holiday


The times – they are achanging 10

It’s been quite some time since I posted here. I am back in India and it’s already going to be a month, since I am back. (Though I would continue updating FinnTimes). A month back, I had mentally thought about a number of things that would be different after being used to a different life for 5.5 months. Finally I am listing them down.

– Finally I would be able to drive after a gap of 5.5 months!
– I would also get leered at, something which I had gotten quite unused to.
– Finally I would be able to make some sense of the conversation happening around me (mostly).
– On the other hand, I wouldn’t be able to throw all caution to the winds and talk freely in Hindi, assuming at the time that no one else understood it.
– I would be able to get my hair cut and not burn a 115 Euro deep hole in my pocket!
– There would be some fragrances in the air (good and bad both), instead of an odourless environment.
– Finally I would be able to create a noise or generally be loud, without feeling guilty about it.
– I wouldn’t be able to go out late at night or alone :(..sigh.
– No mid night sun either 🙁
– There would be lots of home cooked food. Ok, I was cooking myself, but at least I wouldn’t have to cook for a change.
– I can not expect maps, information booklets, brochures at my beck and call at every place I visit.. sigh.
– I need to get rid of the habit of leaving things lying around in public places and expecting them to still be there when I am not looking.
– No more pets in all public transport or escalators or shops!
– Unfortunately, the short period of not seeing animals/ppl splattered on roads, comes to an end.
– I would finally spend in Rupees and reverse-condition my mind to feel happy with the Rupee to Euro conversion. Oh, 100 bucks? That’s not even 2 euros! Imagine what all I can buy within that!
– I can now get away with not following timings, not being punctual etc. :p.
– I can indulge in some late night shopping!
– I am apprehensive about tackling crowds, places and events like Pragati Maidan Trade fairs, etc.
– No more imported fruits and veggies in my diet. Mere desh kee dhartee sona ugle or ugle taazi sabji.
– Finally I can use a gas stove/grill instead of a hot plate. Ah, the joys of cooking with an instant temperature control!
– I can not expect insurance to cover every damn thing on earth, including things like damage caused by me to someone else’s property!
– I would miss saying “thank you” in multiple languages (changing quite frequently at that). I surely have had to suppress the urge to automatically utter “Kittos”.
– I can finally go to a beauty parlour without the risk of coming out eye brow less.
– I can finally watch some theatre (and understand the language) or just soak in some cultural experience.
– No more exquisite cakes, pastries, muffins, confectionary items at my beck and call :(.
– No more tracking the Euro’s progress in order to transfer money online. (This would happen only after the final umbilical cord called “submitting tax in Finland” is cut).
– No more looking out for events that the Indian community in Finland would indulge in.
– No more calculation of a 3.5 hour offset with the timezone. It’s the reverse now, actually speaking, but on a much lesser frequency.
– No more broadband :(. No more 5 hour skype calls, no more googletalk :(. Well, it’s possible here technically, but so far it’s not there in my life.
– Getting used to an English keyboard after a Finnish keyboard is BOUND to be difficult (it has been so far).
– No more globe trotting/checking out new destinations on weekends :(. Am going to be a koop mandoop (Frog in a well) now.
– No more of a relaxed lifestyle..sigh.. life is in the fast lane here.
– No more blondes in the view, no more looking out for ppl who possess Indian looks, no more trying to be friendly to such ppl, no more of “all things Indian, standing out or leaping out at me” whether in print, radio or TV.
– No more of learning Finnish, by watching sub titles on TV. I am surely gonna miss that.
– No more Finnish songs on radio :(. Sigh…
– No more sauna.
– Finally I would have some house help for cleaning, washing utensils etc.
– Now I would have to start thinking about petrol prices, after not thinking abt them all this while.
– Finally no one would assume that I am Spanish, Greek, Russian, Iranian and what not, instead of Indian!
– Onset of marriage season! Oh boy! Regular traffic jams and invitations everyday.
– Finally I would get tuned in to the Indian movie scene and media. No, it’s really futile trying it all through streaming.
– No more Euro salary 🙁
– No more BIG moon or sunset and stars at the same time in the sky. 🙁

All said and done, it’s great being back on the mother ship.



Of snowflakes and quick breaks

I have been powdered over. As I walk back from office, I can see white swirls all over my hair.. the whole place has that bluish tinge. The night is not black any more. It’s blue. It’s started snowing since Monday. Sigh..I am more of a summers person. I don’t get all mushy when snow falls. It’s the snow that does. I don’t get all excited seeing everything only in white, forget black & white. I need colour. If I had to see white flakes, I would just look at my own reflection in the mirror sans moisturiser. I don’t need lessons in skiing. Every day is a new lesson in the art of balance. It pays to know your own centre of gravity and of course your weight. Plus that weight of the groceries. Plus that weight on your mind. But it does feel nice to imagine that now I have the freedom to build those unearthly snowmen like Calvin. In a span of 4 months, I have seen spring, summer, rains, autumn and now snow too. Wow.

Actually speaking snow does make me feel nice and lucky also. When it reminds me of a skimpily-clad-Sonam or a baring-it-all Kimi Katkar or even a I’m-still-in-south-India ‘Chandni’ aka Sridevi, braving the snow during their respective scenes. It also gives me a sense of “making a mark”. Somehow when I walk along those deserted roads, with those swirly things dancing in my hair, I start identifying with
“tum samein kee ret par, chhodte chalo nishan, chhodte chalo nishaan;
Dekhti tumhe zameen, dekhta hai asmaan, dekhta hai asmaan”.

It’s time for some “art of balance” and hence I am off to Switzerland for a quick trip. Wish you all a happy, colourful, sparkling, joyous, prosperous, safe and if you desire – snowy – Diwali!!!



A day in Gamla Stan (old town) 7

 
The next morning, by the time we woke up, we could see that we had already entered the archipelago of Sweden and the ship was just skirting around zillions of small little islands to reach Stockholm, the capital. After quickly freshening up, and grabbing a pizza slice yet again, we again rushed to the sun deck to catch a glimpse of the slightly different looking panorama. The buildings lookedApproaching Stockholm similar (to Finland) from a distance. As the port came closer, ppl rushed towards the exits. The cruise staff had taken pictures of everyone while entering the ship and had displayed them for ppl to make it theirs for an exhorbitant sum. Yet, we all indulged and took a copy each of the rather silly looking pictures because after all, one doesnt go to Stockholm on a cruise everyday. The large crowd did what was expected. Due to us being such a large no of ppl in the group (8), and each one being at a different location when the ship touched land, we all got separated for some time. Six of us managed to find each other outside at the Viking line terminal but two duds got so late, that we missed the bus tour which left from the terminal once a day. Eventually we took local transport (had already converted to local currency – Swedish Kronor – in Helsinki) to the city railway station. From there, we took an open top, double decker, hop on-hop off bus, the sorts that Shah Rukh Khan has crooned and kareened in, in many movies.
The open top, hop on-hop off bus
The plus point of these was that one could get off at any stop in between, visit the place and then hop on again into any of the later buses. It also had headphones for an individual audio tour in many languages, which gave a commentary about the various places being passed by. Thus, we passed by the cultural centre and Sweden house. We got down to see the famous Vasa Museum, which is a museum built around a ship. This ship was made in early 17th century and on the day of its maiden voyage, in all splendour, the ship sank, the moment it set sail (in 1628). A case of bad design it seems. The ship was salvaged in 1961 and a museum was built, after restoring the worlds only 17th century ship to what it would have looked like then. We were told that our exorbitant “hop on – hop off” bus ticket included free admission to almost all museums, but that was not the case. Thereafter the hop on – hop off bus got coined as the hop on, hop off and f**k off bus.
 
Eventually we checked out Vasa museum from outside. There was another museum nearby which we went to and then waited to hop on again, since we didnt have much time in Stockholm either. We passed by City hall, where the Nobel prize banquet is held every year, the opera and some theatres. We also passed by the open air museum (Skansen) and the amusement park – Grona Lund, where we were entitled to free rides (for sure this time). But since we didnt have time, we didn’t venture there. Next we got down at the Royal Palace, where we asked a rather stern looking guard when the “change of guard” would occur. Luckily we were just in time for that ceremony. We found some spots which provided a good view of the ceremony (yours truly being in front of a mob in full camerawoman style). The change of guard at the Royal PalaceThe “change of guard” was a typical formal, military affair and nice to watch. Immediately after the ceremony got over, the military band broke into ABBA’s “Dancing queen” much to our surprise! After the change of guard, the new guard at the entrance was a rather cute looking young chap, with whom yours truly got a picture clicked. Unfortunately he looked more like a stiff mannequin than a real human being. By the time we got free from this place, it was already past lunchtime and all of us wanted to grab some lunch. We again hopped on into the f**k off bus and got off at the stop no 9 (Sightseeing boats) and went to the Central station once more (stop 13), this time on foot. Everyone had something at Burger King with the exception of yours truly who had Thai food. After a sumptuous meal, we were barely left with just enough time to walk back to the Viking line terminal in time to board the ship on time. The hop bus would have taken a complete circle of the whole town and that would have been too late.
A narrow cobblestoned street
The best way to see a place is anyway peripatetic. So we gathered our maps and our bearings and walked our way to the ship. On the way back, we went by the narrow cobblestoned streets of Gamla Stan, saw the sparkling water all around and the various ships and tours available to the Viking village. I personally didn’t find much difference in Stockholm and Helsinki. The architecture seemed the same due to the Swedish influence in Finland. Only the signs were not bilingual but only in Swedish this time. The same brands and the same stores are in both places. I didn’t even feel as if I visited another country due to the seamless integration of EU. The only difference is that Sweden doesn’t use the Euro as its official currency, otherwise everything else seems the same. A few things reminded me of back home though. For some reason a lot of the crowd in the cruise consisted of Bangladeshis. Also, surprisingly there were tongas being used in Gamla Stan! One of my colleagues even distorted Gamla Stan to gamlistan and then to gulistan.
 

Here’s a nice bird’s eye view of Stockholm. It has overhead videos and is really like flying to that place.

After getting into the ship, once again it was some more of the sun deck The beautiful skyfollowed by some more music, dance and drinks, since it got quite cloudy instantly. There were lots of pets on board and I met a couple of them. Pendo and Jerry were two of the dogs I met. Pendo is an Alsatian, known as German Shepherd in this part of the world. The ship even had a pet’s corner. On the return trip, we had the tax free shopping to take care of. I bought loads of chocolates. We also had the karoake bar to try again. But this time again, by the time we got to the karaoke bar, the timings were already over. We went exploring the lower decks of the ship which were meant for the cars and other vehicles. Unfortunately, we were imagining them to be Taking a lift from the shipin some large yard kind of thing, but it wasnt like that. We couldn’t see anything except for endless rows of cabins. We also visited the Sauna centre and managed to take a peek in as it was closing down for the night. After partying for some part of the night, we retired slightly early as we had to get to our workplace, straight from the terminal the next day. The next morning, 8 weary travellers got off at the Viking Line terminal at Helsinki, tired, hungry and pleased.



A breather 1

…is what I want right now. I am drowning in a lot of things on work front and personal front both. Also on my agenda is a rushed trip to Paris – the romance capital, with guess whom – I, me and myself. (Wow, I have choice on which one to call Irene). As of now, not only do I need to “finnish” my work, give myself some much needed peace of mind and purge all those thoughts niggling at my mind for quite some time, but also need to chalk out an itinerary for the 4 days I spend in Paris. I also need to find myself a soft copy of the Da Vinci code, which I know very well, I would not be able to scan before I visit the Louvre museum. I also need to get a jhatpat crash course on *how* to use my hi-fi new digicam that is the most expensive impulsive shopping I ever did, last night, just so that I have a good camera before leaving for Paris. My good old Sony handycam met with a much tragic accident – OJ spill. It’s no consolation that it’s such a common thing that it’s even got an abbreviation on the net – this orange juice spill thing. The faithful old thing still clicks great pictures, but unfortunately no movies, and I almost feel disloyal by beginning to use the new Canon Powershot S2 IS. As if all the above mentioned things aren’t enough, apparently now I have more attachment to my non-living posessions than even my own colleagues or the neighbour’s kids.

Ho-hum. Well anyway, I can put “buying a new camera” as trying to give some competition to a certain Leonardo da vinci, in the reproducing-the-subtle-smile-of-a-lady department. Hopefully that smile would be my own.



Experience teacheth

‘Experience is the best teacher but its fees is very high’. This happens to be one of the favourite quotes of my mom. Teacher’s day has more importance in our house than Mother’s day, since my mom’s a teacher and in my schooldays there were never so many this-days and that-days but only a few countable ones like Independence day, Teacher’s day and Children’s day. Of course now we wish her on all the this-days/that-days too. For us, Independence day meant the national anthem and ladoos, Children’s day meant Chacha Nehru and Teacher’s day meant that my mom had a special function to attend at school and that she would come back with bouquets, cards etc which my sis and I would go through, at times finding it odd and at times finding it sad that we had to share our mom with so many!

With time, Teacher’s day started meaning something else altogether. I realised early enough, that in class XIIth, one gets to wear one’s own clothes and not the school uniform on teacher’s day. As if that wasn’t exciting (read embarassingly) enough, females needed to wear a saree and some (un)lucky students even got “teacher’s duty” to get a taste of the other side by supervising a junior class in that fancy dress! (That reminds me of the time everyone got titles from the junior class during farewell, but that makes another post). Years passed by when I would stare at giggly and unelegant girls metamorphosing into ‘women’ suddenly. Stupid grins got replaced by lipstick, school ribbons and hair bands gave way to open wavy hair, or maybe a mature looking hair bun – stylised to suit the occasion, the school shoes (with the horrible buckles) gave way to high heels and of course the uniform’s existence was forgotten as if the day marked freedom from well-ingrained ‘conformity’ of 12 years. That was the day most girls went all out. Of course they had another chance in the form of ‘farewell’ when they could air the backless cholis and halter neck blouses meant to expose a back or a cleavage in a ‘popping the cherry’ sense. But then the farewell also meant boards and pre-boards round the corner, leaving lesser scope of getting noticed by the ‘dashing’ guys or leaving an everlasting impression on a crowd which had other issues like exam fever or the turmoil of finally bidding goodbye, on their minds.

I was never the butterfly and was quite scared at the prospect of showing the world what my tucked-under-a-school-shirt,-skirt-and-belt tummy looked like. I had never worn (like many others) a saree in my life nor had I any experience in brandishing my palloo as if a saree was the thing I came to school in. Matters needing attention, like how to keep ones hairstyle in place, ones lipstick in check and heels from getting stuck in the saree were the ones I considered would be topmost on my mind, when my turn came. God forbid if I got a teacher’s duty (of which there was a high chance, being the man-eater..err monitor), I would have died of fright at the thought of being mercilessly torn to pieces by the boys just one year junior, who considered it their duty to take advantage of the fact that a damsel in fancy dress couldn’t even deduct their marks, if the need arose.

So it was with butterflies in my stomach, rather than being one on the outside, that I approached the teacher’s day when I was in class XIIth. ‘Silk is the easiest to handle’, was what I was told by my mom and my aunts. Several times. But then past experiences with silk had taught me that it also cluttered around in a very unbecoming fashion and one needed to be mannequin thin to look elegant in it. I chose to take a risk this one time and chose a blood red chiffon saree of my mom, knowing very well that it was a self inflicted nightmare, for not only did I not know the s-a-r-e-e of a saree, I didnt even know the spelling of chiffon, leave alone managing it with the above mentioned attention seeking things niggling at my mind. But then one gotta do, what one gotta do, when it’s just once in your life.

This teacher’s day saw me getting up rather early, to wash my hair, iron the saree, get ready with the help of my mom, who being a teacher herself had other things to attend to, than my own saree. Unfortunately this time she wasnt even in the same school as I, which would have given me some solace in case my saree failed to comply and landed me in Draupadi like trouble. Armed with only the courage that a FAT safetypin, a reliable saree pin and a long, stomach-and-back-covering blouse lent, I set out with my lipstick in place, heels carefully kicking out the saree (as I had been advised) and a fancy strappy purse on my shoulder just for the effect.

The first hurdle came soon enough even before I reached the bus stop. My neighbour’s pesky kid instantly remarked ‘Oh you look like Juhi Chawla’. My already flustered mind got even more flustered when it couldnt make out whether this cheek of a girl was paying me a compliment for a change or taunting as usual. I had other important issues to concentrate on. Oh! the woes of an inexperienced sarree-wearer! Next I had to get into a modified army threeton. Can one imagine the plight of a rather flustered girl, trying to balance a precarious saree, being stared at in the face, with not only the mammoth task of now accomplishing the feat of getting into a truck with all this finery, but also the amused looks given by the rest of the school kids who wonder if that’s a new teacher or just twilight fairy out on the path of self destruction. I understand, I really do, what an Indian bridegroom goes through when he gets onto the mare. Well, an army officer’s daughter is taught to plunge head on, and that’s what I did. I leapt onto the modified truck’s steps, throwing caution and my saree to the September wind and thinking that I would carry out the damage control, when I got to school, for there would definitely be more of it. At least my hair was a manageable length and I had carefully ensconced it into a bun, replete with a whole packet of invisible and fancy joodaa pins, which posed a problem for later but would help me hold my head high just this while.

Thankfully I had no classes to ‘take’. But this fact did little to make me less jittery. The truck soon reached the school and now I had another hurdle – getting down from the truck without the saree giving the vehicle a much needed sweep or all other kids stepping on my saree from behind. It was my mom’s precious possession after all. Not only was I responsible for myself, but also for the saree, the heavy earrings and the ’tilladi’ (a sikkimese pendant) I had borrowed from my mom. Somehow, aided with the weight of the joodaa pins, my head held high, I made it through the gates with panache – into the school. Colorful butterflies gave me some comfort. Seeing others whom I had seen in uniform all along, distracted my mind somewhat. The comparisons would come later, for now I just wanted to reach my classroom. Never had I realised that reaching my class, something I did everyday, would be so difficult just this one time. No amount of kicking the saree out, helped, I was more scared it would eventually just kick off and if that happened I would just kick the bucket. Amidst the exchange of compliments, I finally reached my classroom and under the protective cover of the two other girls in my class out of a class of 60 students. The excitement in the air, the “oh you look so different”s, the combination of various heady perfumes, made me forget soon enough that I *was* wearing a saree. Relieved just a little, I began to enjoy the attention, rather than getting embarrassed. At the end of a day well spent, I understood, just how magical it can be, wearing a saree and just how a ‘woman’ is born.

After this school function, I went and watched my first movie ever in a cinema hall (Yes, at that age in life), sans the saree and in the comfort of a long skirt and frilly top. It happened to be a Chirpy Chawla movie. But that makes for another post altogether.