Site metered

What is common to (not an exhaustive list: The implied humor in this statement will be clear when you see the third item in this list)

1. Lekha Washington IPL cheerleader,
2. Lekha Washington cleavage,
3. Udups IIMB,
4. Gujarati Seven habits of highly effective people,
5. Manchester Unido, and
(last but not the least) 6. Atulya Bharadwaj

Very little, one may be tempted to say.

But no, these are some of the recent Google searches which resulted in people chancing upon this blog. The reason I know these useless snippets of knowledge is that I recently added sitemeter to the blog, and its mildly kick-inducing.

So my response to
1 & 2. Naughty, naughty. Sorry to disappoint you, I don't presume you found what you were looking for, but there are kids here. Shoo, go away.
3. Maybe Udups of IIMB needs to get his own blog, google searches for the aforementioned person for some reason seem to be coming to this humble blog. And this is not an exhaustive list.
4. I have no idea how this happened, and I must apologize on behalf of Google for this web searching peccadillo, though I claim no responsibility for their actions. But "kem cho, maja ma?" to you and "Mane gujarati nathi avadthi".
5. To the lads from Coimbra, Viga, La Coruña and Rabat who found this blog through the above search, "Yo soy "fan" de Manchester Unido, mas perdone, yo no hablo Portuguese".
6. And just what were you thinking? Googling for "Atulya Bharadwaj", eh? You have way too much free time surfing the net. Well, I am famous, it seems.

Mumbai- part 42, and modern art

This post is a tribute to a truly great piece of modern art. Specifically I believe this modern art piece comes under the neo-Calvinist, neo-Daliesque, post-modernist sub-genre of art. Its also probably the largest piece of modern art in the world. Possibly also the largest artwork in the world.

This wondrous artwork I am referring to, of course is Mumbai airport terminal 1A.

Let me explain.

I never was a fan of modern art. Still am not. In fact, I thoroughly despise any form of modern art, and I look suspiciously upon any artwork post 1600 AD. The only 2 genre-specific modern art museums in the world I have been to are and Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía in Madrid and Tate Modern in London. In the former, I got ticked off by the security guard for attempting to sit on a sofa which I thought was kept for the benefit of the tired and gawking touristic public. It turns out the sofa itself was the centerpiece of the art display. In the latter, I was too scared to use the loos. Who knows, maybe those were the "works of art" on display.

As always I digress. So what do a loo in London, M F Hussain and a sofa in Madrid have in common. Actually, nothing. So let me come back to my point. Terminal 1A in Mumbai airport. Now one thing the discerning reader here would know of is the various types of Mumbaiyyas. Now usually, anyone who falls in category five or above in the hierarchy actually believes (among other things), that Mumbai is the cleanest, safest, most orderly city in the world with excellent infrastructure, excellent weather and with the most beautiful beaches, most helpful people and most athletic monkeys in the world. Ok, maybe exaggerated a bit on the last one, but you get the drift. The "amongst other things" in the aforementioned sentence includes (amongst other things) a belief that CSIA (not to be confused with CSKA Moscow) has merits over all other airports in the world.. and including some in other worlds *

Now, like most stage 7 beliefs, that is a completely erroneous one. Even if you only count the just inaugurated terminal 1B, it is still nothing compared to Hyderabad airport (not having seen BIAL yet, let me not comment on that). Terminal 1A on the other hand, is only narrowly edged out by Dadar station as being the worst inter-city transport hub in Mumbai.

Let me explain. When I go to an airport, I expect to see check-in counters, runways, restaurants and above all, Kingfisher airlines air hostesses. And some airplanes too The Mumbai terminal 1A differs slightly in this respect, in that most of the airport is made up of scaffolding, welders and falling cement. The last time I was there, I erroneously thought I wasn't at an airport, but was at a construction site (apparently here, they both mean the same), I apologized to the several masons upon whose space I seem to have invaded. I was on the other hand, ushered to the baggage X-ray which ominously stood out in midst of the debris.

Just how long have I been away from this city I wondered, that such calamity had befallen upon this city and I had not even realized. Three weeks was the answer. I looked about for an explanation. I found one in a board marked "Sorry for the inconvenience". My thoughts were interrupted by a large truck-trolley carrying large construction grade iron bars. Just as I wondered "How the hell do they get these inside an airport" did I see the giant construction crane, the kind which invariably plays a part in the climax of Schwarzaneggar or Die Hard movies too, fitting snugly inside the airport. Now if they could fit that inside an airport, God knows, maybe they'll try fit in an airplane next.

I made my way past the bags of cement, tripping past the iron rods in a motion that was markedly similar to Diego Maradona, Mexico 1986. Except I didn't have Peter Shilton to beat, and I wasn't Diego Maradona. I sighted a construction outpost, the kind used to make "Baby's Day Out" funny in the second half. I got there and asked the construction workers there (who for some strange reason were all wearing Indian Airlines uniforms), "Where is the check in counter?". I was solemnly told that I was actually at the check-in counter.

After being told that my flight was four hours late, that I couldn't check in right now, couldn't eat (since construction sites don't have restaurants, d-uh), couldn't leave the airport, couldn't sit down (since there wasn't any sitting place), I pushed my luck and asked if there was a loo in the vicinity. I was told to go till the end of the wall, and then find the loo beyond the scaffolding under the construction crane in a place where cement may be falling from the roof with welding sparks flying all around. (The only thing missing was a sign saying "Beware of the tiger"**). I tried to follow her advice. Except that in the spot where I was told to find a wall, there was merely a building frame and lots of construction material. After narrowly averting death from all the falling iron rods, I reached a place which vaguely resembled a garbage dump. There were 2 of them in fact, one which had "ladies" written outside it, and the other with "gents" written outside it.

A philistine might have dismissed the entire experience, cursed Mumbai airport, and probably blogged about it. Not me. I instantly realized how this was actually a brilliant piece of modern art masquerading as an airport. It surely was more artistic than Yoko Ono's apple in the middle of the room. Now then again, in the 2 modern art museums, I did have difficulty differentiating the exhibits from the other stuff, so maybe here I was off the mark.

But surely this had to be a modern art masterpiece. I mean, nothing else explains the sheer brilliance of the chiaroscuro, facade, sepia tones, and other artistic words which don't mean anything sensible in this context. Suggesting that the Mumbai airport was like a bad airport was like suggesting that the Bangalore Royal Challengers were like Deccan Chargers. I silently wondered at the creativity of the museum curator who chose to convert the entire airport into a modern art museum. Future generations will revere this masterpiece. No wonder this city's inhabitants think that this airport befits the city it serves.

I believe they should charge admission fees to enter this museum. In fact, I think they already do. Its called 'fuel surcharge' or something.

Sigh. Hyderabad and Bangalore aren't the only cities which needed a proper airport

* Credits to Muggesh for that one
** Douglas Adams. D-uh

Yet another dose of imagery

I'd rate this as one of the best photos I have taken in recent times. (Recent times meaning since March- before which I had a fine photographic run).

As is perfectly obvious, its in black and white. Which makes the south bank look even more grimy and intimidating than it is. I'd imagine that if Dickens' works came with illustrations, this one picture wouldn't be all that out of place there. London's (frequent) gray, wet, rainy days provide ample opportunities for good black and white photos, and I (and the S3IS) have duly risen to the occasion.

The vantage point from where the photograph has been taken is the very top of St. Paul's cathedral (530 steps up). The view is of the south bank of London with the (hugely controversial) Millennium bridge occupying most of the foreground. The large power plant like structure is Tate Modern museum, and not unsurprisingly, was a power plant once.

Technical information (for those who can understand it)
Tv 1/500, f8, ISO 200, Cloudy white balance. 1/500 intentionally used to give the unnaturally dark feel. Whereabouts of 1/200 would have done just fine. f8 is the largest DOF my camera offers. Given the low light, my camera's metering was insisting on f3.5 otherwise. ISO 200 is my preferred ISO setting regardless of time of day.

Hopefully, more coming your way soon.

PS: And oh, as is always the case, no digital modifications or cropping whatsoever

The Jaguar guy

Yep, that's what I am now. The Jaguar guy. Any conversation with a stranger here (especially Brit), when it veers towards what I am doing in London, and any mention of Tata invariably becomes "oh you work for the Jaguar Land Rover company". Of course, I am more than glad to acquiesce. Explaining what I do for a living is a lot harder otherwise.

Examples of people who have made me the "Jaguar guy" include the immigration person who stamped my passport in Heathrow airport, a BBC reporter who was living in the same place in London, a tourist guide in Loch Ness, among others. Strangely, no mention is made of Corus. No one even seems to have heard of it (at least its acquisition).

So, the Jaguar guy it is then. It might just be the most effective $ 2.3 billion advertising spend ever.

Home side ?

After following the English Premier League for some 13 years now, it appears that I finally have a real "home" team. Now if home team is defined as situated closest geographically, my home team is (grimaces) Chelsea.

Based on office location, the "home" English side is definitely Chelsea, Stamford Bridge being barely 2 KM away. But based on residential location, it could be either of Chelsea or Queens Park Rangers. Google maps has been inconclusive in determining which of QPR and Chelsea are my "home team". If the discussion is restricted to Premiership sides, then undoubtedly, Chelsea is still the "home side", even from residence point of view.

Which brings me to what I was trying to say- Chelsea being my new found "home team" has only heightened my dislike of Chelsea further. Nothing against the locality (I'd love to live there actually, but more like a heightened dislike of the football club).

But oh yes, there is a limit to the number of times you can open your daily newspaper (tabloid, rather) and see Avram Grump's face staring back at you. Also, in spite of being one of the pseudest areas in London, a constant whine in the papers is how expensive the fans are going to find it to travel to Moscow. Makes you wonder where all those billions (the owners as well as the fans') go.

Come Sunday afternoon, I'd love to be smirking outside Stamford Bridge.

PS: A lot of pubs in London ban football colors being worn for obvious reasons. Just as well I propose. If results on Sunday go as hoped for (also as expected), I wouldn't make my way out of any Chelsea pub alive.

The annual Haggis hunt

Culinary and Scottish are not usually words usually uttered in the same breath. In fact, they are probably not even uttered in the same lifetime, from what one usually hears of Scottish cuisine. The usual excuse offered is "After all that Scotch, it barely matters what you eat".
(Hint: Scottish cuisine is usually considered amongst the least palatable in the world, in case you were wondering what I was going on about).

For one, there's haggis. Not recommended for the faint hearted. I mean, even reading the page, leave alone actually eating it. Yours truly had different ideas. In fact, pretty much the first thing I did upon descending in Edinburgh was to try out the aforementioned dish. I must say it tastes far better than its description. So much so that I just had to have it again before leaving.

Read the description at your own risk. But I must insist again that it tastes far better than it sounds.

On a less gross note, there is Elephant House. And no, it doesn't serve elephants. In fact, it serves baked potatoes, bagels and good ol' Scottish ale (which is what the almost empty glass is).

But its greater claim to fame (than serving baked potatoes) is the fact that this is the cafe JK Rowling first got to work on her now somewhat famous 7 part series (duh). Quite predictably, the place is awash with American tourists and their cameras. Let that not take away attention from the fact that this is probably the nicest eating joint I have encountered in Great Britain so far.

PS: The title of the post is not completely far removed from its contents. In fact, it is a regular prank played on unsuspecting American tourists (probably the kind who flock to Elephant House with their cameras)

Overheard at a...

This post in its entirety is a replay of a dialogue I overheard on a bus journey last night from Edinburgh to London, and has been reproduced to the best of my memory (which is bloody good anyways).

Fact as they say is funnier than fiction, and with a real life story like this, who needs to make up stories to create entertaining blog posts.

The two characters in question are:
YESLKFC: Young enthusiastic Scottish lad, keen for conversation. Actually lets just call him S.
IHTCWCSTMEIPHEAITGLMIILBTSDEHESOLA: Indian HT character who can't speak too much English, I presume he is an IT guy like most Indians in London, but that still doesn't explain his English skills (or lack of). Actually let's just call him I.

S: Aye, you fr'm India, aye?
I: Yes yes, Indian.
S: Alw'ys want'd t' go t' India. 'ow long it takes f'r a floight from Britain t' India?
I: Yes, yes, Indian, Indian, from India.
S: Nay, I me'nt, f'r a floight fr'm Brit'n to India, 'ow many 'ours it takes?
I: Oh flight you are meaning, Seven averse I think for a direct flight.
S: Se'en 'ours you mean ?
I: Yes, seven averse.
S: Th't's it ? I thought it takes fi'teen 'ours to Hong Kong, 'ow 's India only se'en 'ours away ?
I: (Thinks) maybe it is being because of the time difference between India and Hong Kong that flight to Hong Kong is being take longer time.
S: (Bewildered) Th't's 'ow the time works, aye?
I: Yes, seven averse for direct flight.
S: (Confused) Toime diff'r'nce between Brit'n n' Hong Kong is se'en 'ours, what is the toime diff'r'nce between Brit'n n' India?
I: I told you, seven averse for direct flight.
S: 'ts the same ?? Se'en 'ours ?
I: Seven averse, direct flight.
S: Th'n why 's Hong Kong fifte'n 'ours?
I: I am not knowing, maybe it is being daylight saving time ? But seven averse for direct flight.

S: (bewildered): Ori'te, forget that, tell me 'ow much you paid for the ticket fr'm Lond'n t' Eydinbra ?
I: To Edinburgg?
S: Aye, I mean Edinbura.
I: Twelve pounds it is being for me ticket.
S: Th't 's it ? F'r a ret'rn tick't ?
I: Yes, twelve pounds to return, but I had to come here first to return, no ?
S: I me'nt a ret'rn ticket, aye.
I: Yes, I am being return to London, no bhai ?
S: So twelve pounds on' way, twenty four return tick't, roight ?
I: No, twelve pounds to come, twelve pounds to return. Twenty four for total.
S: Th't 's what I said !
I: You are confusing me.
S: What toime did you book the tick'ts ?
I: The time is being 10:45, bus is 15 minutes late.
S: No, I meant when you book'd the tick'ts ?
I: Tomorrow morning at 7:30 it reach London.
S: See, I book 2 weeks ago. I pay 21. When you book to pay 12 ?
I: Seven averse, direct flight.
S:(Speechless)

I wonder why S chose to spend the rest of the journey listening to his iPod with no further part to play in any conversation.

London calling

London called already actually.

Called a week back actually.

And Monkee has taken to London like the Scarabaeinae takes to dung.

And while the past one week has been spent indulging on the usual stuff one indulges in London- such as acting very touristy in Whitehall & Piccadily, crossing Abbey Road, acting very touristy in Westminster & the Tower Bridge, London pubs, fish and chips, crossing Abbey Road, talking about the weather non-stop, and oh-did I mention, crossing Abbey Road, the one unexpected thing that I have taken to is London tabloids.

For one, they are free. For the other, they are available everywhere, anytime, whether you like them or not, and thrust in your hands/face/feet when you least expect it. And oh, did I mention, they are free.

For more, the quality of journalism, while not exactly Pulitzer level, is surely better than I expected. Well, it is surely better than The Times of India, for instance. Actually it is unfair to call TOI a tabloid in a belittling way since the tabloids are actually substantially better. Well, there is a mammoth sports section, an equally mammoth weather section (London is in England, remember), lots of local news, and at least an attempt at putting business and other stuff. (Again, that's more than I can say for TOI). In fact, the same football articles which appear in the tabloids are also the ones you'd read in espnstar or soccernet, which I'd follow anyways.

And yes, did I mention, they're free. Who in Legoland is going to spend GBP 0.5 to 1.5 on a newspaper? Not me for one, at London prices.

Till next time, Right ho, tic toc and dreadful weather