Tottochan!

I found a link to Totto-chan's story! We had an excerpt from here in our English text in school. I remember I loved it then. I am looking forward to reading it now! Posting the link here for the benefit of others who remember little Totto-chan!

http://www.arvindguptatoys.com/arvindgupta/Tottochan.pdf

Life's little pleasures are often the best... You might find Arvind Gupta's site very interesting too.

Limerick (sorta) of a kid

There was a kid
Who fibbed all day,
Simply every single day
And then some more;

But that's just because
he thought his problems,
Would all be solved
Just by running away;

The older he grew,
Increased his problems anew,
Till run no longer
could he bear to.

So he turned around
Fought'em all he did,
Quickly saw them all,
Vanish into smoke grey!

San Fransisco in 1906, Before and After the earthquake

I have been fascinated by the history of a city. San Fransisco was the great frontier to the west - the land of opportunities, long before the tech boom that we see now. The bustling city, had an unfortunate moment in 1906 when it experienced the worst earthquake in its history. Over  3000 people died and over 80% of the city was destroyed in the subsequent fires. Here is the wikipedia article on the earthquake and its aftermath. The damage in the earthquake is estimated to be $8.2 billion in 2009 dollars! That's larger than most other disasters including 9/11 and Katrina.

But we go off on a tangent. The reason for this post if s a couple of videos I found on Quora which show life in the bustling city, just before the earthquake - from a cable car going along Market Street. The second video compares this with another footage taken after the earthquake. Its eerie.

Its amazing how quickly the city was back on its feet. The 1915 Panama Pacific International Exposition was held here - and there were almost no visible signs of the earthquake by then. That exposition gave us the beautiful Palace of Fine Arts building near the Presidio.

I am dumbfounded by the resilience of the people here - and it makes me wonder whether it should really take us so long to change the face of Indian cities..

Pittsburgh timelapse!

Found a nice time lapse of Pittsburgh on vimeo. I miss the city sometimes. I spent about 16 months there, getting my Masters, and although the work was really intense, I still did get to explore the city a lot. It was my first home in the United States, a humble city, with long roots, great people and an awesome university.


A Pittsburgh Spring from Zachary Smith on Vimeo.

RSS Overload!

I am a big proponent of the RSS feed. Although it is not as popular as twitter or facebook, it is a great way to not miss an interesting article on a website that you may or may mot visit regularly. If you do not use it, I would highly recommend Google Reader to keep a track of websites that you like. There are others too, but being a google fan, I haven't tried them. I promise you, you will learn more about things you are passionate about than when you spend time on facebook, and you will never need to worry about missing a feed!


I have been curating my RSS feed from since my time at my undergrad. Its been 4 long years, and over the time I have accumulated a lot of feeds. I used to try trim the number of feeds once in a while, to the extent that I am really proud of my colelcted curation - and needless to say, very attached to it.

While at CMU, I absolutely didn't have time to read, however I still managed to keep up with my favorites. After CMU, I have been into a lot of stuff, including Design, Creativity, Marketing, Advertising, Tech, Startups, News from India included. And the Reader has been a faithful pet, getting to me on a digital platter, all of it..

Now for the problem.

Over a month back, I realized my RSS feed has become an addiction. I was subscribed to over 140 feeds at a point, getting over a 200 articles posted in my reader everyday! That is an incredible overload. Even at 2 articles a minute, I needed to spend close to 2 hours everyday just to not drown under the flood of feeds. On an occasional day, when I missed catching up, it was even worse. And the times when I traveled, there was simply no way I could catch up on the 1000+ unread articles by the time I got back. For such times, there was always the quick route of marking all articles as 'read'. Doing this felt really horrible. I felt like I needed to not miss stuff - its like trying to read all the newspapers for the past fortnight in one go.

Drowning under this weight, I hardly got any time to do anything else. I have a bunch of pictures from over 2 years that need processing, sharing etc. I sorely need to exercise, I rarely update this blog and I have no time to learn new things in depth. And that sucks!

So I decided to target getting down my feeds to a 100 for a start. I got there only last week, gut-wrenched to see some of the stuff I really enjoyed reading. However, if I really have to, I can always head over to those websites. A lot of these feeds posted more than 1 item everyday - and still sneaked in through my no-more-than-10-articles-per-day rule. These had to go.

After getting down to a 100, my next target is 50 feeds. This one is even harder, considering that a lot of the feeds now are my friends' blogs, or webcomics, which usually post only 1 article/day or lesser. I am almost halfway to my new target - down to 76, and I already feel better. This time however, I did not completely remove these sites from my life - I pushed them off to my twitter feed.

The twitter feed is way faster than the reader, but it doesn't show me 'unread' items, which means that I can dip in whenever I feel like it, and not have the 'unread' guilt hanging over my head. That way, presumably I can skim through more stuff.

The high-nosed may scoff that twitter has been around for a while and I should have known this before. I admit that I didn't / don't still get twitter. I hate the fact that I can miss reading something of value. However, I am ready to experiment with it for now. From now on, lots of feeds which post a lot, but in which I read only a few articles - i.e. have a low signal-to-noise ratio will have to go to twitter. The reader would continue to be a place where I add friends, and webcomics and a host of other stuff that doesn't update that often. I guess I would miss a few things, but this would make my reader much easier to clean, make twitter much more relevant to me, and my life uncluttered, happier and more hopefully more creative. In some ways, these would be two separate news providers for me. Twitter carrying the sensational, in the news stuff, while the Reader can continue to be the editorial page - to be read carefully and enjoyed.

Inspired by:
Zen Habits
Chris Brogan - who unsubscribed from over the 100,000+ people he was following on twitter.

Sidenote: Now that I am pushing more things on to twitter, I wonder if I will get to a point where my feed there gets overloaded.. So much so that I can't track it! I guess I will handle this problem when it comes to that.

A nation full of 'engineers'

Asmita smiled as she put the finishing touches on the purple horizon in her painting. It depicted the beautiful dusk she had one seen from her Aaji’s house in the village. It showed a glowing sun setting amidst the blue mountains, far away in the evening haze. Cows grazing on the yellowed landscape, and a silhouette of the dry trees parched for water, in the hot, dry Indian summer. With a last sigh, she glanced with wistful eyes at the painting as she put away her tools - her palette, paintbrushes and the oil paints she had just finished using - into the box-bed. This was the last time she would paint in a long time to come.
Rohan’s Mom called him back home for dinner just as he was about to score the last fifteen runs required for his team to win the T20 cricket match with kids from the neighboring building. “Coming Mom”, he shouted back impatiently, slightly angry. Cricket was the only thing he had ever cared about for as long as he could remember. His eyes twinkled as he faced the opposition’s bowler, his bat swinging in a wide arc, cleanly striking the ball along the pitch for a boundary. This would be the last time he played the game for the next three years.

Nakul sat crouched under the bush, patiently and noiselessly as he waited for hours for the bird to show up. He had spotted its nest just after noon. It was high up on the tree, cozy between the trunk and a thick branch, away from the wind. It was close to dusk, surely the bird must return now, as they always do. Maybe it had gone out hunting for the day, as they always do. His legs hurt from sitting all day in this position, the camera hanging around his neck, his neck sunburned. He waited with baited breath, and... There it was! She had just flown home. In a sudden rush of excitement, he clicked away furiously, capturing the bird in its full glory; swooping in on its nest, landing nimbly on the edge, trying to be fair to all the bird babies as her beak went around distributing the spoils. The chatter of the babies made him happy, joie de vivre running through him. It was the last that that camera ever clicked nature.
Today, and later in the month they will all be appearing for their engineering entrance exams. Fighting to get into the 10,000 or so seats that ‘good’ engineering colleges in the country on offer. Not one of them will get a seat. None of them will be good engineers.

Not because they are not smart. Not because they are not intelligent. It is because, they were not supposed to be engineers. They were supposed to be painters, and poets, and athletes and ornithologists, all excelling in their fields. 5 years later, they will all be working for as ‘software engineers’, working at a tiny back-office, fixing bugs created by some unseen overlord in some far away land where they have never been. Or faking accents, helping some middle aged lady in Wyoming figure out how to use the new blender she just bought.

Working for a different overlord than the one they gained ‘independence’ from 60 years ago. Or the same one.

Very few of them will actually go back to work at their passions.

Very few of them will actually do work that will change the world in some way.

Very few of them will actually be ‘independent’.

Very few of them will ever be free...

Can I go to war with you on my side?

In this article, former Indian cricket coach Gary Kirsten says of the Indian World Cup winning captain MS Dhoni:

“I have read that great leaders in the world give credit to others when things are going well and take responsibility when things are going badly. MS Dhoni is that to the ‘T’.”

Indeed that is the hallmark of a great leader, and in fact should be true of every leader if (s)he wants to win the trust, admiration and respect of the tribe. Not just as lip-service, but that is how a leader should feel from the inside. Because very few victories are achieved just due to the leader. It is always a team game. And by giving credit to people the leader empowers each member of the tribe - allows a sense of joy and belonging to  permeate through.

By taking responsibility when things go badly, the leader takes away the downside - the fear of failure. This allows each individual to be creative without fear of retribution.

“I want to go to war with this guy,”  Kirsten said talking of the skipper.

Are you someone who I would trust enough to go to war with?

Strangers across the Room

Their eyes met at the campus bar. She was a slim petite girl. He had a broad muscular frame. At first instant, it was electric. A connection both felt. It would have been nicer if they had had a chance to talk.

She with her conservative upbringing was too shy to initiate contact. He was too skeptical to leap at the opportunity. It would have been nicer if they had had a chance to talk.

That night before sleep cradled her, she thought of what could have been. As he turned on his pillow, he wondered if he should have gone ahead and asked her out. It might have been nicer if they had had a chance to talk.

But then again, somethings in life are best left unsaid… There is a joy in incompleteness. There is a joy in the ‘could-have-beens’. In the memories which never took place…

A Heaven to Compare

There was once a guy named Janardhan
Worked hard each day from eight to seven
Sometimes even till eleven!
In the hope that he would end up in heaven

Grew up in scarcity,
In school he calculated mass, velocity, density,
One of the brightest there
Destiny still forced him on a path as only she may dare,

Till yesterday he ploughed hard his field,
Cursing God for unlucky seed,
Dependent on the monsoon for his bread,
A difficult and lonely path he tread

He wished for a better life,
Away from all the strife,
On the other side the grass is always green,
In his dreams he saw a place with great sheen

A place where water was aplenty,
and the girls were dainty,
If only he could go there,
How much better he would fare

Today he was struck by lightening,
Transported to Shangri-La, in a moment delightening.
Where even in his wildest dreams he’d never been,
Here the cows were plump and the fields were green,
And he should have been as happy as ever seen!

Ever so suddenly freed of his bind,
Something yet kept pricking his mind,
He was in heaven! But he didn’t have a clue
In his mind he was ever so blue

Until God thundered, “Why so serious?”
For, no wonder, He was furious,
“What kinda bloke pines in heaven?”
To which replied Janardhan,

“Mi’Lord you see,
Now that you mention this as heaven,
I wonder myself why happy can’t I be...”

“And this may sound sappy,
This place being so free of care,
But I can’t be happy,
Despite my humble home bare,
For I ain’t got another heaven to compare!”

The Dream II

I was standing at the cliff edge. The roaring sea far below, pounding in all its majesty to my right; a small hut behind my back on the left – a poor man’s shop offering some snacks and drinks. Shabbily laid out plastic tables, not exactly new and shiny, but still offering solace to the weary traveler, and a hot cup of tea with biscuits if he so wishes. The day was hot, and the three of us had come a long way. My companions till now were – my friend, a vastly more experienced person at this kind of a thing, pointing out to me all the perils that the way had brought, unfailingly, in a way that would not be possible unless it is from the very bottom of the heart; and then there was the guide. Rugged, acquainted with the way of the mountains as well as a mountain goat, unflinchingly leading us through valleys and passes, never once unsure of his footing; as though He himself had created the rocks which we trod upon.

The journey had been challenging, but it was all towards this end. It was here which would decide the destiny, the path of all that would matter. The way down to the sea was from the left, winding, across plateaus and mountain paths. It seemed reassuring, considering that the guide and the companion were both already heading down the path. Did that look like the best way for me? I had faithfully followed them this far, unquestioning and without any harm, but was that the right way for me? Or could it be that the time had come when we split, me heading out in the search of my own destiny.

Unthinking, I veered towards the cliff edge, the waves crashing at the bottom of the cliff, threatening, menacing and unforgiving. Losing my balance, I almost careened over the edge, when suddenly I heard my name called out from the distance. It jolted me back into conscious, but I had now seen over the edge of the cliff. I had seen the sheer face of the mountain. It stood gloriously, for all these years, withstanding all the battering of the sea, the yellow sandstone gleaming under the bright hot mid-day sun. Was this it? Was I meant to take the plunge? Wouldn’t it be much faster, if not a sure shot way to reach the sea?

Just as I stood contemplating all of this, clouds gathered in the sky. As if reflecting the tumult in my mind, the environment transformed. The wind started blowing across strongly, the waves, small and calm till now transformed into large ones, dashing against the rock displaying an anger known only to them. Beyond the mountain, a twister swirled into life. The monster started snaking its way towards the cliff as I watched, transfixed, rooted to the spot.

He veered towards the cliff, threatening to swallow my people in one gulp. As I glanced towards my left, I saw the desk, with my laptop calmly resting on top. In one moment, as if deciphering my attachment to it, he moved swiftly to swallow the desk – laptop and all, never to be seen again. As pangs shot across my heart, worrying next for my beloved, the devil circled about, waiting for me to make my next move. A look of fear must have flitted across my face, because even as I regained my composure, he seemed to sense my weakness and snort at me, a smirk almost discernable within the dusty folds.

Then I saw it. Beyond the hut and the twister, stood a building, on the leeward side of the mountain, away from the sea, protected from the elements by the mountain, playing shelter to scores of children.. In a flash, my life flashed before my eyes, it was time for Qayamat – the Final Judgement. I had to decide, what I would do next. I could still dive off the cliff, and in a moment all of this picture would be behind me. I would have to count on him to be taken by surprise, and follow me into my dive leaving the others alone. I had to trust myself to land safely into the sea. If my dive failed, it would still be over quickly, I would crash onto the rocks, still spared the pain of indecision. Or I could run and join my people, the same people who I had trusted through the entire journey, and who still looked beseechingly at me through frightened eyes, ever worrying for me, the soft kindness visible even through their dilated pupils, always wishing the best for me. But I knew what he was about to do. Even as these thoughts formed in my mind, he swirled to the building – as if following my instructions, tearing apart the building, hurling innocent children to the ground, mockingly inviting me to fight, to save them, to take on a might far beyond anything I had ever dared to in my young life…

The jigsaw called life

Recently I thought of an interesting idea. All of us has an ideal picture of how our life should be. Things are never in place from the start. Life is like a jigsaw puzzle: you discover the spot where a particular piece needs to go in at as you go along.

I have thought of my picture to be 3/4th complete. I have no clue whether it is or now, but thats the mental image I had. Suddenly, when least expected, another piece falls into place and you are left delighted, with the joy that only the puzzle solver can understand! Getting each new piece is a new challenge, maybe the first few are very simple - you go to school, make friends, choose your college and what you want to major in. Then you get a girlfriend, you get a job and so on. You probably question yourself as to whether she is the right partner for you, are you stuck in a wrong job. As you grow older, if you want your picture to be perfect, the pieces are more challenging to fit in.

Each one of us wants different things in life. Likely, even the same person wants different things in his life. Somewhat like suddenly discovering that the picture that you were making is actually just a small part of a larger picture. And then you move on and try to solve this larger jigsaw!

My question to you is: How much of your jigsaw do you think is complete?

Comments, please!

Colors of Fall

Colors of Fall

Random Musing #1

Why is it always that things that you want the most are the ones that you cannot have!

Is it because you cannot have them that you want them, or just that since you cannot have them, you feel that they are the ones you want the most ;)

Maybe, it is true that once you get something, the value of it in your eyes reduces!

On the same note: The fun is in the chase, not in the capture... Its the process which is fun, rather than the result.

Same reason why every job gets boring after a while. Initially you are learning new stuff, getting to do new things, however, as we spend more time on it, even the most interesting task becomes mundane, and we execute it like its a burden on us...

The Dream

The rain came down in thin streaks. The hooded figure continued to move forward through the darkness. At times, disappearing under the cover of darkness, at times illuminated by the yellow glow of the street light. Not once did it turn and offer me a look at the face inside the black cloak.

I continued following the figure - fascinated, transfixed - by the mystique, over the smooth pavement, across streets branching off to the left. The dark river gushed along the road to the right. Its gurgles strangely amplified by the silence of the dark night, sounding more eerie than ever.

The night was strangely windless, although the rain came down at an angle, its falling drops looking like tiny silver arrows in the halo around the street lamps.

The black figure continued silently through the night. Silent. Quiet. As fascinating as ever. Unquestioningly I followed. A strange warmth glowing inside my heart.

Then suddenly it disappeared. I searched the streets around. As I searched, I saw in the distance a figure, slumped across the steps to a dark green colored door, with a golden doorknob. I rushed there and turned the crumpled body. A scream of horror escaped my mouth as I saw the face behind the hood. It was a ghostly white, contorted into a smile, a mocking, cruel smile – not unlike the clown in a circus. No, this could not have been that.

Just as I gave up hope and turned back, I saw the swish of a black cloak vanishing behind the corner. I ran in that direction, leaving behind or caution, or premise of it, splashing through the muddy puddles created by the rain, running through the equally muddy rivulets of water – towards the street along the river. The rivulets were ominously flowing in the direction away from the river.

As I turned the corner, I caught sight of the figure again walking steadily ahead at a distance. It did not seem to notice the noises that I made, mindlessly walking its own way, pace steady. The urge to see the face behind the hood irresistible, I hastened even more, catching up with it at long last. Somehow, I did not have the mind to peer into the face although I was now walking along with it now. I was content, walking up the hill, not speaking a word, not caring where the hood was taking me.

At the top of the hill, I could see a house. It shone bright in the wild night. A lamp hung outside, steady and warm in the night air. I could feel its warmth despite the distance.

Then the hood suddenly crumpled to the ground. Then there appeared the full moon in a half clouded sky, and the hood rose and made its way towards the heavens. As rigid as if made from rock, as smoothly as a ghost ship sailing into the sky. And I was left in the middle of a small clearing in the woods, the house-light still shining in the distance.

And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How everything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.

Partition - and Indian History in General

This article appeared in the Times of India - written by S A Aiyar, who at times I feel is the only saving grace of the tabloid that the newspaper has now become.

I guess, we will never conclusively know what actually panned out. The sad part is, our politics still cant accept a scholarly book without getting bitter about it. Its sad that today, children in India learn history only till 1947, that is when it ends! Did we as a nation stop making history that day? Nothing about the Indo-Pak wars, nothing about our achievements in space technology, nothing about the changes in every field that the country has undergone till now.

Sad.

We keep pondering over our Shivajis and Chandraguptas while continuing to ignore our very recent - and ten times more relevent past.

Anyway, please find the article below for convenience.


Jaswant pays price for telling the truth S A Aiyar Sunday August 23, 2009

For decades, Congress and BJP have jointly nurtured the myth that Britain teamed up with Jinnah to impose Partition on India, to institutionalise divide-and-rule even after leaving. No, says Jaswant Singh in his new book. Partition was largely due to Nehru and Sardar Patel, who insisted on a centralised India and vetoed the loose federation favoured by Jinnah.

The BJP has expelled Jaswant, and, outrageously, banned his book in Gujarat. He wonders why the party is upset by his expose of Patel/Nehru. He should have known that his expose would damage the anti-Muslim ideology of the BJP more than that of Congress.

Historically, India was a land of a thousand warring kings, along with divisions of language, region and religion. Division was a fact of life: the British did not have to invent it. Rather, as Maulana Muhammad Ali said to the British, ‘‘We divide and you rule.’’
British rule consolidated a hitherto fragmented India. Even so, British India covered only half the area and two-thirds of the population of the sub-continent. The rest lay with 600-odd princely states. Had Britain wanted to continue divide-and-rule — and Churchill certainly did — it just had to stand by its treaties with the 600 princes, who wanted independence. But the Labour Party that came to power in 1945 was against such imperial games. Mountbatten, the last Viceroy, told the princes they must join India or Pakistan. This helped create two countries out of 600 princedoms.

Jaswant portrays Jinnah as a secularist wanting a loose federation of states, each with substantial autonomy. A loose federation was initially proposed by Mountbatten but rejected by Nehru, who said it would Balkanize India. Nehru wanted a strong federal government for unity. Jinnah said this was a cloak for Hindu hegemony.

Jaswant is perhaps too soft on Jinnah, who had a communal streak as well as a secular one. His insistence that only the Muslim League could speak for Muslims was pure communalism. At one time he favoured a loose federation, but ultimately insisted on a separate Pakistan.

The interim government of 1946-47 included Congress and the Muslim League. Jinnah quarrelled daily with Congress on issue after issue to deny it legitimacy.

Liaquat Ali of the Muslim League was finance minister in the interim government, and had the power to block any expenditure. He constantly queried and blocked spending proposals of Congress ministers. Patel said he could not even appoint a chaprasi without Liaquat’s approval, which took ages.

In February 1947, Liaquat presented a socialist ‘‘poor man’s budget’’. This imposed a 25% tax on business profits over one lakh rupees, doubled the corporate tax, imposed capital gains tax, and doubled the export duty on tea. It also proposed a commission to unearth tax-evaders.

Socialists in Congress supported these proposals. But others like Patel were outraged, claiming that Liaquat was really attacking Hindu businessmen (like G D Birla) who had long financed Congress. This was a Hindu communal interpretation of a budget that equally affected Muslim and Parsi industrialists. Hindu businessmen also feared that Liaquat would selectively target them for tax evasion via the new commission, a fear some Congressmen shared.

This reflected, in part, an unwillingness to accommodate the agenda of a prickly coalition partner. Ironically, the Congress of Sonia Gandhi would in 2004-08 swallow more humiliations from a prickly partner than it did in 1946-47. But in 1947, Congress saw itself as the natural party of rule, not a mere coalition partner.

Liaquat’s tactics were stunningly successful. They convinced Patel — and later Nehru — that working with the Muslim League was impossible. Alan Campbell-Johnson says in Mission with Mountbatten that Nehru and Patel accepted Partition because ‘‘by conceding Pakistan to Jinnah they will have no more of him and eliminate his nuisance value; or as Nehru put it privately, that by cutting the head we shall get rid of headache.’’

This supports Jaswant Singh’s claim that Congress opted for Partition rather than share power with Jinnah. Pakistani historians like Ayesha Jalal argue that Congress was unwilling to make the compromises necessary in a diverse democracy, and this led to Partition. Other historians blame Jinnah and Liaquat for sabotaging any chance of a unified India.

Either way, we need to abandon the myth that the British imposed Partition on India, though Mountbatten saw it as desirable and helped promote the Jinnah-Congress agreement on it. The clincher was Liaquat’s budget and obstructionism, which drove Congress from opposing Partition to becoming a fully consenting partner in it. Jaswant Singh could have been tougher on Jinnah, but has correctly highlighted Congress’ role in Partition

____________________________________________________________________

Also it hurts that the BJP is running around like a headless chicken, not proving to be a worthy opposition to the government... Blah :x

Chamonix

We took the TGV { :D :D :D } from the Gare de Lyon in Paris to Lyon, and then changed three regional trains to reach Chamonix by 4 30pm. By then we were in a disastrous state. One wheel of the big strolley bag that Minu and Payal had, had come off, and it was barely possible for two people to struggle along with it. The fact that we did not know the directions to the hostel seemed a minor blip on the radar. Eventually, we got out at the main Chamonix station, walked to the tourism office, and got to know that the Youth Hostel was 2 train stops before town. Now for very dumb reasons, and due to the shut down that our brains had undergone after a very hectic last 48 hours, we got onto the train back, and got off just 1 stop later! As a consequence, we were hauling up a hill, around 9 heavy bags, sacks, one with a broken wheel. We tried catching a bus, but nothing worked. Eventually, we reached up to the hostel at 7 20 or so, after cursing the hill we were climbing, and were more than happy to go and crash in our rooms.

An awesome journey this was, not to say, hilarious in light of posteriority.

And now, today is Sunday, the 19^th, when I sit in the Chamonix hostel room, too tired to coax myself to move from bed, content to sit and type onto my laptop the happenings till now.

On this Sunday, the others went hiking into the mountains, as a result of which they had some pretty pictures to show. I contented myself to sit and type into this journal for the entire morning, stretching well into the afternoon. We discovered that, we could travel free in the train till the end of France – to a place called Vallerene on the France-Swiss border. Having nothing better to do with our time, we decided that going on this 40 minute journey was the best thing that we could do with our time at hand. Climbing down from the hostel to Les Pellerines train station, we took the train to Vallercene. The travel was really scenic, with Mont Blanc and other snow clad peaks constantly in view. The Europeans have build so many cable cars, and to such heights that I keep getting astonished at their engineering. Cable cars reach upto heights of 3800m to a place called Augere du Midi. Apparently, this place is 8km from the Mont Blanc peak, and offers stunning views of it. However, being on a shoestring budget, we contended ourself with seeing the cars from Chamonix – from a height of 1095m, from the comfort of our train. During the 40 min journey, I was invited to showcase my singing skills by Minu and H, and needless to say, I grabbed the opportunity, my newfound confidence in my voice egging me on. Since then I have been singing a lot on the trip. :P

Vallercene was quite a disappointment. We were hoping to have dinner here, but were disappointed at the lack of eateries here. So we took the same train back to Chamonix. We were in Vallercene exactly for 10 min – from 5 50 to 6pm. :D In Chamonix, we headed to Elevation 1904 – a place recommended by the Lonely Planet guide. 1904 did not disappoint. The nice cool bar, with the friendly barman, was enticing, and H and I decided that this might be the best time to get high. We started with some Vodka and Tequila, and by the time we were done, we were 12 euros lighter in our pockets, and more light in our heads. The best thing about getting high is that you speak things as soon as they come to mind. You do not stop to think about whether what you say might sound stupid, and this was great fun! We took the bus back to hostel. H and I then played pool, which again was good fun, despite our obvious lack of judgment and concentration! We headed back to our room, me quite sleepy coz of the alcohol. Chamonix was the first place where all of us were in the same dorm. After chatting for a while, I turned in at 12 30 am or so. Irritatingly for me, H and Minu were chatting right across from my bed.

After a sleep punctuated by short gaps of “Shh…” we had to wake up early, taking the early morning train from Chamonix to Lyon. We had a short 1 hr 20 min or so gap at Lyon before our connection to Marseille. After packing some lunch from Subway, I went for a short walk around the station. I moved from the back of the station, from a blatantly office district, from under a under-rail bridge into the main Lyon downtown. Without any particular plans I entered ‘Carrefour’ the famous mall chain that I happened to spot. There were plenty of ‘Soldes’ (Sales) on, despite which, the prices were mostly unaffordable to me. I found a shop selling 3 euro tee shirts, but still I got a feeling that the cost should have been 2 euros each, and I did not buy anything. :P

People and cities

Paris is perhaps the most beautiful city on earth. It has so many monuments by the French, who are great lovers of art. As I said before, every building is a postcard of its own, having its own history. The French are also very proud people, and do not like it when you talk to them in English. At times, I also found them plain rude – they will tell you they do not know English even they do! Being proud is good, but the French pride borders on arrogance. It seems they are proud of their history, much like the Indians like talking about Vedas, and ancient glory. It is high time that France woke up to the new world order, where they are not the rulers of the world. They would do well to remember that they had their asses saved by the Americans when Hitler was in town. De Gaulle himself sounds more of an opportunist rather than the great leader he is made out to be.

I may be wrong on this count coz of my lack of reading on French history, but this is the opinion that I have formed till now.

The French are more the painters, the artists, the connoisseurs than engineers, fighters or anything dashing. They have had their moments in the limelight when Napoleon was the emperor. They would do better to wake up to the new world. However, their architecture, museums are definitely worth admiring. Also at one level, I hope that Indians learn to be proud of themselves, their country, and what they can do, (rather than the pride at their history and mythology). India still has not completely shaken off its colonial yoke of her back.

Germans on the other hand are technical people, and like you would expect them to be, their systems work like clockwork. To give an example: all trams in Bremen were accurate to the minute, unlike Paris. Also all of them were functional. In the two days in Paris, our metro stopped a stop before its intended destination, and once we had to run to the TGV station to board our train in time coz of this. Also, all announcements are in French. In a city like Paris, bustling with tourists, you would expect the announcers to be bilingual. Ticket vendors, tourist info centres, lack proper English speakers, people at best can talk broken English. Irritating.

I found the Netherlands much like India. It’s got a huge population density, like India, and traffic signals are taken to be suggestions rather than rules by the public!

Paris II - the most hectic day on the trip!

Next morning, all the others went to get the Free Tour of Paris, while I headed to the Musee D’ Orsay – the French National Museum – which houses French painting and sculpture from 1840s to 1910s. Again, needless to say, I was visiting it for Van Gogh. It also houses his French contemporaries, including his friend Gauguin, Renoir, Monet, Pissarro etc. Gauguin’s art comes a bit close to Van Gogh, but is nowhere as near to him. There was also Neo-Impressionist art, which is the evolving of Impressionism into an exact science, with studies made into the effect of putting opposite colors into the same frame, so as to accentuate the effect. I loved that too.

Due to the lack of time, I left the Orsay without visiting the first two floors – the sculptures. I headed from there to the Palace de Louvre, home to the famous museum. I joined here, the free tour which the others were taking. We walked along the famous 7km long road in Paris, which is the most interestin part of Paris. We saw no less than 8 different palaces, the Eiffel, the Arc de Troimphe, the Obelisk from Egypt, the Grand Palais and the Petit Palais, the cathedral at Sacre Monte etc. Totally worth it! We then headed to the Eiffel Tower – which he had not gone up – at 4 30. After a short wait, we were on the elevator to the top. And it was a breathtaking view on offer! We could see Paris from end to end, all of its glory, from a height of 58 stories! A tip: Carry your woolens to the top! Its real cold up there. Brr!

Tired as we were, we straggled up to the Louvre, and forced ourself into it, to see the one thing we knew inside, the Mona Lisa. Friday evenings offer a free entry to students, and that was the deciding factor for the visit. I also managed to crawl and see a few Greek, Roman, Carthage-ian sculpture. I saw a few Renaissance furniture too, before it was closing time. I must say that I could relate more to the Orsay than to the Louvre. Again, it must be said that it is huge, and probably impossible to see the entire museum with anything less than 3 days in hand.

On the way back to the hostel, we took the wrong metro, had to get off, and climb on another one back, and we were as dead as logs by the time we reached the hostel. We had to leave early next morning, and we did not even bother to look at the directions to the next hostel, which then caused a lot of pain in Chamonix.

Thunderstorm at Eiffel!

Then it rained. It was a huge thunderstorm, as we were on the Seine, and it turned up our umbrellas, and we had to rush to a kiosk, not managing to stay completely dry as the wind ran askew. It was an awesome experience, and deserving the big mug of beer I had there. Dizzy from the beer, and maybe all the happiness, high on life, we headed back to the hostel, again changing 2 metros.

Versailles. and Eiffel!

Versailles, is a sleepy suburb, maybe unremarkable but for the imposing shadow cast by the palace. The palace is for lack of words - grand! The grandest thing I have seen, maybe conceived by man. It is huge. The gates are gold, and the building is striking. It is a C shape, and again the tour is definitely money well spent. We passed many chambers, the chapel, the Hall of Mirrors, the Royal bedchambers etc. This is what it must be to be royalty, the imperiousity, the elegance and the grandeur. Lesser (or less moneyed) kings would have been stunned, astounded to see such opulence. At times, no corner of the room was left uncovered. Walls covered with paintings of Greek mythological figures, and later, paintings depicting Louis XIV as the supreme ruler, the unquestioned God. It also showcases the disconnect that the Royalty would have had from the masses, which famously led to the French Revolution, when the people stormed in, and Marie Antoinette, the queen, had to escape from a secret bedside route. She had replied to the statement that the Parisians no longer had bread to eat, with “Then let them eat cake”. Was it ignorance, or arrogance, or sarcasm, I do not know. But if she never ventured out of the grand palace, and their opulent gardens, it is likely to be the former! The gardens are so huge, that it would put the Mughals in Delhi to shame. Definitely visit Versailles if you can, when Paris.

Later that evening, we headed to the Eiffel Tower. She is a beauty! We wanted to see her at night, and by the time we reached there, it was quite late, and we decided not to wait in the 2 hour long queue for tickets. We instead roamed around the Seine again, before lying down on a slab of concrete on the bank.