Tag Archive | Anglo-Indians

A Shocking Loss, An Interview in Wimbledon, More National Gallery and Dinner with Gauri

Jan23

Friday, January 23, 2009
London

I awoke this morning to the most shocking news in the world. It was 6.10 am, I switched my laptop on and froze. I had just received an email message from my friend Margaret Loose, Professor of English at the University of California at San Diego, informing me that a very dear mutual friend of ours, Professor Sally Ledger, had died on Wednesday. I looked at the words on my screen but they failed to make any sense. How could that be possible? That very morning, I had received an email from Sally, who is the Director of Victorian Studies at London’s Royal Holloway College, inviting me to attend a seminar there. I had emailed her back suggesting that we get together for lunch and had been awaiting a response from her. Sally is usually very prompt in responding to her email, so when Thursday passed, I have to admit I actually wondered at her silence.

It turns out that she was at her stove cooking dinner on Wednesday night when she had a sudden brain hemorrhage and dropped dead instantly. Just like that! Can you even believe it? Sally is my age–may even be younger–and a renowned Victorian scholar and a Dickensian whom I got to know at the Dickens Project at the University of California at Santa Cruz which I have attended for the past two summers. Though we have had regular email contact since I arrived here in London, we met only briefly and just by happenstance, at an Italian restaurant called Paradiso in Bloomsbury in October where we had hugged and kissed and promised to make plans to meet at the British Library over coffee or lunch. Alas! It was not to be and now poor dear Sally is gone and I will miss her warmth and her concern for me and the inspiration she provided as a scholar and as a teacher. I have been checking the website at Royal Holloway College because I do wish to attend her funeral since I am right here in London and, if it is scheduled before my departure for Berlin, I shall be there.

When I was over my shock and sadness, I got on with my work for the day. I actually put in a whole three hours of effective work on my laptop before I stirred and got out of bed. Ryanair’s offer of one-way five pounds fares meant that I was finally able to book my tickets to Venice and back for the March trip I was will be undertaking to Italy as my friend Annalisa Oboe, Professor in the English Department, has invited me to give a lecture at the University of Padua. I also needed to finalize accommodation arrangements in Berlin where I will be flying on Tuesday and, I have to say, I am a little concerned as my friend Anya Brug seems to be traveling again and hasn’t been checking her email. This means that I am not sure how to get from Schoenfeld airport to the flat in the city that she has arranged for me to occupy. If I do not hear from her over the weekend, I guess I will have to stay in the Youth Hostel where I’ve made alternative arrangements. I also emailed my friend Catherine Robson, Professor of English at the University of California at Davis, currently on a one-year research assignment in Berlin, to inform her about my arrival there and to make plans to meet. All of this took a good chunk of my early morning work hours and I was finally able to turn my thoughts to the interview I was scheduled to do in distant Wimbledon.

I could not have chosen a more miserable day to go out to interview Vivian Lawless and his wife Dorothy. Journey Planner instructed me on how to get there by bus, so I gritted my teeth against the awful weather and set out–wishing I had done the interview yesterday when I met him at the Norwood meeting. Anyway, a long journey and many bus changes later, there was Vivian waiting for me at the pub as promised and we walked the short distance to his home where I gratefully accepted a cup of coffee and a plate of biscuits.

The Lawlesses live in a old Edwardian House that has a lot of external charm and character. Like the typical terraced houses of that era, all the houses are identical on a street. They have handkerchief-sized front patches that open up to the main door. Inside, the rooms are very tiny (by American standards) and since most of the people I am interviewing for my study purchased these homes in the late 60s and early 70s and never moved out, most of them are in a decorating time warp with dark carpets, busy wallpaper and tons and tons of pictures of children, grand children ( and amazingly, in this case, even great grandchildren, for the Lawlesses too do not look their age at all). It must be the fact that these Anglo-Indians live in the cold, damp climate of England that has allowed them to preserve their youthfulness because their counterparts in India look old and haggard and have none of the vitality of body and spirit that these folks proclaim so heartily.

The interview went off well and I even had the chance to meet their only son, Gary, who popped in for a little while. I think it would have been nice to interview Gary as well but he did not say a word to me the entire time I was in his parents’ home, which led me to believe that he might not be interested in my project. At any rate, the Lawlesses were very nice to me and responded to my questions candidly and truthfully. I asked them if the famous tennis courts were anywhere near their place and they informed me that they were about two miles away but that they were probably closed at this time of year. By the time my interview wad done, the sun had started to shine down and dry up Mother Earth and the entire journey back was so much better. I was fascinated by the Little India that had developed along Tooting Broadway where sari shops and Indian sweetmeat stores, sub-Continental groceries and jewelry showrooms spoke of a vital ethnic community in the area.

Since the day was still young, I got off the bus at Trafalgar Square and returned to one of my favorite places in London–the National Gallery–where I decided to cover six more galleries. I have finally reached the oldest and most ornate part of the museum–the rooms surrounding the main dome that gives the building its solemn profile. These galleries are decorated to the hilt with lavish gilding on columns, elaborate plasterwork on the ceiling, thick moldings and damask covered walls that give the entire design a grand Baroque feel. These galleries house works by the French, Italian and British artists of the 19th centuries, some of whom happen to be my favorites–such as Jean-Baptiste Simeon Chardin (who is well represented here with many small canvases), Gainsborough, Turner, Constable and Canaletto whose Venetian landscapes with their minute detail leave me spellbound for hours. I was deeply taken by the series of river scapes of the Stour that Constable painted and I would like very much to get to Suffolk before I leave England so that I can see for myself the rural scenes he loved so well and look upon Willie Lott’s house which Constable has presented in scene after scene (and which still stands today). If this is true of Suffolk, the same is true of Canaletto’s Venice. As I looked upon the details of the Piazza San Marco and the views along the Grand Canal, I was struck by the fact that nothing seems to have changed at all since Canaletto made the depictions of the city his obsession in the late 19th century.

Realizing that I now have only six more galleries to study in detail before my perusal of the National Gallery is done, I took the bus home and had only a little while to check email and watch some TV before my friend Gauri Kasbekar-Shah was buzzing me downstairs. As in the case of Sally, I have been in email contact with Gauri since I arrived here in August to make plans to meet some evening, but it just did not happen. Eventually, we did settle on dinner and when I invited Gauri to have a drink at my place before we set out to eat, she agreed. Having come straight from work (she works at the Royal Bank of Scotland), she was starving and devoured the Stilton Cheese and Crackers that I laid out for her with our wine. I checked my book Cheap Eats in London and found a small seafood place, just behind my street on Farringdon, called Little Bay. We walked there and found the place located in a building in which Gauri says she almost bought a flat. The only thing that had prevented her from doing so was the presence of this restaurant on the ground floor! How coincidental was that??!!

We spent the next hour catching up over a really fabulous meal, which, was truly as the book said–cheap. We chose two different starters and split them: Garlic Mushrooms which were divine and Crab in Choux Buns–also very good. For a main dish, both Gauri and I opted for the Cod on a hot potato salad with a tomato coulis. It was melt-in-the-mouth good, but because I have a really tiny capacity, I carried half of it home in a doggy bag and I look forward to eating my leftovers soon. Unbelievably, it was past 11 pm when we finished our meal (we both decided against dessert as we were too full) and looked for buses to get us back to our respective homes–Gauri owns a flat in Islington where I have stayed twice on my previous visits to London. This place is not too far from mine at all and we have now made plans to get together again soon after I return from Berlin.

I was merely able to chat with Llew for a few minutes before I felt really tired and decided to call it a day.

Meeting Anglo-Indians in Norwood and my First Film in the UK

Jan22

Thursday, January 22, 2009
London

I left my flat early this morning to make my way by bus to Selhurst where I intended to interview Frank Bradbury for my Anglo-Indian study. When we had chatted on the phone several weeks ago, he had invited me to a meeting of the ‘South London Anglo-Indian Association’ which takes place in Norwood every Thursday. I was pleased to accept the invitation as I had hoped that this meeting would allow me to network with other Anglo-Indians whose life histories I might also examine as part of my research.

While I can use Britrail lines to these distant outposts of London, I prefer to use my monthly bus pass which allows me to travel anywhere within the bus network, in a sense, for free. Naturally, it proves to be much more economical for me to do my research this way–though it means an extraordinary amount of time has to be allotted to get to and from these places.

Those dreaded road works everywhere (starting with High Holborn itself) made me reach my destination a half hour later than I expected. Still, Frank took my tardiness in his stride, meeting me at the nearest bus stop in Selhurst and leading me to his place. Over a welcome cup of coffee, we spent a good hour talking about his personal history which I found fascinating and so different from that of most of the Anglo-Indians I have been interviewing. His attitudes, his views, his opinions, were also very thoughtfully expressed and it was easy to see that I was in the company of a rather different individual. This made for a very refreshing encounter indeed. I still stagger when I think that he is 72 years old, for he does not look a day over 60. It is not merely the matter of his looks which belie his age–it is his vigour and his zest for life (which can lead one to believe that he is 50) which really had me spell bound.

After we had spoken for about an hour, Frank drove me about five minutes away to St. Chad’s Catholic Church in Norwood where the South London Anglo-Indian Association rents space for a weekly meeting. I was astounded to find over a hundred people (if not more) in the large hall that includes a kitchen at the far end and a small stage at the other. The space was filled with what we would call ‘seniors’ in the States (I believe the word used in the UK is ‘pensioners’). They sat at long tables with their snacks and drinks spread out before them. Behind the kitchen counter, I spotted my friend Joy Riberio who told me she was in-charge of getting together the “tea”–which actually turned out to be what we, in the States, would call “lunch”! Frank did the disappearing act at this time but Joy was kind enough to introduce me to Gloria St. Romaine (don’t you just love her last name?) who, in turn, introduced me to Rita Lobo at whose table I found a seat.

In my role as observer, I took in the goings-on at the meeting but I did participate vigorously as well. There was a round of Bingo (6 tickets cost a pound). I have never played with more than one ticket at a time, so I had a hard time keeping track of the numbers I had scratched out on my tickets! Still, it was fun. The prize money was based on the number of tickets sold and they were rather handsome.

Lunch followed for 3. 50 pounds a piece. Not only did Frank not treat me to lunch (after having invited me to the meeting) but he had forgotten to inform the organizers that he was bringing a guest along. Joy again very kindly took me under her wing, but she too had to confess that she was afraid there would be no food left for me as the estimated amounts cooked were based on the number of individuals who signed up for the meal at the previous meeting. I felt like Oliver Twist as I hungrily awaited leftovers and the green signal that would enable me to obtain a meal as I was starving by this point. When I got the OK nod from Joy, I went up to the counter, paid my money and returned to my seat with a heaping plate of yellow rice and a Meatball Curry with a few bits of salad which was almost over by the time my turn arrived!

The rice and curry was delicious and every one seemed to enjoy it immensely. The announcement was made that Chicken Biryani would be on the menu next week and on hearing this, the participants decided whether or not to sign up for a meal. Lunch was followed by dessert which is part of the package–this afternoon, there was a fruit cocktail topped with whipped cream–but by the time I went to the counter to claim my dessert, it was all gone!!! Can you believe it? I was very disappointed as I had found the curry spicy and would have been grateful to end my meal with a sweet.

The calling of raffle prize numbers followed. Most of the participants had purchased these tickets when they entered. I believe the tickets cost a pound each. They donate all sorts of items as prizes–bottles of wine, packets of biscuits, boxes of chocolates…and these are distributed as prizes. The money collected from these raffle items are used to support Anglo-Indian charities in India–a lovely idea. While the privileged elderly Anglo-Indians in the UK enjoy a good time during their twilight years (Blair, are you reading this???), they spare a thought for so many of their less fortunate counterparts in India who are struggling through a harrowing old age.

Another round of Bingo followed (another pound a piece) and though I tried my luck again, I was not rewarded with Beginner’s Luck! Between the lunch, raffle and bingo, the members circulated amongst themselves, caught up on the joys and trials of each other’s Christmases and trips to India and generally cemented age-old friendships, many of which go back decades to their days in India. I found it very interesting to observe the customs and traditions of this community and I was heartened to see how happy their appear as first-generation immigrants in the UK.

Then, I was on the bus again headed home for a swift rest and to check my email. After a very short nap, I left my flat again, this time to take the Tube to Green Park to keep my appointment with my friend Rosemary Massouras to see Slumdog Millionnaire, the movie that has received so many Oscar nominations. We met at the Curzon cinema on Curzon Road right behind the quaint Shepherd Market off Piccadilly. I realized as I entered the gigantic theater that this was my first ever movie in the UK and the reason I have never seen movies in a theater here is because the tickets are so prohibitively high. I mean at 12 pounds which is 2o dollars, I have always rather paid double and seen a quality show at the West End instead. In the States, a movie costs me no more than 6 dollars, so I was astounded at the prices here. Still, for this movie I was willing to make an exception.

A few minutes later, we were joined by Rosemary’s friend Lizzie Rodgers who lives in Whitchurch, near Oxford. She turned out to be a truly delightful person–warm and thoughtful. She was also the most struck by the movie and throughout our dinner that followed at Sofra, a Turkish restaurant close by, she could not get the movie off her mind. Indeed, it was, for me at least, a deeply disturbing film. It is being advertised as a “feel-good film” and for the life of me I cannot see what a Bombayite can feel good about after watching this film. It is brilliantly made, no doubt, and Danny Boyle has captured with marvelous authenticity the vigour, color, energy and vibrance of Bombay which is a relentless assault on all one’ s senses. Indeed, the sights and sounds of Bombay have been so superbly captured and transferred to screen that I often winced at the naked realism of the shots. In that respect, the music by A.R. Rahman, which exhibited the complicity of many different traditions, including Middle Eastern, Islamic and Bollywood, ingeniously added to the mix.

However, I found the first half of the movie unbearably dark and intense and there were points at which I thought I would throw up because the stark inhumanity of the city has been portrayed so brutally that it made me feel physically ill. There is no way that anyone who lives in India can feel proud of the manner in which the country and its ethos has been depicted. The utter lack of human rights or dignity, the brutality of the police force that includes interrogation under torture, the filth and degradation of slum life, the ruthlessness of the villains and their treatment of women was so abjectly lacking in any kind of hope that I felt deeply ashamed of being an Indian which watching the movie. As other movies and literary works have done before this (Mira Nair’s Salaam Bombay, for instance, Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance, Suketu Mehta’s Forbidden City), this movie lays bare the hidden underbelly of Bombay. Yet, it always saddens me that while such creative works bring international awareness to the conditions prevailing in Bombay, they never seem to achieve anything concrete or constructive. There is no reform, I mean, that emerges from these works, in the same way that, say, the novels of Charles Dickens actually led to the Reform Bills in Victorian England that eventually changed the face of Western society completed and led to the eradication of human rights’ abuses. The people of India do not seem to achieve anything from this repeated merciless exposure of their country’s ills other than the ability to cringe under such glaring spotlights. This is why watching such movies leaves me feeling far from good and instead deeply saddened and this was how I felt as I left the theater last night.

At dinner, at Sofra, we were joined by Lizzie’s young son, Dominic, a publisher, who turned out to be a very bright and articulate young man. We chose the ‘Healthy Dinner’ from the vast menu which consisted of eleven small nibbles–a sort of meze sampler–and a bottle of red Tuscan wine. It was a good meal but by the time the really delicious non-vegetarian kebabs made their appearance (the lamb and the chicken kebabs were really good), I was too full and could not do them justice.

A very interesting and unexpected encounter occurred while I was dining. A lovely blond girl standing near the door reached across our table and said to me, “Excuse me, but aren’t you Professor Almeida”? I replied that I was indeed and, in a few minutes, I discovered that Sophia was one of my students at NYU who had taken my South Asian Civilisation class many years ago during her freshman year in New York. I was delighted that she recognized me in the dimly lit restaurant and she was delighted to renew acquaintance with me in London, of all places. It seems that she is now in London on business. I gave her my card and she promised to get in touch with me so that we can have lunch together sometime. My dinner companions were very impressed indeed that I ran into a former student so suddenly. I remember Sophia well. Her family hails from Greece and she had been fascinated by my course on South Asia. I still remember the lovely ‘Thank you’ note she had written me at the end of the course and the box of Godiva chocolates that she had gifted me at the time.

At the end of our meal and lively conversation, I took the bus home from Piccadilly and by 11.30, I was in bed and dropping off to sleep after what had been a very productive day indeed.

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

Jan16

Thursday, January 15, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jan13

Tuesday, January 13, 2009
London

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End is in Sight…and a Holiday Farewell Party!

Dec12

Friday, December 12, 2008
London

Just realized that I have about five days before my guest Jenny-Lou Seqeuira arrives with her daughter Kristen from New Jersey to spend a few days with me. Yikkesss!!! I have Christmas shopping to do and packing and sorting…but all that only after I finish grading final exams and term papers and hand them in. I also have a few Christmas activities I’d like to cover in London before I leave for the States on December 19.

So with little time to spare, I spent most of the morning grading papers. When I became goggle eyed and couldn’t absorb another word, I sat down to pack gifts for the administrative staff at NYU-London. These are gold-plated ornaments for the Christmas tree that I had bought at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York especially for my London support staff, who, I felt, would appreciate a small memento of the Big Apple from their New York colleague. I wrote them little Thank-you notes, packed the little parcels in tissue paper and the Met gift bags that I had also carried with me.

Then, I went back to grading and finished the lot that I had carried home last night. At 1.30pm, I set out for campus to attend the Holiday Farewell party for our sophomores who have completed their semester here in London and are returning to New York tomorrow. It was a chance for me to wish them well, hand over my gifts, take a few pictures and circulate. Not too many students turned up as most of them were shopping and packing and frantically getting ready to depart.

Hagai Segal was presented his Teacher of the Year Award. I was surprised to discover that he will be in Bombay over our winter break as he’s been invited to give a series of talks on anti-terrorism in Calcutta, Delhi and Bombay. We’ve made plans to hook up for a drink in Bombay as I will there at the same time. He has asked me for a walking tour of the city and I have promised. But given then I have four family weddings, it’s possible that I was a little too rash in obliging.

Fruity mulled wine made the rounds as did mince pies. There was festive music and a table full of ‘London’ gifts that could be yours if you picked a number from a bin that corresponded with one on the gift itself. Crest’s of London made a killing from the abundant gifts that Alice found with a London theme–I was particularly eyeing a brolly with the London Tube map emblazoned on it, but then I saw boxer shorts with the same pattern and didn’t think the brolly was any good! There were teas and Bobby helmets and beefeater teddy bears and Union Jack ceramic mugs and a whole lot of other items that would make fitting souvenirs of their Study Abroad semester.

When I had circulated enough, I settled down in my office and started grading the final essays on the Future of Anglo-Indians submitted by the students who took my Sophomore Seminar. Darkness fell while I was at it and I realized, before long, that it had taken me more than two hours to finish the stack as well as organize my files for next semester.

I took the bus home and spent a while preparing web pages on my travels in Northern Ireland. Then, when my neck began to ache, I decided to fix myself some dinner–quiche and pita with an assortment of dips left over from the party yesterday with Greek yogurt with walnuts for dessert. As I ate, I watched Sliding Doors, a film set in London starring Gwyneth Paltrow and John Hannah and for the life of me, I just didn’t get it. There were two parallel stories enfolding, each involving the same set of characters. It’s the sort of modernist film structured in the vein of Pulp Fiction that is much too cerebral for my liking. I have never felt that Paltrow does a convincing English accent and I never understand why she is cast in these roles when there are a slew of really great English actresses who could so easily play these roles. Anyway, it felt strange to see the London that exists right outside my window depicted on screen. Most times when I watch movies about London, it is a city that is somewhere far away, way across that great big pond.

I was falling asleep by the time the movie ended and I tumbled hastily into bed because for some reason I felt drowsy. I guess this means that I am running out of nervous energy for the semester has come to an end and I am in Wind Down Mode as I start to think about returning home to Connecticut.

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!

Return to Oxford!

Dec2

Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Oxford

On another day on which I felt as if I was in the North Pole rather than in London, I headed at 7.15 am to catch the 8 am Megabus to Oxford. I was excited. I hadn’t returned to Oxford since I arrived here in September as I was waiting for some official meetings to fall into place before I made the trip. As it turned out, I discovered, on visiting the Oxford Tourism website, that the famed Ashmolean Museum was due to close for a year on December 23. This meant that if I didn’t grab a look-see while I could, I would not have the chance to review its collection at all. There was no time to be lost. I hastened to make the arrangements that would ensure that the people I wanted to meet were free to see me and then before you could say ‘Elias Ashmole’, I was booking a ticket to get going.

I was a little apprehensive about finding the Megabus terminus; but then when I stopped to ask the Oxford Tube driver where it was, he informed me that Megabus and Oxford Tube were partners in the Stagecoach company and I could hop into his bus with a Megabus ticket. Well, that took the stress off my mind and into the bus I went, climbing to the upper deck and making myself comfortable on the front seat while it wasn’t quite dawn yet outside that huge picture window.

I had the upper deck almost to myself for the length of the two hours it took us to get to Oxford. I cannot recall having made a visit in the autumn before and the farms and fields we passed en route looked almost forlorn in the watery sunshine. Because–thank God for little mercies–the sun was actually trying valiantly to poke through the clouds and often did succeed, the landscape was prevented from appearing completely desolate.

That same forlornness dogged me throughout the day for Oxford’s trees without their foliage are a rather sad sight indeed. The bus dropped me off at the High and without wasting any time at all, I walked through Radcliff Square to the Tourist Information Bureau on Broad Street to find out if there were any special activities in the town that day that I ought not to miss.

Then, I hastened to the Ashmolean Museum having just two and a half hours in which to take in the Highlights of its collection. Though it is an imposing Neo-Classical building, the Ashmolean has none of the grandeur of the Fitzwilliam Museum in Cambridge and when I walked past the doors, that lack of splendor became even more evident. For the lobby of the Fitzwilliam is jaw-droppingly opulent while the Ashmolean is far more subdued. The lower floor still holds the Greek and Roman works, but you need to climb a curving staircase to get to the first and second floors for the bulk of the collection.

It was with feelings of disappointment that I discovered that construction work had already begun, which placed the items in disarray. But rather quickly, that disappointment turned to relief for I made the discovery that the ‘Treasures of the Ashmolean’ had all been grouped together and were on display in just four rooms. This meant that instead of having to search through the vast expanses of the building for the highlights, all I needed to do was focus on those few rooms and I could see them all.

Of course, I started with the Alfred Jewel which inspired an entire episode in the Inspector Morse series entitled ‘The Wolverhampton Tongue’. This item, said to be at least a thousand years old, is smaller than my little finger. It is the ornament that would have adorned a small instrument used to point to letters on a manuscript when one was reading from it. It is truly exquisite in its detail, featuring the head of a man holding a few flowers in his hand. I was then taken by a mantle that once belonged to Powhatan, father of Pocahontas. How that item arrived from the New World to the Ashmolean is anyone’s guess…but there it was, made of deerskin and adorned all over with tiny white cowrie shells. In terms of paintings, there was Pietro di Cosimo’s The Forest Fire which Marina Vaizey enumerates among her 100 Masterpieces of Art and it is remarkable because in its depiction of animals, it is the first significant painting in the history of Western Art that does not make man the central figure of a canvas but places him in a rather minor role. Another very important work was Paolo Uccelo’s The Hunt, a rather detailed and very lovely painting on wood that was meant to adorn the side of a marriage or dowry chest. The portraits of Elias Ashmole (who donated his collection to the University to start the Museum in the 18th century) is placed in an elaborate frame that was carved by the great Grinling Gibbons himself whose work I have admired ever since I saw his mantle carvings at Hampton Court Palace a few years ago. There were several other exquisite pieces featuring textiles, glass, jewelry, sculpture, furniture, etc. and because they were all grouped together, it was so easy to view the collection. I felt extremely fortunate to have been able to see these works especially since I cannot recall having seen any of them even though my journal entries of 22 years ago tell me that I did spend one morning at the Ashmolean.

At 12.30 pm, having satisfied myself that I had seen everything of importance, I walked along Woodstock Road towards St. Antony’s College where I had a 1.oo pm appointment with Julie Irving who administers the Senior Associate Member Program at the college. I hadn’t met her before though we had been in email contact for a long while. She volunteered to introduce me to Dr. Nandini Gooptu, a historian at the college with whom I had recently made contact. We met at the Buttery and I spent an hour with Nandini over a beef casserole and pecan pie lunch talking about her work and my intended research project on Anglo-Indians on which I intend to work when I take on the position of Senior Associate Member at St. Antony’s next summer.

An hour later, I was taking a tour of the college in the company of Julie who introduced me to a number of the senior staff such as the Warden, Margaret McMillan and her assistant Penny. I also saw the Library, the dining hall, the computer facilities, the Porter’s Lodge where SAMs have their pigeon-holes for mail, and a lot of other places of interest. Though I will be working at St. Antony’s as an independent scholar next summer, I will be in contact with a lot of administrative staff and it was nice to get to know them.

When my work at St. Antony’s was done, I decided to seek out Norham Road where I would very likely be staying for a few weeks in a bed and breakfast while I am attached to St. Antony’s. The owner of the B&B, a lady by the name of Elizabeth Longrigg, had been in correspondence with me and I thought it made sense to check out her house while I had the opportunity. Norham Road looked particularly deserted on this freezing December afternoon and with rain having fallen while I was in the Ashmolean, the streets were slick and shiny.

A few minutes later, Elizabeth Longrigg who happens to be a retired Oxford academic, an expert in Anglo-Saxon, Old and Middle English, was giving me a tour of her home and showing me the two rooms I could have if I decided to stay at her place. It had the old world feel of a Victorian home, was filled with all sorts of family memorabilia, furniture that looked as if it had been in the house forever, a very large and spacious dining room where a Continental breakfast was served every morning and two small rooms–a tiny sun room with a delightful view overlooking the main street and a larger room on the second floor. Both rooms had lovely roll top desks and good reading lamps because, as Elizabeth informed me, she only takes on academics as lodgers–academics whose research interests bring them to Oxford on short or long stays. After I had taken a peak at the garden which looked extremely bleak on this sunless afternoon–for the sun had hidden itself away by then–I walked towards Wellington Square with the idea of looking up Lisa Denny, an old acquaintance I had known when I had attended an international graduate program at Oxford 22 years ago.

Liza Denny is still attached to the Department of External Studies which now calls itself the Department of Continuing Education. I had found her name and telephone extension through the Oxford University Directory and though she did not remember me, she was warm and welcoming and introduced me to her colleague in the department. She also gave me information about next summer’s program at Exeter College and suggested I get in touch with the current director. When I told her that I would be resident at St. Antony’s, Oxford, next summer, she invited me to get involved in the program as a participant perhaps by giving a lecture. I was quite delighted and told her that I would follow up with her suggestion.

By the time I got out of Rewley House, semi-darkness had wrapped itself around the city. Since the colleges are open to visitors between 2 and 5 pm, I decided, for old times sake, to go to Exeter to tour the college. I don’t know whether it was nostalgia, the dreadful weather or the fact that I do not feel like a student any longer…but suddenly, I was gripped by the most fervent longing for my Oxford friends Firdaus, Annalisa and Josephine and, as I strolled through the Fellow’s Garden, for Brigita Hower with whom I have completely lost touch.

As I walked through the Margary Quadrangle and saw the room I once occupied bathed in light , I felt such an aching for those unforgettably beautiful Oxford days of my youth. It certainly did not made me feel any better, when I passed through a room on the ground floor, and actually saw Jeri Johnson who used to be a Tutor to both Annalisa and Firdaus. She was seated in the midst of a meeting with another lady and a gentleman whom I did not recognize.They were all clothed in the academic garb of Oxford dons and were deep in conversation. There she was, looking for all the world as if I had just turned the clock back 22 years. But for the fact that her hair has silvered entirely all over her head, she does not look a jot different from the way she did more than two decades ago.

It was very difficult for me to meet up with these ghosts from the past–first Lisa Denny, then Jeri Johnson. Because she was in a meeting, I could not, of course, make contact with Jeri, but I did step instead into the chapel where an organ rehearsal was on and as I allowed the deep sonorous tones to wash over me, I recalled those days when I had sat there enthralled by a concert that had been put on by so many talented young American musicians so many years ago. Where were they all, I wondered? How had the years treated them? Had they become academics as Annalisa and I had done or had they strayed into varied fields as Firdaus and Jo had?

With my friends in my thoughts, I stepped out into the quad and sat for a while on a bench, overlooking the lawn upon which I had once sprawled, taking in the familiar sights of the steeple of the chapel, the clock on the walls of the Dining Hall, the doors leading to the Undercroft and the Junior Common Room. Then, while I was in the midst of my reverie, darkness descended upon the medieval city and the occasional high pitched cries of modern-day undergrads reached my ears from afar.

But the cold made it impossible for me to tarry much longer with my memories. Though it was only 5 pm, I decided to try to catch the earlier bus back to London. It would have been impossible to see anything else by that point. There was no evensong service at St. Mary The Virgin Church that I could have attended. I had intended to browse through Blackwell’s Bookstore for some literature on the shooting of the Inspector Morse mysteries. But, by then, my feet were aching and I’d had enough. When, coincidentally, the same driver from my morning’s ride, pulled up and agreed to take me on the earlier bus, I sank into the same upper deck front seats rather gratefully and tried to doze off on the ride back.

Something was missing about my visit to Oxford and for the longest time I wasn’t sure what it was. And then it dawned on me–it was the presence of my friends that I missed so much. For all of us, those days at Exeter had been some of the most memorable ones of our lives and it is impossible for me to return to Oxford without dwelling on those precious moments of our youth. How marvelous, I thought, that the one thing we gifted each other all those years ago has lasted unbroken over the miles and over the years–the gift of our friendship.

Bloody Thanksgiving!

Nov27

Thursday, November 27, 2008
London

“Being Thankful is not something you do. It is something you are. It is something you have become”.
(From the sermon delivered this morning at the Thanksgiving Day service at St. Paul’s Cathedral for Americans in London)

I awoke to the bloody news of the terrorist attacks in my native Bombay that, to date, have killed over a hundred innocent people, injured several hundred more and taken innumerable foreign tourists hostage. This on the morning of Thanksgiving. Of course, I called my parents and my brother’s homes, respectively, to ascertain that no loved ones are harmed; but their safety does not mean that my heart was not torn out by the scenes of unleashed grief that have unfolded on television. All morning, I was glued to the BBCs Breakfast show and flipped from one channel to the next in an attempt to stay abreast of the continuing story. Then, I had to jump into the shower to get to work as I was teaching today and I had to put myself into American Thanksgiving mode as I was taking my students to the Special Thanksgiving Day Service for Americans in London at St. Paul’s Cathedral.

I cannot believe that I have just one more class next week before the semester ends. It seems as if only yesterday it was September and I was trying to learn the ropes in my new professional environment. Today I was issuing instructions on the final research paper and final exam and making arrangements for the party to be held at my flat after our finals. It will be a lot of fun and I am looking forward to it–though not to all the grading that I will have to complete at that stage.

We arrived at St. Paul’s Cathedral to heavy security checks. All our bags were searched before we were allowed to enter the Cathedral which was already packed at 10. 45 am. It was a marvelous sight to see so many Americans united together in one place on foreign soil and celebrating a holiday which they hold so dear. The clergy walked down the aisle to the altar followed by the US. Ambassador to the UK, Robert Tuttle and his wife. The service was meaningful and very emotional, especially for those of us who are so far away from our nearest and dearest on this most American of holidays that goes completely unnoticed in ole’ Blighty.

Naturally, I missed Llew and Chriselle dearly on this day and since the time difference made it still too early to call them in the States, I had to wait until the evening before I was able to speak to them. In a program that included American music (I belted out ‘America The Beautiful’ with much gusto) and the choir of the Armed services as well as the American Church in London, we were reminded once again about how much we have for which we can be thankful. I was especially thankful about the fact that spending a year in London was only a vision I saw in my mind’s eye until the hand of God made it a reality. The Ambassador invited all of us to visit the American chapel at the back of the altar that is dedicated to the 34,000 American soldiers who gave their lives in the First and Second World Wars to preserve the values that the two countries hold dear–liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

In keeping with his advice, we did walk through the American chapel where we saw the great book that lists the names of all the Americans who died fighting. A page of the book is turned daily so that a different set of them might be exposed. It was turned today to the page that contains the name of Major Glenn Miller, singer-songwriter. The preacher also quoted the famous lyrics of Vera Lynn:

There’ll be bluebirds over
The white cliffs of Dover
Tomorrow just you wait and see…
There’ll be love and laughter
And peace ever after
Tomorrow when the world is free

I also used the visit to St. Paul’s Cathedral as an opportunity to show my students of Anglo-Indian history the memorial monument to the tens of thousands of Indian soldiers (many of whom were Anglo-Indians) who died fighting for British causes during the Raj in India. Apart from a large stone tablet mounted on the wall, there is a memorial embedded in the marble floor to the WAC (I)s–the World Auxiliary Corps (India). It brought a poignant immediacy to the history of the Anglo-Indians which we have been studying in class.

Then, it was back to campus where I taught my afternoon Writing class. After keeping office hours, I got together with my American colleague Karen Karbeiner and her husband Douglas to eat Fish and Chips in a good ‘chippie’ in Covent Garden called the Rock and Sole Plaice–multiple puns there, all obviously intended. The cod and chips were very good indeed, the chips douzed in malt vinegar and the fish bathed in tartar sauce very well flavored with dill. We thought it a bit ironic that instead of eating turkey with cranberry sauce and pumpkin pie, we were eating fish and chips, but then we figured we’d eat something for which the Pilgrims might have felt nostalgia during that first Thanksgiving in New England while they were sharing their meal with their native American friends!

It was still fairly early when I got home which gave me a chance to transcribe another one of my Anglo-Indian interviews and spend some time chatting to Llew.

The day started out miserably with the tragedy that befell my beloved Bombay but it did improve as the day went by. My prayers contained thanks for all the blessings that I enjoy each day and the request for peace in our increasingly troubled world.

Interviews in Greenford and An Evening of Sheer Indulgence

Nov26

Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Greenford, London

My day began with another series of interviews with Anglo-Indians in Greenford. This meant taking the bus and traversing parts of London that I had never seen. I passed St. Mary’s Hospital, for instance, where in a room on the second floor, Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin and changed the course of medical history. Down Edgware Road, I passed Little Lebanon with its Middle Eastern restaurants and delis. I actually saw the outside of Paddington Station (where Paddington Bear who completed fifty years this year was born). I passed through Portobello Road for the first time in a bus and could barely recognize it without the Saturday antiques stalls. This gallivanting all over London on the top deck of a bus beats walking through it any day and I am enjoying this immensely. It really is taking me through the farthest reaches of the city which I would never have seen on my two (fatigued) feet!

However, I have to admit that it takes forever to get to these London suburbs on the bus and at East Acton Tube station, I did transfer to the Tube to get to Greenford from where I needed to take another bus to get to the home of the folks I had arranged to meet. They were fascinating people with completely different experiences from the Anglo-Indians to whom I have been talking so far. It is amazing how varied are the points of view and the conditions that Anglo-Indian immigrants in the UK encountered. What’s more, I found a fellow freelance writer in the gentleman I interviewed who happens to be the London correspondent for The International Indian magazine that is based in Dubai, a magazine for which I once served as New York correspondent! Talk about a small world! I find it grows tinier by the day!

Upon returning to Central London, this time on the Tube–a fact that made my journey MUCH shorter–I arrived at Leicester Square having made plans with Chriselle’s colleague, Ivana, to see The Duchess at the Odeon. She, however, was swamped with work and had to cancel our plans. Finding myself in the Covent Garden area, I popped into one of my favorite places, Stanford’s, the Travel Book store, to find information on Belfast, Ireland, to which I will be traveling next weekend. I spent a good hour in there and gleaned a great deal of helpful information.

On my way back home, I passed by Carluccio’s, the wonderful chain of Italian restaurants to which my next door neighbors introduced me. I popped in to buy myself a tub of their caponata which is the best I have ever eaten and their Lemon Tarts and picked up some for Tim and Barbara as well.

And since I was in a rather self-indulgent mood, I stopped at Hope and Greenwood, the cutest old-fashioned chocolate shop in London and bought a few of their precious morsels–chocolates in the most unusual flavors. I picked up geranium and lavender flavored truffles, praline centered dark chocolates, rich rum truffles shaped and decorated to resemble miniature Christmas puddings, and chocolates with strawberry and black pepper centers. So though I did not see the movie, it was not half bad an evening.

I got home with my precious goodies and decided to spend the evening with my caponata and my lemon tarts and chocolates and a good movie–P.S. I Love You–a real tear-jerker of a chic flic but one I completley adored. It stars Hilary Swank and a really sexy Gerald Butler (whom I had first seen in Dear Frankie and loved) and whose Rocknrolla I just missed. But hey, that’s why I have Love Film!

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.