Tag Archive | Anglo-Indians

An Anglo-Indian Interview in Southall and Dinner with Friends

Apr21

Tuesday, April 21, 2009
London

My day began at 6 am when I awoke and continued reading The Order of the Phoenix. Then the emailing began and I was kept busy attending to that while also juggling the grading of a batch of draft essays I received from my students. Breakfast followed–a high protein affair (as I am trying to lose some weight) with my frittata and bacon and sausages with decaff coffee. A quick shower and I was out of the house by 12 noon taking the Tube to Northolt and a bus to Southall to arrive at the home of Johnny Bartels who had agreed to become part of my inquiry into Anglo-Indians in the UK.

It turned out to be a very interesting afternoon as Johnny was full of marvelous stories that made me laugh out loud on occasion. It is amazing but having interviewed close to thirty members of the community, I find that no two stories are alike and each person provides me with life stories that are startlingly different. I am having such a great time doing these interviews that while I will be relieved, I will also be sorry when they are completed.

As in the case of most of the Anglo-Indians I have met in the UK, Johnny was warm and outgoing and hospitable. His wife was away but she had made sure there were enough ‘snacks’ for me–samosas and pakoras with chutney, cheese and ham sandwiches and cake all served with coffee! How very kind and generous! Unfortunately, I had to tell Johnny that I had started a low-carb diet and could not eat many of the things he spread out before me. He told me that had I given him more notice (I had made the appointment with him more than two months ago and had confirmed a few days ago!), his wife would have cooked me “a proper Anglo-Indian lunch which you do not get in any of the restaurants”, he said. Well, I appreciated the thought, but it is obvious to me that these folks make appointments with me and promptly forget about them!!!

Back home on the Tube, I got off at Holborn–one station earlier than my stop at Chancery Lane–so I could get a Lebara Top-Up for my cell phone and walk to Lincoln Inn’s Field where I sat for an hour and graded papers as the day was just gorgeous. The cherry trees were in full bloom and their soft petals had already begun to paint the lawns a soft pink. While I was at it, my cell phone rang. It was my high school classmate Charmaine, visiting London for a few weeks, inviting me to join her at a friend’s place for dinner. It was all very informal she said and her friend said that I was most welcome.

Well, I accepted the impromptu invitation and walked home to freshen up. Charmaine arrived at my door about a half hour later and we continued chatting nineteen to the dozen as we were meeting after 35 years and had so much distance to bridge. But then it was time for us to walk to Theobald’s Road, just 5 minutes away, where we arrived at Sushil’s home. Within no time at all, we were deep in conversation. Sushil served us some wine, then attended to the dinner that he had fixed himself–meat curry and rice with dal and raita. I declined the rice but ate everything else and enjoyed the home-cooked Indian meal.

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, Sushil invited me to join Charmaine and him in Paris for four days this coming weekend. He was driving there, he said, and all I had to do was pack an overnight bag and be at his place by 9 am on Thursday. We would drive to Folkeston from where the car would board the ferry that would take us to Calais from where we’d drive to Paris where he owns an apartment at Montmartre! Now how on earth would it be possible for me to turn down such an invitation? I told them that they did not need to twist my arm too tightly–I would be there in a heartbeat provided I had nothing on my calendar that demanded my presence here. They simply would not take No for an answer. I did remember vaguely that I have tickets to see Three Days of Rain with James McEvoy on Friday…but I figured I could easily sell that ticket…

Dinner done, Charmaine showed me some video of her home and family members in Australia where she has lived for several years. Then, at 11 pm, she got up to leave and we thanked Sushil for his hospitality. His friend Gareth had joined us at the very end and we bade him goodbye too.

As soon as I got home, I took a look at my calendar and discovered that in addition to the play, I actually do have to teach 2 classes this coming Friday. These are make-up classes for the Bank Holiday classes we will be missing on Monday, May 4. I was devastated. I guess it was simply not meant to be.

But soon I did not feel too badly about it. I am scheduled to go to Paris next month anyway, so I will just postpone the pleasure for a little while. I emailed Charmaine and Sushil immediately and bowed out.

I am ready now for bed…pleased also that the mix-up with the Oxford Lecture dates have been resolved and I am now scheduled to give a lecture on Post-Colonial Literature from the Indian Sub-Continent at Exeter College on Wednesday, July 22. I have now to start working on this assignment. I am very excited indeed but very nervous as well.

Waltzing through Windsor, Meeting the Holleys and Dinner with Bande Hassan

Apr11

Holy Saturday, April 11, 2009
Windsor

On another very quiet holiday morning in Holborn, Llew and I decided to leave for Windsor. We had awoken about 7 am but by the time we showered and had breakfast (muesli and hot cross buns), it was about 9 am that we hopped on to the Tube to get to Paddington for our connection on London mainline trains to Windsor. We purchased our tickets (off-peak day return was 8. 50 pounds each) and caught the 9. 51 to Windsor which required a change at Slough–this reminded me, of course, of David Brent in the BBC’s version of the TV show The Office, where Slough is the constant butt of bad jokes (being out there in the boonies!).

At about 10. 20, we found ourselves at the imposing walls of Windsor Castle at the end of an extremely long line that completely ruined my high spirits. I was tempted to suggest to Llew that we abandon our plans to visit the Castle as I had made a 1.00 pm appointment to meet with Marion and Henry Holley, an Anglo-Indian couple who live in nearby Maidenhead, with the idea of interviewing them for my study. I thought that it would take us no less than an hour to get into the Castle and if we arrived there at 11. 30, we’d have only an hour and a half to see everything. While I was mulling over these thoughts, the line moved along briskly and, to my enormous surprise, we were able to actually get inside within 15 minutes–not too bad at all!

In fact, we were just in time for the Changing of the Guard ceremony that took place at 11 am and as we stood on the hill in front of St. George’s Chapel, we took in the pomp and pageantry from a fairly good vantage point that offered fine photo opportunities. I noticed that the guards are back in their red coats and busbees and I was pleased that I had caught them in their grey Kremlin-like winter overcoats in the midst of winter when I had stood outside Buckingham Cathedral to watch the ceremony in February.

Llew and I did not not wait for it to end as there was so much to see in the Castle. Equipped with our audio guides, we entered the ancient Chapel, one of the most important Anglican places of worship in the land. The towering nave propped up by its impressive fan vaulting is one of my favorite elements of high Gothic architecture and I was enthralled. The magnificent stained glass window that features a plethora of medieval characters was also quite stirring indeed. I loved the beautiful marble sculpture of Princess Christina who had died at 21 after giving birth to a still born child. It was her death that changed the line of British succession to the throne and made Queen Victoria one of England’s most celebrated monarchs. The sculpture is plaintively moving and I wished so much I could have taken its picture.

The rest of the chapel was equally interesting, filled as it is by monuments honoring so many of England’s best-known kings and queens. I particularly paused by the tombstones of King George VI and the late Queen Mother (parents of the current Queen Elizabeth II) and the one to Henry VIII in the choir of the church where the beautiful wood carvings of the stalls and the banners of the Knights of the Order of the Garter of St. George were all rather fascinating. Unfortunately, we had to hurry through everything as we did not have much time and I began to feel as if it was essential to give the castle a whole day of reflective perusal. Crowds jostling around everywhere and the endless queues made the experiences rather disturbing for me, even unpleasant, and I guess I have become accustomed to having places of tourist interest deserted as I visited so many of them during the quieter off-season winter months when I could really take in every facet thoughtfully. Besides, since I was visiting Windsor Castle after 22 years, I had forgotten almost everything I saw and Llew cannot even remember when he last visited Windsor!

Exploring the State Apartments:
Next, we were hurrying out of the Chapel and towards the State Apartments where a long line had formed to see the Queen’s Doll’s House. We decided to pass on that treat and moved instead into the line that took us straight into the fabulous state apartments, many of which have been completely refurbished since 1992 when Windsor Castle was engulfed by the most horrific flames following a fire that had caused the Queen to remark on the fact that 1992 was the “annus horribilus” of her reign–it was also the year during which the divorce of Prince Andrew and Fergie, Duchess of York, had been finalized and when Charles and Diana had announced their final split.

Among the many memorable gems we saw inside the apartments were some of my favorite porcelain services–such as the Danish Flora Danica pattern. But it was the Rockingham china that most took my fancy–the work is so exquisite, portraying, as it does, so much flora from the colonies that then formed part of the British empire–such as sugar canes and pineapples. The work was so costly that the factory finally went bankrupt and closed down–a great loss indeed to British porcelain manufacture!

Next, we were climbing the stately staircase lined with arms and armor and arriving at all the booty that was looted by British officials following the defeat of so many global sovereign heads of state–such as the gilded tiger of Tipu Sultan of Mysore with its crystal teeth. I have to wonder how the British public does not feel a wee bit troubled about the fact that its finest treasures have been obtained arbitrarily from other parts of the world and I have to wonder whether or not they feel slight twinges of guilt that might motivate them to urge their present-day politicians to return these pieces to the countries from whence they came. After all, when you come to think of it, when we were in Rome, we had discovered that Napoleon who had looted many of Europe’s best museums (including the treasures of the Vatican collection) was made to return them after his defeat at the hands of Wellesley at the Battle of Waterloo. But then, I guess, we’d be stirring up the Elgin Marbles hornet’s nest all over again.

Our tour through the apartments took us to rooms that were impeccably decorated and fabulously furnished with the most beautiful masterpieces of world art. In particular, however, I enjoyed examining the many royal portraits commissioned by aristocracy from the Dutch painter Hans Holbein who made his home in the English court for decades and left us some of the most recognizable faces of the era. I found his portrayal of Easter morning entitled Noli Me Tangere deeply moving indeed, especially since we will be celebrating Easter tomorrow–somehow it seemed significant that we would have the chance to peruse this unusual Holbein so closely. It portrays Mary Magdalen on the third morning of Christ’s death arriving at the tomb to find the tombstone rolled away and filled with angels. Upon turning around, she sees a man whom she mistakes for a gardener; but on looking at him more closely, it occurs to her that he might be the risen Jesus. She attempts to go forward to touch him when he says to her, “Noli Me Tangere” which in Hebrew means, “Do not Touch me”.

I was extremely moved by this painting and it has remained crystallized in my memory. Also very significant for the art lover and historian in me were the self-portraits by Rembrandt made during various stages in his life (two of them are placed almost side by side on one wall in the gallery). By the time we arrived at the ceremonial Banqueting Hall, I realized that I would need at least another two visits to Windsor Castle to do the place justice and it was then that I suggested to Llew that we get our tickets registered at the exit upon departure. It was close to 1.00 pm by that stage and we needed to leave to meet the Holleys.

Upon relinquishing our audio guides, we did register our tickets and have decided that we will return again when Llew comes back to England in late July or early August to take me back to the States at the end of my stint here in London.

Lunch with the Holleys–finally!
Then, we were out on the main street by the benches where the Holleys–Henry and Marian–had suggested we meet. The softness of an English drizzle was ever present as we arrived at Fifty One, a bistro off the High Street where we settled down for a meal and a natter. Henry Holley is an Anglo-Indian who has been extremely helpful to me ever since I arrived in the UK at the start of my research project. Not only has he been in regular correspondence with me, but he has helped some of my students create their ethnographic profiles last semester while they were taking my sophomore seminar on Anglo-Indians. He is a regular reader of my blog and sends me helpful hints of what to see and do in the course of my travels in the British Isles and I have always found him to be eager to help. So, it was with great pleasure that we finally met and I was so pleased that Llewellyn also had the opportunity to meet them.

The two of us decided to share a large pizza that was rather delicious indeed and soon I had my tape recorder on to make sure I received the correct information from this lovely couple who emigrated to the UK in the 1960s when they were both teenagers. As an former RAF man, Henry Holley was posted in various parts of the world and I found that both he and his wife exhibited the kind of cultural open mindedness that is characteristic of people whose global travels have exposed them to a wide variety of human experience. Certainly my chat with them was interesting and enlightening and not without frequent moments of humor. Llew and I were very grateful for their hospitality for when the bill arrived, Henry insisted on treating us to lunch.

Later that afternoon, we sauntered around the interesting shops of Windsor High Street in their company (they had already started to feel like old buddies!) entering Lakeland, a wonderful kitchen equipment store (my kind of store!) where they made a few purchases and we were able to leave with tiny samples of very strong espresso made in a fancy hi-tech coffee machine whose abilities were demonstrated within. Then, we bade them goodbye, promising to keep in touch, and Llew and I were left to our own resources to tour the town.

Exploring Windsor:
Windsor is a delightful English village complete with towering castle ramparts, a Thames-side location, picturesque bridges and multitudes of graceful white swans. As we walked towards the river, we saw another giant Ferris wheel on its banks (similar to the London Eye) and a bridge that transported us to the opposite bank where Eton College, one of England’s oldest and most prestigious public (which in England means private!) schools is located. We paused at several enticing antiques stores en route but prices were so inflated that I could buy nothing that took my fancy. Instead, we pressed on towards the lovely Tudor architecture that forms the main buildings of the school. Though the place had closed for the day to visitors (it was just after 5 pm when we arrived there), I was able to get some marvelous pictures of the architecture I adore in the red brick lined buildings, the theater with its dome (so reminiscent of the Radcliff Camera in Oxford) and the quads. Cherry trees were everywhere bursting into bloom making the most enchanting backdrops for the pictures in which I frequently posed poor Llew in order to bring human interest to my compositions!

Italian Dinner with Bande Hassan:
Then, after a quick visit to Waitrose to buy the Stilton cheese with ginger that Llew also has taken fondly to, we made our way to the train station for our return journey to London. We arrived there at exactly 7 pm and connected to the Tube to meet with our friend Bande Hasan outside his bank–Habibsons where he is the CEO–at Portman Square just off Oxford Street. Once there, we threw our things into the trunk of his grey Mercedes and drove off to Zizzi, an Italian restaurant nearby where we spent a wonderful evening chatting companionably over bruschetta starters and pasta dishes that were both delicious and substantial. We ended our meal with desserts that were outstanding–Torta Zizzi was filled with almond paste and fruit–like plums and figs (superb) and Torta Ciocolato that had a crisp hazelnut base and a chocolate mousse filing. Served with vanilla ice-cream drizzled over with chocolate sauce, it was truly a chocoholic’s dream and Llew and I who shared one of them were in Chocolate Heaven!

Soon, we were being dropped back to the Tube and were home in less than fifteen minutes, ready to call a halt to a day that had been superbly filled with several forms of fascinating art and marvelous human contacts.

Another Anglo-Indian Interview in Norwood

Mar25

Wednesday, March 25, 2009
London

I awoke at 5. 45 am today to find light peaking through my bedroom blinds. The days are growing longer–that’s for sure–and winter is slowly creeping away. It was nippy in the morning, though, and I had to close my window. In the past couple of weeks, I’ve taken to leaving my window open at night (so my room is not too warm) and wearing ear-plugs to keep away the traffic noises. It has worked well and I believe I am now sleeping longer.

After proof reading my blog, I began work on the pictures on my hard drive. I needed to edit and caption two sets of them and then back them up on CDs. All this took almost all morning–each set of pictures took an hour!

I then wanted to finish the Claire Jansen interview and after proofreading it, I sent it over to my office for printing. This left me just enough time to take a shower, eat a pizza lunch and leave my flat for my appointment with Neville Johnston, one of my Anglo-Indian ‘subjects’ in Norwood. He had instructed me on how to get to his house and after hopping on the Tube to Victoria, I took the Southern Rail train to Norwood Junction where he awaited my arrival.

En route, I began grading my students’ essays and was deeply disappointed to find that I need to return most of them for redrafting as none of them has a clear thesis statement, a definitive argument, enough scholarly sources or correct citations. At the end of the day, none of them proved the points they were trying to make coherently enough. I do believe that they have too much work to do in every paper and since they must meet assignment deadlines, they tend to do shoddy work. Though, mind you, none of them writes badly. They are fluent and have an impressive writing style; but they don’t realize that for a research paper to receive an A grade, it needs more than just a very readable style. So back to the drawing board they go.

Neville was awaiting me outside Somerfield’s as planned. I have to say that it has been a rather frustrating week for me work-wise. Not only have my prospective Anglo-Indian subjects cancelled on me at the very last minute, but they seem to have done so for the most trivial of reasons. Granted, they are doing me a favor in giving me the time of day; but to talk to some of them, you would think they are running the UK. I swear it could be easier to get an interview with Gordon Brown than it is to pin one of them down. None of them seems to have the academic understanding to realize that my work is professional and that they need to feel committed if they are going to assist me. Someone cancelled on me because she is going out of town ten days from now and has to attend to chores, she says!

Given then that I haven’t managed to accomplish all I intended to this week, it was a joy to interview Neville. A completely unpretentious man with not an air or a grace about him, he responded to me with candor and with sincerity and seemed to have lost none of the hospitable warmth and generosity that India tends to nurture in her sons and daughters. Despite the fact that he has had an unusually large number of challenges in his short life in this country, he has remained optimistic, forgiving and profoundly understanding of the people who made his life what it is today. I felt that there were so many lessons about compassion and forgiveness that I learned from him.

We met in his assisted retirement living facility in Norwood, a ‘Council place’ (as he described it) where he tried hard to make me feel at home and comfortable. It was the little gestures he advanced towards me that moved me deeply and stirred my own feelings of warmth towards him. And yet, when he spoke to me it was with perception and insight that so many of the other folks to whom I have spoken have completely lacked. Not only is he well-informed about his community and its history but he wears his learning lightly. This man has given so much and will continue to give for the rest of his life and has received so little in return–and asks for nothing much. He was certainly one of the most unusual Anglo-Indians I have met so far and yet one who has most deeply impacted me.

On the way home, while I was seated at Norwood Junction waiting for the train to return to Victoria, he called my cell phone to apologize that he had forgotten to offer me the snacks he had especially bought for me yesterday. I admit that I had started to feel hungry and was grateful for the biscuits that I threw into my bag before leaving the house as I now realize that I am often peckish after these long hikes into the distant suburbs to do these interviews. While so many of my ‘subjects’ have generously invited me to lunch with them as part of the interview sessions, others have told me point-blank that they cannot offer me too much time! It is this contrast in attitudes towards me and my work that repeatedly strikes me as I continue to plug away at it here in London. Few of them feel grateful that their community which continues to remain almost unknown in the UK is being made the subject of scrutiny through the support of a world-famous university. Perhaps it is their ignorance of academic research that makes them so oblivious to the need to be more co-operative and more committed. Only one of the many individuals I have interviewed so far actually wrote to thank me for the work I am doing and for the time, trouble and attention I am lavishing on a completely obscure and invisible ethnic minority in the UK.

OK, so I guess I have vented enough and hopefully the next crop of ‘subjects’ to whom I am introduced will make me feel less resentful. At any rate, I got back home and attended to email, had a chat with Chriselle, rebooked a flight to Lyon in May as Easyjet needed to cancel the flight I had booked way back in December and began to search the web for some plays that Chriselle and I might see together when she gets here in early May.

Being hungry then, I heated some pizza and ravioli and sat down to eat my dinner while beginning to watch Lovejoy which my new Anglo-Indian friend John Thomas left for me with my concierge yesterday. The series is set in the 1980s in Suffolk and John, who reads my blog regularly, thought that I might enjoy the series as I had recently visited Suffolk. I watched the first episode and just began introducing myself to the characters and the ethos of the series when my eyelids began to droop and I decided to respond and get to bed.

After writing this blog, I did just that…at the end of what was a very productive day for me.

Spring Has Sprung!

Mar15

Sunday, March 15, 2009
London

Oh, to be in England
Now that spring is here!
Oh, to be in England
Drinking English beer!

When I was a little girl, back home in Bombay, India, this senseless ditty was often sung at parties. I had no idea then what spring felt like or what English beer tasted like–the Yanks always describe it satirically as “warm”–the beer that is, not the season! At any rate, spring was definitely in the air this morning when I left my flat at 8. 40 after a delicious breakfast of Poilane’s walnut toast and Stilton cheese and coffee and walked briskly to the Church of St. Bartholomew The Great at Smithfield for the 9 am Eucharist Service. There was no one on the streets at that early hour and when I sauntered around the church gardens and ran into the priest making his way to the church for the service, he greeted me cheerfully though he lamented the fact that despite the bright sunshine, it was “a little chilly”.

If I thought yesterday that the outside of St. Bartholomew’s was noteworthy, the inside was something else. I mean this church wears its hoary age with pride and dignity. It dates from 1123–yes, that is 1123–almost a thousand years ago in the age of the Normans, the English were worshipping at this church! It cannot get any older than this! You can tell this from the grey surface of the great uneven stones that form the walls and the columns and the memorials to eminent prelates. There is a wonderful memorial to the monk Rapere who founded the priory that became a flourishing monastery until the Dissolution of 1538 when large portions of it were wantonly destroyed. But, much of it remains, including one of the original cloisters. I had a look around the main monuments until the service began at 9 am.

The sermon was just wonderful. I love the way these Anglican priests make a point of preparing the most thought-provoking sermons. It seems to me that a very important part of their ministry is public speaking at their services and I have found that they do this far better than the Catholic priests, most of whom, in my humble opinion, usually preach sermons that are boring and long and rambling and pointless. Anyway, I was spellbound by the sermon and the intelligent way in which it was constructed, the depth of meaning it contained and the powers of articulation of the speaker. I received Communion and after taking another look around the church, I walked back home past the Smithfield Meat Market and Holborn Circus where a few people had started stirring… and then I was home.

I spent the next couple of hours preparing for my forthcoming lecture in Padua and transcribing one of the interviews I did with Claire Jansen, one of the respondents in my research survey on Anglo-Indians. I was only able to get through half of it, however, before I had to shower and prepare for my lunch time appointment with my next door neighbors Tim Freeman and Barbara Cookson. We had decided to go to the Italian restaurant Carluccio’s at 1 pm, but since it tends to get choked at that hour, we thought it best to take a walk on “Wobbly Bridge “(as they have re-christened the Millennium Bridge or the “Blade of Light Bridge” as Tim told me it was first called).

The day was simply glorious and people were out in droves. Indeed, a day such as this one makes every grey, rainy, dreary, drizzly day you have gone through in London all winter long seem so worthwhile! My heart felt light as a whisper as we crossed the Thames which was in full spate, thanks to the tide’s coming in. We paused and looked downriver at the buildings towards the Tower of London. It is always a joy to walk with Tim and Barbara in London as they adore their city as much as I do and are eager to share its lesser-known corners (though Barbara, who reads my blog regularly was telling me that it is getting difficult for them to find places to show me that I have not discovered already!). Tim’s whacky sense of humor and his huge knowledge of history always make our conversations sparkle and today was no exception.

It was simply a perfect afternoon and when we did get ourselves down to Carluccio’s, Barbara and I decided to share the Antipasto platter for two which included a number of really yummy Italian eats to graze on. Cold beer and wonderful focaccia made it a good meal and so filling that we decided not to have any mains at all. Instead of ordering dessert and coffee, I invited them over to my flat to have a go at the Black Forest Gateau that I had bought from Waitrose yesterday and my sultana scones with clotted cream and strawberry jam made it a great afternoon tea indeed! It was fantastic to catch up with them as we hadn’t met in ages–what with all the traveling I’ve been doing.

I barely had time to clear away and wash up before I had to get ready for my dinner appointment–and I was still so full!! I made my way on the Tube to Willesden Green (Jubilee Line which I caught at Bond Street) from where I walked six minutes to Teighnmouth Road to the lovely home of Phillipe and Marilyn Rixhon. Their neighborhood is just delightful–a number of stately homes, each completely different in design and style, caught my eye as I walked the four blocks to their front door. I met the Rixhons in early December when we were invited as guests of Robert and Caroline Cummings to a musical concert performed by the Music majors of Boston University in London. Marilyn and I had hit it off immediately and, next thing I know, they were inviting me to their place for dinner.

The evening was simply marvelous. Their lovely teenaged daughter was present as well and over wine and some nibbles, we started off a memorable evening. The Rixhons bought this house a couple of years ago and gutted it completely to build this incredibly beautiful home with its superbly landscaped garden. I was charmed to notice a pear tree and an apple tree in their back garden, both of which, apparently, give an abundance of fruit in late summer! How perfectly charming! While Phillipe busied himself selecting a bottle of wine from his very cool temperature-controlled cooler, Marilyn began fixing us our salads composed of watercress and mandarin oranges and candied almonds with a citrus vinaigrette. The main course was sea bass that was grilled lightly and flavored very simply with salt, pepper and lemon juice–it was incredibly succulent and melted in my mouth. With a side of baby zucchini stuffed with roasted tomatoes, it made a very colorful plate indeed. I crunched salt and pepper on my dinner from Alessi’s beautiful wooden salt and pepper shakers–their really striking design caught my eye on Marilyn’s beautifully laid table with its spring-time colors and motifs of wild flowers.

Conversation was stimulating as we talked about everything–Phillipe’s business in Music Promotion, the bane of TV reality shows (which none of us can stand), the impact of the Holocaust on Europe’s Jews (the Rixhons are Jewish diaspora living as expatriates in England), their former life in Dubai and its inevitable crumbling that they had long ago predicted, etc. I was glad Marilyn gave us a break before she brought out dessert–Chocolate Fondant Cakes served with fresh oranges, chopped pecans and figs. I have noticed that Europeans never attempt to make dessert themselves–they do the sensible thing and purchase it from patisseries where master pastry chefs do an incredible job turning out irresistible treats. Before I knew it, it was past 9 pm and by then the Rixhons had already extended another invitation to me to join them for dinner when Llew is in town as they say that they would love to meet him too.

I was so touched by their generosity and hospitality and even as I mentally noted all the things I had to do as soon as I got home (such as packing for my trip to Italy on Tuesday and checking and responding to email), I could not help thinking how fortunate I am that I have made so many fabulous friends here in London. Indeed I have been singularly lucky in that I seem to have made friends from many varying professions and backgrounds and in getting to know them I have become enlightened and educated about the English way of life.

Marilyn dropped me to the Tube station and I was home by 10 pm after which I had a long chat with Llew and found myself undertaking a couple more tasks that need to be get done in the next day or two–sigh!!!

Then, having drunk a glass of white wine too many, I was pleasantly sleepy and after hammering out this blog, decided to call it a day! Indeed, it was a day to remember–probably the first really great one of the spring season and I couldn’t help thinking of that mindless song that I recalled from my childhood and I understood, for the first time, what prompted the composer of that ditty to write: “Oh, to be in England/Now that Spring is here”.

To have an entire spring to enjoy in merrie ‘ole England is more than any Yank can ask for and I am anticipating every moment with the deepest excitement!

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!

A Very Busy Day!

Feb18

Wednesday, February 18, 2009
London

I was up again at the crack of dawn–at 6. 30 am–but did not have the time to do any reading in bed as I had to head out within an hour for my Physiotherapy session at UCL with Claire Curtin. I was early for my 8. 30 am appointment but was pleased to discover that I have improved a great deal since last I saw her. It seems that with the stretching exercises I have been doing, the shape of the arch of my feet has changed (hopefully, for the better!) and if I continue these stretches, I can hope to see more improvement. Claire showed me some new and more challenging exercises. I told her about my success with Alternate Bathing–while she did not nix it, she was not unduly enthusiastic either. She basically told me to do whatever it is that makes me feel better! She now wants to see me again after three weeks and has asked me to follow up with a call to the podiatrist to find out where I stand in the queue and if possible to see if they can fix up an appointment for me on the phone for my orthotics.

I took the bus straight from UCL Hospital to the SOAS Library so I could do some reference work with Frank Anthony’s Book Britain’s Betrayal in India. The library was almost empty when I got there at about 10 am–college students stir themselves slowly–and on consulting the online catalogue, I discovered that the book I wanted was in the Special Collections and for reference only. When I asked an assistant there to show me where the Special Collection was located, she informed me , to my huge disappointment, that Special Collections is closed on Wednesday because the library is short-staffed! I was so stunned! Imagine keeping a reference section in a university library closed because there is no one to work there! Such a thing would be unimaginable in the States!

I then decided to go into the stacks to get a book by Herbert Stark. When I tried to find that on the shelves, it was nowhere to be seen even though I had learned online that it was “Available”. I thought that I was probably looking in the wrong section or that the book had been misshelved. I was almost tearing my hair out in frustration by this point but, just then, I saw a passing librarian and asked for assistance. She apologized and told me that many of the books had not yet been shelved as “there is a huge backlog”. I was still trying to figure out what she meant when she led me to the Reshelving Section. To my horror, I saw several bookcases filled with books that had been returned days ago but which had not yet been returned to their respective shelves as they did not have the man power! This is completely insane, I thought. How is it possible for anyone to find books if they are not shelved correctly? I realized by this point that doing any kind of research in these libraries is going to take me much longer than it would take were I attempting to glean the same information in the US–so I better get cracking and bargain to spend a lot more time than I expected.

Since I was only two blocks away, I went next to the British Museum and decided to finish seeing the Highlights that I had begun yesterday. To my amazement, I found the Museum mobbed by every school-going kid in the country. Just as the area around Buckingham Palace was stormed by school-kids yesterday, so too the British Museum was buzzing today–a result of half-term break. The most popular galleries were the Egyptian Gallery where the Mummies are kept and the African and Native America Galleries where the giant totem poles and carved wooden eagles can be seen.

I had a bit of a fright when I entered an elevator to get from the Ground floor to the third. The elevator took off and then within ten seconds, kept bouncing up and down with a fearsome sound. The voice inside then said, “This lift is not in service”. I was terrified for a few seconds as I was alone in the lift and have never experienced anything like this. I started to look around frantically inside the elevator for a button I could press to communicate with someone for help when the doors swung open and I was back where I started. I fled and decided that I was better off climbing the stairs!

Eventually, I did get to the relevant floors and spent a fascinating hour seeing the following items:

1. The Lewis Chessman (These exquisite carved ivory chess man are in the Sutton Hoo section). Each one is different and they are beautifully crafted.

2. The Sutton Hoo Ship Burial. (These treasures found in a mound in Dorset were buried with a Saxon warrior who is presumed to be a king. In addition to arms and armour, there are gold and silver objects, jewelery, and a whole horde of really amazing objects that were excavated at the time of the discovery).

3. Mosaic of Christ. (This Roman mosaic, found in a Roman mansion, is the earliest image of Christ in Britain. It is remarkably well-preserved).

4. Basse Yutz Flacons. (These large urn-like metals vessels are the finest survivals of early Celtic Art. They were used for the storage and mixing of wine in keeping with similar techniques that existed in France at the time).

5. Oxus Treasure. (This is a collection of gold ornaments that hails from Archaemenid Persia. The detailed metalwork is amazing).

6. The Flood Tablet. (This is a small stone tablet whose cuneiform script has been deciphered as hailing from the Babylonian civilization. It has been interpreted as describing a great floor that led to the building of a great ark that was filled with animals and birds–an incident that bears an uncanny resemblance to the account of Noah’s Ark in the Bible. I was spellbound as I read about this on the explanation plaque near by).

7. The Royal Game of Ur. (This is a board game that was popular in the Middle East three thousand years ago. It was played with dice on a portable game board. Interestingly, a game called Asha, played in Cochin in Kerala, is said to have originated in this game–brought to India by the earliest Syrian Christians who hailed from this region–talk about cross-cultural global influences in the Ancient World…my God, this is stunning).

8. The Mummy of Katebet (This is one of the most popular items in the museum as kids seem to be bizarrely attracted to them).

9. Sphinx of Taharqo. (This is a smallish sphinx that has rather detailed features).

10. Samurai Armor. (This was found in the Japanese section but it was the least impressive of all the items I saw).

11. King of Ife (This is a small bronze head from the Yoruba tribe in Nigeria in Africa that shows the most delicate casting.)

I have to say that I was deeply touched by the images I saw everywhere of kids in the company of their parents. It took me back to my own childhood days in Bombay where I grew up. On Saturday evening outings, my parents took my brothers and myself to the Prince of Wales Museum in Colaba and it was probably there that my great passion for museums was first developed. I remember the excitement with which I looked upon the stuffed animals and birds in the Natural History section and the marvelous carved Gandhara art in other parts of the building. Bombay was such a different place in those days–the early 1960s. I remember the bus ride on a red double decker bus, so similar to the ones I have grown to love so dearly here in London. I recall the quietness of the Ballard Pier area on weekend evenings when the feverish commercial activity of the region ceased–so similar to my neighborhood of Holborn on weekend evenings. I can see so clearly the manicured lawns of the Museum and the sailors strolling around the dockyards having just disembarked from their voyages around the world.
How nice it is of these parents to spare the time to spend with their kids and to help create in their minds the kind of memories that I cherish today and am so grateful to my own parents for nurturing in me.

It was close to lunch time when I reached home to check and respond to email. Then, I shut my eyes for just a little while to take a cat nap as I had to step out again later in the evening to make my way to Charing Cross where I had scheduled a meeting with Geraldine Charles, the first Anglo-Indian academic I have met here in London. I arrived at our appointed spot rather early but whiled away the time at a local W.H. Smith store browsing through magazines. Geraldine arrived right on schedule and after we had settled ourselves in a Starbucks over coffee for her and a hot chocolate for me, we began our conversation.

Geraldine is different from most of the Anglo-Indians I have met so far in that she has made the study of her community as much an academic interest as it is a matter of familial curiosity. Her own probings into her family genealogy has led to her being invited all over the world to talk about Anglo-Indian families in British India. She gave me a ton of useful information and a number of photocopies of portraits from her family albums–all of which are priceless. Her clarity on the subject, her rather controversial views and her personal contact with eminent Anglo-Indians made for absorbing conversation and I was delighted, when at the end of our talk, she suggested we get together another time “for a curry at the Strand Continental Club”. I told her I would love to do that and on that optimistic note, we parted company as she left to catch a long-distance commuter train.

Back home, I settled in front of the telly to watch Under the Greenwood Tree based on Thomas Hardy’s novel of the same name, sent to me again by Love Films.com as the one they sent me a few weeks ago was defective. Thankfully, unlike most of Hardy’s writing, this one had a happy ending.

Antiquing in Rochester with Janie and a Curry with Roger

Feb11

Wednesday, February 11. 2009
Rochester, Kent and London

I left my flat early–so did not have the chance today to do my Contrast Soaking or my exercises. Gulped down my breakfast–cereal and milk–had a shower and left at 7. 30 am for my ride to North Dulwich Station to meet Janie Yang, my friend who sportingly agreed to drive me to Rochester, Kent, to pick up the vintage weighing scale I had spotted a couple of weeks ago. I changed two buses but arrived at our appointed spot at 8. 35 am–we’d agreed to meet at 8.45 right after Janie dropped her son Sky off to school. It was a very frosty morning indeed and within ten minutes of waiting outdoors, my toes began to ache despite two pairs of socks.

Janie arrived at 8.50 am and we were off. It was so great to see her again. I haven’t seen her since October when we spent a day at Syon House with her Dad–who then, sadly, passed away a few weeks later. Between my travels to the US and India and her Dad’s passing and repeated trips to Yorkshire to help her mother deal with his loss, Janie has had her hands full. I was deeply grateful, therefore, that she set time aside today to help me run this errand.

We had rather hideous traffic getting out of South London, but once we hit the A2, we rolled along at a very brisk pace. Janie and I had so much to catch up with that there was never a second’s lull in our conversation. We arrived at Memories, the antiques’ stores on Rochester’s High Street at 10. 30 am and because I believed that Janie was in a hurry to get home, I thought we would load the car with my purchase and drive straight back home.

Except that the sun made a guest appearance just as we pulled up to the store and Janie was so enchanted by her very first glimpses of Rochester that she decided to park the car in the public parking lot and spend an hour or two exploring the town. I was thrilled, as it made me feel as if her drive had been worthwhile. She had never been to this historic Medway town of William the Norman Conqueror and Charles Dickens and when I told her that there was much to see, especially along the charming untouched High Street, she was sold on the idea of a little sightseeing.

Our first stop was at Restoration House which Stephanie and I had not seen on our last visit to Rochester a couple of weekends ago. The rain and the fact that everything was closed that Sunday had deterred us from going out in search of it. Coming upon it as suddenly as Janie and I did, within a few minutes walk off the High Street, was a lovely surprise. The House was built in 1570 and was called Restoration House because it is believed that Charles II spent one night in it the day he was restored to the throne of England in 1660 after the reign of the Puritans led by Oliver Cromwell.

This fabulous solid Tudor brick structure, designed in the form of a capital E so fascinated Dickens (who spent a great deal of time in Rochester and owned a home on nearby Gad’s Hill) that it became the model for what he called Satis House in his novel Great Expectations. This is the home that Pip is told to visit and where he meets the ill-fated Miss Haversham. Both Janie and I were so taken by this structure that we spent a great deal of time studying the architectural details. We were amazed to find that the house is now in private possession and is open to he public only on Thursdays and Fridays from June to September. Janie, who loves architecture, was deeply struck by the building and following her lead, I strolled into the churchyard that abuts the property. There, behind high walls, we got a sense of the grandeur of the gardens that lie concealed behind.

We returned to the High Street, and began walking down towards more antiques shops that were wide open today. They were closed on the Sunday that I had last visited. Janie also loved the solidity of the Cathedral and we decided to stop there for a coffee. In the Cathedral’s lovely little Tea Room with its bevy of ladies in navy blue aprons serving home-baked goodies, I ordered us two lattes, a peanut butter cookie for Janie and a soft-as-a-cloud cheese scone for me, while Janie went off to explore the Cathedral’s interior. I delight in her great joy in European period architecture. I learn so much in her company as she points out technical elements that I would ordinarily have missed. Her rambles had also taken her as far as the 11th century Norman castle and she caught a glimpse of it from the outside.

Back on the High Street after another long and very interesting conversation over our lattes, we popped our heads into a few other antiques stores. Janie was looking for a mirror that she could make the focal point of her living room but was unable to find anything substantial enough. Then, quite by chance, in the Oxfam store, I spotted a lovely Victorian tea set for two and because the decoration was so lavish (loads of gold all over and a beautiful hand painted design of pink and gold roses), I decided to find out how it was priced. Just thirty pounds, said the saleswoman, and before I knew it, I was leaving the store with a tea pot, sugar, creamer, one cup, two saucers and one small dessert plate. The set is missing a cup and a dessert plate and I have decided to make it my quest to find them on the internet through the Replacement China outfits that have been flourishing in recent years. Needless to say, I was delighted with my weighing scale which came complete with a set of weights and since all of it is in such good condition, I can easily see myself using these for many years to come.

With one last stop in an old-fashioned candy store where Janie bought some scrumptious lemon drops and I bought her a bar of Lindt coffee chocolate, we began our drive back to London. We crossed the Medway on the beautiful iron bridge–a fine example of Victorian engineering–and, before long, arrived in the city where Janie dropped me off at my bus stop just as we saw a bus sailing by.

Being the sweetheart she is, Janie decided to follow the bus route to a couple of stops ahead so that I could catch it and that was exactly what she did. Grabbing my bags out of the trunk of her car, I did manage to get the bus two stops ahead and arrived at my flat about an hour later. I decided to catch up with email and take some rest because I had another appointment in the evening. I called my parents in Bombay, caught up with them and then at 5 pm, I left the house for my next appointment.

I had made plans to meet Roger McNair, a second-generation Anglo-Indian in the UK at 6. 30 pm at Finchley Road Tube Station. The journey was long drawn out and involved the changing of two buses but I am never disappointed as I love to watch London pass me by and these drives take me into neighborhoods I would never otherwise have visited. I discovered, this evening, for instance, that Primrose Hill can be reached by bus from my place and since it is a neighborhood I have been keen to explore, I shall do so sometime soon.

I arrived at our appointed spot at 6. 40 pm and found Roger looking for me. At his suggestion, we went to the O2, a snazzy mall on Finchley Road where at a pub called Wetherspoons Roger bought me a half pint of sweet Strongbow draught cider and a pint of Fosters lager for himself. We found ourselves one of the quietest spots in the bar and began our conversation. Roger is a very soft spoken gentleman and oftentimes I found myself straining above the background noise to catch everything he said. He spoke freely and articulately and it was a pleasure to listen to his very thoughtful responses to my questions. Though born in India, Roger came with his parents to the UK when he was three and was raised for the first ten years of his life in London and then in Yorkshire. His story made fascinating listening and before we knew it, it was 8. 30 pm and time to get a bite to eat. The pub grub sent out appetizing aromas our way and I had thought we would eat right there; but Roger asked if I did not mind “going out for a curry”. I told him I was fine with whatever he chose to eat and in a little while, we were out on the main road looking for an Indian restaurant.

Of course, as everyone knows, in London, you can throw a stone and wherever it falls, you can be sure to find an Indian restaurant. So, it was at A Passage to India on Finchley Road that he chose a Chicken Kashmiri with Pulao while I went for a Chicken Saag with a Naan. I was amazed at the small portion sizes and realized that food, indeed eating out in general, is so much cheaper in the United States. However, the service was very good and both dishes were superbly cooked and Roger insisted on making it his treat. Roger told me that Indian is his favorite cuisine and if there is one thing that the Anglo-Indian diaspora has not abandoned in the United Kingdom it is their devotion to rice and curry!

And so the evening passed very companionably indeed. I truly enjoyed meeting and chatting with Roger and at the end of the evening , he invited me to a jazz concert on Friday. I would very much like to join him and his group of friends, but I have a walking tour of Spitalfields including Brick Lane scheduled with my students that evening and might have to take a rain check. Still, it was a treat getting to know him and I am sure that we will meet again as Roger is keen to meet other second-generation Anglo-Indians and I have promised to link him up with few.

I took the Tube back, a journey of no more than 25 minutes and was home, warmly ensconced in my bed and writing this blog before 11 pm at which point I decided to shut up shop for the night!

Interviewing Anglo-Indians in Lewisham

Feb10

Tuesday, February 10, 2009
London

It is absurd that I should feel so pleased with myself whenever I sleep later than 7 am! But that was exactly how I felt when I awoke at ten minutes to seven (and not at 5.00 or 5. 30 or 6. 00 am). I finished reading the last few pages of my Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets and not a day too soon as my books were due at the Holborn Public Library today. I then made a call to my nephew Arav, proofread my blog entry of last night, checked and responded to email and got out of bed only at 9. 45am! Where does the time go?

By the time I had my breakfast (cereal with yogurt) while having myself a Contrast Bath, took a shower, did my foot exercises, dressed and got out of the house it was 11. 15 am. I went first to the library, returned my books and was delighted to note that the fourth book in the series, The Goblet of Fire was available in paperback. This means that I now have all seven of them in my possession. I shall start reading the third one, The Prisoner of Azkaban and then get on with the Goblet of Fire. I really have entered into the spirit of fantasy of these books and am quite enjoying them, though I have to say I am not a devotee–not yet.

I returned to my flat to drop off my book, then took the Number 17 bus from Gray’s Inn Road to London Bridge. I have just made the discovery that the 17 goes eastwards towards London Bridge and the 371 goes towards Waterloo Bridge via The Strand! This means that I no longer have to walk along Chancery Lane to get to the Strand anymore! Truly, I am learning a bit more about the bus system daily and the manner in which the system is unfolding itself to me is just fascinating.

A few minutes later, I was at London Bridge changing buses. You see, I was headed to Lewisham for a 2 .00 pm appointment with an Anglo-Indian couple, Cecil and Mary Wilson, who had agreed to speak with me about their immigrant lives in Great Britain. It was blowing on London Bridge something nasty, but in a few minutes, my bus arrived. I boarded it (upper deck, front row seats) and was off.

I arrived at Lewisham High Street sooner than I expected which gave me the chance to browse in the shops for a bit. I began at T.K. Maxx (the equivalent of T.J. Maxx in the States) and was delighted to find myself a Bodum Cafetiere for my morning coffee (as the one provided in my flat has worn out and the coffee grounds remain unfiltered, much to my annoyance). In the Oxfam store, I found two vintage pressed glass jelly moulds which at a pound and a pound and a half were hard to pass up. It really is odd but all of the purchases I have made here in the U.K. have been vintage or antique items and my collection is growing. Tomorrow, if the weather is good, I will be driving to Rochester with my friend Janie Yang to an antiques store called Memories on the High Street to pick up a vintage weighing scale from the 1940s complete with a set of weights.

When I had finished shopping, I stepped into the cafe of the British Home Stores to enjoy a cup of peppermint tea and I called the Wilsons from there to find out exactly how I should get to their place from the High Street. When I mentioned that I was just about to have a bite at the BHS cafe, they very warmly invited me to join them for lunch. Since there had been no mention of a lunch invitation prior to this point, I had assumed that they would finish their own lunch and then welcome me to their place. It turns out that they expected me to take it for granted than our 2 pm appointment would include lunch!

Well, Cecil came and picked me up and walked me to his lovely little cottage (that’s what they call ‘row houses’ here) that was just a few minutes’ walk from the shops. Lewisham is a rather old community that was first settled by the Irish. It has an old clock tower, a Catholic church on the High Street and all the shops that one could desire. Within minutes, I was being welcomed indoors by his wife and we sat down to a delicious home-cooked meal of pullao, chicken curry, dal and coleslaw. Every single item was scrumptious and I actually took a second helping. Our meal had been preceded by a glass of Harvey’s Bristol Cream Sherry–a most civilized English custom. I declined the ice-cream that was offered for dessert as I was just too full and, within minutes, we got down to business.

As with the other Anglo-Indians I have been meeting, I found this couple fascinating. What was particularly impressive about this gentleman is the manner in which he has maintained his personal and family records. Priceless documents dating back to the 19th century are carefully preserved in plastic slipcovers in separate files. He showed me photo albums, scrap books and his own collection of books on Anglo-Indian history and literature–all of which make him very proud and very happy. It was a joy indeed to handle this gold mine of documentation and I was most touched by his devotion to his community and to his family members. The pity was that neither one of his two children is at all interested in their heritage and seem to be determined to erase the Indian part of their parents’ roots. This couple has never visited India and though the gentleman hangs on to the fond dream of making this ‘sentimental journey’, his wife is uninterested in going back and, at any rate, can no longer do so for medical reasons.

They are also so proud of their home and their lovely garden and gave me a nice tour of their dwelling. I was repeatedly moved by their innate simplicity and their sincerity which managed to contrast with their pride in their accomplishments. Like so many of the Anglo-Indians I have met, they are articulate and eager to share their experiences.

I took the buses back home, stopping off at the Tesco Extra at Surrey Quays to buy myself some Muesli (I really do like Tesco’s Finest Fruit and Nut Muesli for breakfast and have introduced Llew to it too). By the time I reached home, it was almost 7 pm. I spent the evening dealing with my email correspondence. I have a trip to Rochester tomorrow and since I am meeting Janie at North Dulwich station, I needed to figure out how to get there by bus. When that was done, I had dinner and called it a day.

Mozart’s Magic Flute at the Coliseum

Feb7

Saturday, February 7, 2009
London

The days are flying too fast for my liking. I cannot believe that the first week of February has passed already. This semester is galloping ahead and I don’t feel as if I am accomplishing anything substantial.

I woke up too early yet again–before 5 am. Turning to Harry Potter, I covered large chunks of the Chamber of Secrets before I tried to fall asleep again. Somehow, I did not succeed. My mind is cluttered now with too many thoughts that no longer have the serenity of a few months ago.

About 10 am, after I had spoken to my parents in Bombay and my cousin Blossom in Madras, I finally got out of bed and had some breakfast–cereal and milk. Since Stephanie would be arriving later in the day, I decided to do a thorough cleaning of my flat. I started with the kitchen, then worked my way through my bedroom and the hallway and the bathroom. It took enormous amounts of time during which I tried to keep the radio on so I could listen to some music–I really have developed a liking for a station called Magic 104.5. But then, I pressed a wrong button on the remote, and bang, just like that, I lost signal. I requested Tim or a Barbara to take a look and Tim arrived a few minutes later and with his magic IT touch, he got it all sorted out in minutes. I am so blessed to have such helpful neighbors.

Most of my cleaning was done by then and I was starving and it seemed a good time to take a lunch break–more Broccoli Cheddar Soup (I really did make a ton of it that snowy day), Spaghetti Bolognese (store-bought) and Saag Alloo (also store-bought) and watched Market Kitchen while I munched.

It was about 2. 30 by this point and Llew called and we had a chat for almost an hour. I expected Stephanie to call anytime and she did send me an email telling me that she had finished looking at flats in Richmond for the day and would soon be headed out to my place on the Tube. Only she simply did not arrive! While waiting for her, I had a shower, reviewed a student essay that might bring upon him a plagiarism charge and continued reading Harry Potter. Still no sign of Steph! It was time to call and find out what had happened.

Well, it turned out that on her way back home to Wimbledon, she decided to see two more flats and that held her up considerably. She would be with me in an hour, she said. This gave me a chance to make a few more phone calls (as my land line calls are free throughout the weekend) to my friend Bina in Harrow–we had a long chinwag–and to a couple of Anglo-Indians respondents for my research project.

At about 5.30 pm, Steph finally arrived and we had a cup of coffee and biscuits as she got her breath back. Like most people who have visited my London flat, she was so envious of my location and loved my place overall. About 6. 30 pm, we set out, took the bus to Covent Garden and The Bear and Staff Pub on Shaftesbury Avenue which had a special–2 meals for 10 pounds. It was such a good deal that we decided we just had to try it. Steph chose the Burger while I went for the Gammon Steak with Scrambled Eggs and Chips–it was scrumptious and Steph loved her burger! I had always wanted to taste a true British gammon steak and it was juicy and just bursting with flavor. English chips are also far better than the ‘fries’ we get in the US which are usually limp and rather soggy. To wash it down, Steph had a Diet Coke while I opted for half a pint of cider. This has become very much my drink of choice and I realize that I love English cider very much indeed.

Much as we would have liked to savor our meal, we had to rush as we had a curtain call at 7.30 pm for Mozart’s The Magic Flute, a production of the English National Opera at the Coliseum. We had Balcony tickets; but luckily there was a lift. It took us ten minutes to walk there briskly from the pub and just in time, we found our (cheap) seats and settled down. The house was almost full–but for a few scattered seats that I saw way down in the Orchestra section, every single one was taken. And no wonder too!

The opera was just delightful. Not only was Mozart’s music charming and even catchy (if one can say that about classical music), but the sets and costumes, the lights and sound effects and, above all, the singing was so marvelous that we were enthralled. The guy who played Papageno was superb and we had an understudy playing Pamina for our performance and yet she was amazing. Steph, who is a huge opera lover and has seen far more operas than I have (for I have only recently got into them) was thrilled. I am looking forward now to seeing La Boheme next month at the same venue.

We didn’t waste too much time getting home on the buses as it had been a long day and I was tired and sleepy. Back home in just 20 minutes, I made up a bed with sheets, a pillow and my down comforter for Steph on the pull out sofa bed in my living room and she settled down to look at our Scotland album before we called it a night.

We have plans to go to Mass to the Brompton Oratory tomorrow followed by a visit to the Victoria and Albert Museum which is just next door. Steph has brunch plans with a friend right after that and I might continue to hang out at the museum for the rest of the afternoon.

It is so great to have her spending the weekend with me–it is a pity that she arrived so late, but once she has found a flat for herself in Richmond and makes the move from Wimbledon, I am sure she will hang out here much more.

Berlin…Here I Come–Finally!!!

Jan31

Tuesday, January 27, 2009
London-Berlin

When I had last been to Germany, more than two decades ago, as a back-packing grad student in England, the country had been divided in two and parts of it still lay concealed behind the Iron Curtain. Berlin was one of those parts and ever since the Reunification of the country, I have wanted to visit this place and walk in the footsteps of the history of the 20th century. When I knew that I would be posted in London for a year, my first thought was, “Ah, now I shall finally be able to make a trip to Berlin”; but then in November, when I had booked my air tickets to get there, I had to cancel my plans as Plantar Fascittis took over my life. At the next available opportunity, I booked tickets again and this time too, I almost did not board the flight—indeed, I felt pretty certain that I was not destined to see Berlin in my lifetime.

I thought I would spend the morning at the National Gallery finishing up the last 6 galleries that I still need to study. But when I awoke, I felt guilty that I hadn’t yet transcribed the two interviews I had done with my Anglo-Indians subjects Vivian and Dorothy Lawless—so I decided to get cracking on those and, boy, did they take ages! I spent hours working on getting their views and words in order and before I knew it, it was well past lunchtime. I spent an hour packing and getting organized for my departure to Berlin and at exactly 1 pm, I left my flat to take the bus to Victoria to catch the Easybus van to Stanstead airport. So…don’t even ask me where the day went. I was glued to my PC but, in the end, I did finish the interviews and did email them off to my office at NYU to be printed out on Monday. Having accomplished this great task, I felt that I could leave for Berlin without feeling guilty about devoting so much time to the sheer pleasure of travel.

Almost Missing my Flight…
The Easybus van left Victoria on schedule. My Ryanair flight was scheduled to depart from Stanstead at 6. 45 pm. I was scheduled to arrive there at 4. 45 pm. Except that from the Get Go, we were held up in awful traffic—indeed all the way out of London and on to the motorway, we dodged traffic and then just when we were 20 miles away from Stanstead, we came to a dead halt—and did not move again for another hour! You can just imagine the despair of every single passenger in the van as, one after the other, they gave up hopes of making their flights. I called Llew to tell him that I was certain to miss my flight as there was a massive pile-up on the motorway. Still, refusing to give up hope, I began praying and I knew that if I arrived at the airport even at 6 pm, there was still a chance I might make it. Well, somewhat miraculously, the roads opened out and I spied a tow van taking a black vehicle off the road—it probably was a bad accident that led to so many passengers missing their flights.

As for me, it was exactly 6 pm, when I dashed out of the van and down the ramp to the Ryanair Check-in machines, obtained my boarding card, saw the instructions that told me to Proceed to the Gate and ran through the security lines. I had learned from my mistakes of the past for I carried only a very tiny transparent plastic bag with a few travel sized toiletries which I placed separately in a tray and, miracle of miracles, I cleared security within five minutes and was racing off to my gate where Boarding had not yet begun. I called Llew to tell him that I had made the flight after all and then I was off.

Arrival in Berlin:
I arrived, just 90 minutes later, at Berlin’s Schonefeld airport at 9.15 pm local time because Berlin is one hour ahead of London. My friend Anja Brug had arranged for me to spend my days in the apartment of her close friend Anneke who lives near Hamburg and uses the Berlin apartment so rarely that she is glad to have travelers use it occasionally. Anja herself had to dash out of Berlin to travel to Munich during the time I was there and felt awful to leave me on my own in the city. However, she had left me detailed instructions on how to get to the apartment from the airport where her Italian boyfriend Andrea was scheduled to meet me.

Now, despite being a very experienced solo world traveler, I have to say that I am always nervous about arriving in a strange country after dark especially when I cannot speak the language. My German is non-existent and using the S-Bahn to get to Hallensee, where the apartment was located, involved making a change that left me rather ill-at-ease. I was pleased, therefore, to find myself sharing a seat on the aircraft with an English student named Rosy who knew Berlin well and was a very able guide as she helped me buy a ticket from the ticket machine and rode part of the journey along the S-Bahn with me. At the point where I need to make a change, I made friends with another German woman named Ingeborg, who was also able to speak English and, hallelujah, she was taking the same train I needed to get off at the same stop—Hallensee! God works His miracles in the most wonderful ways and I was grateful for these blessings!

However, by the time we arrived at Hallensee, it was well past 11 pm and I was terrified about walking alone along Sessenerstrasse to get to the apartment. For one thing, it was dreadfully cold—far colder than it had been in London—and for another, well, the streets were deserted. There was not another soul in sight and as I pulled my backpack along, it seemed to echo eerily on the silent streets. I must admit that I felt very uneasy indeed. I am very glad that I had checked Google Earth before I left the house to find my bearings and get a sense of exactly where I was required to go once I got off the train. This proved very useful in boosting my self-confidence as I passed the cross streets and finally arrived at Number 6 Halberstädter Straße.
There, to my enormous relief, Andrea was awaiting my arrival (I had been in telephonic contact with him from the time I touched down at the airport) and he showed me the ropes. I had last met Andrea in Athens when Llew and I had been traveling in Greece in November.

A Most Unusual Apartment:
Anneke’s apartment is unusual to say the very least—it is an extremely bohemian space in a very old Pre-War part of Hallensee called Charlottenberg which is at the extreme West End of Berlin. The building is in a neighborhood that is made up of very similar ones that stand on cobbled streets. You enter through an imposing old heavy door into a vast hallway with a great big marble fireplace (yes, in the hall) and an elevator that looks as if it has come out of an old Alfred Hitchcock movie like Charade with Audrey Hepburn! At close to midnight, it all appeared a bit discomforting to me, though Andrea showed me my way around very competently.

You enter a large room filled with books and bookshelves and old armoires filled with bed linen and down comforters (which he failed to show me, so that I was cold for three out of the four nights that I was there). This is a ground floor apartment (that once belonged to the concierge of the building) and to access the kitchen, you descend down a winding spiral, wrought-iron staircase. This great space contains a very functional, very well-stocked kitchen and a bathroom space that includes an old-world claw-footed bath tub and a wash basin. The trouble is that there is a window right above the bath tub and though Andrea assured me that no one could look into the apartment, I could see the building on the opposite side of the street through the basement windows and I felt odd about taking a shower in such a space. I felt glad suddenly that my friend Liz Kaplan had cancelled her plans to join me in Berlin from New York as I am sure she would never have coped with such hippie arrangements!

As if this were not adequate, Andrea told me that the WC was located right outside the apartment, on the other end of the corridor! He led the way to a small unheated cubicle where there was a commode well-concealed and locked behind two closed doors. He gave me a key to the toilet and told me that no one else was able to use it except me—but I have to say that I resolved that I would use the loo last thing at night and then pray that I had no reason to have to visit the facilities during the night because, seriously, wild horses would not drive me to get there in the middle of the night along those dark corridors that were lit by light switches that appeared at intervals and glowed red to guide you to them! It’s ironic that I mentioned that the entire space reminded me of 50’s Hollywood movies because Anneke is a Hollywood film buff and her kitchen is decorated with black and white movie posters of Sophia Loren and Shirley MacLaine, John Wayne and Cary Grant!

Andrea left in a few minutes and, dead tired, I settled down for the night, hoping that I would not awake in the middle of it.