Did I ever mention that I've been elected an officer of GRACS this semester? No, I don't believe I did. Well, I have -- and it's a fact I'm inordinately proud of. I've been going about the place broadcasting the fact that I'm a GRACS officer (a fact that makes me extremely proud, and makes it hard to avoid strutting). I take my duties very seriously -- representing the grad student population of the University of Texas at Austin Department of Computer Sciences, to give it its full name. GRACS stands for the Graduate Representative Association of Computer Sciences, and I'm a member.
GRACS is the body that represents us poor graduate students, and makes sure that people remember that we're alive, we're human, and we exist for purposes other than researching for professors. GRACS currently consists of six members -- Sudipta Chatterjee, Thomas Finsterbusch, Joel Hestness, Christian Miller, Donald Nguyen -- and me of course. Awesome people, all of them. But more about them later. This post is to describe the game night.
I believe the game night was Christian's idea. He basically put together a huge array of gaming machines and consoles, and a mind-boggling array of games, and told grad students to go out and have fun. My part of it was to arrange for the pizzas to feed the hungry army that I was sure would invade the food. Who would turn up to actually play was the real question. We were unsure about whether the event would interest grad students -- a special species characterized by their non-existent social life. So it was with some trepidation that we waited for 6:30pm on Wednesday, 27 February 2008.
At first, we were pleasantly surprised to find quite an impressive number of people accumulated in the room -- but that was rapidly abolished on learning the fact that almost 75% of them were there for the food. When the food arrived, there was a stampede. When the dust cleared, only about 15 or 20 people were left, and all that was left of the food was a pile of empty pizza boxes from Pizza Hut, and some crumbs lying on the floor. Poor Christian didn't even get any pizza.
I tried to clear up the boxes, but after pushing aside the pile of boxes listlessly to one side of the grad lounge, I felt too bored to do any more, and besides, I was curious about how game night was progressing. So I made my way to ACES 2.402, where the event was happening.
When I walked in, the room was in darkness, the only illumination coming from the large projection screens on the walls. Games were in progress, and there were people playing them. Loud rock music blared out, from Guitar Hero. There were random battle cries flying in the air from the various games in progress. I made my way to the back of the room, and perched myself on the top of the table (it's useful at times being tiny -- I can pretty much fit myself anywhere I want!) -- and watched the Wii being set up. At that, my eyes lit up. I hate to admit this, but I'm not a gaming freak. In fact, I don't even know the difference between a Gameboy, a PS2/3 and an Xbox, physically. I don't know what games people play on them either, except for Super Mario or some such derivative. I know pitifully little about the world of games, which always manages to stun people, because I'm an artist and they automatically assume that I'd be good at gaming as well (If you haven't gotten the association between the two, welcome to the club). It doesn't help matters that I'd taken the graduate level Graphics course last semester -- from the way some people announce the fact, you'd think I was the numero uno student in the class! Not so. I suffered badly in the course -- something that's been chronicled with plenty of heartbreak on this blog. But I digress. I was saying that I don't know much about games. Security, yes. Web development, yes. Networking, yes. But gaming -- no. Which was why I wasn't sure what I'd do in the room -- until the Wii came up.
Wii is something I can play -- and pretty decently too, at that. I'd been coached by my teammates while I was an intern at Dell, and considered myself pretty decent at Wii Sports (though I've only played tennis, bowling and boxing). The Wii is intuitive (man, gotta give it to the Japanese!) and I love playing. I looked on as Donald and Thomas played on it. When the game ended, Donald offered me his controller. With enormous eyes, I jumped into the game.
I put all my energy into the game. I must admit, I'm a very violent Wii player. I don't content myself with only moving my hand -- if I don't throw my entire body into the game, I feel as though I'd lose. I swung my controller like a pro tennis player, and threw myself wholeheartedly into the game. I think I banged my wildly flailing arm onto Thomas a couple of times. By the time the game ended -- and I lost, by the way -- my arm was already sore.
But that was just the beginning! I watched as my friends also threw themselves into the game. Some of my friends were there -- Ruchica Behl, Harshdeep Singh, Aditya Saurabh and Hari Jayaraman. Hari played the Wii the entire time were there -- I was surprised he had the stamina! Then again, except for me, no one exerts themselves as though they were playing pro tennis. After some rounds of the Wii, Ruchica, Harsh and I decided to try Mario Kart. We spent a hilarious 15 minutes trying to figure out how it worked, and then finally got it going. After I got annoyed banging into walls, I turned my console over to Aditya -- who was ragged to death by Harsh about his lack of knowledge about the game. It didn't help that Aditya kept making critical comments about the game.
"I discovered a bug," he announced, and proceeded to demonstrate it. "Look, when the car hits the wall, it goes through it instead of crashing against it!" and he banged his car repeatedly against the wall until it did go through.
"Saale, tu yahaan testing karne aaya hai ki game khelne? (Are you here for testing or for playing the game?)" demanded Harsh, his eyes glued to the projector screen.
I laughed and laughed. They kept jibing each other good-naturedly throughout the game, and I laughed till I almost lost my balance off my precarious perch. Ruchica, all this while, kept her cool, and managed to win the games simply by coasting through the maze.
In between listening to the two bicker, I looked around the room as well. People were playing all kinds of games. Christian was busy with some anime-looking game, and Donald and another Graphics student, Peter Djeu, were playing another anime-looking game. I think I'd die of humiliation if those guys ever found out I called the games "that anime-looking game"; but I really don't know one of them from the other. On another end of the room, Thomas and Joel were also playing some game. Guitar Hero was still in full flow, and at some point, I heard someone switch to a Muse song. The mood in the room was very exciting, very upbeat.
We played all the way till 10pm. We had thought that we might need to pack up by 8:30, if no one showed up -- but game night was an official success! I don't think the people wanted to leave at 10. I was exhausted, for it had been a long day, and my right arm was sore from playing Wii Tennis as though my life depended on it. Finally, at 10pm, we all ended game night, and returned back to our dreary lives.
I returned to my "office" -- it's actually Ruchica's office, but I've claimed it as my own :) and plonked myself on the chair I've claimed as well (I've claimed an unusually large number of things in that room), and felt my life force seeping out of me. Well, not really -- but I was seriously exhausted. When I returned home that night, I couldn't lift my right arm to wash my face, and the next day, I seriously thought about getting a sling, my right arm was so stiff with pain. But it was worth every moment of Game Night!! Game Night was an official success, and I sure hope we have more of them!
Friday, February 29, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
A German Adventure - Part III
(continued from last time)
The next morning, I woke to see the sun filtering in gently through the filmy curtains. I yawned, stretched, wondered vaguely why I had filmy curtains on my window -- and sat up with a jerk when I remembered the adventures of last night. I looked around the room. Yep, the whole thing hadn't been a dream -- I was still very much in Frankfurt. However, something had cooled my temper and anxiety -- probably the fact that I had, for the first time in three months, slept for more than 5 hours at a stretch. I felt relaxed, and ready to face whatever the world threw at me. With this resolve in mind, I freshened up, and went downstairs for breakfast.
I went with Anita, the girl from San Jose I'd met the previous day. She was accompanied by a hell-like woman who insisted on making her order for everything, claiming she didn't know English (Bull. How would she have made it to the United States otherwise?) The three of us went downstairs to the French restaurant. It was adorable, and I felt like spending the rest of the day there. We were seated next to a glass wall, where we could see out onto the cobble-stoned street outside. People dressed warmly walked past, breath misting in the cold air. There was a sprig of beautiful wild pink flowers just outside the restaurant window, and lent a touch of color to the gray scene outside. In the distance were some tall buildings, which reminded me of Bombay. I loved it. The scene looked very much like my imagery of "Europe".
After the meal was over, we wondered what to do. I went over to the reception, and asked for a pin converter. I had discovered, the previous night, that there was a 110V outlet in my room, but unfortunately, it needed a pin converter. I got that, and went upstairs to my room to leave my laptop to charge up, and went downstairs again.
There were a bunch of people accumulated there, all from Air India, all hollering at each other, rumors floating in the air. Some people said that the flight would leave later that night. Some said we were stuck there till December 26th. Some said we'd be sent back to Chicago. It was crazy, and I made a face and tried exploring the hotel. It was pretty, no doubt about that. The reception was tastefully decorated, and there was Christmas decoration all over the place. I loved the two Christmas trees, and the gingerbread house, complete with a gingerbread crow on the chimney!
Before I knew it, it was time for lunch. A bunch of us decided to eat lunch together, and searched for a place to eat. We finally decided on the quaint Italian bistro in the hotel, and accordingly, went there. I looked over the menu, and finally decided on a turkey wrap and a cup of mandarin oranges with yogurt. The German waitress asked me anxiously, "Iss goot?" I smiled at her. "It's good," I assured her, and she went away, pleased. I felt myself laze, and even managed to forget the fact that I was stuck in a foreign country, where English was not the main language, for God knew how long, and in a way that was cutting into my vacation time at home. I felt at peace after the meal. I even managed to order a huge chunk of blackforest cake and an enormous cup of latte, and a bottle of water to finish it all off, while the other passengers looked at me, astonished. One of them even asked me, "How do you eat all that and still remain so tiny?" But my hurt look made him hurriedly change the topic!
Outside, the street was busy. There was a tram station right outside on the street, and green trams arrived every five minutes, so so it seemed to me. People thronged the street, Hamburger Allee. Cars drove past -- cars! Sleek, elegant German cars that made me drool. Every fourth car seemed to be an Audi. The light changed over the scene as the sun made its way across the horizon. I watched the scene, entranced, until the waitress came over the clear our table. Some of the people suggested a quick tour of the town, but I had to turn down the proposition, as I didn't want to catch pneumonia traveling in the cold Frankfurt night with nothing warmer than a hooded sweatshirt. I, instead, decided to go back to my room.
I exited the bistro, and saw a huge crowd at the reception -- all passengers from Air India. I went over and joined the crowd, and at the center of it all, discovered one of the Air India crew, trying to be heard over the noise. Finally, I got the gist of what he was saying: Air India had been unable to fix the busted engines of the airplane we had arrived in, so a relief aircraft was being flown in from Calcutta. It would arrive in Frankfurt early tomorrow morning, and we would set off sometime around 8:30am. In the meantime, to keep us busy, we had 10 minutes to talk to anyone anywhere in the world over the phone, and two hours of free internet access. The second option was what uplifted me.
I went to the elevator, and pressed the button for the 38th floor. Also inside the elevator was a pilot in uniform, a tall, rangy blond man. He kept looking at me, and after we'd gone up some ten floors, he pointed at me, and said: "Longhorn?"
My jaw dropped, and I gave him a grin of pure delight, while making the hook-em sign with my hand. He grinned at me, made the same sign, and got off at the 35th floor, while I continued on to the 38th. I retired to my room, and with something resembling a yell of joy, went to my favorite website -- Google. The internet! I realized for the first time how much I relied on it. I checked everything I could, trying to make sure I spent every minute of the two hours wisely. I checked my mail in every mail server I have an account on -- Gmail, Yahoo, Hotmail, AOL, even the UT server. I checked my Facebook page and wrote back to some people who had scribbled on my wall. I looked up my grades on UT Direct, and emailed a professor about them. I checked my bank account, and was delighted to discover that the call to India the day before had cost me only $10, and I had moreover just received my paycheck for December, so I had nothing to worry about, financially. I felt relaxed after the bout of internet-surfing, and called my parents to let them know of the updates about the flight situation. After all that, I packed up my backpack, and went down for dinner.
Dinner was again at the Champions Bar. This time, I actually felt a little sad that I would never see the place again. I'd grown fond of Frankfurt, for in spite of the incompetence of Air India, I had spent a good two days here. I had a hearty dinner, finished it off with apple strudel, and went up to my room. Grad school has given me the ability to doze of anywhere, anytime, for any number of hours, and wake up not feeling like a zombie, so I woke after three hours, feeling reasonably refreshed. I went downstairs, and saw all the other passengers accumulated in the lobby. I checked out, had a last cup of coffee, returned the pin converter, bid the cheerful receptionist goodbye, and went out to the bus for the trip to the airport. When it was full, the bus glided through the dark, empty streets, with a gaslight-like glow from the street lamps, giving it a surreal look. I bade a mental goodbye to Germany, and we left the city of Frankfurt, and landed back at Frankfurt Flughafen.
Again, there was Air India incompetence at work. Although they'd summoned us at 6am, there was no one manning the counters, but we had grown so used to it, we didn't even complain. We stood in an enormously serpentine queue, waiting for it to dissipate. Finally, the check-in counters opened, and people started checking in. I went through check-in and security, losing my bottle of water in the process. An old security guard at the security check remarked on the number of books in my backpack, "You like to read!" I gave him a grin, and went through.
Finally, feeling as though it were all a dream, I was on the plane. It was a smaller one than the one we'd come on -- it was a 777 -- and much nicer than the 747 we'd arrived in. As I watched, it started snowing outside, and the world grew white. Finally, unable to keep my eyes open, I dozed off. I woke up at 10:30, to the announcement that we were about to take off, so please fasten your seatbelts. Mine was already fastened, so I sat back, and felt the engine purr outside. The plane started moving. It moved faster and faster, till it was gliding over the runway, and then suddenly, with a little bump, it was in the air. A great whoop of joy went up from all the passengers, and the atmosphere in the plane lightened considerably. I gave a grin that stretched my mouth from ear to ear, and opened up my manga -- I could read it now!
The two movies running were the irritating Bratz, and an obscure The Last Legion, so I closed my eyes, and dreamed of home. I guess I must've fallen fast asleep, for when I woke up, it was 4:00pm German time -- we'd be landing in under two hours! I cleared the cobwebs from my brain, shook off my sleep, and resumed reading my manga, the iPod in my ears, the battery dangerously low by now. The stewardess came over with food, which I gobbled down somehow, suddenly caring for nothing more than to meet my parents and my sister. The plane droned on through the night, with faint patches of light far below the only indications that we were passing over civilization.
Finally -- finally! -- the pilot announced that we were about to land in Mumbai -- at which a cheer went up from the crowd again. The crew started bringing over customs forms, which I filled with alacrity. My breath actually shortened when the plane started losing altitude, and I strained to look out of the window. And there it was! The bright yellow and white lighting of Bombay! Well, of any other city, but I knew it was Bombay. We flew over the ocean, and then swooped back over the mainland, the ground approaching us at breakneck speed. The ground came closer and closer, there was a little thump -- and we were on ground! The engines strained to slow us down, and the plane coasted over to the airbridge -- and we had landed! The doors opened, and I was one of the first ones out, flying out of the aircraft as though it were on fire. I practically ran through the airport, noting immediately, the warmth, humidity, and the smell -- I knew I was back home! I had to wait for ages at Customs, and then again at the baggage check, but finally, with baggage in hand, I made my way out, and saw my parents and my sister! My joy was unbounded, and I fear I scared quite a few people waiting there -- they probably thought I was some species of a wild animal. But I was delighted -- after the long -- loooong! -- trip from Austin to Chicago to Frankfurt to Mumbai, I had finally made it back home!! And, it might have delayed me a lot, but thanks to Air India's incompetence, I got to see a beautiful new city!
The next morning, I woke to see the sun filtering in gently through the filmy curtains. I yawned, stretched, wondered vaguely why I had filmy curtains on my window -- and sat up with a jerk when I remembered the adventures of last night. I looked around the room. Yep, the whole thing hadn't been a dream -- I was still very much in Frankfurt. However, something had cooled my temper and anxiety -- probably the fact that I had, for the first time in three months, slept for more than 5 hours at a stretch. I felt relaxed, and ready to face whatever the world threw at me. With this resolve in mind, I freshened up, and went downstairs for breakfast.
I went with Anita, the girl from San Jose I'd met the previous day. She was accompanied by a hell-like woman who insisted on making her order for everything, claiming she didn't know English (Bull. How would she have made it to the United States otherwise?) The three of us went downstairs to the French restaurant. It was adorable, and I felt like spending the rest of the day there. We were seated next to a glass wall, where we could see out onto the cobble-stoned street outside. People dressed warmly walked past, breath misting in the cold air. There was a sprig of beautiful wild pink flowers just outside the restaurant window, and lent a touch of color to the gray scene outside. In the distance were some tall buildings, which reminded me of Bombay. I loved it. The scene looked very much like my imagery of "Europe".After the meal was over, we wondered what to do. I went over to the reception, and asked for a pin converter. I had discovered, the previous night, that there was a 110V outlet in my room, but unfortunately, it needed a pin converter. I got that, and went upstairs to my room to leave my laptop to charge up, and went downstairs again.
There were a bunch of people accumulated there, all from Air India, all hollering at each other, rumors floating in the air. Some people said that the flight would leave later that night. Some said we were stuck there till December 26th. Some said we'd be sent back to Chicago. It was crazy, and I made a face and tried exploring the hotel. It was pretty, no doubt about that. The reception was tastefully decorated, and there was Christmas decoration all over the place. I loved the two Christmas trees, and the gingerbread house, complete with a gingerbread crow on the chimney!
Before I knew it, it was time for lunch. A bunch of us decided to eat lunch together, and searched for a place to eat. We finally decided on the quaint Italian bistro in the hotel, and accordingly, went there. I looked over the menu, and finally decided on a turkey wrap and a cup of mandarin oranges with yogurt. The German waitress asked me anxiously, "Iss goot?" I smiled at her. "It's good," I assured her, and she went away, pleased. I felt myself laze, and even managed to forget the fact that I was stuck in a foreign country, where English was not the main language, for God knew how long, and in a way that was cutting into my vacation time at home. I felt at peace after the meal. I even managed to order a huge chunk of blackforest cake and an enormous cup of latte, and a bottle of water to finish it all off, while the other passengers looked at me, astonished. One of them even asked me, "How do you eat all that and still remain so tiny?" But my hurt look made him hurriedly change the topic!
Outside, the street was busy. There was a tram station right outside on the street, and green trams arrived every five minutes, so so it seemed to me. People thronged the street, Hamburger Allee. Cars drove past -- cars! Sleek, elegant German cars that made me drool. Every fourth car seemed to be an Audi. The light changed over the scene as the sun made its way across the horizon. I watched the scene, entranced, until the waitress came over the clear our table. Some of the people suggested a quick tour of the town, but I had to turn down the proposition, as I didn't want to catch pneumonia traveling in the cold Frankfurt night with nothing warmer than a hooded sweatshirt. I, instead, decided to go back to my room.
I exited the bistro, and saw a huge crowd at the reception -- all passengers from Air India. I went over and joined the crowd, and at the center of it all, discovered one of the Air India crew, trying to be heard over the noise. Finally, I got the gist of what he was saying: Air India had been unable to fix the busted engines of the airplane we had arrived in, so a relief aircraft was being flown in from Calcutta. It would arrive in Frankfurt early tomorrow morning, and we would set off sometime around 8:30am. In the meantime, to keep us busy, we had 10 minutes to talk to anyone anywhere in the world over the phone, and two hours of free internet access. The second option was what uplifted me.
I went to the elevator, and pressed the button for the 38th floor. Also inside the elevator was a pilot in uniform, a tall, rangy blond man. He kept looking at me, and after we'd gone up some ten floors, he pointed at me, and said: "Longhorn?"
My jaw dropped, and I gave him a grin of pure delight, while making the hook-em sign with my hand. He grinned at me, made the same sign, and got off at the 35th floor, while I continued on to the 38th. I retired to my room, and with something resembling a yell of joy, went to my favorite website -- Google. The internet! I realized for the first time how much I relied on it. I checked everything I could, trying to make sure I spent every minute of the two hours wisely. I checked my mail in every mail server I have an account on -- Gmail, Yahoo, Hotmail, AOL, even the UT server. I checked my Facebook page and wrote back to some people who had scribbled on my wall. I looked up my grades on UT Direct, and emailed a professor about them. I checked my bank account, and was delighted to discover that the call to India the day before had cost me only $10, and I had moreover just received my paycheck for December, so I had nothing to worry about, financially. I felt relaxed after the bout of internet-surfing, and called my parents to let them know of the updates about the flight situation. After all that, I packed up my backpack, and went down for dinner.
Dinner was again at the Champions Bar. This time, I actually felt a little sad that I would never see the place again. I'd grown fond of Frankfurt, for in spite of the incompetence of Air India, I had spent a good two days here. I had a hearty dinner, finished it off with apple strudel, and went up to my room. Grad school has given me the ability to doze of anywhere, anytime, for any number of hours, and wake up not feeling like a zombie, so I woke after three hours, feeling reasonably refreshed. I went downstairs, and saw all the other passengers accumulated in the lobby. I checked out, had a last cup of coffee, returned the pin converter, bid the cheerful receptionist goodbye, and went out to the bus for the trip to the airport. When it was full, the bus glided through the dark, empty streets, with a gaslight-like glow from the street lamps, giving it a surreal look. I bade a mental goodbye to Germany, and we left the city of Frankfurt, and landed back at Frankfurt Flughafen.
Again, there was Air India incompetence at work. Although they'd summoned us at 6am, there was no one manning the counters, but we had grown so used to it, we didn't even complain. We stood in an enormously serpentine queue, waiting for it to dissipate. Finally, the check-in counters opened, and people started checking in. I went through check-in and security, losing my bottle of water in the process. An old security guard at the security check remarked on the number of books in my backpack, "You like to read!" I gave him a grin, and went through.
Finally, feeling as though it were all a dream, I was on the plane. It was a smaller one than the one we'd come on -- it was a 777 -- and much nicer than the 747 we'd arrived in. As I watched, it started snowing outside, and the world grew white. Finally, unable to keep my eyes open, I dozed off. I woke up at 10:30, to the announcement that we were about to take off, so please fasten your seatbelts. Mine was already fastened, so I sat back, and felt the engine purr outside. The plane started moving. It moved faster and faster, till it was gliding over the runway, and then suddenly, with a little bump, it was in the air. A great whoop of joy went up from all the passengers, and the atmosphere in the plane lightened considerably. I gave a grin that stretched my mouth from ear to ear, and opened up my manga -- I could read it now!
The two movies running were the irritating Bratz, and an obscure The Last Legion, so I closed my eyes, and dreamed of home. I guess I must've fallen fast asleep, for when I woke up, it was 4:00pm German time -- we'd be landing in under two hours! I cleared the cobwebs from my brain, shook off my sleep, and resumed reading my manga, the iPod in my ears, the battery dangerously low by now. The stewardess came over with food, which I gobbled down somehow, suddenly caring for nothing more than to meet my parents and my sister. The plane droned on through the night, with faint patches of light far below the only indications that we were passing over civilization.
Finally -- finally! -- the pilot announced that we were about to land in Mumbai -- at which a cheer went up from the crowd again. The crew started bringing over customs forms, which I filled with alacrity. My breath actually shortened when the plane started losing altitude, and I strained to look out of the window. And there it was! The bright yellow and white lighting of Bombay! Well, of any other city, but I knew it was Bombay. We flew over the ocean, and then swooped back over the mainland, the ground approaching us at breakneck speed. The ground came closer and closer, there was a little thump -- and we were on ground! The engines strained to slow us down, and the plane coasted over to the airbridge -- and we had landed! The doors opened, and I was one of the first ones out, flying out of the aircraft as though it were on fire. I practically ran through the airport, noting immediately, the warmth, humidity, and the smell -- I knew I was back home! I had to wait for ages at Customs, and then again at the baggage check, but finally, with baggage in hand, I made my way out, and saw my parents and my sister! My joy was unbounded, and I fear I scared quite a few people waiting there -- they probably thought I was some species of a wild animal. But I was delighted -- after the long -- loooong! -- trip from Austin to Chicago to Frankfurt to Mumbai, I had finally made it back home!! And, it might have delayed me a lot, but thanks to Air India's incompetence, I got to see a beautiful new city!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
A German Adventure - Part II
(continued from last time)
We were all happy to be let out of Frankfurt Flughafen. I was heartily sick of reading the Fraport signs all over the airport. I had stopped listening to my iPod because who knew how long we'd be stuck in Frankfurt? And I didn't want the battery to get exhausted -- Apple claims that the battery of an iPod nano lasts for 24 hours, but I didn't want to test that out. 8 hours of those 24 hours had already been exhausted, and I could see the faintest sliver of gray next to the green in the battery icon. I was reading my book at snail's pace, because I didn't want to finish the book -- what would I do once I'd finished it? I would only have the mangas to read after that, and it really doesn't take long to finish a manga. The longest I've taken is two hours, and that's only because I stopped for an hour in between to do something. So there I was, tired, exhausted, sleep-deprived, tetchy, irritated, and wanting, more than anything, to go back home.
And then one of the passengers from Air India called out to tell us that the German government was granting us temporary visas!
The line to the visa post formed faster than guests lining up for food at a wedding. One minute the hallway was deserted, the next, full. And, what annoyed me to no end, people kept cutting into the line. I forced myself to relax and not snap at people. My favorite couple, the old ones from Hyderabad cut into the line someplace ahead of me, and were looking around. Thankfully, they didn't spot me, though my hiding behind the fat gentleman in front may have had something to do with the fact.
We inched forward. We had to go through security check, where my bottle of orange juice got thrown away. I forgot to remove my iPod from my pocket the first time I went through, and set off the alarms, and trudged back wearily to the line to put it into the crate. When we were finally cleared, we formed a massive group at a window that said Bundespolizei, with Federal Police written underneath it. Some of the Bundespolizei came forward to shepherd us into a line, strong blond men in blue uniforms. It seemed to me everybody in Germany was blond!
We stood while our names were called. Finally, mine was, and I glowered at the camera. The German official photographing me gave me an encouraging smile -- I wondered whether I looked like I was about to burst into tears? Finally, the formalities out of the way, there was nothing to do but wait. And wait we did. I reunited with the two Shrutis and Anita, and we laughed together a bit. Actually, that was where I found out that one of the Shrutis had been a classmate of a friend of mine at UT. We waited for the better part of an hour, swapping stories about our lives back in the US. Anita worked at a firm in San Jose, she had just moved there from Delloitte Consulting. One of the Shrutis had just graduated with a Masters in Biotechnology from someplace in Boston, I think, while the other one was at USC, studying Computer Science, like me. A fellow computer scientist! I was briefly interested, but was too exhausted to discuss courses, which is the normal thing you discuss with a fellow CS student. Of course, when you're a full-fledged computer scientist, I guess you discuss deeper matters, like the efficiency of randomized algorithms over regular ones. I wasn't in the mood to discuss either. I slumped against a wall, listening to the other older girls chat amongst themselves -- I was the youngest in the group.
Finally, we were announced free to go. I got back my passport, adorned with a blue stamp declaring me as a transit passenger allowed into Germany for two days. I sighed, collected my passport from the (blond) policeman, and stood again in line to file out of the airport. Lines! I was starting to hate lines. We stood out for a while till the bus arrived to take us to the airport. It was -5 degrees Celsius, and all I had on was a black hoodie with Texas written across the front in the signature burnt orange. And regular clothes, of course! I didn't have any other warm clothing with me, all of that being relegated to my check-in baggage in Austin. I shivered, but told myself that I'd endured colder days in Austin, I could stand it! The freezing wind crept into the neck of my sweatshirt and into my T-shirt, chilling me to the bone. Finally the bus arrived! I sat in it, and waited while the other passengers made their way to their seats, little arguments erupting even on the bus as to who would sit where. For God's sake, I thought wearily, are they adults or aren't they? I thought briefly of my apartment in Austin, which was probably sitting alone and forlorn right now. I thought of my parents waiting for me in Bombay, and felt another wave of weariness roll through me. I just wanted to go home! Frankfurt was nice, but it wasn't home!
After the arguments between the passengers threatened to erupt into a full-blown knock-down-drag-out fight, the bus driver hurriedly declared the bus full and rolled away from the airport. The bus glided out of the airport, and onto the streets of Frankfurt. And while the roads outside the airport were broad and large, the ones inside the city were what European streets are rumored to be -- narrow, and surrounded by buildings. It was beautiful, though -- very beautiful indeed. The streets were dark at this time of night, with street lamps providing golden illumination and making the streets glow. There were too many Deutsche Bank boards on the way to count, and lots of things written in German which I didn't comprehend. Finally we pulled up at a sort of city square, and were told to go to the Marriott across the street. Hamburger Allee, we later learnt, was the name of the street. On the square was a large board advertising various events happening in Frankfurt over the winter, and the first one made my eyes go huge -- a Linkin Park concert! I looked at the date, and my eyes popped even more -- 20th! It was the 20th there, albeit almost over. Then I looked at the month -- and sighed.
20/1/08 was the date. A month from then. Just my luck! I'd been pondering if I could go to the concert and put it on the Air India tab (I felt vicious enough to do just that), but it obviously wasn't possible now.
We crossed the street, and finally entered the lobby of the Marriott. It was tastefully decorated, as all Marriotts are, and a cheerful man named....hmm, I've forgotten, something like Heinrich or something, greeted us at the counter.
Our registrations were processed quickly, thank goodness. I was starting to feel like I couldn't stand on my feet much longer. I grabbed the room key from Heinrich -- I was assigned room 3807 -- and waited for Anita and the Shrutis to get done, so we could all go up together. Anita and I were assigned rooms across the hallway, so we told each other to let the other one know if something came up. And I retired to my room.
It was a pleasant one, with, what pleased me, a 110V electric socket, so I could use my laptop! Unfortunately, it had a European 3-pin socket, and I definitely couldn't fit the plug of my charger into that. So I let it go, and let my backpack slide off my shoulders, and fell into the bed. It was thick and springy, and I could feel the tiredness creep out of my bones. After sometime of lying there like a corpse, I finally mustered enough courage to explore around the room. I freshened up in the bathroom, and went and peeped outside the window for a view of the outside world. It was dark outside, but the lights on the streets were visible as a bright golden snake far, far below. I turned away, and went out and knocked on Anita's door.
"Heard anything?" I asked.
"Not about the flight," she said, "But there's a dinner for us."
I went down with her, pleased. I've always wanted to try German cuisine. I went to the restaurant indicated, looked at the menu, and felt my jaw drop. It was American! Burgers and fries and Caesar salads and chicken tenders, all out of an American bar. I half expected to see chicken enchiladas on the menu. Stunned, I closed the menu card to look at the name of the restaurant. Champions' Bar, it said, adorned with the picture of a baseball player. I closed my eyes.
"What are the odds," I said, turning to Anita, "That we would get stuck in Germany, and then walk into a restaurant, and find the same dinner we eat every night?"
She laughed. "Low, indeed," she said.
Another man sitting with us informed us that this was the largest Champions' Bar in Europe. I looked around. It didn't look all that massive to me, but then, maybe things are smaller in Europe. The waiter came up to us, and asked us if we wanted any drinks. Everyone ordered their stuff. I had a hard time explaining mine.
"A Bailey's Irish Cream," I told him.
He was confused. "Bailey's?" he said.
"Irish Cream?"
"Bailey's Irish Cream?"
"Yeah, that's right!" I beamed.
"Do you mean Bailey's Irish coffee?"
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, thinking if that's what I wanted, why would I ask for an Irish Cream, moron?
"Irish Cream," I emphasized the latter part.
"We don't have that," he said, still confused. He called out to his friend behind the bar. "Hey, Michael, do we have Bailey's Irish Cream?"
"I don't think so," his pal replied. "Do you mean Irish coffee?"
"No!" I called back. "Irish cream!"
"No, we don't have that," said Michael, shaking his head. He brightened up. "But we can give you Irish coffee if you want it!"
"No thanks," I said, making a face. Coffee? At what was then 1:30am? Give me a break!
Then the waiter interjected, "But if you just want a Bailey's, we can give you that," he said.
"Yeah, that would be good," I said, and the moment he was gone, leaned against the table, my energy sapped. When the drink came, I was so exhausted, I almost gulped it down in one go -- and felt my head swim. I slowed down after that, but I couldn't deny, it was really good. I ordered something after that, I don't remember what -- pesto pasta, I think -- and retired to my room for the night. The first night in Frankfurt! And I remember hoping it would be the last as I sank into the depths of sleep, the last thing on my mental retina being the pale lights filtering in through the filmy curtains on the window...
(to be continued....)
We were all happy to be let out of Frankfurt Flughafen. I was heartily sick of reading the Fraport signs all over the airport. I had stopped listening to my iPod because who knew how long we'd be stuck in Frankfurt? And I didn't want the battery to get exhausted -- Apple claims that the battery of an iPod nano lasts for 24 hours, but I didn't want to test that out. 8 hours of those 24 hours had already been exhausted, and I could see the faintest sliver of gray next to the green in the battery icon. I was reading my book at snail's pace, because I didn't want to finish the book -- what would I do once I'd finished it? I would only have the mangas to read after that, and it really doesn't take long to finish a manga. The longest I've taken is two hours, and that's only because I stopped for an hour in between to do something. So there I was, tired, exhausted, sleep-deprived, tetchy, irritated, and wanting, more than anything, to go back home.
And then one of the passengers from Air India called out to tell us that the German government was granting us temporary visas!
The line to the visa post formed faster than guests lining up for food at a wedding. One minute the hallway was deserted, the next, full. And, what annoyed me to no end, people kept cutting into the line. I forced myself to relax and not snap at people. My favorite couple, the old ones from Hyderabad cut into the line someplace ahead of me, and were looking around. Thankfully, they didn't spot me, though my hiding behind the fat gentleman in front may have had something to do with the fact.
We inched forward. We had to go through security check, where my bottle of orange juice got thrown away. I forgot to remove my iPod from my pocket the first time I went through, and set off the alarms, and trudged back wearily to the line to put it into the crate. When we were finally cleared, we formed a massive group at a window that said Bundespolizei, with Federal Police written underneath it. Some of the Bundespolizei came forward to shepherd us into a line, strong blond men in blue uniforms. It seemed to me everybody in Germany was blond!
We stood while our names were called. Finally, mine was, and I glowered at the camera. The German official photographing me gave me an encouraging smile -- I wondered whether I looked like I was about to burst into tears? Finally, the formalities out of the way, there was nothing to do but wait. And wait we did. I reunited with the two Shrutis and Anita, and we laughed together a bit. Actually, that was where I found out that one of the Shrutis had been a classmate of a friend of mine at UT. We waited for the better part of an hour, swapping stories about our lives back in the US. Anita worked at a firm in San Jose, she had just moved there from Delloitte Consulting. One of the Shrutis had just graduated with a Masters in Biotechnology from someplace in Boston, I think, while the other one was at USC, studying Computer Science, like me. A fellow computer scientist! I was briefly interested, but was too exhausted to discuss courses, which is the normal thing you discuss with a fellow CS student. Of course, when you're a full-fledged computer scientist, I guess you discuss deeper matters, like the efficiency of randomized algorithms over regular ones. I wasn't in the mood to discuss either. I slumped against a wall, listening to the other older girls chat amongst themselves -- I was the youngest in the group.
Finally, we were announced free to go. I got back my passport, adorned with a blue stamp declaring me as a transit passenger allowed into Germany for two days. I sighed, collected my passport from the (blond) policeman, and stood again in line to file out of the airport. Lines! I was starting to hate lines. We stood out for a while till the bus arrived to take us to the airport. It was -5 degrees Celsius, and all I had on was a black hoodie with Texas written across the front in the signature burnt orange. And regular clothes, of course! I didn't have any other warm clothing with me, all of that being relegated to my check-in baggage in Austin. I shivered, but told myself that I'd endured colder days in Austin, I could stand it! The freezing wind crept into the neck of my sweatshirt and into my T-shirt, chilling me to the bone. Finally the bus arrived! I sat in it, and waited while the other passengers made their way to their seats, little arguments erupting even on the bus as to who would sit where. For God's sake, I thought wearily, are they adults or aren't they? I thought briefly of my apartment in Austin, which was probably sitting alone and forlorn right now. I thought of my parents waiting for me in Bombay, and felt another wave of weariness roll through me. I just wanted to go home! Frankfurt was nice, but it wasn't home!
After the arguments between the passengers threatened to erupt into a full-blown knock-down-drag-out fight, the bus driver hurriedly declared the bus full and rolled away from the airport. The bus glided out of the airport, and onto the streets of Frankfurt. And while the roads outside the airport were broad and large, the ones inside the city were what European streets are rumored to be -- narrow, and surrounded by buildings. It was beautiful, though -- very beautiful indeed. The streets were dark at this time of night, with street lamps providing golden illumination and making the streets glow. There were too many Deutsche Bank boards on the way to count, and lots of things written in German which I didn't comprehend. Finally we pulled up at a sort of city square, and were told to go to the Marriott across the street. Hamburger Allee, we later learnt, was the name of the street. On the square was a large board advertising various events happening in Frankfurt over the winter, and the first one made my eyes go huge -- a Linkin Park concert! I looked at the date, and my eyes popped even more -- 20th! It was the 20th there, albeit almost over. Then I looked at the month -- and sighed.
20/1/08 was the date. A month from then. Just my luck! I'd been pondering if I could go to the concert and put it on the Air India tab (I felt vicious enough to do just that), but it obviously wasn't possible now.We crossed the street, and finally entered the lobby of the Marriott. It was tastefully decorated, as all Marriotts are, and a cheerful man named....hmm, I've forgotten, something like Heinrich or something, greeted us at the counter.
Our registrations were processed quickly, thank goodness. I was starting to feel like I couldn't stand on my feet much longer. I grabbed the room key from Heinrich -- I was assigned room 3807 -- and waited for Anita and the Shrutis to get done, so we could all go up together. Anita and I were assigned rooms across the hallway, so we told each other to let the other one know if something came up. And I retired to my room.
It was a pleasant one, with, what pleased me, a 110V electric socket, so I could use my laptop! Unfortunately, it had a European 3-pin socket, and I definitely couldn't fit the plug of my charger into that. So I let it go, and let my backpack slide off my shoulders, and fell into the bed. It was thick and springy, and I could feel the tiredness creep out of my bones. After sometime of lying there like a corpse, I finally mustered enough courage to explore around the room. I freshened up in the bathroom, and went and peeped outside the window for a view of the outside world. It was dark outside, but the lights on the streets were visible as a bright golden snake far, far below. I turned away, and went out and knocked on Anita's door.
"Heard anything?" I asked.
"Not about the flight," she said, "But there's a dinner for us."
I went down with her, pleased. I've always wanted to try German cuisine. I went to the restaurant indicated, looked at the menu, and felt my jaw drop. It was American! Burgers and fries and Caesar salads and chicken tenders, all out of an American bar. I half expected to see chicken enchiladas on the menu. Stunned, I closed the menu card to look at the name of the restaurant. Champions' Bar, it said, adorned with the picture of a baseball player. I closed my eyes.
"What are the odds," I said, turning to Anita, "That we would get stuck in Germany, and then walk into a restaurant, and find the same dinner we eat every night?"
She laughed. "Low, indeed," she said.
Another man sitting with us informed us that this was the largest Champions' Bar in Europe. I looked around. It didn't look all that massive to me, but then, maybe things are smaller in Europe. The waiter came up to us, and asked us if we wanted any drinks. Everyone ordered their stuff. I had a hard time explaining mine.
"A Bailey's Irish Cream," I told him.
He was confused. "Bailey's?" he said.
"Irish Cream?"
"Bailey's Irish Cream?"
"Yeah, that's right!" I beamed.
"Do you mean Bailey's Irish coffee?"
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, thinking if that's what I wanted, why would I ask for an Irish Cream, moron?
"Irish Cream," I emphasized the latter part.
"We don't have that," he said, still confused. He called out to his friend behind the bar. "Hey, Michael, do we have Bailey's Irish Cream?"
"I don't think so," his pal replied. "Do you mean Irish coffee?"
"No!" I called back. "Irish cream!"
"No, we don't have that," said Michael, shaking his head. He brightened up. "But we can give you Irish coffee if you want it!"
"No thanks," I said, making a face. Coffee? At what was then 1:30am? Give me a break!
Then the waiter interjected, "But if you just want a Bailey's, we can give you that," he said.
"Yeah, that would be good," I said, and the moment he was gone, leaned against the table, my energy sapped. When the drink came, I was so exhausted, I almost gulped it down in one go -- and felt my head swim. I slowed down after that, but I couldn't deny, it was really good. I ordered something after that, I don't remember what -- pesto pasta, I think -- and retired to my room for the night. The first night in Frankfurt! And I remember hoping it would be the last as I sank into the depths of sleep, the last thing on my mental retina being the pale lights filtering in through the filmy curtains on the window...
(to be continued....)
Sunday, February 10, 2008
A German Adventure - Part I
There aren't too many places I have visited in my (relatively) short life. I've been to a few cities in India, and Austin and San Antonio here in Texas. That's about it. For a person who's great ambition in life is to visit at least a 100 different countries before dying, I have visited remarkable few. Two was the number till December 2007 -- but I could add Germany to the list, thanks to Air India and their incompetency.
Air India is the international carrier for India, and, as any seasoned passenger would know, the worst airline ever. It's hard to remember the last time someone traveled Air India without hassles. Delays, accidents, rude flight attendants, no food -- Air India has it all. So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when the new incident came up. That didn't stop me from being furious, however.
The date was 19 December 2007, and I was returning home to Mumbai after almost a year and a half. I was dying to see my parents and my kid sister, and meet friends. And, to top it all, I was tired and stressed, and severely sleep-deficient, thanks to a crazy hectic semester at UT. On 19 December, I took the American Airlines flight from Austin to Chicago, and waited at Chicago for almost 4 hours, till the next flight -- Chicago to Mumbai via Frankfurt. When the boarding for Air India started on time, I was actually stunned. Still -- why should I complain, right? I boarded the plane.
The take-off time was 7:05pm. That time came and went, and still the low drone of the engines hadn't changed to the high-pitched whine I was expecting. Sitting next to me was an old couple, who asked me whether I was from Hyderabad. On hearing my negation, they seemed utterly disappointed. The old man started talking in broken English and Hindi, telling me about his doctor son in Chicago, and another daughter working someplace else. I nodded my head, telling myself to calm down. The one thing I absolutely hate on long flights are chatty passengers -- and these two looked like they might keep talking all of the 17 hours and 30 minutes it would take to reach Mumbai. I calmed my breathing, and looked out of the window (I always take window seats, mostly to escape from precisely such passengers), and cursed my luck. I had hoped to get a cute boy next to me, and instead got straddled with a talkative old couple, who were anything but cute. I called up my Mum, and told her that the plane was ready to leave, and added that I might not be able to call from Germany, since I didn't have any euros, and didn't want to go hunting around the airport for a calling card.
The phone interested the old couple. They gave me a number, and told me to dial it. I didn't have a lot of minutes on my cellphone, so was a little peeved (which, in hindsight, was extremely mean of me, but I was losing my patience). I dialled it, and the two of them gabbed on forever in a language I assumed was Telugu, and every passing minute made me yell out, "Enough! I don't have enough minutes!" But something told me they would ask me to explain that statement, and besides, I had to spend 17 hours with these two, and getting off on the wrong foot probably wouldn't be the smartest thing, so I kept my mouth shut and my temper in check.
Finally, the whine of the plane's engines changed pitch, and the craft left the gate, and taxied out onto the runway. As the whine increased in pitch, I saw white smoke billowing out of the left engine (the wings were right outside the window). I looked at it horrified, and the whine went down again. A few people milled around the wing, and I thought, there goes the take-off! But, after some 20 minutes of fiddling around, the plane's engines sounded up again, and the plane began taxiing. We're taking off? I thought in disbelief, and looked at the white wisps trailing around the engine, but the pilot seemed confident, and who was I to know better, right? So the plane took off the ground, passing over one of the Great Lakes -- Lake Michigan, perhaps? Before flying out over Montreal. And the journey had begun.
The stewardesses served food, which was awful, as usual, but I was hungry so I ate it without too many complaints -- the last thing I'd had was a bottle of Starbucks Frappucino at 7 in the morning -- I hadn't had anything to eat in over 14 hours! After the food, the crew told us to go off to sleep like good children -- something that annoyed me, because I was reading Jonathan Kellerman's Time Bomb, and wanted to read on further. I decided to switch on the overhead light, but in true Air India fashion, the entire panel to switch on the light, call the stewardess, and other such delightful things, didn't work. Not even one button. I almost wept, and put aside my book, and closed my eyes. I can't usually sleep on airplanes, but the long and tiring semester had worn me out enough to lull me to sleep even on a rickety, jolting Air India plane. The last thought in my mind, just before I drifted off, was Please God, let me get to Mumbai in one piece!
The next thing I knew, the airplane lights were on, and the stewardesses were serving fruit juice. The pilot was announcing that we would be landing in Frankfurt shortly. I woke up with a horrible crick in my neck, and couldn't straighten my neck for some time. When the pain eased, I looked up to see the stewardess glaring at me. "What juice do you want?" she barked at me.
I was at the limits of my patience by now. "Apple juice," I told her curtly. She sighed, and looked at her cart. "I don't have it," she said, making a face.
This annoyed me. I know they have plenty of stock of everything in their little pantries, or whatever they are. "I don't care," I told her coldly. "I want apple juice, and nothing else." And, as a dismissing motion, I returned to my book.
I don't know what effect it had on her, but after some time, she came back, wielding a carton of apple juice, and unceremoniously thrust a glass at me. I accepted it without thanks. I think that was the worst behaved day I've ever had! But she was so asking for it.
We finally started swooping lower and lower, and the old couple next to me looked at me in alarm. I was a little alarmed myself, mind you -- I've traveled plenty of times in airplanes, and they never make jumps like this one was doing. My mind flew back again to the smoke billowing out of the engines, and I chased the thought out of my mind. I looked outside the window, and saw the beautiful forests on the outskirts of Frankfurt, all covered in snow. It looked beautiful. Then the plane gave another jump, and was soon flying over cute little houses, and then, over the runway. Something told me to back away from the window, while the plane was landing -- and was I glad I did! It landed with a terrible thump on the runway, and tilted over wildly onto the side I was sitting on, till the wing nearly touched the ground. Ok, this is it, my last day on earth, I thought to myself, but the plane miraculously righted itself, and taxied to a stop to gate B-43, I believe the number was.
We filed out of the plane, exhausted, and in my case, unnerved. Air India told us to amuse ourselves for 40 minutes, while the plane readied for take-off again, so I started exploring. Frankfurt's airport -- Flughafen, I believe it's called in German -- is a pretty place, and looked even prettier because it was all decked up for Christmas. I looked around the various duty-free stores, the most intriguing ones being the electronics store (though I turned my nose up at it later because it had an iPod shuffle for 99 euros -- ridiculous! It only costs $79 in the US), and a Chanel store. I picked up a bottle of Chanel No 5 reverently, and delicately sniffed the top of the bottle. It smelt heavenly. I didn't even dare ask the price, so I moved on.
After about 40 minutes, all the passengers had assembled at the gate, only to hear from the pilots that the plane had been delayed for an hour. We all groaned, and looked out at the runway, visible from the gate. The plane stood like a lumbering giant, while people milled around it, mostly Lufthansa technicians in yellow jackets. Something deep inside my gut told me we'd be there for more than the one hour Air India promised, but still, I forced myself to relax, and not hyperventilate. I'm usually calmer in a crisis, but my mental stability was already shot to bits by the harrowing semester I'd just escaped miraculously unscathed, so it didn't take much to work me up. I looked nervously at the pink T-Mobile pay phone in the gate area, but there was a huge line in front of it, mostly large Indian men toting golden credit cards, so I steered clear, and instead tried to lose myself again in the book I was reading. I was actually getting involved in the story, and had just reached the part where the hero, Dr. Alex Delaware gets a blinding insight into the mystery, when there was another announcement from Air India -- the flight would now be delayed by 3 hours. By now the passengers were, in PG Wodehouse's words, "not quite disgruntled, but far from being gruntled". They were annoyed. They cast poisonous glances at the Air India staff. They muttered. They cursed. And they started bonding. I luckily found younger people to bond with, and managed to (temporarily) ditch the old hounds who'd been following me since Chicago. I met two girls, both a year older than me, and both called Shruti (one of whom, coincidentally, turned out to be an ex-classmate of a friend of mine from UT), and a girl called Anita, a little bit older than me, working in San Jose. As it turned out, I was the youngest person there traveling alone. It made me feel like a bit of a martyr.
After about two hours, Air India made another announcement -- the plane would now be taking off at 11:30pm German time. It had landed at 11:30am German time. This time there were actual howls of protests, but of course the staff turned a deaf ear to us. They managed to pass out coupons for food, and then vanished. I wanted to tear up the coupons. I wanted to go home! I didn't want free food! (I had enough of that as a grad student anyway :P ) I joined the line leading to the T-Mobile phone, and looked at my cellphone wistfully. I have a T-Mobile cellphone, but didn't enable roaming on it, so wouldn't be able to use it there. When I finally got my turn, I managed to call up my parents, spoke to my Mum for 3 minutes, and gave her a concise summary of what'd been happening -- and told her not to expect me for another day at least! When I finally put the receiver down, I overheard someone say that the calls cost $24 a minute. I actually blanched, for I had just $96 on my Checking account before setting off for home. As I exited the line, I was beckoned over by my two favorite passengers -- the old couple.
"How did you call, beta?" the man asked.
"Uh -- I called from that pay phone over there, and used my credit card," I told him truthfully.
"Isn't your cellphone working?"
"No," I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. If it did, why would I spend so much on a pay phone?
"I need to call my son," he told me.
"Mm-hmm," I said, fighting to keep my face expressionless. I knew what was in the works.
"I only have rupees," he informed me further.
"Oh, really."
"Yes! Can I use it to call my son?"
"I doubt it," I told him. "You need euros, or a credit or calling card."
"I don't have euros," he told me.
I refused to take the bait. "You can get it exchanged over there," I said, pointing helpfully. "There, the counter over there."
"But I don't know how."
"Just give them the rupees, and they will give you an equivalent amount in euros."
"What if I don't have enough rupees?"
"Then you can ask Air India," I said, my temper running short.
"And how did you call, again?"
"I used my credit card."
"I don't have a credit card."
"Too bad," I said, and picked up my book.
He must've felt me escaping from his grasp, for the next question took my breath away. "Can I take you credit card?"
My jaw dropped open. I knew he was desperate, but such audacity! "Hell, no!" I said. Well, I actually just said "No," but my inner-me cried out "Hell no!" in anguish. "It's extremely expensive, and I don't have much money left."
He gave me a betrayed look, and went off to the exchange counter. I felt slightly guilty, but was too strung out by now to care. I picked up my backpack -- my only carry-on baggage -- and went exploring the airport again. The bag cut into my shoulders, for I had packed it with books -- two Jonathan Kellerman novels, two Alex Rider novels, six Ghost Hunt mangas, and two Fruits Basket mangas. Also in the bag was my laptop, my charger, my camera, and other random interesting things that probably made my bag weigh more than 6 kilos. I was puffing by the time I reached the next level, where I found a McDonald's. Since that looked like the only place that served chicken, I entered. The menu was the standard American menu, except they served apple strudel as well, and the prices were in euros. I grabbed chicken nuggets, coke, apple pie and fries, and found myself a seat next to the window, where I could see the planes arrive and depart. Even as I watched, a Royal Jordanian glided silently into its designated place. It was pitch dark outside, with only the airport lights providing any sort of illumination at all. The Air India plane was missing -- it had been taken back to the hangar.
I savored the meal, wondering whether it would be the last in a long time. The airport looked beautiful, with Christmas lights glowing, and everyone in a cheery mood. There were constant announcements, of which the only words I understood were "Achtung!" and "Flug". But Flug AI 126 was never announced. I looked at the arrivals/departures board. Flights were displayed to every country, but India -- there were flights to Canada, Dubai, Malaysia, Australia, France, England, Ireland, Italy....but India was missing. I returned to my faithful book. It was all that gave me solace in the strange new world. I think had it been an English-speaking country, my anguish would've been reduced at least slightly; but everyone was speaking in German, even the two little blond boys traveling with their mother. One of them eyed my iPod, but when I smiled at him, he turned away, as if I'd somehow offended him. I sighed, and looked at my watch for what must've been the billionth time that day. It was still just 6pm.
After another 50 or so pages (much to my woe, I read fast) I heard someone conversing in Gujarati. I looked up to see a family which had been on board the aircraft with me. They were two young boys, maybe in high school, traveling with their mother. One of the boys, a plump kid with round glasses, was earnestly telling the other one that computer security was the way to go. At this, I couldn't resist butting in. "Did you say computer security?" I said.
The plump one looked at me suspiciously. "Yes," he said.
I couldn't resist showing off. "I'm doing my Masters in computer security," I told him with an air of superiority.
That got his attention. "Wow, seriously?" he said, and started off, telling me how cool hacking was. I in return told him how, once, as part of my course project, we had to "hack" into a website the professor had created, to demonstrate cross-site scripting. The boy's eyes were huge. I was smirking, when he remarked, "Wow, this is so cool, I've never met a female geek before!" That wiped the smirk off my face. "There are plenty of us," I told him, slightly offended. He hurried to assure he he didn't mean any offense. It turned out he and his friend had just graduated from high school, and were new freshmen at some college I don't recollect in Chicago.
We were chatting along, when another Air India passenger came over excitedly. "Didn't you hear?" he said. "They're giving us visas!"
We sprang up. This had been another touchy point with us. All those passengers with American or German passports, and later, those with green cards, had been allowed to go to a nearby hotel, while we unfortunate ones had to stay put in the airport. Now it looked like we might finally be allowed out! A cheer rose from the crowd, and we all crowded to the exit that Air India indicated. It looked like we would finally be out of the airport-jail!
(To be continued....)
Air India is the international carrier for India, and, as any seasoned passenger would know, the worst airline ever. It's hard to remember the last time someone traveled Air India without hassles. Delays, accidents, rude flight attendants, no food -- Air India has it all. So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when the new incident came up. That didn't stop me from being furious, however.
The date was 19 December 2007, and I was returning home to Mumbai after almost a year and a half. I was dying to see my parents and my kid sister, and meet friends. And, to top it all, I was tired and stressed, and severely sleep-deficient, thanks to a crazy hectic semester at UT. On 19 December, I took the American Airlines flight from Austin to Chicago, and waited at Chicago for almost 4 hours, till the next flight -- Chicago to Mumbai via Frankfurt. When the boarding for Air India started on time, I was actually stunned. Still -- why should I complain, right? I boarded the plane.
The take-off time was 7:05pm. That time came and went, and still the low drone of the engines hadn't changed to the high-pitched whine I was expecting. Sitting next to me was an old couple, who asked me whether I was from Hyderabad. On hearing my negation, they seemed utterly disappointed. The old man started talking in broken English and Hindi, telling me about his doctor son in Chicago, and another daughter working someplace else. I nodded my head, telling myself to calm down. The one thing I absolutely hate on long flights are chatty passengers -- and these two looked like they might keep talking all of the 17 hours and 30 minutes it would take to reach Mumbai. I calmed my breathing, and looked out of the window (I always take window seats, mostly to escape from precisely such passengers), and cursed my luck. I had hoped to get a cute boy next to me, and instead got straddled with a talkative old couple, who were anything but cute. I called up my Mum, and told her that the plane was ready to leave, and added that I might not be able to call from Germany, since I didn't have any euros, and didn't want to go hunting around the airport for a calling card.
The phone interested the old couple. They gave me a number, and told me to dial it. I didn't have a lot of minutes on my cellphone, so was a little peeved (which, in hindsight, was extremely mean of me, but I was losing my patience). I dialled it, and the two of them gabbed on forever in a language I assumed was Telugu, and every passing minute made me yell out, "Enough! I don't have enough minutes!" But something told me they would ask me to explain that statement, and besides, I had to spend 17 hours with these two, and getting off on the wrong foot probably wouldn't be the smartest thing, so I kept my mouth shut and my temper in check.
Finally, the whine of the plane's engines changed pitch, and the craft left the gate, and taxied out onto the runway. As the whine increased in pitch, I saw white smoke billowing out of the left engine (the wings were right outside the window). I looked at it horrified, and the whine went down again. A few people milled around the wing, and I thought, there goes the take-off! But, after some 20 minutes of fiddling around, the plane's engines sounded up again, and the plane began taxiing. We're taking off? I thought in disbelief, and looked at the white wisps trailing around the engine, but the pilot seemed confident, and who was I to know better, right? So the plane took off the ground, passing over one of the Great Lakes -- Lake Michigan, perhaps? Before flying out over Montreal. And the journey had begun.
The stewardesses served food, which was awful, as usual, but I was hungry so I ate it without too many complaints -- the last thing I'd had was a bottle of Starbucks Frappucino at 7 in the morning -- I hadn't had anything to eat in over 14 hours! After the food, the crew told us to go off to sleep like good children -- something that annoyed me, because I was reading Jonathan Kellerman's Time Bomb, and wanted to read on further. I decided to switch on the overhead light, but in true Air India fashion, the entire panel to switch on the light, call the stewardess, and other such delightful things, didn't work. Not even one button. I almost wept, and put aside my book, and closed my eyes. I can't usually sleep on airplanes, but the long and tiring semester had worn me out enough to lull me to sleep even on a rickety, jolting Air India plane. The last thought in my mind, just before I drifted off, was Please God, let me get to Mumbai in one piece!
The next thing I knew, the airplane lights were on, and the stewardesses were serving fruit juice. The pilot was announcing that we would be landing in Frankfurt shortly. I woke up with a horrible crick in my neck, and couldn't straighten my neck for some time. When the pain eased, I looked up to see the stewardess glaring at me. "What juice do you want?" she barked at me.
I was at the limits of my patience by now. "Apple juice," I told her curtly. She sighed, and looked at her cart. "I don't have it," she said, making a face.
This annoyed me. I know they have plenty of stock of everything in their little pantries, or whatever they are. "I don't care," I told her coldly. "I want apple juice, and nothing else." And, as a dismissing motion, I returned to my book.
I don't know what effect it had on her, but after some time, she came back, wielding a carton of apple juice, and unceremoniously thrust a glass at me. I accepted it without thanks. I think that was the worst behaved day I've ever had! But she was so asking for it.
We finally started swooping lower and lower, and the old couple next to me looked at me in alarm. I was a little alarmed myself, mind you -- I've traveled plenty of times in airplanes, and they never make jumps like this one was doing. My mind flew back again to the smoke billowing out of the engines, and I chased the thought out of my mind. I looked outside the window, and saw the beautiful forests on the outskirts of Frankfurt, all covered in snow. It looked beautiful. Then the plane gave another jump, and was soon flying over cute little houses, and then, over the runway. Something told me to back away from the window, while the plane was landing -- and was I glad I did! It landed with a terrible thump on the runway, and tilted over wildly onto the side I was sitting on, till the wing nearly touched the ground. Ok, this is it, my last day on earth, I thought to myself, but the plane miraculously righted itself, and taxied to a stop to gate B-43, I believe the number was.
We filed out of the plane, exhausted, and in my case, unnerved. Air India told us to amuse ourselves for 40 minutes, while the plane readied for take-off again, so I started exploring. Frankfurt's airport -- Flughafen, I believe it's called in German -- is a pretty place, and looked even prettier because it was all decked up for Christmas. I looked around the various duty-free stores, the most intriguing ones being the electronics store (though I turned my nose up at it later because it had an iPod shuffle for 99 euros -- ridiculous! It only costs $79 in the US), and a Chanel store. I picked up a bottle of Chanel No 5 reverently, and delicately sniffed the top of the bottle. It smelt heavenly. I didn't even dare ask the price, so I moved on.
After about 40 minutes, all the passengers had assembled at the gate, only to hear from the pilots that the plane had been delayed for an hour. We all groaned, and looked out at the runway, visible from the gate. The plane stood like a lumbering giant, while people milled around it, mostly Lufthansa technicians in yellow jackets. Something deep inside my gut told me we'd be there for more than the one hour Air India promised, but still, I forced myself to relax, and not hyperventilate. I'm usually calmer in a crisis, but my mental stability was already shot to bits by the harrowing semester I'd just escaped miraculously unscathed, so it didn't take much to work me up. I looked nervously at the pink T-Mobile pay phone in the gate area, but there was a huge line in front of it, mostly large Indian men toting golden credit cards, so I steered clear, and instead tried to lose myself again in the book I was reading. I was actually getting involved in the story, and had just reached the part where the hero, Dr. Alex Delaware gets a blinding insight into the mystery, when there was another announcement from Air India -- the flight would now be delayed by 3 hours. By now the passengers were, in PG Wodehouse's words, "not quite disgruntled, but far from being gruntled". They were annoyed. They cast poisonous glances at the Air India staff. They muttered. They cursed. And they started bonding. I luckily found younger people to bond with, and managed to (temporarily) ditch the old hounds who'd been following me since Chicago. I met two girls, both a year older than me, and both called Shruti (one of whom, coincidentally, turned out to be an ex-classmate of a friend of mine from UT), and a girl called Anita, a little bit older than me, working in San Jose. As it turned out, I was the youngest person there traveling alone. It made me feel like a bit of a martyr.
After about two hours, Air India made another announcement -- the plane would now be taking off at 11:30pm German time. It had landed at 11:30am German time. This time there were actual howls of protests, but of course the staff turned a deaf ear to us. They managed to pass out coupons for food, and then vanished. I wanted to tear up the coupons. I wanted to go home! I didn't want free food! (I had enough of that as a grad student anyway :P ) I joined the line leading to the T-Mobile phone, and looked at my cellphone wistfully. I have a T-Mobile cellphone, but didn't enable roaming on it, so wouldn't be able to use it there. When I finally got my turn, I managed to call up my parents, spoke to my Mum for 3 minutes, and gave her a concise summary of what'd been happening -- and told her not to expect me for another day at least! When I finally put the receiver down, I overheard someone say that the calls cost $24 a minute. I actually blanched, for I had just $96 on my Checking account before setting off for home. As I exited the line, I was beckoned over by my two favorite passengers -- the old couple."How did you call, beta?" the man asked.
"Uh -- I called from that pay phone over there, and used my credit card," I told him truthfully.
"Isn't your cellphone working?"
"No," I said, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. If it did, why would I spend so much on a pay phone?
"I need to call my son," he told me.
"Mm-hmm," I said, fighting to keep my face expressionless. I knew what was in the works.
"I only have rupees," he informed me further.
"Oh, really."
"Yes! Can I use it to call my son?"
"I doubt it," I told him. "You need euros, or a credit or calling card."
"I don't have euros," he told me.
I refused to take the bait. "You can get it exchanged over there," I said, pointing helpfully. "There, the counter over there."
"But I don't know how."
"Just give them the rupees, and they will give you an equivalent amount in euros."
"What if I don't have enough rupees?"
"Then you can ask Air India," I said, my temper running short.
"And how did you call, again?"
"I used my credit card."
"I don't have a credit card."
"Too bad," I said, and picked up my book.
He must've felt me escaping from his grasp, for the next question took my breath away. "Can I take you credit card?"
My jaw dropped open. I knew he was desperate, but such audacity! "Hell, no!" I said. Well, I actually just said "No," but my inner-me cried out "Hell no!" in anguish. "It's extremely expensive, and I don't have much money left."
He gave me a betrayed look, and went off to the exchange counter. I felt slightly guilty, but was too strung out by now to care. I picked up my backpack -- my only carry-on baggage -- and went exploring the airport again. The bag cut into my shoulders, for I had packed it with books -- two Jonathan Kellerman novels, two Alex Rider novels, six Ghost Hunt mangas, and two Fruits Basket mangas. Also in the bag was my laptop, my charger, my camera, and other random interesting things that probably made my bag weigh more than 6 kilos. I was puffing by the time I reached the next level, where I found a McDonald's. Since that looked like the only place that served chicken, I entered. The menu was the standard American menu, except they served apple strudel as well, and the prices were in euros. I grabbed chicken nuggets, coke, apple pie and fries, and found myself a seat next to the window, where I could see the planes arrive and depart. Even as I watched, a Royal Jordanian glided silently into its designated place. It was pitch dark outside, with only the airport lights providing any sort of illumination at all. The Air India plane was missing -- it had been taken back to the hangar.
I savored the meal, wondering whether it would be the last in a long time. The airport looked beautiful, with Christmas lights glowing, and everyone in a cheery mood. There were constant announcements, of which the only words I understood were "Achtung!" and "Flug". But Flug AI 126 was never announced. I looked at the arrivals/departures board. Flights were displayed to every country, but India -- there were flights to Canada, Dubai, Malaysia, Australia, France, England, Ireland, Italy....but India was missing. I returned to my faithful book. It was all that gave me solace in the strange new world. I think had it been an English-speaking country, my anguish would've been reduced at least slightly; but everyone was speaking in German, even the two little blond boys traveling with their mother. One of them eyed my iPod, but when I smiled at him, he turned away, as if I'd somehow offended him. I sighed, and looked at my watch for what must've been the billionth time that day. It was still just 6pm.After another 50 or so pages (much to my woe, I read fast) I heard someone conversing in Gujarati. I looked up to see a family which had been on board the aircraft with me. They were two young boys, maybe in high school, traveling with their mother. One of the boys, a plump kid with round glasses, was earnestly telling the other one that computer security was the way to go. At this, I couldn't resist butting in. "Did you say computer security?" I said.
The plump one looked at me suspiciously. "Yes," he said.
I couldn't resist showing off. "I'm doing my Masters in computer security," I told him with an air of superiority.
That got his attention. "Wow, seriously?" he said, and started off, telling me how cool hacking was. I in return told him how, once, as part of my course project, we had to "hack" into a website the professor had created, to demonstrate cross-site scripting. The boy's eyes were huge. I was smirking, when he remarked, "Wow, this is so cool, I've never met a female geek before!" That wiped the smirk off my face. "There are plenty of us," I told him, slightly offended. He hurried to assure he he didn't mean any offense. It turned out he and his friend had just graduated from high school, and were new freshmen at some college I don't recollect in Chicago.
We were chatting along, when another Air India passenger came over excitedly. "Didn't you hear?" he said. "They're giving us visas!"
We sprang up. This had been another touchy point with us. All those passengers with American or German passports, and later, those with green cards, had been allowed to go to a nearby hotel, while we unfortunate ones had to stay put in the airport. Now it looked like we might finally be allowed out! A cheer rose from the crowd, and we all crowded to the exit that Air India indicated. It looked like we would finally be out of the airport-jail!
(To be continued....)
Monday, February 4, 2008
Mumbai's local trains
Traveling in Mumbai's local trains is an experience one must have during one's lifetime. Seriously. Where else would you find 100 people squeezed into space meant for two, and still managing to play card games, shell peas, sell jewelry and even sing religious songs? If you live in Mumbai -- or Bombay, as I still prefer to call it -- you have to have traveled at least once in a local train. Or you're not a Mumbaikar.
I recently went back home to Bombay for a month (well, slightly lesser than that, but who's counting?), and managed to travel in the trains. My parents were dead set against it, mind. They firmly believed that after traveling in the CapMetro buses of Austin, I would find it hard to travel in the chaotic locals of Bombay. (It's actually the other way round, but I didn't want to sit and explain all that -- I had a train to catch!). So off I went to Victoria Terminus (VT), now renamed to Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST) during the renaming heydays of the Maharashtra government.
There's a train from the place where I live, Vashi, to VT, every 5 minutes. However, I was planning to go at 9am, and at that time, even getting a meter within the train's radius requires superhuman powers. Determined office-goers, chirpy college kids, bratty school kids -- all of them push, shove, kick and elbow their way to the train, so that the mere mortals traveling merely for the heck of it get thrown all the way to the back of the line. There are three start points for trains traveling to VT on the Harbor Line -- from Panvel, Belapur and Vashi. It's insanity trying to even look into the trains leaving from Panvel or Belapur, so I contented myself waiting for a Vashi train.
It came soon enough. The local train system is super-efficient, I'll give you that! I got in, feeling like a bit of a stranger since I hadn't ridden in one for over a year, and grabbed a seat. Now that's another task requiring some show of strength and cunning and speed and agility. You basically hurl yourself into the still-moving train, and, if you happen to spy an empty seat, you use all your wiles to get to it before another person can. In this case, since I was in the women's compartment, I competed with the women to grab the seat I saw. I managed to beat a plump lady wearing enough jewelry to open up a store, and a sharp-faced skinny woman who gave me the evil eye to the seat, and sank down, and immediately shoved the earbuds of my iPod into my ears and turned up the volume loud enough to hurt so I could block out the curses aimed my way.
The train started moving. I actually felt moved when I saw for the first time in over a year the view from the train window. Right outside Vashi station is the Thane creek. It's a thin body of water stretching from Thane all the way to Nhava Sheva, the port. The train bridge built over it was the first to connect the island of Bombay to Thane district, I do believe. I love the creek, and used to hang out of the train to get a glimpse of it when I was a college student. For some reason, I associate the creek with cricket. A crazy thought, isn't it? I think it's because I used to watch cricket matches live from New Zealand just before I left for college at 7:30am (since the country is 7 and a half hours ahead of India, the matches used to start really early). I used to watch usually till the tea break, and then leave for college, and all the way, I'd be contemplating on the various outcomes of the match, even more so if my favorite cricketer Shane Bond would be playing. I think that's why I associate the creek with cricket.
Anyway. Once the creek is past, there really isn't much to look forward to on the train journey -- except for the antics of my fellow passengers. That day, there happened to be a college girl, a loud woman and her sister-in-law and baby, a tired-looking bai (maid), and the ubiquitous macchiwaali (fisherwoman). These macchiwaalis are quite a race. They are the loudest, most voluble of passengers traveling in the train. They carry with them a straw basket, in which they ostensibly carry the fish, though I've seen the fish only once. These baskets are usually dripping with some kind of gray-ish water, so people tend to give them a wide berth. They dress in that style so typical to the macchiwaalis , with the saris drawn between their legs, dhoti-style. The one opposite me had a paan in her mouth, the juice oozing out of one corner of her mouth, making her look like the victim of assault and battery. She had an enormous red tikka on her forehead, her hair drawn up tightly in a knot. She kept talking throughout, though I'm pretty sure no one was paying her any attention (including me -- I had my iPod going). The college girl next to her shot her dirty looks which went unnoticed. What did not go unnoticed was my iPod -- an iPod is still a rarity in India, at least in the women's compartment of the local trains, and feeling numerous hungry eyes upon it, I clutched my precious possession close to me and guarded it like a dragon.
There are 14 stations between Vashi and VT: Mankhurd, Govandi, Chembur, Tilak Nagar, Kurla, Chuna Bhatti, Guru Tegh Bahadur Nagar, Vadala Road, Sewri, Cotton Green, Reay Road, Dockyard Road, Sandhurst Road, and Masjid. The last one is VT. At each station there is a seething mass of humanity struggling to enter the train. It's actually fun watching -- unless you're one of the hapless ones caught near the door, in which case you get enough abuse to turn your hair white, and numerous threats of bodily harm, most often, to throw you off the train while it is gathering speed. It's all just bark, though. No one, to the best of my knowledge, has ever actually acted out on these threats.
Another interesting fixture in the trains, at least in the women's compartment, is the various sellers who enter it. They are usually young-ish women, maybe in their late twenties or early thirties, carrying their wares. The most popular ones are the jewelry and vegetable sellers; but other vendors can do good business too, if they're enterprising enough. Once, one of them actually got me to buy a glue stick from China. I was struggling to file my papers (this was back when I was in college), and a few of them kept sneaking out. The sharp-eyed vendor, a girl not much older than me, immediately came over, and tried to impress upon me the importance in my life of a pale blue glue stick with Chinese letters on it. I tried to convince her that I didn't need it, and she tried to convince me that I did. Finally, just to get rid of her, I bought one for 5 rupees. I threw it in my backpack, sure that I'd never need a questionable glue stick (what if my papers dissolved in it?). Strangely enough, that very week, I needed to glue something together, and the stick actually came in handy. And no, the papers didn't dissolve.
I couldn't listen to any of the conversations, unfortunately, for I had Matt Costa going full volume in my ears with These Arms. But it was fun looking at the animated expressions of the women commuters! They tend to have three types of expressions -- the happy, I don't care for anything type; the indifferent, exhausted type; and the belligerent type. These are the ones you steer clear of, incidentally. If you go and try to make conversation with one of the belligerent ones, you're just asking for trouble.
All this I observed with a half-smile on my face (I was hoping that people would think it was because of the song, not because of them), until the train went past Masjid. Masjid looks like the most ancient station along the Harbor Line, possibly because it hasn't been renovated ever since it was built. After Masjid, the train runs along between some buildings, which gives way to flowery patches on both sides of the track, which gives way, suddenly, to an enormous area consisting solely of train tracks -- that's when you know you've arrived! Then everyone on the train gets in a queue, pushing and shoving, though everyone knows that no one else can get off when the train's halted, and everyone is going to get off at that point, anyway. Pushing is the just part of the fun. It's not serious pushing, mind you -- just some good-natured jostling that's part of the daily Mumbaikar routine.
And when the train halts at VT station, everyone gets off in a rush. This is what happened that day as well -- the entire crowd just melted out of the train, and before I knew, VT was deserted -- in a manner of speaking. I plopped my earbuds out of my ears, and went to find a place to stand where I could wait for my friend. I was chased away by all kinds of people -- the ticket checkers, the food vendors, the passengers, the shoeshine boy -- even a beggar! Finally I found myself an inoffensive spot to wait, and did so, until my friend arrived, watching till then the ebb and flow of humanity with the arrival and departure of the various trains pouring in from all parts of Bombay.
And that's what a ride in the local trains of Bombay feels like!
I recently went back home to Bombay for a month (well, slightly lesser than that, but who's counting?), and managed to travel in the trains. My parents were dead set against it, mind. They firmly believed that after traveling in the CapMetro buses of Austin, I would find it hard to travel in the chaotic locals of Bombay. (It's actually the other way round, but I didn't want to sit and explain all that -- I had a train to catch!). So off I went to Victoria Terminus (VT), now renamed to Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus (CST) during the renaming heydays of the Maharashtra government.
There's a train from the place where I live, Vashi, to VT, every 5 minutes. However, I was planning to go at 9am, and at that time, even getting a meter within the train's radius requires superhuman powers. Determined office-goers, chirpy college kids, bratty school kids -- all of them push, shove, kick and elbow their way to the train, so that the mere mortals traveling merely for the heck of it get thrown all the way to the back of the line. There are three start points for trains traveling to VT on the Harbor Line -- from Panvel, Belapur and Vashi. It's insanity trying to even look into the trains leaving from Panvel or Belapur, so I contented myself waiting for a Vashi train.
It came soon enough. The local train system is super-efficient, I'll give you that! I got in, feeling like a bit of a stranger since I hadn't ridden in one for over a year, and grabbed a seat. Now that's another task requiring some show of strength and cunning and speed and agility. You basically hurl yourself into the still-moving train, and, if you happen to spy an empty seat, you use all your wiles to get to it before another person can. In this case, since I was in the women's compartment, I competed with the women to grab the seat I saw. I managed to beat a plump lady wearing enough jewelry to open up a store, and a sharp-faced skinny woman who gave me the evil eye to the seat, and sank down, and immediately shoved the earbuds of my iPod into my ears and turned up the volume loud enough to hurt so I could block out the curses aimed my way.
The train started moving. I actually felt moved when I saw for the first time in over a year the view from the train window. Right outside Vashi station is the Thane creek. It's a thin body of water stretching from Thane all the way to Nhava Sheva, the port. The train bridge built over it was the first to connect the island of Bombay to Thane district, I do believe. I love the creek, and used to hang out of the train to get a glimpse of it when I was a college student. For some reason, I associate the creek with cricket. A crazy thought, isn't it? I think it's because I used to watch cricket matches live from New Zealand just before I left for college at 7:30am (since the country is 7 and a half hours ahead of India, the matches used to start really early). I used to watch usually till the tea break, and then leave for college, and all the way, I'd be contemplating on the various outcomes of the match, even more so if my favorite cricketer Shane Bond would be playing. I think that's why I associate the creek with cricket.Anyway. Once the creek is past, there really isn't much to look forward to on the train journey -- except for the antics of my fellow passengers. That day, there happened to be a college girl, a loud woman and her sister-in-law and baby, a tired-looking bai (maid), and the ubiquitous macchiwaali (fisherwoman). These macchiwaalis are quite a race. They are the loudest, most voluble of passengers traveling in the train. They carry with them a straw basket, in which they ostensibly carry the fish, though I've seen the fish only once. These baskets are usually dripping with some kind of gray-ish water, so people tend to give them a wide berth. They dress in that style so typical to the macchiwaalis , with the saris drawn between their legs, dhoti-style. The one opposite me had a paan in her mouth, the juice oozing out of one corner of her mouth, making her look like the victim of assault and battery. She had an enormous red tikka on her forehead, her hair drawn up tightly in a knot. She kept talking throughout, though I'm pretty sure no one was paying her any attention (including me -- I had my iPod going). The college girl next to her shot her dirty looks which went unnoticed. What did not go unnoticed was my iPod -- an iPod is still a rarity in India, at least in the women's compartment of the local trains, and feeling numerous hungry eyes upon it, I clutched my precious possession close to me and guarded it like a dragon.
There are 14 stations between Vashi and VT: Mankhurd, Govandi, Chembur, Tilak Nagar, Kurla, Chuna Bhatti, Guru Tegh Bahadur Nagar, Vadala Road, Sewri, Cotton Green, Reay Road, Dockyard Road, Sandhurst Road, and Masjid. The last one is VT. At each station there is a seething mass of humanity struggling to enter the train. It's actually fun watching -- unless you're one of the hapless ones caught near the door, in which case you get enough abuse to turn your hair white, and numerous threats of bodily harm, most often, to throw you off the train while it is gathering speed. It's all just bark, though. No one, to the best of my knowledge, has ever actually acted out on these threats.
Another interesting fixture in the trains, at least in the women's compartment, is the various sellers who enter it. They are usually young-ish women, maybe in their late twenties or early thirties, carrying their wares. The most popular ones are the jewelry and vegetable sellers; but other vendors can do good business too, if they're enterprising enough. Once, one of them actually got me to buy a glue stick from China. I was struggling to file my papers (this was back when I was in college), and a few of them kept sneaking out. The sharp-eyed vendor, a girl not much older than me, immediately came over, and tried to impress upon me the importance in my life of a pale blue glue stick with Chinese letters on it. I tried to convince her that I didn't need it, and she tried to convince me that I did. Finally, just to get rid of her, I bought one for 5 rupees. I threw it in my backpack, sure that I'd never need a questionable glue stick (what if my papers dissolved in it?). Strangely enough, that very week, I needed to glue something together, and the stick actually came in handy. And no, the papers didn't dissolve.
I couldn't listen to any of the conversations, unfortunately, for I had Matt Costa going full volume in my ears with These Arms. But it was fun looking at the animated expressions of the women commuters! They tend to have three types of expressions -- the happy, I don't care for anything type; the indifferent, exhausted type; and the belligerent type. These are the ones you steer clear of, incidentally. If you go and try to make conversation with one of the belligerent ones, you're just asking for trouble.
All this I observed with a half-smile on my face (I was hoping that people would think it was because of the song, not because of them), until the train went past Masjid. Masjid looks like the most ancient station along the Harbor Line, possibly because it hasn't been renovated ever since it was built. After Masjid, the train runs along between some buildings, which gives way to flowery patches on both sides of the track, which gives way, suddenly, to an enormous area consisting solely of train tracks -- that's when you know you've arrived! Then everyone on the train gets in a queue, pushing and shoving, though everyone knows that no one else can get off when the train's halted, and everyone is going to get off at that point, anyway. Pushing is the just part of the fun. It's not serious pushing, mind you -- just some good-natured jostling that's part of the daily Mumbaikar routine.
And when the train halts at VT station, everyone gets off in a rush. This is what happened that day as well -- the entire crowd just melted out of the train, and before I knew, VT was deserted -- in a manner of speaking. I plopped my earbuds out of my ears, and went to find a place to stand where I could wait for my friend. I was chased away by all kinds of people -- the ticket checkers, the food vendors, the passengers, the shoeshine boy -- even a beggar! Finally I found myself an inoffensive spot to wait, and did so, until my friend arrived, watching till then the ebb and flow of humanity with the arrival and departure of the various trains pouring in from all parts of Bombay.
And that's what a ride in the local trains of Bombay feels like!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
