Pune!

After an adventurous road trip, where we were mislead by an out of date GPS, we finally arrived in Pune. The cool winds, rain, and hills on the way gave us an idea of the delights to come, at least weather wise. It felt good to be in a city bigger than Jaipur village :)

The wide roads, delectable eateries, and a fatter Pune Times, all signalled Pune's cosmopolitanness. Lucked out on a furniture sale- a nearby Good Home Store is closing down. With most of our possessions arranged finally, feels like we're settling in now.

The flat's bigger too, and the complex offers a sense of peace. A shady walking path is perfect to mediate on one's day. Went to the gym today- spanking new equipment, a music system, and a music scale! Felt good to have happy hormones coursing through my system again.

One mission is to evaluate all the vada paos I can get my mouth on. The first one- at Deepak Sweets in Aundh- was good. The dabeli thela at the end of our lane is my next target.Had dinner on the weekend at a neighborhood pasta pizza place in the open- yum and felt very European :)


Hope to get an active local number tonight- dying to call everyone and talk to my heart's content!

Torrential rain in torturous sunny land

I got wet in the rain after at least a year. So it deserves a blog post. Let me be timely for once. I’m disregarding the promised Pondicherry trip post. Or the one on movies that moved me.


The rain was cold and crooked. My umbrella only kept my hair dry. The auto ride was reckless. On empty roads we zipped, cursing SUVs which splashed us.

The lights went out. No problem. Sunlight there was, a bit and the weather was cool. Jaipur poured its heart out. The desert hard heart that had kept rain bottled up for what seemed like years. It was transformed in Calcutta for a few hours. Usually when it rains here, by the time I write “It’s raining” on Facebook, it’s gone.

Looking at rain from a covered house is very different from soaking it in outside. Only then can it permeate your being, cleanse you of daily dust, and be a memory for keeps.

I’m already missing you. Come back soon. Au revoir.

Jaipur Literature Festival 2013

The litfest was a wit feast. Not bad looking either, with blue balloons, orange decorations, colorful shamianas. Somak Ghoshal's article in Mint helped me figure who I should be watching out for and they did not disappoint.

I also looked at speaker profiles for more hints. This post is a collection of my tweets and fellow tweeters helped me keep track of the sessions where I couldn't be as I didn't have a clone or two. Day 1 began with rushing at 9 AM to the venue and the reward was no line for the pass :)

After suffering through the inevitable opening speeches by everyone and their dogs I made a beeline for the Google Mughal tent where there was a session on The Global Shakespeare. Elif Batuman spoke about how Turkish women put up a production of Hamlet, calling it Hamid!

Tim Supple was also good, pointing out how Indian local theatre forms emphasise more on the ancient. In the West the tendency is more to make fairies in Midsummer Night's Dream punks. So Shakespeare's ancient parts blend well with Indian theatre traditions. Then I hopped over to the Zoe Heller session where the question answer session had begun.

After some idlis from Garden Cafe to soothe a tummy that had gotten up early, I was ready for more fuel for thought. The afternoon session on The Art of The Short Story saw Yiyun Li make an interesting point- we always talk about show not tell, but we are storytellers...Very true. Storytelling involves craft, otherwise it would be closer to journalism, I guess.

Poet Simon Armitage's session was ribtickling. His reading of You're Beautiful was... beautiful and hilarious. His deadpan one liners kept us in splits. Writing a novel is too much like a job, so I'm going to stick to poetry, he said. I agree. Poetry is all about style, so you need to develop your own voice, he also said. I agree with that too.

Next up was funny man Howard Jacobson in a session on The Novel of The Future. The standard themes began to emerge- will the digital form kill the novel?

I gave the first session on Day 2 a miss out of consideration for my ears. Laughing, Weeping, Writing saw a lot of laughing certainly. I had wanted to attend a Gary Shteyngart session after seeing his antics on Twitter and he did not disappoint. "I tell my story to a shrink and if he laughs I know I've got a good one," has got to be one of the immortal quips of the festival.

Deborah Moggach pointed out that a novel is a noun, a film a verb- a succint way of getting the difference between the two across. Manu Joseph read a funny excerpt from his novel, which ended with a school kid writing Sita is the opposite of Ram :)

A quick shopping trip to nearby Bapubazar for Jaipuri bedcovers to satisfy my friends visiting from Delhi and a bite at Anokhi- we were back. Shabana Azmi's session was packed, as expected so entry had stopped. I did stumble on a book launch by her, Javed Akhtar and Prasoon Joshi after that, which led me to discover Amit Khanna's Anant Raag, which seems promising poetry.

Ariel Dorfman and Santiago Roncagliolo put up a rollicking session on Latin America. Very magic realist. How to Read Donald Duck by Dorfman is now on my reading list.

The Jewish Novel with my favorites Gary Shteyngart and Howard Jacobson followed. Their banter had us rolling in the aisles. Howard Jacobson pointed out that you can only be funny if your life is tragic, hinting at schadenfreude, to my mind.

My stomach finally collapsed so I had to give Day 3 a miss. I tried to catch the webcast but the slow net at home and the iffy webcast ensured that I depended on twitter.

I only went for the Michael Sandel session on Day 4. Is sexual violence linked to sectarian violence? A thought provoking question, but there were no easy answers from the audience.

So I was hungry for thought bytes on the last day, after my near two day drought. Howard Jacobson was funny as usual. The line for getting books signed by him was by now a mile long- guess people who heard him on the first few days were impatient for a keepsake.

Wade Davis then speculated on whether Mallory did reach the summit of Everest. He didn't think so, as Mallory didn't carry the required equipment. A long shot- if snow had helped create a slope on the second ridge he could have climbed the mountain...

Sebastian Faulks quipped that journalists were taxonomists, always wanted to pigeonhole everything...not far wrong, mesays. He felt that highlight one man's reaction to a woman walking in a room would be more impactful than just saying the room took a collective breath when she walked in. Makes sense. His inspiration was France, not England. Such a different culture, just a few miles away. It's interesting how the exotic can inspire you to write, although many say one should write on what one knows. Supriya Nair's mouthwatering boots set off Sebastian Faulks's suit nicely, leading me to tweet What suits are to men, boots are to women :)

Volunteers bagged front row seats for Sharmila Tagore for the closing debate. After the lengthy thank you speech, there was a cursory debate. Nathulal's deafening drum rolls would drown out loquacious speakers promptly.

Frank Savage was so scared of overshooting his four minutes he ended early. Michael Sandel spoke well, saying that altruism was like a muscle, which would strengthen with use.

These five days were the only Test match I've attended. I hope to be back next year from January 17-20, when Margaret Atwood, Amartya Sen, Yaan Martell, Mark Haddon, Umberto Eco and other yummy writers will be here. Otherwise, I'll just catch the videos, I guess. But Walter Benjamin's Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction applies to litfests too- the pain of attending the live session makes it seem worth it :)

So am glad to have discovered some fine new writers and while I get around to reading their work, some of them are on twitter..@bananakarenina's intriguing handle (Elif) lived up to her promise in the sessions. When she tweeted that she would miss India, I replied that we'd miss her too. She's favorited my tweet, so I think visiting writers have fallen in love with Jaipur and the other way round : )

Piya Bahroopiya

A wonderful take on Shakespeare's Twelfth Night. The kitsch image of the bard looking down on the performance, with a lotus- was very South Indian film starish. This refreshing spin on Shakespeare had the play in rustic language often, which would be the equivalent of how Shakespeare's comic characters would have spoken.

Usually I've seen Shakespeare as the canon, with actors declaiming long speeches in verse and marvelled at his mastery of language. Here, there was hardly any original Shakespeare. Some lines did rhyme, but the overall effect was much more Bambaiya.

The musical in Hindi was so powerful- much more so than the English ones I watched in London. Ironically, the Globe asked the director to do a Shakespearean play in Hindi- that's how this play was born.

The sheer variety of musical traditions used- the quawalli and so on- was also a very innovative device. Although some jokes were trite, overall it was a bold effort. A welcome change from tired productions which stick to the traditional way of doing Shakespeare.

Indian Tempest

This play too, was a visual extravaganza. The stage was set like a circus, with the shadow of a boat moved from within the big top to indicate the storm.  French, Malayalam, Sanskrit and English all blended well together.

Zuzu like creatures, ones with big noses, a Kathakali dancer all were marvellous figures. There was hardly any time taken for a scene change- actors crept on stage once hidden under a cloth and managed to carry a table too!

Shakespeare's words, as always, were spellbinding. Your voice can't be digested by the stomach of my senses- makes me want to read the complete works of the bard sometime. Live music, with the lilting tune that first drew me to this production, when I watched the trailer on YouTube, fused the tabla with the violin.

The curtain call, with a performer drumming, the cast singing and the audience clapping in tune was a lovely surprise. The Indians spoke French, the French sang an Indian song fluently. Shakespeare's beautiful language and this play surpassing the need for language encompassed both ends of the spectrum. Just wished the sound was better or they had used mikes like the actors yesterday so that they would have been more audible.

Fellini's Dream

The best part about the play was the innovative set. It seemed to be a tall panoramic mesh, on which light was projected and images too. This created varied settings. Actors came on stage by pushing aside the mesh.

The costumes were the height of fashion. One puppet was so life like that I realised only later that she was a puppet, when an actor spun her around and I saw that she had no feet. She was wearing a mask, I hadn't seen a masked puppet before- give me a break, people :)

A lady clown or two were  other novelties. I really want to go to Venice now- the land of the carnival, gondola, Casanova. There was plenty of gesticulation in the play, as was only to be expected from an Italian one :)

The songs were opera, I'm guessing- beautifully sung. I kept expecting the spotlight to shatter, like Bianca Castafiore manages to do in Tintin. Very episodic, but oddly enough that added to the dream like quality, as did the bright lights and the jumps from locale to locale.

I usually prefer plays with plot, but I went for this one knowing that it wouldn't have one. The photos had attracted me- of the lights, the makeup, the costumes- and they did not disappoint. Pity the hall was only 70% full.

The white sheikh was very dashing and the red light gave him a rakish look. Am keen to watch Fellini's films now. 

Craving for Shaving

It's a pain. Worse than waxing for us. Imagine having to take a razor everyday. If there are remnants, looking like Charlie Chaplin. What's the alternative?
Risking no snuggling because she doesn't want beard rash?
That gain's worth the pain :)

So, the usual's good enough- a drink and your lingerie. Maybe a pole dance to spice things up- if you don't die laughing :)

This post is a part of the 'Shave or Crave' movement in association with BlogAdda.com

Rape them back

This inspiring speech by Kavita Krishnan, Secretary of the All Indian Progressive Women's Association drove me to write on the rape. The anger is something we all feel, which we often need to suppress. Grin and bear it. Do a balancing act, until you don't know whether you are on your head or heels.
Wear certain clothes that don't reflect you, because of society. Keep mum, so as to not rock the boat. Where will all that anger go? Inside, poisoning oneself? I was avoiding reading about the rape case because it just plain scared me.

But we need to face our fears. It just can't be ignored. I'm happy that we are all channeling our anger in protest. I hope things change. I guess this is the first step. 

Magnifique: Play- Celimene and the Cardinal

Stumbled upon a light, souffle like play. In French and very French. Luckily, with English subtitles :) Remembered a bit from the days I learnt French. Only the French can do a play on subjects as seemingly disparate as religion and love.

It's a sequel to Moliere's The Misanthrope, but the director Jacques Rampal has written it. Very witty with lines like- so now that your servant has quit, who's the replacement? asks the Cardinal.
Celimene replies, wiggling her fingers- I have ten!

Celimene is a feisty character, rarely getting cowed down by the Cardinal. An ex lover, he tries to browbeat her bees saal baad. He stumbles on a book of paintings of her done by her husband. He denounces them while looking through them :) Tauba Tauba types.

Celimene invents a confession to keep her husband from jail. The Cardinal is conscience stricken, realising that he is the greater sinner. He returns the book of her paintings to her and vows to go away to a desert island.

Realising that he still carries a torch for her, Celimene gives him the book of paintings. A wonderfully nuanced note. I want to read The Misanthrope now, or better still watch it. I coveted Celimene's outfit the moment I saw it. A bottle green with layers, flounces and ruffles enough to gladden Anne of Green Gables's heart. Gowns aren't that useful here, but a kurta...

Tiger Triumph

Tiger Tiger, burning bright- finally Blake's lines made sense. The danger was palpable. I thought the tiger's face would not have so much white. I decided to enjoy the sight rather than focus on clicking. T-24 then moved his jaw and spat some meat out. He then got up and sauntered off in the bush.

Third time lucky- I had decided I wouldn't go back to Ranthambore if I didn't see a tiger this time. It's too painful. This was the first time I went on two safaris consecutively. We drew a blank in the afternoon safari. We saw pugmarks, but the tiger remained elusive. Dancing peacocks and abby crocodiles were some consolation.

Zone 4 was the rockiest, so we held on for dear life while the driver hurtled through the jungle to get us back in time. I then understood why my veteran friend (she has been on 50 safaris and seen tigers on most of them) had insisted we eat early.

A campfire dinner, much laughter had us agreeing that the trip had been worthwhile even if we didn't spot the big cat. The morning safari saw us in our jeep, contemplating eating amrood while our guide did the formalities.

Suddenly our driver rushed back to the jeep, took it in reverse and we saw- tiger. Finally. Across Zone 1's boundary wall. 100 metres away. The same Zone 1 which I had cursed the previous two times I had been to Ranthambore.

After seeing a tiger, your appetite for nilgai, sambar and what have you just vanishes. You hunger to see more, closer. Zone 5's tigers were missing in action, but I was just happy I finally managed to catch a glimpse of those golden stripes.

T-24's a man eater- I think he has killed three so far. He didn't try to eat the last one. He's marked the road as his territory too. He often takes a walk at night to kill deer near Nahargarh Hotel, so you might bump into him even if you don't manage to book a safari :)

He looks dangerous, unlike the innocent deer we saw. Reminded me of a villain. 

The Bankster by Ravi Subramanian- A Review

I didn’t like The Bankster by Ravi Subramaniam too much. After a slow start, it picked up though. With three subplots, perhaps it had too much on the table. Although they were related, the bank thread was by far the strongest one, so it overshadowed the other two.

Three different locales, one abroad. Some detailing of local nuances would have made the settings more real. Structurally, if the same space could have been allotted to all three sub plots, the book would not seem so lopsided.

Also, the sub plots don’t come together properly. The joins are forced, so the reader has to mentally shift gears when there is a new locale described.

With a large cast of characters, it was tough to identify with any one among them. The lack of backstories made it difficult to feel for the characters. The narrator was in complete command.

We were fed information by the narrator. A  device first seen in Enid Blyton- rubbing a paper with a lead pencil to see what was written on the paper beneath was used here as well.

A series of unexplained murders at a bank lead to the discovery of a money laundering operation. Nikhil starts the novel off but then isn’t seen much in the latter part of the novel.

Vikram’s character is well etched. Initially the reader thinks he is a little dodgy, as he makes a buck giving Nikhil a flat at a rental higher than the market price. Later events show that he was being used as a cat’s paw.

What I liked about the book- banking often comes across as dry, but the cloak and dagger aspects of this novel lend this industry a certain romance. In that sense, like Arthur Hailey gives an insight in an industry in a novel, Ravi Subramanian has succeeded to some extent in doing something similar here.

But somehow, the murders don’t seem significant enough. They are incidental to the story. The twist is equally in how the money is being laundered as much as who is doing the laundering.

The how is pretty much in place, but the who is not convincing enough. Also, the title is a play on mobster, but to someone who doesn’t read the blurb, it seems like this is a book about a banker. Not a book about killings in a bank.

I’ve heard Ravi Subramanian’s If God Was a Banker was better. I think this book’s title is better than that J

The author’s knowledge of banking does come through. The end has too many revelations. Letting the reader participate, leaving some clues so that the reader can also have a shot at guessing the culprit would have made this a better book.

It’s not a bad read, so if you want to kill a couple of hours you can go for it. I do think Wall Street Journal’s saying that he is an Indian John Grisham is a bit over the top though. Do comment on how you found the book.

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31: by Upendra Namburi- Review

31 by Upendra Namburi is a pulsating thriller. It has a new twist on an old formula- here the action is in a business setting- a bank. Political machinations here could give the Congress or Machiavelli a run for their money.

Covering a span of 31 days in March, the hectic financial year end, this novel does not dwell on mundane details. On paper, having 31 days described may seem yawn worthy, but the nail biting action keeps the pace taut till the finish.

Professionals will know and identify with the lives described here, the hectic nature of work, the uncertainty and the toll that it takes on family life. There are hiccups- it seems strange that the top brass of a company would not go after a Twitter bigmouth who keeps taking potshots at the firm.

The overuse of exclamation marks, especially in the beginning, before one gets engrossed in the story, is another sticking point. Sometime the financial jargon can get wearing. There are many characters, so keeping track of them is a challenge as well.

Since so much of the action happens on phone and over email, many times the characters seem disembodied. Still, we live Ravi’s life, holding our breath and exhaling a deep sigh of relief with him.

The constant twists and turns get a little repetitive by the end. His efforts to save his position, learn why he is on the firing line and his attempts to find an alternate job give an insight in corporate culture.

Just as Chetan Bhagat’s provided an insider’s view on IIT, this novel gives the reader the flavour of corporate life. What happens after an MBA is not necessarily the happily ever after parents and students imagine it to be.

Savitha, Ravi’s wife is a strong character in her own right. Maithili, Ravi’s colleague, also comes across as dangerous, although in a slightly stereotypical way. She stands out as the lone female representative, in the male world of banking.

The Blackberry is the unsung hero and sometime villain of modern life. Here, too, it plays a pivotal role. When it is switched off important messages are missed, which sharply steer the plot.

The sometimes witty quotes which begin each chapter or day will resonate with the target audience. “I get email, therefore I am.” Dilbert modifies and makes Voltaire’s words contemporary.

 Sometimes you wish the pace would slacken, so that you can relax. Some descriptions, characters chilling out would have helped. But then, is it possible for a corporate soldier to relax these days?

If one wants to read this to escape from one’s life, it may not be the right one if you are a wage slave. Still, the ambiguous but somewhat happy ending will console professionals that there can be a rosy future at least on paper if not in life.

Ironically, the ones who would most identify with this book may not have the time to read it. Unless it was mailed to them, a page at a time, on their Blackberrys…So that they can read it in meetings?

This review is a part of the http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews" target="_blank">Book Reviews Program

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The Forts

Nahargarh Fort, in yellow, is a cute, compact fort. It was used for the King's army, so the rooms are simple and small.
Jaigarh Fort's main USP is the huge cannon.
It is connected to Amber Fort by tunnel- you can go by golf cart for 100 Rs. per head. Next time.
We went to the tunnel in Amber Fort. We went to the top by jeep. You can also take an elephant. Amber Fort was very crowded but the scale takes your breath away.
Ganesh Pol has exquisite, colorful carvings in the walls and gates. The mirrors in Sheesh Mahal still gleam. The restorers have done a good job. The view of the gardens is enough to take your mind off the heat.
We discovered some snack shops nearby.

College Reunion

A lawn with a pool, dim lights, greenery, aromatic food and drinks, with great company. My first College reunion here was very enjoyable. The icing on the cake was the mince. I saw waiters offering Cafe Mince, vegetarian and non vegetarian. I explained the significance to my husband, thinking that the organizers must have requested Taj to serve mince to revive memories.

Later I discovered that a lady had actually taken the trouble to get mince from College- get it fried in the Taj kitchens. She had frozen the chutney. We all attacked it with relish, savouring that unique taste after so many years.

They say the sense of smell brings back the most intense memories, well I can say that the sense of taste  is not too far behind in this respect.

It was fun meeting an ex senior RAW person, the ex-Ambassador to Brunei, the Chief Warden at Ranthambore among others. Gossiping about teachers with others who had done English took me back a decade. It helped that my batchmate was co-organizing the reunion so I managed to meet many people.

The goody bag- with a Stephanian tie, plate-showpiece, a collection of Kooler Talk and Nostalgia at Stephen's was a surprise.

write choice - I'm in the Paper!

write choice My interview on blogging :) 

Marvels of Melbourne

I want to go to the land where people say “Fark!” instead of #@$%, as an Aussie friend of mine told me. The city looks vibrant, with Melbourne City Centre’s twinkling lights, tall buildings and blue, blue water.

I want to go on a walkabout there, in the tiny lanes, where I can stop and stare and not make way for honking cars.

I want to try surfing, see if I can master them waves.

I want to attend the Melbourne Writers’ Festival. And the Moomba festival. Am sure a festival which has a name meaning “Let’s get together and have fun is on the right track.” I’m a culture junkie and I need my fix. The Arts Festival, the Comedy Festival, the Fringe Festival, I want to soak them all.

I want to see the Australian Open here. Hear the balls thwack against rackets, as players battle it out on courts.

Mmm…Melbourne. I want…Now. …it's your time to visit Melbourne NOW! 

Coffee or Toffee? (a.k.a the Great Love vs. Arranged Marriage Debate)

A love marriage seems romantic while an arranged marriage, as the very name suggests, is deliberate. A love marriage takes some arranging as well and similarly, an arranged marriage also involves love.

How do you select a partner? Do you expect to fall in love at first sight or otherwise someday? Or do you decide the time has come to marry, and start scouting for a suitable boy or girl?

Many friends in love marriages have told me that they think arranged marriages are better- at least they can blame their parents if things go wrong. That’s a strange way of looking at things- wouldn’t you rather want things to go right?

I’ve seen many successful arranged marriages. They key seems to be similarity and difference. Similarity in class, and personalities that complement each other. In a love conquers all scenario, practicality often falls by the wayside. Even if wrinkles crop up, they tend to be ironed out in favour of being in a relationship.

The media hype which being in love gets, the privileged status it has in culture is nothing compared to that which being arranged enjoys- unless we equal it to getting a mate rather than being alone.

Getting companionship is often the driver, whether it is an arranged marriage or a love marriage. “Is your marriage arranged or love?” asked the parlour wali. “Arranged.” I replied. “Have you met?” was the next question. “Of course.” I said indignantly. It often seems that if you were a wallflower, only then would you go for the last ditch option- an arranged marriage.

You could be just picky. Maybe you don’t want to be in love for the sake of being in love. First impressions count- it’s probable a job interviewer thinks yes or no within the first few minutes of meeting you. Going with your gut is a good idea. Trusting your subconscious, which considers factors you may not even be fully aware of, is prudent.

Anyway, a love or arranged marriage only deals with the pre marriage stuff. What about after marriage? The making of the happily ever after? That takes work. It doesn’t matter if you met by chance or through a middleman. Once you’re married, being a duo instead of flying solo takes some getting used to.

It’s fun to be a we and not an I. The relationship is equal whether it’s a love or an arranged marriage. In a love marriage you both know each other equally well and in an arranged marriage you both know nothing much about each other. Living together, managing expectations is more similar to living with a room mate than being a friend. Nothing is hidden anymore- whether it’s an untidy cupboard or a TV addiction!

The Call of the Tiger

Staying in a luxury tent in Ranthambore, trying to spot the elusive tiger, will have us coming back for more. We took the morning safari as we had heard the chances of seeing a tiger are more then. Our guide said that it is easier to spot one in the evening.
We were allotted Zone 1 out of the five, and the others zones had a higher possibility of seeing a tiger. A tigress gave birth in Zone 3, when we had gone. Tough luck. We enjoyed the hilly terrain, tried to spot a leopard with our binoculars.
The many birds, peacocks, different kinds of deer and striking trees made it seem like Jurassic Park. We hurtled through in an open jeep. There were five vehicles at the watering hole, waiting for the tiger. Although we heard the call of potential prey a few times, signalling the tiger was on the move, we were disappointed.
Our zone was just ten kilometres, with two tigers. The park has 40 odd tigers, 10,000 deer, of which 2000 are sambar deer. Only eight vehicles can be in a zone at any time. The safari was two hours long.
It's easier to spot a tiger in summer apparently. Once you're on the chase, you're hooked until you do see one. It's awe inspiring to see animals in their natural habitat, not fenced in or at a Sentosa like place. So definitely seeing a tiger in such a setting will be memorable.
Our guide had the last word- "Tiger dulha ki tarah chalta hai aage aage aur hum sab baaraati uske peeche chalte hain." :)

How Deep is Your Net on Phone?

I don’t get that many calls. Don’t make too many either. Yet, I have twitchy fingers. I can’t rest until I’m online via my phone. On a laptop screen, I’m chained to my desk, apprehensive that someone will notice I’m on Facebook and smirk.

When I’m on the net through my phone, I don’t have the hassle of powering up a big device like a laptop or lugging it around. I can tweet while the experience is on, so that it’s fresh.

Anytime I’m lonesome on the go, I just check in Facebook or Twitter and read what my friends are doing to feel connected again. If I’m curious about something they’ve posted, I tweet back. Only if I can’t think in 140 characters do I call them.

If I need to know an appliance’s price while I’m at a shop, I google from my phone. One time, I was buying an  oven with my family in the market. The shopkeeper gave his spiel about him offering us the dealer price. I found out online from my phone that the same model was available from many websites for Rs. 1000 less! He quickly backtracked and slashed the price by a thousand rupees. Not bad for a minute’s work, eh?

That’s the power of the net on phone.

Albert Hall Museum

Albert Hall caught my eye whenever I passed it. The flurry of pigeons in the front, the delicate architecture, made me want to go in. This museum seemed alive, unlike the usual fossil houses. I was particularly struck by its pottery collection. I never knew that there were so many renowned pottery schools within India. They could give the ones at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London a run for its money.
Sculptures, miniature paintings, tie and dye material, ivory work, wood work, and so on are all there. We drifted from one room to another, taking in the sights. The play of light on the courtyards in the afternoon had us looking at the building as much as we looked at the collection.
Now I know one place where I can take visitors!