Tag Archive | Judi Dench

Trooping of the Color, Wallace Collection and Dinner at Sarastra

Jun13

Friday, June 13, 2009
London

The Trooping of the Color:
I guess that after all the exciting, fascinating, marvelous experiences I have been having in London, I had to have one disaster–and it came today. I decided that I would go off to the Trooping of the Color–supposedly one of the most important events in the royal calendar. Free tickets are distributed by lottery several months ahead of the event and the lucky ticket holders have assigned seats on the Horse Guards Parade where they watch a series of military manoeuvres (or something of the kind–nobody seems very clear what goes on there!).

The Queen herself is present on this occasion and she arrives at the venue in a golden carriage from out of Buckingham Palace with other members of the royal family in attendance. I had heard, from the garrulous web, that non-ticket holders were welcome to line the Mall to watch the parade pass by. Apparently, after the military troops finished their ‘show’, the royal procession returned to the Palace and just a little later, they would appear on the first floor balcony to wave at the crowds who then raised their heads upwards to the skies where a fleet of planes then zoomed above them and all the way along the fluttering flags of the Mall. It seemed a worthy sight to witness and if I, Samuel Pepys-like, was going to provide an accurate account of my year in London, I figured it had to include this red letter day!

So I left my flat at 9. 45 after a hasty cereal breakfast, took two buses to arrive at Trafalgar Square from where I walked briskly to the Mall already despairing at the sight of the vast, (and I mean mammoth) crowds that had gathered there ahead of me. If I had any hopes of seeing anything at all, they were rudely dashed to the ground. People were standing at least six thick all along the Mall, their kids propped up on their shoulders. It was just impossible to gain a glimpse and I almost abandoned my plans to stick around and half thought of turning back right then and there…when I decided not to give up so easily.

So I walked the length of the Mall hoping to find some crack open somewhere through which I could squeeze. No such luck. By the steps leading up to the pedestal on which stands the sculpture of the Duke of York, I attempted to join the throngs and for a few minutes actually did think I might see something. A few people had found a way to get to a terrace (private property apparently) and sit themselves on it and I joined them. Of course, it wasn’t long before at least fifty more people climbed a ladder that took us up to the terrace and that was when all hell broke loose.

An aggressive and really irritating policewoman came shouting at the top of her voice and demanded that we get right off as we were trespassing on private property and she threatened to arrest all of us if we did not get down at once. Oh blimey, I thought! That would make a story, wouldn’t it? Getting prosecuted in London??? The sad part was that most of the folks up on that terrace were foreign tourists who could not understand English anyway and had no idea what she was yelling at them! You can bet I chickened out and, with the rest of the crowd, scrambled down that ladder before you could say “Trooping the Color”. Well, talk about adventures– I seem to collect them like stamps!

Well, after that fiasco, try finding a spot! It was simply impossible. The totally irritating policemen and women seemed to find only that part of the parade route to monitor and they were at it constantly, urging people to get off the steps and keep the paths clear and growling out all sorts of instructions in the rudest fashion possible. In all my time in London, I have never seen nor heard more revolting and insulting policemen and women and I can just imagine how they must have treated those protesters at the G20 summit meetings. All people wanted to do was a get a glimpse of the proceedings, for heaven’s sake. Where was the need to be so mean about the whole thing?

Being the obedient idiot I am, I did what they said and kept the stairs clear and left the throngs to deal with them. I simply wanted to put as much distance as I could between me and those barking lunatics who suddenly seemed to feel empowered by the fact that so many vulnerable people were at their mercy. I found a spot much further down the mall but I have to say that I didn’t see very much. There were contingents of soldiers on horseback (and god knows I have seen enough of those during my year in this city) and then I caught a fleeting glimpse of Princess Anne, the Princess Royal making her way to the venue, but I did not see anything else beyond that.

In a few minutes (make that seconds), it was all over and I thought to myself, “I cannot believe I was threatened with prosecution for this bit of nonsense!” Of course, it might have been a case of having consumed a whole bunch of sour grapes. I bet those folks who had the prime spots along the route did not think the whole pageant quite so stupid. Anyway, I turned to leave when I heard an Englishman announcing to his family that if they had the patience to stand there for another hour, they would see the procession in reverse (returning to the Palace) at which point, they would see the planes fly up above.

I had, however, more than I could stomach for one morning. I have seen the Queen twice in the past year (once at Crathie Kirk near Balmoral in Scotland when the entire family except Anne had been present not even two feet away from Llew and me) and once on her way to the Opening of Parliament in November when I was much closer, had a chance to take pictures, etc. So, no, I did not feel disappointed that this morning turned out to be such a damp squib. I just felt annoyed with myself that I had even bothered to come out to the Mall on a morning like this. How so many tourists had descended on the city of London was beyond my comprehension.

It was nice, however, to see the Mall all festooned in Union Jacks, each flag post topped by an impressive crown! I did get a few pictures by holding my camera aloft but they only give an idea of the number of heads that were in front of me! It reminded me of a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade that I had once attended in Manhattan where hundreds of people standing in front of me meant that I saw nothing of the floats–the balloons, however, soar high up in the air, so those I did see. However, I had sworn then that I would never attend the parade in person again and that it made much more sense to watch it on the box in the comfort of my family room…so, I have never gone out again to brave the autumnal cold in New York at the end of November. In recent years, of course, we have been too concerned about getting our turkey roasted on time to even bother about what the telly has been bringing into our homes.

Browsing Along Marylebon High Street:
I took a bus from Piccadilly that took me through Regent’s Street and on to Marylebon where I jumped off to walk along one of my favorite of London streets–Marylebon High Street. This one street has so many of my best-loved shops–great for browsing, window shopping or buying (Cath Kidson, Rococo Chocolates, Daunt Books, The White Store) and a lovely bunch of coffee shops (Patisserie Valerie, Paul’s Patisserie, Le Pain Quotidien, etc.) that it is always a pleasure to wander down it at leisure.

As it turned out, within moments, I came upon a garden market named, cutely enough, Cabbages and Frocks. Inside, there was the usual arts and crafts stuff–beautifully tailored coats, leather bags, one-of-a-kind jewelery–and stalls selling foods (there were some really pretty cupcakes). But most things cost an arm and a leg at these places and, I suppose, the prices are justified when you consider that everything is handmade, not mass-produced. I was very lucky indeed to come upon a stall selling nothing but cashmere garments–from scarves to full-length sweater jackets and coats. I almost bought a cashmere coat but then it was too large for me and I had to pass it up–bummer! However, I was very pleased with the two cashmere scarves I found (one for Llew and one for me) and a very swanky pair of Versace sunglasses. Those were truly a steal at the price I paid and I was delighted.

Wandering Through the Wallace Collection:
More rambles down the High Street took me in and out of my favorite stores until I arrived at my next destination: the Wallace Collection. I had last been here about five years ago, but had only seen the Highlights then and had no time to study the rest of the items on display. This afternoon I intended to linger at leisure and to wander through the vast rooms that make up this grand mansion.

The Wallace Collection–perhaps the country’s finest and most opulent private art collection–is
housed in an elegant mansion just off Marylebon High Street and right behind Oxford Circus. It is truly a pity that but for the art connoisseur and the well-informed, so few people know about this place or visit it. Yet, it is stunning, to say the very least, and anyone with a love for the 18th century and its ostentation would find themselves in a private Mecca. And entry is free to boot! A recent Restoration has brought renewed grandeur to the place (as if it needed any!) so all special exhibitions are temporarily on hold.

Inside, there is an abundance of fine and decorative art works collected by the Dukes of Hereford, especially the 3rd Duke, who, amassing these works, spent almost the entire fortune he had gained from his wealthy wife. They have been left to the nation which explains why there is no charge. It is, therefore, one of the cheapest treats you could ever have in London and it is a mystery to me why so few people know about it. I guess you can call it one of London’s best-kept secrets.

If I was sorry that I missed the special exhibition on Sevres porcelain at the Queen’s Gallery when Chriselle was here (it was scheduled to begin a week after our visit there), I need never have worried. The collection of Sevres porcelain in this one place–Hereford House–is enough reason to visit it. Indeed, what is thrilling about it is not just the exquisite beauty of each piece but the interesting provenance–so many of these tea and coffee services and dressing table sets belonged to Europe’s royal families including such colorful historical figures as Madame de Pompidour herself! In fact, she single-handedly saved the porcelain factory from becoming bankrupt by getting the King (Louis XVI) to bail it out and, in doing so, made it fashionable again.

There is also a great deal of Boule and ormolu furniture and if your taste runs towards the OTT (Over The Top), the ultra-decorated and the Baroque, you will be thrilled at the wealth of bombe chests, writing desks and bureaus and staggeringly massive armoires that you will see in striking inlaid and marquetry designs. But, for me, of course, the greatest aspects of any such collection are the paintings and there are any number to make your mouth water in this one building.

Take for instance, two of my favorite paintings of all time: The Swing by Jean Honore Fragonard is here and so is Miss Bowles and Her Dog by Sir Joshua Reynolds. Again, it is worth getting to Hereford House just to see these two canvasses and these were the ones I had seen when I was last here five years ago.

But there is also Franz Hals’ famous The Laughing Cavalier (a huge misnomer as the subject is neither a cavalier nor laughing!), Nicolas Poussin’s A Dance to the Music of Time, Reuben’s Rainbow Landscape (one of the largest landscapes he did–its twin is in the National Gallery) and at least two really lovely paintings by Pieter de Hooch who is one of my favorite artists of all time–A Boy Bringing Bread and A Woman Peeling Apples. These are on current display and I spent a great deal of time just gazing at them as I wandered into 17th century Delft on the brush of this charming painter. There are also a bunch of Watteaus and Velasquezes but by far, the most prominent artist present in the Wallace Collection is Francois Boucher. From small canvasses to really gigantic ones that dominate the stairwell on the way upstairs past the ornate wrought iron balustrade and marble staircase, his women are seen in their fat, pink, buxom glory together with charming cherubs, skeins of fruit and flower and a number of pastoral vignettes.

There was a Highlights tour beginning at 3 pm but by then I had seen most of the rooms on my own and was just too tired to take it. There was also a vast crowd of people (who had probably come just in time for the tour) and if I have a chance, I shall return there on a week day when I can take the tour with fewer people.

I sat in the sunshine outside on what was another spectacular summer’s day in London and ate a makeshift meal composed of walnut bread, Wensleydale cheese with ginger and fresh strawberries that I had purchased at Waitrose on the high street. And then, I returned inside to see a few more of the brilliantly stocked and superbly curated rooms. There was a fine restaurant out in the marble courtyard but my extempore picnic lunch was much better enjoyed, I thought, than a formal meal at a table.

Dinner with Tim, Barbara and Hannah:
Then, because I was suddenly so fatigued, I decided to return home and get some rest as I had plans for the evening as well. As soon as I arrived home, I simply threw myself on my bed and curled up like a baby and went off to sleep like a light. When I awoke about a half hour later, I felt re-energized and ready for a nice long shower. I washed and dried my hair and dressed and at 7. 50, I walked back to my former building at High Holborn to keep my date with my former neighbors Barbara and Tim who had suggested I join them for dinner.

Barbara’s niece Hannah was present and Tim settled us down well with wine and beer and some snacks as we watched videos of their recent drives through Yellowstone Park and then we set off for the ‘Restaurant Surprise’ as Tim did not tell any of us where he had made reservations. As we walked past Lincoln’s Inn Field, we cut into Great Queen Street and Drury Lane and then the surprise was revealed. We would be eating at Sarastra, a very theatrical restaurant opposite the Royal Opera House at Covent Garden. Isn’t it marvelous how I can simply walk to all these places and get dinner?? I still can’t get over the convenience of the location of these flats in which I have lived.

Well, the decor of the restaurant reminded me a bit of Hereford House because it too was OTT and ostentatious–but not in an ancien regime sort of way–more in a theatrical, contemporary, gaudy sort of way! It had opera boxes along the sides and several diners were hoisted up near the ceiling to eat their meal. We were placed in a cozy niche out of the general din for there were several celebrations on including one rather rowdy hen party. The restaurant could not quite make up its mind what sort of cuisine it served–presumably it was Turkish, but there were maybe two Turkish items on the menu! The rest was a pastische that included Steak Frites and Fish and Chips!

The food, however, though it remained uncertain what exactly it was, was delicious. My Boeuf Bourgignon was absolutely scrumptious and though my portion was huge–it was served over creamy mashed potato–I finished every last bit of it because it was so good. The appetisers that Tim ordered (Scampi Meuniere and Turkish style Aubergines) were passable–the scampi better than the aubergine. None of us had room for dessert and we decided to have coffee back at their flat, so left soon after with me feeling slightly too stuffed for comfort. The walk back home was a good idea and the peppermint tea that followed lulled me well into sleep after Tim escorted me back home to my flat. I need not have worried–the area was buzzing with the many pubs, clubs and restaurants that line the Farringdon area around Smithfield Market.

I fell asleep after a chat with Llew as I had forgotten to carry my cell phone with me and thought that I ought to take it easy tomorrow as I am suddenly quite inexplicably tired.

Museum Hopping, Pub Crawling, Seeing Felicity Kendall at the West End

May12

Tuesday, May 12, 2009
London

Chrissie is slowly getting into the swing of London life–and loving it! I an thrilled at her reactions for I am certain she will now leave part of her heart in this, my beloved city!

I awoke at 7. 30 am–possibly the latest I’ve woken up in a year! Sat grading a few papers while allowing her the luxury of a long lie-in. When she did awake after 9 am, we hurried through breakfast (pain au chocolate with tea for her, cereal with yogurt and then coffee for me) and then we were off.

The Wonders of the NHS:
It was while we were at the bus stop that my cell phone rang. It was my GP calling from his clinic (or ‘surgery” as they say here) on Red Lion Street to find out why I had called earlier that morning. I told him that I needed a prescription filled for my thyroid deficiency and that my American medical insurance company was unable to help as they do not ship medications outside the USA. I wondered if he could write me a prescription which I could get filled locally. I could not believe how willingly and promptly he responded. A few questions later, the job was done. All I had to do was go by the clinic, pick up the prescription, have it filled out at a local pharmacy and then apply to Aetna Global (my American medical insurance company) for a reimbursement. The doctor was courtesy personified and I stood amazed by the ease with which he catered to my request.

Right enough, ten mintues later, after Chriselle and I had walked down to the clinic, I had my prescription in hand. Later in the day, at Boots, the pharmacist took a look at it and informed me that I was entitled to an exemption–this meant that I did not have to pay for it at all! I told her that I needed the medication desperately as my supply would soon run out. She gave me more forms and told me to take them to the clinic, have the doctor sign them and return them to her for a reimbursment! The thing about British bureaucracy is that though it is infuriatingly long-winded, it really does work! Don’t you just love that about the British? For me, the wonders of the NHS will never cease and I truly believe that the American President who manages to create a national health service in the US will truly leave his mark on history. Mr. Obama, are you listening???

Browsing Through Persephone Books:
I just had to take five mintues to introduce Chriselle to one of my favorite places in London–the Persephone Book Shop on Red Lion Street. I told her the story of its founding, a tale she loved. How amazing, she said, that the movie Brief Encounter would inspire a viewer to obtain reprinting rights for the kind of feminine fiction that was produced in that era (the 1920s to 1950s). The paperbacks are beautifully produced in a uniform grey with end papers that are based on contemporary wall paper and fabric designs. And each one comes with a matching bookmark! If you wish to have the book gift wrapped, the wrapping is always a fushia pink tissue paper and the raffia binding includes the book mark which can then double as a gift tag! How very clever! Someday I shall write a blog about my favorite London things and Persephone Books will be right at the top of it!

More Highlights at the National Gallery:
Then, we were hurrying to another bus stop to catch a bus to the National Gallery to finish seeing the remaining Highlights on the curator’s list. I provided background information on such iconic paintings as Constable’s The Haywain (readers of my blog will recall that I had actually visited Suffolk and stood on the very spot on the banks of the River Stour which forms the backdrop of this enchanting painting).

The Haywain at the National Gallery

Placing myself in Constable’s Landscape

She loved Turner too–though she professed less of a fondness for the Impressionists whose hazy depictions of reality she finds rather trying. We recalled and laughed over a line from Seinfeld in which Jerry’s father, on viewing a work by Monet, states that he believes the artist painted without wearing his glasses! Through the Gainsboroughs and the Stubbs and the Gaugins and the Seurats we traveled, taking in the magnificence of the Baroque interiors of the Gallery as well as the superb mosaics on the floor at the grand main entrance with its twin urns filled with arresting spring flowers.

The National Portrait Gallery:
Then, because the National Portrait Gallery was just next door, I suggested we take in the Highlights there as well and we headed straight to the top floor to get a peek at the Tudor portraits many of which were by Hans Holbein. This is certainly my favorite part of this museum for the paintings never fail to bring alive for me the intrigues of the era about which we chatted as we took in the serious faces depicted in oil on canvas. We walked quickly then through the rest of the galleries, pausing occasionally to take a look at more contemporary canvases such as those of Charles and Diana by Bryan Organ soon after their engagement, Judi Dench by Alessandro Raho and Salman Rushdie by the late Bhupen Khakar. No, we did not give the Gallery the length of time it deserves. We merely hurtled through the rooms to get an idea of the variety of personages portrayed within as well as the multi media forms in which they are depicted. It was at this point that I began to feel sorry that my stint in London is drawing to a close (though I still have nearly 3 months to go). I feel a certain comfort in knowing that these institutions are just down the road from where I live. Once I cross the Pond and return home to Connecticut, I know I shall miss dreadfully their nearness, their sheer accessibility.

In and Out of Harrods:
Out on the sidewalk, we sat and people-watched as we ate our cheese and cucumber rolls, then walked quickly to Piccadilly to catch a bus to Knightsbridge as I wanted to return to Harrods to buy some more gifts and claim another free London Pass holders gift–this one based on a purchase that Chriselle would make. She, poor dear, wanted to get home and take a nap before logging on to begin work. I managed to twist her arm to accompany me, she easily agreed and off we went. We were literally in and out of Harrods and back on the bus home in the next hour–though the traffic can get frustrating when you have deadlines to meet and the bus just lumbers sluggishly along!

While Chriselle worked at her laptop communicating with New York and the rest of the world, I sat grading student papers. It was peaceful and quiet in the flat as we each worked separately but still together-an atmosphere that made Chriselle remark: “What a nice life you have created for yourself here in London, Mum. I feel so envious!” She wished she could stay longer and soak in some more of it, but we are doing rather well in terms of how much we have managed to pack into her visit so far.

The Last Cigarette at the West End:
At 6. 15, the two of us closed shop and left for St. Martin’s Lane where we were meant to pick up free tickets that had suddenly landed in our lap to see The Last Cigarette at Trafalgar Studios, a play by Simon Gray that stars Felicity Kendal. Now apart from the fact that American TV viewing audience know her well through the many re-runs on American PBS TV stations (Good Neighbors, known as The Good Life in the UK and, more recently, Rosemary and Thyme), I know Felicity Kendall through my Bombay connections for her late sister Jennifer was married to Bollywood actor Shashi Kapoor and their children, Kunal, Karan and Sanjana are active in the Bombay theater scene through their family-owned Prithvi Theater at Juhu which I used to haunt during my college days in Bombay and in my later life as a Theater Critic for The Free Press Journal. So I was doubly pleased to see her on stage in real life.

The play was deeply absorbing and ingeniously staged. Three individuals (Kendall, Jasper Britton and Nicholas Le Provost) play a single individual, a writer, who is deeply addicted to nicotine and has received the news that he has malignant tumors on his lung. With just 18 months to live, the play is constructed around a monologue in which he talks about the influences that drew him to tobacco even though it killed both his father and his mother. In quite a brilliantly conceived production that demanded the utmost split-second timing in terms of delivery of lines, the three persons on stage blended into one being echoing each other’s movements and mannerisms rather wonderfully–though as Chriselle pointed out (with her astute and trained histrionic eye), that Kendall’s fussing with her hair detracted from the masculinity she was meant to portray and struck a rather odd note.

A Late Night Drink at our ‘Local’:
It was about 9. 30 when we left the theater, took a bus towards Ludgate Circus and decided to go to my ‘local’–Ye Old Mitre Pub at Hatton Garden–which dates from 1532 as I really did want Chriselle to see it. We ordered our drinks (a light beer for her and a Guinness for me) and sat ourselves in what we believed was a quiet corner of the quaint little pub. All went well for the next ten minutes until we were joined by a old man called Charles who was nice to talk to and rather friendly and interesting. It was when his anonymous friend joined us that things got more hairy and I have to say that I did not fancy being forced to make conversation with a stranger who had already had one too many!!! Chriselle later told me that my face spoke volumes of my irritation at his unwelcome company and it was not long before we bid them goodnight and beat a hasty retreat!

Back home, Chriselle wanted me to watch an episode of Arrested Development, an American TV series that she has been watching and having brought the DVD over, we did watch an episode before we both fell asleep about 11. 30 pm.

London Pass with Chriselle–Day One

May8

Friday, May 8, 2009
London

Chriselle’s main concern was getting her laptop up and running to enable her to work for a few hours in the evenings. When I was unable to connect her to my wireless network, I asked Tim next door to help. He kindly came in at about 9am and got her sorted and with that, the great weight lifted off her mind and she was able to turn her attention to breakfast (toast with marmalade and tea–as she has a marked fondness for tea) before she showered and we were able to get out of my flat by 9.45 to begin our London sightseeing.

The day dawned gray and drizzly. Disappointed, we dressed appropriately and, armed with our brollies, prepared for a wet and breezy day. Good job our first stop was The Queen’s Gallery at Buckingham Palace where I was keen to see those special treasures that her Majesty holds for the nation in her sanctum sanctorum. Chriselle had decided to gamely so along with my plans for the next 3 days as she has the next week to explore London according to her special likes.

The Queen’s Gallery:
Since we both have the 3-day London Pass and 3-day Travelcards, I have chosen sites that I have not yet paid to see–in a attempt to make fullest use of the passes. The Queen’s Gallery maintains a timed entry (allowing just a few visitors to peruse the collection at any given time). We were lucky to be admitted in immediately (at this time of year, that is not unusual, I believe) but were disappointed to hear that the Royal Mews is closed on Fridays. We might not be able to see the collection of carriages that are part of the pomp and pageantry of British royal life.

After going through security (every art gallery and basilica is beginning to feel like an airport these days), we passed through a massive set of doors and faced a really beautiful stairway whose balustrade was adorned with skillfully gilded metal tassels. Once we arrived at the landings, we were given audio guides and ushered through another set of doors that led us to the two large rooms that comprise the Gallery. Paintings and objects d’art (mainly in the form of ornate cabinets) change periodically as do the special exhibits. Like the Queen, who is a famed collector, I have a great fondness for painted porcelain, especially the kind made in the Sevres factory outside Paris in France. So I was disappointed to discover that the gallery is in a state of transition at the moment for a special exhibit on these works which will start later this month.

However, the works we did see in two rooms were truly impressive and made the visit worthwhile. Of special note, were a number of scenes of Venice by Canaletto, four gigantic works by Peter Paul Reubens (mainly collected by Charles I and later Queen Victoria), a few portraits of Charles I and his wife Henrietta Maria painted by his court painter Anthony Van Dyke, a really beautiful portrait of Queen Victoria as a little girl by her drawing tutor (whose name I wish I could remember) and–this was the highlight of the visit for us–a number of jewel-studded items gifted to the royal family and The East India Company by India’s erstwhile Maharajas during the days of the Raj. I was pleased to note that most of them were gifts and not ‘plunder’ to which the British Raj fancied itself entitled. Even so, the size of the emeralds in a pearl-studded belt had to be seen to to be believed and the pair of diamond drop ear-rings and matching brooch that were gifted to the late Queen Mother were another stunning aspect of the items on display.

The Changing of the Guard:
Since the collection was rather small (even though very significant), we were still able to catch part of the ceremony of the Changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace where, we found that, mercifully, it had stopped raining and we were actually able to see some activity in the the large court yard. Indeed, by the time we crossed the street in front of the sculpture of Queen Victoria, the sun made an appearance and we were able to get pictures with blue skies in them! It made Chriselle remark that if you don’t like the weather in London, you can wait for five minutes–it really was a quick-change artist!

Down The Mall we walked, still feeling jaunty and full of energy, past the back of St. James’ Palace. Needless to say, I kept up a running commentary as I pointed out the sights to her, amazed myself at how much I now know about London. Crossing The Mall, we entered St. James’ Park (at which point we received a call from Llew on my cell phone–which, miraculously, I heard–just getting ready to start work in the States) and since, for some inexplicable reason, both of us were already starving, we found a bench overlooking the duck pond (where we were instructed not to feed the “wild fowl”–a term that would never have been used in the States), we ate the sandwiches I had prepared at home before setting out.

I have to be rather creative with meals, as Chriselle is a vegetarian. I, therefore, threw in everything I could find in my fridge–which this morning comprised, multi grain bread with mayonnaise, parmesan cheese and a pear (that I sliced and drizzled over with balsamic vinegar). Even I was surprised what a delicious sandwich this made. With our feet well rested, we started off again.

The Horse Guards and the Banqueting House:
Our next destination was the Banqueting House (as I was keen for Chriselle to see Peter Paul Reubens’ ceiling as commissioned by Charles I in memory of his father James I who is the main character in the centerpiece medallion). This meant that she had the opportunity to pass by the Horse Guards and click pictures with them–a matter that called to mind much earlier visits to the city when she was just nine-years old, in the company of my brother Roger.

The short film we saw on the ground floor of the Banqueting House introduced her to the history of the place. I, of course, had just seen the film two weeks ago, when my friend Loreen was visiting from Connecticut. And I realize again how little this building is visited and how important it is–architecturally (it is the work of Inigo Jones who revolutionalized English architecture after his return from Italy where he was influenced by Andrea Palladio), historically (it was from this building that Charles I was led to his execution) and artistically (it is the only building in the world that has Reubens’ ceiling paintings in situ. Chriselle gasped when she saw the ceiling for the first time after we had climbed to the first floor and was entirely engrossed in the commentary that we heard on audio wands. It was interesting to note the items that she wanted to photograph and, in a way, it was fun to see these places through her fresh and fascinated eyes.
The Churchill Museum, the Cabinet War Rooms and the England at War Exhibition:
Our next stop was the St. James’ Park end of Whitehall where I had been waiting for Chriselle’s arrival to visit the underground Cabinet War Rooms–this, I believed, would be the highlight of our day. And I was not disappointed. It was my student Kristen who, last semester, had told me how incredibly fascinating it had been to her and how I must not miss this attraction. Having never seen these rooms before, I did not intend to leave London without visiting them. I was glad that Chriselle was as enthusiastic as I was and, before long, we found ourselves underground in the world of the 1940’s that somehow brought to my mind the setting and ethos of the British detective series Foyle’s War.

The first room that greets visitors is the one used throughout the war by the Cabinet War Committee among whom the names of Churchill and Clement Atlee were the only ones familiar to me (Atlee succeeded Churchill as Prime Minister after the War and presided over the transfer of power at the time of the Independence of India). I had goosebumps while looking at the wooden swivel chair that Churchill used in the middle of this gathering. Everything has been left exactly as it was on the last day the room was used and it was strangely evocative of the inter-continental intrigues of that epoch.

The rest of the warren of underground rooms showed us the quarters of the many chiefs of staff and their administrative assistants–all of whom had cramped rooms, furnished in a utilitarian fashion with banker’s lamps in each room, maps on the wall–many still tracing the progress of important mid-century military campaigns–and even the room used by Mrs. Churchill–which, in a single seater sofa, was the only piece of furniture with a floral print! It stood out oddly in that stark environment. Also interesting was a copy of Picture Post of that era with a rather rare feature inside depicting the First Lady in her domestic milieu inside 10 Downing Street–a sort of early version of People or Hello magazine!

It was interesting to see Churchill’s engagement book that contained signatures of George VI and the current Queen entered in 1942 (long before she became Queen) and it occurred to me afresh (a fact that the film The Queen had brought to my attention) how many Prime Ministers have served during her reign! What a history of the century she encompasses within her own 80 years!

What was also interesting to me (if somewhat annoying) is the knowledge that while the rest of the country (indeed the rest of Europe) staggered under severe rationing laws, “making do” for years on end, Churchill wined and dined like a king, his daily menus comprising several courses including Beef Wellington and gallons of rich port wine and expensive bubbly! Ah, the privileges of the powerful.

Another really amazing aspect of this exhibit is a trans-Atlantic telephonic conversation that we could listen in to between President Truman of the US and Churchill discussing the progress of Himmler across Europe and the strategy designed to stop him. The accents, the diction, the style of expression, the odd formality that existed between these two so-called ‘close friends’ was antiquated and, therefore, deeply amusing, but it gave me goose flesh again to actually hear their voices and listen carefully to the stress and concern contained within them. (“No,no,no,no,no,no,no, we can’t do that. Especially when it is Himmler we’re talking about”). This is easily a place in which one could spend a whole day and I am not surprised that Kristen found it so compelling. I am so glad I finally saw the circumstances in which the fate of Europe and the world was decided and I am so gratified that these rooms have been preserved in this fantastic manner (thanks largely to the Imperial War Museum) as a gift to future generations.

Jewel Tower:
Since we were doing really well for time and the weather had suddenly turned so appealing, we decided to walk towards Parliament Square and see Jewel Tower which is run by the English Heritage and is open to London Pass holders. Llew and I had taken a self-guided walking tour entitled “Royal London” that had once guided us past this rather squat tower opposite the Houses of Parliament–but since we hadn’t climbed it then, it made sense for us to ‘cover’ it on this outing.

Passing by the exterior of the Houses of Parliament, I pointed out to Chriselle the Visitor Entrance to the sessions in both Houses and suggested that she return next week to sit in on one of them. The friendly copper outside informed us that the next sittings of both Houses will be on Monday and Tuesday from 2. 30 till 10 pm and Chriselle decided to return on Tuesday. I was also able to point out to her the “Sovereign’s Entrance” at the side which rather tickled me because while the rest of the world has the right to walk into Parliament and overhear the debates, the reigning monarch does not–he/she must knock on the ceremonial doors and request permission to enter–a custom that harks back to the days of the Magna Carta when the sovereign interfered too much in the running of Parliament–I know that I am putting this rather simplistically and there is a more complicated piece of history here that is worthy of recounting and I must look it up online.

The Jewel Tower itself is named for the fact that the Tower which was constructed in the reign of Edward III (mid 1200s) housed the royal wardrobe, part of which included the jewel- encrusted crown. 44 steps take visitors to the top along a winding spiral stone stairway that was reminiscent to me of Delhi’s Qutub Minar (at a time when visitors could climb all the way to the top, as a little girl, I had been way up there) and to Chriselle of the fairy tales she had read as a child–chiefly Rapunzel! The small exhibit upstairs was not noteworthy and after we took in the views of busy Parliament Square below us, we descended.

The Cavalry Guards Museum:
Chriselle did not need to get home until 5 pm when she needed to log on and connect with her New York team to get some work done. This, we realized, left us enough time to see the Cavalry Guards Museum which is also included in the London Pass and which faces the Horse Guards Parade. This rather small exhibit showed us the livery used by man and horse and the role played by these ceremonial guards with whom the public has posed for decades. It is the plumes, the swords, indeed the regalia, that give British royalty so much of an aura. The stables in which the horses are well looked after (we actually saw two rather quiet ones taking their rest) are also on exhibit and we could walk past the stalls and take all these sights in. Because these spaces are rather compact, however, they did not take too long to peruse and we were out rather sooner than we expected.

By Tube to Apsley House:
With time still on our side (it was only a little past 3.00 pm), we decided to take the Tube to Hyde Park Corner to see Apsley House (which I had toured a few years ago but which I was keen for Chriselle to see). This stately mansion with its beige facade dominates the circle around Wellington’s Arch and has always been one of my favorite London manors. It was gifted by a grateful nation to Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington (whose much less-liked and less-popular brother Richard had been the Governor-General of India) upon his victory at the Battle of Waterloo that ended the dynamic campaigns of France’s Napoleon across Europe. Since it was situated at the very point of entry into the city, it’s address was simply No 1 London–an address it still retains!

Inside, the visitor is given an audio guide which allowed us to negotiate our way through rooms that were crammed with paintings and sculpture beginning with the towering one of Napoleon by Antonio Canova in the landing on the ground floor that leads up to the marvelous Robert Adams’ designed stairway. The floor had to be reinforced with a supportive pillar beneath it to take the massive weight of this marble sculpture that presents a young and very athletic Napoleon in Roman guise complete with spear in his hand and sandals on his feet. It is an immensely striking sculpture and one whose image has stayed with me from my last visit to this room.

Wellesley was a master general (some would say the best England has ever had) with a gifted aesthetic side to his personality and he amassed a multitude of paintings, many so significant that the Long Gallery contains works by Old Masters that would make the National Gallery envious! There were Carravaggios and Canalettos from Italy, Jose Riberas, Velasquezes and Murillos from Spain, Jan Steens, Peter de Hoochs and Breugels the Elder from among the Flemish cohort and indeed a number of English artists including Van Dyke –all of which would take another age to see in detail. For me, the highlight of this mansion is the sterling silver centerpiece on the Dining Table that runs along its entire length–a gift from Portugal to Wellesley as the defeat of Napoleon had been a joint venture between England, Spain and Portugal. We enjoyed our visit here very much indeed and though Chriselle was concerned about the time and ensured we left there by 4. 30, she had a very pleasant visit indeed.

Back on the Tube, I showed her how to use it (so that she can find her way around the city on her own once I leave for Paris and find her way back to my building on the Central Line). Though I was quite wiped out by the time I reached home, she logged on to her computer, while I set off for Bedford Square to pick up the sheaf of papers that my students have left for me to grade as their semester winds down and final exams begin next week. It is a profoundly busy and stressful time for them and as my grading work begins, I am still trying to fit in as much time with Chriselle as possible.

Duet for One at the West End:
Back from campus, I managed a very short nap as both of us would be going out again for the evening. I had booked us tickets to see Juliet Stevenson and Henry Goodman in Tom Kempinski’s Duet for One at the Vaudeville Theater and when we got there by Tube at 7. 30, we were just in time for a performance that swept us off our feet with its histrionic virtuosity, masterful direction and excellent script.

Indeed it was a marvelous night at the theater. Though Stevenson’s role as Keira Knightley’s mother in Bend It like Beckham had first brought her to our attention, it was in this play where she played a violinist afflicted by multiple sclerosis and battling the ghosts of her past, that we realized how gifted an actor she is and how wide is her range. Indeed, she was superbly supported by Goodman who, in a much quieter portrayal as her therapist, also had his occasional outbursts that brought vitality to his role. Indeed, we could not have had a more memorable night in a London theater.

A Night Out on the Town for Chriselle:
Throughout the evening, Chriselle had been on my cell phone with her friend Rahul whom she had once known as a child in Bombay. He moved to London to work for a hedge fund and she was renewing contact with him after years. He invited her to spend the evening out with his friends and taking the bus to St. Paul’s from The Strand, I dropped Chriselle into his hands and took the bus back home as I was seriously pooped and couldn’t wait to hit my bed.

She woke me up at 3 am to tell me that despite the fact that I had given her a key, the magnetic tag would not open the door of our building downstairs. I dressed quickly and went down to open the door for her and at 3. 15, we were both back in bed again at the end of what had been an astonishing day for her in every possible respect.

In Search of Burberry and The Jubilee Walk (Part 1)

May2

Saturday, May 2, 2009
London

I awoke at 4. 00 am today (groan!!!) and I could not sleep after that. So, I switched on my bedside lamp and began reading The Order of the Phoenix for an hour. At 5. 30, I felt sleepy again, dropped off (thank goodness!) and then awoke at 7 am.

Email, calls to India (to my brother Roger and my nephew) and I was ready to make myself some coffee. Holborn was silent as a graveyard (as it usually is on weekends). This weekend will be quieter than usual as it is the long “Early May Bank Holiday” (whatever that means!) weekend and I guess most people will have travelled out of town. I carried a tray with my coffee and other paraphernalia to my bed and began to work on a revised itinerary for Chriselle’s trip.

There were numerous calls to make. I phoned Bishop Michael at St. Paul’s to reschedule the tour of the Cathedral that he had set up for us this morning as well as our afternoon tea plans at The Wolsley Hotel and then the Backstage Tour at the National Theater. I also booked tickets for us to see Romeo and Juliet at the Globe Theater and finally I booked our 3-day London Pass which includes 3-day Travelcards because they are being offered at a special May Day 10 % discount rate and I figured I might as well take advantage. What with all this stuff to do, I could only have my breakfast at 11 am (eggs and bacon and sausages–yes, still low-carb).

Buying a Trench coat at Burberry:
By then it was almost 11. 30 and with the sun shining so beckoningly outside, I decided to do something I have wanted to do for a long while–get to the Burberry Factory Store in Hackney to buy myself a new trench coat. This was definitely something I wanted to take back home to the States and having done some research, I discovered that rates are best in this factory outlet. Though it is quite a hike into Hackney, I figured that with my bus pass, I could get there quite easily. Besides, there is a direct bus that goes from right outside my building (the 242) all the way to the far side of the East End.

And then since I was going to Hackney, I figured I would also visit Sutton House, a National Trust property that is not very well-known. Using the internet, I found directions to the venue and off I went. The bus trundled along within a few seconds of my arriving at the bus-stop. En route, I graded a bunch of student essays–so the ride was very productive for me. We passed the busy Bank of England area and went further and further into Shoreditch, past the Geffrye Museum and into an area that I had never traversed before. Before long, I was at Hackney Central mainline station and on my way to the Burberry store.

This part of London is entirely different from anything I have seen so far. First of all, it is all rather run down. Secondly, I passed a series of auto body shops that ran parallel to the railway line. Auto mechanics were the only people on this entire road. Thirdly, the population demographic had changed completely and I realized that I was right in the heart of Black Britain–there were loads of people with Caribbean accents all around the place–many recent immigrants among them. The bus stops were teeming with people and there was no sign of a queue of any kind.

I was amazed at how many people were at the Burberry store before me! It turns out that there was a big Sale on–now whether this sale was only for this weekend or has been on for a while, there was no telling. Many of the racks were all cleaned out–which probably means I had arrived at the tail end of it. The space is large and the amount of items to be perused was rather confusing. I did manage to find the racks that held the khaki trench coats that I wanted and in a few minutes I found one in my size–thank goodness they have American and European sizes listed on the labels–this made it easy for me to find the size I was seeking. The price was right, the fit was good, the decision was made. With my coat under my arm, I went looking for a scarf in their signature beige tartan and, guess what? I ended up buying the very last cashmere one on the shelf!!! These were exactly the two things I had hoped to find and as soon as I spotted them, I swooped on them and headed to the till. There was a long line ahead of me–people were buying clothing as if it were going out of style! Thousands of pounds worth of merchandise changed hands before my eyes as the line inched forward slowly. Then, with my buys safely in my possession and the VAT refund slip helpfully filled out by the sales clerk, I was on my way.

The National Trust’s Sutton House:
I asked for directions and in about ten minutes, I was at Sutton House, my next port of call. This is a really nondescript building clad in dark brick with a rather sombre look to it. Once inside, I found it rather empty. There was an assistant in the shop and a small cafe at the back (with very reasonably priced eats and drinks), a small courtyard garden that was quite delightful with its climbing vines and potted flowers. And then my tour of the house began.

Sutton House is a Tudor building that was built by one Ralph Sadleir in the middle of the 1500s. He was a close confidant of the King and played a major role in the politics of the reign of Henry VIII being involved in the dissolution of the monasteries in 1538. As a nobleman, his home boasted some of the trappings of the day that pronounced status and power such as the oak wood panelling that is still to be found in many of the rooms. My very favorite pattern of Tudor panelling called Linenfold Paneling is evident in the Grand Room on the ground floor. The carving on the wood looked like folded, or more correctly, pleated cloth. I had been most taken by this feature of interior decor at Hampton Court Palace about five years ago when Llew, Chriselle and I had spent the day there. Little did I think that I would have the chance to see it again–and this time I was delighted because I was able to take pictures of it as well (something that is forbidden at Hampton Court).

My self-guided tour took me upstairs into a few more rooms that boast more carved panelling and some paintings including one of Sadleir and his later 18th century descendants painted by a female portraitist called Mary Beale–a rather unusual find as women portraitists were so rare at the time. There were other rooms in the house (A Georgian Parlor, for instance and a Victorian dining room) but other than its age, there was really nothing that this property can boast and I wondered why the National Trust even bothers to run it (since not many people bother to visit it).

On the floor at the very top of the house, while I was inspecting a large mural that was presumably painted by squatters who had taken over the house during its transition into the care of the National Trust, I heard a buzzing sound (as if made by a bumble bee) and then a rustling. I have to say that I panicked as there was no one else in the room with me and no one around on that floor at all. My mind went immediately to a ghost as so many of these old London homes have resident ghosts in them and the last thing I wanted was to feel someone or something brush past me or tap me on the shoulder! I got the heck out of there as fast as I could and decided that if I am going to explore any more of these National Trust properties, I had better go to homes that are crowded with visitors. These deserted, even neglected, properties might be filled with interesting antiques and night hark back to fascinating epochs of history but they do give me the creeps!

A short walk later, I was back at Hackney Central and boarding the 242 bus home. My papers were graded on the bus and with a stack under my arm, I got back home to have a very late lunch (it was 4 pm and I was hungry but contented myself with a cup of soup and a salad). I spoke to Llew on the phone for a few minutes, then sat to rewrite my interview with Henry Holley–it required a great deal of restructuring to fit my questionnaire format and proofreading before I could send it off to my office for printing. By the time I finished, it was about 7 pm and with daylight still streaming through my bedroom window, I decided to set out on another one of my ambitions while in London–the Completion of the Jubilee Walk.

I had intended to do this when Chriselle came here but now with her plans having changed, we will not have the time to do it together and with the weather so perfect and my feet feeling much stronger, I figured I could complete it in the next few days before Chriselle’s arrival. So I picked up the Map and my bus pass and set out while the evening was still young.

The Jubilee Walk–Part One:
The Jubilee Walk is a 14-mile walking path that snakes over Central London’s most significant sights. It was created in 1977 in the year of the Silver Jubilee of the Coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. If you have seen silver disks every so often set into London’s pavements and wondered what those are…well, they mark the path of the Jubilee Walk. There is a crown in the center and the cross set in it always points in the direction in which the walker should proceed. There are several walkers, I understand, who just about do the entire walk in a day–while others do it over a period of a few days. I decided to do it in about 5-6 installments.

The bus took me to Leicester Square where the walk begins. Since the evening was so perfect, there were scores of people in Leicester Square and for the first time in my life, I actually noticed all of its many interesting features. I have to say, somewhat ashamedly, that I had never noticed the sculpture of Shakespeare right in its center! Nor had I noticed the one of Charlie Chaplin close by! There is a bust of Hogarth at one of the gates. Probably I did not notice these before because I had never entered this park. All I have done is skirt its periphery or make my way to the half-price theater ticket booth at one end

This time, armed with my camera, I took several pictures and then made one more discovery. Just as there are palm prints set in cement outside Grumman’s Chinese Theater in Hollywood, California, so too there are palm prints cast in metal all along one side of the Leicester Square Park. The palm prints, of course, belong to eminent contemporary British actors such as Kenneth Branagh, Emma Thompson, Hugh Grant and Colin Firth not to mention Pierce Brosnan, Roger Moore and Sean Connery (James Bonds all!). Gosh, I thought, this walk is going to open my eyes to things I have passed by a gazzillion times and never noticed!

Then, I followed the crown discs and walked alongside the National Gallery where Baisakhi (a spiritual festival of the Punjabi Sikhs of North India) is to be celebrated tomorrow. I saw kiosks set up all over the square and thought I should go across for some Indian food. At each point, during the Jubilee Walk, the map I was carrying gave me details about the history and importance of the place and I quite enjoyed discovering new facts about each venue.

In The Mall, I passed under Admiralty Arch and the statue of the Duke of York on its towering pedestal and then I was walking alongside St. James Park (London’s oldest, I discovered, created in the mid-1500s) while the Mall was created in the mid-1600s. Most of the flowering trees are at their peak now and soon foliage will cover every branch and give every corner of this city a completely different look. I arrived at Buckingham Palace at the end of the Mall and discovered why it is so called. It started its life as a simple town house that belonged to the Dukes of Buckingham and I believe that the first British monarch to inhabit it was Queen Victoria!

Around St. James’ Park I went. The light was starting to fade away at about 7.45 pm and I had to hurry with the pictures I composed. There was a profusion of lovely spring flowers in the beds around the sculpture of Queen Victoria as past the grand gates I went and noticed so many lovely perennial flower-beds in the Park that sported an abundance of spring color as the azaleas have started to bloom in hot shades of pink and red and orange. Very striking indeed!

This time, I turned and walked the length of the Birdcage Walk and rounded the corner to arrive at the Cabinet War Rooms (which I hope to visit on the London Pass once Chriselle gets here) and the sculpture of Lord Clive of India dominating the grand steps that connect the two impressive buildings. Before long, I was passing the back of Number 10 Downing Street, the residence of the British Prime Minister since the mid-1700s, and found myself at the Horse Guards Parade where a number of stands have been set up around the periphery. I asked a friendly bobby what they were in aid of and he told me “Beating the Retreat and Trooping the Color”. I had no idea what either of these things meant and he explained that they were ceremonies associated with the Queen’s Birthday in June. He also told me that tickets are available and that I could purchase one if I went online. I made a mental note to find out more when I got home.

By this point, I was tired, it was 8. 30 and dusk had fallen. I could not longer take any pictures and I decided to stop and continue the Walk tomorrow. I reached the nearest bus stop and caught the buses that brought me home at a little after 9 pm for my dinner of fried cod (M&S) with a salad that I fixed with everything I could find in my fridge (romaine lettuce, feta cheese, sun-dried tomatoes, fresh apricots, and a dressing of mayonnaise, mustard, olive oil, salt, and pepper. I watched Masterchef At Large on UK TV’s Food channel (in which there is a contestant called Michelle who, I suspect, is a South Indian Christian probably from Mangalore or Goa. She has been churning out a variety of typically Indian dishes–minced meat cutlets, Hyderabadi biryani and shrikhand with fresh mangoes. She has made the list of semi-finalists, so naturally, I am now rooting for her).

Then, at 10 pm, I sat down to bone up on my French (in preparation for my forthcoming trips to Paris and Lyon in France in the coming weeks) and sat down to write this blog. I finally felt sleepy at about 11. 30 pm and decided to call it a day. Hopefully, I will not wake up at 4 am tomorrow morning!

Seeing Judi Dench on Stage, Another Interview and Springtime In London’s Parks

Apr22

Wednesday, April 22, 2009
London

Another glorious day in the city made me understand why the English tolerate their notoriously dull and dreary winters–it’s for days like this, that appear like the light at the end of a seemingly endless tunnel. Being outdoors in Spring makes all those ghastly weeks worthwhile. I heard a giddy teenager, this morning, say, “Summer’s here, isn’t it?” Well, it certainly seemed like summer had arrived with a vengeance. I wore a T-shirt for the first time this year, if that can be any indication of a season’s change.

My day began in Notting Hill where I had an appointment to interview Susan Lynn, an Englishwoman who preceded me in having spent a great deal of time interviewing Anglo-Indians in Great Britain about fifteen years ago. While her focus was on the lives of the Anglo-Indians in India before World War II, mine, of course, is on the lives of Anglo-Indians in Great Britain since the War. Still, I felt as if she would be able to offer me a fund of information and anecdotes and, indeed, she did not disappoint.

First of all, her home which is in the basement of a terraced building in Kensington, one of London’s poshest residential neighborhoods, is the kind of English home I have inhabited in my fondest fantasies. You reach her front door by descending down a spiral wrought iron staircase and arrive at a landing filled with potted plants. Inside, there are all the props of the typical English home: countless photographs, loads of delicate china and porcelain ornaments, furniture that looks as if it has seen a happy lifetime in the service of image-unconscious owners, books–hardbound, old, well-thumbed.

Susan settled me down with a mug of coffee and biscuits (which I declined, tempting though they were) and we began our conversation. Though she was not “country-born”, her father was a member of the old Indian Civil Service and she spent long periods intermittently in India, a country she remembers with the sweetest nostalgia and to which she returned recently with the deepest affection. Her own research, documented on audio tapes, has been donated to the Empire and Commonwealth Museum and I know that they will make fascinating listening.

We spent almost two hours together, at the end of which we discovered that we had one more thing in common–we are both avid gardeners and when she gave me a tour of the lovely gardens that she helps maintain in the high-class neighborhood in which she lives, I was charmed. We realized that our mutual love of gardens and gardening ought to have led us outdoors to do the interview. Pity neither of us had thought about it. Still, I enjoyed sitting in her very ‘homey’ living room talking to this wonderfully articulate woman who is one of the Last Children of the Raj.

Then, because it was such a gorgeous day, I decided to do something I have been waiting for a long while to do: explore London’s Parks. Since Holland Park was so close to Susan’s place, that’s where I headed. I had carried a pile of student essays to mark and I decided to make real another one of the fantasies I have long entertained: sitting in the parks and grading them. In less than ten minutes, I was entering Holland Park, a place that became known to me through the TV series As Time Goes By, for Lionel Hardcastle and Jean Pargiter (played by Geoffrey Palmer and Judi Dench), the show’s protagonists, own one of these sought-after terraced houses in Holland Park. I haven’t yet been able to find the exact location of the street on which their house stands, but before I leave London perhaps I shall. The garrulous Web makes all such trivia so easily accessible now, doesn’t it?

And then I saw signs pointing me towards The Kyoto Garden. One of my students had made a presentation in class on ‘Japanese London’ and had mentioned the existence of this Japanese Garden in the heart of London. Well, here it was. I began to follow the signposts directing me to the garden when, lo and behold, a magnificent peacock strutted right past me! I couldn’t believe my eyes! Peacocks in a London garden!!! It walked right by me, tame as ever, crossed a pathway and went over to join its buddies on the other side–a half dozen of them! You could have struck me down with a feather. I was so annoyed with myself for not having recharged my camera last night. Here I was in the midst of a glorious London spring garden in which peacocks paraded nonchalantly by and I wasn’t able to capture the images! It frustrated me no end.

And then I found it–the lovely Zen calmness and serenity of the Kyoto Garden. Landscaped around a pond in which huge golden koi swam lazily and a short waterfall tumbled in a swirl of soapy foam, the garden curved around sweeping lawns, vivid magenta azaleas and coppery maples. It was a miniature Paradise and I was pleased as Punch when I found a vacant bench. It was not long before I whipped out my students’ papers and began marking them. Soon I started to feel hunger pangs tugging at my insides and I pulled out my packet lunch (containing my chicken salads) which I ate contentedly as squirrels scrambled around and birds chirped in the bushes. Truly, spring is good for the soul and I am so blessed to be able to enjoy this season so early in the year in this country.

At 1. 20 pm, I reluctantly left this idyllic spot to go out in search of the nearest Tube station. Passing by the cafe, my heart leapt with joy for there in front of me was the brick red structure that is featured in As Time Goes By as the spot where Lionel and Jean first met as a young soldier and trainee nurse respectively. He had asked her the way to Curzon Street and the rest became their personal history! Again, I rued the fact that I could not take pictures and decided that I simply would return again before all the scarlet tulips have disappeared. I know I shall never look upon that scene in the TV show again without seeing myself walking through the same boxwood pathways of that formal garden.

Then, I was in the Tube headed to Leicester Square to arrive at the Donmar Wyndam Theater where I had matinees show tickets to see Judi Dench (yes, what a coincidence that I had been to Holland Park in the morning where her huge TV hit show had been shot) in Yukio Mishima’s play Madame de Sade. I had been to this theater just a month ago to see Derek Jacobi play Malvolio in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, but I was still taken by its fabulous interior. I had fairly good seats and gave myself entirely to the beauty of the production. For that’s exactly what it was–beautiful, no exquisite, in terms of set design and costumes which were the best parts of the shows. Christopher Outram outdid himself in creating a color palate that was monochromatic from one scene to the next and blended perfectly with the set design. Set during the years preceding the French Revolution, the recreation of the period must be a costume designer’s dream–what with those enormous silk skirts, towering hair-dos and fluttering fans. All the satorial grandeur of the period was spread out before our eyes in the most delectable colors that matched those of the walls. How ingenious a set design was that???

As for the performances, it was a pleasure I have waited long to experience: the opportunity to see Judi Dench, one of my favorite actors or all time, in the flesh, on the stage, emoting live, projecting her lines. Only, oh dear, because this legendary actress is also human, she did forget a line and for a very noticeable ten seconds at least, paused then got right back in her stride without so much as batting an eyelid. Still, the performances were exceptional, Dench’s stage presence alone giving her tons of marks. And then there was Madame de Sade (Rosamunde Pike) who was extraordinary and Frances Barber who, in my opinion, just stole the show getting better and better with each scene that she completely whisked away from right beneath Dame Judi’s nose! Mishima is verbose at the best of times and this play was no exception (many many moons ago I had actually acted in a play by Yukio Mishima called TheLady Aawee under the direction of Hima Devi in Bombay); but at least his lines are more poetic than prosaic and make magical listening especially when enunciated as expertly as these actors have been trained to do.
The play was only an hour and 45 minutes long which actually left me enough time to get back home to catch up with email and compose two quizzes for a gathering that my Dad is organizing in Bombay. Then, I was off again, headed to the same venue at Charing Cross to meet my friend Loreen and her daughter Alicia who were going to the 7.30 performance of the same play. We met in Chinatown at a restaurant on Little Newport Street where I nibbled on some greens and sipped green tea and caught up with them. Loreen has arrived in London for a week from Westport, Connecticut, to spend time with Alicia who is also posted in London for work. I took my leave of them about an hour later and headed back on the Tube to explore yet another park: Regent’s Park.

It was a long hike from the Regent’s Park Tube station to the Queen’s Garden where the roses in the summer are supposedly spectacular. While it was too early in the year for roses, tulips were everywhere in brilliant colors and the trees were in full bloom–pink, mauve, white. I saw a rhododendron so tall it was like a full-grown tree with the most startling magenta blossoms. Babies enjoyed their evening out in their prams, dogs appeared wild as they darted about energetically, Muslim women in headscarves and long skirts played badminton and kids rolled with abandon in the grass. It felt so good to be alive.

I did some more grading on a park bench before I took the Tube back home. It was almost 9 pm and darkness had fallen by the time I reached home to eat my dinner, watch a bit of TV, write this blog and get to bed on what had been a very productive yet very relaxing day for me.

An Unusually Busy Sunday in London!

Apr19

Sunday, April 19, 2009
London

I awoke at 5.oo am again! What’s it about this flat that wakes me up before the crack of dawn? When I am traveling, I never open my eyes before 7.00!!! There has to be some reason but I have yet to figure it out.

Anyway, I did not mind as there was so much to catch up with–not the least of which was keeping this blog up to date. I spent a good part of the morning writing a travelogue on my impressions of Belgium and captioning my pictures (because I need to stay on top of that project as well).

Barbara had told me about a church at Soho Square when I had asked her for recommendations. I wanted to attend Mass at a new church each Sunday that I stayed put in London. She did not know the name of the church but had pointed it out to me on the London A-to -Z. When I went online, I found out the name: St. Patrick’s Church at Soho Square, and the Mass was at 11am. I walked briskly down High Holborn and arrived there about 20 minutes later–it was a part of the city I had never explored, so I was pleased to arrive finally in the heart of Soho.

The Church was very plain indeed, compared to all the ornate affairs I have been visiting over the past few months. In fact, it looks badly in need of refurbishment (or at least a new lick of paint). Flakes were peeling off the walls and the kneelers at each pew have definitely seen better days. I discovered, soon enough, that there was to be a Christening ceremony taking place during our mass–another first for me! Who knew I’d get to attend a Baptism while in London? The christening party had occupied all the front seats on one side of the church. The rest of the congregation comprised a motley lot–mainly immigrants, it would appear–Filipinos and Indians and South Americans. Where were all the native Catholic Britons, I wondered?

My brother Russel had informed me on the phone in the morning that it was Divine Mercy Sunday–he keeps close track of the Church Calendar! Right enough, the priest preached a sermon about it. Rather frightening it was in its tone too! We must seek Divine Mercy in confession, he said, each time we committed serious sin (which, he said, included, skipping Mass on a Sunday). Uh-oh. With all the travelling I’ve been doing this past year, that has happened once too often, I thought. I’d better haul myself into that confessional pronto!

The High Mass included sung bits in Latin (the Gloria, for instance)–which, surprisingly, so many members of the congregation knew and joined in. I realized that these English churches have Latin masses much more frequently than we do in India or the States–indeed there is one sung Latin Mass on the schedule each Sunday at most parish churches here–which explains why most people can participate.

Communion was distributed the old-fashioned way too–you kneel along the Communion rails to receive. You do not stand (as we do in India and the States) in a double file. This takes longer but is more solemn. I spied a sign at the foot of the altar that said: “Do not proceed beyond this point. If you do, the alarm will ring and the police will come”. Oh my! This was probably intended for the drug-addicts and alcoholics who supposedly hang about the square.

After the Baptism and Communion, two ladies came forward to sing Panus Angelicus. As always happens when I hear this hymn sung well, my eyes welled up with tears and next thing I knew, I was wiping them away. Truly the voices of angels must keep the folks in heaven well supplied with Kleenex! Listening to them sing it so beautifully made my Sunday indeed.

Outside in Soho Square (Barbara was right–a bunch of alcoholics and drug addicts had gathered by the door for the free coffee that followed mass), the sun shone brightly. I entered Soho Park to read the board that gives an account of its history and discovered that Soho Square was laid out in 1680 and soon became one of the most fashionable addresses in London–the Duke of Monmouth owned a house here (in which he kept his mistress). Glittering parties and balls were very much the order of the day in this area as celebrities flocked to Soho in its heyday–well into the late-19th century. It was only in the 20th, that the arrival of Crosse and Blackwell heralded the end of the square as a residential hamlet and its beginning as a commercial one. The park is currently undergoing renovations (its bandstand is all scafollded right now).

It was a little after 12 .15 pm when I walked to Bedford Square to pick up some of my students’ papers for grading. Yes, NYU does stay open from 12 noon to 12 midnight on Sundays and Mohammed, our security man, was at his desk when I arrived there. I did pick up a big packet of mail that had been redirected to me from my New York office. Just when you think you’ve caught up with backlog, more work comes your way, doesn’t it? There was an envelope from Aetna Global (my international medical insurance company) reimbursing me by check for the amounts I had incurred on private physiotherapy in London from October until March. Only trouble was I had made my claim in British Pound Sterling–and they sent me a check for the same amount in Dollars! Which means that I have to now contact them by phone to sort out the issue of currency exchange rates!!!

On my way back home (I have finally found a way to get back home from campus that takes me less than 12 minutes!), I stopped at Sainsbury to do some food shopping. Standing on the scale this morning and seeing the figures jump sky high had told me it was time to take drastic measures–so I am back on a low-carb diet again. No more sugar, no more honey in my tea, no more fabulous artisinal bread. This meant that I had to cook, so there I was at my stove making mashed cauliflower with parmesan cheese, sausages with onions and yellow peppers, two types of chicken salad (Asian–the dressing has peanut butter and soy, chilli and sesame oils– with Cucumbers and Indian–this dressing has curry powder in it–with Apricots). I also made a huge frittata with onions and bacon and sun-dried tomatoes and olives. All this food should keep me going for the next couple of weeks as I froze a whole lot of it. What with cooking and cleaning and trying to take the many phone calls that came through, it was almost 5 pm when I was done and I hadn’t yet responded to my email.

Talking of phone calls, I received one from my friend Loreen from Westport, Connecticut, who is visiting her daughter in London for a week. She was hoping to get together with me but I bowed out as I had too much to do and decided that later in the week would work better for me. As it turned out, we both discovered that, quite by coincidence, we had tickets for the same evening to see Judi Dench in Yukio Mishima’s Madame de Sade at the Donmar Wyndham Theater–this coming Wednesday! So, we will probably meet for dinner before or after the show. Now what are the odds of that happening??!!

Llew and I also talked several times during the day as we had quite a number of things to sort out. Earlier in the morning, I had talked to my parents and to my cousin Blossom in Madras who informed me that she will be in London for 2 weeks at the end of July–but we might just miss each another as it is very likely that I will have left by then. My friend Amy from New York emailed me to find out when she should plan to visit. Everyone wants to come to London now that the weather has turned nicer…only my travel schedule in booked solid and I will only be staying here in this flat till the end of May.

I spent the evening captioning more pictures, then talking on the phone to all the Anglo-Indian respondents who made interview appointments with me, several weeks ago, for next week. This week, I will be traveling to Southall and then visiting someone in Notting Hill as I continue to interview the kind folks who’ve agreed to meet with me and tell me their stories. In the midst of all of these calls, I forgot that I was supposed to call my high school classmate Charmaine who emailed me to say that she had arrived from Australia to spend two weeks with her parents in London and hoped to get together with me. By the time I remembered, it was almost 10 pm–too late, I thought. I MUST call her tomorrow morning. Fortunately, I do not have my morning class and will only start teaching at 2pm.

Llew called me at 9 pm to tell me that while doing spring clean up in our back garden, he found a dead possum under a pile of leaves. It broke me heart as I had grown fond of the little fellow. He used to live under the deck in our garden and came out rather shyly on occasion to eat the seed that the birds dropped around our feeder. He was a harmless tubby little chap and it was our brutal Connecticut winter this year that probably did him in. Llew called Animal Control who will be sending someone to pick him up.

I tried to call Chriselle for our regular Sunday telephonic catch up session, but I only got her voice mail. Then, it was time to eat my dinner, take a nice hot shower and get ready for bed.

Where had the day gone???

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

Apr11

Holy Saturday, April 11, 2009
Windsor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seeing Imelda Staunton on Stage!

Feb9

Monday, February 9, 2009
London

It was Black Monday–literally! The skies were leaden and rain came down in sheets! It is unusual to get such heavy rain here in London–most times it is just an annoying drizzle. By the evening, the streets were actually flowing and I was afraid of slipping as I don’t think my shoes are equipped to handle muddy ones. It was funny but when Mark, our concierge at NYU, was leaving the building and I asked him if he had forgotten to carry an umbrella, he replied, “I have one. I just can’t be bothered”. To carry it, he meant, and I thought that was a very English way of putting it indeed.

I taught my two Writing II classes–odd, but it seems as if my classes are only just beginning. What with my hoarse throat and the snow of a week ago, this was a first real class. I had to sort out items on the syllabus to bring us back to speed, discuss the change in plans–no field trip to Cornwall for my Writing II (B) class. We’re going instead to Suffolk (Constable Country). I also handed out field excursion assignments to London’s ethnic quarters–which I must try to cover myself! The classes went well–we’ve started our discussions on Anthony Appiah’s Cosmopolitanism–and my students seem to be engaging with it rather enthusiastically.

After classes, I went up to Yvonne Hunkin’s office to pay my electricity and media bills, but she was in a meeting and I only met Ruth Tucker. Back in my office, I graded one batch of homework before I set out for my evening at the theater. I was excited as I would be seeing Imelda Staunton in Entertaining Mr. Sloane at Trafalgar Studios.

The streets were flowing copiously by the time I left NYU. It had rained all day and the mood was dismal. I actually used the Thomsons’ birthday present to me for the first time today–a Nautica Umbrella For Two–it was massive! Our English friends in Fairfield, Connecticut, Jonathan and Diana Thomson, had gifted it to me in July when they got to know I’d been posted to London. Diana had written in the card: “This is the thing you’re going to need most in Blighty–a really good brolly!” And how right she was! The umbrella was like a huge walking canopy around me and sheltered me completely on this day made for ducks! Thanks, Di!

I nipped into the Tesco Express at the corner of The Strand on Trafalgar Square for just a second and re-emerged with two packs of Prawn Mayonnaise sandwiches, It had been a long time since I had eaten my rather frugal lunch of a tongue sandwich and a cup of creamed asparagus soup at my desk during office hours. I knew that Rosemary had a ticket for the same show but since we hadn’t made any plans for dinner, I figured I better get a bite to eat or else my stomach would rumble throughout the show! Unfortunately, I did not see Rosemary anywhere during the show though I looked for her frantically before it began, during the interval and at the end. We must make more definite plans next time!

Trafalgar Studios is a very modern space, unlike the ornate 18th and 19th century theaters I have been frequenting. Though I had the cheapest seats on the very last row, the slope was so steep that I had a completely unrestricted view of the stage. Large black and white posters of English actors such as Judi Dench, Maggie Smith, Edward Fox and John Gielgud, decorated the stairwells–each taken between the 1960s and 1980s! It was fun to see what these thespians once looked like and, in the case of many, such pictures are a revelation about the years, no decades, one needs to slog before international fame can finally come one’s way in this very uncertain acting business.

As for the show, it was such a surprise to me. I thought it would be a comedy–that was what the blurb said, but gosh, it was a classic example of a Dark Comedy. It started funnily enough with Kath, a landlady in the early 1960s, taking in a lodger (I finally understood what the term ‘lodger’ means–a paying guest–and what the term ‘lodgings’ means–a rented room in a house) named Mr, Sloane. Kath is 42, single, desperately lonely, bullied, belittled and browbeaten by her obnoxious brother Ed, and completely taken in by the handsome, sexy, young Mr. Sloane.

Kath was played superbly by Imelda Staunton (I bought tickets for the play only to see her as I had been completely blown by her performance as Vera Drake in the film of the same name for which she won the BAFTA for Best Actress in 2005), Mr. Sloane was played by Mathew Horne and Ed was played by Shakespearean actor Simon Paisley Day who supported Staunton brilliantly.

The range of emotions Staunton had to exhibit in the course of the play was stunning. In turn, she was a lecherous seductress, a harassed daughter, a caring landlady, a pleading sister, a heartbroken lover. The inimitable Staunton slipped into each one of these guises effortlessly and kept the play moving along brilliantly. What I did not expect was the harshness with which she was treated–as a woman and as a sister, her treatment was deplorable and in our day and age of politically correctness, very difficult to watch. Her father (“Dada” played very competently by Richard Bremmer) was pushed around by both his children, then assaulted by Sloane who could have brought much more menace to his role.

The two other great bits of the production were the set that captured succinctly the “hideousness” (as one reviewer put it) of working class domestic interiors of the era (horrid busy wallpaper, stained flowered rugs, a lumpy old velvet upholstered sofa, late-50’s kitschy knick-knacks) and the brilliant use of a Jim Reeves track, “Welcome to my World”. Another ingenious touch was the playing of pop hits from the early 1960s before the play began and during the intermission. It put us beautifully into the mood, the milieu and the moment and evoked the desperation of suburban families and of the brother and sister duo whose need for self esteem allows them to overlook the murder of their father by the unscrupulous lodger.

The other brilliant thing about this play was the writing itself by the late Joe Orton. Glancing rapidly at the Playbill during the interval (which costs 3 pounds and which I, therefore, never buy but invariably borrow!), I saw that he was killed by his gay partner in the 1960s, being snatched away in the prime of his writing career. A dramatist of no less a stature than Harold Pinter spoke at his funeral calling him a marvelous writer.

Orton brought a great deal of his own working class background into the plays he wrote (particularly in this one). His attempts to transcend it through the procurement of an education and his own struggle with his sexuality were grist to his creative mill–like Mr. Sloane, Orton was apparently bisexual. Because this was a classic Black Comedy, I found it odd when the audience laughed at lines and scenes that were not even remotely funny–in fact, they verged on the tragic–but then, the scenes and the characters’ actions and reactions were so unpredictable and surprising when they occurred that the audience quite lost sight of what would be the appropriate mode in which to react. It was a very good night at the theater, made memorable by Staunton.

It was still pouring when I made my way out of the theater and caught the buses back home. For some reason, I felt quite worn out but then I remembered that I had awoken this morning at 5.30 am and I was no longer surprised.

Reading, Blogging, Grading, Viewing, Listening…

Nov17

November 17, 2008
London

On a day that began with rather dismal weather, I awoke to the eerie quietness of a flat that seemed to sorely miss Llew’s presence. It was still only 6 am, but I decided to get back to routine, which meant spending an hour reading in bed. I have begun The Mature Mind: The Positive Power of the Aging Brain by Gene D. Cohen, a recent birthday present from my friends Shahnaz and Mukaram Bhagat of Bombay who handed it to me personally on their recent visit to London. It is rather technical going at the moment as the author explains the workings of the brain and those parts of it that sharpen with time when the ability to make connections far from slowing the brain allows it to come up with rather creative problem-solving techniques.

With Chapter One done, I turned to my Blog and relived the joys of our Greek Odyssey in the pages I filled for the many days we spent on the mainland and while cruising through the Cyclades. I will now turn to my website and create a few pages there while adding pictures that will bring our holiday to life. Documenting in detail the great time we had together, made me miss Llew very much and I do so wish we could have spent the year together in London. I know he would have loved it as much as I am doing; but on his first day back at work in New Jersey and his undertaking of a new assignment in a new department, I did wish him the best of luck and much success. Of course, he did call as soon as he arrived at work at the start of a new day and I heard all about his return flight and the odds and ends he has left behind in my flat.

Then, I sat to grade a few of my student’s essays. The sun made a brave attempt to break through the clouds while I was at it and I wondered whether I should venture outdoors. When I saw the weather forecast and realized how cold it was, however, I decided to stay put and continue with the grading. I went through half a pile before I returned to my own travel writing with the intention of finishing the lot tomorrow.

With the calls I made to my parents in Bombay and to Llew in the States and the online dialogue I had with Chriselle, it was 4pm before I quite knew it and with darkness having fallen outside, I decided to go out for some air. Walking through Chancery Lane and on to Fleet Street, I took a bus to the National Portrait Gallery. One month ago, I would have walked there and would have scoffed at the idea of taking the bus…but now that my feet are slowly healing, I am determined to lavish them with some TLC. Anyway, I love riding the buses and I do look forward to the day when I will hop, a la Bombay buses, on to the back of a Routemaster and sail down Fleet Street feeling for all the world as if I am in the Fort or Colaba area again!

I spent almost two hours at the National Portrait Gallery. No matter how often I visit, there is always something new to see. And this time, there were the infamous portraits of the Queen taken on her Golden Jubilee by Annie Lebowitz that caught my eye as I walked to the cloakroom to hand in my coat. I was struck by how aged the Queen looks. When did she grow so old? When did she put on so much weight? How did that elegant lady in her hats and pearls become so forbidding? There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of a smile on her face in those portraits and I realized that she was either very bored, very cross or very unhappy the day she posed for the celebrated photographer. Shot in stark black and white, the pictures only emphasize the Queen’s distance from her people and I did not care for them at all. Was it the regalia in which she had chosen to be attired that made her seem so disconnected with the viewer? Was it the setting–Buckingham Palace–with its splendour reflected in the background that disengaged her so totally from the camera? I have no clue. What I do know is that I found those portraits too solemn, too grim, too lacking in any kind of human warmth or compassion and whether this is the fault of the sitter or the photographer is hard to fathom.

I began on the second floor and went chronologically through the collection starting with the Tudors. Almost all of these people are now instantly recognizable to me through the many movies and TV shows I have watched that have documented this epoch. The rarer portraits of Dudley and Devereux, Queen Elizabeth I’s alleged lovers, were interesting for the amazing similarity they showed with the actors who have played them in recent TV series. A girl passing with her boyfriend through the gallery saw the portrait of Dudley and said, “This was her boyfriend. She had his head chopped off”. Whew! Imagine that! She pronounced those words so casually, almost triumphantly, and with so much relish–as if she had something to do with the Virgin Queen’s decrees!

I progressed then to the more literary portraits that showcase Shakespeare and his contemporaries and called to mind the excellent lectures on the History of Renaissance Literature that I had attended in the classes of the late Dr. Mehroo Jussawala at Elphinstone College, Bombay. Portraits of Beaumont and Fletcher, Sackville and Norton, Wyatt and Sidney took me back to those undergrad classes and I thought it lamentable that other stalwart writers of the period were absent–such as Spenser and Marlowe, either because they never had their portraits painted or because none exist to be acquired by the Gallery.

In the Civil War section, I put faces to the names of those monarchs whose history I recently reviewed at the Banqueting Hall–James and Charles I, James and Charles II and their wives. I learned, for instance, that Catherine of Braganza brought to Charles II as part of her dowry not just the islands of Bombay, but Tangier in Morocco as well. I saw why King Charles spaniels are so called. It was because Charles I loved them and popularized them in his court. He is seen in his portrait posing with one such puppy in his lap. I read interesting extracts from the diary of Samuel Pepys in which he records his experiences, including the crick in his neck that he received from having to pose endlessly for his portrait. I was only able to complete seven rooms, however, when I was politely requested to return tomorrow as the Gallery was closing. I have resolved to return on a Thursday or Friday night when the gallery remains open till 9 pm. I intend to go through each of the rooms at leisure but because the space is small, I can see myself accomplishing this goal within a week.

Then, I walked briskly down Monmouth Street, stopping at Starbucks to purchase a Black Forest Cupcake that is special to the Christmas season, and arriving at the School of Oriental and African Studies where, in the Brunei Gallery, Dr. Gary Day of De Montford University in Leicestershire, was scheduled to give a lecture at 6. 30 pm on “Class in the UK”. The audience consisted mainly of NYU students taking courses on British Politics and Government, but because I learn so much from these varied points of view, I try to make it a point to attend. Day’s views–he calls himself a Marxist Socialist–so riled up the capitalists in the American student audience that the Q&A that followed the lecture was indignant and aggressive. In proposing a classless society in Great Britain, created through the payment of equal wages to every single person irrespective of the kind of job he did (a somewhat Platonic concept if I remember The Republic correctly) , Day met with much opposition from my students who boldly refuted his perspectives. It made for a lively evening and one I much enjoyed.

On the way back, I stopped to pick up a few essentials at Tesco and Sainsburys, then ate my dinner while watching a few old Britcoms on GOLD, the channel that has resurrected the most beloved ones. In these days of reality TV, for those of us who are allergic to such programs, this channel is a savior and I am so glad that I discovered it.

House of Lords, Banqueting House and “Wicked” at the West End

Nov14

Friday, November 14, 2008
London

Prince Charles turned 60 today and in his official birthday portrait, I realized with a start how much he has aged. Another Charles was very much in our thoughts as Llew and I toured the Banqueting Hall this morning…but let’s begin at the beginning.

BBC’s Breakfast Show reminded us repeatedly that it was “an unseasonably mild day for this time of year” and not intending to waste a minute of it, we set out on a self-guided walk entitled “Wanderings In Westminster”–what would we do without Frommer’s 24 Great Walks in London? We fuelled up well on a carb-heavy breakfast (Waitrose’s Muesli, Walnut Bread and Sainsbury’s Three Fruits Marmalade) and set out, somewhat lightly clad, much to our regret, for the day turned progressively cooler and we were freezing by the time we got home at 4 pm.

Still, the day started out beautifully and on the Route 11 bus from Fleet Street, we enjoyed inching our way slowly to Westminster Underground Station from where we launched into our rambles. First stop, The Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. We have, of course, admired those buildings often and from many angles–even on memorable landings into Heathrow airport at the crack of dawn. But never had we visited the interiors–simply because we always thought it involved a huge song and dance. Permission had to be obtained from local MPs, appointments had to be made, etc. etc. Well, we couldn’t have been more wrong. A jolly policeman at one of the security posts informed me quite simply that all I needed to do was walk a few meters ahead to a gate where entry to the House of Lords could easily be obtained.

Llew and I stared at each other in astonishment. Though a visit to Parliament was very much in my plans before I returned to the USA, neither one of us expected to tour the hallowed premises this morning. So, we couldn’t get over our good fortune when we were marched in through innumerable doors and heavy security gates that involved the taking of our pictures and the presentation of visitors passes, not to mention personal frisking and a surrender of our personal property, before we were permitted to enter. Since only the House of Lords was in session today, we were admitted into the ornate chamber that contained the even more ornate throne on which the monarch sits during her rare visits to the House. Immediately, we were struck by the similarity of these interiors with those of the Houses of Parliament in Budapest, Hungary, which had been modelled entirely on those of the UK and sits serenely upon the Danube. The elaborate decoration on walls and ceilings, floors and pillars that included gilding and sculpture and paintings left us unable to decide exactly on what we should focus. Best part of all was the long and somewhat forbidding Westminster Hall with its timbered ceiling and stone walls–the only part of the buildings that remained intact despite a catastrophic fire in the mid-1800s. It was here that we walked through the pages of funereal history, here that Thomas More appeared before the tribunals to plead his case before being sentenced to death, here where kings and queens have lain in state upon departing this life. It is hard to fathom how closely the stories of British Parliament are connected with the stories of royalty until one enters such august interiors and breathes the very air of solemnity that prevails.

We were seated in a queue until enough space was found in the galleries to accommodate us. When our turn finally arrived, we were ushered up a spiral staircase into the “Stranger’s Gallery” where antiquated notices on the wall informed that any form of participation would be considered “out of order”. Ha ha ha. As for the proceedings, there was a rather tedious presentation of an EU Committee Report on the increase of organ supply in the EU. A couple of people responded to the report, others shook their heads in a learned fashion and others looked plain bored as they sprawled in their seats in rather undignified a manner. I thought I recognized the Goan MP Keith Vaz who is somewhat unmistakable with his bald pate, glasses and cheerful smile–but I could be mistaken. He could well have been Swraj Paul for all I knew! Still, it was fascinating for us to watch the UK government at work and to see for ourselves the sort of scenes one has seen endlessly on TV over the years. What amused us was the sale of “House of Lords Apple and Raisin Chutney” in the gift shop together with more appropriate items such as 2009 pocket diaries and Christmas ornaments featuring the portcullis of the building.

Delighted at the unexpected opportunity to take in the experience of touring the Parliament Buildings together, Llew and I continued our walk. We passed by old and practically unknown parts of London tucked away behind the Parliament Buildings such as the home of T.E. Lawrence of Arabia and St. James’ Church on Smith Square before we arrived in Dean’s Yard and the school in which Ben Jonson, Christopher Wren and Sir John Gielgud was once pupils and from then on to the Churchill Museum and Cabinet War Rooms. We’d have liked to have toured those too but time and my feet did not permit us to wander around at leisure. I decided to save that treat for another day.

Instead we crossed Birdcage Walk to enter St. James’ Park which looks totally different in its autumn avatar. Though most of the leaves have fallen already, there was a golden glow reflected in the duck pond where we saw magnificent black swans with vivid red beaks and grey mallards with orange beaks fight for crumbs. Then, we were crossing the Horse Guards Parade to arrive at the Banqueting Hall where we spent the most fascinating hour with audio wands that took us in detail through the history of the building, its spectacular Hall decorated with the ceiling paintings by Peter Paul Reubens that reminded us of England’s troubled Civil War years, the victories of Oliver Cromwell and the tragic execution of Charles I.

Needless to say, we found Reubens’ work compelling and were able to study the panels carefully through mirrored tables on casters that allowed them to be wheeled across the vast room so that the tiniest details could be scrutinized. Depicting the glorious reign of James VI of Scotland who became James I of England (father of Charles I), and the union of two great nations through the crown that sat upon his uneasy head (he was fiercely Catholic in a nation that had become staunchly Protestant), Reubens used classical mythology to glorify the king–the Goddess of Learning Minerva features prominently in the design as do fat and cheeky putti–cheeky because they had bulging cheeks and rotund bottoms! I marveled at the thought that it was within this room that the elaborate masques of Ben Jonson of which I had learned so much during my History of Literature classes, were once performed with even the King and the Queen taking part. The audio guides gave us such a wealth of insight and perspective on the many ways in which this single room affected the annals of history. No wonder Llew and I were absorbed for over an hour as we listened intently and gazed in awe.

The building is no less renowned for the architectural genius of Inigo Jones who was deeply influenced by the grandeur of Italy following a visit to the country and upon returning to England was determined to include, for the first time ever, Doric, Ionic and Corinthian columns in his work–forever leaving his mark on London’s landscape. Prior to his time, only the half-timbered buildings of Elizabethan and Tudor architecture had prevailed. Jones’ desire to introduce the classical lines of Andrea Palladio to England paved the way for the magic of Christopher Wren who was to follow a century later. I was thrilled that we visited this grand mansion–something I have long been meaning to do–and that we indulged in the opportunity to see a part of the city that few tourists visit.

We left feeling deeply moved by the poignant fate of Charles I on a day when another Charles, the man who will be king, celebrated his diamond birthday while waiting to ascend the throne. I have been told that when he does become King, he plans to change his name as the Charleses who preceded him to the throne have met with such morbid fates.

We were out on the street then in a day that seemed to have turned suddenly frigid and as Llew spent the afternoon resting at home, I caught up with telephone calls and made some more bookings for theater tickets in the spring. I am thrilled to have found practically the last available tickets to see Judi Dench in Madame de Sade and Jude Law as Hamlet, both at the Wyndham Theater. While Llew took a nap, I also managed to get tickets for a traditional British Christmas pantomime, Peter Pan, which stars Simon Callow (one of my favorite British actors) as Captain Hook in a version that will be performed in Richmond. My friend Jenny-Lou Sequeira from New Jersey will be here to spend a few days with me just before Christmas with her daughter Kristen and we thought she would especially enjoy this children’s show.

It wasn’t long before Llew and I were on the bus again headed for the Apollo Victoria Theater to see the musical Wicked–finally! Chriselle had seen this show on Broadway years ago when it first opened and had not stopped raving about it. The title refers to The Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz and the story of this play precedes Dorothy’s arrival in Kansas and her meeting with her co-travelers on the yellow brick road in the famous ruby slippers. Those, Wicked inform us, happens to belong to the Wicked Witch’s crippled sister, Nessa.

Chriselle, of course, knows The Wizard of Oz rather well having acted in it as a Munchkin years ago while still in high school. Llew and I enjoyed it but were not unduly impressed. While the sets and costume were spectacular, the music did not appeal to either one of us. Amazingly, the theater was full with not a single seat available and though we were perched high up in the Stalls, the opera glasses for which we paid a very reasonable 50 p allowed us to see the actors up close and personal. Though poor Llew has been afflicted by a horrendous cough that has kept him awake at night and made the viewing of the show rather dismal for him, I did cheer him up at the interval with that most British of theater traditions–a cup of double chocolate ice-cream that comes in a cup with its own spoon cleverly attached to the cap! Far from annoying his throat even more, the ice-cream seemed to soothe it and he was spared a coughing fit for a good half hour after he enjoyed this treat.

We were out into the cool night air soon enough, looking for a bus that would take us back home to Holborn. Passing down Oxford Street, we realized that Yuletide has arrived in London as strings of lights hang in chandelier-fashion above the roofs as the buses pass under them and the department stores seem to be vying with each other in the dazzling spectacle of holiday lights that adorn their premises. It is a great time to be in London and we are soaking it all in.