A Sri Lankan Train Ride

A couple of friends and I made a trip to the Pearl Island of Sri Lanka last week. We stayed in Unawatuna, a beach in Galle about 116 kms from Colombo. On the way to Unawatuna, we drove down to the South Coast. However, on the way back, we decided to take the train.

While the train was rather rickety, the sights and scenery throughout were breathtaking. For the most part of the ride, the sea was in full view. At a few points I could see the waves lashing up against the tracks. All of this—the sea, the breeze, the sights—made the crowd and the heat so much more bearable.

A few tips—to get the best seat, which is the window seat of course, get in quick (these trains get pretty crowded). The train travels North from Galle to Colombo, so the best seats are on the left side of the train. The windows are large and completely open without grills. So hang onto your stuff!

Galle to Colombo

Another Hidden Sanctuary (III)

View Full Album

A piece I wrote for The India Tube…

http://www.theindiatube.com/travel/the-sagar-upvan-of-colaba

Fireworks at the Queen’s Necklace

View Full Album

 

Even Obama’s visit can’t stop a Bombayite from enjoying Diwali and Marine Drive knows this like no other place in South Bombay. Security maybe tight in SOBO and the police might be out in hundreds. But Diwali is Diwali at the Queen’s Necklace, and no Obama is going to stop people from enjoying themselves.

I didn’t know about Diwali at Marine Drive, until yesterday when Alex and I went over to the well-known stretch to watch scores of adults and little kids come out to light a gazillion fireworks. It seems like every year the fireworks market throws up something new. The fuljaris and fountains and chakras are classics, but the rockets have been modified along with the bigger ones that light up the sky with a thousand rays and sparkles.

Marine Drive is a definite to-do on Diwali, something I shall try to make a yearly event!

Bombay-Bharuch

I wrote this piece as part of a class assignment… I got a little dreamy whilst writing this, so forgive my over-sentimentality if you detect any.

I’m on my way to Jhagadia, a small village in the block district of Bharuch in Gujurat. I’ve never been to Modi-land before and I feel a little apprehensive; the riots of 2002 and the few movies that followed left a deep discomfort in my mind.

I have volunteered to travel the 355km distance from Bombay to visit a Children’s Home for Tribal girls, where I will be conducting a Needs Assessment. Needs Assessment, an all time favourite word in the NGO world! I’m unemployed, in need of adventure and looking for work. So why not make a combination of it all?

Mumbai Central- the station I get my passenger train is filled with all types of people, although the majority are male. I can hear a garble of languages, and I’m not sure if it’s a dialect of Hindi or Gujurati or mix of both, for all I know it could be Urdu. It’s a fascinating scene of dress and colour; crisp white pyjamas, bright chiffon saris, knitted skull caps, stark black bhurkhas and what not. My mind takes me back to the Hindu-Muslim conflict and wonders how frightful this same journey must been not so long ago. But it seems like things have changed, if only superficially. Faces don’t look fearful. A sense of the all forbearing Indian train camaraderie settles in as the train starts moving, and I turn my thoughts to the world passing by.

I am engulfed by a childlike feeling of excitement, having got the window seat, and almost wanting to stick my hand out to feel the July rains. The scenery constantly changes as the train moves from city to town to village, concrete to huts to green fields. I can’t recognise the trees nor all the kinds of fields I pass, but nonetheless it’s all a beautiful palate of green shades. For a city girl like me, this is a feast. The monsoons transform a parched land into a blanket of lush beauty.

I can see farmers, men and women, working the fields, going about their day. I try to imagine myself doing that kind of work and it all appears very fantasy –like. It’s the kind of picture that makes you want to give up the city and move a thousand miles away only to live a basic existence. But the train keeps moving from town to village reminding me of how difficult it would be to give up the urban.

The old man sitting by my side throughout this time keeps to himself. And I think, finally someone who can leave me, to me. I’m not keen on small talk on journey that is for the most part, quite pleasant. But my impression of this seemingly nice old man changes as my journey draws to an end. Half an hour before the train reaches Bharuch, my stop, the man stretches across me and with a good portion of gusto, spits out the paan he’d been chewing. A little of this red mix of saliva and betel nut ricochets off the bar and lands on the window sill, exactly where I was resting my hand. Eewww! This shouldn’t be surprising, and yet I think, why god why? Why are we a race of such despicable filths! I do the only think I can think of, move away from the window and pretend this hasn’t affected me, all the time fighting the urge to scream.

I’m in a dilemma. I can’t seem to pucker up the courage to tell him of his wrong. For one he’s older and the other, my Hindi is inadequate to politely say what needs to be said. And so I leave it. My experience with most older people tells me that you can’t change something that has been reinforced in one’s mind for decades.

So I focus on my destination, my search for other adventures. Ones that will hopefully, hold more pleasant moments.

Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya…

…Formerly called The Prince of Wales Museum. According to Sumanya, the existing name sounds so ‘un-cool’ that even the authorities had to add ‘Formerly Prince of Wales Museum of Western India’ to the title. Nonetheless, I quite like saying Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj Vastu Sangrahalaya! It sort of poses a challenge to ones tongue really. And once you’ve succeeded in pronouncing the mouthful of words without hesitation, you can almost taste a sense of vain accomplishment. Of course that wasn’t the intention in changing its name.  That's an entirely different story.

 

A week ago a couple of friends and I visited the museum to roam about its long corridors and enjoy one of Bombay’s iconic structures. Now if you have visited any tourist attraction in any part of India, you will have noticed the huge difference in entry fees for Indians and foreigners. True to form, this museum is no different. A foreigner’s fee is 300 rupees while an Indian can enter at a cost of 25. The only saving grace for a foreigner is to be a student and to hold some sort of student identification document. Then, the fee is a mere 15 rupees. The foreigners pass however, comes with a free audio guide, available in several languages.

On entering you are expected to leave water bottles and umbrellas at the door and go through an airport like security check. A conveyor belt moves your bag through an x-ray machine accounting for hidden weapons and sundry. After that, you have a good few hours of walking and browsing ahead of you.  If you do happen to make a visit, do not miss the old grandfather’s clock standing to the right of the entrance. The clock numbers you will find aren’t numbers at all, but in fact Tamil alphabets; quite an interesting piece.

On entering the foyer, we hear a ruckus. Apparently a group of tourists took a picture against the backdrop of the ground floor and was told that photography would cost an extra 200 rupees. Of course this must have insulted the man’s sense of Indianness. How dare he be asked to pay for something that should rightfully be free!!! And so he felt no apprehension in shouting at the top of his voice at the indignity of having been asked to pay for taking a picture.  

Ignoring the loud voices we move on, walking through ancient Buddhist ruins of centuries past, exhibitions of paintings and artefacts donated by several of the city’s wealthiest industrial families. Prominent among them are the Tata’s. Huge paintings and showcases filled with beautiful objects adorn the walls and the museum’s space. Many of the exhibition halls were closed either due to maintenance work or as a result of the lack of an exhibition.  

In a bid to keep people entertained, a kiosk like structure stands at the end of the exhibition on the Harappan Civilization. Here you can digitally piece together an ancient looking pot or make your own bookmark with the help of stamps. Of course, a small donation box is kept at the side of the bookmark stand to encourage people to help maintain such exhibitions.

After speaking to my seasoned Bombay friends, I find that many have never visited the museum. In truth, there is much more that can be done to liven up the place; it barely reflects the country’s history or cultural heritage. Nonetheless, it is still worth a visit.

View Full Album

Going Red

In a bid to refurbish my bedroom, I am undertaking the task of painting a hand-me-down coffee table red. Only, I will be using this coffee table as a bedside table. The plan is to make it look pretty in contrast to the otherwise very brown and very boring furniture, save of course my ‘Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe’ like looking armoire. Once it’s all done, I will place an ornate lamp stand on it, purchase a fitting shade and be content with my handy work.

Being a complete newbie to home projects, I sought advice from several well-experienced quarters on how to go about such a task. I was told

a) I would need to scrape the black polish off

b) Brush on the primer

c) Scrape that off

d) Brush on some more primer and scrape it off again (optional)

e) And finally, paint on the red. (this is my favourite part)

And so last week, in what seemed like an incessant downpour of rain, N and I finally went to the shop and bought the required material. Even here, I was advised to go to a particular shop and speak to the owners who tend to the customers themselves. It so happens that this shop (the name of which I do not know) is famous. I was attended to by a very forbearing handsome young chap who I had no problem in conversing with; you see his yummy looks made this whole experience so much nicer. For those of you who wish to know, the shop sits one lane in front of (or behind, depending on which direction you approach it) the very decent looking public toilet on SV Road in Old Khar.

Now this endeavour ought to give me much joy. Or so I thought…

A week later I finally start this project. Sand paper in hand I started scraping, only to find that it wasn’t going to be an easy task. The black polish has thickly seeped into the wood. A mere stroke barely grazes the surface. So I put a little more gusto into it, taking out all my frustrations on that poor table, careful of course not to break it. This to just about grazes the surface (apparently my strength does not match my frustrations!).  A little longer and voila I can see the brown wood. This is about a centimetre of the six inches by one inch piece on one side of the table. Much more to go.

Two hours, a red faced me and one blistered thumb (not kidding about the blister) later, I have completed about 10% of the table.

Suddenly I find myself rethinking the entire project. Along with the other advice, I have also been told to take it slow, enjoy the process. And so I shall, I shall put the pain of the blister behind me (as much as it hurts even while typing this) and take it easy… Spread the ‘enjoyment’ over a few days, so to speak.

Pictures of the ‘before and after’ will be up as soon as it’s done. Cheers to all the home project enthusiasts, and to the people who do this for a living, I have newfound respect for you.

Hidden Sanctuaries II

Following up on the Hidden Sanctuaries series, the pictures below are of a convent in Byculla, Religious of Mary Immaculate, Regina Pacis. The sisters here run a day, night and open school, a working women’s hostel, a hostel for girls in college, a children’s home for underprivileged girls and a social centre for migrant domestic workers. All these activities are spread across a the fairly large campus and not an inch of space is wasted. The land originally belonged to Premchand Roychand, one of Bombay’s Merchant Princes, famous for building the Rajabai Clock Tower at the University of Mumbai along with the library. This used to be the ‘weekend get away’.

It now sits smack in the middle of the city, surrounded by high rises, the JJ Flyover, Gloria Church and many other important landmarks. I can’t resist saying here that while the address now reads ‘Seth Motishah Lane’, it is infamously known as ‘Love Lane’, a name that one can’t help but smile at…It has quite the musical tone.

The nuns here (like every convent I have ever known) have maintained the premises well, keeping as much of the original structure as possible. The main building which houses the Chapel, the nun’s refectory and the reception has now been declared a heritage structure, and is currently under restoration, so those pictures will be added at another time. The other buildings have been renovated and the gardens improved upon.  The stables have been converted into special classrooms, storage rooms and a parking space.

If you would like to make a difference to child’s life here at Regina Pacis, go to http://www.theworldnow.com/cal/startingsponsorship.htm or alternatively, contact me on marinhaf@gmail.com

View Full Album