Day 3: Farewell Budapest, Aloha Vienna

by

Mick (Mrigank) Das

The beginning of Day 3 had a bit of a prelude in Day 2.  A visit to the Hungarian Parliament is not really something you decide on the spur of the moment… well you could, but unless you are a big cheese or you are very lucky it isn't gonna fly.  So the 'optional' excursions on a package tour can usually be booked on the spot at a 10% premium,  but a visit to the Parliament wasn't one of those things where you just took a few extra gold coins out of the pocket and went 'Open Sesame' - there were strict controls on the numbers of people that could pass through during certain intervals and the tour companies had to provide the names and nationalities of their groups.  Joel and I were the ones who had failed to read the fine print… the Hungarian parliament tour requires a 4-day advance notice for security checks.  Guess what?  On the morning of Day 3,  the optional excursion was to the Parliament,  The Great Market Hall and St. Stephen's Basilica …. And both me and Joel were very eager to get those last drops of nectar out of this beautiful city before we made our way to Vienna.  

So somewhere in the afternoon of Day 2,  Joel and me had pleaded our case to Dean as well as a professional attorney could plead that OJ Simpson's hand didn't fit the glove… and Dean was a real nice bloke.  He pulled some strings; it turns out that the Hungarian Parliament is not averse to a few extra shekels, if there were some last minute no-shows; the unfortunate few who had developed mystery ailments or eaten some bad sushi or had wilted under the extreme heat of the previous day.  Anyways, Dean brandished the magic lamp of Aladdin via his mobile phone and got a Genie in the Parliament to get us in!!

After the usual sumptuous breakfast buffet where I stuffed myself quickly we hastily gathered and checked out of our hotel rooms at the Radisson…. People put their luggage in the hotel bag check; I skipped the step and had Gabor put my single suitcase into the coach's cargo hold as we would set off for Vienna after the morning tour, and I didn't really want to mess with the bag check rigmarole.

Then we set off for the Parliament, a building we had seen illuminated in splendor on the night cruise. There was definitely a desire to see more of the inside…. We quickly filed inside under Erna and Dean's guidance, and went through the security check which was about the same as an airport security check.  The Parliament building has awesome interiors… the insides were gilded with 40 kilos of 24-karat gold.  We went through some really ornate archways and usually ended up in these massive high-ceilinged halls and everywhere you looked there were paintings, sculptures and the glitter of gold.. There is no way to describe this magnificence except pictorially. The only place where photography wasn't allowed was in the room with the Crown jewels… beautiful stuff, some pieces were studded with the emeralds and rubies … there was one piece that was a sign of Hungary… it looked like a gigantic crown, not meant for wearing but had inscriptions of the Hungarian kingdom. Apparently it was stolen by the Nazis, but the American soldiers recovered it from the Nazis and it was in the Smithsonian…. During John F Kennedy's tenure, US returned the crown back to Hungary. [The parliament building inside and out) 

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From the gilded grandeur of the Parliament we then made our way to a very different kind of attraction,  an indoor market of mind boggling proportions…listed by CNN as one of the top 5 food markets in the world;  it turns out it had way more than just food… with the rather self-aggrandizing name of 'Great Market Hall'.  It lived up to its reputation every bit!  the stalls were adorned by Pipli style hangings but instead of handicrafts these were edible: sausages of various meats like beef, pork, chicken, turkey of various shapes and sizes; never did catch all their names.  The shops were visually compelling though; some of them with the hanging sausages almost looked right out of some bazaar described in a Harry Potter novel; the vegetable stalls were equally spectacular in displaying their produce of red, green, yellow, brown, white and really every color. The whole market was enclosed in a huge historic building with the gargantuan circular clocks and a gently arched roof of massive size, giving the whole market the feel of energy and passion and human bonding…. Very cool.  The first floor was food, the second floor was occupied by stalls of souvenirs. [The Great Market Hall]

The final stop was St. Stephen's Basilica… to me just another church;  I was kinda done with churches in Budapest, but this one also had a lot of charm…and it happened to be Erna's childhood church. After all this, we briefly returned to the hotel to pick up the rest of the tour-mates' luggage, said our goodbyes to Erna (our local guide for Budapest) and a few tipped her too;  then we all trundled into the bus and around 1pm local time we were on our way through the Hungarian countryside towards the border with Austria. 

The Hungarian freeways are surprisingly good… a bit narrower and mostly two-lane, but the reinforced concrete looked in mint condition and the powerful sleek Gate1 coach was purring along the countryside smoothly and certainly very comfortable ride,  no different than riding in a high-end luxury sedan.  We did stop once before the border for a quick snack/lunch replacement. It was definitely much more happening and the clientele reflected an anti-diaspora;  which was rather stunning for what would be a truck-stop in the US.  The ice-cream is really good in Europe; so are the espressos and other coffees. I think I had both; didn't need lunch and I had grabbed a baguette in the Parliament run.

Dean is really a great tour guide…. The three and a half hour trip to Vienna (broken by a 30 minute recess at the colorful and vibrant truck-stop) was anything but boring. There was a microphone and a PA system on the coach, and Dean really put us in the mood of anticipation to visit Austria and made it so interesting by discussing the hot and burning political topics sweeping through Europe today, the chief among them being of course immigration. I wish I had his email…his tour company didn't allow him to hand it out. 

Dean explained that many of this countries had daily contingent of people coming in from the poorer Arab countries and the African nations for search of better living or escaping dangerous regimes or both.  However European nations, traditionally lenient to immigration from these areas were facing resistance from their citizens; who saw the immigrants as less educated, large families supported by the social welfare budgets of these countries and that was ballooning;  a question he posed was how does a country like Austria with nine million people absorb a million immigrants in less than two years without some serious undercurrents and social burden;  well meaning laws also come under pressure; schooling and university are free in Austria - so the Austrians have to shell out to pay for their schooling and other social services. He also talked about the new Austrian leader,  32-year old Sebastian Kurz, someone who is outspoken enough to put all these new issues out in the open… Austrians are ready to really evaluate what is going on with this and so they elected a  young dynamic Premier.  Borders between countries that were once open are now being closed… anyways, this really makes for a fascinating background. Austria is a rich nation and a financial capital for Central and Eastern Europe… plus a tourist spot; so Dean gave us the heads up that the prices of restaurant food might be even slightly higher than US.  He also spoke highly of the city:  one of the three UN capitals spread across the globe, headquarters of many global organizations etc. etc. very livable and also a very popular destination for conferences and conventions.

When we finally reached Vienna, I got as close to goosebumps as one can get… as an adult there are so many pressures on you from all sides that you miss that exuberance that you feel as a child when a dream comes true… a year and change ago, I was admiring pictures of this beautiful city through the shared posts of a friend; and now by some mercy of the Lord I had to pinch myself that the coach was actually driving into the same city.  I did recapture that childlike exuberance; I started taking pictures of street signs,  I stood up from my seat and craned my neck to take in almost anything…. Baroque buildings, canals, signs on shops and businesses, pretty much anything I could see under slightly overcast conditions…  The Danube wasn't visible…because of flooding issues in the past, Vienna has built a network of canals and pushed the main Danube flow outside on the other side of the city…. We did see it on our way out to Prague which will come in a later installment.

We finally landed up at the Hilton Stadpark which is a really nice location on the South side of the city next to a mall called as the Mondi mall, and also the city park or Stadpark.  It was of course a Hilton, so the quality was good… we had to sit in the lobby for a while around 4pm as the rooms weren't yet sorted out. One great thing about Dean is he always sorted out the rooms and checked us in…   I sat in the lobby of the Hilton and took in the view.  A little gallery of photos showed that international celebrities like Dalai Lama and Charlize Theron had been to this hotel.  The new-fangled melting pot that is Vienna was unfolding right before our eyes.  In the middle of the Hilton's lobby was a very suggestive sculpture of a man and woman intertwined into each other with less clothing than Adam and Eve did.  However around that sculpture many of the wooden tables with padded chairs were occupied by Muslim women in hijab and abayas; it was a contrasting interplay of the permissive and the puritanical that was evident in many different venues over the next three days - and also reflective of the changing composition of Vienna and Austria. [ the Mondi mall, my mainstay for food and shopping in Vienna on the right of the picture]

I finally got my room… on the fourth floor.  It was a corner room  - privacy and decent view. However, I was dead tired…. A lot of walking earlier in Budapest, hardly a nap as on the coach's journey across the border and the high level of excitement had finally gotten to me.  I decided to  have a little look around the lively neighboring streets,  then head to Mondi mall food court and hit a McDonalds, eat at the mall and do some relaxing people watching and then just come back and call it a night - with the intention of encountering Vienna with unbridled energy with all my batteries recharged and leave the fine dining and beer for the next day.  It was a good call

Day 2 - Buda is no Pest

by
Mick (Mrigank) Das

The white envelope that stayed unopened was my first target as a 6:30 am alarm woke me up after about 5 hours of sleep… strangely I felt well rested.  After the long journey,  the plush bed in the Radisson's fourth floor with me and myself ensured that even an abbreviated somnolence was strangely adequate;  I ripped open the envelope and found a nice welcome note from Dean my Serbian tour manager; since I had missed the prior evening's 7:30pm pow-wow in the lobby with the rest of the nineteen tour group members, Dean was thoughtful enough to have written this note.  The first matter of import was the meeting time…  it was 8:30am… reasonable. I was ready by 7:00am because of my excitement level -  I love breakfast buffets.  Bring it on! Muchos gracias.

I proceeded to the first floor where the breakfast café was.  Breakfast buffets makes your heart grow warmer… almost as warm and delicious as a flirtatious exchange with the opposite gender, not quite.. But almost!  There is a certain invitation for a gastronomic conquest… do you start with the juices, do you start with the Italian espresso machine with some very authentic European coffee (a certain friend will scoff and stand by Nescafé), do you dig in to the croissants and scones (red flags galore!) or do you go to the omelet bar and put down a request to the chef in full regalia with the white top-hat to prepare you a nice two-egg omelet with red peppers, onions and mushrooms ?  I forget the order of operations, but I did all three; one could albeit go for the many assorted sausages and meats too (a note to myself that this could be 'Hog' heaven for my bud Subu).. Even some smoked salmon!! (no fishy breath in the morning please). I finished off with some hot food:  sautéed potatoes and red fava beans called foul madammes (a funny name). I might have grabbed a yogurt cup on the way out too…

While I was splurging on the tremendous fare all around the dining room,  I noticed a steady stream of people all wearing the same company badge hanging around their neck trickle in… Out of normal human curiosity I peeked… some Indian girls, some Indian boys were also sprinkled in there… all wearing the same badge.  I was in mild consternation.  Here I was in Budapest,  had maybe seen very little brown skin up until this point. What gives with the Patels, the Dhaves, the Balakrishnans and the Radhakrishnans :) all swarming the Breakfast hall in the Radisson in the center of freakin' Budapest ?

I waited until an opportune moment, when at the table next to me two young girls with the same company badges sat down; not Indian… one was white and the other, the one next to my left a smartly dressed young black girl with carefully coiffured hair at a two-person table, next to my two-person table.  I asked the black girl what is going on… is there a convention or something?  It turns out that GE (General Electric) one of the largest US companies had sent their IT new-hires on a two week orientation camp to Budapest; these folks came from all over the globe.. And it made sense as Budapest was within easy reach of both Asia and US and of course Europe.  The IT angle also explains the liberal helping of brown skin!!  This was their second week and GE was footing the bill.. Nice!  After a casual exchange of words, I said bye to them and headed for my rendezvous with the tour group in the lobby.

I got my first look at the tour group… it was smaller than the usual size, which was actually pretty good as we could stick together well.  There was a big contingent of a single family, a grandma, her two daughters both married to attorneys, and a horde of kids, one high-school girl; one of the daughters was a Pediatric Dentist - oooh la la - the smell of cash :) :). Then a ER nurse (male) from LA Joel whom I got along real well with.. And a few older women….… A mother daughter duo from Milwaukee,  the daughter a high-schooler the mother Linda also a nurse in OT, two ladies from Philadelphia…  one other senior lady was from Boca Raton.  No Indians… the daughter from Milwaukee was an adopted Guatemalan, she kinda looked Indian from the northeastern part - like Manipur, Mizoram types.

For the Gate 1 crew, Dean was an affable, courteous, friendly, in shape mid-forties tour manager - with a shining top singularly devoid of any hair :) ; Super nice-guy, helpful, smiling, always in a good mood and gave a lot of current affairs overview of Europe as the tour went along; Gabor our lumbering giant of a Hungarian driver with a bulging gut, and Erna our local Hungarian tour guide, a slightly overweight, pear shaped, pale-skinned woman who made a living speaking about her country with passion. A bit more about the fellow tour-mates as we go along;  That was the posse!! 

The tour bus was beautiful… a modern bus, painted with the Gate1 logo… two huge cargo holds on both sides for our luggage.  Inside very comfortable executive leather seats in inviting colors of a medium tan with black accents,  nice air-conditioning and modern extras like electrical USB ports to charge your mobile phones in between the seats. Very deluxe…very impressive. Since we were only nineteen, we were able to grab two seats per person and really had extra leg room, hand-bag room.. Whatever.    We were UNDERWAY… right out of the hotel our first stop was to cross the Danube to the hilly Buda side and head for the massive tourist attraction of St. Matthias Church complex. 

The city is divided into two sides split in the middle by the mighty Danube river…which at many points plays as an aquatic cradle for many eastern European capital cities, Budapest being one, Vienna, Prague and Bratislava being others.  The Pest side is where 75% of the population lives and has all the main businesses and offices of government including the parliament. The Buda side is hilly, picturesque and residential… only twenty five percent live there. There are at least two bridges that span the two sides… the one we came across was the Elizabeth bridge.  This is a very old and historic city… there are still old buildings where the German troops stayed; it brings to life a vivid atmosphere if you could walk back in the corridors of time to see that it survived a war of epic proportions with a lot of lives lost.  The history is not all grim though; human beings have an indomitable spirit to laugh, love, dance, sing, paint and build beautiful things and that is on display too.  For example, Andrassy Ave. a tree lined street with some superb buildings whose façade showcases columns, figurines and ornate trimmings on the front side. Apparently in the days of yore, twenty percent of a building's cost on Andrassy had to be allocated towards the façade's decoration which of course led to architects outdoing each other to put the design equivalent of poetry into the frontage of the buildings.

St. Matthias Church complex is atop a hill and is a beautiful spectacular building with surrounding structures of towers, minarets and a statue of the Saint himself on a horse; almost like a warrior saint - an inattentive person could easily mistake it for a Don Quixote statue - all those statues kinda bleed into one another.  We headed into the church's interior - the building has a very interesting history…. For a period of two hundred years it was also a mosque when the Ottoman Turks conquered the region and people did namaaz inside. There is a sculpture of  a crescent and cross combo to denote this aspect right outside.  I went inside and it felt dark and cavernous but also very ornate, with stained glass windows painted with murals of saints and kings;  I didn't pay real close attention to the guide, was just taking it all in visually.  I might have said a silent prayer - it is very possible that potent wishes can organize a small fraction of the world after all :)… After touring the inside of the church, we went out and as you walked around there were spectacular views of the Pest side, the river, the Spires of other churches and the two bridges from atop the hill. I was thankful for having dressed in a soccer shirt and shorts, for the heat was sweltering; even for this time of year, it was unusual for Europe. This year rainfall was short too… the Danube's level was lower than usual and some river cruises were disrupted and the parties had to be diverted to land tours - for the cruise companies it meant heavy losses.

The whole complex had amazing views - the most famous of them being a vista point called Fisherman's Bastion; had I paid attention as a front-bencher to the guide talking through the orange walkie talkie I would have remembered what had fishermen got to do with the Bastion;  but fortunately or unfortunately I paid scant attention to the guide with the volume at level zero but the earplug in my ear out of courtesy and respect to the hardworking, articulate guide; noticed a lot of Chinese tourists… .underscoring their importance as a wealthy superpower whose citizens now have a lot of dough to travel globally and buy houses with wads of cash even in supposedly developed nations like Canada and New Zealand; look out for the Chinese!!  

Next up was Heroes Square, the largest square in BDP and a very popular tourist destination…. Many times in history the citizenry of this city has gathered here for important events, demonstrations etc.  The centerpiece is a huge pillar/tower atop which there is a greenish statue of Angel Gabriel..  On both sides of the central tower, there are Roman style colonnades where Hungarian freedom fighter statues are stood up and also on the base of the center tower the statues of the 7 chiefs of the tribes that originally formed Hungary. On the day we went a substantive horde of multicultural tourists were traipsing through the square, including some deposited by the ubiquitous double-decker Hop/on Hop/off buses bathed in intense sunlight and the temps were around 90'F - but dry heat. The square is flanked by some important museums, the War Museum and the Museum of Fine Arts and one other something…  Such a historic plaza would be rare in the US… some builder would have usurped it with corporate avarice and converted it into a tawdry mall with Starbucks and Nike stores among others. The one funny anecdote that stands out - a young woman in a summer dress was posing for a picture with her toddler daughter… she was being very cavalier in propping the toddler up on one of the ledges at the base of the Gabriel tower. It was very high and had the toddler toppled it would have led to grim consequences. She kept on trying to pose on the lower ledge and held the toddler by one arm;  all the onlookers needless to say were holding their breath at this foolhardy maneuver. Dean has a guttural Serbian accent, very similar to other Slavic languages like German… he said to me ' Meeek,  what du you think aah? Tuuu  day-nge-rous aah?  Eet is tuuu risky, no?  baby might fall… she going tuu far tuu teyk a pikchur no? , Some tu-rists  I tell you…'  vigorously shaking his head in disapproval all the while.. :)

I have to give the nod to our guide Erna... along the way she pointed out several other historic and grandiose monuments and buildings... the City Opera House undergoing repairs, the Royal Palace which had taken three or four bombs in the war but was rebuilt and restored as a museum, the Parliament house which was on our agenda to visit the next day, the Nightlife district called the 7th district where all the night-time party action is and various other attractions all with a very nice and super knowledgeable narrative...  She said now 50% of Budapest's university was comprised of foreign students as the quality was good and they instructed in English;  and several other scientists who went over to US and won nobel prizes etc. 

Once we were done, the bus brought us back to the Pest side and our afternoon was free until the evening, where there was an Optional dinner cruise which you had to pay ninety bucks extra which I did;  Dean told Joel it was a can't miss and Joel told me… Lord knows when I will pass this way again so let's take this, and I was by myself so pull the trigger.. And I am glad I did.

In the afternoon people did their own thing;  Joel, Linda, Zoey and me decided to band together.

Our first walking excursion was to the giant Ferris wheel aptly named the Budapest Eye which was walkable from our Hotel. The Ferris wheel was also the start of Vaci street, the huge mile of pedestrian only street of roadside shops.  We didn't get on the wheel but we came up close to it and had some gelato in the shade of a cafe. It was too hot to get into one of the enclosed modules of the wheel, but the area around was a city park which afforded cafes, people watching opportunities and so forth. Then we did some souvenir shopping along Vaci street and talked. Zoey and I talked a bit about Paris which she and her mom had visited and on my hot list; good kid, she speaks both French and Spanish.  

After all that soaking in of one of the city's prime spots, we decided to come back to the hotel and headed towards the biggest mall in Budapest called West End city center; it was big but underwhelming with mostly chain stores from the US; I come from the land of malls, so ho-hum! However I just chilled out with a strawberry Frappe and a cheesecake from Starbucks and watched languidly from a well-padded and comfy lounge chair with a nice vantage point as a bevy of stylishly dressed and good looking young girls (not too many guys) milled through the joint…  Joel joined me after buying some Hungarian boots; he bought four pairs of boots during the trip - Imelda Marcos passion for shoes seeps through most Filipinos? !  We had a nice time at the Starbucks Joel and me :) - this one was not anything like the regular frumpy ole Starbucks back home.

After heading back to the hotel, refueling a bit with some snacks and water and a short catnap headed down for the finale.  The highlight was the dinner cruise.. Which started around 8 pm - Gabor took us everywhere in royal style, we didn't need to Uber around - the only thing he was being a Scrooge about was water bottles which he kept locked up in a cabinet up front of the bus ( 'only tu bottles per day Meeek' - which irritated me because he hadn't even given even one yet and I had paid good money for the trip; I had a little aside with Dean, and Dean told me to come to him for water next time and skip Gabor -  my relationship with Gabor actually improved dramatically after the first day or so - as I was nice to him, said his name and hello to him in the Breakfast buffet room; he warmed up to me considerably,  no more issues after that.

  The city looked romantic and beautiful after it turned dark. Dinner was a real royal spread; I couldn't eat some of the traditional stuff like Goulash which is like an Indian mutton curry but with beef and eaten almost as a soup, but I tried a lot of the other stuff and some special fish dish was made for me and one other person. There was a lot of fruit, cheeses, stuffed peppers etc. so I ate good. The stuffed peppers were awesome!  Desserts were good; had a bit of champagne too. Talked to some of the other tour people, everyone in a happy, relaxed, carefree mood. 

The real highlight though was on the U-turn and return cruise up towards the dock,  night had set in on the city and the illuminated buildings including St. Matthias Church, the Parliament building, the Royal Palace (now a museum) all were looking spectacular with their night lights. Their reflections were shimmering on the waters of the Danube, golden in color and there was a virtual promenade of light on the edge of the river.  The whole vista was just magnificent and the viewers gallery on the cruiseboat 'Istler' was on the top deck where you could feel the gentle rocking action of the moving waters below, and the sound of the small waves lapping up against the boat's hull in an aria of its own, rhythmically tuneless yet in tune with everything. There was another boat that passed by which is a famous party boat where there was a party on full swing; next time I am in Budapest, will opt for that one, maybe;) -

Well the evening came to a very satisfying end, we headed back to the hotel and turned in for the night…. .but not before Dean had lit the lights of a romantic city in the canvasses of our dreams, one of the top ten richest countries in the World, one of the three capitals of the United Nations, and a powerful financial center for Central and Eastern Europe… along with lot of beautiful and friendly people we hoped; for the  next day at around 1:00 pm,  we were driving across the Hungarian countryside for the beautiful city of Wien as it is called in German, or its regular name Vienna.

Day 1: Eastern Europe

by
Mick (Mrigank) Das

On Aug 6, 2018 I embarked on a much anticipated European package tour on a Delta flight to Amsterdam connecting on to Budapest Hungary, with follow-on stops in Vienna,  Bratislava and Prague - essentially four nations in about 8 days.  I had done very little research on the places to visit sans some timely tips by a couple of friends who had visited that area recently.  I had forked over the cash and had reposed my faith in the tour company to do all the planning, the hotels, the air tickets, the transports and leave me to just take pictures and soak all the sights in… I was by myself on this trip.. there were compelling reasons why the family couldn't easily peel away; some might say I pulled a fast one, and I did endure some flak for it !

When you are on vacation, the psyche is different.  It is not as driven by the pressures of everyday life… so even vagaries in schedule can be tolerated and actually turned into opportunities to smell the roses and make human overtures,  that are usually curbed by the treadmill of daily tasks. The delta flight was delayed on departure…. The reason was one that I hadn't heard before;  the cabin temperature was very hot (it was a warm day in Seattle with temps in the eighties Fahrenheit).   The cooling apparatus in that gate was apparently malfunctioning.  After a lengthy delay of an hour,  somebody had the light bulb go off to move the plane to a nearby gate that had a working cooler. That's the first time I realized that the plane is cooled by some apparatus that is conjoined to it at the boarding gate supplied by the airport authority. I could see the usual nerves getting frayed syndrome in me and other people… the only concern I had was missing the Amsterdam to Budapest connection as it was a very tight 2 hours and it had been whittled down to nothing.

I tried to remind myself though that I was on vacation and the first evening was a 'free' evening in Budapest and the official tour didn't start until the next day… so in the worst case I was going to be cut out of the free evening.  I took a positive attitude and decided I was going to enjoy the journey through Europe in transit,  even if I couldn't really get to Budapest on time. The Delta flight finally left after a 2.5 hour delay.  I had managed to finagle my way to the front of a chaotic line and made sure that they rebooked me on the next Budapest flight 6 hours later should I miss the connection which seemed likely.  So the net of it was instead of landing at Budapest at 4:20 pm in the afternoon, I would be flying in around 11:00 pm. As it turned out, it was almost midnight.

The passenger next to me was a chatty old British lady called Vera…. In her eighties. We got into a conversation… as I had nothing better to do and this was the NOW moment; sticking to my resolve to take in the world around me with love and compassion (or some such :)!)  She was very interesting, a cancer survivor no less… had lived just outside of the northern English city of Liverpool in a town called Runcorn almost all her life.  She visits her daughter and SIL in Shoreline, a Seattle burb every summer… amazing spirit. She kept telling me we go through here(earth) once, so make the most of it! . She told stories of her husband who worked for a Ford motor plant and had passed away a decade earlier after battling cancer…the trips down to the river they had taken together.. her other daughters, one of whom is 'bossy' but has a rich husband who had earlier played professional soccer in England; her granddaughter Natalie who teaches school, her boyfriend whose parents funded their first house and so forth…how she still lives in a two-storey house and climbs the stairs… and on and on!  I was paying attention only to see how someone looks back on life at the golden age… and fairly palatable fare to quickly compress the actual nine hours and change to Schipol to barely nothing. She even recounted the story of how her uncle reported to police a spy during WW II who was flashing Morse-code signals during Liverpool blackouts so the Jerry bombers could find targets. When I confided my concerns about pickpocketing in Budapest that I had heard, she pooh-poohed it saying they are everywhere, keep your stuff in front and be watchful... after hearing her i garbage-canned that concern :) 

After I reached Amsterdam,  it was about half hour past my original connection to Budapest so there was no drama.. I think the time was around 1pm local time. I was already comfortable with the fact that I would have to spend a few hours in Schipol;  it is a great airport, nice amenities so I wasn't too ruffled. Vacation positivity had me in a happy frame of mine, and each little obstacle I was dealing with was an opportunity for human interaction with other cultures.

The six hours in Schipol were kinda uneventful… I found a nice lounge chair that you could almost recline at a 45 degree angle and got some shut-eye of the REM variety, light but still restful… with a bit of that old-school Indian DNA in me to nestle my arm around my hand baggage so that it is not pried away during the siesta.  I got myself some food from an airport brasserie… fish and chips and organic tomato soup to balance, too oily and greasy but enough in it to sustain me.  I even remarked to the young man at the grille who looked like of mixed Dutch and African descent how come the Dutch didn't make it to the Soccer World Cup and we struck up a brief chat;  my eclectic interests and ability to absorb the substance of a broad array of topics continues to serve me good in these situations.

There was one key move I did make at Schipol though…  while trying to charge my phone, I realized that I had packed a 'world' adapter plug, but the 'world' plug I had hastily packed was the wrong one; didn't live up to its billing and it wasn't going into any of the sockets…. It was purchased at one of the locally renowned Bapujinagar electronics shops and it was really a 'india' plug for US appliances. So I hurried into one of the airport gadget stores and luckily for me at a slightly overpriced 20 euros I found a high-quality Euro-plug that should last me a while. 

Finally, the eight o'clock hour rolled around where the gate of the Budapest flight (on KLM) opened up.  That flight was late by 45 minutes or so too… weather delays. More opportunities for conversation…a young engineering student Daniel who first gave me the heads up that a famous European music festival called Scigate (pronounced sea-gate) was happening in Budapest and lots of youngish 16-23 year old boys and girls were headed there…  but to cut to the chase we finally boarded the plane. A young Scottish lady of about 21-22 called Beth who was also Scigate-bound and a Dutch businesswoman were my companions on the 3-seat row.  We talked a little bit about the festival, the safety of visitors in Budapest etc. but it was getting late and we all wanted to get to Budapest.. So just relaxed with a drink and tried to start the novel Origins by Dan Brown, but quickly gave up and instead chose to gather my thoughts as to what to do upon arrival. I was imagining a desolate airport that late at night and possible safety concerns… and it was quite a surprise when we finally landed at Ferenc Liszt airport. It was anything but desolate -  lively and bustling with the young crowd. Not a big airport… oh I had negotiated another minor irritant with unusual flair and positivity; the KLM gate attendants had forced me to check in my carry-on as it was deemed oversize although I saw them let many others through.. I didn't argue much, didn't want to be kicked off the last flight; sometimes you have to exercise judgment where to attack and where to go with the flow.  I only had a carry-on and a backpack; a true light traveler… as we shall see later I did purchase another bag to stuff gifts into on my return journey.

At around midnight local we landed.  I said a few silent prayers for my suitcase to arrive, and it did after a bit of anxious waiting during which the carousel was stopped and started… it certainly wasn't what the KLM attendant had promised me…last-in, first-out.  Made a mental note to email the KLM customer service, and as many mental notes go it never came to fruition.

The whole airport was bustling with boys and girls… all dressed for high summer;  shorts, t-shirts, tanks, sleeveless and cut-off tops…most carrying camping gear as the festival was open air on an island nearby;  Their skimpy outfits were a clear signal that the temps were going to be very hot the next couple of days. It felt good;  so many young people!  The energy and the vibe of the city was going to be good… I had a good feeling.

I walked out and my eyes scanned for the placard 'Gate 1' my tour company.  A swarthy man had that placard in hand… he was a man of few words but affable and efficient.  He got me safe and sound to the Radisson Blu-Beke in the main city center; I couldn't see much at night except it was quite lively with a lot of bars and restaurants and nightclubs still open and buzzing.  I breathed a sigh of relief and a big smile and checked in. The front desk crew told me that a dinner tray had been set in my room. Later I found out that was complimentary by my tour company to make amends for my travel delays.  It was very much appreciated;  Tuna salad, fruit, dessert, mineral water and some other stuff I forget… after that I was dead tired and quickly changed and hopped into the bed…thought briefly about opening a white envelope from Dean, my Serbian tour manager whom I had not met that reception had given me.... Day 1 came to an end;  I was in Budapest, the Paris of the East as was its moniker in days gone by and excited that the tour was finally underway!!  What was in the Envelope?  We will find out :) 

The Quintessential Roadside Eatery

Mrigank (Mick) Das

Of course, I am proud to be part of DMS '83  and BJB '85 but From grade 4 to a bit of grade 9, we lived in Burla and I attended St. Joseph's convent school in Sambalpur. Burla is a picturesque town, and what it lacks in size it makes up in scenic resplendence.  A recent trip by Chinu and Ajoy brought back some memories of the lovely town and the Hirakud dam, and the water from the dam feeds into a huge canal, almost a river that flows through Burla.  There is a medical college and an engineering college and I believe '83 has alumni from both.  I remember it being a beautiful idyllic place, with lots of greenery, a Burla club where I loved to play ping-pong and baddy and tons of soccer fields.  

Every morning my dad used to drop me off at a bus stop 'chakka' just before the bend to the sprawling and beautiful Medical campus where future doctors go for their training.  At that spot all the convent students from Burla would board a bus that took us on the fairly long trip to St Joseph's which was built on a beautiful hillside.  There are many beautiful memories, but there was a dhaba called Berry's in between Burla and Sambalpur, on the freeway just a mile or so before a right turn took you into the bigger city.  It was really a truck stop, not a swank place masquerading as a dhaba.  The charpoys were real, the owner was a clean-shaven Punjabi bloke, slightly overweight with a very friendly smile, inviting voice and warm demeanor and always was hands-on in the food preparation.  The dish du jour was an authentic punju chicken curry with a sizeable piece of thigh with leg… the chicken was marinated and pan fried before it went headlong into the rest of the heavenly gravy - thick, garnished with aplomb, slightly orangish and visually enticing gravy topped off by two hard boiled eggs split down the middle and gently smeared by the broth, with their yellow ovals playing with the senses of the clientele - accompanied by the best clay-oven baked tandoori roti and naan smeared in ghee, and the traditional steel plate of punju salad; colorful smorgasboard of cucumbers, radishes, carrots, onions, tomatoes and the occasional lemon or two.

Vividh Bharati or something similar played those great 70s and early eighty tunes in the background,  distinct enough if you wanted to savor, subtle enough if you wanted to ignore and converse - the times were innocent and sparkled in their own way that affluence cannot provide - it is a strange paradox of life.  The whole meal was a gastronomic tour de force that was to be experienced by the patron from the prelude to the climax.  The aroma wafted out the open kitchen and entrance and kissed the folks already ensconced by the charpoys and titillated the people just disembarking from their cars and two-wheelers. Those days global warming and deforestation hadn't afflicted our beautiful native land… so the breeze of the open fields by the freeway acted as nature's air-conditioner.  

I remember many nights with my dad eating there, and sometimes with other friends especially a great friend and senior named Debaloy Dey(who has directed two Bollywood movies…maybe more sometime later on that).  I don't know if Mr. Berry is still alive,  but he was a really good man and showed me there are different ways of serving society.. I pray for his well-being wherever he is for he provided many people with a nostalgic magnum opus time after time, not to mention always throwing in a cheerful greeting and a generous serving of friendly banter.

Memory snapshots - pre '83

Minakshi Mishra

One of my favorite things to do during my school days, was to entertain my school and neighborhood friends and that remains my #l current favorite hobby!

Every festival brought with it new ways to get-together with my friends to play, eat and chit-chat. Therefore, this week's "Raja" festival, re-kindled fond memories of my childhood Raja-fun, spanning over 3 days during summer break; and what was the best opportunity to invite my friends Biswajita, Sipra, Rajesh S, Rajesh C, Sucha, Kuni and others to stop by for a taste of my ma's delicious poda pitha, fresh off the hearth; and a turn, on the huge swing set up from the strong 15 ft tall mango tree at our "Quarters". That swing was the pride of our small community at Master Canteen and I still wonder, " How skillfully it was installed by my uncles from our tiny village of Gambharia, that it did not creak a wee-bit, in spite of the daily assault from a bunch of eager teenagers swinging on it in ones, twos, standing, twisting ropes and trying acrobatically to go sky-high! " 

Come to think of it, every Raja celebration must have been a huge drain on the family's financial situation, because, for the 3 days, the daughter(s) (- not to forget, Nini, my ma's cousin from my village who lived with us) of the family needed to be adorned with pretty dresses and silver paunji/ or something similar. So, while those days I used to crib about not getting a new dress for Kumar Purnima (in deference for a deceased relative of my grand-ma) or not performing Khudru-Kuni because we were "Brahmins", I feel now, that, that must have been some sort of a relief to my hard-working parents who had to deftly manage our meager household budget without hurting the sentiments of their daughter.

Enjoy the Game.

Sailaja Yeddanapudi

The sacrosanct character of flirting has always been undermined. Flirting is the vestiture of marriage. Has anyone wondered how this innocent and innocuous image of flirting has been tarnished?? I am not tendentious towards flirting but I am hurt by the impunity of its wrong doers. Whenever the seasons of marriage change, the flirting vestiture also undergoes a metamorphosis. With this God fatherly stature, I am pained when the society instead of venerating it lampoons it. When shopping, watching movies, hanging around with friends are good stress busters why can't flirting be attributed a similar status?? The sterile weak society is a mute spectator instead of playing an active role in upholding its sanctity. What is disturbing is the narrative that follows.

Many a time when one's marriage is on the rocks, only flirting can come to its rescue. It throws ample light on those dark alleys of marriage, assuming the position of a pedagogue. Being such a sound mentor, the mentor-mentee relationship needs to be maintained, and due respect should be given to the mentor. We fail to give it a quarter as we experience a maelstrom of emotions. No doubt I am touching a raw nerve of the society but it's time to break free from the shackles of society and not kowtow to it. How long can we bear shoepidity ????

Social Irresponsibility and Managing Competitive Streaks

Mrigank Das

I have two takeaways from 2017, a personal one and a general observation… Let’s start with the general observation.  I have seen that in our social media groups there have been some outpourings of concern and vitriol towards supposedly apathetic or even supposedly immoral leaders for various ailments that affect various parts of the globe…the plight of Syrian kids in Aleppo,  the state of the US Presidency and policies towards healthcare, women’s rights, environment,  frenzied and heated disagreements with policy decisions in both India and US,  the state of the Indian Prime-Ministership, various decisions on demonetization, bullet trains etc.  In the US there has been 83-ers jump on the pulpit to express  concerns about Libya, Cuba and other parts of the world going through turmoil and great human misery and often accompanied by a lot of verbal fusillade towards the sitting US President…

My response to all of that is shaped by a little book I purchased in Mumbai airport written by a Swiss journalist that i have been reading on and off over the last few weeks.  In order to have a ‘good life’ that is fun, happy and harmonious, and to be able to smile and enjoy the company of friends and still ‘do good’ we have to understand that unless we are Roosevelt, Churchill, MacArthur, Napoleon, Alexander the Great, Akbar, Charlemagne, Churchill, Kennedy, Stalin or some such persona with great resources at our command we are really just barking incessantly without much bite…. And maybe, just maybe affecting our own health and happiness. Rather what we need to do is pick a couple of charities and donate some money with regularity… like the Red Cross, UNICEF, etc. 

 Let them do real succour to the needy, instead of us getting on WhatsApp groups and waving our arms with great pomposity but with real lack of stature, power or influence to change things. That way we can feel good that our money is going to work.  Now volunteering is good too… but unless you are like Doc Sid or Doc Pan or Doc Sankalp you are unlikely to be of much help to people in real need… they don’t really need techies or builders or engineers or executives - even for building bridges you are better off making money in what you are competent at and then sending the money through reputed charities so the talented construction workers can rebuild what needs to be rebuilt, the talented nurses can provide care to the afflicted etc.  

This attitude has been anointed by legendary physics professor, popular speaker and Nobel Laureate Richard Feynman, a Princeton PhD alumni and Caltech professor as 'Social Irresponsibility' .
It doesn't mean that we should not care what happens... it simply means we are not going to take the burden of guilt for sipping a latte in a Starbucks in Dallas while a young person in Syria is under great risk from lethal weaponry of various types;  the reasons why there is conflict in certain parts of the globe is so very complex with numerous strands of historical, socio-economic and religious threads that a normal person like you and me can't resort to sweeping demagoguery or over-simplification of facts and pin it on the current leaders of certain nations.  

The other takeaway I had in 2017 is the aspect of competition. This was a bit more personal but maybe applicable to other people with competitive streaks in them. Growing up I always viewed situations in academics, at work and in other aspect of life as competition. I gotta fight for top billing, can’t be satisfied with second-tier.  However as the year went by and especially towards the end I had some private interactions which led me to do a deep revisiting of my belief system to compete every day.  There are certain aspects of human life that doesn’t lend itself well to competition… especially relationships with people you love instinctively and feel a strong bond towards.  It isn’t easy to break the habit. I am still susceptible to a resurgence of those tendencies :) … but it has been by real good fortune or maybe some other powers that be that have been extremely nice, kind and great friends to me, counseled me patiently to get off my erstwhile ruthlessness to look for weaknesses, recognize blunders and attack with ferocity who or what I perceive as competition. 

I realized that I am fortunate to have God-given talents in many faculties and just by showing a serving spirit in being fun, supportive, caring, understanding, investing my time and appreciating the special talents of people whom I felt a strong affinity towards, I can keep knowing and loving them better and carving out beautiful relationships, and what the ‘label’ of that relationship is becoming less and less important to me. :) Things are going well and I have strong conviction that they are going to get better in 2018!!  Hopefully that helps out others with the similar penchant for hyper-competitiveness that has to be kept in check… Happy New Year to all of you… Have a rocking, successful and loving 2018!!!!

Missing the Spirit for the Body

Y. Sailaja

A part of me not in congruity with a part of me. There comes a time in everyone's life when one faces a moral trajectory. The human mind is at an inflection point and revolts to work in tandem with the heart that upholds values, ethics, and morals so dear to it. The society that has taken the onus of morally policing us right from our childhood has failed to anchor us in life. When shoots take roots, values and ethics do not echo in our lives for they weren't firmly grounded.

Visiting temples, performing rituals, going on pilgrimages are mere acts of tokenism for we are still grappling with our prejudices. These activities do not purge our souls of its ills... be it hatred, despondency etc. Is the milk of humanity flowing in us??? We no doubt live in a physical world but we are missing the spirit for the body. Certain cogs in the wheels of our existing go unnoticed and thus our very existence is shrouded in mystery.

We need God to bail- in, to help us understand our purpose in this world. We need to prevent ourselves by being one among the milling crowds that throng the temples and puja rooms to bail us out of our problems.

The mea culpa of the human mind now stands exposed. The feeble strings of morality slowly face a death in its patronage. The ostrich finally lifts it head. Does the elephant at the peace table of the human mind help to resolve the mysteries of our existence???

The Journey Home – A Cherished Struggle.

Sipra Pati

There's a part of me that struggles with a part of me. Nothing could be more clichéd than that. I do not believe in God. At least in the version 'God' as manifested in the human domain. I consider the adulation of Krishna who unabashedly consorted with multiple women several shades ridiculous. I find the worship of Shiva and his genitalia a tad too repulsive. I believe these multiple Gods and Goddesses who inundate our religion are the outcome(s) of very fertile imagination - human imagination. Although I am tempted to probe and analyse the overwhelming patriarchal overtures here, I realize I will, as a consequence, digress from the intent I began with. 

So coming back to me being a non-believer. As long as I can remember I have always asked my Mom or Grandma or Aunt or Uncle or some older family member about the whys and wherefores of why 'should' we 'do' things a certain way. The abstinence from a non-vegetarian diet, for instance, or the absolute ‘no-no’ of trimming nails or hair on certain days, on why I should wear bangles on both hands, or not... I could go on. Reactions to these questions have been varied - a casual dismissal, a story (always a favorite), a scolding, a look of irritation, and more often than not, an answer which usually was "that's the way things are" or some variation of it. 

However, this scepticism, never deterred me from partaking in Pujas and festivals - they were too much fun. Not all of them. But most of them. I simply loved cutting paper to decorate for Ganesh or Saraswati Puja, watching my Mom and aunts create a Savitri idol from haldi paste and listening to them read her heart-wrenching love story, dress up on Dussehra, worship the moon on Kumarpurnima... I loved the family gathering, the preparation of festival-specific food, and just reveling in the general camaraderie. 

I was not (still am not) a big fan of temples - I found the present-day institutions too sterile and wanting in sanctity. The medieval temples, however, were another story. I loved visiting them. Not because I felt devout. These medieval feats of architecture created an overwhelming sense of awe in me and I always found myself standing in the middle of the courtyard, neck craned towards the top of the monument, till someone tugged on my hand or shouted my name from a distance. The Jaganath temple in Puri was one such temple. Tumultuous as my feelings towards the concept of a human-created God were, this temple never failed to stir my aesthetic leanings. I was always in awe - of the sheer magnitude of the physical structure, the expanse of its campus and other structures, the devotees - their belief in Sanatan Dharma and their complete surrender, the unique sense of belonging of and to  this black-skinned half-limbed God, the chaos, and even the protocol of a visit to the temple. That one half of my family were from Puri, of course, had a lot to do with this. 

My visit to the Jaganath temple in the early part of November this year came after a nine-year long hiatus. And it was a gap that nagged me. I was expecting to see a new Jaganath and siblings. And, that was about all that had changed. Well, almost. Structural modifications to control crowds and their surges were evident in the parallel steel structures on the north side of the temple. More importantly, and disconcertingly, our usual walk-through the temple beda had changed. After the climb-up the baaesi pahancha, we headed, uncharacteristically, straight to the main temple. Given the time of the day (late afternoon), tourists/ pilgrims outnumbered the locals and there appeared to be more unconcealed attempts by the temple servers to fleece money off the devout. Neither these changes nor my aforementioned status of belief deterred me - for I held my palms over the flames of a large dipa and touched the top of my head with them; I moved my neck back and forth and stood on my toes - all to get a better view of the Lord of Puri, the Universe, and his siblings. As I kneeled and put my forehead to the ground, tears flowed, unbid. I wiped my eyes as I stood up and looked at the murals as I had always done in the past, the sting in my eyes refused to stop. I could almost hear my grandmother, my Aai, ask me, "So which mural are you looking at today?" I shut my eyes savoring her memory; a simultaneous effort refusing to let the sting in my eyes condense to liquid. I did a 360-degree turn with my eyes on the murals (like I had always done in the past, looking, not seeing) and navigated through the throng to the south exit. Then we began our ritualistic walk-through - Satyanarayan, then Bata Ganesha, then Maa Mangala, then the customary couple-minute hang around the mukti mandap, followed by stops at Goddesses Bimala, Lakhsmi, Saraswati and Savitri, Sakhigopal, and then Surjya. And the exit through Anand Bazaar down those twenty-two. 

The emotions this very fertile figment of human imagination could stir within me defied rationale. I know, in retrospect, this here was the very epitome of my connection to my roots, non-believer, or not. I know a part of me will always struggle with a part of me. I owe this struggle to the Lord of Puri. No regrets.

AN ODE TO BIRTHDAY BOY

Mrigank (Mick) Das

Well I don’t know when I joined the DMS group… I think sometime in the fall of 2013… I knew some people of course…but some rather vaguely. Today I can say safely I know all fairly well, and some I know more than fairly well… despite the fact that earlier in life I might have walked past them with nary a thought… The key takeaway from today however is we have to recognize the singular, persistent and herculean effort by the one and only Subhasis Panda…who has a plethora of sometimes endearing, sometimes sarcastic and sometimes jocular nom de plumes: admin, havildar, bapu, panda, Ed Hardy model, subu and subz…    who brought us all together from various parts of the globe…and even conceived a variant of love called LOU that has proved a hit.  In addition he often has absorbed the crossfire from some maddening skirmishes and had the patience to play peacemaker, judge, jury and arbitrator to people in their late forties with a great degree of restraint despite some verbal punches that might have landed on him as collateral damage by uncontrollably irate combatants :)

The other sacred institution that he has established is converting his own home into the modern equivalent of an old friends’ club du jour, where frequent parties are organized that lets grown men (and women) to mingle as old friends with bonds that even Father Time hasn’t been able to crack, and then heartily partake food and beverages that often violate every rule in the medical websites’ well meaning advice for good health and anti-aging panaceas and still feel more healthy and vivacious in spite of it.  

We all run to Whatsapp to check out photos right after we hear of the House of Panda playing host to a party; the coming together for good times or a haven for the sufferers of temporary (or permanent) ennui, personas seeking escape from mundane and non-mundane angst,  the seekers of Utopian fantasies induced by adult beverages or just the escapists from the professional treadmill looking to release the stress from their bloodstreams and then jibber jabber their way into the wee hours of the night with a smile on their face and the joie de vivre of a kid.  

In all cases, LOU prevails… and everyone leaves happy, and even the spouses are fairly forgiving partly owing to their personally favorable experiences, often opting to ignore the slightly irregular gait and the telltale odor of fermented and aged Scottish hops wafting in the air in the interests of the three letter variant of cupid’s potion.

There of course is his hospitality in offering his home for stays by visiting friends, helping friends in need of various and sundry things, like moving stuff,  or needing a priest for last rites, or just staying a few days with him,  including those stubborn friends that hide his favorite beverages :) , or those that have had some significant adverse circumstances going on, definitely underscores his humanity. There is some great fortune that we must be thankful for, as it takes some selfless soul to take it upon itself to explore, locate, enlist and grow this DMS 83 community and then act as an ongoing peacemaker to keep the various branches of this tree from growing stronger and not falling apart…

There ought to be some extravaganza tonight, with different Glens of Scotland contributing their own variant of liquid ambrosia (albeit in a controlled manner and small, skinny portions) plus a smorgasbord of meat, seafood and veggies(don’t forget those veggies) to ignite a wild, no-holds barred party for the Panda…. cheers!

DOWN POUR IN MUMBAI BREAKS ALL RECORDS FOR AUGUST IN 10 YEARS

Pushpamitra Das 

The doorbell rang – I heard it thrice and finally opened the door in a sleepy state. It was 5.30 am. It was the car cleaner who comes daily to collect the keys. I promptly handed over the keys and went back to sleep.

I was woken up at 7.45 am to have my bed tea… I suddenly realized that it's a day declared as a holiday for all schools, colleges and some Govt offices too as we have a cyclone warning even today and all have been instructed to remain indoors... my mood immediately lit up and I started feeling more lazy...

That's when I peeped outside the balcony, looked up, checked the weather, it isn't raining any more, sky looks relatively clearer than yesterday, I wondered will the cyclone come today? I could then hear the normal Mumbai buzz of the local trains (as my home is not far from the railway tracks) over speeding auto rickshaws rushing the passengers to the stations at peak hours ...

Our cook, Priya who comes from a nearby low lying area had already started cooking breakfast and cutting vegetables for lunch and she rushed to open the door as the doorbell rang, it was the tender coconut vendor who comes to deliver 2 tender coconuts every morning.  I asked Priya how were the rains yesterday, she said she couldn't make it to her home as it is still flooded with water and her family stayed at her sister’s place. Yet she was here on time.


It was just 12 hours back - I took almost 3 hours to reach home which otherwise is a 15-minutes’ drive. Till 1am I was watching the news channel viewing the submerged Mumbai, stranded commuters due to the torrential rains, people struggling to reach their homes as the public transportation system has come to a grinding halt, roads were flooded with 3 to 5 feet water, bikes and cars were abandoned in the roads and people walking distances of 20 to 40 kms to reach their homes... buildings collapsing and rescue operations underway... anything that could go wrong had gone wrong.

All temples, gurdwaras, churches, masjids, Ganesh pandals, and individual homes had opened their doors to stranded passengers... Communities and NGOs had sprung into action offering first aid, water, food – vada pau, tea, biscuits, poha, Sheera, to commuters.... The best was Mumbai traffic police joined the locals clearing up traffic by pushing cars out of the water and guiding public. Humanity was at its peak... no religion or caste difference. The only language spoken was humanity and help... looked like god was residing in each such individual.


Come morning, it's a different environment, seems like you have been transported elsewhere, yesterday has become history, the Mumbai spirit is back, seems like nothing had happened or whatever had happened is long forgotten, all are back to work – it is all normal, no one thinks about the cyclone prediction, be it the car cleaner, dog walker, watchman, visiting maids, newspaper vendors, milk man, or driver... all have reported to their respective duties, after the horrifying experience just yesterday. Today is a new day... it's a new beginning.

Vanita (my wife who works with a Bank) was busy calling up all her team members yesterday night checking their whereabouts, status, and ensuring their safety and head count. She is now receiving calls from them seeking approval to operate from a nearby branch of the bank or condoning 60 to 90 minutes for late arrivals to office as they have reached home ranging from 11 pm to 4 am. No wants a leave even for a day... no one is tired enough not to report to work.

Looking at the spirit of these people at times we also muster courage within ourselves to get up and keep moving. I must admit, I was in two minds whether to leave for my work or not... I don't think I have a choice to make – honestly, I am ashamed to choose staying back.

Hats off to the spirit of this city. Mumbai may drown but not the spirit of this city, the zeal of Mumbaikars whatever be the nature of adversity... floods, riots or bomb blasts... the spirit never dies. I sometimes feel it is like a wheel which does not stop or give up rotating and anyone who gets into this wheel becomes a part of it left with no choice – it goes on and on and on.

Random thoughts on new years.

Prelude: 

I began with these thoughts on the second day of the calendar year in currency. The idea was to put it up for scrutiny and criticism at an appropriate time that would justify the mood of the moment; but sadly, the moment has passed, falling prey in various proportions to circumstances and distracting compulsions that promote procrastination. Had it been put up for display, say, in the second week of the year, when people were still going through the motions or just getting out of them, readers might have felt an echo of the text in their bones, so to say. They might have related to it at an emotional level- which is desirable in this context- rather than at the mental level where it will be, no doubt, processed in a way an editor processes the random materials brought in by a frivolous freelancer.

Now, as always with the passage of Time, I am left with the receding trickles of that initial flood of inspiration and try as I may, I can't seem to recreate all the dynamic dimensions and delicate details of the season. Consequently, the reader may feel a difference along the way, where the latter addition carries the article into its finality; perhaps like a change in texture. 

It is, thus, put up to the reader, as an exercise in analysis,  to make out what was written at the outset and what has been added later to complete this article.
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                                                                         Part-!

 The significance of stepping into yet another Year of Mankind's inexorable march into the future cannot be allowed to diminish by unhighlighting the first letters of the latest calendar event celebrating human history in the making. So bright and festive is the general mood, so positive the outlook and so, so predictable the behaviour in that first week of January, that it becomes a social season for just one reason- the advent of (yet) another man-made year; a symbolic, convenient and regularly occurring milestone that is only reserved for Homo sapiens with total disregard for any other biological thing in this universe. 

Which is where I disagree. The advent of another year does not induce enough enthusiasm in me to qualify as anything more than a sceptic to my average fellow-beings. In my support, I say that I find no difference between 31st Dec and 1st Jan, if you ignore the hangover. And I don't find the workload any different from the non-fancied days of the rest of the year. If anything, the wishy-washy bubbling mass of humanity unsettles me and makes me wish I was elsewhere. I sometimes seek refuge in the peaceful solitude of my car, which is probably the only place on earth I can truly call my own.  

So, as a token of my protest against this peculiar obsession all around, I have reduced the aura of the two words by reducing them to lower case.

The ritualistic celebrations surely bring in a sense of camaraderie among the average urban socials, who go around spreading the Happy New Year largesse with a sense of urgency. Grudges, grievances and gripes are kept aside for fear of defiling the glorious gushes of greetings and good wishes. It is difficult not to get caught up in the wishing frenzy, particularly for the upwardly mobile, highly ambitious, lower-rung aspirant who perceives a certain competition in the process and diligently plots a course of action to get the attention of those who matter. In such occasion, speed is of essence and timing means everything. Those who are denied the moments-after-midnight slot must strive for the first-thing-in-the-morning alternative. Latecomers may disguise their failing with a didn't-want-to disturb-you line. Soon the ether is buzzing with innovative posters and video clips on the HNY theme. And then there are messages, mass produced, guilefully constructed to appear personalised, exhaustive in their scope to include every nice thing possible and beginning with 'May'. Mobile phones get cluttered and prefer to hang themselves. Repetitions, although not intended as such, get the better of your mood as you lose the struggle to maintain sanity while attempting to choose which ones to reply to. Then there are the phone calls and the resultant auditory stress.

The other set of enthusiasts do not have this ulterior motive in their wishes. They are the Social Watchdogs. It is their bounden duty to tick off their list to check whether they have inadvertently omitted to shower their wishes on anyone featuring in it. It is also a time to keep a tab on who has participated, who has reciprocated, who has made inroads and who is out on the roads- in other words, the sub-social laggards (different from anti-socials, un-socials or non-socials). They are harmless, although exhausting.

When you arrive at work on the first working day of the latest year, you brace yourself for hundreds of handshakes with your colleagues. Is that such a bad thing? Not if you consider the variety only from an academic point of view. There are the firm ones, as handshakes are recommended to be. However, the amount of pressure to be exerted on the Wishee's hand (by the Wisher) to convey and transfer that overpowering sense of HNY joy into it, is not an exact science and many enthusiasts have been known to cause injury on delicate or osteoporotic recipients. Then there are the limp ones, half-hearted, sometimes wet and slimy, quite like something the fishmonger puts into your extended hand, as a sample from his stock, for inspection. If you try to shake them, they move as if they are no longer attached to the parent body and you may be inclined to hold on to them lest they accidentally fall off from your grasp and get damaged. But the most dangerous are the ones that appear the most innocuous - until they disengage after the niceties, wipe off the nasal fluids dripping out of their nasal orifices and stalk off, with the stuff smeared all over their palm, to find and infect their next victim with their wet, pet virus. It's all academic if you are a casual bystander observing human behaviour, but if you are their doctor you cringe at the thought that they must all converge on you by and by, and offer you their besmeared plates while you offer yourself condolences. The number of physicians suffering from some sort of -itis around their nose and throat by the third week of Jan is statistically too high to be ignored.

In the days gone by (school days), there used to be cards from various desks in various institutions, as well as from friends and relatives, all delivered by the postman between the last week of last year and the first week thereafter. They were used in decorating every available horizontal display space- and occasionally strung out overhead- for the better part of Feb. 

All the personal cards from family and friends could be grouped into three categories: 

A) The Bland Ones - "Seasons Greetings and Best Wishes for a Happy & Prosperous New Year", 
B) The Flowery ones - with elaborate cursive writing, with intricate, syrupy wishes and 
C) The Cartoon Ones - the kids' favourites. The Bland Ones, however, had the best illustrations of wintery scenes with plenty of snow and snow-activities that we Children of the Tropics could only wonder about.

The Greetings Card industry would begin to intrude upon available road-side space at regular intervals, in the form of makeshift stalls, by mid-November. It was a time when almost each household that I knew of had someone in the USA or Going to USA or Preparing to go (to the USA). There were other parts of the world, like England, that had already been colonised by relations. Then there were places like Japan and Australia where people hardly went and lost contact if they did. The Middle-East (in the context of my own experience) was passe. Asia was India. South America and Africa were like Antartica - places on the map where no one went. The GC industry understood all this - and the fact that it would take considerable time for postal delivery across the seven seas - and solved the issue by opening shop well in advance. A visit to a stall was quite like a visit to some art gallery; they had so many varieties and assorted sizes- but they all fell into three economic categories - small, medium and large. We had great fun trying to find the right card for the person in mind and it was curious how we sometimes had two or three choices, each backed by a supporter, for the same person. 

After the cards were addressed, it was my job to paste the stamps and post the envelopes. I had a Happiness ratio arrived at by dividing the number of cards received by number of cards sent, and the higher the figure, the Happier the New Year.

The best ones to be sent, in my consideration, were to people in the armed services. You just wrote : To, so-and-so, c/o 56 APO. That's it. It would reach even without postage stamp, which the govt would grudgingly bear for the sake of it's soldiers. Later, when I was at the receiving end of such postages in the Air Force, I had this quiet satisfaction knowing I was simply c/o 99 APO.

After they were dismantled, I would store them up safely, for they were very handy on occasion. Those were the days when people visited you with their entire retinue, including the fidgety girl and the cantankerous brat. After a while, they would be handed over to me (as I was the eldest) for baby-sitting, while the elders talked endlessly over tea and biscuits. I had found it easy to manage even certain difficult types by innovating some kind of game with these New Year greeting cards. You can't do that with kids anymore. Not only are there no paper cards around for playing games with, but, also, there are no kids who would play with paper cards. And they would rather do other stuff with the cellphone than rummage through the inbox and spam mails for any New Year wishes. The days of the Greeting Card are well and truly over. One gets this neglected feeling that is not assuaged by noticing them on the cellphone notifications.  

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Interlude:

This article was not about New Year cards although it drifted there. It was about making Much Ado about Nothing. However, New Year cards did stand up as a symbol of our transit from the old year to a brand new one. And the emotions and feelings it conjured in individuals was varied in range and content. That's the focus of this article - What makes it such a special occasion?

Today is 31st Aug 2017.

My 50th birthday. It is a day in my lifetime that can be easily defined or referred to. It has an independent entity to it. It becomes so important that I could easily be blamed for spoiling it, if I'm not extra careful in avoiding the usual pitfalls that spoil any day. And, although only a few knew about me the day I was born, there are now so many around the world wishing me since yesterday that I have trouble fishing for the right word to say that it is no big deal.

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                                                              Part-!!

So, I have decided to bring the first part to it's conclusion by saying that the second part is just an extension of the first. A year measured from Jan to Dec, or from b'day to b'day, is still a year. But the transition from one year to the next is always in a single day. and nothing changes on D-Day minus 1.

But, just as in January, we must go through the ritual of wishing birthday boys and girls and making them feel that the world would have spun differently without their eccentricity to balance it.

So, are birthday celebrations necessary? Yes, as much as the birth was. Otherwise, you don't have a reference in time and things wont work well for you in the carefully administered world we live in. You are reminded of all the nice things that you have done, undone or never done. 

However, birthdays differ in their scope to excite people beyond the predetermined limit of one day. These days, what with modern technologies in time perception, that limit is strictly implemented from one midnight to the next. Whereas, the New Year fervour stays on for up to a month (as brought out earlier).

That is probably the best thing about a birthday. You can safely expect it to go away the next day. Why is it so bad? It isn't, when you are with friends who know your true value and the quantum of your worthlessness. Or, if you are convinced about your own greatness and worth. But, if you are introspecting and mentally visiting a few areas in the past which could have been better handled, you might not be amused if a horde descends upon you at office with a measly bouquet from the main lobby and keeps up the cheers until they have been sated with a dose of tea and biscuits. After all, you feel you have been made to pay for for an unworthy cause.

Indians have devised a method to beat this danger. They have multiple birthdays. The Official Birthday is the one in your office records and all other records. It is so ubiquitous that it inspires no excitement. It is the most convenient excuse to hide behind; after all, would you host parties out of occasion? I get a load of messages on a certain day of Feb, mostly from people who take my money for something or the other. These can be happily ignored with no twinges in the conscience. In fact, most Official birthdays in our time were different from the real ones because every parent did their own calculation on how the child's future career would benefit with a deft change in date. So much so, that in one school, the father of one student was hauled up by the Headmaster and asked how he had furnished a birth date that preceded his marriage date!

The other way out is to quote your lunar calendar 'tithi' as your celebration day. You can say a line like,"We always follow 'tithi's" and he who disbelieves is deemed unholy. 

Birthdays are also essential in calculating all age-related things like waist size and insurance premium. 

But, notwithstanding my acerbic views on the subject, birthdays are important milestones for most. For one, it requires absolutely no skill, effort or technique to get from one birthday to the next. People in solitary confinement do it as effectively as the hard-working, ever-struggling family man. In fact, unless you are up in the graveyard shift, waiting for it to occur like some celestial phenomenon, if happens automatically while you sleep. You are 49.999 tonight and you wake up as 50 point negligible with a Golden Glow. Therefore, most people celebrate the day and party at night simply because, if left unattended, the occasion merely passes on into the next day and you have missed the bus. You have lost your time in the lime light and that is not going to arrive for another year unless you struggle and achieve something else for the same attention. 

For the powerful, rich and famous, it is the obvious occasion to show case their social growth curve and underline their current status, to invite and hobnob with the Who's Who and to work out the What Next?! There is a parallel world of food, beverages (both alcoholic and otherwise) and entertainment that caters to these celebrations. Birthdays are serious business for many entrepreneurs and probably the introductory platform for starlets to convert to stars. But that is neither here nor there. 

Simply put, birthdays are nothing but a collective state of mind. It is something remembered by all who matter in your life, including yourself, with the onus on yourself to make the best of it, and end up celebrating what till yesterday was an average year 

Birthdays are Karmic. They are fun in the right company. They are a drain on the budget. And they are as significant as a National Holiday, and quite as iconic at a personal level.

Despite people like me, happy new years and birthdays are here to stay.