Tag Archive | Cambridge

The Magnificence of Ely Cathedral and Visiting the Village of Grantchester

Oct15

Wednesday, October 13, 2016

Cambridge-Ely-Grantchester

Waking and Wondering:

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

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

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

Breakfast in Trinity College Dining Hall:

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

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

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

On the Train to Ely:

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

Arrival at Ely and Visit to the Cathedral:

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

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

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

The Shrine of St. Etheldreda and the Lady Chapel:

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

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

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

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

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

Visiting Oliver Cromwell’s Home:

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

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

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

Trying to Find My Way to Grantchester:

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

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

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

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

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

Discovering the Village of Grantchester:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Last Few Stops on a Whirlwind Tour of Cambridge:

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

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

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

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

Back to the Bus for Journey Home to London:

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

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

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

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

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

Oct14

Wednesday, October 12, 2016

London-Cambridge:

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

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

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

Arrival at Trinity College:

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

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

Re-discovering Cambridge:

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

Perusing the Treasures of the Wren Library:

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

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

Lunch, Then In and Out of Other Colleges:

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

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

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

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

Taking Possession of my Room in Trinity College:

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

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

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

Giving a Guest Lecture at the Graduate Seminar:

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

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

Dinner at Loch Fyne Restaurant:

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

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

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

Until tomorrow, cheerio…

Incredible Jude Law as Hamlet at the Wyndham and a Walk in Soho

Jul15

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

London

Probably the strain of everything I have to do in these last few days is wearing me down because I am waking up too early again–today at 6. 30 am. Still, it gave me a chance to tidy up my room which now (with all my packing and discarding of unnecessary items) looks as if Hurricane Katrina has hit it. Also with Loulou and Paul here and with us having made plans for breakfast, I snuck into the kitchen to find out if they had awoken and got coffee going! They hadn’t and were still sound asleep. It is wonderful to have their comforting presence in this loft as it is vast and can get very lonely–so I am also glad that Llew will be here on Saturday to share this fabulous living space with me.

By 8. 30 am, however, Paul and Loulou had awoken. Loulou nipped down to Our Pantry (read M&S Simply Food) to buy coffee and croissants while I set the table–for four as we were also expecting their son Jack to join us. Well, a little later, he had arrived and we all sat down to crusty croissants with butter and jam and cereal with milk, coffee and grapefruit juice and chatted companionably as we reviewed our plans for the next couple of weeks. Hard to believe that I am down to the wire now and talking about what I will do when Llew gets here. We are planning a week in France with friends in Paris and Normandy, so I am also trying to set that part of our holiday up.

The carpet guy Dick came in to change the carpet in my wash room and I changed quickly and left him to it as I was headed off to NYU to do a few last minute things: I had to settle one last electricity bill, I had to print out a whole bunch of last interviews I had done and I had to photocopy something, not to mention chatting with the shipping guys about two more boxes that I need to deliver to their warehouse in North Acton. My friend Janie (who is currently with her mother in Yorkshire but who returns to London on Monday) has promised to help me out with that! Where would I be without all these friends who have sprung so amazingly to my rescue repeatedly during my stay here? They are truly incredible and I am truly grateful.

Errands at NYU:
At NYU, I did all the tasks I had to accomplish and then left my office knowing that I will return there for one last time next week when my Oxford Lecture is complete and I have to print it out. I said bye to Mimi, the security guard at Reception, and flew out the door (having lost a few precious minutes right as I was leaving in talking to Llew who called me. He is very excited about his return to London and we had to go over some last-minute details).

Lunch with Michelle:
My next appointment was at the office of my friend Michelle who is a lawyer working for Parliament. We had made plans to meet for lunch and I was delighted to see her. Michelle was in college with me at Elphinstone in Bombay where we had majored in English Literature and competed fiercely for every last mark! But, of course, we have remained close friends over the years despite her many international stints, first as a journalist in Hongkong and then as a lawyer here in London.
We had a really good lunch (their cafeteria is posh, the food very far from institutional)–a zucchini (0r courgette, as they call it here) quiche with a balsamic glaze and Brambly Apple compote–yummy! Needless to say, we talked nineteen to the dozen and before we knew it, I had to leave for my next appointment, but not before I hugged and thanked Michelle for the delicious lunch which was her treat. I am hoping to see her again on Tuesday at the little farewell get-together I am planning for a few friends.
Then, I was hopping into buses to get to Leicester Square for the 2. 30 pm matinee show of Hamlet starring none other than Jude Law himself at the Donmar Wyndham Theater. Because I was a bit early, I had a chance to browse through some of the antiques stores in the neighborhood and entered one selling old English coins. I was delighted to find a special gift for Chriselle. I had been looking for a while for something unique to buy her from London and when I did find it, I realized again that it is not the monetary value of the item you buy for someone but the singularity of it that matters and its connection with the person for whom it is intended. I hope very much that she will like it.

Then, I made my way to the theater to find a long line snaking out of it as people hoped to find tickets. I was thrilled that I had purchased my ticket online several months ago because with Jude Law playing Hamlet, the summer hordes that have descended upon this city (mainly star struck teenyboppers) are making a beeline for this theater hoping to find tickets. Well, they are going to need all the luck in the world as the house was full to bursting. I had fairly good seats and was so grateful for the opera glasses that I now carry with me every time I go to the theater as they are so useful.

Jude Law Plays Hamlet:
The play in general and Jude Law in particular have received such staggeringly good reviews that anything I say would be superfluous. Suffice it then to say that it was an extraordinary afternoon at the theater and that it is productions like these (it was directed by Michael Grandage who also directed the As You Like It production that I saw at The Globe last month) that make me realize why Shakespeare is so revered and why his work will live on forever. I have seen many versions of Hamlet in my lifetime (on stage and screen–I am most familiar with the Mel Gibson production but my favorite is the Kenneth Branagh version with Derek Jacobi playing Claudius) but I know that I will remember forever this anguished Hamlet played so vulnerably by Law. I have to say that I have never found him a heart throb myself, so I was able to watch the performance objectively and it was splendid.

But as has happened repeatedly since I started going to the theater here in London a year ago, what leaves me gob-smacked is the number of other cast members with whose work I am familiar through the small screen. So just imagine how pleased I was to discover that Claudius was played by Kevin McNally who was wonderful in a TV show from the 70s called Dad that I had seen on PBS screenings in the States…and best treat of all, that The Player Queen was played by Jenny Funnel whom I recognized immediately as the lovely lovely actress who plays Sandie in As Time Goes By! It is these unexpected treats that have made my stay in London so memorable and they just never stop coming.

At the end of the show, I inquired of the ushers as to where the Stage Door was located in order to try to catch a closer glimpse of these stars–I reiterate…I was more interested in McNally and Funnel than Law! Thankfully, we did not have to wait too long. Within fifteen minutes, the actors began trooping out and when McNally arrived, I requested a picture with me. He was very pleased indeed to pose with me (see left).

A few minutes later, Jenny Funnel appeared and I might have surprised her deeply when I asked if she would pose with me. I swear I felt as if I was fifteen again! Seems I might have missed my calling as a groupie!!! She, too, was very gracious and willing and when I told her that I have watched her and loved her for years in As Time Goes By, she beamed, her beautiful large blue eyes sparkling with pleasure. So here is the picture I took with her. And let me tell you that these two close encounters of the Anglo Kind so made my day that I called Llew in great haste on the bus to tell him whom I had just met!
In fact, in a few minutes, one of the stage hands came around to tell us that Jude Law does not appear at the stage door between shows (there was another show at 8pm) and that he would only be available at the end of the evening’s performance. The poor star struck teens outside were devastated, while I quickly waltzed away with not a crack anywhere in my own heart!
A Walk in Soho:
And then I got on a bus that took me back to Oxford Street as I wanted to explore Soho on my feet. I mean how crazy is this? I have been in London for a whole year and have not yet explored its trendiest part? I mean, were I twenty, I guess that’s where I’d be every evening…but not being twenty anymore, well, I have different priorities!

I started off at Soho Square, the lovely little park with a Tudor house in its center and the sculpture of Charles II (he once frequented the area and built a home for his mistress Nell Gwynne on the Square). Today, the place was rather crowded and a corner of it was taken up by a group of idlers and drug addicts who, once-upon-a-time, when I used to see them hanging out at Union Square Garden in New York, used to make me feel very uncomfortable indeed. It seems that I have gotten over even that aversion for this time round they did not bother me at all!

It was from a history plaque in the garden that I realized from where the word “soho” came. It was a hunting term, used each time a prey (such as a fox) was spotted. The leader would yell, SO HO!” and the troupe would give chase. Needless to say, this part of London in the 17th century was hunting ground being covered thickly with woods! French Huguenots and Catholics congregated here and as time went by built two churches that stand upon the square–one a Catholic church in which I had once attended Sunday mass.

From there, I picked my way to the beginning of Dean Street to see a shelter for the homeless called The St. Barnabas House. My book informed me (and I am using a different book now as I have finished all 24 walks in Frommer’s Book) it has one of the most beautiful Rococco staircases in the city and it was for that reason that I visited the spot. Well, the nice gentleman who led me in, then gave me a special private tour taking me from one historic room to the next where the plasterwork on the walls and ceiling was truly stunning. In fact, in one of the rooms I saw the largest central ceiling medallion that I have seen anywhere–featuring playful fat cherubs. It was really lovely. The man also then took me to another staircase to show me the special iron balustrades that were constructed to protrude out into the stairwell so as to accommodate the enormous crinoline hoop skirts for which the 18th century was renowned. It was very nice of him to do this for me but clearly he sensed my vivid interest in such things and even permitted me to take photographs. He also said goodbye to me at the door and presented me with a color brochure that gives wonderful close up views of the plasterwork.

My walk in Soho continued as I wound my way in and out of the maze of streets each one lined with restaurants of every kind and cuisine. I saw the home in which the young Mozart had once stayed and composed and where the essayist William Hazlitt died. The drizzle which had been sporadic through the day turned into a heavy shower at this point and though I had my brolly, I sheltered under the lobby of a building until the worst of it passed.

Next I went out in search of Mezzo restaurant which Terence Conran has turned into the largest one in Europe–or so my book said. Well, it turned out that my book was five years outdated! The restaurant closed down five years ago but has been replaced by two others–Floradita and Meza–still owned by Conran–so a nice guy told me at a neighboring place. I took a peek into them and then continued on my rambles looking in particular for The Gay Hussar, a Hungarian restaurant that has been packing them in for fifty years on this street–clearly it was opened as a time when Gay meant something else altogether different!

The interior of the restaurant is similar to Lindy’s in Manhattan in that its walls are covered with cartoon representations of the many dignitaries who have supped within them. The Gay Hussar is best known for its wild cherry soup and I thought it would be the perfect pick-me-up and a great way to escape the rain. So in I went. It was still rather early in the evening (about 6. 30 pm) and the diners hadn’t yet started to arrive. I told the maitress d’ that I was there only for the soup and she seated me down graciously at a window corner and brought me a bowl. It was amazing! I mean there I was sipping a great big bowl of what might be described as cherry flavored milk with a few cooked cherries hidden at the bottom–the perfect summer soup. I am determined to experiment with a few concoctions to replicate this delight once I get home to Connecticut for it was fabulous! At 4. 75 pounds a bowl, it is a steal as the portion was huge making it very filling indeed. Replete with this treat inside of me, I resumed my rambles and arrived on Berwyck Road at which point, I began to feel fatigued.

I know the area that the rest of the walk covered really well (Cambridge Circus and Charing Cross), so I decided to cut it short and took another bus to come straight back home.

I spent the evening in my room downloading my pictures, checking my email, sending out a birthday message to my cousin Bonnie in Bombay and winding down for the day, thrilled at its outcome. I had a very late dinner (rice and salads) and fell asleep.
It had been at least two weeks since I had done any serious sightseeing (as I had been preoccupied with work at the libraries) and I realize that one of the highlights of my year in London has been the many walks I have taken and the secrets and hidden gems of the city to which they have introduced me. I know that I can return again and still find a year’s worth of places to explore and it is this thought that is making the withdrawal symptoms a bit easier to bear as the days and hours fly by.

Morse-ing Around Oxford

Jun27

Saturday, June 29, 2009
Oxford

I wasn’t making too much progress with Harry Potter, so I was pleased to wake up at 7.00 and be able to read the novel for an hour. I thought breakfast would be at 8 am as usual but when I went downstairs to wash and dress, I found everything so quiet and there wasn’t the delicious aroma of toast that has woken me up on recent mornings. Because no one seemed to be stirring, I thought it was a great time to have a shower and that I did—and how much I enjoyed it!

Back in my room (which I just realized is right above the car port in a sort of addition to this rambling stone house), I checked the Breakfast Timings as printed in my room and realized that on Saturdays, breakfast is served at 8. 30 am. That left me ample time to get dressed and start working on my lecture on ‘Post-Colonial South Asian Literature from Great Britain’, which I have been invited to deliver at Exeter College, Oxford, on July 22. I worked very steadily and when I heard voices coming from the dining room, which is not too far from my room, I joined my three fellow-lodgers who were already at the table and spent the next 45 minutes eating a large breakfast—cereal with milk, toast with butter, orange juice and coffee. I knew I would not have much time for a big lunch as I had the ‘Inspector Morse Tour’ to take at 1. 30, so I decided to have a breakfast large enough to keep me going until at least teatime.

I spent the next couple of hours working steadily on my lecture and made good headway though I was rather disappointed that my inability to connect to the wireless internet in this house in North Oxford makes it impossible for me to back check facts when I need to footnote my lecture. However, I also enjoyed sitting in my room in this house in North Oxford and working. I thought our home in Southport, Connecticut, was quiet on weekend mornings and then I started to stay in the loft in Farringdon in London—and boy, is that quiet! And now here I am on Norham Road off Banbury Road in Oxford where the silence is so complete. There was not even a bird twittering in the trees and it wasn’t until noon that the cobalt blue door of the house on the opposite side of the street opened and the family went out for a spin in their silver grey car. I am finally staying in a place in which I can actually feel a sense of community with my surroundings—and I am really enjoying it!

Off to Discover Morse’s Oxford:
When I had mentioned to my fellow lodgers that I was out today to see ‘Inspector Morse’s Oxford’, the Japanese chap had remarked, rather cleverly, that perhaps this would mean a pub crawl because all Morse does is drink in Oxford’s various pubs! Well, he was not far from the truth!

At 12 noon, I set out first to St. Antony’s College to find out if by any chance I had dropped my credit card there when I was over yesterday—as I am missing it! No such luck! So I walked briskly towards St. Giles, all the time praying that it would have been found in Blackwell’s coffee shop (Café Nero) where I had met Philip Imray for a coffee and a chat yesterday. En route, I saw a number of books on Morse and Oxford and thought that I should buy one of them as I need to find out more about the Oxford backdrop of the series.

Upstairs, I could have kissed the waitress who served me yesterday. Yes, she had found my credit card, which had fallen out of the pocket of my jeans as I was leaving and had shrugged into my hoodie. What luck someone had found it and just put it back on the table and hadn’t made off with it, as I am pretty sure would have happened in the States. That weight off my mind, I called Llew to inform him that my card had been found as he was very upset yesterday on the phone when I told him that I had misplaced it.

Crossing the street, I arrived at the Oxford Information Center where I saw a large crowd gathered for the start of the tour. I was shocked at the large numbers of people who wished to follow in the footsteps of dear Inspector Morse. Amazing how many people love the series and have made it their business to find out more about it. The crowd, comprising mainly English people, though there was a fair sprinkling of Americans, was then divided into three smaller groups and I chose to attach myself to a rather nice-looking older man with a booming voice and a twinkle in his eye called Alistair Lack dressed in a rather dapper beige linen suit. The other two group leaders were women. I hoped and I prayed that he would be better than the one who gave the ‘Harry Potter Tour’ yesterday which had been a huge disaster for me.

Well, I sure lucked out today! Let me tell you that Alistair Lack was just wonderful and the tour was splendid. There was so much I learned about the series—both the book series and the TV series. In addition, I learned a great deal about the creator of the character of Inspector Morse, Colin Dexter (who also lives in North Oxford, not too far from where I currently live), about the late John Thaw (who lovably played Inspector Morse in the TV series), about Kevin Whatley who played his side kick Sergeant Lewis, about Julian Mitchell who wrote the screenplays, about the late Academy-award winning Anthony Mingella who produced the earlier shows (until Kenny McBain took over) and about Barrington Phelong (whose music composition, I have always thought, simply makes the series). I learned that the crew filmed 33 episodes that were filmed and viewed over 13 years–an average of 3 shows a year. The show attracted 30 million viewers at its first screening and, 13 years later, had the exact same number watch the final episode–this meant that one in five people in Great Britain watched the episodes as they aired!

Not only had Lack read all the books, he had watched all the episodes and he had actually met Colin Dexter several times as well as Kevin Whatley. He brought all these anecdotes into his commentary which was extremely interesting and very succinctly delivered, interspersed as it was with jokes and that typical wry brand of British humor (which I know I will sorely miss when I return to the States). Because Lack is an Oxonian himself (he graduated from University College where he had read History eventually becoming a History teacher at the Scindia School in Gwalior, India, for a short while before joining the BBC in Delhi), he also told us a great deal about the history of the colleges and the university and about the educational system that prevails in this hallowed institution. But everywhere he stopped he brought his comments back to Inspector Morse. He led us through the Town versus Gown conflicts that have persisted for centuries and showed how they were worked into the plots and the scripts. He took us to hardware stores and clothiers from The High and Turl Street to the Broad and everywhere he brought Morse and his romantic interests into his own script.

And yes, he did talk about all the pubs that Morse frequents in the series—from The Bear on tiny medieval Magpie Lane to the rather touristy Trout Inn in Wolvercote from The Booksbinder’s Arms in Jericho (which he recommended highly) and which he said is one of his own favorite Oxford pubs to the White Horse right next door to Blackwell’s. He also talked about the cinematic role played by Morse’s pub-crawling, which I thought was rather interesting. Every time the director wanted a quiet bit in the plot, he took Morse to a pub. Thus, scenes of murder and mayhem are followed by a swift pint of finest ale. Having had a Pimm’s myself at The Trout with my friend Annalisa, a few years ago, I can say that there is nothing more enjoyable than a drink overlooking the river as the sun sinks low in the west on a summer’s evening and the muffled roar of the weir reaches one’s ears. I am hoping I will have a chance to do the walk along the banks of the Isis again to Godstow Lock and on to Wolvercote to The Trout before I leave from here.

Throughout the tour, we were kept enthralled and engaged. The only downside (and that is not something for which we can blame either the guide or the Oxford Information Center), was that we were unable to enter any of the colleges as they were all closed as it is the very last day of the academic year. Students are leaving, their bag and baggage littered all over the quads as they move out. The last few remaining ones who were still taking the last final exams today could be seen walking or cycling along in their examination gear (as Oxford has a strict dress code for exam days—black gowns and mortar board caps with a red carnation pierced into the button holes of both males and females alike). He particularly wanted to take us to the quad of Exeter College where Morse actually has a heart attack and dies in the last episode, The Remorseless Day. Since I know the quad of Exeter College well (having spent endless hours sprawled on its green lawn in my youth), I was sorry that we were unable to enter it or indeed to see the beautiful chapel with its Edward Burne-Jones tapestry on The Adoration of the Magi and the lovely medieval mosaics that glint and shine in candlelight. Still (once I get my ID card, hopefully on Monday morning), I can enter any of the colleges and their libraries—which I hope I will still find the time to do.

I was also pleased to see that the rooftop of the Margary Quadrangle where my own room was located and which faces The Broad has been adorned by one of Anthony Gormley’s nude males—these look very similar to the casts of his own body that I had seen on Crosby Beach near Liverpool and the three male nude figures that adorn the lawn in my friend Loulou’s farmhouse home in Suffolk—only she had told me that though they looked like Gormley’s work, they were not.

The Tour ended in two hours, i.e. at 3. 30 pm. It is certainly one of the highlights of my year here in the UK and I do so wish that Llew was with me as I am sure he would have loved it as much as I did as we have watched all the Morse TV episodes together over the years and he remembers the plots much more than I do. I guess I am so focused on the locations, the music and the interaction between Morse and Lewis, not to mention the brilliant acting and directing, that the plots are of the least interest to me, really. But, I guess I can convey to Llew a great deal of what I learned this afternoon. Though it was a very warm afternoon, I did not mind the heat or the endless standing (we did not get a chance to sit anywhere) because the material was so absorbing.

The Rest of my Evening:
I then took a bus to Headington from Carfax as I wanted to check out some of the thrift shops there; but this took me less than an hour. I did not find anything except for some cold cuts (roast beef) at Waitrose, which I brought home to make myself a sandwich dinner with a croissant (which I had put aside at breakfast).

Once I got off the bus on The High, I walked quickly towards Blackwell’s to buy myself a copy of The Oxford of Inspector Morse by Bill Leonard, a hardbound book that was being offered at a 50% discount. I intend to use it as a companion piece when I watch the series again—as I had bought the whole lot at Christmastime and had sent them back with Llew. I look forward very much to the pleasure of seeing them all again on the new large screen TV that we intend to buy as soon as I reach Connecticut

Evensong at Christ Church Cathedral:
Left with just enough time to walk briskly to Christ Church College, I was let in easily when I said I wanted to attend Evensong in the Cathedral. I found myself a seat right near the choir and looked forward to a lovely one-hour long service. The Evensong I had attended at King’s College in Cambridge is another one of the highlights of my year—funny how I am now enumerating all the highlights as my year is coming to a close.

The service was as solemn and uplifting as I had imagined, though I have to say that the Cambridge one was more atmospheric because it was conducted in candle light which lent a golden glow to the plain gray granite walls of the towering nave of the chapel.
Just as the service ended and we made our way out of the Cathedral, it started to rain—great large drops filtered through the bright sunshine! It was so odd! We sheltered in the porch near the Porter’s Lodge for a good long time until the worst of the shower had passed; but all the way back home to Norham Road, I was dogged by spells of intermittently heavy and light rain that soaked me pretty thoroughly before I reached my front door.

Settling down for the evening, I changed out of my clothes, and then fixed myself a roast beef sandwich dinner and a pot of lovely tea with lemon—I drank two steaming cups. I ate my dinner while watching a British TV channel that offered old reruns of game shows—I saw something called Mr. and Mrs. followed by Who Wants to Be a Millionaire (British version) before a new TV comedy called Mumbai Calling starring Sanjeev Bhaskar (husband of Meera Syall) came on. I was keen to see it because of my own Bombay connections and because I had heard about it a few weeks ago on BBC’s Breakfast Show when the stars of the show were interviewed. As it turned out, I found it terribly lame and not even remotely funny.

I have to say that I am rather enjoying my summer days here in Oxford and am very glad that I have returned to this most beloved of cities. As a student I had stayed in Exeter College, which at that stage in my life was such a novel experience. Now that I am in, let us say my mature years, it feels great to be based in North Oxford where most of Oxford’s dons have homes. These are solid Victorian stone affairs with beautiful high steps leading to wooden front doors. The driveways are pebbly paths with pale pink roses spilling over stone walls and lavender borders fragrant with blooms that lend a purple tinge to the pavements. The occasional car drives lazily past and often I see couples stroll by, hand in had, dressed in formal evening clothing. This being the last week of classes, there have been parties and formal dos galore, followed by fireworks at night that I can hear in the distance. Students are out in their formal best creating the sort of memories that will stay with them for the rest of their lives even if they never see each other again.

Though I am a mere observer of the life I see around me, I feel like something of an intruder in the lives of these young folks. I walk along these honey toned streets thinking constantly of the scenes from Brideshead Revisited, that great great Oxford novel that so epitomized and romanticized for me the undergraduate life of this university town and I wonder how many of the beautiful students I see around me will carry forever in their hearts and minds the indelible scenes that Evelyn Waugh’s novel and Colin Dexter’s stories created in my own mind and heart to dwell there forever.

Pottering in Harry’s Footsteps

Jun26

Friday, June 26, 2009
Oxford and Witney

I guess the great weather had to come to an end sometime and that happened today. I awoke to the drumming of raindrops on my windowpane and though my curtains were drawn and didn’t allow me to see the falling droplets, I could hear them. I awoke at 7. 00 am, read Harry Potter for about 45 minutes, then got up to wash and dress and start breakfast at 9 am. It was a Continental affair again with a new face at the table—a girl from Johns Hopkins whose name I did not catch. We had a companionable breakfast and then it was time for me to get dressed and get to St. Antony’s College to pick up my ID card.

But great disappointment awaited me there as the card had not arrived (stuck somewhere in in an inter-office mailbag) and since today is Friday, I cannot expect to get it until Monday morning. Needless to say, I was annoyed as I walked towards The Broad. I had an 11.oo am appointment with an Anglo-Indian called Philip who had agreed to drive up to Oxford to meet me as he lives in nearby Bicester (pronounced ‘Bister’–bizaare!). The rain had stopped but the rain-washed scent of fresh summer flowers wafted towards me from the passing gardens along Woodstock Road with each step I took. The air was fresh and clean and despite the lack of sunshine, it was warm and rather humid and I had to pull my hoodie off.

An Interview with another Anglo-Indian:
Philip was already at the Blackwell’s Bookstore coffee shop when I arrived there. Every time I need to meet someone in Oxford, this has become the spot for our rendezvous—being opposite the Sheldonian Theater, it is very easy to spot—though as Philip pointed out to me, there are two or three Blackwell’s Bookstores in town. Over a café latte, Philip answered all my questions very patiently indeed. I found a great deal in him to admire especially his dedication to fund raising which allows him to help destitute Anglo-Indians in India. Our conversation was very interesting with never a dull moment. As always, the stories of these individuals inspire me deeply and make my fieldwork really stimulating.

The Harry Potter Tour:
It was almost 1. 30 by the time we left Blackwell’s. I crossed Broad Street (The Broad) to get to the Oxford Information Center but found that the folks who wished to take the Harry Potter Tour had already gathered outside the store. I joined them, produced my ticket and was introduced to the guide who would start to lead the tour in a few minutes. There were 20 people on the tour, of which at least half the number were children between the ages of six and eleven. The tour began with an introduction outside the store and from then on, it continued for two hours, the bulk of which I found deeply uninteresting.

In fact, I believe that this tour is a real misnomer. It merely cashes in on the Harry Potter hype and left me felling deeply disappointed. As the tour guide stated at the outset, “This is a tour about Oxford with a little bit of Harry Potter thrown in”. Granted I have only seen the first Harry Potter film, but the fact that I have read all the books (and recently at that) ought to have made it fascinating for me. Instead of which, I found myself bored stiff for most of the tour. The commentary was slow and lack luster and just very monotonously delivered and I found the kids just wilting with boredom. I doubt many of the adults were deeply stimulated either.

The group was led to just three spots associated with the Harry Potter films: the Divinity School where we were told about one of the scenes (when Harry is in the sanatorium in Book Four—The Goblet of Fire) and then we were shown pictures of Duke Humphrey’s Library where a part of the first film was shot. But we were not allowed into the library. When I asked the guide why he weren’t taken there, he said we’d have had to pay more. But we had already paid over 10 pounds for this tour! It wasn’t inexpensive, so why wasn’t Duke Humphrey’s Library included? Such a rip off!!!

Next, we went to New College where, in the cloisters, we were shown the spot where Malfoy is turned into a ferret under the shady branches of a spreading oak. Inside, in New College Chapel, we were shown the Joshua Reynolds stained glass windows and an El Greco painting of St. James–but there were no further associations with Potter.

The third location associated with the film was Christ Church College where we taken up the stairs with the spectacular fan-vaulted ceiling (where Prof. McGonnagal greets the new freshman students to Hogwarts) to the Great Hall (which was the inspiration for the Hall in the films—I repeat, this was the inspiration for the Dining Hall at Hogwarts, but the film was not shot on location here.)

So, basically, we were taken into Christ Church College to see the Hall and the Cathedral (both of which we could have done on our own without joining a Harry Potter Tour). Needless to say, I was deeply irritated with the entire tour, which I thought was a complete waste of money. I certainly hope that the Inspector Morse Tour which I am taking tomorrow will be more interesting and will have a younger and livelier guide and one who can make the commentary more humorous and more absorbing.

My Tour of Christ Church Cathedral:
I have to say that I found the tour of Christ Church Cathedral very interesting (but it had nothing whatsoever to do with Harry Potter). In fact, the guide had left us by this point and said goodbye, so we wandered around on our own. I have never been in here before and have decided that I will try to attend Evensong here tomorrow at 6 pm. Christ Church Choir is world famous (like King’s College Choir in Cambridge) and one of the highlights of my stay in England had been the opportunity to listen to them last December when I was in Cambridge.

Christ Church College has a rich and unique history. Not only was it founded by Cardinal Wolsey who began building it with his own colossal fortune (which explains why the symbol of the college is a Cardinal’s hat) but when he fell out of favor with the king, construction was abandoned until King Henry VIII took interest in it once again, called it King’s College for a while and later called it Christ Church College.The foundations of what were intended to become the cloisters can still be seen around the quadrangle. These were never completed. It is a Cathedral because it contains the seat or chair (‘cathedra’ in Latin) of a bishop. Thus, it is both a cathedral as well as a college chapel—the only one of its kind in the UK. It was used during the Civil War by Charles I as a refuge until he tried to escape from Oxford, was caught and led to his execution. It has some beautiful stained glass windows by Edward Burne-Jones done in the distinctive style of the Pre-Raphaelites. I found all of this material much more interesting than anything I saw on the Harry Potter Tour.

A Trip to Witney to Meet A Friend:
I hurried out of Christ Church College to try to find a bus that would take me to Witney where I had made plans to meet an old Oxford friend, Stan Fuller, once Hall Stewart at Exeter College when I was a student there. Stan and I have stayed friends over the years only through letters and the annual Christmas cards as he does not use email. Over the years, on my many trips to Oxford, I have met him for a cup of coffee and each time, I have found that his health has deteriorated some more. In recent years, he has become practically disabled with a knee injury that had rendered him bound to a wheel chair at home (he is now 77 years old). Though he does walk about with the aid of a walker, it is very difficult for him to move about.

I would have been pleased to have seen him in his own home, but clearly he did not wish to have me over in his house in Eynsham (pronounced En-shim). He suggested we meet in Witney Market Square and I took the Stagecoach S1 from Gloucester Green to meet him—a lovely journey that took about 45 minutes, given the rush hour traffic. I had a lively conversation on the bus with a lady who pointed out very interesting things to me along the way as the bus wound through the patch work quilt of the fields, past the little picturesque, typically English villages of the Cotswolds and a multitude of animals—horses, sheep and dappled cows were all in pasture .

Stan was waiting for me and I have to say that I was shocked to see how much he has aged since we last met—which must have been about eight to ten years ago. He has put on an enormous amount of weight (probably from lack of exercise) and he has black bags or pouches hanging under his eyes which I do not recall seeing before. My heart went out to him and I was so saddened by the manner in which he has aged. Given the hardships he had encountered to meet me, I was deeply touched by the effort he put into our meeting.

I suggested we get to a pub for a meal and that’s where we ended. Witney is a small medieval market town with its little market square, its stone shelter, its clock tower, its village green abutting a church with a brown stone turret-like spire. There is the sprinkling of shops and pubs in the market square and it was in one if these that we settled down for a natter. I ordered a half pint of cider for myself and a ginger ale for Stan who chose fish and chips while I had the steak and ale pie. There was rather a lot to talk about and Stan was eager to tell me everything about his family—his wife, his children and grand children. His interest in British History is very impressive and he always fills me in on valuable local historical information when we get together. He told me, for instance, that Witney used to be the center of the wool blanket industry—sadly, the last factory closed over ten years ago. He also told me that the native Americans were very partial to Witney blankets and that they once averted a massacre by using Witney blankets that they knotted together to shimmy down a ravine while the US Cavalry settled down for the night intending to attack them the next morning. I thought it was amusing that Stan referred to them as “red Indians”—a phrase that we used to use for native Americans when we lived in India. It has been a long time since I have heard that phrase!

Twenty-two years ago, it was a much younger and more vigorous Stan who had driven my friend Dr. Firdaus Gandavia (then a young doctoral student like myself) and me to Boar’s Hill to Matthew Arnold’s field to see his “dreaming spires of Oxford” from the vantage point at which he had sat and composed his famous poem The Scholar Gypsy. I still have a picture that I had taken then as I had perched on a wooden stile that protected the field from straying cattle. A lot of water has flowed under the bridge since that lovely summer’s evening, so many years ago, and these memories were very much on my mind as I recalled how much local history Stan had introduced us to then. If only we could stop the Hand of Time from marching on in its destructive fashion, robbing us of our vitality and energy and leaving us to nurse wounded shadows of ourselves in our old age. All these thoughts made my meeting with Stan very poignant indeed and I am very glad that I made the effort to get together with him. Who knows, but the next time I return to Oxford, Stan might no longer by able to meet me anywhere!

It was finally time to say goodbye to Stan at 8. 20 pm when we stood together at the bus stop to wait for the bus that would drop him off at Eynsham and take me on to Oxford. It was while we were at the bus stop that he broke the news to me that a famous singer had died last night,. He could not get his name and asked the young girl sitting at the bus stop, “Who was the singer who passed away last night?” and she replied, “Michael Jackson”. You could have struck me down with a feather! Of course, I have no access to news media of any kind…so I had no idea anything of the sort had happened. Needless to say, I was speechless and when I finally did receive the details, the young girl told me he had died of a heart attack.

I have to say that I was still reeling with shock when I got off the bus at Oxford and walked on the Banbury Road to my place.

I spent the evening typing this blog and chatting with Llew and then getting ready for bed as I was suddenly very tired indeed.

Visiting Cliveden and An Afternoon with Anglo-Indians

Jun21

Sunday, June 22, 2009
Maidenhead, London

Another gorgeous day in London meant that I could look forward to a wonderful day out in Maidenhead. I had been invited, many months ago, by my friends Henry and Marian Holley to join their group of local Anglo-Indians at their quarterly gathering in Maidenhead. Since I had not been able to make it there on past occasions, I really was determined to get there today and since Maidenhead is close to Windsor Castle and is reached by a train journey, I looked up my map to find out if there were any National Trust properties close by that I could visit–with the intention of killing two birds with one stone.

Well, it turned out that Cliveden (pronounced ‘Cliv-din”), another fabulous property, is in the small town of Taplow, which is just a hop, skip and a jump from Maidenhead. I had consulted with Henry on the possibility of combining an excursion to this place with an appearance at his meeting and he graciously offered to pick me up from Cliveden at the end of my visit and drive me to Maidenhead for the Anglo-Indian do.

More National Trust Peeves:
So I left my place at 9 am, took a bus to King’s Cross (as “planned construction” at Farringdon has closed down the Tube stations for the past few weekends–bummer!) and took the Tube to Paddington from where I caught the 10. 15 train to Maidenhead (9. 50 pounds round trip). A taxi that I hailed outside the station (because, once again, there is no public transport available to Cliveden–double bummer!) meant that I had to fork out another 14 pounds to get there. However, I realize that I have no choice in the matter and that until and unless the National Trust decides to run a shuttle service from the railway stations to its properties, visitors like myself will simply have to deal with the expense and the convenience.

When I arrived at Cliveden, however, I was faced with another huge disappointment. Entry to the mansion at Cliveden (which has been converted into a fancy deluxe hotel) is open to National Trust members only on Sunday (so says the website, which also refers to “timed entry”). Timed entry means that only a few visitors at a time can take guided tours inside. However, nowhere on the website is it mentioned that these timed entrances and guided tours begin only at 3. 30 pm with last entry at 5. 30 pm! Can you believe how irritated I was when I discovered this? Well, again, what could I do but deal with it? What would it take for the National Trust to state on the website and in their publicity literature that tours are given only between 3. 30 and 5.30 pm? That way, visitors would organize their day in such a way as to spend the early afternoon touring the gardens and then take the tour! Is this too much to ask of a national organization that has existed for over a century??? Really, I do believe it is time they got their act together!

Touring Cliveden’s Gardens:
Well, left with no choice, I began my tour of the garden. I had exactly one and a half hour to do this as Henry was due to pick me up at 1 pm. The map I was handed was very helpful indeed and I soon found my way through the various individual gardens that make up the property.

Before I began my own walking tour of the gardens, I watched an introductory film that filled the visitor with interesting information about the history of the house which is associated mainly with two persons: Waldorf and Nancy Astor. These were multi-millionaires who were also associated with politics (Nancy was elected MP four times). They gave glittering balls and welcomed some of the leading lights of the era into their sprawling home including members of the royal family. The house received rather unsavory attention in the mid-1970s during what has been termed The Profumo Scandal which involved an MP called John Profumo who cavorted by the pool with a young lady named Christine Keeler who was, at the same time, involved in an affair with a Russian named Ivanovic, who also happened to be a spy. All hell broke loose in the press when the affair was made public and it brought down a government at the time.

After the passing away of the Astors, the property was left to the National Trust who, for a time foolishly leased it out to an American university whose students treated the grand manor and the gardens in the way they would a student dorm–i.e. without the slightest respect for its noble antecedents–much to the horror of the retainers who watched their beloved Cliveden decay before their very eyes. When the lease ended, it was decided to turn it into a five-star hotel–an idea that has worked superbly. The Cliveden is considered one of the greatest hotels in the world and, no doubt, brings valuable revenue to the National Trust.

My wanderings took me, first of all, to the Long (Italianate) Garden with its large bird shaped topiaries and its classical statuary. The Secret Garden was larger than I expected (most secret gardens are tiny and tucked away–this was neither), but it was charming indeed with delicate arbors, more statuary and a variety of flowers with an emphasis on the colors yellow and purple. Needless to say, I could not stop clicking and I soon ran out of memory space on my camera–most frustrating. I loved the Ilex Grove that was full of wild purple foxgloves. When I reached a clearing in the thickly wooded grounds, I had fabulous views over the Thames Valley with the thin ribbon of the river gleaming in the bright sunlight. Really lovely parkland for casual walks and I saw many couples strolling hand in hand as well as babies being pushed around in strollers.

I then found myself looking up at the beige mansion itself and had a chance to appreciate its classical architecture–its balconies and balustrades, its gold headed Clock Tower and its castle-like roof. It was designed by Charles Barry, the same one who designed the Houses of Parliament in London in the mid-1800s. From the Duke’s Garden with its lush herbaceous border beds with their vivid patches of color against brick walls, I made my way to the rear Terrace where I could see the Parterre with its Elizabethan Knot Garden stretching ahead of me. A few feet below me was the Chapel, a classical architectural feature to be found in a great many formal gardens…and a little further was the War Memorial Garden.

Soon it was almost 1 pm and I had to return to the Reception kiosk and on asking my way there, I passed by the Blenheim Pavilion (another classical architectural feature). I am so pleased that I made the choices I did in the past few weeks as these varied gardens have allowed me to see and appreciate the same features that make up some of the more famous English gardens such as Chatsworth and Stowe which happen to be too far away from London and not easily reached by public transport. This way, I have made the most of my National Trust membership, have reached gardens that are superbly representative of English country styles and have completely satisfied my appetite for summer garden outings.


The Anglo-Indian Gathering:
Then it was 1 pm, and Henry arrived to pick me up. In less than ten minutes, we were at the church hall of St. Edmund Campion in Maidenhead where the meeting was held. I had expected a much larger crowd, similar to the one I had found at the South London Anglo-Indian Association’s Thursday meeting but saw that there were no more than thirty folks comprising many elderly Anglo-Indians with a few white English people scattered through–the fact that it was Father’s Day probably accounted for the smaller attendance. Henry made a general brief introduction and we headed straight towards the counter where I met his wife Marion and their lovely daughter Karen who handed me a glass of orange juice. No one was drinking any alcohol which rather surprised me.

On one table was a selection of pickles and marmalade for sale–the prawn balchow was made by Henry and I couldn’t resist taking a bottle home for just 2 pounds. There was also another table full of food items on raffle. All these items were donated by the various people who had arrived there and all the proceeds raised by these raffles went towards the donations made to Anglo-Indian organizations in India. Seated at the table with me over lunch, Henry explained to me what these various charities are–they help schools in Calcutta and Madras (such as the Bateman’s School in Madras).

I also met Philip who with his partner Sue help street children in Bombay through the various charities they fund. Last year, they made donations of over five thousand pounds to charities in India. Philip explained to me the ingenious ways in which this money is raised–he receives all the rejected items from department stores like John Lewis which he then sells to the public at heavily discounted prices through car booth sales. He and his English partner Sue personally visit these schools, once a year, to supervise the activities. I was astonished to discover that they have donated computers, school buses, water coolers, etc. to these schools and will continue to do so. Indeed, in most places I go, I find the Anglo-Indians supportive of charity ventures in India, many donating through Sr. Marisa in Calcutta. Their goals and their achievements are highly impressive and perhaps more so because so few people really know how much they give because their efforts are rarely publicized.

Lunch was a marvelous pot luck affair all laid out on long tables. Everyone had brought a dish or two and there was everything you could imagine–from samosas and spring rolls for starters to parathas, steamed rice. pea pullao and a huge variety of curries: green chicken curry, beef curry, pork vindaloo, vegetable curry with raita to cool the palate. On another table stood a variety of desserts. Of course, these being my weakness, I made sure I saved room for some: my favorite Waitrose Black Forest Gateau was present but, by far, the most popular dessert was the sliced tinned mangoes with vanilla ice-cream, though I have to say that the Marks and Spencer Pecan and Meringue Roulade that I tasted for the first time was scrumptious and definitely something I will buy to enjoy myself before I leave from here.

Most of the folks had heard about me and my work from Henry over the past year and they were warmly welcoming, making a special effort to come up and talk to me over lunch. I found them a truly jolly lot and it was loads of fun to get to know them. After lunch, Henry said a few words to bring the crowd up-to-date on the state of their charities and to prep them for the big Anglo-Indian Day that is held in Croydon on the first weekend in August. Alas, though I have received many invitations from so many different groups to attend this, I simply cannot as my visa expires on August 1 and I have to leave the UK before that date! However, this group has a Bottle Sale on that occasion as well as other fund-raisers–all of which go towards the support of their less-privileged counterparts in India.

Henry then invited Nicholas Thompson to address the group and give them an update on the Bateman’s School that is run by his Cambridge-educated daughter Alex in Madras. Nicholas, an Englishman who served in the British army in India during the war, was stationed for a large part of his life in modern-day Pakistan and his daughter Alex was born there. Both of them have devoted their lives to India and to the welfare of her downtrodden.

Henry then invited me to address the crowd and tell them about my work and I was delighted to do so as well as to invite those folks who’d like to share their life stories with me to come forward and give me their names and telephone numbers. I was so pleased when so many of them came forward to meet me personally and volunteered to become a part of my study. I am even more thrilled because now I will probably return to the States at the end of July having reached my goal of 50 respondents–not only will this make my survey sample substantial enough to be recognized as a valid study group but it will increase my chances of getting my manuscript published as a book by an academic press in the UK or the USA.

So, I am truly grateful to the Holleys in ways that words cannot express because they have been supportive of my scholarly work from the very outset. It was Henry who saw the notice on the Anglo-Indian Portal website inviting Anglo-Indians to come forward to contact me. He did so and we have struck up a fine and very productive friendship for which I am very grateful indeed.

Then it was raffle time and at five pounds a pop, several folks bought 10 pounds worth of tickets–at the end of the day, the group collected almost 100 pounds that would go towards their charitable ventures. I was fortunate enough to leave the venue with a box of Cadbury’s Roses chocolates (Llew’s favorite) and a bottle of Buck’s Fizz–the very essence of an English summer! However, there were folks who went home with as many as five and six prizes that included everything from chocolates and bottles of wine to ceramic mugs and tins of sweets.

When the event came to a close, everyone pooled in to clean and clear out the space. It was at this point that so many folks came forward to give me their names and telephone numbers. A few of them live as far away as Oxford and they have promised to get together with me when I am in Oxford next week. I was so taken by the willingness with which they offered to share their stories with me. It makes me feel as if my year in the UK was a hundred per cent productive in terms of my research.

Henry and Marion invited me back to their home in Maidenhead for a cup of tea where we were joined by close friends of their–Royce and Leona and Terry. Seated in their living room over cups of Marion’s steaming cups and joined later by daughter Karen, I sat back and drowned in laughter created by these folks as they reminisced about their growing days in India and about the many hilarious experiences on their trips back–for they do return as tourists and travel on Indian trains, and as they recalled the various cultural misunderstandings that have assailed them, I doubled up with laughter. It was a hysterically funny evening and I don’t think I have laughed so much in a very long time. Clearly, these folks have the deepest affection for the land of their birth and they return to it with the warmest anticipation. Despite the many changes they have seen in India since their departure for greener pastures and the many inconveniences they face when they are there, they clearly have a fantastic time with their family members and return with a bagful of priceless memories.

Then it was time for me to leave. Henry dropped me back to Maidenhead station for the 7. 06 train. I arrived home at exactly 9 pm but was so stuffed from all the eating I had done all afternoon that I skipped dinner (they had also sent me home with a load of leftover curries which will keep me fed for the next couple of days!). I spent a while reviewing my email, blogged a little bit, downloaded my pictures from my camera and went to bed about 11. 00 pm. after what had been another truly memorable day.

Interviewing another Anglo-Indian near Osterley

Jun3

Tuesday, June 2, 2009
London

Waking up in this new place feels rather strange to me. It takes me a few seconds to realize where I am. It was 6. 45 am when I awoke and since I wanted to get to Osterley (close to Heathrow airport) in time for a 10. 30 am appointment, I showered really quickly, ate my cereal breakfast, made myself a ham and cheese sandwich and left at 8.30 am. I had to find out where the nearest bus stops are as well as the routes that serve this area. I guess I will have it all figured out in a few days.

Getting out of Theobald’s Road and arriving at Holborn Station takes the longest time in the bus what with all the traffic snarls and the peak hour rush. Despite changing three buses, I arrived at Osterley Tube Station earlier than I expected and called the Anglo-Indian gentleman who had agreed to speak to me. He picked me up from the bus stop in his car and took me to his home where we settled down with a glass of water that I requested. His wife was also supposed to speak to me as part of my project; but I sensed her reluctance right away and when she agreed to answer some questions only and did not sign the agreement giving her consent to the interview, I politely declined. In the end, I spoke only to the husband who had rather interesting views which he shared very frankly with me. He told me later that his wife had completely conflicting views and did not wish to air them in front of him as they differ widely on the subject of their decision to emigrate to the UK and the manner in which life has treated them since they arrived in this country 20 years ago.

Still, despite his misgivings, it is impressive that three of his four children are university educated and that too in the cream of the country’s institutions of higher education such as Cambridge, Oxford and UCL. Their last daughter is taking her GCSEs this year and is also headed towards what we, in America, would call an Ivy League school. This man was so different in attitude and behavior from the couple I met yesterday. Thus, though I have spoken to over 35 Anglo-Indians already, I do not find my work repetitive as each of them tells me completely different stories and has inordinately different views.

A Visit to the Museum of London:
Back in the City, I went straight to NYU to settle the last of my utility bills and then I was on the bus heading to the Museum of London. This one, together with the London Transport Museum, is still on my To-Do List and I decided today would be a good day to go out and explore it. It is located near the Barbican and has a very interesting architectural design. Built in close proximity to the old London walls (the base dating from Roman times), they make the perfect backdrop for a place that traces the evolution as this city from 43 AD to the present date. The only misfortune is that the entire lower level is under refurbishment and closed to the public (which means I shall have to make another trip to London sometime to see it!) but the top floor contains interesting artifacts that span several centuries right up to the Great Fire of 1566.

I watched two rather short but fascinating films—one on the Great Fire, another on the Black Death (the Plague) that ravaged Europe throughout the Middle Ages. Then, my exploration of the contents began. Among some of the most notable things I saw (and not necessarily in any order at all) were:

1, 2 Roman leather bikinis that would have been worn by dancers—it is remarkable that they have survived despite being made of leather. There are only 3 Roman bikinis in the world and 2 of them are here in this museum.
2. A set of Roman gold coins, excavated in a single hoard, featuring the heads of every one of the most significant of the Roman emperors. This must have belonged to someone very wealthy who buried his treasure hoping to retrieve it someday but never got back to it.
3. A fragment of a marble tablet on which for the very first time the people of London have been named as Londoners (Londiniumvernis, I think it said).
4. The very first fire engine ever used in England.
5. A spectacular Roman mosaic floor found intact in a house in Bucklersberry near London in the late 1800s.

I did not finish seeing all of the museum. I have yet to see the exhibit on the Great Fire of London which was crowded with a school group, leading me to postpone my visit there.

I took the bus and returned home to Denmark House to find that my friends Paul and Loulou had arrived there from Suffolk to spend a night as they do once a week. It was great to see them again but we did not have a chance to spend a whole lot of time together as they were off to a party and will return late tonight. I tried to set myself up once again with the wireless connection but failed. Will try again tomorrow. Hopefully, Tim will be able to walk me through the process.

I ate my dinner while watching a program called Come Dine With Me—in which four strangers are thrown together to cook for each other and put on a complete meal for the other three. It made rather interesting viewing but because it was an hour-long show, I saw only a part of it as I wanted to get back to writing my journal for my blog.

I was pleased before I went to bed to review the comments in the evaluation sheets left for me by my students and to discover that they were very complimentary indeed and said a lot of very positive things about the courses I taught them this past semester. I am very pleased that the year I spent teaching in London was beneficial to them and that they enjoyed my classes.

I also began the next novel in the Harry Potter series: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince which I hope to finish in the next couple of weeks so that I can start the last and final one and return the last two books to Barbara who lent them to me. When I have finished all of them, I can cross out yet another item on my To-Do List: Read all 7 Harry Potter novels in London!

Free Lecture at Gresham College.

May5

Tuesday, May 5, 2009
London

The city limped slowly back to life today after the three-day weekend and by 10 am. it was business as usual on High Holborn–and I mean that literally. So many shops that had stayed closed through three long days opened their shutters noisily this morning and got on with their week.

I spent the morning, after an early breakfast (cereal–yes!! after ages with a cup of strawberry yogurt) transcribing an interview I did with Ashley Jacob. It went really quickly as his responses had been brief. With an hour on my hands, I sat to write a commissioned essay for a new forthcoming anthology on The Anglo-Indian Woman to be published by my friend and mentor Blair Williams of New Jersey. It also progressed rapidly. Ideas came fast and furious and I put them down quickly, editing as I went along. So engrossed was I in my task that I did not realize it was already 12 .15 and I just about had the time for a quick shower before I set of for Gresham College that is just across the street from my building.

It was only this past Sunday when I went to mass that I picked up a booklet in St. Etheldreda’s Church listing a series of Free Public Lectures run by Gresham College and given by leading experts in a variety of fields. I so wish I had found out about this earlier as the location is so convenient to reach and the topics so fascinating, There was, for instance, a whole series of talks on American politics and, in particular, on the significance of some recent presidents to the history of the nation. I know I would have dearly loved to attend those.

Well, this afternoon at 1 pm, the lecturer was Tom Korner of Trinity Hall, Cambridge, and his talk was intriguingly entitled “Mathematics and Smallpox”. I arrived at Gresham College’s St. Barnard’s Hall about five minutes before it began. This gave me the opportunity to scrutinize my surroundings and take in the lofty timbered ceiling, the oil painted portraits on the wall–Thomas Gresham’s portrait was nearest my seat–and the air of intellectual antiquity that the space exuded. Ah, it did feel good to be in the presence of so many eggheads–about a hundred in all, all math whizzes I would bet…which ought to have made me feel completely out of place!

Except that I did not. In fact, I felt fully in my element. Tim Korner’s lecture was obviously prepared a long long time ago and was being quite cleverly recycled–having become rather apropos in the frenzy surrounding the global outbreak of swine flu! It was delivered through a series of OUP projections–now how long ago did that device become defunct??!! Time he got acquainted with Powerpoint, I thought to myself as he began to describe the pattern of occurrence and symptoms of smallpox with reference to Dickens’ Bleak House and the unnamed disease that Esther Summerson has (which rendered her temporarily blind and scarred for life).

Korner’s lecture focused on mathematical theories of probability and their effectiveness in predicting outbreaks of the disease as well as the efficacy of inoculations in curtailing them. I found it deeply interestingly despite the fact that I knew little about mathematics and less about smallpox at the beginning of it! The talk lasted exactly 50 minutes which left 10 minutes for questions. Within an hour, I was out of there and in five minutes, I was back home–now how fabulous is that?

Back at my laptop, I continued writing my article, all the while keeping an eye on the word count. By about 5 pm, I was pleased with the first draft and decided to email it to Blair for his initial feedback. During the next couple of days, I shall fine tune it and will, hopefully, have it ready before Chriselle gets here. God knows I will not have a second to breathe once she is here with me as we want to squeeze so much into our very limited time together.

At 5pm, I decided to set out for some fresh air, this time to the Senate House Library where I had to return a book I had borrowed (Alison Blunt’s Domicile and Diaspora–a book about Anglo-Indian women in their domestic milieu) and used the opportunity to get to my office at NYU to print a number of documents on which I have been working this past week as well as photocopy some parts of Blunt’s book. I also needed to pick up a stack of papers left for me for grading on ‘Topics in Contemporary British Politics and Culture’ and I needed to empty out the shelves of books in my office as I would now like to start shipping my books back home to the States. When I vacate this flat at the end of the month and move to my new place in Farringdon, I want to take just two suitcases with me filled only with the clothes I will need for the months of June and July.

Ticking all these items off my To-Do List once I got to our Bedford Square campus took me more than 2 hours. So it was only after 8pm, that I left my office to return home with my strolley filled with all my books, files and other paraphernalia that I have accumulated in 8 months’ use of that basement office space! It left me time to check email again, then have my dinner (a piece of fried cod and a small salad) while watching a special on the Gold channel–a series of extracts from the TV show Blackadder that all my new English friends have been telling me I should make certain I watch. Did you know that there is a group on Facebook that calls itself “The Everything I Know about British History I learned from Blackadder Group”? I discovered that some of my favorite British actors are a part of the cast (Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie and, of course, Rowan Atkinson, for instance). I also discovered that one of my favorite British writers–Richard Curtis–was involved with the script from the very beginning. How marvelous, I thought. I really ought to buy the series and take it back to the States with me to watch at my leisure at home.

It was about 10.30 before I dragged myself to my bathroom to brush and floss my teeth, write this blog and get ready for bed because I suddenly found myself feeling sleepy and rather exhausted–and this though I had decided not to continue on the Julbilee Walk but to give my feet a day’s rest !!!

As they would say in Brooklyn, ‘Go figure’!

Rambling in Rye (and Winchelsea) with Stephanie

Apr9

Sunday, March 29, 2009
Rye, Sussex

Stephanie had agreed that Rye in East Sussex would be a good place to spend a day out. Because poor Llew was jetlagged, we did not leave our flat until 10. 30 am, arriving at Stephanie’s new place in Richmond only at 11. 30am. It was the day of the famous University Boat Race–the Oxford Versus Cambridge Race, that is, on the River Thames that brings annual hordes to the banks to cheer their favorite team to victory. Masses of folks wearing their Oxford and Cambridge ‘Blues’ were on the Tube headed for Putney Bridge and while I would have loved to have made an event of this exciting race, it only started after 2 pm and it seemed a waste to spend the day waiting for the afternoon hour when the twenty minute race began as the event is largely determined by the Tide. Instead, we proceeded to Richmond where Stephanie awaited our arrival.

She chatted non-stop on our drive to Rye as she told us about cancelling her plans to visit South America and about her efforts to settle into her new home in Richmond which she loves. Before we knew it, we were entering the medieval city that is one of the Cinque Ports, associated with the smuggling and piracy of contraband goods throughout the Middle Ages. Today, Rye is a quaint town, perched on the Sussex Downs and overlooking the rolling Romney Marshes. A river runs through it and provides rather attractive photo opportunities. But it is essentially its cobbled streets lined with Tudor structures with their thick exposed beams and stuccoed walls that delight visitors who flock to experience a bit of bygone England.

All three of us were starving by the time our feet hit those first cobbles…so it was not surprising that we headed straight for the nearest pub to treat ourselves to a substantial meal–Steph went for the fish and chips, Llew dug into a Chicken Breast served in a white mushroom sauce while I could not resist the Broccoli and Stilton Soup that was served with a hunk of bread. It helped to know that we were seated in Rye’s oldest pub–a very atmospheric place with low slung ceilings and wood panelled walls.

Well fulled for our discovery of the town, we started along the streets indicated in a visitors’ map with graphic brown cobbles. At every turn, we were charmed by the abundance of old-world buildings to which England clings tenaciously by ‘listing’ and thus preserving them. I actually came across a house named La Rochelle–and, of course, I had to take a picture at its door–only to discover that it was the home of artist Paul Nash who had made his home in Rye for several years. In like manner, we passed by Lamb House in which Anglo-American novelist Henry James wrote The Wings of a Dove. Alas, we could not roam through the interiors as the house, run by the National Trust, only opened to visitors after April 1. (I am beginning to feel increasingly that my National Trust annual membership has been a true rip off as most of their properties remained closed over the winter making it impossible for me to extract full advantage from the membership fee I paid last August).

Roving rather aimlessly around the town, we arrived at the East Cliff where author E.F. Benson, once mayor of the town and creator of Mapp and Lucia has installed a plaque on a parapet that overlooks the vast green expanses of countryside that embrace the little hamlet. This look out point is very close to the Land Gate which is, in turn, very close to a clutch of smart but very charming old hotels whose tea rooms offered elegant afternoon teas.

A ramble took us towards the Church of St. Mary (right near the home of John Fletcher of the Beaumont and Fletcher duo of the Jacobean plays fame) whose clock face and mechanism is one of the oldest in the country. It is possible to climb up to the top of the square tower that provides wonderful views over the Downs, but we passed…deciding instead to take a self-guided tour of the ancient church that dates from Norman times and offers a wealth of interesting architectural details inside that are sure to intrigue the most jaded visitor.

We saved the best for last, arriving at Mermaid Lane at the very end of our walking tour and making our way towards the famed Mermaid Inn, a marvelously well preserved Tudor structure whose thick dark beams lend it a very authentic air of antiquity. We took pictures in its cobbled courtyard–in the very spot where I had taken pictures with my cousin Cheryl and her husband David on my last visit to Rye, a few years ago. Then, because the wind had picked up and was playing nasty games with our scarves and my rather thin jacket, we decided it was time to leave one of the Cinque Ports behind us and head home.

However, en route, I did suggest that Stephanie stop at Winchelsea, a lovely little village only two miles away whose white wooden sidings are rather reminiscent of New England and of Connecticut’s seaside villages (such as my own Southport), in particular. Though light was fading fast and the evening had turned chilly, both Steph and Llew were so taken by the churchyard with its half-ruined church facade that they decided to pay a visit inside (only to find it locked) and to stroll through the daffodil-filled front yard.

Ten minutes later, we were racing back towards Richmond, but not before remarking upon the huge masses of daffodils we saw everywhere. Indeed, England’s soil just seems to pop up in the spring in the warmest of yellows as these lovely frilly-headed flowers make their presence felt all over the country.

Back in Richmond, Steph invited us to tour her new flat and was pleased to know that we loved every aspect of it–from its convenient location to the station, to the fireplace in her living room, to the lovely spacious bathroom and the ample closet space that I liked most of all. Because it had already grown dark, we did not linger long in the town, though I was eager for Llew to catch a glimpse of Richmond Green and the famous theater where I have been seeing so many shows lately.

Then, we were kissing Stephanie goodbye and hopping on the Tube to get back home to Holborn. It had been a long and rather tiring day and we were quite fatigued. I needed to prepare for my Monday classes while Llew relaxed at home with the news on TV and after a very light sandwich dinner, the two of us called it a day. I was very pleased that both Llew and Stephanie liked Rye so much and I was glad that despite his rather short stay in England, Llew had managed to see one of my favorite parts of the country.

Buon Giorgno Italia: Arrival in Vicenza

Mar22

Tuesday, March 17, 2009
London-Vicenza, Italy

My cell phone alarm did so off as scheduled. I showered, wolfed down a hasty breakfast and left my flat at 7. 30. I was on the Number 8 bus from outside my building at 7. 35 and at Victoria station at 8. 15. The bus was late—the first time Easybus has been late–but we managed to make up time and arrived at Stansted at 10. 10 am. All went well with my check-in and at 11.40, I was airborne and making my way across the United Kingdom on a delightfully clear day.

I had made friends with a former Cambridge academic named Dr. Paul Austin while waiting at the Gate to board and before long, we were chatting quite amicably. Because we both chose window seats, we had wonderful views of England from the air and I saw the white cliffs of Dover quite clearly indeed as the aircraft zoomed over the English Channel. The lines of the famous song, “There’ll be bluebirds over/The White Cliffs of Dover” came to my mind as the few puffy clouds skimmed over a blue and lovely sky.

Then we were eating up the miles over Normandy where the notorious beaches of World War II glittered beneath me as the plane climbed ever higher. When the landscape grew more blurred and distant, I turned to my book—Booker Prize winning novel The Sea by John Banville, a very slim paperback that made perfect travel reading. Set in Ireland–Northern Ireland, that is—it is a tender love story, very lyrically told, of a young man’s youth spent by the seaside with a woman he loved even as he recounts the slow death by cancer of his wife, many years later.

About an hour later, we were skimming over the Alps and the cloudless skies afforded some of the most spectacular views that I can remember from an aircraft. Most were thickly snow-covered, the conifers below the tree line pointing primly upwards. There were thin rivers and fat lakes gleaming softly in the early spring sunshine and tiny towns and settlements sprawling across their banks. Not for nothing has Europe remained my favorite continent! I was eager then to explore the Veneto and could hardly believe that I was returning to Italy exactly a year from the time last year when I had traveled extensively over it with my friend Amy Tobin.

Our Ryanair aircraft landed at 2. 25 pm local time (Italy is one hour ahead of the UK)—I had eaten my sandwich lunch on board and felt fortified to face the bus drive to Venice Central Station from where I would need to take a train to Vicenza where my friend Annalisa would be waiting to pick me up. Except that I ran into Paul Austin again at Immigration. He happened to have rented a car at Treviso airport, was driving to Lake Garda and was passing right through Vicenza. He very kindly offered me a lift which I gratefully accepted and by 4 pm, I was in Vicenza waiting at Cafe Maresco where Annalisa’s black Mercedes arrived in a few minutes to pick me up. It was a marvelous reunion with her after a year (we had last met a year ago in Venice) and a few minutes later, we were at her sprawling terrace flat that overlooks the lower Alps in the distance with their frosting of snow. At home, her sons, Giacomo (15) and Giovanni (11) renewed acquaintance with me and over a large cup of fragrant peppermint tea and Italian biscuits, Annalisa and I sat and had a very long chat and caught up with our lives.

While we were talking, she prepared a lovely pork tenderloin with rosemary and garlic and raddiccio from Treviso which she roasted. The meal was preceded with tortellini in delicious home made stock. Annalisa served me a gigantic portion and while I love Italian food dearly, I was afraid I would balloon out by the end of five days with her amazing home cooking. Giorgio, Annalisa’s husband, was also present at dinner and though he does not speak any English at all, Annalisa acted as interpreter.

I gave them the presents I had carried for them–London caps for the boys, English Tea and dark chocolate covered ginger biscuits for the adults and Series Seven of the Inspector Morse Mysteries to which, a few years ago, I had introduced the family who are now as firm fans of the opera-loving, beer-guzzling copper as I am. I chose Series Seven as it contains an episode entitled The Death of the Self which is actually set and shot in Vicenza. The boys were just thrilled with my gift and wanted to start watching Morse immediately. Annalisa told me that my choice of gift was “brilliant” and I truly felt as if I had made a very thoughtful decision indeed.

I went to bed in Giacomo’s room–he kindly lent me his room after moving into Giovanni’s– delighted to be back at Annalisa’s place in Vicenza and pleased to have quality time with time with her and her lovely family.