Dining in the dark

Apparently it is a thing. Sounds gimmicky but what is the point of making money if you can't spend some of it on an intriguing gimmick. So we headed over to Opaque in San Francisco Saturday night to try it out.

You walk in to a narrow entry way where the hostess receives you and hands out menus to choose your food. You choose from a couple of options in a prix fixe menu, pick your drinks and then are ready to enter the restaurant proper. The hostess asks you to turn off your cell phones (I put mine on vibrate and stuffed it in my purse. And held my purse tight between my legs the whole time so I would feel the vibration if it went off. I may have a slight problem), take off any watches and otherwise eliminate all sources of light. Then she hands you off to your server, who is legally blind - like all the wait staff. The group forms a little train behind the server, each holding the person in front of them. (Pro-tip : There's a lot of touching - deliberate and accidental - over the course of this evening. Best to go with people you know fairly well!). The server is the engine of this train and guides you into the restaurant proper. You go through a darkened passageway, past a blackout curtain and you are finally in the pitch dark. I cannot overstate the blackness of this dark. My pupils spent the whole evening dilating but could not distinguish the slightest shape. The server guided us each to our seats and we began the meal. When we were lining up to enter the darkened passageway, I felt a moment of utter panic. But once we were seated it passed. I felt around to get a mental picture of the table's layout and position of my fellow diners. The server described the serving strategy : she'd bring the plates to one side of the table and the two people at the end would pass them down to the others. It worked quite well; too well in my opinion. Once we were seated it felt disappointingly like a normal meal. Sure we jabbed our forks all over our plates but there really was not much difficulty. I had a water glass and a drink on either side of my plate; not only did I drink from both easily, they were not even slightly in the way when passing dishes back and forth or reaching to try the food in my neighbour's plate. Should not have been surprising considering the ease with which I walk around my bedroom in the dark. We are better than we think at limited navigation through known territory.

The food came in one course at a time, was duly passed down the line of diners. Much giggling ensued during the first couple of courses as we tried to eat what we could not see. I hear that the remaining senses are enhanced when one is lost, but it probably takes longer than a couple of hours. None of us felt our sense of taste or smell enhanced by the blindness. Quite the reverse, I lost a lot of the flavour of the food by not being able to see it. I also found myself shoveling the food down my throat in an unseemly hurry due to some trace remains of anxiety. I had to force myself to slow down and savour the food. That helped some, but again I realised how much I take sight for granted during an eating experience. For instance, I always combine things on my plate for optimal taste - a piece of cheese with every bite of salad. Or a delectable crouton saved till the end as a final treat for my taste buds. It was quite frustrating not being able to do that.

The food was quite good but not extraordinary. Given the logistical nightmare of running this place, the price ($100 per person for food) is probably justified. But at the end of the day, I can't honestly say the experience was worth the cost.

Vain musings

Is there anything so poignant as the loss of something one never possessed?

There it was, hovering by your head. You could reach out and grab it easily, or so you told yourself. Any time you wanted. It was practically yours and one day you would just pluck it out of the air. But you never did reach out, except that one time when you made a tentative, hesitant movement and then quickly turned it into a different gesture - nah, I was just brushing my hair. And there it bobbed silently, like a golden snitch. It is mine, practically so. Slowly it moved a little farther away, each day. And you didn't notice. Or wouldn't listen to the part of you that did. You kept insisting it was right there and all you had to do was take it. Really. Further and further away it went. And you went on saying that you possessed it - in all but name, really. Yet it kept moving away, kept getting harder to ignore the drift. And the farther it went, the more dearly you clung to the claim that it was nearby. Really. Not because you could no longer reach out for it, but because you didn't want to admit that you never would have.

Not really.

Team Fanny!

If you neither know nor care about Fanny Price, you can stop reading now...

(Ok ok, here's a quick recap : Fanny Price is the heroine of Jane Austen's book Mansfield Park. Fanny and Edmund are cousins, Fanny's in love with Edmund. Enter Mary & Henry - a delightful brother and sister pair who completely outclass Fanny & Edmund in likability. Mary pursues Edmund, Henry pursues Fanny but the boring couple ends up together and the exciting brother & sister are disgraced.)

Broad mindedness is a virtue very much in fashion today. Yet nothing is so amusing as the narrow mindedness of the fashionably broad minded.

Fanny Price is a quiet, intelligent girl with strong morals, what one would call a "good" girl. But unfortunately good girls are no longer the thing. Heroines today are feisty, out spoken, slightly unscrupulous and (adorably) self involved. And for all our pretensions to liberality, we aren't really accepting of different-ness. Only of the one specific kind currently sanctioned by popular culture. Quirky, rebellious, bitchy girls are cool but demure, shy girls are unacceptable even though nowadays they are in reality more "different" than the other kind.

Criticisms of Fanny fall into two categories; the first is that "Mary should be heroine". I honestly don't understand this train of thought. If Jane Austen had wanted Fanny to sparkle in contrast to her rival, she would have made Mary less appealing. If she had wanted a saucy heroine with sparkling eyes, she would have written Pride & Prejudice. Fanny is Fanny and Mary is the vamp for a reason. Each of Jane Austen's novels are about a human failing, and by the end of each book the failing human learns a lesson. Emma is about vanity, Pride & Prejudice is about - well, you can guess. Mansfield Park is about seduction. Mary and Henry come to Mansfield and seduce (metaphorically) everyone including the reader. Detractors criticize the book for having two such delightful characters as its villains, but seducers are always delightful - to start with. By the end of the book their evil side is revealed (well, as evil as any Jane Austen character could be). Mary can't put aside her greed even for the sake of Edmund's love. Henry, for vain, selfish pleasure, seduces a married woman he isn't really interested in.

Mary and Henry are a metaphor for 'Society' with a capital S. You know; the one Oscar Wilde said is only criticized by those who can't get into it. It is dazzling and brilliant, it is delightful and exciting, it is beautiful people in skimpy clothes and colourful cocktails and shiny lights and loud music and lots of laughter. It brings excitement and pleasure. What it doesn't bring is happiness. Just like Mary and Henry. Edmund and Fanny are the "countryside" to Mary & Henry's "London" - less glitzy, less glamorous but of real, lasting sterling worth.

Mary and Henry are also a cautionary tale. They do have a shot at real happiness. Beneath the superficiality they have substrata of kindness, love and what Jane Austen calls "moral taste". These qualities surface when they retreat from Society to the more sedate but wholesome company of Edmund and Fanny. And almost overcome their weaknesses. Almost. But they go back to Society and get sucked into its depths of shallowness. And lose that one chance of real happiness they had accidentally stumbled upon.

If this were Hollywood, the same lessons would be learnt but in a different manner. Mary would give up all ambition of a rich husband and be satisfied with Edmund. Henry would reform, give up his playboy lifestyle and marry Fanny. And all the Mansfield Park haters would be satisfied. Personally I think Jane Austen wrote a better story line, certainly less saccharine and probably more realistic. How many playboys have really reformed and settled down because they met the 'right girl'? And if they do, why should their past unfaithfulness be so conveniently forgiven? And how many women, brought up in luxury with expensive things, have turned on a dime and settled into hardworking, frugal, happy homebodies? Jane Austen's books may be called romance novels but she was far too perceptive to have romantic misconceptions about human nature.

So where is Fanny in all this? The second criticism is that she has no positive traits, that she is washed out, negative, passive and yet somehow annoyingly flawless and always right. There is some justification here: Austen's books always follow the same pattern - blunder, lesson, happiness. Usually it is the heroine who commits the blunder. At Mansfield Park it is the other residents who misjudge Mary & Henry while Fanny is never deceived. The book does give a credible reason for this - Fanny is the mousy quiet person who sits in a corner observing everything and participating little. So much easier to avoid deception when you have an outside perspective rather than being the one the deception is aimed at. But yes, it is not completely unfair to claim that Fanny is "always right". But flawless? Only a completely non-shy person could see no flaw in her excessive timidity. True it doesn't lead her into any single tragic event but it is like a giant boulder on her fragile shoulders, wearing her down all the time. And make no mistake about it, the author is fully aware of this burden. Jane Austen knows her Fanny as well as she does her Emma or Marianne, and paints her with a gentler but equally perceptive touch. Witness a time when Fanny pauses before joining her uncle in the living room : "she paused for what she knew would never come, a courage that the outside of no door had ever given her". As for positive traits - her quiet determination to do the right thing in the face of all opposition is very much that. A silent hero, if you will, one who doesn't claim the center of attention but quietly, persistently follows the path she believes in.

Of course, nothing I say can make Fanny more entertaining than she actually is, and every time I read the book I root for Fanny and Henry getting together and leaving Edmund to Mary. But the book is brave enough to not just hand me the easy ending I want. You know, just like real life. If Fanny is boring, she is neither less good nor less real for that. And the author's sharp tongue amply compensates for Fanny's bland one, the book itself is a classic gem of satirical wisdom.

Re-read it with an open mind and you will find such a difference between your expectation and your experience as "time is for ever producing between the plans and decisions of mortals, for their own instruction and their neighbours' entertainment".

A trip to France

David and I went to France in July. We spent a week in Paris and then traveled to the Loire valley to do some chateaux watching.

Full picture album (without annoying narration) :

https://picasaweb.google.com/116423174638525205555/Paris?authuser=0&feat=directlink and

https://picasaweb.google.com/116423174638525205555/LoireValley?authuser=0&feat=directlink

Paris

We got to Paris on July 11 from Cayman Islands, where we had been attending a friend's wedding. We stayed at a nice, cozy little place called the Familia Hotel in the Latin quarter. It is a nice neighbourhood to walk around in, with some cool ethnic restaurants for when this poor vegetarian got tired of eating some combination of bread, cheese and chocolate. It is also walking distance to the Pantheon and Notre Dame. Which is where we strolled down to that same evening...

From Paris

The Seine river runs through Paris, and has two small islands in it. Notre Dame is on one of the islands - Ile de la Cite. (But the other island has a famous ice cream shop, so it's a tie)

The cathedral is massive and sufficiently grand with beautifully intricate carving and flying buttresses. (I'm vague on the concept of flying buttresses but David was excited about them and took lots of pictures) Its interior succeeds in creating that indefinable atmosphere unique to great places of worship - the kind that makes even the most atheistic person come over all spiritual. Unfortunately in addition to being an incredibly popular tourist destination it is still an active place of worship. You can't help feeling sorry for the priests trying to preach in spite of the throngs of tourists wandering through the church taking pictures.

The next day we went down to the Eiffel Tower. To be honest I expected it to be ugly but it looks quite classy. Up close the metal is a cool brownish color that gives it a sepia tone. Of course this was easily the most crowded place I've ever visited and there were lots of annoying souvenir dealers selling little Eiffel Towers.

From Paris

We spent the next few days exploring the normal tourist destinations, eating a lot and walking a lot. We took a boat trip down the Seine which was very enjoyable, especially on that hot summer afternoon. We went to the Arc de Triomphe and walked down the Champs Elysees. The Montmartre district is a cute, quaint neighbourhood to wander around in - David's father recommended it to us. It is on a hill and at the top of the hill is the Sacre Coeur Basilica. The Louvre is a beautiful building but completely overwhelming as a museum. For one thing it took us more than an hour to buy tickets (you really really should purchase those online). Once in, we took one look at the map and decided that all we could hope for was to glimpse some of the highlights. The most disappointing moment was the Mona Lisa - I sincerely recommend that no one even try to view this painting. All you can see is a sea of people holding up cameras, craning to take pictures over everyone else's heads. And you are forcefully reminded that you too are that most ridiculed of characters - a tourist. Oh well. If you only have a few hours to give the Louvre, its best to stick with the exterior.

From Paris

July 14th was Bastille Day. We were told there would be fireworks at the Eiffel Tower, so we headed down there that evening. Half of Paris was there but we cleverly managed to maneuver our way to a great viewing position, just a few hundred feet away from the tower. Now we just had to wait for darkness to fall. This was a long wait, summer days are really long in Paris and even at 1opm there is some daylight. Eventually around 11 it got dark enough, there were sounds of activity and then the fireworks started... off to our left, over the river, not the tower at all! Fortunately we still got to see them, although the view was not nearly as good. Returning to the hotel was a challenge, with such massive crowds we had to walk a long way to reach a subway station that wasn't suffocatingly crowded.

Around our 5th day the weather changed. It had been beautifully sunny and warm, even in the evening. But now the rain started and it didn't quit for the rest of our trip. Unfortunately neither of us had expected rain so there was some scrambling for appropriate gear. I bought a hideous sweatshirt with PARIS scrawled across the front in big bold letters. After that, David was no longer allowed to take pictures of me.

Versailles

My cousin Darshan lives in Germany and came down to Paris to spend the weekend with us. Which was great because we hadn't seen each other in about 10 years. Together the three of us went to Versailles, which is about a 90 minute train ride from Paris. It was raining when we got there and I hadn't yet acquired the PARIS sweatshirt. Darshan was the only one of us prepared for this weather. So of course I simply stole his jacket. Having learnt from our Louvre experience, I had been very careful to buy tickets in advance this time. I was gloating about this all the way to Versailles but on getting there we discovered that there was a long line just to enter the palace. We stood shivering and wet in the courtyard for another hour while the line slowly snaked forward. Versailles may be a grand palace but my main impression of it was of a stuffy, incredibly crowded place. Only a few of the chambers are open for viewing and everybody gets into a single line and is herded from one room to another. I was too demoralized to even get my camera out as long as we were indoors. After lunch, however, the rain stopped and we ventured into the famous gardens (separate charge).

From Paris

The next day we spent the morning wandering around town and then David & I headed off to Blois in the Loire Valley and Darshan went back to Germany.

The Catacombs

But before I get to Blois, I must tell you about the Catacombs.

Our guide book had a small paragraph on the "catacombs" of Paris which it suggested were worth visiting. The cemeteries in Paris had become over crowded in the 18th century and so many of the bodies had been dug up and reburied in a part of the catacombs - underground passageways. It wasn't clear what there would be to see down there: some graves, maybe a couple of skeletons tossed in a corner. But it sounded like a change from all the history and culture we were feasting on, so I decided to give it a shot. David and I wandered down there one morning only to discover it was Bastille Day and the catacombs were closed. The next day we decided to give it another shot but were out of luck again. The catacombs were open, but there was some glitch. Due to a "technical problem", half the place was closed off and so they could allow only a small number of people down at a time. The wait was a couple of hours, it was recommended we come back another day. Then on Sunday we went there again with Darshan. Third time lucky. Not so much. Yet again there was a long line outside the entrance. Yet again, a helpful official came by with a placard that explained half the place was closed - this time because of "safety concerns". The placard went on helpfully to emphasize that the entrance fee was not reduced. An anticipated 2 hour wait. We left again - as my mother would say "the catacombs weren't in our destiny".

But by now the catacombs began to feel like the most attractive place in Paris and I couldn't rest easy without going there. It turned out that we returned to Paris the day before our flight home and we had half a day to kill. We made a beeline for the catacombs, waited patiently in another long line (this time the placard advertised 'security reasons' for the reduced capacity), got rained on but finally made it in! This was possibly the weirdest place I've been to. As I said before, we didn't know what to expect. A somewhat creepy experience, a couple of skeletons lying in a corner. But we weren't prepared for this :

From Paris

The walls were lined with skulls and bones. No, the walls were skulls and bones - plastered into place - all along the passageway. In places they were arranged in bizarre decorative formations. How anyone could think this was an appropriate way to treat their ancestor's bodies is beyond me! It was creepy and deeply disturbing, I can't believe this is a tourist attraction and I am so glad we did get to see it.

Loire Valley

Anyway, so on to the Loire. The Loire valley gets its name from a river that runs through it. For some reason the valley is filled with chateaux and the chateaux is what we wanted to see. Our first stop was in the town of Blois, which turned out to be an absolutely adorable medieval town fulfilling all my old Europe fantasies of narrow alleyways, cobblestones and cute buildings. Its also a popular base for touring the nearby chateaux.

From Loire Valley

We hadn't rented a car, so our travel was limited by public transportation. There is a bus that goes to nearby chateaux and we took it to Chambord and Cheverny.

Chambord has a combination fort and hunting lodge feel with its keep, towers and large halls. It also has the most extensive grounds in France. It has an interesting double helix staircase in the center of the building. Two entwined sets of spiral stairs climbing to the top without ever meeting. It was a pleasure to wander at will through this castle after the restrictive, crowded tour of Versailles. I would have taken far more pictures here but I got separated from David and spent most of my time looking for him. He spent this time wandering around unperturbed, taking pictures...

From Loire Valley

After Chambord we went to Cheverny. This is a more modest chateau - I don't believe any kings ever owned it, only lowly noblemen. It is well known for (of all things) its kennel full of hounds.

From Loire Valley

The next day we took a train to Chenenceau, which is the most popular of the Loire chateaux. It has a unique location, built right on the banks of a river with a long hall that spans the river.

From Loire Valley

We were told that during the second world war, one bank of the river was in occupied France and the other in Free France. So resistance fighters helped people escape by bringing them in through the front door and out across the long hall. To be honest this sounds like a made up story to me. But I heard it several times and even Wikipedia says so, so it must be true! (By the way we saw several references to the "Resistance" in the Loire towns: roads, squares and even a Resistance museum right next to our hotel. We would have visited it but the museum hours had been explicitly designed to discourage visitors.) This was the most crowded of the Loire chateaux we saw, even though some tourists must have been kept away by the pouring rain. Fortunately the place is large enough that it was still a lot of fun wandering through the various rooms. We got to see the kitchen and pantry which was an opportunity to glimpse the behind-the-scenes life at a castle. Overall, in spite of the rain, it was a very enjoyable trip. Also the food at the adjoining restaurant was surprisingly good.

Oh, and the chateau was designed and owned by multiple women so its called the women's chateau. Which sounds a little soppy but maybe explains why it is so elegant looking.

From Loire Valley

(Several places had scaffolding due to ongoing construction work. And the scaffolding was always covered with fabric that was painted to look like the building. Not fooling anyone obviously, but much less of an eyesore. Quite a cute idea).

That brings us to the last couple of days of our trip. I'd been intrigued by a hotel called the Chateau de Verrieres in Saumur. Excited at the idea of staying at a real chateau and spurred on by the Trip Advisor reviews, I booked us into this hotel for the last couple of nights. It was a lovely place but disappointing from my point of view. The experience was that of staying at a luxury bed and breakfast, rather than a historic building. The chateau is very large for a home but small for a chateau! Still, the place is charming and the big bedroom and giant bathroom was a welcome change after the tiny "European" hotels we had stayed in so far.

From Loire Valley

And just like that, our trip was over. We went back to Paris on Friday, finally finally got to experience the Catacombs, stayed at an airport hotel and took the morning flight back to California.

A really fun trip in which I learned some rather random things. For instance that France (presumably all of Europe) has embraced 24 hr time with a vengeance. And that our US credit cards don't work in the Paris metro because they have no chip. Also three weeks is too long to stay away from work and I get impatient to return. And how much I like where I live, because I'm homesick even when I am at the most beautiful places in the world.

(More pictures at :

https://picasaweb.google.com/116423174638525205555/Paris?authuser=0&feat=directlink and

https://picasaweb.google.com/116423174638525205555/LoireValley?authuser=0&feat=directlink)

We interrupt our regular scheduled program ...

...

Ok, I have to get this off my chest. That whole picture Americans have of Europe being this sophisticated, socially progressive, liberal paradise that the US can only aspire to? Bull f*ing shit!!

Whatever one says about the United States - and a lot could be said - here's two things that are still legal: Minarets and burkhas!

You may not have caught on to the subtle tone of disagreement in the previous statements, so I shall be more explicit. I cannot believe that in the 21st century a so-called democracy believes it is acceptable to pass a law telling its citizens what they can and cannot wear.

Let's call a spade a spade. This is a blatant Islamaphobic law, born of bigotry and suspicion of Muslims. There have been multiple other arguments put forward in its favour, but I call bullshit on all of them:

1. "Security" : Apparently the French government thinks it is under imminent threat from terrorists disguised in burkhas. Now I have never been to France but I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that a burkha clad person kind of stands out on the streets of Paris - just a little. Not something terrorists are aiming for actually.

2. "It's for their own good" : This is the most annoyingly bigoted, condescending, culturally arrogant argument of all. So you assume that every one of your citizens wearing an outfit you disapprove of are doing so only because they are being forced to do it by scary patriarchs. And your solution is to stigmatize and humiliate these citizens as a means to "save them"?

3. "Social integration" : Don't make me laugh. No quicker way to alienate an entire community than by disrespecting their religion, insulting their women and declaring their customs "not welcome".

For you culturally tone-deaf people, let me explain how this sounds to the Muslim world: there are women who have gone around their entire life covered from head to foot. Who have never had an unrelated man look at their faces. Telling these women to now walk the street without their niqabs is like forcing an average American woman to walk around with her shirt off. How do you think "France forces American women to go topless!" would play in the United States? Don't forget to factor in the strong cultural attitude about women's "modesty" and "honour". And the general view of the west as morally corrupt. All this to change the sartorial habits of about 2000 out of more than 60 million people? Really? Maybe Sarkozy was secretly aiming to radicalize more Muslims?

An amusing side-effect - since the law needs to appear non-bigoted all kinds of face covering are banned. So I guess even if you're feeling cold, no balaclava for you!

Ajanta

Ajanta is a more dramatic setting than Ellora. Temples carved out of natural caves in the sheer cliff face of a hill, they are nearly invisible from most surrounding areas. The story is that they passed out of living memory and were 're-discovered' by an Englishman in the 19th or early 20th century. He was out hunting and saw the caves from a nearby hilltop.

You drive to the bottom of the hill and then pile into a bus that takes you close to the caves. Then you climb up several steep stairs to reach the caves and there are men with chairs to carry the less active tourists. Most of the caves are Buddhist temples or monasteries. The interior walls retain far more of the colourful painting than Ellora, hardly surprising since they are more shielded from the elements. Maybe this is why I have always associated Ajanta with paintings and Ellora with sculpture. But in fact Ajanta has just as much sculpture as Ellora and in a more tranquil, dramatic setting. The monastery caves are particularly interesting - the rectangular hall in the center with doors leading off into tiny bedrooms on two sides. Strange place to choose to live in, yet not unpleasant.

(One of the oldest from around 100 BC, I believe this is actually one of the few Jain temples there)

Sorting through our vast collection of pictures, I am quite disappointed not to have more pictures of Ajanta. It appears that our official photographer was either bored of caves or of taking pictures. So instead here's a look at the ubiquitous school trips.

Oh, funny story.... As I said in the previous post, Ajanta & Ellora are off the beaten path for foreign tourists. You meet a few but nothing compared to the crowds at the Taj Mahal. Also this is a fairly rural part of India and a lot of the other people we saw were from nearby villages.

All this to explain that most of them had never seen a white person before so David was quite a novelty. And since I was with him and wearing western clothes, some of them thought I was a "foreigner" too!

A group of girls in their late teens accosted me along the way and wanted to take my picture. I couldn't figure out how to clear up their misunderstanding and it seemed easiest to just comply. So I posed with a few of them. A man travelling with them was more perceptive. He looked at me suspiciously and asked me where I was from. "Mumbai" I explained with some relief. "Oh she's just a local" He tried to explain to the girls but they were already snapping away.

Afterwards a few of the girls came up to me and asked me my name.

"Mugdha". Ugh! not only was I Indian, I was a Maharashtrian just like them. So much for novelty! Just then David joined us.

"What is your name?" one of the girls demanded of him in English.

"David".

That was better. Perhaps this meeting wouldn't be a complete waste after all. Attention shifted from me to him.

"Where are you from?"

"United States"

blank stares all around

"America" I explained helpfully.

Ah, America.

"Tomorrow, we were seeing you walking there" the bold one spoke up, haltingly. "Yesterday" I corrected. The girls had evidently been doing the same tourist round we were.

"Oh you were at Daulatabad fort" David realised.

More blank stares.

"Daulatabad" I translated David's Marathi into Marathi.

"Yes! I was there and I am looking" another girl finally got up the courage to speak, looking delighted at her own boldness in speaking English to a stranger. David stared at her, waiting to hear the rest of what seemed to him an incomplete sentence. But this was too much for her and she collapsed into a fit of giggles, hiding her face in her dupatta.

Scintillating though the conversation was, I decided that David had had enough female attention for one day and so we left.

More pictures : https://picasaweb.google.com/mugdha.bendre/Ajanta

Midnight ramblings

They always say the best things in life are free. That is such a silly statement, it is the opposite of the truth. Far more accurate to say the best things in life are priceless. Available to everyone yet cannot be obtained at will, for all the money in the world.

Friendship, love, youth, wisdom, self esteem. And oh, a clear conscience.

India Trip Report - Ellora

David and I visited India over the Christmas break. We went to Ajanta & Ellora with my parents for a couple of days and spent another three days in Goa. The rest of the time was devoted to family in Bombay.

Ajanta is the site of several rock cut cave monuments containing (what used to be) beautiful paintings and sculptures, mostly Buddhist religious art. Ellora is a series of temples carved out of the rock face of the adjoining hills. Ajanta is the older site, with some caves dating from 200 BC. Ellora is 5th - 10th century according to Wikipedia. Both - they are usually bracketed together - are very well known within India though less so outside India. All the India guide books recommend them but they probably qualify as ‘adventurous’ for the average foreign tourist. Primarily because they are in the middle of nowhere tourism-wise - unless you count the water wheel in Aurangabad. The caves of Ajanta are particularly worth a look with their majestic setting in the side of a sheer cliff, looking out into a peaceful valley. And one is not incessantly harassed unlike the more popular tourist destinations in the north.

We flew in to Aurangabad which is the usual launching pad for a visit to Ajanta and Ellora. We went to Ellora on the first day in a hired car with a hired driver. It is less than an hour from Aurangabad while Ajanta is about twice as far. Both journeys are on crappy highways going through very rural country. You drive past several one horse (cow?) towns, sugarcane and cotton fields and countryside that is very green but in a burnt, dusty sort of way. The villages look painfully small and sparse, the huts tiny and primitive. However the inhabitants are not badly off. I base this on the fact that the cattle all looked healthy, well fed and content with life. In fact their horns were painted bright colours so they looked positively festive. It is an interesting drive if you have the mental discipline to ignore the insane maneuvering of both your own driver as well as the car careening towards you down the not-quite-2-lane highway.

The temples of Ellora are a wonderful sight despite their centuries long exposure to the elements. They must have been truly magnificent back when the statues still had noses and mouths. Interestingly the site has temples devoted to all three major religions born in India - Jainism, Buddhism and Hinduism. Of these the Kailash temple is the largest, best preserved and most famous. A two storey temple, twice the area of the Parthenon and carved out of a single rock 1200 years ago. So, an impressive sight.

In some parts we noticed a couple of patches of surviving paint. No dull browns these, the paint is startlingly bright greens and blues. Curious to realise that the original brightly painted, gay facades bear little resemblance to the dignified sand coloured columns associated with Hindu temple sculpture today.

A History channel program made the same point about Roman architecture: the noble marble structures we admire so much were once painted in gaudy colours. Our ancestors were not afraid of colour.

An enjoyable visit, but slightly marred by the presence of several school trips. Hordes of giggling girls and shouting boys did not enhance the atmosphere.

On our way back to town we stopped at Daulatabad Fort, one of those famously impenetrable medieval forts. Flashback to high school history class - In the 1300s the crazy Tughlaq ruler decided to move his empire's capital from Delhi to Daulatabad. Nothing wrong with that, except he took the ‘moving’ part literally and marched the entire population of Delhi 700 miles south to the new capital which did not have even an adequate water supply. Much misery and death ensued. Usually this fort is precisely the kind of place I enjoy scrambling around in, but I was tired by the time we got there so we only spent a short time there.

Rest of the pictures at : https://picasaweb.google.com/mugdha.bendre/Ellora

Why I don't watch the news

Exhibit A: A clip from Campbell Brown's program on CNN : A correspondent in Haiti is outside a building which had several people still buried under the rubble and people working round the clock to rescue them. One man had been found alive but trapped under the rubble and rescuers were struggling to get him out. The correspondent told us that she managed to get a microphone to the trapped man, and asked him "What is going through your mind right now?" He answered "I pray that you are able to rescue me in time".

Wow, breaking news indeed.

Someone at CNN thought - "sure there's a devastating earthquake and tens of thousands of people have perished, millions are homeless and starving. But that's just meaningless statistics, our viewers can't comprehend that.. how do we make it personal and interesting for them? I know, lets ask a dying man what's on his mind. And report his response in our most earnest, breaking news voice - pretending that it provides some unique insight." There's got to be a term for this attempt to use meaningless sentimentality to bring home the magnitude of a great tragedy.. kind of like "gilding the lily" but the exact opposite.

And yes, I really don't watch the news. I caught this particular bit on Sirius satellite radio. And no, I don't pay for satellite radio either, I got a 6 month free subscription with my new car. It's pretty good though, it has every possible channel anyone could ever want. All the ads are for truck drivers though.

"Spraying skunk venom on a turd"? Not catchy enough...

Avatar

We saw Avatar this weekend. The trailers had been quite enticing and I knew there was lots of CGI eye candy, but reviews had mostly dissed the story. So while my interest level was high, expectations were set fairly low.

As it turns out, I kind of enjoyed the movie. The alien universe is well imagined, the graphics are amazing, the plot is tight (if predictable) and the action is engrossing. The lead characters did a decent job with the acting and the computer generated characters emote even more realistically. And a shout out to Michelle Rodriquez - Ana Lucia from Lost - who plays essentially an Ana Lucia clone, but does it very well.

So yes, an enjoyable movie - as long as one doesn't over analyze it. But since I'm blogging about the movie, you've probably already guessed that I over analyzed it.

To be fair, if this had just been a run of the mill action flick, I would have left off the analyzing. But James Cameron makes it clear that it is much more - a moral lesson, an allegorical tale, a political statement. And hence, fair game.

Let's start with Hollywood's favourite cliche - the hero single handedly saving the day. It is particularly galling in this movie which purports to be a jab at American colonialism and arrogance. The swaggering colonel and the greedy CEO (humans) look down on the natives (aliens). Their sole goal is to exploit the native land. They make no attempt to understand the natives, underestimate them and treat them with utter contempt and condescension. Terrible, terrible - and we all get to snicker and look down upon the humans. Yet in the end the natives are incapable of defending themselves. It is the good hearted human hero who charges to the rescue, protects the guileless aliens, defeats the evil humans, picks up the prettiest alien female and becomes leader of the tribe. A modern day Lawrence of Arabia with all the accompanying unconscious colonial arrogance.

Speaking of Hollywood touches, the climax is seriously unbelievable... A bravehearted group of patriots, riding hard, swinging swords and shooting arrows descends on a modern army equipped with big guns. Seriously? That tactic was tried in 1854 - it didn't work then, and the guns have only gotten bigger since.

And then there is the movie's main message. Quite clearly, it is all about conserving the environment and respecting nature. Don't get me wrong, I completely support this. However the movie takes it one step too far and sets up a false dichotomy between nature and technology. Right? Or am I imagining that? I felt it as an undercurrent through the movie. Uniformed soldiers and brute machines are juxtaposed against an idyllic, green paradise where everyone lives in harmony with nature. The humans mine expensive minerals (unobtanium?!) and bring in tanks and giant metallic robots. The aliens live in trees, worship trees, and commune with all living creatures - literally, via some convenient mind-melding appendage on their heads. The humans dismiss all this as "that tree hugging crap". The aliens need nothing the humans can bring them, all their simple needs are met by the beautiful forest in which they live. Hey, who needs technology when you can defeat tanks and airborne missiles with arrows and large birds. All nice and sweet and uplifting, and... kind of rings hollow. Like watching a National Geographic documentary full of naked kids deep in some African desert and sighing over the simplicity and romance of their lifestyle.

Quite possibly I'm reading too much into the movie. But it always riles me when people glorify nature by belittling technology. In my mind that is a false dichotomy - science is the most beautiful miracle of nature (and naked kids in African deserts can actually have miserable lives). And I find it a little sad that a movie only made possible by the latest, most sophisticated computer animation cannot find enough space in its heart for a little technology.

Oh, and George Bush has been out of office for a year - so references to "shock and awe" and "preemption" are no longer topical commentary. They are merely a pathetic reminder of how nice it would be if only the Democrats could grow a spine.

Thought for the day

So much of life depends on asking the right questions....

A long trip

Seen in a recent Facebook status message: "Going to a 90's themed party this weekend! Trying to remember what I wore back then".

Excuse me?! A 90's themed party? Boy, I feel old. Maybe Facebook should have age appropriateness filters for its news feeds. Something like "Trust me, reading this will only make you reach for a tub of ice cream". To me the 90's feel like just the other day, I am always caught by surprise when I do the math and realise how many years it has been. Or when I indulge in nostalgia and realise how far back my memories go...

Far back indeed, to times and people that are nearly forgotten unless I go searching for them. Things I expected to remember always, like the time I spent in Bangalore. Right after college and before I went to grad school in New York, I spent some time working in Bangalore. It was my first time living away from home. I was looking forward to the experience and the freedom. The experience was interesting, although the freedom was a little wanting.

As a young, single woman, you see, living alone was quite out of the question. And since I didn't have any friends to share a house with, my best option was a PG (paying guest) accommodation. In theory, this meant living with a family in their house - occupying a bedroom, sharing the family meals - you know, sort of like a guest, except paying for it. In practice, this picture turned out to be somewhat optimistic. Paying guest accommodations were a lucrative business in Bangalore, since a large number of single people migrated there for work and college. And so people tried to maximise their opportunity. Most of the places I saw accommodated several girls in a single room. Beds were lined up along all the walls, 5 or 6 to a room, with some more in the hallway shielded by a thin curtain for privacy.

I saw such appalling places that Mrs C's house seemed like a veritable luxury. She lived in a very quiet, pleasant and upscale neighbourhood. A simple 2 story bungalow in a cul de sac. "Aunty-ji" was a cultured, well spoken, military widow about 75 years old. She was clearly a cut above all the other landladies I had encountered. The living quarters consisted of three bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs, that were shared by 7 women. By now I had realised that this was about as good as it would get, and signed on immediately. I moved in the next day and Aunty-ji became my landlady.

Aunty-ji was a very interesting person, and I always respected her. If I felt no warmer emotion, the fault was not mine. She had lived a full life and in her benevolent moments she would tell us stories. The time she been brought out to sing in front of Mahatma Gandhi, an eight year old girl with an angelic voice. The picture of her as a school girl giving something to (or was it receiving something from) then Prime Minister Nehru. How she and her family were living in Lahore before independence, and had to flee when the partition happened. And her brother, an airforce pilot, commandeered a military plane and flew them out to India with 'nothing but the clothes on their backs'.

We respected her for her forceful personality and her fierce independence. She was determined to earn her own keep, although she had two wealthy children who could look after her very well. So she opened her house up to paying guests, and taught music lessons in her garage. She took no nonsense from anyone, stood strong on her principles and usually got what she wanted.

But while admiring her in the abstract, we objected to many of the particulars. She had an overbearing personality and a fickle temper. She was snobbish and looked down on many of her "girls" as not being her social equals. To hear her, you'd think she was doing charity work - giving home and shelter to young women out of the kindness of her heart, and the rent was a purely nominal business. Worst of all was her inexcusable prejudice against South Indians, ridiculous considering she had spent most of her life living in - South India. She would often pass snide remarks about their collective character, hygiene and courage. And how it was the North Indians who fought for independence and all the subsequent wars. On the one hand I was disgusted by her views, on the other a lifetime's ingrained values made it literally impossible for me to remonstrate with someone her age.

It was ironic that the girl who most liked her and always stood up for her was from Kerala. For a time, we had three sophisticated Punjabi girls living with us and Aunty was thrilled to bits about it. She would talk to them in Punjabi, share jokes and discuss food and was downright rude to the Keralite. The Punjabi girls were disgusted by the accommodations and the rules, told us we were silly to put up with it all and left within a couple of months. Aunty was crushed and forced to fall back on her unwilling friendship with the Keralite. I got along fine with her, being neither from the north nor the south and although no socialite, my family background was graciously deemed good enough.

But to truly understand our relationship, you have to hear about the rules. We had to be home by 10pm and we could never have visitors. We weren't allowed to eat any food in our bedrooms, only in the kitchen. Which would be fine if only Aunty didn't hover over us lustily watching us eat all the stuff she wasn't permitted to. We weren't allowed to come in the front door, only through the back door and we had to take our shoes off and walk barefoot up to our rooms. And we weren't supposed to ever run the taps, just fill up a cup of water and use that to brush our teeth. Fill a bucket of water to bathe with, never run the shower.

It is fair to say that we regularly broke every one of those rules. But they did make life exciting, an evening snack of samosas felt so much tastier when I had smuggled them in under a sweater, while another girl distracted Aunty with conversation. And I was going to use as much water as I needed for my daily ablutions, rules be damned! Alright at this point I have to admit - through gritted teeth - that Aunty had a point. Her rules were conceived for the silliest, slyest girls and she must have seen lots of those through the years. It's very annoying to see prejudices come true, but I have to admit that my fellow-PGs occasionally justified her stupidest rules with their actions. There was the girl who constantly ate in bed, leaving crumbs scattered all over and under the bed. And then there was the girl who couldn't turn off the bathroom tap, and so simply left it running and walked out of the house! In a short while water was pouring down the stairs.

Oh but the antics of the other girls are a whole new story, and I'll leave them for another day.

It was a pity about Aunty though, she was good and she was lonely. She was surrounded by people, yet she put up a wall between herself and us - a wall of arbitrary rules, pride and prejudice.

Of futile gestures

Isn't it funny the memories that pop into one's mind when one is sitting around on a lazy weekend afternoon! Today I suddenly remembered an incident from when I was in college in Pune, living with my parents.

One weekend morning, our cleaning lady brought her daughter along when she came to clean our house. The girl was about 10 or 11 years old. She did some minor tasks for her mother, but mostly she just wandered around the house, drinking in the novelty of it all. I was in my room brushing my hair when I noticed her in the doorway. She was trying to be unobtrusive but was clearly immensely interested in me and my room. She stood there watching me with a mixture of curiosity, admiration and envy. I invited her in and chatted with her a little. I can't remember what we talked about, only that she was very pleased and excited at the attention. So I gave her a bottle of nail polish from my dressing table. She was thrilled to bits by the gift and ran off excitedly. Which of course made me feel quite good about myself, all generous and kindly.

A few days later, I noticed a red stain on the steps outside our house and pointed it out to my mother. She told me it was the nail polish. The girl was showing it off to her mother as they left, and dropped it on the stairs. Someone had cleaned off the mess but the stain remained. I remembered the girl, so pleased and excited and proud of her gift, and I imagined how she must have felt when she dropped that bottle right as she left. Too late for me to see it happen and too soon for her to have got even a minute's use out of it.

She never came to our house again, at least not while I was around. So I couldn't give her a new one. Perhaps I should have sent one through her mother but that seemed strangely inappropriate - like placing too high a value on my own trivial gift. Or maybe I was just too shy to make a deliberate present like that and talked myself out of it. But I would wince every time I passed that stain on the stair, imagining a little girl's bitter - if fleeting - disappointment.

The girl - I knew her name at the time - was married off when she was 15 or 16 years old. Today she probably cleans houses like her mother did, probably has a litter of kids to feed, and very probably a husband who comes home drunk and beats her up. It is safe to say that she has long forgotten that incident - likely drowned out in her memory by other, more weighty disappointments. Why then does it still come back to me occasionally? And each time I feel her disappointment (as imagined by me) in the pit of my stomach and my heart turns to lead. In vast disproportion to the actual incident - I wonder why. Perhaps it is my own disappointment, at my failure to make even the smallest improvement to her life. Or maybe it's the reminder of just how cruel the gods of fate can be - not content with robbing us of the great happinesses of life, sometimes they take particularly malicious pleasure in depriving us of the small trivial joys.

Welcome to the 20th century!

In what newspapers invariably refer to as a "landmark judgment", the Delhi High Court legalized homosexuality. Now the ball is in the government's court (so to speak). The law criminalizing homosexuality was written 150 yrs ago during the British Raj. In the last few weeks the newly elected Indian government has been making noises about this law. First they said that it was clearly absurd in this day and age. Then they backtracked and talked of commissions, and parliamentary discussions. This decision has clearly forced their hands, and it will be interesting to see whether the government has the balls to rewrite the law.

Hurray for the judiciary!

A Woman Scorned

Pet peeve #316

We all know how this plays out. A (American) politician cheats on his wife, gets caught and is splashed across the front pages of newspapers across the country. Then he gets up in front of a mike, talks about what an idiot he was and how great his family is and how lucky he is that his wife has forgiven him. And there standing right behind him is the forgiving wife. They are going to emerge from this tough time stronger than ever. And every time I want to throw my shoes at the TV (or I would, if I ever watched the news on TV instead of reading it on Google News).
I hate to be judgmental... actually I love to be judgmental, so I shall - grow a backbone, lady! He completely disregards your feelings, cheats on you, and then uses you as a prop to salvage his career. Why would you put up with that! Surely, surely, in the 21st century it is acceptable for a woman to put her foot down and stand up for her own dignity?!

And so, it was a pleasant surprise to see Jenny Sanford, the South Carolina governor's wife, break from the script. True, she hasn't left him yet and she suggests that it is still possible for them to work things out. But at least she doesn't pretend to take adultery in her stride. She isn't standing by her man promising to pray her way out. She is at a vacation home with her children., having kicked her husband out. When the press asked her about him, she said "His career is not my concern". You go girl!

Oh, and how bizarre was this whole story!

Bay to Breakers

Yay! I did the Bay to Breakers this year.

Actually, I feel a little guilty claiming that. We were part of what Wikipedia calls "Large numbers of participants walk the route behind the runners". Sree and Farhan, our fitter friends, ran the race. While David & I (because of me) walked, alongside all the fancy dressed people. So it was more like a long tiring hike/halloween street party.

But a really fun hike! Bay to Breakers is known for its quirky participants, and we got a great view of all the cool stuff. The guys dressed up as Spongebob Squarepants, the several dozen swine flu costumes, the salmon runners who start from the finish line and "swim upwards" through the race. Have to admire all these people, it was a very hot day (first one I've seen in San Francisco!) and walking 7.5 miles in those elaborate costumes is a real test of endurance.

And of course, there were the brave "Bare to Breakers". I hope they took sfgate.com's advice and slathered on the sunscreen! Why is it that nudists are so often the people who most need to cover up? For a long stretch, my main view was a man's floppy naked butt. Hmm, considering the alternative maybe I shouldn't complain.

My digital camera's seized up, so I had to settle for iPhone pictures. And very soon after the start, I was too tired to care about taking pictures. So these are quite lame and have no fun costumes.. but they stand as proof of my participation. The only way you could take such lousy pictures is if you were in the thick of things!

At the start line



Sea of humanity racing up the steepest part (and bonus shot of David striding up the road)



I will probably be limping all week, but it was totally worth it!

One finger salute

Congress won the Indian elections! They showed a surprisingly good performance with almost an absolute majority. I'm not exactly jumping up and down cheering (like Vanity Fair, Indian politics is a story without heroes). But this is still good news.

For one thing, it almost doesn't matter who is in charge in Delhi if we could just get some stability! The last several administrations have been coalition governments - precarious, unlikely alliances between the strangest bed-mates politics ever made. And with so many different parties to please it is incredibly hard to get anything done. It was galling to think that the Prime Minister had to run his policies by a bunch of marxist communists (unfortunately, this is not an epithet, simply the name of their party). The Congress will still need allies but it has far more seats in Parliament than it did 5 years ago, so it doesn't need them as badly as it did in the previous government. And while I'm not a fan of Manmohan Singh, he feels like a boon from the gods compared to some other names being thrown around recently.

Also it's good to see the BJP put in their place. Oh, sooo good! The way they went around talking about national security and terrorism, bemoaning the Congress on being "soft on terror". It is nice being the party in Opposition, isn't it - you can thunder on about what you would have done, while secretly thanking your stars you weren't in charge. Let's just say the BJP's record on terrorism is... less than stellar. Even if you discount the domestic terrorism they themselves instigated.

Overall, I think the election results showed amazing maturity and wisdom on the part of the electorate. Ah, it is awesome to see any large mass of humanity behave rationally!

And now, on a lighter note

Usually, when you vote in India, they put an indelible ink stain on your forefinger so you can't vote again. Displaying that ink stained finger makes a great photo-op for politicians and celebrities on election day



For some reason the election officials in Mumbai decided to stain the middle finger instead. Here's the Bachchan family, clearly enjoying themselves :)


Other, more image conscious movie stars resisted the temptation


And then there were the ones who clearly had no idea that gesture meant anything special


Coming from a politician on election day... sometimes an image truly says a thousand words.

So it isn't actually green?

No it isn't, turns out it's white. But it says "Permanent Resident Card" at the top alright.

For several years now, the 'temporary' aspect of the H1-B visa has hung threateningly over my life and my career decisions. And now I am finally accepted as a permanent resident of the country where I have spent almost my whole adult life.

Also, it is one more check mark on the standard NRI success checklist - grad school? check. married? check. green card? check.

So I ought to feel happy. And I did too, for a moment. My first thought was "Wow, I could take a break from work if I wanted". My second thought was "Damn, I can't! I need the health insurance." And so life goes on..

Age is a strange thing

I really looked forward to every birthday until my 21st one. I was growing up, and each new year was a new milestone! Then on my 22nd birthday, I suddenly thought - its all downhill from here. Yes my friends, I have been feeling old ever since I turned 22. Each subsequent birthday was more dreaded than the previous.. I'm no longer in my early 20s, I'm over 25, OMG! I'm 27 and still single!!

Then I turned 28. I was at a low point in my life ... stagnating in a dead end job, at a company rapidly running out of money, in the meantime they wouldn't even apply for a green card and the clock was running out on my H1. Even my boss asked me what I was still doing there! My personal life was even worse, had just worked off some entanglements that left me free but oh so lonely. And as I turned 28, I had an epiphany - "This could be it. There is a real chance that I may die alone." Funny, but I had never considered the possibility before - and it was a strange, intensely deeply lonely feeling. Heart felt like lead, blood turned cold. And I treated myself to a weekend getaway - a nice, romantic getaway, all by myself.

Of course, when you've hit rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up. I found another job, eventually even stumbled on to a boyfriend somehow.

29 was very different. Somehow 29 didn't seem much older than 28, it actually felt younger. This was the last year in my 20s. A 29 yr old is someone who isn't 30. I must have used the phrase "in my 20s" a thousand times that year!

Eventually of course, I was forced to turn 30. At that point, I enjoyed my birthday, but developed a healthy mental block towards my age. Seriously, sometimes I genuinely forget how old I am, and have to do some quick mental arithmetic! Ah well, I am happy to stay in this blissful state as long as I can. I suppose around 38 or so I will start panicking about turning 40.

I have no idea why I thought this was worth blogging about. But now that I've written it up I will have to post it.

Anniversaries...

This has been a month for anniversaries - married for a year... working at Google for three... March is a nice month.

We went to Santa Barbara for our wedding anniversary. A place that has meant very different things to me at different times in life -- strange how events work out...

It was a very nice weekend, warm and sunny except when the breeze picked up. Santa Barbara has some very attractive houses - not just large and grand, but unique, quirky and imaginative that somehow feel quite authentic. There was a definite "southern California" air to the place, particularly close to the beach.

We also went down to the Santa Barbara Mission, quite a nice building. I have lived in California all these years, without really understanding what these "Missions" were all about. It turns out the Spanish built Christian missions down the coast from San Francisco to Mexico, to bring Christianity to the heathens. Or the heathens to Christianity, if you prefer.

As I stood there in Santa Barbara Mission, reading about its history, the conversion and "education" of local Indians, I couldn't help thinking: thank God the practical British were more into trade than religion. Less of that religious zeal than the Portugese and Spanish. I shudder to think what India would have looked like after two centuries of coerced conversion.

Oh well, back to the present.

The Santa Barbara courthouse is a surprisingly interesting and pretty building, with some very attractive interiors. Far better than the average bureaucratic outpost.

On our way back, we stopped at Solvang, which is a mildly interesting, touristy, fake Danish town.



And I can finally say that I have been to Santa Barbara.