Tag Archive | National Portrait Gallery

Visiting Ham House and an Afternoon with Stephen Tomkinson

Apr29

Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Richmond, Surrey

It seems as if I am sleeping longer as the days are getting longer. This morning, I awoke at 7 am–not too bad at all and a far cry from 5 am. which had been my usual wake-up time for months! It left me enough time to write my blog, read 40 pages of The Order of the Phoenix and catch up with email.

I got out of bed after 10 am, showered, had my breakfast and left the house for my long bus ride to Richmond. I ran two quick errands before I boarded the bus–I had to return a battery I had bought from Maplin for a refund and I had to hand in a refund form to London Underground–I had bought a Day Travelcard on the day I traveled to Norwood and not knowing that it was also valid on the bus network, I had spent 4 pounds buying two separate bus tickets for which, I was told, I was entitled to a refund–which the clerk told me would take 21 working days! Don’t you just marvel at the way British bureaucracy works??!!

Well, I used the time aboard the bus to grade papers on what was another fabulous day. Warm sunshine and the slightest hint of a breeze made it particularly lovely. I made swift and easy connections and arrived at Richmond Tube Station at 12. 15 pm at which point I connected with another bus (the 371) that took me to Ham Street. On the bus I entered into friendly and enlightening conversation with a lovely lady from Winston-Salem, North Carolina, who has lived in London for 35 years. She told me of other places to nearby visit but I simple did not have the time.

My idea was to try and squeeze in a quick visit to Ham House, also in Richmond, that is run by the National Trust. Since I have a membership to the Royal Oak Foundation (the American equivalent), I get free entrance to all National Trust-run properties which have only recently re-opened for the season. Since Richmond’s Ham House is one of these, I figured I would see it today.

It was a 10 minute hike from the bus stop to the gate of Ham House which looks far less impressive on the outside than it is within. It also has extensive formal gardens but since I had only an hour in which to check it out, I made straight for the house. Two very helpful female volunteers provided me with the brochures that would make my visit more enjoyable and suggested I go to “the Dairy” to watch the 10 minute film that gives a brief history of the house. This was exactly what I did and 15 minutes later, I made my way to the upper floor past a very small chapel, having acquired a good background about the house and its former inhabitants.

The wooden staircase is richly carved and very impressive indeed and on the upstairs landing, you are greeted by a number of 17th and 18th century members of aristocracy who gaze at you from the gilded frames of several oil portraits. The same large number of oil portraits, many by Peter Lely, are to be found in the Long Gallery, as also a large number of cabinets in ivory, Japanese lacquer and marqueted wood. The grand rooms on the ground floor speak of the wealth of the house’s inhabitants, prime among them being Elizabeth Murray whose parents originally owned the house. She married well (I forget the name of her first husband) and her husband’s wealth helped her maintain the grand home.

But Civil War broke out and very shortly, she was widowed. During Cromwell’s reign, she acted as a spy for the supporters of Charles II in exile in France (placing her life in jeopardy) and was richly rewarded for her loyalty to him when he returned to the throne in 1660 to make her a Countess. This led to her second married to the Duke of Lauderdale which furthered her power, prestige and wealth and allowed her to extend Ham House adding the opulent rooms that we see today. However, she died in poverty, easily and quickly forgotten by the royal circle within which she had revolved. Her descendants approached the National Trust, a few years ago, to maintain the house for them and visitors today are led into the intrigue and prestige of the 17th century in the rooms that were created for the visits of Queen Catherine of Braganza and her entourage.

I would dearly love to return to Ham House and Gardens and perhaps shall do so when I spend a night with Stephanie at her place in Richmond. The banks of the Thames outside London are strewn with such grand estates (Syon House is one other) and now that the weather is changing and I am free of teaching duties, perhaps I can try to see the National Trust ones.

But I had other plans for the afternoon, so by 1.45, I made my way outside, back to the bus-stop and arrived in Richmond in time for my 2. 30 pm show of Tim Firth’s Sign of the Times that starred only two actors–Stephen Tomkinson (whom I was delighted to see in the flesh after having seen him on TV in Ballykissangel) and Tom Ward. They played each other off very well in a gently amusing comedy in which Tomkinson showed his versatility by playing a character that was very different from his role in Ballykissangel where he played Fr. Peter Clifford. I munched on an apple and a peach and some pistachios in the theater–my lunch–until I bought myself a Scotch Egg at Tescos after the show and had myself a very nice afternoon at the theater.

Then, I was on the bus again headed for the city–using the drive to continue grading my papers and getting a neat batch done. But when the bus passed through Kensington High Street, I could not resist the temptation to alight and on impulse I entered Holland Park to take some pictures of the Kyoto Garden and the Orangery as I had my camera with me. I spent the next hour in these lovely environs, surrounded by flowers and twittering birds and the fragrance of wisteria and lilacs in every possible shade of purple. The Kyoto Garden has become one of my very favorite parts of London and with the azaleas in bloom in shades from soft pink to hot magenta, I was enchanted. I took my pictures, then sat on a bench overlooking the small waterfall and graded more papers as I enjoyed the perfect temperature of this gorgeous day. I had waited all winter long for days like these and now that they are here with us, I want to enjoy as much of them as I can out-of-doors.

By 7. 30 pm, I was back home, chatting with Llew on the phone and proofreading a bunch of travelogues I had written before I mail them off to my friends with my April newsletter.

Sauntering in Suffolk

Mar13

Friday, March 13, 2009
Suffolk

Leaving my window open and using ear plugs to drown out traffic noises worked like magic! I awoke at 6. 30 am after a very restful sleep just a couple of minutes before the alarm on my cell phone went off. It seems as if a cooler temperature in my bedroom will keep me asleep longer! Within 45 minutes, I was on the bus headed to King’s Cross to the NYU hostel at NIDO where the coach arrived very shortly to drive us to Suffolk.

Spring was in the air though it was a tad chilly and I felt underclad in my denim jacket–should have worn something warmer. Once we left the city limits behind, the landscape changed. The fields were flat but fresh new green grass is emerging everywhere and though the trees are still free of foliage, it is very pretty out there in the countryside and I am glad we’re entering into a new season of renewal. It is still a wonder to me how quickly spring comes to Europe. What a blessing indeed!

Delving into Dedham:
Two hours later, we were in Dedham, a tiny little town that Time forgot. Peter, our driver, parked in the main street and we were set free to poke around for 45 minutes. I had read about this lovely place in The English Home magazine a few years ago and I had saved the clipping and brought it with me to London. Using that as a rough guide, I wandered first into St. Mary’s Church which appears in some of the paintings of John Constable whose world we had arrived to explore. The church is notable for a window which sports the initials E.S. referring to Edward Sherman. Three notable Shermans are associated with American history including the famous General Sherman who led the troops during the Civil War. As in all Norman churches of the region, it has a square tower with a clock face and the stone cladding gives it a very picturesque look.

Down the High Street, I delved into a few of the stores (The Shakespeare Art Gallery was particularly enticing) which held the kind of decorative domestic items tourists find attractive–pendulum clocks, pottery, framed art–that sort of thing. Most of my students had made a bee line for the Essex Rose Tea House where they sat down to cream teas. I went into the Dedham Arts and Crafts Center where a variety of stalls offered all sorts of hand crafted items from baskets and quilts to jewelry and soft toys. Then, I walked towards the Stour River and took a look at a few ducks bobbing in a pond.

Architect and art historian Sir Nikolaus Pevsner wrote, “There is nothing to hurt the eye in Dedham” and he was so right. Indeed, the town is a lovely collection of narrow meandering streets that radiate from the one main road that runs through it past the church. The exteriors of these houses have exposed beams and quiet pastel shades with the color pink dominating. It soon became obvious to me that pink is the preferred color in these Suffolk towns and villages. It is referred to as ‘Suffolk Pink’ and is visible in varying shades from the softest baby pink to deep, almost magenta, tones. We saw a lot of it in East Bergholt and then in Lavenham which were some of the other towns we visited.

I simply could not stop taking pictures of the charming nooks and crannies that make up this attractive town. The Sun, a well-known hostelry had a distinctive sign but did not open until later in the day for lunch. When we’d had a look around the village, we did one of the things that the English most love–took a long walk along the banks of a river.

Messin’ Around On the River Stour:
One of the most memorable walks I have ever taken was along Port Meadow in Oxford along the River Thames in the company of my friend Annalisa Oboe, about two summers ago. We had walked all the way from Oxford to the Lock and then rewarded ourselves with drinks at the famous Trout Inn at Wolvercote, a 17th century free house that was used as one of the settings for an episode of Inspector Morse mysteries. Well, I have to say that this walk today, taken in the company of 16 of my students, will also stay in my memory for a long time.

To begin the walk, you start along Bridge Street in Dedham and walk towards Flatford Mill. This means crossing the beautiful little wooden bridges and stiles that span the river and the surrounding meadows. The pathway is narrow and follows the natural curves of the River Stour, which is much smaller and narrower than I imagined. It cannot be more than a mile and a half before you see the rooftops of Flatford Mill. Were I walking alone, I know I would have covered it in about a half hour. But with a group and with the pictures I stopped to take, of swans and then of mallards in the water–it took over an hour. The fresh green of the fields and the total quiet and serenity of the rural landscape was very appealing indeed. Occasionally, we saw a flock of ducks fly into the air. It is obvious that the migrant birds are returning for the spring season and it was lovely to be a part of it. These were the very tracks along which John Constable walked in the early 1800s and to have traversed over lands that have proven to be so inspirational to him was very special for me.

Arrival at Flatford Mill:
At Flatford Mill, where we arrived a whole half hour behind schedule, we were met by Edward Jackson who is Head of the Constable Arts Center there. He was to be our guide for the next hour and he started us off by taking us inside the lovely red brick interior of Flatford Mill where Constable spent the early years of his life with his parents and younger brother. Mr. Jackson illustrated his introduction to Constable with a slide show in the library that explained the evolution of his most famous paintings including the iconic Haywain, the setting of which can easily be seen on the shallow bank of the river outside.

We then walked to the spots themselves that Constable sketched and used as the backdrop of some of his most celebrated works. I was so excited to be in the very spot in which he created these canvasses–his little studio was right in his home. Later, when his parents died and he came into a little money, Constable moved with his wife and family to London where he accepted commissions for portraits that were his bread and butter. But, clearly, it was the rural scenes he most remembered from his boyhood while messing around his father’s mill that inspired his most enchanting works. And it is these venues that art-loving visitors come to see today.

Off for lunch to East Bergholt:
Then, after I had bought a few postcards from the National Trust shop in the premises, we boarded the coach again and arrived at the tiny village of East Bergholt where, for a short while, the Constables also had a small home. This little place was the perfect venue for a meal and at the Red Lion Inn–really the only little place at which one could get a bite apart from the Fountain Tea Room which offered only teas and scones–we sat down for a proper meal. I ate a ‘huffa’, a rather odd sort of name for a hearty sandwich that contained steak and mushrooms and onions and was made tasty by my addition of some brown sauce.

East Bergholt is an equally delightful place to get lost in. It has a church that lacks a tower. Apparently someone had a dream in which the devil appeared and said that he never wanted to see a tower on the church. Each time a tower was constructed, lives were lost in the process and a point arrived at which the villagers decided to abandon the idea of constructing a tower and left it unfinished. And that it how is stands today.

The Post office and a couple of other small stores are the only other shops to be found in the entire little place. Small pink homes and a few red brick ones grant the village the air of a quiet rustic hamlet, the sort that visitors to Suffolk love to see.

On to Lavenham:
We had barely an hour to finish our meal, however, before we had to get back on the coach again for our ride to Lavenham. We thought it would take about half a hour but we had a diversion in the road and having to change routes, we took more than an hour and almost missed the guide who was waiting for us there, Jim Robinson. However, after we had parked our coach, Jim began his tour and showed us some of the most interesting and unusual buildings in this medieval town.
Like Dedham, Lavenham is exceedingly picturesque. Almost all of the buildings here are ‘listed’, that is to say, they are protected by strict conservation laws, some of which make it impossible for current owners to make any changes at all, inside or out. The town is, therefore, frozen in time, standing as a silent sentinel of the past when homes were constructed with thick timber beams and filled in with stucco plastered brick.

The most important building of all in Lavenham is the Corpus Christi Guildhall–this is not a trading or crafter’s guildhall but a religious one. Mr. Robinson explained that in the Middle Ages, people paid money to a priest in a guildhall such as this one, whose sole job was to pray for all the poor souls in Purgatory! This guildhall, clad in exposed timbers and thin whitewash and sporting the original leaded windows passed into disuse after the Reformation. It is only in recent years that it has been refurbished to appear the way it once did when it was the most important building in the town.

From this point, Mr. Robinson took us to so many different structures, each of which had some interesting architectural details to which he pointed. We learned that Lavenham was once a leading producer of a thick hard-wearing fabric called serge. The cloth weavers’ guild was powerful and wealthy and it made Lavenham the sixth richest town in the country. Traders vied with each other in building homes to show off their new prosperity and it is these structures that have been preserved, most dating from the 16th and 18th centuries.

We also learned about pargetting, for instance, the decorating of the sides of the houses with all sorts of designs that were set into the stucco while it was still wet. We learned about the fashion that led to the scraping away of the plaster that exposed the timbers that give so many of the medieval structures their individual look–this was not how they were originally constructed. The plaster was stripped away when it became fashionable for the owner to expose the number of timber beams that made up his house. We also learned about the Mullet–the five pointed star that is associated with the court of Henry VIII and which is evident on the steeply sloping sides of the roofs. So many of the Lavenham homes seemed to be falling under their own weight. There were so many of the higgedly-piggedly cottages of fairy tale illustrations and the striking colors of ochre, pink and white that stood in uniform height along the streets making the entire town seem so very quaint and old-fashioned.

I certainly wished I could have browsed in more stores but I only had the time to buy a post card really quickly before it was past four and we found that we had to return to London. I did walk towards the Church of St. Peter and St. Paul to get a picture and then off we went. We said goodbye to Mr. Robinson and boarded the bus back, hitting awful traffic en route so that it took us almost three hours to reach King’s Cross.

Suffolk was striking beautiful and I am so glad that my first venture into this territory was so pleasant. I found the village people very friendly and very eager to interact with my students. They were so pleased that their quiet unspoiled villages are the center of so much scholarly attention. They recommended other villages that we should see and Kersey was suggested as a rural favorite. When Peter drove through it, I did find it very appealing indeed and I can see why so many people settle down in B&Bs for a few nights in this area.

Suffolk might best be described as a patch of green fields closely knit together by a serene river that flows through it and story book villages and medieval towns that remain distinctive for their old-world architecture and narrow rippling streets. It is easy to see why these natural backdrops inspired the work of some of England’s best-known artists such as Gainsborough and Constable and why they have been preserved, as if in aspic, to continue to delight each successive generation.

For if you enjoy walking or even just sitting by a river and watching it flow gently past and if you enjoy doing nothing more strenuous than whiling away time in the warm embrace of Nature, then this is indeed the place for you. I know that if I get the chance to return to Suffolk, I will not refuse the opportunity to walk by these delightful byways again.

At the end of the day, when I was in the midst of writing this blog, my door bell rang. It was my neighbor Tim whom I haven’t seen in ages–as I have been traveling so much. He stopped by to invite me to supper at their place on Tuesday–an invitation I would ordinarily have leapt at as Tim in a chef par excellence. But, alas, I am leaving that morning for Italy, so will have to take a rain check. Instead, we have decided to go out for an Italian meal on Sunday–probably to Carluccios which is a favorite of Tim and Barbara (and has become one of mine as well). Tim stepped inside for a chat and over a glass of wine, he entertained me with his inimitable wit and humor. I am very much looking forward to Sunday when we will catch up together.

Lecturing at the V&A, Visiting the Royal Academy of Art and a Posh Private Club

Mar8

Tuesday, March 3, 2009
London

Today was a day for museum hopping. Awaking, as usual, at 5 am, I did a lot of writing in bed, then called my nephew Arav in Bombay and spoke at the same time to his mother, my sister-in-law Lalita whose birthday it was. I also caught up with my brother Roger and told both him and Lalita that I had a new understanding of the kind of life they have led for over 20 years as cabin crew members with Air-India, for I have often felt like a stewardess myself this year as I have lived out of suitcases on my many jaunts and awoken in strange beds wondering, for a few seconds, in which part of the world I was.

Then, I had my yogurt and muesli breakfast at 7. 30am, showered, and left my flat by 9.15. Instead of bussing it, I took the Tube to South Kensington and arrived a little too early to start my 10 am gallery lecture at the Victoria and Albert Museum for my South Asian Studies students. I decided to explore the area that is fashionably known as “South Ken”, a stronghold of London’s French community, according to my Parisienne student, Julia Anderson.

And she was quite right. I passed by Jolie Fleur, a tres chic florist whose window displays were as beguiling as the ones you see all over France. There were any amount of cafés trottoirs (pavement cafes—yes even in the chill of late winter) selling filled baguettes and cafes au laits and even a delicatessen with a stock of typiquement French ingredients such as pate and saumon fume and cornichons, not to mention Proust’s famous madelienes! It was fun indeed to wander around this little corner of Gaul and I did wish I had more time especially to browse in the vintage stores—another time, perhaps.

I arrived at the V&A a few minutes after ten, but my students were nowhere to be seen. I settled down in the lobby (as that was our meeting spot) and awaited their arrival while admiring the stunning Dale Chihuly chandelier, which is one of my favorite pieces in the museum. It is funny but after having spent only a few days in this place, it feels like home to me—in the same way that the National Gallery and the Metropolitan Museum in New York do!

When at 10. 15, there was no sign of my students, I began to worry. Did I not make myself clear that we were to meet in the lobby? Had I make a mistake with the time? We were meeting at 10 and not at 11, right? With all these worries floating through my brain, I took a deep breath, decided to stay calm and wait patiently. It was possible that they were stuck in the Tube, wasn’t it? A few minutes later, they burst upon me, laughing and apologizing and sighing with relief, all at the same time. It seems that they had been waiting for me at a side entrance, not the main one. When we failed to connect, they had begun to panic!

Well, all was well, fortunately, that ended well, and we made our way to the Nehru Gallery of South Asian Art which I had studied a few weeks ago and where I took them through a brief history of Modern India as manifested by its art and craftsmanship. We examined Mogul and Rajasthani miniatures, Indian calico cottons, marble and wooden (jali) carvings, gold (jari) embroidered sarees and sheraras as worn by Muslim nobility, gold and bejeweled ornaments including turban pieces worn by men that were studded with emeralds, rubies and sapphires, wooden furniture inlaid with ivory (gifts from Indian royalty to East India Company officials), bidriware, enamelware, ivory furniture, a golden throne, Tipu’s famous Tiger, the jade drinking cup of Shah Jehan, and a host of other marvelous items that had them exclaiming and asking all kinds of very relevant questions. I also took them up to the museum’s jewelry galleries where they did some more exclaiming and finally, I led them to the café where the restaurant rooms featuring the work of William Morris, Poynter and Gamble are showpieces in themselves.

We parted company as they returned to campus for their next class while I took the bus home. While eating my lunch (Pizza Paradiso’s pizza), I finished watching 1947 Earth as I do want to start work on the lecture I am giving in Italy later this month based on this movie. Despite the fact that I have seen it so many times before, it never fails to brings tears to my eyes and I was deeply saddened, once again, by the end of the film in which the author Bapsi Sidhwa herself makes a cameo appearance.

Meanwhile, in the midst of all these things, I was also trying desperately to reach the Podiatry Clinic as I had finally received my letter in the mail informing me that a referral had been received on my behalf and that I was required to call and make an appointment. Except that though I tried more than 50 times (I know because the number of tries I made are recorded on my cell phone), I always got the message “User Busy” back! All day—I mean from 9. 30 am (when they opened) until 3.00 pm—it said “User Busy”. I am convinced that something was wrong with that line. But, get this, at 1. 10pm, when I finally did get through, I got Voice Mail, informing me that they were closed between 1.00 and 1.3 0 for lunch! At 1. 45, I got “User Busy” once again. It was enough to make me want to tear out my hair by the handful in frustration! I was keen to make the appointment as I would be in Cornwall for the next few days and wanted to get the business of fixing an appointment over with!!! In the end, I simply gave up. I guess I shall try again tomorrow.

Next, I turned to packing—or rather re-packing. Having decided to take my laptop with me, my backpack was inadequate and I had to move all my stuff into my duffel bag. This was swift work and by 3. 45 pm, I was heading out the door again, this time to the Royal Academy of Art to meet Rosemary who is a member there. She is privileged to use the museum for free and to take companions along as well. We had planned to meet there at 4. 15 and since I did not want to be late, I took the Tube again—as buses are very unreliable and do not work if one has an appointment to keep.

Though I have passed by the Royal Academy dozens of time in the bus, I had never been to this gallery and I have to say that I was floored by the splendor of the building. Its Neo-Classical quadrangle is grand in every sense of the term and the rather contemporary fountain in the center is the only element that clashes, I thought, with the dignity of the place. Like Rosemary, my taste is much too traditional and both of us would have preferred a cascading fountain in the center rather than the kind that spouts water sporadically from the ground (as also seen at Somerset House). A wonderful bronze sculpture of Sir Joshua Reynolds at the entrance is a very appropriate touch for, undoubtedly, he had much to do with the setting up of this venerable institution.

Rosemary and I were there to see the special exhibition on ‘Byzantium’. It is funny how I have learned to pronounce the word “Byzantine” the American way—I now say “Biz-en-teen’. It sounded odd to hear the very English Rosemary pronounce it as “By-zin-tyne”. Yet before I moved to American that was exactly how I would have pronounced it myself! While we were in the midst of the exhibition, I realized that I had seen quite a few of these pieces before in the Treasures of Saint Mark’s Basilica in Venice last March. In fact, the signature piece that is used on all the publicity posters–a very ornate censer in three different metals—silver, brass and copper—I do remember seeing with my friends Amy and Mahnaz when we were in Venice last year. Some of the pieces reminded me so much of the staggering beauty of the Pala D’Oro especially in the precious stones that were studded in the gold settings that formed the frames of some of the work.

The last rooms contained some magnificent icons that had arrived in London from the Benaki Museum in Athens, Greece, and from the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia. They were superb and very exciting to examine as I have never really had the chance to study icons so closed and in such a large number. For me, this was certainly the highlight of the exhibition. I told Rosemary that I would like her to take me to the special exhibition that has just opened on Andrea Palladio, as coincidentally, I am, later this month, going to be staying in Vicenza, Italy, the city of Palladio, with my friend Annalisa Oboe, who lives there. While Llew, Chriselle and I have visited Annalisa in Vicenza before, this time I really do want to take careful notice of his ‘Palladian’ architecture that is showcased all over this city.

The museum closed at 6 pm and Rosemary suggested we go out for a drink as the evening was still young. It had started to drizzle by this time and since I had no umbrella, we shared her’s. Instead of hunting around for a pub in the rain, at her suggestion, we made our way down St. James’ Street towards her Club—The Royal Overseas League Club–where she has been a member for a while and her partner Christie Cherian is on the Board of Directors.

Indeed, the building was another one of those posh London residences that have been converted into private clubs or into hotels and in the lovely interior with its ornamental staircase, its portrait of the Queen and its beautiful flower arrangements, we ordered our drinks (a white wine for her, a Guinness for me) and settled down to one of our cozy chats. Rosemary ran into a friend called John Edwards to whom she introduced me as “her friend from New York” and John suggested that I take a look at a special exhibition in the foyer of oil paintings by an artist from New York.

Soon, it was time for us to leave as I had to wake up at 2. 15 am for my flight to Cornwall and at about 7. 30, we parted company and went our separate ways. Back home, I finalized the packing of my duffel bag, ate my dinner of Thai Green Curry (Chicken) with Tiramisu for dessert before I got ready for bed at 9 pm.

I called Llew and told him to call me at 9. 15 pm which would be 2. 15 am (my time), just in case my cell phone alarm did not go off, and on that note, I hit the sack.

British Library, Accommodation Hunting and Another Interview

Feb24

Wednesday, February 25, 2009
London

Through the miracle of modern technology and flawless logistics, my Frank Anthony book was awaiting my arrival at the British Library when I reached there this morning at 10. 30. In the lovely Asia and Africa Reading Room, while being gazed upon by the oil-painted portraits of India’ s erstwhile rajas and maharajas, I devoured the contents of several chapters trying to find clues to justify the Anglo-Indian exodus from India and the reasons why so many of my Anglo-Indians subjects are so staunchly anti-Anthony. I came away with some rather interesting conclusions as I tried to read between the lines. I become conscious of a rumble in my tummy and when I glanced at my watch, you could have struck me down with a feather. It was 1 .30 pm already! No wonder I was starving!

Since I wasn’t too far away from Euston, I decided to go and pay a visit to the Physiotherapy ward at UCL to find out why my referral to the Podiatrist had not yet reached them. At least that was what I discovered before I set out this morning when, in accordance, with the directive of my physiotherapist, Claire Curtin, I had called to ascertain my appointment date for my Orthotics. Well, surprise! UCL hadn’t sent Podiatry a referral at all!!! And here I was waiting patiently, day after day, for the mailman to deliver a letter giving me an appointment. And, another surprise! Claire Curtin was off-duty, so I could not speak with her to find out where the impasse lay. Luckily, the receptionist suggested I talk to a manager, a lovely lady named Nuss Devon, who took me into her office and tried to help me by emailing Claire. I left feeling very disappointed indeed at the way things had turned out.

On the bus, as I made my way to Kilburn, I couldn’t help feeling that I haven’t had the best week. I was headed to Kilburn to meet a man who runs a budget accommodation service as I need to find a place to stay for the months of June and July. The proprietor who runs the hostel was doubtful that it would be the most suitable place for me as his lodgings are used mainly, he said, short term, by backpackers. He offered to show me the place and suggested I book for a week. If I am happy through that week, I can decide to prolong my stay for the rest of the summer, he said. It seemed like a reasonable enough suggestion…so off I went to check it out with, I must admit, a great deal of trepidation. This lovely flat I currently occupy at High Holborn has so spoiled me for anything else that I am actually loath to go and inspect other prospective digs as I know that nothing else will quite measure up.

I was pleased about the location–it is on a quiet residential street about a five minute walk from the Tube station, has free internet facilities, spotless toilets and showers, fully-stocked community kitchens and a separate female dorm that just might work for me. Of course, I would much rather have my own studio or an ensuite room in a house; but given London’s exorbitant rents, I might have to settle for something much less luxurious. Still, having a look at the hostel and knowing that, at a pinch, I can opt for this space means that I will not be homeless come June. This is a big comfort to me and I am determined now not to worry too much though I shall continue to keep looking for something better.

On the bus back, I found out that it takes about 25 minutes to get to Baker Street (not too bad at all). I did not try to make a bus connection, however, preferring to take the the Tube as I had a 4.oo pm appointment at Charing Cross station with another Anglo-Indian, Claire Jansen, who, bless her heart, had agreed to meet me despite the fact that she was feeling decidedly under the weather today.

We decided to find a quiet corner in the National Gallery where Claire generously treated me to a hot chocolate as we seated ourselves down for our chat. Unlike most of the respondents in my survey, Claire is close to my own age. She arrived as an immigrant to the UK rather recently but because she has also lived in Australia and the United States, she was able to make very intelligent comparative statements about the Anglo-Indian lifestyle in these different countries. I found her a pleasure to talk to as she combined humor with her acute insights and candid perceptions. The two of us were amazed to discover that a whole two hours had passed in the course of our conversation. If it weren’t for the fact that the security staff at the museum was ready to shoo us off at closing time, we’d have sat there for another two hours! I told Claire that I would love to stay in touch with her and she warmly invited me over to her place for a meal–an invitation I’d be grateful to accept as her reputation as a fine chef has preceded her.

I had so many little chores to do when I got back home. My laundry (that I did last night) had to be folded and put away. I had to pack my backpack as I leave early tomorrow morning for my four day stay in Oslo, Norway. I was excited (as I have never been to Scandinavia) but my excitement disappeared when I checked the weather forecast for the next few days and discovered that it is freezing out there and that snow is expected every single day! I crammed my backpack with my warmest cashmere sweaters and threw in extra woolen socks, etc. I guess I will have no option but to live in the museums for the next few days!

With my packing done, I tidied and straightened my rooms–I hate to come home from a trip to a disorderly house. Then, I downloaded my pictures from my camera, charged it and my cell phone and sat down to have a long chat with Llew. When I had told him all about my search for a place for the summer, I rang off and heated my dinner (Sainsbury’s Fisherman’s Pie) and sat to eat it while watching In Bruges. I had no idea what to expect and basically ordered the film on Love Film.com because I thought it would be shot in Bruges and I would enjoy the locations. Well, it turned out to be a thriller but with the most hilarious dialogue and the craziest twists. Starring Colin Farrel and Brendan Gleeson, Ralph Fiennes makes an appearance at the very end. Yes, there was all the cinematography that I had expected (which makes me anticipate my forthcoming April trip to Belgium all the more) but there was this gruesome end that seemed so incongruous with the plot’s setting.

I am all set now to switch on my alarm as I need to leave my flat at 6. 45 am for my 7. 30 Easybus to Stanstead. I can only hope that the weather in Oslo will not make my trip a complete disaster. I will return to this blog on Sunday though I will continue to keep a travel journal–in long hand!

Discovering the V&A

Feb4

Wednesday, February 4, 2009
London

I had a very early start this morning, awaking at 5. 30 am, working on my PC for a while, then showering, eating breakfast and getting out of my flat by 7. 45 am to take the buses to the University College Hospital for my physiotherapy session. I reached there in under a half hour which was something of a surprise to me. Traffic seems to be moving a bit faster now on High Holborn–which is such a relief.

To my disappointment, I found that Paul is no longer working with me (he has been rotated to another division) and I now have a new physiotherapist–Claire Curtin–who says that she will be in this division for at least 4 months, so is likely to work with me long-term. I find this very annoying as I think the patient loses continuity with a health practitioner. This is also what is wrong about this NHS system–the patient has no control over who he is treated by. He just has to lump it and whether the physician is good or not, he has to stick with him. Anyway, I am not that bad now that my condition needs specialist attention, so I guess I shall just stay with Claire and hope for the best.

Nothing much came out of our session. She basically told me to continue with the same exercises that Paul had recommended. She drew them out for me because their computer is still not working (what??? Even after three weeks? How do these folks function?) However, it seems that Paul has made the referral on my behalf for the podiatrist, so I should be getting something in the mail asking me to see a podiatrist who will then recommend the orthotics that Paul thought I needed. So the rigmarole continues…Claire did massage my right ankle and told me how to do it myself and suggested that I see her again in two weeks time! She could not recommend the exercises strongly enough and told me not to stop, come what may!

I then took the Number 14 bus from Euston and rode on it all the way to Kensington. Now that I have finished my study of the National Gallery, I have turned my sights on to the Victoria and Albert Museum, known affectionately as the V&A. I had visited this museum only once, a few years ago, and been completely overwhelmed by its size and scale. I had taken a Highlights Tour then, but do not remember anything that was shown to me except for the Raphael Cartoons and a Cast Room. When I arrived at the Museum, a few minutes before 10 am, there were a couple of dozen people there already but the museum was still closed. At 10 am sharp, the heavy wooden doors were thrown open and I was the first person to enter the museum today!!!

After my bag was physically examined, I went to the Cloak Room to hand in my coat and bag, then went to the Information Desk to find out about Highlights Tours for the day. There were two at 10.30 am and 11. 30 am respectively that I thought I would take. Meanwhile, I got myself a Map and a list of 20 Highlights of the Museum and started to see those for the first half hour.

In the basement, I saw an ivory inlaid wooden cabinet by Fiammingo. Then in the Fashion Gallery (which is highly reputed), I saw a beautiful dress designed by Vivienne Westwood under inspiration from French artist Watteau. It was fashioned in emerald silk and was gorgeous. In the South Asian galleries, I saw Shah Jahan’s exquisite wine cup, carved in white jade, featuring a flower on the bottom and the head of ram in its handle–truly beautiful! In the Islamic section, I saw the Ardabil Carpet, a gigantic carpet woven in Iran and containing over 4,000 knots per square inch. The Far Eastern Galleries held a really charming Bodhisatava called Guanyin and in the Japanese Armor section, I saw a suit of armor that was presented to Queen Victoria by one of the big gun shoguns of the time. These were the highlights I saw on my own.

At 10. 30 am, I went to the spot where the Highlights Tour began and met my guide, Jane Hampson. She was disappointed to find that I was the only one on the tour but she took me, first off, to one of the Museum’s biggest attractions–The Raphael Room–where we were joined by another visitor originally from Egypt but now living in Australia. For the next hour, Jane took us on a very lively and interesting tour of the museum that included the following objects:

1. The Raphael Cartoons. (These water colors were the basis for the tapestries that hang in the Sistine Chapel in Rome. They were made in Mortlake on the outskirts of London. These belong to the Royal Family having been purchased by Charles I).
2. The Gothic Altarpiece featuring St. George and the Dragon.
3. A Chinese Red Lacquer Table and Throne.
4. The Eltenburg Reliquary (made of wood, whale ivory, and superb cloisonne work).
5. The Plaster Cast Room (with special emphasis on Trajan’s Column–the original of which stands in Rome).
6. A Porcelain Pagoda and Export China in the Chinese Gallery.
7. The Thomas Grace Cup–a medieval ivory cup that is associated with Thomas a Beckett of Canterbury and was decorated during the Renaissance.
8. The Dacre Animals (saved from a stately English country estate before it burned down).
9. Sculpture of Neptune and Triton by Gian Lorenzo Bernini (one of his early works, showing similar compositional elements with his Bachannalia that I show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York).
10. The Great Bed of Ware (this was made in the 1100s and there is actually a reference to it in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night–which, coincidentally enough, I saw last night!)
11. The Dale Chihuly Chandelier in the main lobby–this has always been one of my favorite pieces in the V&A and I recall taking a picture of it the last time I was there.

I thought the tour was superb and when Jane mentioned that she gives a special tour of the British Galleries at 12. 30 pm, I told her that I would join that as well. Meanwhile, I rushed off to join the 11. 30 am Highlights Tour, this one being given by a guide called Mina Renton. She took the group to the Raphael Cartoons, then moved on to “Tippoo’s Tiger” in the South Asian Galleries.

The title of the work refers to a music box that is concealed in the body of a tiger that is seen devouring a British soldier. As anyone with any knowledge of Indian History knows, “Tippoo” is Tipu Sultan, who was known as the Tiger of Mysore. He defended his territory against the British onslaught throughout the 18th century (as had his father, Hyder Ali, before him). He was finally vanquished and killed in the Battle of Seringapatnam by Lord Cornwallis (yes, the same Cornwallis who was involved with the British surrender at York during the American Revolution!). Mysore then came under British control. I was surprised how huge this object is–for some reason, I kept thinking it was a small table-top model. When I saw that it was almost life size, I was shocked. It is so fragile now and can no longer be wound up to play the sounds that emanate from the dying young British soldiers who is being mauled by the tiger. This design, incidentally, is based on a real-life incident–a Captain Munroe was out hunting in Mysore when he was attacked and killed by a tiger. Tipu was delighted and amused by this occurrence and requested that an organ be made for him in this design. It happens to be the most popular item at the V&A and one that most visitors wish to see. This tour then wound its way to the Bernini Neptune, but since I was keen on joining Jane’s British Galleries tour, I left it and returned to the lobby.

Jane’s British Galleries tour was just fantastic. In the short space of just one hour, she covered such a great deal and explained things very clearly indeed. She went from the 1500s till the late 1700s and confined herself to the ground level only. The British Galleries continued on the 2nd, 3rd and 4th levels, but those I shall see on future visits.

These are the items I covered with Jane in the British Galleries:

1. A Morstyn Salt Cellar.
2. Henry VIII’s Portable Wooden Writing ‘Desk’.
3. The Bradford Table Carpet.
4. A Funeral Pall for the Brewer’s Company.
5. A Medieval Baby wrapped in swaddling and a slipware cradle.
6. A Virginal used by Queen Elizabeth I.
7. The Drake Jewel (containing a miniature of Queen Elizabeth I and presented to Drake in recognition of his services to the country after the defeat of the Spanish Armada).
8. The Hunsdon Jewels (Presented by Queen Elizabeth I to various courtiers for services rendered to the country).
9. The marble bust of Charles I.
10. Fashionable Men’s Wear in the Court of James I and Charles I.
11. A Mortlake Tapestry.
12. A Marquetry Cabinet.
13. A Sumpter Cloth (used to be thrown across goods in a wagon).
14. A Sculpture by Cornelia Parker entitled “Breathless” featuring real crushed musical instruments and suspended from the ceiling.
15. The Melville Bed from the Melville House in Fife, Scotland.
16. The Stoke Edith Tapestry from a country estate in Herefordshire featuring the estate’s formal gardens.
17. The Badminton Chinoisserie Bed from Badminton.
18. A Marble Sculpture of Handel by Jonathan Tyers originally made for the Vauxhall Gardens.
19. A Selection of Chelsea Porcelain.
20. Four Painted Rococo Panels.
21. An 18th century Mantua or Court Dress of a Lady.
22. A Painting entitled ‘The Duet’ by Arthur Devis
23. The Norfolk Music House Room which originally stood in St. James’ Square, London–later razed to the ground after a fire destroyed it.
24. A Selection of miniature portraits by Nicholas Hilliard.

I found it hard to believe how much I covered in just two and half hours. That’s why I love these tours!

When Jane and I got talking at the end of the tour, I happened to mention my Plantar Fascittis (which had caused me to sit wherever I could find a seat or bench on the tours) and Jane informed me that she had the same thing, a few years ago. Apart from the massages and stretching exercises, she recommended what her physiotherapist called Contrast Bathing! What??? She told me this meant that I needed to sit with two big bowls of water side by side. One should be filled with water as hot as I can take it, the other filled with water as cold as I can stand it. You are supposed to place your feet for a few minutes in the hot water, then in the cold, the hot, then the cold. This apparently would expand and contract the muscles. Jane claims that ultimately this did cure her completely and, occasionally, when she still gets a twinge, she does this for a few minutes and she is right as rain, again! This sounds to me like Chinese torture but what the heck, since I have tried everything else, I am willing to give this a shot as well. She told me to do this while watching TV and I would not feel it at all!!!

I came home for lunch, caught up with email correspondence and tried to take a short nap; and then before I knew it, the time was 5. 45 pm and I left my flat for my appointment with Rosemary Massouras and Christie Cherian, her partner. We had decided to meet at the Sherlock Holmes Bar which is located in the Park Plaza Sherlock Holmes Hotel on Baker Street, just a block from the fictional 221B Baker Street where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s Victorian detective Sherlock Holmes lived.

It was a lovely evening and over cider and white wine and some nibbles (hummus and pita, feta cheese and sauteed peppers), we chatted about a vast variety of subjects from travel and India, films, our children, my trip to Berlin, etc. Rosemary and I have decided to go together to the special exhibition on Byzantium at the Royal Academy of Art where she happens to be a member and she also wants to do a weekend trip with me somewhere–but is afraid she will not have the stamina to keep up with me, she says!

I took two buses back and got home at 10 am when I had a small bite to eat and after writing this blog, fell asleep.

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.

Looking Back Over Four Months in London

Dec17

Wednesday, December 17, 2008
London

I fell in love with London a long time ago–22 years ago to be precise–and I have never felt any differently. If anything, the past four months have deepened my attachment to this city. It is a funny feeling–to be a Londoner and a visitor at the same time. Despite the fact that I have worked here, the last four month have felt like an endless vacation.

Yet, so much water has flowed under the Thames since Llew and I hauled our eight suitcases out of the cab that balmy summer’s night in August. Even though I have scoured the furthest reaches of this city so thoroughly that I ended up with an inflammation of my plantar fasciia, I still feel as if I have only scratched the surface. Every night before I fall asleep, I think with wonder about all the things I will do the next day. As Robert Frost wrote, I literally feel as if I have miles to go before I sleep!!!

So what have I accomplished in nearly four months? Well, I have taken about 6 self-guided walking tours that introduced me to corners tucked far away from prying eyes and quarters whose cobbled streets are hoary with history. Clubs and pubs, churches and cathedrals, sprawling parks and secret gardens, museums and art galleries, colleges and libraries…I have been there, done that, and felt fiercely fulfilled. I started a systematic study of the collections in the National Gallery and, before my feet gave way, completed my perusal of the Sainsbury Wing. In the British Museum, which I visited often, I saw the remnant highlights of so many ancient cultures. I also ‘did’ the Tate London, the Geffrye Museum and the National Portrait Gallery and will keep the Tate Modern and the Victoria and Albert Museum for next semester.

Professionals entertained and delighted me everywhere I went through theater and opera. In the Globe Theater, I marvelled at the Shakespearean magic of the verse and the virtuosity of the players. I saw celebrity actors whose names have shone often in lights–Dame Aileen Atkins and Ian McDiarmid, Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders and Vanessa Redgrave. Not just were these thespians quite splendid on stage but the venues in which they performed were equally astonishing–from the Vaudeville Theater at the Strand to the historic Drury Lane Theater, each interior was a masterpiece of design and decoration hinting at the fact that, over the centuries, a visit to the theater was a glitzy occasion indeed.

As for cuisine, what a long way London has come. I have tasted Vietnamese pho and Turkish mezes, sampled the variety to be found on a thali and in the sleight of hand of Italian chefs who have a magical way with pasta. The foodie in me was deeply satisfied by the culinary offerings of every curve of the globe. I had thought that being alone in the city, I would probably never eat out at all. How pleasantly surprized I was to receive invitiations from new friends and generous neighbors who took me out to meals that were superlative as well as entertained me in their own domains with their own home-cooked signature dishes–not to mention the friendship provided by my colleague Karen and her husband Douglas, foodies both with a connoissuer’s palate to boot. I have eaten candy from a bygone era with names like honeycomb and eclairs and rum bonbons; as for my inner chocoholic, why, it was more than pleased by truffles flavored with honey and strawberries, lavender and coffee in Hope and Greenwood’s old fashioned shop as much as it was tantalized by the offerings of the more pricey French and Belgain chocolatiers.

Talking about cuisine, marketing has become for me the high point of my week. Never having shopped at street markets previously, I have become addicted to the one on Leather Lane where I buy my stock of Greek dolmas and mozzarella cheese, sun dried tomatoes and pesto. In the Food Halls at Harrods and Fortnum and Mason, I have been seduced by the novelty of steamed puddings with peculiar names: sticky toffee and spotted dick; by jams such as rhubarb and ginger and three fruit marmalade; fruity flapjack biscuits and ginger and orange cookies laced with chocolate have enticed me incessantly and become my ‘tea’ accompaniments; even the crisps have exotic flavorings such as Thai red chilli and roast beef with mustard, barbecued chicken and garlic with lemon grass; I have tasted elderflower wine and lavender honey, little tubs of potted shrimps and smoked salmon pate, artisinal cheeses from every farm in the country and Stiltons studded with apricot and ginger, dried dates and candied oranges. For breakfast, I have eaten sausages with strange names like chipolata and Cumberland and I can never decide which ones are tastier. And then Yuletide brought its own share of irresistible treats: mulled wine and mince pies, I discovered, are every bit as scrumptious as they sound. And when I have felt homesick for a curry, why, the likes of Marks and Spencer, Sainsbury and Tesco have been only to happy to oblige my native tastes with their offerings of Lamb Rogan Josh and Prawn Vindaloo, and Chicken every which way you can imagine–Makhanwalla, Jalfrezi, Korma and Tikka Masala! I am ashamed to say that I have almost stopped cooking, so eager have I been to sample local delicacies…and I have rarely been disappointed.

It is hard for me to believe that only a few miles within Greater London lie quaint villages that border the placid Thames, each characterized by snooty estates and picturesque ponds with trailing willows and hungry mallards. At Old Isleworth, I visited magnificent Syon House and Park. I gazed upon gold-fringed trees at Richmond Hill and enjoyed the view that Mick Jagger gazes on daily from his own bedroom window; while at Richmond Park I looked upon huge herds of deer roaming freely in the watery autumn sunshine. At Barnes, I crossed the sprawling haunted ‘Commons’ that gave me the creeps.

The second best part of being in London was discovering the bus system and the wallet-friendly Monthly Pass that took me to parts of the city that I never knew existed. I had always love the Tube but I have now developed an affection for those lumbering red double deckers as well. I went to Ealing and Greenford, Harrow and Acton, Shoreditch and Stratford and even to Essex in the course of my research–parts of the city that were distant yet cost me mere pennies per mile covered.

The best part of being in London, however, has been the new friends I have made who reached out their hands so warmly in friendship. For a country whose people (at least in the States) have a reputation for reserve that has been politely referred to as European sang-froid, I have found the English deeply welcoming and genuinely eager to share their homes and their hearts with me. My next-door neighbors, Tim and Barbara have been an incredible blessing as has Milan who lives down the hall. Janie Yang who introduced me to her artsy friends has always been there for me. Cynthia and Bishop Michael Colclough showed concern when I was laid up at home and then provided me with a stack of tickets to so many marvelous cultural evenings at St. Paul’s Cathedral. Chriselle’s colleague Ivana has been a fun conpanion on walks in Chelsea and Battersea. I find it impossible to believe that four months ago I did not know any of these folks at all. As for living alone in the city (a prospect that offered its own load of concerns), I need never have worried. Between my concierge Arben and our janitor Martha, I am waited on hand and foot and I feel throughly pampered by their care and attention.

Like Bill Bryson and Susan Allen Toth and other travel writers who fell under the spell of the city, I too am quite besotted by London and I can’t wait to resume my rambles come the new year.

Last Classes, British Museum, Handel’s Messiah and British Comfort Food

Dec5

Thursday, December 4, 2008
London

Hard to believe that we have reached the end of the semester. I arrived in class today with a heavy heart as it was the last time I would be meeting the students of the Fall semester 2008. This was my last class with them and in the Anglo-Indian seminar, I covered “Diasporic Anglo-Indians in the UK”. So many of my students have had personal encounters with Anglo-Indians through the ethnographic profile I had assigned. They were asked to make contact with a real-life Anglo-Indian (preferably in the UK) and ‘talk’ to him/her (preferably in person, but failing that, via email) and then prepare a profile based on the impact of the Anglo-Indianness in that person’s life (both in India and as an immigrant in Great Britain). So, as I lectured about Anglo-Indians in the UK (my observations, of course, based on my own real-life encounters with a number of them here in the London area), I found them nodding their heads in agreement with me or joining in with comments and observations of their own. It was a fun class.

They were so sorry to be leaving London. As Sophomores (or Upper Classmen, as they are called here–second year university undergraduates), they are only allowed one semester of ‘Study Abroad” and in less than two weeks time, their semester in London will be just a memory as they return to the States. I developed a great liking for these students in the course of this semester. Maybe because we were all in the same boat–attempting to discover London and our place in it–we bonded in a rather special way. I found them extraordinarily receptive to the information I shared, to the various assignments I gave them, to the uniqueness of taking a course about an ethnic minority in their own milieu. They were also a very mature group of students who were vocal and articulate and always impeccably behaved. So, I will be hosting a party for them at my flat, next Thursday, after they’ve taken their final exam. They will pool in, bringing appetisers and desserts. I will provide the space, the paper goods, drinks and Christmas pudding with brandy butter (as none of them have tasted it). We have many things to celebrate–one of my students has a birthday that day, another will be removing the plaster cast on the ankle she broke a few weeks ago, and all of them will be celebrating the successful completion of another semester in their eventful college lives. At a time when I did not have my family close to me, these students became my extended family and I have grown fond of them.

At lunch time, in my office, I met Karen’s husband Douglas and her mother who has arrived from the States to spend a week with her. Karen has very thoughtfully planned all kinds of interesting activities with her, not the least of which was dinner at the National Portrait Gallery that she invited me to join. I would have loved to, but had to bow out as I told her that I would be at St. Paul’s Cathedral, enjoying Handel’s oratorio, The Messiah. Then, I set off for Birkbeck College to teach my last afternoon class, the Writing one.

These Writing students are Freshmen, permitted to stay in London for a year. After Winter Break (when most of them will be returning to the States), they will come back to London for the Spring semester. Many of them have registered for my Writing II class so I shall be seeing them again in January. Because they do not have a final exam, this was the last time I would see them this year but I did not feel that same sadness in their class. After I issued all sort of instructions pertaining to their final assignments, we left Birkbeck and headed straight to the British Museum for our final ‘field trip’ of the semester.

It is still awfully cold (at least too cold, I think, for this time of year in London). So, it felt good to escape into the British Museum. I told them a little bit about the history of the British Museum and showed them a few Highlights: Antony Gorman’s marquette for The Angel of the North that stands in the lobby, the Millennium Rotunda, the Rosetta Stone and the Parthenon Marbles. My recent visit to Greece causes me to gaze upon them with newly enlightened eyes, as it were, and bring to my presentation new nuances.

When my tour concluded, we said our goodbyes and I headed home on the bus. I still had no internet connectivity at home and was disappointed. However, I had a chance to have a long chat with Llew on the phone before I caught the bus and headed for Amen Court where Michael and Cynthia Colclough live. They had presented me and my next door neighbor Tim with tickets to witness a performance of Handel’s Messiah in St. Paul’s Cathedral. Tim and I got to their home separately by 6pm and we started to make our way to the cathedral that is just across the road.

I was so excited. This was another first time for me. I mean, who hasn’t heard “The Hallelujah Chorus” and not been stunned? But I had never heard the entire oratorio and to be able to do so in such august surroundings was just too much of a privilege. Then, when we entered the cathedral, we found it packed to the rafters. Hundreds, if not thousands (I am awful at estimating audience numbers) were already in their seats and I hoped we could at least all sit together.

And then, to my astonishment, as Michael led us to the very front to the accompaniment of the ushers who knew him well, we were taken to the very first row and seated virtually at the feet of the musicians! It was just fabulous! The best seats in the house! Seats were actually reserved for us and Cynthia introduced me to the people she knew all around us.

And then the oratorio began. The City of London Sinfonia provided the musicians who sat in the front with large choirs of St. Paul’s Cathedral behind them–an adult choir and a Boy’s Choir. As the musicians and choir filled their seats and stands, a hush fell over the audience. One of the priests introduced the tradition of ‘staging’ The Messiah at St. Paul’s and informed us that we would be standing during “The Hallelujah Chorus” in a tradition, that Tim informed me, had begun in the reign of King George–he didn’t specify which one) who first stood up when he heard it. The priest added, in a humorous vein, that standing up would provide the opportunity to reach into our pockets and contribute generously to the collection baskets that would circulate at that point. Then, after they had tuned their instruments for the last time, the three male soloists arrived on stage together with the conductor and the music began.

The Cathedral had presented each of us a booklet with the words from the Bible that form the lyrics and I was able to follow the entire work. It was stirring, to say the very least, and I felt fully ‘in the moment’ as the phrase goes. Towards the end when the trumpeters and the drummer joined the musicians on stage, we found ourselves seated only a few feet from them and received the full blast of their prowess. There was a brief interval and then part Two began and, of course, at the end of Part Two, we stood for “The Hallelujah Chorus”. Right after this, a collection basket went around. And then the third and final section began. The very last chorister was outstanding. I had heard him at the Advent Service, a couple of days ago, and I had been so impressed by his virtuosity that I knew as soon as he arrived at the front of the stage that I was in for a treat. He truly has the voice of an angel and his clear, liquid notes floated up to the dome of St. Paul’s to the utter astonishment of the audience.

And then, it was over and we were thanking the Colcloughs and filing out and Tim and I were walking the short distance back home in the crisp night air. He had invited me to supper at his place right after the performance and informed me on our walk that he would be cooking Liver and Bacon, the cornerstone of traditional British comfort food. Barbara was home by the time we arrived at their flat next door. She had been unable to attend the Messiah performance as she had an important lecture to go to. Over a few nibbles and a glass of beer (and Merlot for them), Barbara and I caught up as Tim pottered around in the kitchen from which the most enticing aromas began to waft.

And then we were seated a table. In addition to the Liver and Bacon that looked superbly appetizing on this cold evening, there was a mound of mashed potatoes and steamed zucchini. And every morsel was just delicious. Tim, being a former chef, knew that some foods must be served straight off the pan and brought to the table and his Liver and Bacon and Mashed Potatoes fell in that category. I understood as I savored each bit why Seigfried in James Herriott’s All Creatures Great and Small had felt torn between keeping a hot date and staying at home for dinner as his housekeeper was cooking Liver and Bacon that evening! Though I am not, generally speaking, a lover of liver, I enjoyed Tim’s offering as did Barbara and while we showered him with compliments, he sat back and lapped them up!

Then, it as time for dessert–Lemon Ricotta Cheesecake served with tiny little glasses of Eiswein, a German dessert wine that was just fabulous. With chamomile tea to round off our meal, we’d had ourselves a memorable evening indeed and I felt so fortunate, once again, to be blessed by such incredibly friendly and generous neighbors here in London.

We joked about the fact that I had such a long way to get back home as I left their flat and turned my body around to place the key in my own keyhole! It had been another wonderful day for me in London filled with all the pleasures that I most enjoy in my life–enthusiastic and affectionate students, a visit to one of the greatest museums in the world, a once-in-a-lifetime performance of one of the world’s greatest musical compositions and a dinner to remember served by the most gracious and welcoming of hosts.

I am lucky indeed!

An Early Thanksgiving Celebration

Nov26

Tuesday, November 25, 2008
London

My day began with a visit to my physiotherapist who says that she is very pleased with my progress. What she says does not please her is my impatience at wanting to get “back to normal” again. She tells me that it will be a while before I am back to normal, whatever that means. As long as I am not in pain, can go about my day with no discomfort or alternations in schedule, she says that I should consider myself well. The occasional tightness in my feet is a result of many factors, she explained. My posture, primarily, even when I am seated might have an impact. The nerves are a strange entity, she says, and while inflammation is subsiding in the tendons, the nerves may play up and cause me to feel twinges of pain or a bit of discomfort or tightness. All of this, she tries to convince me, are positive signs and not all pain should be construed as a negative thing.

In keeping with her advice, I am trying to focus on my progress and not on all the strange symptoms that seem to change daily. Meanwhile, she has changed my exercises and wants to me to do all kinds of contortions that involve a loosening of the muscles in my knees, thighs and butt as all of these affect the nerves in the foot, she says. Meanwhile also, she informs me that she is leaving for a two month vacation in her native New Zealand and wants to put me on to another physiotherapist in her absence. When I suggested a podiatrist instead, she was not enthusiastic, though she did not dissuade me either. She told me that if I simply continue all the exercises she has recommended, I will definitely get better provided I am patient and stay positive. I have now decided to find a podiatrist within my medical insurance network.

Right after my appointment with Megan, I took the bus to Trafalgar Square and spent an hour in the 20th century section of the National Portrait Gallery which I found the least interesting epoch in the gallery. Half of the section was closed anyway to accommodate the retrospective on the work of Annie Liebowitz for which the Gallery is charging a hefty entrance fee of 11 pounds. I decided to pass as I am bound to see her work in the States.

I got home instead to transcribe another interview I did with Doreen Samaroo and to rest before I started off on my evening’s jaunt.

When I told my English friends in Southport, Connecticut (John and Diana Thomson, William and Caroline Symington, for instance) that I was headed to London for a year, they put me on to their contacts in London to enable me to create a small circle of friends with whom I could socialize once I arrived here. The Thomsons’ contact, Janie Thomson Yang, and I have become good friends and have already done a few very exciting things together (the opening of a new art exhibition followed by dinner in Mayfair, dinner in Primrose Hill when Llew was here, Syon House and Park) and yesterday, I spent a lovely evening with the Symington’s contacts, Robert and Caroline Cummings.

Robert Cummings is, in fact, the Director of Boston University’s Study Abroad Program in London–a position he took on 4 years ago. He is himself an art historian (and, for my docent friends who are reading this), once taught Thomas Campbell who has just been appointed as Director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York in the place of Phillipe de Montebello. Robert is exceedingly proud of his former student’s new appointment, by the way.

Anyway, Robert sent me an email, a couple of weeks ago, inviting me to a music recital at 43 Harrington Gardens, a lovely mansion that is called Boston House. Supper, he said, would follow “in someplace inexpensive”. I accepted the invitation immediately, thinking what a great idea it would be to mark Thanksgiving in some concrete fashion (though I do intend to accompany my students tomorrow to the special service at 11 am for Americans at St. Paul’s Cathedral. This will also allow us to take in the monument to the fallen Indians in the cathedral–including thousands of Anglo-Indians–who served in the British army in India.)

The bus ride was one of the most excruciating things I have ever taken and I have promised myself not to take them during peak hours and when I have to make an event at a fixed time. Also with night falling so rapidly and the freezing weather showing no signs of abatement, it is no fun looking for bus stops from which to take connecting buses, especially since I am unfamiliar with the routes. So, back to the Tube it will be for me in such circumstances.

I reached the concert late but managed to catch enough of the program to realize that these BU students are hugely talented. They presented a program of chamber music that included a variety of composers and instruments in a setting that was gorgeous. First of all, the interior of the building has been recently refurbished and glows with a colonial splendour. Secondly, the room in which the concert was held was recently wall-papered (was that a William Morris design I recognized?) and the old wooden panelling shone in the light from the brass chandeliers. The program of music ended with the community singing “Old B.U.”, a song that Robert found on Ebay when surfing the web. It is an old college ditty that was ‘lost’ to time until it surfaced on Ebay! He had a group of students rehearse it, distributed photocopied sheets and invited the audience to join in a stirring rendition. It was a load of fun.

Cheese and wine and tiny pumpkin cupcakes with cream cheese frosting were served in the hall during the intermission and at the end of the program during which time Robert introduced me to his guests, I met a number of lovely people (which was the whole point of my attendance–I really am eager to make friends) who immediately included me in their circle and told me they must meet me again! I was pleased to see that they joined us for supper when I got to know Robert’s wife, Caroline, a horticulturist by profession who designs residential gardens. I asked her if she was familiar with the English mystery series called Rosemary and Thyme and she said she had not, but would make an effort to see it. This series features two female landscape designers and gardeners who run their own business together and end up solving a murder mystery in each episode. Their knowledge of plants and gardens in some shape or form leads them to the main clue that helps them crack the murder. In addition to designing gardens, Caroline is also a independent movie buff and runs an indie film club close to her home in the country in Buckinghamshire. Needless to say, we had a LOT to talk about during dinner!

Dinner, by the way, was in a lovely restaurant (the “someplace inexpensive”) called the Langan Coq D’Or (which translates from the French into the Golden Rooster of Langan!). Apart from Robert and Caroline, there was the lovely Swiss lady from Geneva Marilyn Rixhon (with whom I clicked immediately) and her Belgian husband Phillipe with their 13 year old daughter, the truly delightful Emma-Louise. There was also Loulou Cooke and her mother Helen whom I only got to a know a little bit during our ride home on the Tube as we were seated too far away across the round dining table.

I enjoyed every bit of our dinner. A few of the folks at our table ordered ‘starters’–Caroline passed around her Beef Tartare with Celeriac Remoulade as a sort of amuse bouche–it was superb and according to Marilyn, flavored with truffle oil–ah, no wonder it was so good!). In keeping with the Thanksgiving theme and since I will not be eating turkey tomorrow, I decided to pick something from the menu that I thought came closest to American turkey–English partridge!! Indeed my dish was called Pan Roasted Partridge with Bacon and Chestnuts and it was superb–a sort of partridge au vin. It had been simmered in a rich gravy composed of red wine and roast drippings and the bacon gave it the richest flavor–throw bacon into anything, I always say, and it tastes fantastic!–and the whole chestnuts had a very unexpected texture indeed. Despite the fact that it was so delicious, my portion was so huge (somewhat unusual again for London, isn’t it?) that I could only eat half of it and, since I am told that requesting a doggie bag is not kosher in the UK, I did not. Well, there went half my partridge and it broke my heart that it would be consigned to the rubbish bin. But when in London, eh?

Before we left the restaurant, Robert presented me with the business cards of the restaurant that featured paintings by David Hockney–it turns out that he and the Langan who opened this series of restaurants scattered all over London, were very close friends. The cards are tremendously eye-catching and will make a nice addition to the memorabilia that I am collecting for my scrapbook based on all my doings in London this year.

On the Tube on the way back home, I got to know Loulou and her mother Helen a little more as we had little chance to chat during dinner. Loulou is involved in a number of charities. Her husband, she informed me, used to date Caroline during their years together in Cambridge and remained friends over the decades. She has a home in Farringdon, not far away from my flat at all, as well as a home in the country where she resides most of the time. Her mother Helen specially came down on the train from Labor, North Yorkshire, where she lives, for the concert and a bit of Christmas shopping and, of course, to spend a day with her daughter, Loulou. By the end of our Tube ride, before I hopped off at Holborn, Helen told me that if I ever re-visit the Yorkshire Dales which I told her I loved so much, I must come and see her! Loulou and I made plans to meet for coffee while Marilyn and I said we would definitely get together before I depart for the States for my own winter break.

It was a glorious evening and truly put me into the Thanksgiving spirit. Llew has informed me that close friends of ours from Toronto, Canada, Tony and Sylvia Pinto and Trevor and Loretta D’Silva will be visiting us in Southport, Connecticut, over the Thanksgiving weekend. Llew has decided to make his signature dish, “Turkey Indian-style” for them. Chriselle will be spending Thanksgiving weekend with Chris and his family, the Harrises, in the Hamptons. I, of course, will be here in London where there is no sign at all of any Thanksgiving festivity but I will be at the service at St. Paul’s, then will go out to dinner in the evening with my American colleague Karen and her husband Douglas who, I hope, is fully recovered from the annoying bug that the two of them picked up in Turkey. We should find a typically American restaurant that will serve us roast turkey and stuffing with gravy and cranberry sauce and corn bread and pumpkin pie but…I guess if we’re looking for something traditional tomorrow, we might have to settle for good ole’ English pub grub instead.

Ealing Interviews and Thoughts on the National Portrait Gallery

Nov24

Monday, November 24, 2008
Ealing, London

I’m becoming quite adept at messing around on buses! Today I spent about four hours on them! Two getting to Ealing and about an hour and half getting back to Central London. It is the easiest thing in the world to find out how to get from Point A to Point B on the buses using London Transport’s excellent website with the handy Journal Planner facility. You merely put in your starting and ending points and the instruction that you only wish to use buses (not the Tube or the River or the Docklands Light Railways–all of which fall within the network) and within seconds, you receive return instructions on how to map your route.

I also managed to review a series of first draft essays that my students had handed in to me…so my time on the bus was also rather productive on a day which was cold and wet and overcast and would have made walking on the streets rather unpleasant.

I am rapidly learning the bus routes and the easiest ways to make connections and, in the process, I am seeing London in a unique and very inexpensive way indeed. For example, today for the first time. I actually passed by Kensington Palace. I had no idea where this was located though I had heard of it following the death of Princess Diana as it was allotted to her as part of her divorce settlement from Prince Charles. Then, suddenly, there it was…a beautiful brown mansion set in a sea of expansive green lawn. I do intend to tour it before I leave England; but my To-See List is expanding in proportion to the diminishing days that I have at my disposal to accomplish it all!

I had scheduled two interviews today with Anglo-Indian sisters Doreen Samaroo and Cheryl Whittle. Since they live in Ealing and Southall respectively, Doreen preferred me to meet with her at Ealing. I did get to Doreen’s place at 11.30 am and spent almost two hours interviewing the sisters. They spoke to me so candidly and with so much emotion. It truly was a pleasure talking to them and I am grateful to all these individuals who are opening themselves to me, a total stranger, with so much warmth and ease. As is the case with the entire community, Doreen was warm and hospitable and offered me a selection of Indian snacks (samosas and pakoras) and her “homemade Anglo-Indian ribbon cake” and a comforting cup of coffee that sustained me through the long bus journey back.

Arriving in Central London, I hopped off at Trafalgar Square and headed straight to the National Portrait Gallery to continue my perusal of the portraits on display there. This time round, I started on the first floor with the 19th century and spent an hour and a half in the company of the Victorians, the men all mustachioed, the ladies in their high necks, stiff crinolines and ringlets. Victoria and Albert were, of course, well represented in portraits, sculpture and etchings, their love story providing the backdrop for some of the conventional and revolutionary relationships of the day–Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barret Browning for instance, George Eliot (Mary Ann Evans) and the married George Henry Lewes, etc. I found the entire backdrop of history against which the literature, music, science and technology of the era was created deeply fascinating and I read the curator’s notes with the greatest interest. So many names from my own Indian heritage were there to be contemplated: Thomas Babington Macaulay (architect of English education on the Indian sub-continent), Clement Atlee and Ramsay McDonald (20th century Prince Ministers who thwarted Congress vision for Home Rule), Rudyard Kipling whose literary creativity took inspiration from the folk lore of Northern India.

As the 19th century gave way to the 20th, I was profoundly absorbed by the Bloomsbury Group in whose former stomping ground, I now teach and live and work. What a wonderfully rare synergy existed among all those deeply creative people in that one era and in that one spot!There was Virginia Woolf”s portrait by her sister Vanessa Ball, Lytton Strachey’s by Dora Carrington, Clive Bell by Roger Fry, Vanessa Bell by Duncan Grant. Having just returned from Cambridge where I learned about the Group’s beginnings at Trinity College, I scrutinized each portrait carefully trying to recapture in my mind the marvelously close affinity they enjoyed that began when they were undergrads and continued for the rest of their adult lives. From the Apostles’ Club at Cambridge to The Memoir Club at Bloomsbury (the Group met at the Bells’ home at 46 Gordon Square which I must now try to find on my map and then locate), they contributed such a wealth of artistic, intellectual and literary creativity to the last century! Yet so many of them were deeply troubled. Virginia Woolf and Carrington committed suicide, E.M. Forster and Lytton Strachey struggled with their homosexuality, Vanessa Bell had a long term relationship with Duncan Grant though she married Clive Bell. What, I wonder, precluded them from finding personal happiness? Was not their professional success adequate? Clearly their wealth and privilege, class and education did not enable them to find fulfillment. These were my thoughts as I perused those works–some oils on canvas, some pastels, some pen and inks, some photographs. They were all deeply moving and kept me enthralled.

I now have the 20th century to cover and I will be done with the National Portrait Gallery–perhaps later this week I will fit it in. Then, I can turn my attention to the Victoria and Albert Museum (whose Highlights I have seen before) and the Dulwich Picture Gallery which I have never seen.

By 5.15pm, having taken care to rest my feet in-between viewings and before leaving the Gallery, I caught the bus to Bloomsbury to attend a faculty meeting at NYU. We were felicitating Prof. Hagai Segal who won the award for Best teacher of the Year for the last year. Over beer and wine and a selection of sandwiches and pastries, we congratulated him, then turned our attention to a number of issues in a lively meeting that included many varying points of view.

My dinner having been eaten at the meeting, I took the bus and was home in ten minutes. Just a quick look at my email and then the writing of this blog was all that was left before I could chat with Llew for a few minute’s before retiring for the night.