Where is Everybody?

After living in New Delhi for the past 18 months, wherever I go, I feel I am in a place less crowded.  Delhi is crowded, and initially it was bothering me.  There are times people literally bumped into me as I walked on the streets, and did not even acknowledge being brushed.  With time, I got used to it, and I probably do the same now.

I boarded Air France flight from Paris to Montpellier a few days ago, and a tall man welcomed me – and just one man.  He had a tag on his shirt which said ‘Securite’ in French, and I assumed that he must be an Air Marshal.  I did wonder why would an Air Marshall advertise himself, but did not follow that route of thinking.  He then, closed the door, made announcements on the PABX.  The plane took off.  Lo and behold, he started to push the refreshment cart, offering passengers drinks and snacks.  Then he went down the aisle again, collecting rubbish, made announcements, sat on his seat, the plane landed, he then opened the door to let us out.  One man is doubling for security and hosting of 200 passengers or so. 

I arrived at Novotel where I was to stay.  It turned out that the bar was also the reception and the bar tender was doubling for receptionist.  Went for breakfast in the morning, there was no one around, plenty of pastries and croissants, packed food – you name it, there it was.  Made myself a coffee, collected whatever I wanted to eat, ate, returned the used plates and put the rubbish in bin and walked out.  Noone was there!

I am not sure if this is the way productivity is increased or this is because there’s a shortage of people in these countries. 

Is it Technology or Attitude?

Everyone loves German Cars, and everyone who had been to Germany knows that everything works there, on time and as planned.  How come, I often wondered?

I almost lost 50 Euros yesterday at a ticket vending machine at Bonn railway station.  I needed a ticket to Frankfurt, went through the menu, ordered the ticket and inserted a 50 Euro bill, which got stuck in the feeder.  I just could not walk away – its 50 Euros.  I could not see anyone from Railways hanging around, and was not sure that I should walk and find one, leaving 50 Euros on the feeder.  I could not retrieve it, but what if the next guy could before I return, and how will I convince whoever that it was my money ?!

I saw a policeman walking among the crowd.  He was well built, his head was above the crowd, and he walked like a gentle giant.  I waved at him, and he came to the machine and raised his eye-brows, asking what I wanted.  I explained what happened.

He asked, ‘Are you in a hurry?’.  I said no.  My train is about 50 minutes from then.  He said, 'Just wait here, and I will bring someone to help you'.  In five minutes he came with a railway officer.  This officer was about half the height as the Policeman, must have had some Chinese genes in him.  He looked more of well-fed Chinese person than a German.  I thanked the policemen, he had a firm handshake.  He then left.

The Railway officer took his smart phone, took a photo to record the vending machine ID, and asked me to go with him.  I said that my money is stuck.  It was only then he understood what the problem was.  He said, just wait, ran in typical Chinese short steps, back to his office, and returned with a forceps in no time, grabbed the note and pulled it out gently.  I got my money back.

Then he went through the menu again, and got me the ticket I needed, I thanked, he bowed and left.

Train came about six minutes late and arrived at Frankfurt three minutes late.  In a two and half hour journey, the train driver apologized for the delay at least four times.  It had been raining a lot, the reasons for the delay. 

I reflected on the whole episode.  What would have happened if my money was stuck in a vending machine in another country?  I will be busy filling too many claim forms, and would have left with a faint hope that one day I will get my money back.  The chances of a policeman helping me will be 50:50 at best.  The railway officer helped me, as if his money was stuck, and the train driver kept on apologizing for 3 to 6 minutes delay for reasons beyond her control? 

The whole episode was too civilized for me, and I concluded it’s their attitude, not their technology, which makes everything works in Germany.

Railway Friendships

While I waited for the shuttle bus to Terminal 1 at Frankfurt airport, my eyes locked into another pair.  They belonged to an old man, scruffy, hair not combed, unshaven beard, clothes un-ironed.  He too was a passenger, and I felt he did not like me staring at him.  I shifted my eyes away.  He walked passed me, returned, walked passed me, then got into the bus, we both waiting for.  I lost track of him.

I found my way to the train station at Terminal 1, figured out the difference between a long distance train and a regional train, bought my ticket and found a seat.  I had to transfer to another train at Mainz, and the travel time from Frankfurt to Mainz is only 20 minutes.  I had five minutes for this transfer.  Needless to say I was a bit nervous, concerned if I could make it.

I heard a passenger arguing with the TTR, not sure what it was about, but wanted the TTR to clear me so that I could get down when the train stop at Mainz any minute.  I could not see the arguing passenger.  When the train stopped I moved my luggage towards the door, the man I saw at the bus stop was in front of me.  He pointed a bag, I said it’s not mine, he said that was his.  My bag was in front of his one, blocking his access to the bag.  I pulled my bag back; he took his one, and asked where I was coming from.  I said, India.

‘Key se hai’, he said in poor Hindi accent, I smiled and said ‘it’s Key se ho - meaning how are you’?  He said, ‘Oh, whatever’.  We both got out, and the platform I had to find was just on the other side, and he too waited for the same train to come. He sat on the bench, and said that the TTR fined him for getting into an express train.  His ticket was for a normal train.  Then he said, ’oh, it was only money – just a piece of paper; ever since the Americans put ‘In God We Trust’, on the dollar, the money has become cheap. I smiled, and said now money is not even paper, its plastic or electronic digits.  It’s another story he said, and went quiet.

The train to Bonn via Koblenz came; we sat next to each other.  I was not sure if he was curious, or just wanted to talk.  I was not in any hurry, and I obliged as a listener.  He covered a range of topics from sex to international politics.

'You know, my wife and I like sex, but we are old, so, we bought a sex engine BMW'. In German sex is six, I figured.  'The only problem is that I am not allowed to drive faster than 210 km/h', he lamented.  

‘What’s the hurry?’, I was sarcastic.  ‘You are right, I am seventy five years old, my wife died eight months ago, and I have a lot of time in my hand’.  'Oh by the way, how old are you?’.  

‘Fifty nine’, and expected him to say that I am still young.  This is what I hear from elders I meet. ‘I thought you are near one-hundred’, and winked.  He has settled the score.  We both laughed.

It’s about an hour so we had been talking, and I asked for his name.  He said it’s Heiko Hodson.  He did not bother asking for mine.  

Our conversation continued.  He talked about his job in a nuclear plant in Germany which got shut down later; the five day war in the Middle East, at a time when he was based in Kuwait as a Radio Technician; training Zambians in radio-technology in Zambia, and how he convinced a donor that training in Zambia is cheaper than in Germany (and got himself posted Livingston, Zambia as the training coordinator); the Russian student he hosted in Germany without a rent; and the holiday he just had at St Petersburg with her.  On Chinese, he said, ‘they will colonize the moon, and rip all its resources, and leave a mess.  Then you have to see Moon only on old photos.  Mark these words of Heiko Hodson’.  He was categorical, convinced that Chinese will be a force to accept, not just to reconcile with.

As train whizzed along the Rhine, he commented that he has not seen the river levels so high; then expressed relief that flood will not enter his city because the levies are built high; then expressed dismay that the same levies will cause high velocity discharges troubling those downstream.  'No one cares about others,you know'he bemoaned.

Koblenz neared, he was ready to get down, he looked at me and said, ‘you have another forty minutes to Bonn, and I hope you can find some Chappati there’. I said, I will be looking for sauerkraut, sausages and beer.  He wanted to have the last word, and said for me it will be Cognac.    

Here’s my latest railway friendship.  We meet strangers for brief periods, engage in conversations, and then walk away.  These friendships are meaningless, but conversations could be otherwise.  I could see a man with a good sense of humor, information and satisfied with his past.  He wants to talk and I was glad to listen. 

I recalled something I read a while ago, ‘Marry a woman with whom you can converse.  At the end that matters more’.  In his wife’s absence, I was his conversation partner, just for an hour or so of our lives.   

Peradeniya Continues to Charm

"It's a beautiful day", a passer-by greeted me.  I nodded in agreement but started to wonder what was so special about this day.  It was Fall 1980, College Station, Texas.  I was new in town, just have come from Peradeniya, which was home to me for about six years prior to it.

I have spent 21 years at five Universities in four countries, as a student, Assistant Lecturer, research-associate, Professor, Head of the Department, Director and Dean.  I think my life as a student at Peradeniya was the best, it was full of life in the most beautiful environment.  I was naive,young, but equally wanted to be someone important.  Must be the age.  Being a residential campus, Peradeniya helped forming bonds and relationships - not just with fellow students and Professors, but also with the place itself.  This University is modeled after University of Cambridge, and I agree, Cambridge is beautiful (in Summer) and its buildings are far more majestic than what Peradeniya has.

But the hills of Peradeniya are more beautiful, and River Cam is no match to River Mahaweli, which dissects Peradeniya Campus.  Galaha Road is the main artery.  Most of the residential Halls are on both sides of this road, placed at the valley bottom, or the gentle slopes of the hill.  So, are Colleges (we called them Faculty) of Medicine, Agriculture, Science and Arts, the Senate and the Library.  Not to be missed are the Arts Theater, where 'art' movies are filmed periodically, and the open air theater.  I have seen amphitheaters , mostly ruins of them, in Italy and Jordan.  The one at Peradeniya is much smaller but natural.  Existing hill-slope is made into tiers of seats in an arc formation, and the stage is at the lowest but center-point of the arc.  Shade is provided by those huge trees with flowering wines crawling on them.  When the breeze comes, these trees and wines shed flowers, mesmerizing those around.

As you walk through Galaha Road, in addition to Residential Halls, Faculties and Administration buildings, you will sight places for worship, for Buddhists, Muslims and Hindus.  If you are game enough to climb up the hill then there are churches of different denominations.  Along the hill slopes, there's always a man or a woman cutting grass for fodder, they swing the cutting blade in a rhythm, that cuts the grass at a constant height from ground.  Human Mowers, I guess.  They are from the villages around, do not get in the way of University students and their lives, but add color to the landscape.

Combination of residences with Colleges on Galaha Road, ensured steady traffic of young - boys and girls - at day light and twilight hours.  Almost everyone walked everywhere.  The slopes are not suited for bicycles, and motorcycles and scooters were beyond reach of almost everyone.These parading groups of girls, full of colors - skirts and blouses, and saris (only the Tamil ones at the Faculty of Arts had to wear it - not sure why such a requirement - although I have no complaints), were a treat to the eyes.  Yeah, there were boys too - but invisible to me most of the time, except of course, they were joined with their girlfriends, strolling along the lovers lane.  When it rains, both get into a small umbrella, cover their heads, and bodies touch-and-go, and their backs soaked in water.  Well, if this is not romantic, I wonder what else could be.

I returned to Peradeniya in 2010, the place still remains absolutely wonderful.  Very few new buildings along Galaha Road, but boys and girls, trees and shades all remain the same.  Although I have heard of difficult times and horrible stories at Peradeniya during JVP times, I did not see any evidences of it.  I suspect that the Hindu student population must have gone down since the seventies, but, the Hindu temple looks new, well taken care of by the generous Indian business men in Kandy.   I visited some of my friends who are Professors there now, living on University Houses within the campus.  All I could think of was that these houses are built within gardens - not a garden in front of the house.  It's just green everywhere.  For some reason I felt that there are more monkeys than what I could remember, and those grass cutters must have found better sources of income - hill slopes are now full of bushes.

I understood why it was a beautiful day in College Station, as I lived there for six years, that means six summers.  Winters are livable, Fall and Spring are OK.   But at Peradeniya, everyday remains beautiful, and it keeps on charming me!

Graduation from BPL to LMC

Just in case if you wonder what these are, BPL, Below Poverty Line, LMC, Lower Middle Class.

Yesterday I was in a village in Bihar, named Mukundpur.  For historians Bihar is Magatha, the State where Maurya Dynasty flourished - Chandra Maurya and Asoka came from here.  For the political strategists  this is the land of Chanakya.  For Hindus, it is the state where Varanasi and Gaya are (where Rama did final rites for his father on his way to exile), for 300 million Buddhists around the world, Budh Gaya, where Lord Buddha attained Nirvana and for educationists this is the home of Nalanda, the first University town in the world.

Bihar is one of the poorest Indian states, despite the presence of mighty Ganga, abundant but seasonal rainfall and vast alluvial plains.  It is home for 104 million people - some of the best and brightest IAS officers come from here, but there are villages,one after the other, where 100% of the population is below poverty line.  Some suspect the statistics - people under report their income to receive some benefit from the Government, but it is largely poor.  During the recent 7 years a new CM is making a difference, but, it will take time.  Previous ones largely plundered the state coffers and thrived in chaos.

I was in the house of a Village Group Leader which reminded me of our home in Jaffna when I was a kid.  I sat on a broken, old, but, a strong chair in a veranda.  Must have been a very good wooden chair some years ago.  The veranda floor was polished with cow dung, roof was supported by wooden pillars about three meters apart.  Roof was not high enough, so, one need to bend to get in.  The way I remember things at our ancestral home in Jaffna.

This village head lives under BPL, that will make my family living under BPL some 50 years ago.

As I grew up, we graduated from BPL to LMC.  The mud floor was cemented, roof was lifted, and half walls were built around the veranda.  Still, we did not have a lot of clothes, food was often very basic, fish once a week, chicken once a month, and on festival days, mutton once or twice a year.  My elders were better disciplined as Hindus, and vegetarian food was the norm for about three to four days a week.  When fish,chicken or mutton was not on, we as kids could expect half of a omelette for one of the three meals.   Still family debt grew, I frequented pawn shops and banks to pawn family jewelry, and for most part of my young life, our family home was mortgaged.  To me this was LMC.

The experience as a LMC kid has permanent marks in me.  Despite making a good income, I am comfortable when I do things the way I did many years ago.  Walking, biking and busing are fine, and being in a sarong without a shirt at home is pretty cool for me.  I enjoy a one dollar dinner often, and occasionally, I have had two hundred dollar dinners.  One exception is whiskey, I prefer a deluxe one over  ordinaries, may be because, I never had alcohol when I was LMC.

I am  very natural when I deal with LMC in India or elsewhere, often to the surprise of my hosts.  They expect an expat to be somewhat different.  The BPL/LMC attitude is still within me and I feel very good about it.

Mathura & Brindavan - A Tourist's Recollection

These two cities are halfway between Delhi and Agra.

Mathura, where Krishna was born and prisoned, and Brindavan is where he danced with Gopikas, 1008 of them.

There is a shrine in Mathura - a flat rock - which was supposedly Krishna's bed in prison. It is incredibly flat and smooth for a rock, as if someone consciously smoothened it.  This bed is inside a cave, so, it could have been easily be a room or a prison cell.  Worshipers go through one 'large opening' and come out through the 'other'.  Next to this shrine are two places for worship, one a mosque, built by the Mughals.  Not sure who it was, so you see a lot of Muslims.  The second is a very modern Krishna temple, built recently by Birlas.  Well maintained, noone asks you for money or anything, there is a lot of Prashad, very spacious  bright and roomy.  Because these two shrines are next to each other, the whole street leading to the temples are under high security.  Almost nothing other than the person is allowed.  Police will take responsibility for your belongings, and return when you return.

Brindavan is an area of about 2 ha, 1008 trees of same kind are found.  Very interesting type of trees, more like wines, no clear trunk, and these 'trunks' go around each other, like a man and a woman embracing, strong enough to support the canopy.  These trees are said to be the Gopikas - embracing Krishna and dancing.  The belief is that the trees become Gopikas at nights, and dance with Krishna.  No one goes there after 8 pm.  Those who attempted were blinded by the lights from the garden, so we were told. Well that's the belief, but next to the garden are flats, so not sure what the residents of the flat would tell.  All trees are drip irrigated now, but wonder who were irrigating them before and how.  In addition to the trees, there are two shrines, one is (was) the bedroom.  Now they are cemented buildings, not big, just enough to keep idols and photos of Krishna and Radha.

Outside the garden, there are all sorts of small temples and hundreds of 'priests' who swindle money from you in the name of God, Annathanam and so on, and we too got sucked in.     

Brindavan is not in a clean surroundings.  Real shame for garden of worship.  The garden itself is kept clean, the roads leading to them are not.  I even saw a pig, pissing in the drain - good pig!  A lot of Indians piss on the streets.  

I took my daughter there, 10 at that time.  She is almost twelve now.  I asked her this morning what she remembers about these two places.  She said 'lot's of Cow pooh', and 'smelly'.  This is what my daughter remembers first.  Then she went on why these places are significant to Hindus.

Not sure why Indians do not pay attention to cleanliness.  As a kid I was taught cleanliness is godliness.  Not around Brindavan though.  

Jaffna Returns

I was born in Jaffna, and except for two years of primary education, I did all my primary and secondary education in Jaffna.  My grand parents, parents, uncles, aunts, teachers, school mates and neighbors shaped my ways as I grew from a kid to an adult.  Although my life in Jaffna is only 15 years, about 25% of my life, I proudly claim that inside of me there is a boy from Jaffna.

Except for two weeks in August 1984, I was absent from Jaffna from 1980 till 2010, for many reasons.

My first return to Jaffna in 2010 was arranged by my close friends from Bibila!  During the 30 years, I have pretty much lost all contacts in Jaffna.  The trip was brief, just four days.  We, my friends and I stayed in a hotel, drove anywhere and everywhere I could think and remember.  My family home, our neighborhood temples, my school, and of course the land marks like Keerimalai and Nallur temple.  Only the priest at our family temple recognized me from my voice.  Few others have heard about me or remembered my mother or grand father.  I was a stranger in my own land (Sometimes I wonder how dare I make this claim!)

I felt that Jaffna was frozen for the 30 years I was away.  Nothing has changed, except some remnants of the war such as the bullet ridden railway station.  There was no trace of the railway track, it has now become a dirt road.  Steel and timber have disappeared.  Bicycles are being replaced with motor bikes.  Temples, Tuition Centers and Schools looked healthy.  Army check posts all over.  Most damaged government buildings - post office, high court, library, Municipal Council etc. had been rebuilt.  Bus stand was busy, so were the street hawkers.

My second return was in 2011, again for four days.  This time I went alone, but my Bibila friends' friends provided accommodation on Wyman Road.  The host was very warm, showed me the room.  I set my bags, and went for a walk, looking for a bicycle.  I walked into a corner shop, and asked the manageress where I could rent a bike.  She looked at me quizzically, and asked if I had come from overseas (Must have thought I am from a different planet).  I said, yes, and waited.  She then said that there are no such things as bicycle renters in Jaffna anymore, but she would not mind lending her bicycle for two to three hours.  I was happy, went to Nallur, which was nearby, and then to Kalladdy, my neighborhood, and cycled around for three hours through the streets and lanes, I thought I knew well.  Well almost.  At one intersection, I could not remember if I should turn left or right, a good Samaritan walked to me and offered direction.

I returned the bike and went to my accommodation.   The host was worried that I have disappeared.  I told him what I was up to, he wondered why I did not take his vehicle.  I said Jaffna is better on a bike.  I then asked if he could arrange a bike for me for the next three days.  He did not have one, but someone who worked for him was able to lend one.  I was happy as if I was a boy, I went around two to three hours in the mornings and two to three hours in the afternoons.  Always returned before sunset, there were still some Army check posts.  It was then I realized, that my Jaffna was a circle with two km radius with my home as the center.  Kalviankadu to the South, Manipay to the north. Pannai to the west, and Kokuvil to the east.  Is this all, I knew?

Jaffna still looked like an orphan, there was no signs of reconstruction.

I have just returned from my third trip to Jaffna.  It was the first trip for my daughters, and a trip after 23 years for my wife.  I am now bold enough, got a friend in Colombo to arrange a guest house and a car for us, and we were on our way. The car was a new Prius, Toyota's new Hybrid car.  Very comfortable.  The driver spoke a bit of English, polite and helpful.  The roads from Colombo to Jaffna is second to none in the world, but there was hardly any traffic, once you are out of Colombo.  Having lived in Delhi, I started to wonder where people have gone.  There were still a few check posts, but, largely the Army is invisible.  If you pay close attention, then you will recognize a few camps.

Met a childhood friend who too have returned to Jaffna after living in Colombo and Vavuniya.  Had dinner at her place, typical Jaffna dosai with chutney powder, and curry leaf sambol after many years.  Very good.  Drove around Jaffna, to temples, to Casuarina beach and so on, mostly for my satisfaction and my wife's.  I also took my family to an islet -Nagadeepa - their grandmother's roots.  My girls were amused at the way we lived as kids.  They were polite and cooperative, but not hugely excited.  They were in a foreign land.

This time Jaffna showed some life.  Houses inhabited were done up, had a new coat of paint - multi-colored I must say.  Very typical Jaffna walls.  Most streets in Jaffna are done up too.  Many bottle necks for traffic have been removed, and many roads have been widened.  Some land marks are GONE.  Subhas Cafe and Damodara Villas are no more.  There are guest houses in every street.  Mostly empty homes owned by Tamil Diaspora are now converted into Guesthouses.  The guesthouse we stayed was almost new, just 40 USD per night, clean room, clean bed and clean bath room.  Served Jaffna cuisine and western.  They even had a wood-burn pizza oven, just the way they are in Italy or elsewhere.

Uninhabited houses were falling apart, in most cases fenced well.  Well we are talking about Jaffna, we are particular about our fences here.  A mixture of well renovated houses and dilapidated houses, dotted with well maintained temples and schools now define Jaffna landscape.  The bazzar shows life too, shops filled with goods, mostly cheap Chinese and Indian products.

Overall, Jaffna is returning as a hub of economic activity, but there are casualties.  In particular, Vavuniya, the frontier town for thirty years, is now losing its importance.  With very good roads and public transport, no-one even stops there for a drink.  The population is about 25% of what it was during the war.  People have returned to wherever they were from.  So, are Colombo suburbs like Wellawatte.  Pressure on housing is less here.  There is virtually nobody in the islets around Jaffna - Velanai, Pungudutivu, Karaitivu are all EMPTY.

I have now returned to Jaffna thrice, and I can see Jaffna too is returning.  Over all, I felt some connection, but not a strong one.  Affection to land is there, but, without friends and family around, it is not home.  I will keep going to Jaffna, the temples in Kaladdy are draw cards.  Else....