Dilli. Quite crude in its people. Guys stare at women ever so leering. I am embarassed for my gender out there. What strange devices are pulling at them in the groin between eyes and brain?
Any woman they stare at!
The city has crazed drivers who drive like its a circus to chase the impossible dreams. Why? I have no idea. Is it the heat? The frustrations of no real outlets for expressions? Urban sprawl.
Great food. Greater people like Minni, Apurva and my sis in law Geeta and her daughter Nidhi. There were times in Dilli where I felt that this was so removed from all that I am now familiar with. Yet mornings as early as 5.30 and I was down from the 17th floor to walk the buildings and their lovely walabouts. Winding through the buildings and weaving in and out of lanes, these walks were sometimes tedious as the heat would be up like me and blazing hot by 6.30/7. Only older women--huge bodies wrapped like bales of hay in some green printed tent like material and rolling around gassing and farting up the place. Every time I walk past them there was a distinct smell of fart mixed with Obsession perfume. The mad traffic of Dilli and its absorption with trading left me wondering where and when will they realise to make it nea and orderly.
I went to chandni cowk by metro... did I tell you how good that is. It would be mindless travel by road of time and money and energy...and within minutes was at the gate 4 of Jama Masjid searching for brass. Sadly there was no interest in the shopkeeper to sell. The upstairs had been closed. The shop assistant looked miserable in the heat and the shop was next to a few others like it. I sauntered into them and quickly left as they had huge ugly modern pieces shiny ones made of brass that looked grotesque.
Then I made some chicken after a night of marination. It did taste better than usual except not so spicey.
Of course my night flkt from dilli was so so late that it felt like another lifetime spent in the hours that stretched like days. Music saved me with my Ipod.Nervous of Neena had become a kind of a body ailment like having a cold that doesnt leave you for weeks.
So I managed to get thru to say sorry for will reach wee hrs of morn.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
India
I suppose every individual who ever left his birth country has always travelled back to relive his memories. But as always there is need to express this by way of sheer power of words as in a poem.
The tires skidded on the runway and my heart soared at the excitement of the the next few weeks in India.
There was the heat. But in a few hours I had absorbed it all like a furnace. The rides into the hard brittle night into the depths of the city made my eyes moist. The sea link of like two arms flung across the seas sealing two ends of the island city was exhilirating and the one time the wond tore into me a much welcome relief.
As I moved into the days of gazing into the belly of the city from the upstairs of the flat I lived in it was noisy, high octane charged city. Makes toronto look sleepy eyed.
Friends and more friends. All willing to trek distances to host lunches,dinners and weekends stayovers. So rejuvenating.
My trip: In Chennai meeting my sis was something as good as I expected. She is so confident, and so distinguished...dare say as my sis and she must be intimidating at work. Thats the way bhujee! Her son Apajoo is an amazing guitar, singer and very chilled out
Then all the shopping and meeting my cosuin and his son wife and choochie daughter of 10! Amazing cook at 10!
Chennai promised to be hot and emotional with Chitti. It was. Thank god for Bhujee.
Kolkata made me cry with tears of happiness returning to the city of joy and my birth place. On earlier trip on work was rushed for a day so effectively I was returning after 1969--41 years later.
The hotel that didnt take me in was a blessing as thanks to ole connections got a flat within a min of New Market. Of course the streets are dismal. Years of communist rule have hacked and plundered the capitalism of the city. So called good rest are dhabbas. Victoria Memorial gardens is still spectacular. I walked every morn though one day stepped into horse dung and another dog shit. But theres the Tata Steel park in VM gardens. amazing oasis in the city.
Dhakuria lakes another fabulous set of lakes in the heart of the city. But no photography. Why?
I saw amma's last moments in periammas house from the ground floor.
Then Chandenagore. St Josephs school. Charming and beautiful and the grotto and chapel. Akll there.The banks of the river hooghly so beautifully layed out as the promenade.
Rishra and my birth place in Hindustan National Glass facory. Beautiful and tidy. Improved but changed.
Jadavpur is a mess. Couldnt see anything.
The tires skidded on the runway and my heart soared at the excitement of the the next few weeks in India.
There was the heat. But in a few hours I had absorbed it all like a furnace. The rides into the hard brittle night into the depths of the city made my eyes moist. The sea link of like two arms flung across the seas sealing two ends of the island city was exhilirating and the one time the wond tore into me a much welcome relief.
As I moved into the days of gazing into the belly of the city from the upstairs of the flat I lived in it was noisy, high octane charged city. Makes toronto look sleepy eyed.
Friends and more friends. All willing to trek distances to host lunches,dinners and weekends stayovers. So rejuvenating.
My trip: In Chennai meeting my sis was something as good as I expected. She is so confident, and so distinguished...dare say as my sis and she must be intimidating at work. Thats the way bhujee! Her son Apajoo is an amazing guitar, singer and very chilled out
Then all the shopping and meeting my cosuin and his son wife and choochie daughter of 10! Amazing cook at 10!
Chennai promised to be hot and emotional with Chitti. It was. Thank god for Bhujee.
Kolkata made me cry with tears of happiness returning to the city of joy and my birth place. On earlier trip on work was rushed for a day so effectively I was returning after 1969--41 years later.
The hotel that didnt take me in was a blessing as thanks to ole connections got a flat within a min of New Market. Of course the streets are dismal. Years of communist rule have hacked and plundered the capitalism of the city. So called good rest are dhabbas. Victoria Memorial gardens is still spectacular. I walked every morn though one day stepped into horse dung and another dog shit. But theres the Tata Steel park in VM gardens. amazing oasis in the city.
Dhakuria lakes another fabulous set of lakes in the heart of the city. But no photography. Why?
I saw amma's last moments in periammas house from the ground floor.
Then Chandenagore. St Josephs school. Charming and beautiful and the grotto and chapel. Akll there.The banks of the river hooghly so beautifully layed out as the promenade.
Rishra and my birth place in Hindustan National Glass facory. Beautiful and tidy. Improved but changed.
Jadavpur is a mess. Couldnt see anything.
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