Tag Archive | Harry Potter

An Anglo-Indian Bash in Wembley

Jul12

Sunday, July 12, 2009
London

With just one interview left to be transcribed, I awoke at 7. 30 and decided to finish it up–but that was after I read some Potter–the last novel is taking me longer to go through than the previous one. Then I was grabbing a bit of cereal and a mango, showering, dressing and taking a series of buses to Wembley Central for the summer party thrown by Gerry and Coreen–to which I was invited about two months ago. En route, I began reading Owen’s book and have to say that I find it absorbing.

The party was great…loads of people present–relatives and friends. This core Anglo-Indian group that calls themselves The Gang take it in rotation to meet periodically at their homes. Gerry and Coreen have an enviable parcel of property in Wembley that allows them to throw a huge bash complete with shamianas, and a family of caterers who cook the meal on site–all surrounded by the many aviaries filled with exotic birds that forms the center of their unusual business.

This is your typical Anglo-Indian party…only scaled up to include rock and roll hits of the 50s, 60s and 70s, a really great bunch of guys who know each other well and take to the dance floor at the drop of a hat to shake a leg and let their hair down. The booze flowed and I particularly enjoyed a Gerry concoction he called Mango Fool–more like a Mango Lassi which, spiked with Bacardi, took me to the Bahamas! Needless to say, the food–all Indian, all cooked by a Pakistani woman called Farah who had the most adorable brood of kids helping her out–was great, particularly the appetisers–a variety of kebabs of which the Chicken Tikka and Lamb Chops were to die for.

I met a couple of folks, who, over the months, I have interviewed and who seemed pleased to see me again. And then I met a bunch of folks I have never seen before–in the case of so many of them, I feel terrible that it is now time for me to return Stateside for I know that they would have made great company during all the months that I was alone in this city and even greater friends. I was very happy to meet and chat with George Hillier who spearheaded the creation of the Anglo-Indian associations in the UK and was the shaping force behind the many London Anglo-Indian dances of years gone by.

I had a bit of a shock when it was revealed to me that one of the Anglo-Indian ladies that I had interviewed several months ago has passed away. Her funeral is on Tuesday and I would dearly love to attend it but I have already made plans to meet up for lunch with Prof. Alison Blunt, a fellow scholar of the Anglo-Indian diaspora, and I fear that I will be unable to change that appointment as I have only a few days left now to play around with before Llew gets here and I have to leave. I was very sad indeed to receive the news as I had been welcomed warmly by this person and her husband at their home in Lewisham and had partaken of her excellent chicken curry and had enjoyed a very interesting conversation with her. Little did I know that before I returned home, one of the folks I have interviewed would be no more. It makes me realize once again how important it is that the oral history of these lovely people be recorded for posterity before it is too late.

One of the folk I particularly enjoyed chatting with was Bash, Gerry’s financial adviser, who also then offered to give me a ride home. Except that when we got into his car–the cutest little silver grey model–and began our journey, he sensed my interest and made a few detours en route to show me some of the sights that Wembley could offer–such as the iconic Stadium where ever so many sports events and entertainment shows are held and a little further afield, the famous public school, colloquially known as ‘Harrow’ at Harrow-on-The-Hill where Jawaharlal Nehru was once a student and from where he wrote some of the most moving letters to his father Motilal as he tried to cope with the strangeness of the country into which he had been thrust as a tender teenager!

I was struck both by the stadium’s unique design–it has a rather odd semi-circular hoop that seems to stand suspended above it–and even more so by the glorious red brick buildings that comprise the prestigious school. Build in the Tudor idiom, they reveal the kind of extraordinary brickwork of which only the Tudors and the Elizabethans were capable–black brick making interesting herringbone and diamond patterns to relieve the monotony of the red walls. There are castellated tops, a grand approach comprising steps punctuated by rose bush beds and a rather lovely grey and white church with a slender spire reminiscent of the one on the chapel roof of Exeter College, Oxford. This school served as the location for Hogwarts School for Wizards in the Harry Potter films. Despite the failing light, I took a few pictures before we left the venue. Indeed, the entire little village of Harrow-on-The-Hill is prettiness personified with the heart of Old Harrow comprising a warren of narrow streets lined by bookstores, coffee shops and trendy restaurants. It never ceases to amaze me how many quaint parts of London I have yet to see and with this school visited, I can tick another item off my List of Things To Do in London–thanks to Bash and his offer to include a bit of unexpected sightseeing on my agenda.

Back at my place, Bash stayed for a cup of coffee before we said goodbye. I had a conversation with Llew before I prepared for bed and as I intend to spend the day tomorrow at the National Archives at Kew, for which I need to leave my early, I went off to bed straight away.

Library Research, a Disastrous Bus Ride and ‘Pottering’ Around Leicester Square Premiere!

Jul7

Tuesday, July 7, 2009
London

I had intended to spend the entire day doing research at the libraries. But you know what they say about Man Proposing and God Disposing. It wasn’t as if I awoke late—nothing of the kind. In fact, I awoke at 6. 30 am, read another 40 pages of Potter, called my parents in Bombay, cooked myself some scrambled eggs with sausages and bacon (as I am trying to finish up all the food in my freezer in preparation for my departure at the end of the month), then showered and left my flat.

At the British Library:
I had expected to arrive at the British Library at 10 when it opened, but I got there about 10.30 and by the time I took possession of the documents that were held for me in the Asian Section (former India Office Library Collection), it was 10. 45 am.

One glance at a longish Anglo-Indian Memorandum of 1934 convinced me that I needed to photocopy the entire 32 pages of it. However, the cost was 88p per page and when I asked the assistant for help, he told me that he would see if the same document was available in Microfilm, in which case I could photocopy it myself at a cost of merely 20p a page—big improvement that! He then called for the item and informed me that it would take at least an hour before it was located and handed over to me.

This lent me the time to read a marvelous memoir by an Englishwoman named Elinor Tollinton who had spent most of her life in British India as the daughter of a former ICS man (A.R. Astbury) and later the wife of a British lawyer (Phil Tollinton). It was like turning the pages of The Jewel in the Crown all over again. She presented the memoir to the British Library in 1988, a little after the Raj Revival of the mid-1980s had brought tons of TV watching pleasure to Great Britain as it soaked in Imperial nostalgia—The Jewel in the Crown, the Far Pavilions, Gandhi, Heat and Dust—all these films had flooded the market at the time probably motivating people like Elinor to tell it as it really was; for she ends her memoir saying, “Recent films and sophisticated propaganda have introduced a picture which does not always accord with the facts. I know because I was there.”

The memoir, typewritten on very fine tissue-like paper is accompanied by an album of photographs that documents the construction of so many Public Works Projects in the undivided Punjab—bridges over the rivers, lodges and government bungalows in the Simla hills and the railroad lines and the new trains that were created to take Raj officials to the hills to escape the heat and dust of the plains in summer. It was not just the history buff in me that thrilled to these words but indeed the travel lover as well, for the memoir takes us through Germany before the war, Northern India at the time of the Raj–particularly Lyallpur (now in Pakistan) and Simla– Oxford where Elinor and her family moved after the Independence of India and Austria where they went on vacations.

It is a marvelous record of the adventures they encountered as they met with a gallery of personalities that fill the history books of the period: Gandhi, Nehru, Rajagopalacharia, Sir John Simon (of the Simon Commission) and Lord Wavel (last but one Viceroy of India). In-between Elinor talks about the epileptic fits that almost took the life of her son, Hugh, and her daughter Elizabeth’s refusal to answer to anything but her nickname, Buffy. At her school interview in London upon returning from India , when asked to spell her name, she said, B-U-F-F-Y, much to her mother’s acute embarrassment.

I had expected to find some information about the interaction of these British officials with Anglo-Indians but except for one small mention of their proficiency in running the Railways, there was nothing at all. Nevertheless, I did not consider it a waste of time and I was swept away into the Edwardian world with a vengeance—one of my favorite periods in history.

When, my document arrived, Chris, the assistant, showed me how to register to use the copy machine and how to photocopy from the microfilm reader. By 3. 30 pm, I was all done but I was starving as I hadn’t even taken a break for lunch having found my reading so absorbing. Back downstairs, it was pouring rain and I ate my quiche in the quadrangle under a large umbrella of the café outside called The Last Word. Then, I decided to wait a bit until the worst of the downpour had passed (as I had no umbrella) and when the fury of the shower had abated, I caught Bus 10 to Hammersmith and then changed to the 391 to Richmond.

A Disastrous Bus Ride:
I intended to travel next to the National Archives at Kew where several other documents were being held for me. This Archives are open on Tuesdays until 7 pm, which would leave me a good two to three hours to examine a few of them. That’s when my plans went completely awry. The bus took ages to arrive and when it did, two of them, infuriatingly, came together. And then the creeping and the crawling began. We were still at Oxford Street about 45 minutes later. By the time, I arrived at Hammersmith; it was already almost 6 pm. Still, I decided to push on and at least get to the Archives so that I could find out where exactly they are located and take the Tube there next time round.

Well, the 391 was even worse and by the time we reached Chiswick Road, it was past 7 pm. Yes, it had taken me three hours to get from King’s Cross to Chiswick!!! The Archives would have closed by then, so filled with irritation at myself for having chosen to take the bus, I got off at Gunnersburys Station intending to return home by Tube as I simply couldn’t stand the idea of doing the same bus journey in reverse!

Pottering Around Leicester Square:
Only instead of taking the Underground, I took the overground train! This meant that I had to get off at Willesden from where I transferred to the Bakerloo Line to get to Baker Street. At that point, I remembered that tonight was the World Premiere of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Well, the premiere was at Leicester Square and while the hoopla had begun last night, I thought I should try to catch a glimpse of at least one star. Besides, attempting to see a premiere at Leicester Square is supposedly one of the free things you can do in London and just for hoots, I thought, why not???

So there I was at Leicester Square where I arrived at 8.00pm. Alas, I was 15 minutes too late for the stars of the film had already entered the two theaters that were simultaneously showing the film and had disappeared. There was a huge stage set up, however, and though most of the crowd had left to grab dinner, a few stragglers were hanging about it. No one was clear exactly what was likely to happen later in the evening but the rumor did the rounds that the stars were inside watching the film and would emerge 115 minutes later to climb the stage and humor their fans.

The stage set was covered with red and yellow flags that featured the Gryffyndor logo on it: a dragon spewing fire, while another crest featured two crowns. I did not have my camera with me and after standing in the midst of the excited crowds for a while, I heard an organizer announce that the film had started late and it would not be until 10 pm that the stars would come out of the theater!

Just when I began to feel as if I should get back home (it had, after all, been a long day), who should emerge from the theater but Mr. Pottymouth Himself–Gordon Ramsay of Hell’s Kitchen fame with his wife Tana and his two kids. They must have wanted to use the toilet or something for they left the movie half-way through it! At any rate, with the crowd giving him a rather lukewarm cheer, he ascended the stairs with his young family and disappeared on the other side.
I heard someone standing next to me say to her companion, “Who was that?” and her companion said, “Oh, he’s that famous TV cook but I can’t get his name!” My Dad always used to say: “Fame is the food that dead men eat…I have no stomach for such meat” quoting someone or the other! (It was actually Henry Austin Dobson, 1840-1921).

Well, then, that was my brush with fame. I did not feel motivated enough to wait until 10.00 pm and I turned right around, took two buses that got me back home after which I ate a rice and curry dinner while watching extracts on BBC One of the Michael Jackson Memorial Service in LA, checked and responded to my email and wrote this blog before getting to bed.

The new Harry Potter film opens on July 15, so perhaps I shall see it when I get back home to the States—this novel was my favorite of the lot and though I want to go back to Southport and watch all the films in sequence, I must say that I am sorely tempted to see this one right here and now!

Interviewing Anglo-Indians in West Drayton

Jul6

Monday, July 6, 2009
London

My day began at 6. 30 am when I resumed reading the last Harry Potter. Reached page 165 before I decided to spend some time reviewing my Oxford lecture. I was supposed to leave the flat at 10 am to catch the 10. 42 train from Paddington to get to West Drayton where I would be interviewing three Anglo-Indians who had agreed to chat with me.

After my breakfast and a shower, I drafted my lecture for about an hour and then it was time to leave. I took the Tube to Paddington, bought my ticket and got on the train as scheduled. Malcolm was awaiting my arrival at the station and since he picked me up in his car and drove me to this place, he made it so easy for me to get to my destination. I have to say that I have forgotten what a luxury it is to get around by car since I have been using public transport for almost a year now.

His friend Terry had just arrived as we pulled up to his driveway and, a little later, we were joined by Joe. The three of them, friends who go back a long way to their early youthful days back in India where they were classmates in the same school, have a wonderful camaraderie that is born by years of enjoying a tried and tested friendship.

I have to say that I found it much easier this time to interview three blokes at the same time. I seem to have perfected the method and organization that it takes to direct my questions from one to the other. I still find it disturbing when two of them start speaking to each other while I am talking to a third one as I simply cannot hear or concentrate on what the third is saying. Some people have the tendency to lose interest in the interview and start a conversation that has no bearing on the questions I wish to ask or the issues I wish to cover. That is why it is easiest for me to interview one person at a time. Anyway, for the most part, I managed to keep the conversation on track and I have to say that I received three very satisfying interviews by the time I was done.

We stopped half way through to enjoy the delicious lunch that Malcolm had prepared. He is a good chef and his parathas served with grilled chicken, dal and a potato sabzi were very tasty–good homey Indian food with no frills, but just wholesome and home made and very tasty. I have been touched repeatedly by the warmth and hospitality of these indivdiuals and the generosity they have exhibited as they have invited me to their homes and served me meals. It is great to see that they have not lost this aspect of their Anglo-Indian spirit, though I have to say that some served me nothing more than a cup of coffee despite my long distance to and from their homes.

Still, I know I will go back with wonderful memories in addition to the data I have collected. I took the train back (Malcolm dropped me back to West Drayton station) and I took the Number 15 bus back from Paddington. Once home at 6 pm, I transcribed the interview I had done in Oxford with Philip. By the time I was done proofreading and editing, it was 8. 30 pm. I stopped for dinner (quiche with sushi that I picked up from Simply Food) and then I sat to find bus directions to get to the National Archives at Kew tomorrow where I shall be spending most of the day reviewing documents; but this will be only after I have spent a couple of hours at the British Library looking again at the documents I examined a few days ago.

As the Month of July marches on, I find myself very busy but I am trying not to panic and hoping that I will be able to look at all the material I want to review before I leave at the end of the month.

Oxford Rediscovered! Random Rambles in a Favorite City.

Jul1

June 30, 2009
Oxford

I awoke way too late today–after 8 am, rushed through a wash and got dressed to join my fellow lodgers at breakfast–which included the very English prunes soaked in cold tea! I said goodbye and thanked Mrs. Longrigg and requested that I be allowed to stash my baggage in her home until the end of the day. Then, I returned to my room, packed up and left for my last day in Oxford. I had intended to spend this day traveling to Kelmscott Manor (home of William Morris) and to the Hidcote Manor Gardens–but both were impossible to get to without expensive taxis, so I decided to stay in Oxford and see the bits and pieces of it that I have never seen before.

Sightseeing in Oxford:
By the end of the day, I was amazed at how much I had never seen before! I started off across the Banbury Road to Woodstock Road where at St. Bernard’s Road, I cut across into Jericho and went in search of The Bookbinder’s Arms Pub, frequent location in Morse films. This brought me to the Church of St. Barnabas, an Arts and Crafts Church, into which I took a peak and discovered marvelous Pre-Raphaelite style mosaics on the walls. More walking in Jericho (now a rather upscale neighborhood, but once a dodgy area that provided cheap housing to Oxford’s working class folks–most of whom now can only afford to live in faraway villages like Witney and Eynsham) took me past small terraced housing painted pleasingly in pale, pastel colors. I nipped into a few enticing shops but found nothing and then arrived at The Freud, a lovely restaurant that was once a church–its Neo-Classical pillars were most impressive. I was also delighted to chance upon the imposing Neo-Classical building of Oxford University Press as my Dad had started his career, many moons ago, as a lowly clerk in the offices of Oxford University Press in Colaba, Bombay.

Christ Church College Picture Gallery:
When I found myself at St. Giles, I nipped into Sainsbury’s to buy a meal deal–a roasted chicken baguette with a packet of Prawn Cocktail flavor chips and a bottle of Diet Coke. It is intensely hot and humid now and walking on the streets is no longer the pleasure it was a month ago. Everything seems more oppressive in the heat. I found my way to Christ Church College and the Picture Gallery in one of the quads at the back of the main one as it was my intention to see the small but very lovely art collection that the college has accumulated over the centuries. The emphasis was very much on Italian Renaissance art though there were some fine large canvases by Annibale Caracci and some really good Van Dykes. However, it is a small collection and very easily examined and I was then looking for a way to get along beautiful Merton Street (the only cobbled one in Oxford) to the Oxford Botanic Gardens with the idea of picnicking by the water. My ID card allowed me to get into all these places for free, so it was really a boon.

The Botanical Gardens:
Roses are in bloom at the entrance to the gardens but to get deep into the glass houses and by the riverside, visitors need to pay three pounds. I walked directly to the familiar path along the river, found myself a shady tree and sat there to eat my lunch as the punts floated lazily by, a few row boats and paddle boats also joining them occasionally. On Magdalen Bridge, the red buses passed by and garden-loving visitors stepped by examining another interesting specimen. When I had rested for over an hour, I decided to go and check out the garden and was delighted to see the most abundant herbaceous border along one brick wall. I took many pictures of it and have reached the conclusion that the flowers and plants that I cannot name are the ones most suitable for growing in perennial borders–a lesson to keep in mind if I am trying to create border beds in my own garden.

Magdalen College and Deer Park:
Then, I crossed the High Street and arrived right opposite at the Main gates of Magdalen College which my fellow lodger Marnie had told me I should not miss. She had directed me to the back gardens and the Deer Park and that was where I headed, again past some lovely herbaceous borders–but they were nowhere as colorful as the ones in the Botanic Garden. For the first time, I saw hosta make up the bulk of a perennial border–exactly like mine in Southport, where astilbe, hosta and day lilies make up the bulk of our plantings.

Having spent some more time inspecting the gardens, I headed up to the Dining Hall of Magdalen College. It is always a pleasure for me to look upon the faces of first-time visitors to these spaces and see the expressions of wonder and delight as their eyes take in the hammered ceiling beams, the many oil portraits on the walls and the long dark wooden tables at which students normally eat their meals. Then, I made my way downstairs and asked for directions to the Chapel–very similar in design to New College Chapel that I had seen a few days ago on the Harry Potter Tour.

Visiting the Famous Libraries:
My next stop were the libraries and when I passed by the Radcliff Camera which today serves only as the Reading Room for English and Theology, I entered it with my ID card and surveyed the Rotunda and the reading room downstairs. Should future research ever bring me again to Oxford, this is where I will do some of my reading, I decided! I recall, many years ago, this building served as the call room for materials that we students wished to borrow–now with the database going online, students no longer need to look at card catalogues to get books out! How things change!

Then, onward I went to the Bodleian Library as I was keen to get upstairs to see the famous Duke Humphrey’s Library which was used as a location for one of the Harry Potter films and which is strictly out of bounds unless one has an Oxford ID card. Indeed, it is a gorgeous room, the ceiling richly painted with the crests and family coat of arms of the many eminent contributors to the university and each reader sitting in superbly decorated ‘bays’ to do their quiet private reading. I saw so many of them browsing through original manuscripts written in the handwriting of the folks they were researching. This library is only open to senior scholars and researchers–not to Oxford’s undergraduates.

Next, I walked across The Broad (through The Clarendon Building) to get to Park Street where the Indian Institute Library is located in the New Bodleian Library. It was in this library that I had done most of my reading on the works of Kamala Markandaya while pursuing doctoral research. It has all been heavily wired now and security fobs and keys are needed to get anywhere inside…but I went through the steps that got me inside where only two students were reading quietly. Again, were I doing a project that would require me to examine South Asian material, this is probably where I would be seated. It doesn’t have the same reverent atmosphere of Duke Humphrey’s Library but it does have some very lovely view of Oxford’s dreaming spires that jut out into the sky from every surrounding building.

The Turf Tavern:
Across The Broad again, I asked for directions to the Turf Tavern, another common location in Morse films and one of Oxford’s oldest pubs. It is really strange that I do not know where a single hidden pub in Oxford can be found–as drinking was obviously never one of my priorities while I was there. Indeed, the Turf Tavern is very well hidden in a narrow passageway where Jane Morris, wife of William Morris and Pre-Raphaelite Muse often featuring as a model in some of the Group’s best-known paintings, once lived. The Tavern itself is a little medieval gem, built in the 1300s and serving traditional real ales–unfortunately though these are really good, they are never served cold…and on a day like this, I was craving a long cold drink! After taking a few pictures in a watering hole that was supposedly Bill Clinton’s favorite during his Oxford years, I left and walked along The Broad to Turl Street and finally entered Exeter College, which is always rich in wonderful memories for me.

Finally, at Exeter College:
As it happened, it was Open Day in Oxford’s Colleges and all the quadrangles were open to prospective students coming in to check out the premises with their parents. Hence, the ‘campus’ was especially lovely with red geraniums lining the steps leading up to the Dining Hall which was open for perusal. After 22 years, I had the chance to return to the spot where I had eaten so many memorable English meals and puddings–and a really awful rhubarb pie, which was completely lacking in sugar! Of course, I took pictures everywhere and admired once again the artwork on the walls, the glorious medieval wooden ceiling and screen and the dark wooden tables at which we had sat! Lovely memories indeed and I was delighted to relive them all.

Then, I entered the chapel, newly refurbished and cleaned and looking spanking new–several of the statures of saints that encircle the chapel on the outside have had to be fixed–at an expenditure of a million plus pounds (according to the very efficient student guide Tim who escorted me around for a private tour). Inside, the mosaics surrounding the altar have been polished and are glinting brilliantly. Organ practice was on while I was there and I stayed for a few minutes to take in the ambiance in the midst of several other visitors.

Then it was off to the Margary Quadrangle where my room was located and I went off to the second floor to see if my room was open by any chance–which it was not, sadly! However, I did peak into the bathrooms and saw that they have been modernized. There are now modern showers there, which in years gone by were non-existent. Right above this set of rooms, one of which I once occupied, is a new sculpture of a nude man by Antony Gormley–this looks down upon the Broad from the corner of Exeter College that intersects Turl Street.

Overall, it was a deeply nostalgic experience for me to return to Exeter and I badly missed my dear friends who had made my time there so memorable. We have been talking for years about an Oxford Reunion but somehow it hasn’t happened and though three of us have arrived in Oxford at different times, we have never managed to do it together as a group!

Then, I went in search of the Saskatchewan Lecture Room where I will be giving my lecture on July 22. It is an underground basement room , which, unfortunately, was not open, but I did see its location. My next stop was the Fellows Garden at the back and the Library (not open to visitors) and the steps leading to the ramparts of the college that overlook Radcliff Square. I was amazed because I don’t believe this was ever there when I was at Exeter! Or if it was, I had never climbed those stairs for those lovely vantage views of the Radcliff Camera and Oxford’s other best-known buildings including the Church of St. Mary the Virgin .

At the White Horse Pub:
Well, I truly enjoyed my hour of touring Exeter and learning new things about the college. Once I got out and on to Turl Street again, I decided I badly needed something to drink and what better place than The White Horse Pub right next door to Blackwell’s where in honor of Morse and Lewis, I thought I would get myself a swift half of traditional ale. Well, who should I find when I got in there but Marnie, my fellow-lodger from New Zealand! She was waiting to have her very early dinner served to her and as she went through her roast lamb with Yorkshire pudding and vegetables (which she told me was the best to be found in Oxford!), I sipped a very refreshing ale but I do wish it had been colder!

The Holywell Music Rooms:
Well, then after I had spent an hour with her, there were still a few things I needed to see before I took the bus back to London: Holywell Music Rooms, supposedly one of the most picturesque buildings in Oxford (it turned out to be a rather plain white building) with a lovely round music room inside which acts as the setting for the music competition in the first episode of Lewis, the series that is a spin off from Inspector Morse. There were a few people inside but though the place was technically closed, they did allow me to potter around and take it all in. Its interior reminded me very much of the stark colonial Episcopalian churches we see all over New England.

Rhodes House:
Then down Parks Road, I walked in search of Rhodes House, the great institution that arose out of the contribution of Cecil Rhodes who made his fortune in diamond mining in Africa. He set up the famous Rhodes Scholarships that are offered to scholars all over the world. This building was also closed but the Porter who saw me prowling around volunteered to let me in for a few minutes. This gave me to access to the Central Rotunda which is quite beautiful architecturally and to the dining room used for conferences today. The administrative offices of the Rhodes establishment are also housed in this building, which provides a central post for the scholars to meet and get to know each other. The gardens were also lovely and very conducive to quiet contemplation.

The Chapel of Keble College:
One more thing required to be seen: The Chapel of Keble College, which Marnie had told me not to miss. So, a few minutes later, I walked into the magnificent Victorian quadrangle of Keble, a space that is absolutely stunning. It has a rather unusual sunken lawn and again because it was Open Day, there were loads of people filling it and visiting its various corners. I walked into the Chapel and enjoyed its very austere atmosphere. Yes, it is not medieval Gothic in design but full of Victorian excess–mosaics of scenes from the Bible marching around the higher walls–similar to the Arts and Crafts Church of St. Barnabas in Jericho.

Back Home to London:
Well, it had truly been a day of superb sightseeing in Oxford for me and as you can imagine, I was ready to drop once I made my way back to Norham Road to pick up my baggage. I walked with it to Banbury Road from where I caught a bus to the City Center–the driver realized that I wished to get to Gloucester Green and took me right by the bus terminus! Once in The Oxford Tube, I relaxed, took off my shoes (my feet were aching) and ate my dinner–the rest of my baguettes, cookies and an apple. I got off at Notting Hill Gate and took the Circle Line back home to Farringdon where I reached at exactly 10 pm.

I spent the last few minutes of the day downloading my pictures and getting set up with wireless internet once again and then I went to bed after what had been an exhausting but deeply fulfilling week in one of my favorite cities in the world.

In Stratford–Shakespeare Found–and the Cotswolds

Jun29

Sunday, June 28, 2009
Stratford-on-Avon and Chipping Norton

I had no intentions to returning to Stratford-on-Avon while I was in Oxford. After all, I had been there the weekend of Shakespeare’s birthday (April 23) with Stephanie and would not have wanted to waste a day in the same venue. But just a couple of weeks after my return from Stratford, my colleague Karen began talking about a new Shakespeare Portrait that has just been unearthed and which is of supreme significance both for the literary and art worlds as it is suspected to be the only portrait for which Shakespeare ever posed during his lifetime. She told me that seeing it with her husband Douglas (who is a Renaissance scholar) was one of the highlights of her year in the UK–and I figured that if it is so special, I ought not to leave the UK without seeing it. I don’t believe that it was on display when I was in Stratford with Stephanie in April—maybe it was, maybe not. But in any case, since I was only 40 miles from Stratford here in Oxford, it made sense for me to take public transport to get there and have my own peek at this portrait.

And so I had ear marked today for this trip. I awoke about 7. 00, read Harry Potter for about 40 minutes, then left my bedroom to wash and get dressed for the 8 am Mass at The Oratory (a Jesuit-run church) on Woodstock Road near St. Giles. When I had passed by yesterday, I had discovered that there was a Mass at 8 am—a Mass that was described as “Old Rite”. I had no idea what this meant but I decided to find out since breakfast on Sunday is only served at 9 am. This left me time to attend Mass and get back in time for breakfast.

Old Rite Mass at The Oratory:
The Oratory is a very historic Catholic church in Oxford. It was established in 1845 which doesn’t make it old by Oxford standards, but it was the venue in which the famous Cardinal John Newman began his Ministry about the same time. I do not know enough about his Ministry (and the internet is not working efficiently enough here for me to get online and find out) but I do know that he initiated a chaplaincy that has resulted in Catholic ministry on every college campus world-wide—all of which are named after him. For example, the Catholic Center at the University of Hawai’i in Manoa, Honolulu, where I had spent a summer and attended Mass, is named the Cardinal Newman Center. These centers usually conduct masses for the Catholics on campus and provide ministerial support. Cardinal Newman was known to be an extraordinarily fine preacher and, no doubt, the pulpit in this oratory was the platform from which he gave his sermons.

The Oratory is famous for another reason: the early 20th century poet Gerald Manley Hopkins who was a Jesuit priest was a Curate in this church. Having studied his poems as an undergraduate student in India, I do remember reading that he was a Catholic priest and one who was especially drawn to Nature in attempting to find his way to God.

So I was very pleased to arrive at the church only to find that it had a strikingly beautiful interior. It isn’t very much to look at from the outside, but the inside is gorgeous, especially in the many beautifully carved saints that adorn the altar. But what amazed me about the church, more than anything else, was the congregation. I thought I had been whisked away in a Time Machine to the early 1960s (before Vatican II) when I used to attend Sunday masses in India with a veil in one hand and a Children’s Missal in the other. Upon entering the church, I would wear the veil on my head which my mother would often pin up as my hair is so silky and it would never stay put.

Well, most of the women in the congregation had veils on—in white or in black! I was stunned. It has been years since I have seen such a sight. Not only that, but the children in the church had missals in their hands and were actually following the service with the aid of these books. I was so struck by their good behavior. I saw no toys, no Cheerios, no books or anything of the kind to distract them (as I see in the churches in America where attending Mass is more playtime than anything else for a majority of the kids. These were old-fashioned children raised with old-fashioned parenting techniques that have gone with the wind. Needless to say, the Mass was in Latin, the priest facing the altar. Communion was distributed the traditional way at the Communion rails (you kneeled down to receive) and it was placed on your tongue and not in your hand! My God, I simply could not believe it! Seriously, one of the things I never thought I would take home with me to the States after my year in the UK was the variety of Christian forms of worship that I have experienced as I have gone to different churches every Sunday, representing various denominations of Christianity and conducted in vastly unique ways. As my stay here comes to an end, I am glad I had decided early in my stay here to do this: to try to attend Mass at a different church each Sunday. It has left me with fascinating observations and experiences and for those I am truly grateful.

Sunday Breakfast at Norham Road and Journey to Stratford:
My three fellow lodgers were already at table when I joined them for Breakfast this morning. Sunday breakfast meant hard boiled eggs (two for each of us). I toasted white sliced bread and make myself tasty sandwiches with my eggs—the sort my mother used to make for me when I was in school! I also ate cereal and drank two glasses of orange juice as I had a long way to go on the bus and wanted to get a hearty meal inside me.

I left my place at 9.45 to catch the 9. 55 bus (Stagecoach S3) to Chipping Norton (via Woodstock). I had found out that a Daypass offered unlimited travel on the bus for 7 pounds which was really a bargain. The bus rolled in about 10 minutes later (at 10. 05) and then we were off. Luckily, the day was gorgeous once again—lovely blue skies and bright sunshine—in fact, it turned a little too warm by the afternoon and I heard on the TV that tomorrow will be even warmer—28 degrees which is close to 86 Fahrenheit. The bus was crowded with teenagers, most of whom alighted at Blenheim Palace leaving the front seat wide open for me to enjoy.

The driver had told me that from Chipping Norton the bus S3 became the 50, so all I had to do was sit on the same bus. He also informed me that we would arrive in Stratford by 11. 20 am. The Daypass was really a bargain as the total distance was about 50 miles. We drove through beautiful bucolic Cotswold countryside passing charming little villages made of the typical honey-colored Cotswold stone for which this area is famed and the black slate roofs that give each village a marvelous uniformity but also a rural quaintness. Front and back gardens were full of summer blooms—dahlias brought vivid splashes of color to flower beds and tall hollyhocks and delphiniums were impressive in their stately height. I have to say that I am truly jealous of the enormous size and quality of the blooms that the English seem to be able to coax out of their soil without the use of expensive or damaging fertilizers. There is no way that we could produce the same results in the States—I am sure it has something to do with the presence of certain metals in the soil which provide those much-needed nutrients.

Arrival in Chipping Norton:
When we arrived in Chipping Norton, I recognized it at once as the little Cotswolds town in which Llew, Chriselle and I had once spent a night during our own tour of the Cotswold more than 10 years ago. Indeed, I even recognized The King’s Arms Hotel in which we had stayed and simply for old times’ sake, I decided that I would stop by there on my way back and explore the town on my own before catching the bus back to Oxford.

As we sailed on towards Stratford in the bus, I enjoyed the passing scenery. Mile after mile of field full of thriving plantings lent striking shades of green to the landscape. Sheep did dot the pastures and occasional farmhouses advertised themselves as being B&Bs while signs announced that “Afternoon Teas” were available in village churches. Next weekend, most of these villages will be having their annual summer fetes and I am sorry that I will be too far away to enjoy them, as I am seriously thinking of attending the sailing regatta at Henley-on-Thames with my friend Amy when she arrives from New York.

Arrival in Stratford-on-Avon:
When we did finally arrive in Stratford, I made a beeline straight away for Henley Street where Shakespeare’s birthplace is located. The Portrait Found Exhibit is in the Shakespeare Center right next door to his house. I was pleased that one could buy a ticket for just five pounds only to see the exhibit without needing to buy an expensive ticket to get into the Shakespearean houses—these I have seen several times before and did not think I needed to see them again.

The Shakespeare Portrait:
Ok, so here’s the reason why I made this pilgrimage to Stratford. In 2006, an Irishman named Alex Cobbe who lived in a grand mansion outside Dublin attended an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in London entitled Portraits of Shakespeare. Upon looking at one of the portraits on display there, he was struck by the fact that it looked curiously similar to a portrait of an unknown gentleman that was hanging on the walls of one of the rooms in his house. He brought this fact to the notice of the powers-that-be and the painting in his house was examined and studied. Considerable scholarly opinion has come to the conclusion (led by a Prof. Stanley Wells) that this is a portrait of William Shakespeare and that indeed this might be the only one for which he ever posed during his lifetime!

This means, of course, that all of the portraits of Shakespeare that we have seen thus far were either created by people from memory after Shakespeare had passed away (in 1616 at the age of 54) or that they were copies of this one portrait for which he, Shakespeare, actually posed. One of the reasons why Wells and other scholars believe this to be an authentic posed portrait of Shakespeare is that Cobbe also has in his collection a portrait of another unknown Elizabethan whom he had thought to be a lady (based on her long hair that flows down one shoulder and her rather effeminate face). Scholars who have studied this portrait have come to the conclusion that this is not a woman at all but a rather feminine-looking man who was known to the world as Henry Wriosthesley, Earl of Southampton.

Now, not only is this Alex Cobbe a direct descendant of the Earl of Southampton (which is why the portrait has come down to him) but this Henry Wriosthesley was also Shakespeare’s fond patron and the one to whom, for a very long time and even today, his Sonnets are believed to have been dedicated (“To Mr. W.H.”)—the initials deliberately inverted by Shakespeare in order to keep his identity unknown.

Now, if we know (and it can be proved by genealogical data and records) that Alex Cobbe is a direct descendant of this Mr. W.H., then it is also easy to see the connection between Shakespeare and this newly ‘discovered’ portrait. For Mr. W.H. might well have paid the money to an unknown artist to have his dear friend’s portrait painted—a portrait that he wished to retain in his own possession. In his later years, Mr. W. H. fell badly out of royal favor for his involvement in a plot to destroy Elizabeth I and was imprisoned in the Tower of London. We do have another portrait of him created at this phase in his life (which is also at the exhibition) and when you look at the two together –of the younger Mr. W.H. (which is very decidedly androgynous) and the older one, you do see a distinct resemblance that leaves you in no doubt that the two portraits are of the same person made several decades apart.

When Mr. W.H. died in disgrace, his possessions (including his paintings) passed into the hands of his next-of-kin and all the way down into the hands of Alex Cobbe who simply did not know that the unknown Elizabethans whom he gazed at daily in his home were Shakespeare and his patron Mr. W.H. So the discovery of this portrait is significant because if Shakespeare had posed for it then it is the closest likeness we could ever have of Shakespeare—though of course, being dated as having been painted in 1606 (by X-rays, tree ring dating and based on the rich and very expensive garments he is wearing in the portrait, particularly the style of lace collar around his neck), we think that the artist flattered the poet who at the age of 46 years in 1606 could not have looked quite so young and unblemished of complexion as he appears in it.

The controversy (like so many associated with the life and times of Shakespeare) will continue endlessly until we can prove without any shadow of a doubt that it is actually Shakespeare–through some incontrovertible documentary evidence. Meanwhile, whether we are convinced that it is Shakespeare or not, we can all delight in the superb quality of the painting and its marvelous state of preservation. For the other portraits of Shakespeare (also in the same exhibition), supposedly based on this one original, newly unearthed portrait, are such poor imitations of the original as to seem almost amateurish.

For all of these reasons, I was glad I read everything about the exhibition and spoke at length to the guide who explained things to me in great detail. Since the two portraits (of the young Mr. W.H. and of Shakespeare) have been loaned to the Shakespeare Trust for only a limited period and since Mr. Alex Cobbe will be taking them back to his Irish estate in September, I was very pleased indeed that I had the chance to see it and to understand the complexity involved in its discovery and its provenance. So I am grateful to Karen who told me all about it.

Back to Oxford—and a Bad Fall in Chipping Norton:
I took the 2. 20 bus back towards Oxford (having spent quite a while lazing by the river and watching the world go by). On impulse, I got off at Chipping Norton and decided to walk around the town a little bit retracing my footsteps as I remembered them. It was here that I had a fall. I couldn’t make up my mind whether to stay on the bus to Oxford or get off and see the town. I needed to find out what times the buses run (as they are few and far between on Sunday) and while I was checking the timetable at the bus stop, the bus started to move. Attempting to run after it to board it, I fell over the pavement and hurt my knee badly where it made impact with the hard surface of the road.

Well, after I was able to get up, I decided to go out and find the church we had visited ten years ago and which I remembered clearly as well as the neighboring Alms Houses( all rather picturesque and reminiscent of illustrations in story books). Unfortunately, most shops had closed for the day and the town seemed rather deserted.

An hour later, I returned to the bus stop and took the 4. 10 bus back to Oxford but decided again on impulse to get off at Woodstock in order to return to Blenheim Palace to buy two postcards as I had left the ones I had bought a few days ago in the loo on my way out the other day! Well, I have to say that my knee seemed to be carrying me fine through the ten minute walk to the shop and the salesgirls were good enough to give me replacements postcards without my having to pay for them again—because they remembered me from the other day!
Then, I was boarding the 5. 30 pm bus back to Oxford. I got off near Bevington Road on Woodstock Road and it was only about 10 pm that my left knee started aching really badly. I got myself an ice pack (on Llew’s advice) and rubbed some Moov on it and after writing this blog, went to bed, hoping that I will not be completely incapacitated tomorrow.

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.

It’s Deja-Vu All Over Again! An Oxonian after 22 Years!

Jun24

Wednesday, Jun 24, 2009
Oxford

For some reason, I did not sleep well at all last night—I mean not a wink! Could have been nervousness or excitement about the fact that after working at this for such a long time, I would finally be in Oxford again on attachment to St. Antony’s College where I have the position of Senior Associate Member for the summer. I had set my alarm for 6. 15 am but I don’t believe I slept for more than 2 hours. No wonder I was still bleary-eyed and dazed when I awoke at 5. 45 and decided to have a shower, get dressed, finish the last bits of my packing, eat my breakfast and leave.

Journey To Oxford:
It was 6. 45 when I left my Farringdon flat. I took the 63 bus from Farringdon to Fleet Street from where I boarded the No. 11 directly to Victoria Coach Station. I arrived there at 7. 30 am, well in time for my 8 am departure. The coach was empty but just before it left, I was joined by a lovely black lady in the very front of the upper deck where I parked myself and hoped to sleep once the bus left the city environs. Her name was Ranti and she happened to be an Oxonian too—she had read English at Magdalen graduating about 12 years ago. It was a meeting that was taking her back to Oxford and at the end of the chat we had en route, she offered me a lift to my new lodgings at Norham Road in North Oxford from St. Clements where she would be alighting. I thanked my good fortune at such a helpful encounter and tried to catch some ZZZZs as our bus ate up the miles.

My New Digs on Norham Road:
An hour later, we were alighting at St. Clement’s and Ranti’s colleague Cat arrived in her car. Less than 5 minutes later, I was ringing the old-fashioned pull bell at Norham Road and was greeted by the couple who run this lodging for international scholars who come to Oxford to teach or do research. Mrs. Longrigg showed me to my room—a darling little Sun Room on the ground floor decorated in pink—a very feminine room indeed. Sunlight flooded the space from the wide windows and I found myself looking into a room with a narrow single bed, a bureau-desk with a chair, a very comfortable sofa chair, an armoire, a chest of drawers, a small table with a TV set on it and yet another table with a microwave oven, and a tray for tea and coffee. Unbelievable how much furniture was stashed in this tiny room—and yet it all seemed to work. It was very English indeed, the feel of well-worn furniture that spelled scholarly pursuits. I like it immediately even though I thought the fact that my bathroom was one floor below in the basement was a bit odd—but then I did not share the bathroom with anyone and had it all to myself (which is a big advantage, I guess, though I am not the sort to spend oodles of time in a bathroom).

Getting on at St. Antony’s College:
As soon as I registered and paid for my stay, I left the house without even unpacking and rushed off to St. Antony’s College to meet Julie Irving who is in-charge of the SAMs. She too put me through the formalities but we ran into a snag when she needed a real passport sized photograph for my official Oxford University ID card without which I cannot use the library or computer facilities. Well, I had no choice but to get to the City Center (a good ten minute walk away) to have a picture taken at Boot’s. Only Boot’s no longer have this service so it was off to W.H. Smith and I was four quid poorer after I had my picture taken and printed.

Instead of going straight back to the college, however, I stopped at the Oxford Information Center to find out about travel arrangements for the next few days as I do wish to cover some local sights when I am not in the library or drafting my lecture. I found the assistant very helpful and I left with maps and time tables for local buses and trains as well as the tickets I had booked earlier on the phone for the two walking tours—“Inspector Morse’s Oxford” and “Pottering in Harry’s Footsteps”. With all this information under my belt, I headed back to St. Antony’s. But Julie was at lunch at the Buttery which is where I headed too for I was suddenly starving. One large plate of salad later, I felt deeply fortified. Julie had already given me my Dining Hall card, which allowed me to take meals in the College Hall, and I joined a large group of students and faculty for my first meal there.

The Museum of Natural History and the Pitt Rivers Museum:
Then, it was time to go out and explore a bit of Oxford on what was a brilliant summer’s day. Skies were a piercing blue with loads of cushiony clouds and there was just that slightest bit of a breeze stirring the leaves on the trees. Just beautiful! I recalled the last time I had traveled to Oxford in mid-December of last year when I had arrived to tour St. Anthony’s and finalize arrangements for my attachment here. How bleak it had seemed! It was dreadfully cold and rainy and the entire atmosphere was so depressing that I seriously wondered whether I would enjoy my stay in Oxford. But after just ten minutes in the city of dreaming spires, I was left in no doubt whatsoever. I am so excited to be back here again to roam the familiar streets to which I became permanently endeared in my youth that my heart is exhilarated at the prospect of spending the next few days among these beloved buildings.

The golden tone of the Cotswold stone of which these buildings are constructed glowed warmly in the afternoon haze as I found my way along Parks Road to the Oxford Museum of Natural History and the Pitt Rivers Museum—two of the museums that I was determined to see on this visit because, somewhat incredibly, I had never been to this part of the city before. It was an episode of Inspector Morse that had actually introduced me to this rather unconventional space in Oxford and since the museum was closed for a while for renovation and has just reopened, I was determined to make a visit there a priority.

What a coincidence that I saw two Museums of Natural History (one in London and one here in Oxford) pretty much on two consecutive days! This one too is an imposing Victorian edifice with columns and pillars and a turreted façade. Its vast central hall, just like the one in London, is filled with dinosaur skeletons though its most impressive exhibit is the skeleton and stuffed Dodo that I realized (ignorant me!) was actually a real bird and not a mythological creation! The Dodo really did become extinct—hence the famous comparison, “As dead as the Dodo!” Lewis Carol included the Dodo in Alice in Wonderland because he often brought Alice to this museum where they would pause at this very same showcase and comment on the strange bird!

But my real interest in coming to the Pitt Rivers Museum was to see the famed shrunken heads and these were at the back in the adjoining building (the front building, the older one, contains the dinosaurs and the Dodo). The actual Pitt Rivers Museum contains the anthropological collections of thousands of pieces of a man named Pitt Rivers who donated it to the University on condition that a building should be constructed to house it and that the curators of the museum should also be involved in teaching about the cultures represented by his collection. It is impossible for me to explain how varied and fascinating this collection is and, no doubt, it would take a whole day to inspect every object carefully. Instead I headed straight to the shrunken heads and gazed in awe at the five real human male and female heads in the showcase representing people who had been killed and whose heads were preserved by a method of shrinking that involved the removals of the skulls and the brains, the slow heating of the features by the use of hot pebbles, the sewing up of the mouth and other rather bizarre procedures that reduced the human heads to the size of small tennis balls—hence shrunken heads. Needless to say, these were the most popular items in the entire collection and these cases attracted many visitors.

When I finished perusing these cases, I returned to the Museum of Natural History to take in the Charles Darwin exhibit entitled “In His Own Words” which celebrates the second birth centenary of this renowned naturalist. There were loads of pictures, pages from the first edition of his Origin of the Species and other important publications and all sorts of memorabilia that would fill any student of science with delight. I spent about a half hour looking at this exhibit, then simply had to take a break somewhere as my lack of sleep had made me feel exhausted.

A Nap in the University Parks:
The University Parks provided the perfect spot and there under the shade of a spreading oak, I lay down on the springy grass, closed my eyes and took a 20-minute nap that was most refreshing and rejuvenating in the midst of a number of folks who were sun bathing. Then, I returned to my house on Norham Road and took a second 20-minute nap, awaking only at 5. 30 pm. to unpack. I was disappointed to discover that though connected to the wifi network, I wasn’t able to pick up my mail and I called my IT friend Tim in London to request him to help me establish a connection. However, despite working on this issue for almost an hour, we were unsuccessful and decided to wait until I can get help from the owners of this home, perhaps tomorrow.

Dinner and the First of Many Walks in Oxford:
Then, I dressed again and set out for an early dinner in St. Antony’s Dining Hall—I ate cod in a lemon sauce with a huge helping of peas and green beans—a very healthy meal indeed and when I was done, I badly needed to walk it off. And so I took the first of what I know will be long voyages of discovery on my own two feet.

This evening, I started off at Carfax, but before I arrived there, right outside the Ashmoleon Museum, I found myself dodging hundreds of youngsters in costume, all piling into coaches that were parked along St. Giles. None of the Halloween parades I have attended in New York City had anything compared to this riot of color and style in the costumes that these kids were wearing. There were monks, priests and nuns, flapper girls, all manner of animals and birds, even a bride (who turned around to reveal herself as a young man complete with moustache!). When I asked one of them what was going on, she told me that they were headed towards a party to celebrate the end of their freshman year at Oxford. The theme of the party was Heironymous Bosch’s famous painting “The Garden of Earthly Delights” which Llew and I had seen at the Prado in Madrid a few years ago. This explained the weird clothing! Suddenly, all these surreal scenes I was seeing around me made complete sense. Good Old Bosch! I asked the student where they were headed and she responded, “We really don’t know. None of us knows where we are going”. Ah, one of those Mystery Bus Tours! How marvelous! Oh to be an Oxford undergrad again to take in these end of term do’s–garnering memories that will undoubtedly last a lifetime!

I then walked down George Street to find out where the bus stops are for the trips I shall be undertaking in the next few days. Then, I continued on the same street to a part of Oxford that I had never seen before—the Railway Station as I needed timetables for a journey to Stratford-on-Avon and back. That task accomplished, I took another unknown path, past the Oxford Castle (which I saw for the very first time) and arrived at the mall shopping area (of course, all shops had closed for the day) which I do not believe existed when I was at Exeter.

I was aiming to reach Christ Church Meadow for a stroll to the banks of the River Thames (which is called the Cherwell–pronounced Chawell—in Oxford). But it was already close to 9 pm and the Meadows were due to close in five minutes. I decided that I would return earlier on another evening and instead sneaked my way into Christ Church College to hear Old Tom, (the bell in Tom Tower) toll 101 times at exactly 9. 05 pm. This was a real hoot and I recalled a scene from the film Chariots of Fire where a group of Oxford undergraduates attempt to race around the quad five time before the bell finishes tolling 101 times! I also had the opportunity to take in the magnificent fan-vaulted ceiling above the staircase that leads to the Dining Hall which is one of the finest in the city—though I know that this is probably on the Harry Potter Walking Tour as it became the model for the Dining Hall at Hogwarts, I was glad to have this opportunity to take pictures of this largest of Oxford Quads from many different angles and in rather good light, considering that it was past nine. This is, to my mind, one of the best parts of summer in England—the fact that daylight can still be discerned close to 10 pm!

Then, I decided to get back home and as I picked my way along Banbury Road, I thanked my lucky stars that I have been handed this marvelous professional opportunity to return to Oxford after 22 years—this time not as a student but as a scholar—and to walk in the footsteps of my youth. The city is gorgeous—as glorious as I can remember—and I know that the next few days are going to make me feel as if I am in Heaven!

Farewell Lunch at Tas with NYU’s Admin. Staff

Jun23

Tuesday, June 23, 2009
London

I awoke this morning around 6. 3o am and began reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Sat in bed blogging and proofreading and emailing when suddenly I heard a sound from the room next door–Paul and Loulou had arrived around midnight! They must have been quiet as mice as I did not hear a sound when they got in.

We had breakfast together, the three of us, making do with the scraps in the fridge–a few last drops of milk, a quarter loaf of walnut bread, some cereal, some jam. Paul was busy in his office for the next couple of hours, Loulou had to get out and get some work done and I sat in my favorite place, on my bed and transcribed an interview with Denise Fernandez and edited and captioned the last two batches of photographs that I had downloaded. All of this took so much time but at least I caught up with pending work. I was eager to finish off everything as I leave for Oxford tomorrow to take on my Senior Associate Member position at St. Antony’s College and did not want to leave knowing that I had left these loose ends untied.

At 11. 30 am, I went in for a shower and got dressed and left the flat at 12. 30. I took the bus to Tas Restaurant in Bloomsbury where we had a 1. 15 reservation for lunch. The wonderful administrative staff at NYU were taking my colleague Karen and myself out for a farewell lunch. Yvonne, David, Alice and Ruth were present and we spent the next two hours talking mainly about what a great year we have had in London and how sorry we are to leave. In every respect, it has been an incredible opportunity and a marvelous experience and both of us hope that someday we might be able to return.

Lunch at Tas was very good, as usual, and took me back to the great meals Llew and I had eaten in Greece and in Turkey. We had a selection of mezzes (cold appetisers) and then for a main course, I chose a mixed grill. In a platter featuring lamb, chicken and beef, I found myself tackling more meat than I could handle! But everything was very good indeed and both Karen and I recalled one of the very first dinners we had eaten in this restaurant at a time when we used to go out to eat once a week on Thursdays. All of that seems like yesterday and yet a whole year has passed! It is just impossible to believe.

I returned to my office after the meal to print out my bus ticket for tomorrow’s trip to Oxford and then rushed off to the thrift store at Kensington where I had seen a brand new Karen Millen suit that I thought would work for me. I needed a while to think about the purchase instead of making an impulse buy and, this afternoon I decided that if it fit me, I would buy it.

Well, sadly, it did not. I really really need to lose some weight! So, back I came to my office where I printed out the large bunch of ten interviews that I have done over the past three weeks. With that done, I took the bus and returned home.

Loulou had returned from her busy afternoon and we chatted for a while before I returned to my room to start my packing for my trip. It feels odd to have to pack again and yet it was barely a month ago that I was in Lyon. My month in London has been superb, what with grand weather and some interesting adventures as I have attempted to finish seeing and doing all the items on my list.

Now it is time for some serious work again as I hope to draft my lecture to the Graduate Summer School students at Exeter College scheduled for later in July as well as examine some material for my Anglo-Indian project.

I had thrown a bunch of laundry into the washer before leaving the house in the morning and this evening, I put it into the dryer, so that I now have clean clothing for my week in Oxford. When I was all packed, I sat to write this blog and draft my June newsletter.

First Time Visit to the Natural History Museum

Jun22

Monday, June 22, 2009
London

Hard to believe that after a whole year of museum-hopping in this city, there are still some important museums I have not yet seen. The Natural History Museum is a case in point. 2009 marks the second birth centenary of Charles Darwin, perhaps the greatest naturalist the world has ever known–so it seemed important that I should make the time to visit this shrine to his intellectual productivity. As you can tell, science is not my chief priority–which explains why I have visited several rather unknown museums, whilst this one had gone unnoticed.

But first things first. I have to say that I am delighted that my sleep patterns have improved tremendously. I awoke at 6. 30 pm and finished reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince–yyeess!!!–which has proven to be my favorite of the lot so far–though poor Dumbledore dies and Harry dumps Ginny! With just one more to go, it seems as if I might well meet my goal of reading all seven novels before my return to the States. My students should be very pleased as they were the ones who induced me to start reading the series.

But after reading for an hour, I felt very drowsy again and I fell back to sleep, only awaking at
8. 30 am. After checking email and blogging, it was about 1o am. when I got out of bed and decided to have not breakfast but brunch as I had to leave the house for a memorial service at Royal Holloway College for my friend and colleague Sally who passed away last year.

So I ate a plate full of salad and foccaccia and prawns and pasta–a real smorgasbord featuring all the leftovers I could find in my fridge. Lunch done, I called to find out exactly where the service would be held and discovered, to my horror, that it was not at Royal Holloway’s campus in Bloomsbury but in Egham, Surrey, to which I had to travel for the service. That meant taking a mainline train from Waterloo and going on a journey of 40 minutes into the countryside.

I had not bargained for so long a journey and had not left myself enough time. There was no way I would make it to the campus in Surrey especially if there were only two trains each hour to Egham. So I abandoned the idea of attending the service and took buses instead to Kensington where I spent a while browsing in the upscale thrift stores before making my way to the wonderful edifice that comprises the Natural History Museum.

Well, first of all, I have to say that the building is simply splendid. It rivals the Victoria and Albert Museum, I think, in grandeur and bulk. Its entrance towers above in the form of twin turrets and the rest of the structure is equally imposing. Made of honey colored stone with gray granite banding it at intervals, it is covered with wonderful sculptures of animals and birds all around the exterior walls.

But wait till you see the interior. I mean, it is just stunning. I am shocked that I might so easily have missed appreciating this incredible structure. Even if the collection is not really my cup of tea, the building is worth a visit for the sheer splendour of its architecture and I am so glad I went.

There is a kind of austere beauty about the inside achieved by the use of honey colored arches, and pillars and columns, all minutely carved with primates clinging to the sides and a crisscross design reminiscent of bamboo or sugar canes. It is really fantastic. And then, of course, there is the imposing dinosaur skeleton that dominates the central hall causing every kid to take a step back. At the far end of the hall is a lovely marble sculpture of Darwin himself looking benign and avuncular and so kind some kids might consider jumping into his lap for a picture–which might explain why there is a barricade around it to prevent any such hi-jinks!

I asked the guy at the Information Desk for suggestions. Where should a first-time visitor to the museum begin? Did he have a list of highlights? He was helpful but couldn’t really answer my questions. All he did was give me a map and describe the entire museum to me. However, because he did suggest that I begin with The Vault, that was where I first headed. This is a section on the second floor that deals with natural stone formations and The Vault contains precious and semi-precious stones, as the guy put it “as large as eggs”. And so they were: rubies and diamonds and aquamarines and peridots and a host of other stones. There was also a collection of every kind of colored diamond in the world which took 25 years to put together–pretty impressive.

I was more fascinated by the actual meteorites that have reached the earth after hurtling through space, having originated on the planet Mars or on the moon. You can actually touch a meteorite that was as large as a stool! All of this stuff was pretty wild and I have to admit that I was excited (though for some inexplicable reason, I felt sleepy and at one point was ready to collapse). It was clearly time for a cup of ginger and lemon tea and a cupcake that I had purchased from the famous Hummingbird Bakery in Kensington (a date cake with caramel topping–deeelicious!). This pepped me up somewhat and off I went again.

This time I aimed for the giant sequoia or Californian redwood that is cut in a marvelous cross section that allows you to see the thousand odd rings that proclaim its age–it was finally felled at the age of 1335 years! Of course, having visited the giant redwood forests in California last year, having seen these cross sections before and having actually stood under these trees, I have to say that I was not that impressed. Still, it made a good addition to the museum.

Next, I went out in search of the Blue Whale–a massive replica of it with its skeleton intact is visible on a floor with a whole host of other large animals–elephants, giraffes, hippos, yaks, bison, etc. The size of the blue whale was, I have to say, stupendous, and had I not seen this mammal in relation to the other animals around it, I would simply never have been able to fathom (excuse the pun!) its size! I mean it was staggeringly colossal.

I could not leave the museum without taking a look at the dinosaur section and the museum has a grand one–loads of dinosaur skeletons (though these are all plaster models, I believe) and a few fully mechanized dinosaurs of various sizes that growled menacingly at the kids–much to their wonderment and delight. It is probably because I do not have little ones that I am deprived of the pleasure of taking them to see things like this–but I have to say that this visit to the museum took me back to Bombay and the days when my parents used to take us on weekends to places such as the Prince of Wales Museum where one of our favorite sections was the Natural History section with all the stuffed animals. So it was good and I had a great time and was really glad that I will not be leaving London without having seen the marvels contained within this exotic space.

Before I got back home on the bus, I stopped briefly at the V&A Museum next door especially to take a picture of the Jeringham Wine Cooler (as I did not have a picture of it). I felt a twinge of regret as I left the space because I know that with my stay here soon approaching its end, I shall probably not return to the V&A again for a very long time. Still, I have to say that during the winter months, my forays through these spaces provided me with loads of hours of intellectual pleasure and I am so glad I had this wonderful opportunity.

At home, I attended to my email, made a booking for my bus ride to Oxford and back, tried to fix a few more appointments with Anglo-Indians for interviews, had my dinner, wrote this blog and went to bed–but not before starting the very last Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows).