my folks in Bombay to tell them that I had touched down safely but discovered that my cell phone was out of battery. It would be a while before I reached my flat and could charge it.

I took the Tube home, alighting at Holborn and choosing to walk the ten minutes to my place. London was predictably dreary though exceptionally mild. At the Krispy Kreme donuts shop right outside Holborn Tube station, free Americano coffee was being dished out and I gratefully joined the band of morning commuters to get my cup of Java which I nursed carefully on the walk along High Holborn. I was amazed at how much like Home London now feels to me. It was like returning to the embrace of a warm and trusted friend and as I arrived at the door of my building and had it opened by a welcoming Martha and Arben (janitor and concierge respectively), it seemed as if I have known them forever. It was wonderful. By 9.30, I was opening the door to my flat, just delighted to be back in this space that I have so grown to love.

I charged my cell phone and a little later was calling my Dad as well as Chriselle who happened to be at my brother Roger’s place. Hearing her voice was heart breaking to me as was that of my nephew Arav’s and I know that I will miss everyone of my immediate and extended family for the next few days as I settle down, once again, to my solitary life in this city.

Then, my chores began–there was a load of laundry to do and a suitcase to unpack. There was a boiler to be switched on again– to do which Arben visited me briefly. There were 128 email messages to be downloaded and read and NYU email to be reviewed. Because I was not online in Bombay, I had so many things to catch up with. My friend and fellow Anglo-Indian scholar Blair Williams from New Jersey happens to be here in London. I shot off an email to him and before long we were talking on the phone and making plans to meet tomorrow for coffee. I felt full of beans, despite my long haul across Europe and it seemed like a good time to do some blogging. I stopped for a soup lunch then continued reading and responding to email.

I realize how much I enjoy the quietness of this flat and the fact that I can so purposefully get to work to accomplish my goals. In the process of unpacking, I found a set of house keys that Llew and I had misplaced during his November visit. That was one mystery solved. I had to rearrange my wardrobe a little bit to accommodate the clothes and pairs of shoes I picked up from Southport and carted off to India–mostly formal wear for the many weddings I attended.

Between unpacking and sorting and reorganizing my toiletries and medicines in the bathroom, the day passed by, rather unhurriedly. I miss my parents, Chriselle and Chris, my brothers and my nephew and niece (especially after I donwloaded my photographs and looked at the video clips I shot), but it is so good to be back. Despite the dullness of the weather, London felt oddly welcoming and I am slowly unwinding from what was a very emotional departure from Bombay.

Tomorrow is another day and I hope my spirits will feel lighter than they do today–and more rejuvenated. I have a week to spend as I wish before teaching begins next week and I really do want to use it productively. I have given myself one day (today) to unwind and get over jetlag, but it will be back to business for me with a vengeance tomorrow.

Bombay Blues!

Jan12

January 10, 2009
Bombay

I have entitled this installment ‘Bombay Blues’ because it has been a hectic two weeks in every sense of the term–physically, mentally, emotionally–I feel exhausted and badly in need of TLC. In the many years that I have spent vacationing in Bombay, I have rarely fallen ill. This time, the Bombay Bug hit me within 48 hours of arrival, leaving me nauseous and bilious and causing me to miss my little nephew Arav’s birthday party. Indeed, I lay fast asleep in this bedroom as he cut his Barney cake and frolicked with his buddies. I also missed the wedding that evening of my relative Marilyn Dias as I simply couldn’t stand the thought of boogieing on a night when I was so weak on my feet.

Just as I recovered, Chriselle caught the bug and was laid up for a couple of days and then just when she turned the corner, Chris fell victim to it! He seemed to have taken it far worse than we did as he slept for almost two straight days and succumbed to such terrible weakness that he did not feel quite like himself until several days had passed. He and Chriselle made the most of their few days in Goa and did actually find the courage to feast on Tiger Prawns despite their delicate bellies!

Three more weddings followed thereafter, not to mention the pre-dinner parties that accompany such festivity in India. We drank and ate far more than we are accustomed, stayed out in the open air till the small hours (subjecting ourselves to the ill effects of the ‘dew’–as my Dad puts it) which then brought on colds and exposing ourselves to Bombay’s pollution, which then brought on my hoarse throat. Still, I’m not complaining. The weddings gave me the chance to meet the members of my extended family who converged on Bombay from all over the world and to reconnect with a few cousins whom I have not seen in eons. We exchanged email addresses and have promised to stay closely in touch. That’s the beauty of these wedding receptions–they bring family together like no other events can do and I love that aspect of these occasions.

I was especially pleased to be able to spend time with my cousin Blossom who was visiting Bombay from Madras, at a time when she is healing from the loss of her husband Placid. In the mutually satisfying chats we had together, we were able to communicate our mutual concern about those things in life that most worry us as we grow older with our children. It was Blossom who introduced me to her homeopath, Dr. Alpana Nabar, in whom she has deep faith–a faith born out of eight years as a patient. Alpana was confident that my plantar fascittis can be cured through homeopathic pills and I have returned to London with three months supply. She has also recommended that I continue with the exercises three times daily. My friend Fr. Austin Norris then added the third ingredient to the mix–prayer–which he said would finally do the trick and make me right as rain again!

Apart from physical issues, a great deal of emotional stress also dogged me throughout the trip to Bombay. The sight each year of my parents who seem to get slower, more frail and delicate every time I see them, only serves to put me in a state of dread for their future health and well being. Though I was pleased to see that, by and large, my mother is weathering up to her various afflictions rather stoically, it was still pitiful to see how much of a shadow of her old self she is today. My Uncle Alex is no less weak and pathetically thin as he too deals with the trials of a serious illness. Visiting my ailing relatives is difficult indeed and I had to find every ounce of strength to carry out these duties. So while the wedding celebrations continued, there was also the challenge of integrating once again with close family members who have seen better days.

Reconnecting with Chriselle was also marvelous. Much as we missed each other throughout the four months that have kept us apart, the close proximity of our lives over the past two weeks as we battled with my parents’ minuscule accommodations and the occasion that her recent engagement offered for us to re-examine our lives proved to be emotionally charged. The mother-daughter bond, so precious at this time of her preparation for a wedding, was reinstated and I am hoping has left us both with valuable insights into how much we love and cherish each other as we have bungled along. As always, it was a joy to be in her company, to chat with her late into the night, to admire her astute perceptions and the manner in which she analyses situations and experiences. I find myself thriving in the warmth of her energy, her vivacity, her joie de vivre, and having these two precious weeks with her was a gift from above for which I am very grateful! I am struck by the fact that now that I have become a transnational, it was not in the USA or the UK that I reconnected with my daughter but in Bombay, the city in which we spent the happiest early years of our lives together and which continues to hold the fondest memories for the two of us. Introducing this city to Chris was a shared pleasure as was inducting him into the Indian cutlural ethos.

Getting to know Chris over two weeks in Bombay was for me a wonderful thing and I came away with nothing but admiration for the manner in which he dealt with the lack of privacy or a space to call his own as well as the trials of illness in a strange country. He was severely disappointed that the studio apartment that we thought would be at his disposal for the length of his stay did not actually materialize, but he took it with grace and fortitude. The attempt to procure the studio led us on a wild goose chase through the bureaucratic set up of the Bombay Police–an institution that is Kafka-esque in the extreme. The fact that Chris says that he will be back in Bombay again next year is proof to me that he had a great time and made the most of his stay in India. His sense of humor never failed him even in the most trying of times and for that I was awed. Not the least of the many images I carry back with me is Chris’ obsession with the Bombay mosquito menace. It seems that he was paranoid about getting malaria and despite being on malaria pills spent every waking hour chasing and attempting to control the mosquito population in the vicinity of Silverhome, my parents’ building. By the end of the visit, we nicknamed him the Mosquito Patrol!

But eventually the late late nights, all in a row, took their toll on all of us. Jetlag and mosquitoes kept us tossing at night while the peace of deep dawn sleep was shattered by an endless row of vendors who rang the doorbell at the crack of dawn. Lack of sleep caused nerves to remain frayed and tempers ran wild. That too, I guess, is part of the package deal of reconnecting with family members across the generations. In the midst of the adjustments we all had to make, it was fabulous to get to know my little nephew Arav so well and to see how beautifully my niece Anaya has grown. Both Chriselle and I felt as if we connected with Arav in a very special way and despite the paucity of time and the illness we all went through, we were able to play with him, dance with him (at the weddings and parties), read to him, watch movies with him, meet his friends, etc. and for a short time at least, become a part of his life. Anaya is still too little to be able to connect with us on the same level but we look forward to the day when she too will be five and will be fully acquainted with her relatives across the seas.

My friend Betsy Ives from Southport, Connecticut, did arrive with her friend Edele Hovnanian for a couple of days stay in Bombay and I was able to give them, as well as Chriselle and Chris, a lovely walking tour of downtown colonial Bombay from the Taj, site of the recent terrorist carnage, to the Victoria Terminus where there were even more casualties. They seemed to have enjoyed it immensely and I look forward to downloading our pictures so that we can have perpetual memories of a very interesting morning. The tour confirmed for me my own love of the city of my birth and to come to grips with the many changes it has undergone over the years. Most recent evidence of its loss of trust were the many security guards posted at strategic city locations and the locking of gates at institution buildings that were once wide open for exploration.

Finally, a word about the hospitality we experienced everywhere, starting with my parents who spared no pains to make our stay as comfortable as possible even at the expense of their own comfort. Chris told my mother repeatedly that he would always remember her marvelous breakfasts of fried eggs and bruns–the breakfast bun with the crisp outer shell and softer center. My dad, as always, took his role as host very seriously indeed and catered to our every need by going out in search of special dietary items to suit the vagaries of our temperamental tummies–pomegranates, orange juice, guavas, the finest apples, papayas and melons. My brother Russel had his entire routine disturbed by our presence, but took it all in his stride. Though we jostled for closet space and mirror time, I think, in the end, it will be the bustle created by just these restrictions that brought us all close together and will provide memories over which, no doubt, we will laugh as the years go by.

I will always cherish memories of the lovely New Year Day Party that was hosted by my parents at their place and which brought together so many of my closest family members in a shared spirit of fun and friendship. My Dad had one of his sing-alongs which was a treat indeed and my Mum put forth a laden table that included the traditional delicacy, roast suckling. Despite their advancing years, my parents still enjoy opening their home and heart to loved ones and, in doing so, they have taught us valuable lessons on hospitality and generosity.

I met almost no friends on this trip, spoke to only a few on the phone, and went out for meals only rarely. Indeed I was unable to eat pani poori and kulfi falooda at Elco–a practice I started many years ago on my trips to India. However, I went through the process of cauterizing the many warts on my face that have developed over the past few years through a viral infection. Sheryl Sen in Oshiwara, Andheri, did a good job, though I was a nervous wreck throughout and quite mangled the hands of my poor sister-in-law Lalita who might have thought I was in labor the way I wrung them! I was a hideous sight at the weddings as my face slowly went through the stages on the road to healing. Still, having placed myself in the ‘cauterization mindset’ before I left London, I was determined to find the courage to go through the process despite my needle phobia and I hope to have a clear complexion before I return to teaching classes next week.

It was a very different 2 weeks in Bombay for me. I’m not sure how I will remember them in the long run, but I am glad that Chriselle, Chris and I had the chance to spend precious time with my parents who at the end of our visit had their own nerves shot by a fault in the electric system that cut off the lights one evening, a refrigerator whose compressor chose to shut down the following evening, a water filter that began to drip at the same time that the geyser in the bathroom also sprang a leak. How my parents took each crisis as it came and found a way to resolve it was a lesson in patience and practicality for me. I accompanied them to one of Bandra’s new malls to check out a new fridge and in the process learned a great deal about how differently Bombay and its people function.

At the end of the day, both Chriselle and I found the experience of returning to Bombay rather overwhelming but just as I began to get used to my new environment and to function effectively within its framework, it was time to bid my goodbyes to my nearest and dearest and leave the city of my birth behind me.