Travel woes or How I survived yet another flight without taking the law into my own twitching hands

There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who don’t have to travel regularly on work… and those blighted traumatized wilted scarred souls who do. To identify a member of the latter category one needs to do the following:
1. Pick target human being to be classified
2. Pick one child under the age of two-and-a-half feet
3. Take such child and bring within a 100 yard radius of target human being
4. If target human belongs to the former category, one notices smiling, purring, cooing and occasional babytalk interspersed with copious amounts of ‘aaaawwwwww’.
5. If target human is an unfortunate member of the latter category, one notices an instant furrowing of eyebrows, pursing of lips, hoarsening of breath, occasional swearing and the unmistakable glint of bloody-murder in one eye.
6. Remove such child quickly from the scene for the well being of all concerned.

It’s not my intention here to diss children… or parents. But believe me. There’s nothing worse than being on a delayed plane- for four hours at a stretch- crumpled into a seat too small for mankind- without much sleep the previous night- with screaming child who swallowed the microphone in seat behind you. Mmmm… that is a little harsh. There are worse things, I suppose… like being boiled in hell’s oil… or slow death by tickling… or sitting on same plane for four hours with screaming, kicking child who swallowed the microphone, in seat behind you.

It’s not that I don’t like children. Au contraire, I luv 'em. Just keep the li’l bastards off enclosed spaces where other human beings have to live for stretches of time longer than 60 seconds. I understand that there are instances when children have to be transported over long distances. For this very purpose, I propose “kindergarten flights” - separate air carriers for carrying children. That, in my opinion, would be a fair and just situation- a battle of equals, if you will- where all concerned can bawl and scream and kick and drool to their hearts content. Compare this to the gross unfairness of today’s flight set up. If I resorted to any of the above mentioned activities in sheer self-defense or retaliation, I’m positive I would instantly be given the boot… shown the door… flung into the outer darkness. This new solution, I believe, is a vast improvement over my previous proposal, which was to transport the dear ones in specially built trappings (I wouldn’t ever call them cages, but you get the idea) along with the cargo… just as you would poodles, Chihuahuas, felines and other equally adored creatures under three feet.

P.S. Rohan, Diya, Maya and that golden haired boy sitting across the aisle from me from whom i could not so much as hear a pip throughout the journey are all exempt, although all of them are under three feet.

P.S. 2. This picture is for you, Krix- the intrepid fighter pilot a.k.a Blogpest

Teething problems

I have issues. I can see some of you out there nodding sagely muttering 'told ya so'. But this is different. I have teeth issues. I'm productively spending every waking moment these days obsessing over my dental problems. I wonder if I'm going to have any teeth left by age 33. I regret all those candies stolen from my baby brother. I am shopping for dentists practically all the time. (Do you know a good one?) I browse the net for symptoms of dental issues in the meanwhile, and it feels like I'm suffering from practically all dental problems possible... including teething. Apparently "Signs of teething may include Poor mood, Loss of appetite, Chewing of objects, Bruises/swelling in gums, Excess salivation, Slight fever". And I have all of these symptoms. Okay... maybe not the slight fever. And granted I don't show any 'loss of appetite'. But I have all the other symptoms. I swear!

N'oublie pas

For better or for worse, Paris to me is inextricably bound with the movie, 'Before Sunset'. I watched it a few weeks before we left for Paris. I remember really liking the film, but it wasn't like an earth-shaking life-altering experience for me.

And then about a week after we'd left from Paris, on the journey from Madrid to Cordoba, the movie was being played on the train... in Spanish. This time, it felt different. I knew all the dialogues; in fact, I didn't need to listen to the dialogues. That lump in the throat, that tug at the heart strings, that faith, that romance that I couldn't summon when I was watching the movie at home- I found all that while watching the film on a moving train... in mute. That's when I got it. The movie wasn't about those two people; it was about those two people... in Paris.

You need to be an adventurer or a romantic at heart (aren't they both the same?) to fall in love with Paris. Seeing the Eiffel or the Louvre or the Chateau de Versailles couldn't do it for me. But walking up to the Notre Dame in the cool breeze of the early morning, I suddenly felt the incredible sense of romance that is Paris. It is that moment that comes in every relationship, when you can chose what this will mean to you. It's a decision that is based on whether you like who you are in that relationship. And I must have really liked who I was in Paris; I distinctly remember thinking then that I would give anything to live in this city awhile.

Before Barcelona, there was Paris

May 7 2005
Day One

I know I should not put down on paper my first impressions of Paris. But just between you and me, here’s exactly how I felt when I got my first good look at the city of lights: “Whaddever!” (Roll the ‘r’, and repeat to fade)

It was probably because the hotel we had booked on price-line was in a god-forsaken end of the city, and we traveled a whole hour on the metro getting there. Mind you, this does not include the 20 minute trudge, heavy back pack and all, to the hotel from the metro station. Whatever the reason, I am probably one of the few who can not claim to have fallen in love with the city at first sight. Love didn’t happen until much later… on Day 3.

Having thus quickly redeemed myself in your eyes, I’ll continue with the uneventful sequence of activities on day one.

6pm or some time thereabouts: Check into L’Hotel Sofitel. Flung into the outer reaches of Paris with nothing other than McDonalds in its vicinity. This McDonalds is to figure heavily in our meal plans in the next 3 days, but we didn’t know it yet.
6:05pm or some time thereabouts: Disappointed with hotel room. Small room with no personality. No iron or ironing board. We will find out later that this handicap pans Europe. You realize at this juncture that this blog will be filled with sweeping generalizations and opinions masquerading as facts.
8:00pm: Leave hotel to visit La Tour Eiffel. Very kicked that we have already figured out the metro.
9:00pm: Done seeing La Tour Eiffel, flickering lights and all. We are too late to take any of the boat rides on the Seine. Highlight of the evening is the egg and cheese crepes we ate in a roadside stall. Thank you, Kanna! We start walking to Champs Elysees. From the map, Ganyamanya figures it’s not very far.
9:45pm or so: Turns out it IS far!
11:00pm: Arc de Triomphe. Check.
Walking on Champs Elysees. Check.
Coffee on Champs Elysees. Expensive Check.
There was a show on Champs Elysees about seating, particularly car seats. Fascinating, except for the fact that all the documentation was in French.
Talking about seating, there was something extremely interesting about Paris, and at the time I thought it was unique to the Champs Elysees. A healthy number of coffee shops pepper the streetscapes in Paris. And in all of these coffee shops, all of the seating… I mean ALL… face the street. (Did we already have a chat about my propensity for sweeping generalizations?) So there’d be a table, and you’d have three or four chairs around it, but they would ALL be facing the street. It feels funny walking down the road and having a family of four all sitting in a straight line staring at you. All the world’s a stage, I say!
12:00am: On the metro, Sofitel bound.

Spanglish

No. I'm not talking about the movie here. I was just thinking back to the time ganyamanya and I spent in tantalizingly colourful, guttural, spectacular, spirited Spain. And we managed to get by with un poco de Castellano and muchos Ingles! Long live globalization! Or maybe not. Because the things I most enjoyed about Spain were the elements untouched by American cultural colonization- the crowded streets, the random traffic, how everything shuts down in the afternoon for siesta, the amazing night life and the tremendous feeling of community that permeates everything Spanish.

It might be a good idea to start at the beginning.
First stop in Spain: Barcelona
We arrive at the airport and head to baggage claim to pick up our back packs. Oh.... did i tell you about our back packs- our incredibly cool back packs- the very first that i've ever owned- and mine is better than ganyamanya's- you can see mine here- http://www.rei.com/online/store/ProductDisplay?productId=47690734&storeId=8000&catalogId=40000008000&langId=-1&color=SAPPHIRE/BLACK&img=/media/705784_4742Lrg.jpg&view=large&vcat=REI_SEARCH - no! i'm not getting a commission from REI- and NO! i don't have A.D.D.!. Anyways, where was i???... haan... so we get to baggage claim and there were 15 or so boys (they were old enough to be men... but Spanish men will always be boys, just like French women will always be girls) playing futbol while waiting for their luggage. And they were playing serious and rough... in an airport... like it was the most normal thing to do in airports. I knew then that we were definitely in Spain!

The first three days in Barcelona I spent with clients and company people. So nothing to report there. I think ganyamanya had fun roaming the streets by himself- would've earned himself a few brownie points by telling me that he got bored without me, but no, that was not destined for him.

There are just 3 things to know about Barcelona: La Rambla, FCB and Antoni Gaudi.
Thing no.1: La Rambla is a centrally located pedestrian thoroughfare with lots of roadside shops, peddlers, live statues, performers, passersby and tourists. This is where ganyamanya spent most of his time when i was working hard at the conference. Once I was done with that shit, we spent time at la rambla- with lots of paella and sangria.
Thing no.2: FCB is the barcelonian equivalents of God. On the night before we left from Barcelona, FCB won the Spanish league after 5 years. And I have never seen so many people with so many beer cans on the streets before or after. Everyone in Barcelona was out on the streets, in cars or on their feet or as the night wore on, on all fours. Honking started at about 11pm at night and went on until 5 am in the morning. Anthems were being sung, shop fronts were being attacked, beer was being consumed and thrown up - a martian visitor would've thought this to be a strange tribe indeed... with blue and red striped exoskeletons and cans/bottles attached at the end of one of their limbs and a smouldering, smoking white pipe attached at the end of another.
On to Thing no.3: Antoni Gaudi is at the heart of all tourism in Barcelona. If you don't like Gaudi, pack up your bags and leave right away. Cause if you stay, you will probably start liking him. I remember being in shool and feeling that la Sagrada Familia was the strangest architectural work I had ever seen. Once you visit his buildings and read about his architectural philosophies and his commitment to his work, you just cannot feel the same way. One of the nicest afternoons in the entire trip was the time we sat in a small streetside restaurant facing the Sagrada Familia, sipping sangria and just looking at the incomplete church.

More about the Spain trip on my next post. I just realized that my blogs are a chronological nightmare. And if you have a problem with that, all I have to say is "You’ve got a nasty mancha on your camiseta".

p.s. I have no idea what that means.

Sound prints on the sands of time

I love Spanish, although I don't I understand the language. Try saying Pablo Neruda. The 'b' exists... and it doesn't! Love it!
Love the sound of water- running, gurgling, babbling, roaring, pittering, pattering, gushing, hissing...i can go on.
Love kid's voices- chokes me up, sometimes.
Love hearing ganyamanya swear in hindi... except when he's behind the wheel, that is.
Love long phone conversations.
Love the sound of heart beat, corny though it may sound.
Love poetry, when its read out.

What I mean to say is, don't mean to play favourites, but I might finally have an idea as to which of my senses I would abso-fucking-lutely hate to live without. So while I have cheerfully signed off my organs in the event of death, I secretly hope that no-one desperately needs ears or eardrums at around that time.