Common man and the street protests

Common man was having the time of his life. He was actually. For one, it is a less clichéd opening line for a blog post than "It was a dark and stormy night", but cliché nonetheless.

So, he was having the time of his life. Normally, "work" and "time of his life" wouldn't even feature in the same postal code, but unusually here, this "time of his life" was directly linked with his 'work' (sic). Sure, common man didn't have a hot secretary nor did he have a bunch of minions saying "yes master" every time he passed by at the workplace, but a junket cum sinecure in the hallowed environs of central London was a far better substitute.

Common man did everything a good tourist should do in central London. He crossed Abbey Road, then he crossed Abbey Road again, waltzed past the Tower Bridge, polkaed past Big Ben, troikaed past Buckingham Palace, flamencoed past Hyde Park, and then, crossed Abbey Road yet again. The fact that common man couldn't actually dance his way out of Funky Town is only yet another issue.

This post, however, is not about any of the above.

Meanwhile, Common man stared out of the window of the top decker of the red bus he was traveling in. Even allowing for his somewhat poor eyesight, common man chanced upon something he only chances upon too often.

An obstacle in the form of a large public demonstration was hindering his (bus') path forward.

Now Common man had a way with these. From Naxalbari to Rome, from Jakarta to Glasgow, and other such places where his travels took him, common man always ran into these protests/demonstrations. He had no idea how these demonstrations followed him wherever he went, or whether he was the one unconsciously following them in the first place. In fact, it is now acknowledged that the "jester in the sidelines in a cast" was referring to Common Man and not Bob Dylan, as popularly believed.

Either way, the very reason he was christened "Common man" was owing to his remarkable similarities with the eponymous RK Laxman character.

And here it was again. His London trip was punctuated by yet another of those street protests. And there were not one, not two but three protests, all happening at once, in the little street that is Whitehall.

The first protest was on behalf of the Armenians against the Turks, or vice versa, Common man wasn't sure. In fact, neither were the protesters. One was the usual mandatory weekly protest against the mayor. And the last one intriguingly was by the Sikh community, and Common man couldn't quite make out over the din what they were protesting.

Two things stood out in the above scene in Common man's mind. One was a bunch of protesters who were taking some time out of the whole protest thing and sharing a bunch of beers sitting down in the street, in true hippy style. And the incredible thing, going by the placards they carried, was that they were all there for different protests. He couldn't quite imagine whether a bunch of random people had just met up in different protests here, or if a bunch of people came to protest for the heck of it, and all joined different ones.

Either way, Common man imagined that their conversation would be something like this.
A: Awfully sorry to bother you ol' chap, but which protest are you here for ?
B: The Mayor one, mate. And terrible weather.
A: Or'rite. I did the Mayor one last week, so I decided to do the Turk/Armenian one this week.
B: Right ho ol' chap. So are the Turks protesting against the Armenians, or is it the other way round ?
A: I don't know mate. The Turks are busy settin' up Doner Kebap shops to cash in on the opportunity, so I can't be bothered to ask them.
B: Arsenal lost again.

The other striking thing was the signboards being put up all over the place, starting a fortnight before, warning people that there would be some kind of disturbance to traffic at this day between this time and that time, and apologizing for the inconvenience caused and all that. Common man wondered where else in the world would the mayor of a city put up signs that the people of the city were taking out a protest against him, and apologize to the people for the inconvenience they (the people) themselves caused. And the people in turn take an appointment with the mayor to protest against him at that specific time!

Yes, London was truly an amazing place.

A day in the life...

You wouldn't think on seeing this innocuous picture just how many pop culture fires this zebra crossing stoked.

Its a rainy day as we speak, much like the day I waited in the lashing rain to get this picture without million Patel tourists on it. Though the drivers there were much kinder than those whose paths I crossed today, even if they have to drive their way past the most crossed zebra crossing in the world. Just thought I'd say.

As I said, its a rainy day

More 'you row' notes

Keeping in line with my quest to catch the Euro 2008 from various pubs across London, the Holland-Italy and Sweden-Greece matches were dutifully followed live. This achieves two purposes.
1) It sounds cooler in retrospect.
2) Since I don't have a TV at home, I don't have any other way to see it.

The Holland-Italy match was so good, it had to be fattening. This time for a change, I was less cheap and I actually ordered something in the pub. And also for a change, this was a highly partisan crowd I was part of. Apparently, orange wigs were outlawed at World Cup 2006 due to the fire hazard. But the way they scream "I am a Holland supporter" is rivaled only by the way being fat, loud, boorish and shorts-clad screams "I am an American tourist". If only my shocking orange Holland football shirt wasn't languishing in some closet in Bangalore, it'd have been put to good use now.

As for England's non-qualification (yes, more on that), the completely lackluster performances by Russia and Croatia have only further fueled the tabloids into a "If this is what we lost to, how pathetic must we be" spree. I can't imagine that lone figure who answers to the name Steve McLaren and is spewing his footballing wisdom in ITV radio will be having the time of his life.

Sadly now, for three consecutive days (Tuesday to today), the better game is the earlier kick-off, and I can't watch.

More as and when required.

IT's...

Owing to the runaway critical success of this post, I feel compelled to write a follow up post, or sequel if you may. Basically yet another narrative from London in the dialogue format. Except this one has 2 minor differences to the previous one.

1. I didn't overhear this conversation. In fact, I was 50% of the parties involved in the conversation.
2. This wasn't a one-off conversation. It has been replayed consistently over the weeks in London, and I would expect more of the same as long as I meet Indians here. And this "conversation" is a melange of several such conversations.

The 2 protagonists are
1. TASBABCWLISEWTITWTSPIHWSLIKEAJL: Talkative albeit slightly bored (and boring) conversationalist, whose life is so entrenched with the IT world that she probably introduces herself with something like "I know English and Java languages", or well, just 'X' for short. As you would expect, X is drawn from several real-life (and unnamed) characters. Allow for some artistic license on my part.
2. Me, or 'M' for short.

X: You are Indian?
M: Yeah.
X: Which of TCS/ CTS/ Infy/ Satyam/ Wipro do you work for ?
M: Huh?
X: (Trying different tactic) Where in India from?
M: Bangalore.
X: Haan Bangalore, then which technology? Which domain?
M: (Now understanding what X means) I am not a techie.
X: (with a look remniscent of Eric Cartman's look of disbelief in the episode 'Cartman-land' when he hears the security guard doesn't want to be paid in fun rides at the amusement park.) Means ?
M: I work, but not in IT.
X: Achha, you are here on holiday?
M: No, on work.
X: (thinks deeply) Where do you work?
M: Goodbye administrative services.
X: What do they do ?
M: (Wonders how is going to get out of this one. Especially when he still hasn't quite successfully explained what he does for a living to his family, how is he going to explain it to this person) Well, I do different projects for group companies. Sort of like consulting except that...
X: (Interrupting) Oh consultancy, so TCS?
M: Yes. I mean not exactly. Look, I am here on a 3 month project which...
X: (Interrupting again) Haan, project na. So which technology, which domain ?
M: No, it isn't an IT project.
X: Huh? Then?
M: More like managerial.
X: (Very confused) So what managerial work do you do?
M: (Intentionally sounding vague) There's some marketing involved, business development.
X: But if you are sent onsite, you have to be working for an IT company, no?
M: Not necessarily, I could have been doing a project for Tetley or Corus too.
X: Tetley? what technology, what domain are they in?
M: (Irritated) No, Tetley is not an IT company. Not all companies are IT companies you know.
X: (Very confused) Means ?
M: (Suddenly seems to find the view outside captivating)
X: You said consulting. Who are you working for here?
M: Names company.
X: A-ha. I knew you were an IT guy. So which technology? Which domain?
M: (Gets back to reading his London tabloid/ playing snake on his mobile/ Staring at the ceiling).

Talk of racial stereotyping. We Indians have successfully racially stereotypes ourselves.

Someone remind me why I left my first employer in 2005.

PS: The title "IT's..." is very similar to the first ever blog post "It's...". See this for more on Monty Python's longest running gag. Of course, the clever word play is my own

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.

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