Christmas in May

Christmas in May

                      Come December, the mood sets in with the advent of cold breeze, church anthems, twinkling embellishments and all other rituals that softly carry us through the month and reach a crescendo on the eve of day of Nativity. But we drifted into that extraordinarily special mood even before seven months when we visited Frankenmuth, a small, thinly populated, quiet town in Michigan. It seems half of its population ( around 5000 only) has German connextions. The Bavarian hospitality renewed and refreshed the visitors’ memories of the celebration all along the year. A host of celebrations await visitors here throughout the year.  As we strolled leisurely into Bronner’s Christmas Wonderland, supposed to be the  largest Christmas store in the world, which houses the innumerable images of December, we were transported into another world of light and music. Thousands of souvenirs awaited patronage but visitors seemed a little hesitant because of their fancy tags. Christmas trees of all colours and  all the possible concepts of gift giving came alive in front of your eyes. Tempted to make all of them our own, we walked out empty handed and wandered to a stone chapel nearby. The familiar Christmas carol, Silent Night wafted all around us  and as we walked on, we saw the song inscribed in small stones in all the languages of the world. The story of the origin of the song was printed in pamphlets kept in the chapel – how the song was originally played to the accompaniment of a guitar since the church organ was under repair. We returned to the city for a night ride. Though the store was closed at 5.30 p.m. the night was bright and colourful with decorations everywhere. To crown it all, a hot air balloon show, which attracted a huge crowd awaited us. The hot glow of fire was some comfort to us since the sudden chill wind caught us unawares. The cold weather went hand in hand with the December setting. With a sense of accomplishment and good fortune, I took leave of this town with many tales to share with my family and friends.

Child Safety

Child Safety

                      Every living organism protects and nurtures its young ones. It is surprising how birds meticulously gather material to build nests and foster their offspring with tender care and nursing. Probably man learned this art from birds and animals. And the Americans seem to have aced this, for child safety is a genuine priority here. It is more evident on the roads. No child is to be in any car unless it is comfortably fastened into a seat, specifically designed by manufacturers. How so ever fond the child’s parents are, the State will have no compromise whatsoever. It cannot be cuddled into the maternal console or even by itself on the front seat to share its stories with the father. Until it is eight years old or tall by four feet and nine inches, it is forbidden to fancy an ordinary seat. The expectant mother cannot go into labour without a car seat for the new arrival. Similarly, a great drama unfolds when school buses stop on the roads to accommodate or unload the little angels. These yellow buses are distinct from other buses by their design and shade. Wherever this happens to be, all vehicles except ambulances are to come to a grinding halt on all lanes. Only after the school bus driver chooses to move, others have to follow suit. This national protocol highlights the priority given to children’s safe transportation. No trader is permitted to sell  tobacco or spirit to anyone below 16 years of age. A child’s hesitation to go home or to school fearing physical intimidation may result in serious legal consequences to a parent or a teacher. Someone who had attempted or perpetrated an inappropriate overtuture on children not only deserves harsh sentence but also carries with him an anti-social stigma throughout his life so that he is tracked, watched and notified to the community in which he happens to live after he completes his term.   A salute to those cute dew drops. As someone said, it’s not enough to love the children, it is necessary that they are aware that they are loved.

Flower day

One day flower mela

               

              Flower day at Eastern Market, Detroit is an annual event, usually on the third May Sunday, marking the departure of an unwilling winter. There is a sea of people and plants. The whole market area is flooded with  people in their casuals, sporting all kinds of movable paraphernalia, some of them proud with handsome bargains making passersby envious of their gut and luck. You could hardly distinguish a seller from a buyer. Branding them as farmers, people were making hay while the day lasts because you should wait for another year to meet the same crowd. Even in their hectic negotiations for dispensing their merchandise, they never forget their friendly American smile. The beauty of this market is that everyone is pleased – vendors, takers and onlookers.   Wherever you turn, colours of all shades smile at you, inviting to spend your dollar lavishly. What is festivity without food and music? They were in abundance, sometimes complemented with dance and rhythm. I noticed something very odd here on this Sunday morning. Not an Indian anywhere in sight. Probably basking in the summer sun after a hard week’s labour.

               

            

A different tour

Tour of a different kind

               

                The advantage of a conducted tour is that you don’t waste time and much money. The guide deftly draws your attention to specific and interesting details and subtly skips some other things which warrant more time and effort. If you are lucky you get the right guide and thankfully carry some memorable visions and keepsakes. Well, this is a tour of a different kind. I was guided by a senior matron along with half a dozen would be mothers through the clean and sanitized corridors of a hospital. One may wonder what could be the appropriate occasion for a tourist to be in a hospital unless  some sheer misfortune came by his or her way. I was happily accompanying Britto and Pearl on the latter’s obstetrical tour. The object of such tours for which appointments are precisely made was to acquaint would be mothers and their kins to face the hour with equanimity so that those involved could shelve their panic and trepidation at least for a while. This is being practiced in this country, giving meticulous care and concern for expectant mothers so that they are reassured about the safety of both the babies and themselves. Regardless of the calling hour, you are advised where to park your car, where to report, where to wait, where to pass through the labour, where to be convalescing for a day or two etc. At the end of an hour, the tourists sport looks of composure and remarkable sangfroid. They bank on the caretakers with implicit faith and indubitable trustworthiness. I wish such tours were arranged back home too! I doubt whether our already narrow corridors could withstand this new crowd and it is possible that some of the tourists might change their mind about their destined hospitals. Less said is better.

Fences

Fences

The American poet Robert Frost’s famous poem Mending Wall ends with this line. ‘Good fences make good neighbors.' True indeed, yet inapt in this country because there are hardly any fences at all anywhere, at least between houses. I am told that those who patronize canine fraternity of which there are immense varieties here, are only entitled to have wooden fences around their property obviously to protect innocent wayfarers. The national protocol encourages citizens to maintain cordiality but closed doors and people in house-arrest don’t get to know each other. The strangers smile at each other on walkways but that rule is probably not applicable to neighbours. Well, coming back to fences, the territory of every house is a matter of conjecture mutely agreed upon. You may own a house and be at liberty to make whatever changes within the house but you are not supposed to alter the back yard to suit your whims and fancies. Even the lawn ought to be maintained reasonably well and in harmony with your neighbourhood lest you would end up paying an imposed penalty. The inmates are seldom called upon to unlock their front doors except for a rare acquaintance or a courier man. All other less important mails are stacked in front of the house in a grotesque rain protected compartment. Compared to sturdy concrete structures back home, the houses usually with  superfluous basements look brittle with wooden floor and card board walls. The garden and landscape may be designed to suit your taste but strictly complying with the town strictures.Since  I began with Frost, let me close this with another American author- Mark Twain, who was probably commenting about the apartment culture, “The partitions of the houses were so thin we could hear the women occupants of adjoining rooms changing their minds.”

Less is more

Less is More

           

                This paradox holds more weight when we consider many things in life. The principles of economics say when there is less supply, there is more demand. When the price is less, there are more buyers. Less luggage is more comfort. Less furniture gives more space. The less noise in music, the sweeter it is. Similarly when your bank balance is less, you worry more. The problem here in this country is that there are fewer workforces hence more wages. Wages are so high that people are forced to learn many trades like painting walls, carpentry, masonry, car mechanism, transportation and what not. Buses have no conductors, petrol stations have no assistants, most of the eateries have no waiters and big malls have fewer salespersons. Sometimes you walk out of a show room with wares not your size, objects that are useless, equipment with complicated mechanism, at times paying prices beyond your affordability. But a convenience not very familiar to the Indian counterparts is accepting things back in a sales outlet especially on a counter marked exclusively for this noble purpose. You get a full refund with a smile and without a slightest frown. The other day we got our dusty car bathed in soap and shampoo for eight dollars while we were locked in the car to watch and supervise the fun process. Machines took the job of men and finished the bath within seven minutes.  Probably our country is trying to catch up with this trend. There are vague signs of these when it is difficult to find a plumber to fix a leaking tap; electricians seldom answering your call and invisible carpenters. 

Aam aadmi in Detriot

Aam aadmi in Detroit

                There were some sort of demands in Tamil Nadu to rename the party (AAP) at least to  enable the voters ( usually the common lot) to understand the meaning of the Hindi words. When it was disregarded by the high command, it was accepted and then some voters proudly stood by it. Though TN politicians were proud about the outcome, the voters were quite optimistic that their hope will be rewarded in the next elections. Well, the Delhi poll is a good sign in that direction. Now the Hindi translation is not necessary to identify the party and hence my identity here. Though I have a valid Indian driving license, I am afraid, I am pretty apprehensive about managing a car by myself especially on these American roads which boast of very reasonable courtesy and discipline. By default, I hope, I have become a self-absorbed, indifferent, wayward and defiant wheelman. Without these inhospitable twists of reputation, one can hardly survive in my home country, lest you should be branded as a habitual late comer or an amateur in road management or at least a preposterous berk. So, the only alternative here to move around is by public transport which is conspicuously absent. Even if you spot a bus, it is frighteningly empty and closed. I’m not sure what kind of money they( or he? because there is no specimen called conductor) would demand.  The other day, out of sheer curiosity, we boarded an overhead people mover( that is what they call it virtually, though it looks like a train with just two cars) and enthused by its friendliness and warm interiors we walked into it. To our amusement, it accommodated only a few, mostly crying kids accompanied by their pacifying mothers. It zigzagged along the downtown, and brought to us many visions of the city. Short though, the ride was delightful. Two or three parks were near  home. But they are available to you only if the weather winks at you. Still, we managed to amble along their winding concrete walkways, breathing very fresh air and occasionally smiling at strangers. A library in the vicinity gladly welcomed us and  generously let us browse through its good collection, sit comfortably there as long as we could,

in the company of very silent bibliophiles, and let us borrow as many books as we cherished without any officialese or premium subscription. An unambitious aam aadmi could while away his time here without much hassle or monotony, if he is fond of music, books, TV and Mc D food. I am fond of these, so no grouse!

Holland tulips

A rendezvous with Holland Tulips

                After a long morning drive, the Michigan Holland welcomed us with a chill wind and multi coloured tulips. This Dutch American town looked like a hill resort with a festive look. Children, clad in colourful uniforms and armed with musical instruments were ready to march on the main road to celebrate the close of winter. The Tulip Time Festival is at its peak. Patches of carefully planted tulips on the wayside welcomed all photo lovers. I am told that the city boasts of 2 million fresh flowers. Who could count them and freeze them in their cameras? The Windmill Island gardens did sport a new look with so many native friends, excitedly showing their visiting relatives this and that. On the road sides many local student groups waving their school flags, wearing the typical Dutch wooden shoes, were ready to participate in the Dutch dancing style. The parade promised many visions of frenzy and colour. Regardless of age, gender and nationality, everyone was participating in the event and mingled with the one and half hour parade of children, police, army and commercial outfits. Music reverberated in the streets, food of every kind was sold everywhere. I had to run back to the car to find a forgotten coat to arm myself against the onslaught of the chill wind which did not bother many tourists. It was sheer fun to walk around the place of festivity tasting the local goodies and forgetting all your world of work and deadlines. A short drive to the nearby Michigan lake further brought to us more inviting scenes and purple tulips. The beach with the distant fog and myriad boats was breathtaking. The biting cold discouraged us from exploring its promising avenues of tourism. Hail Holland and tulips! Nice memories to pack home.

Slow dollar, Fast rupee

Slow Dollar and Fast Rupee

                Everyone talks about globalization. I wish someone seriously thought about globalizing  the  dollar. As we hop from country to country you have to be very judicious, calculative and alert. If your arithmetic is slow and weak you will empty your wallet very soon. Holidaying in Dubai, Kulalampur and Singapore, I reasonably learned the trick of finding the equivalent  the local currency to our dear rupee. Many a time I have shunned the object of my interest as if I touched an ignited wire. Even the salespersons could identify the shoppers of this kind and subtly look the other way. But in this country the paper is more valuable than the dinar, the ringgit, and the Singapore dollar. Suppose I cram my small bag with Indian bucks and go shopping in a mall of America like Walmart or Meijer or Target  and the shopkeepers don’t mind accepting our poor dollar, this much only would be paid by me.

 A bottle of 600 ml. water                                             - 126                 (in Indian Rupees)

 A can of          12 ounce . Coco Cola                           - 21

A gallon of Petrol – 175  (3.785 litres)  one litre           - 46.23

A plantain (nenthrapazham)                                          - 30

A red banana                                                                  - 16

A  small salad cucumber                                                - 26

A kilo of tomatoes                                                         - 163

A ripe mango (not Alphonsa)                                        - 63

A coconut                                                                       - 126

A loaf of bread                                                               - 189

A sapling of Indian Jasmine (mulla)                              - 819

An egg –                                                                         - 8

A litre of low fat milk                                                    - 66.57

A large milk chocolate bar                                              - 252

An office scissors                                                            - 490

A masala dosai                                                                 - 378

A can of beer                                                                    - 28

A water bottle                                                                  - 630

A tooth brush                                                                   - 126

A 200 page note book                                                      - 252

An American lunch ( ordinary)                                       - 315

A 2 kg. dressed chicken                                                   - 630

A kilo of lamb meat                                                         - 340

A small bunch of curry leaves                                         - 60
A small can of Dosa mix                                                 - 250                                                                 Pre cooked chappathies - 15                                            - 440                                  

A hotel room                                                                    - 6000

Minimum taxi fare                                                          - 175

A cup of coffee                                                                 - 126

A packet of salt                                                                 - 112

Well, that is a small inventory of common interest to a visiting Indian. Be on your guard!

Beyond the Bell

Beyond the bell

                Walk around and explore America’s most historic square mile.  All that you need to see around this historic city are nearby. It is Philadelphia in Pennsylvania State. There are fifty cultural attractions within walking distance. So you can guess the parking charges! Well, we managed to see four or five taking into consideration the limited time at our disposal in spite of the nipping wind.  So we joined a serpentine queue to have a vision of the Liberty Bell, the background of which I learned as we moved closer and closer. A nice way to keep people engaged while waiting patiently in the queue. The Liberty Bell, a worldwide symbol of freedom is the most prized icon of this city. Ironic, that you need no ticket to participate in this liberty march. The bell was rung to mark the reading of the Declaration of American Independence on July 8^th 1776. There was no way of stopping Sunil from aiming his photo shots from various angles. The bell was supposed to have been ringing all day and almost throughout the night of the day of freedom. When we watched it close by, it had a crack, which was said to have been caused by continuous ringing and because its pieces were chipped away by souvenir hunters. No amount of repairs could set it right, it seems. There was an inscription on the head of the black bell which read a biblical verse: Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof. Breathing the cold air of liberty, we found warm shelter in a nearby museum which housed the American Jewish history. The exorbitant entry fee and the complacency of limited knowledge of world history discouraged us from embarking upon those expensive galleries. But another interesting site drew our immediate attention. It is the Christ Church Cemetery, where the great Benjamin Franklin the Founding Father’s remains were entombed. In fact, he had been the Postmaster General for Philadelphia who laid the groundwork for a nationwide mail system. No wonder the post offices here are very much peopled with a lot of interesting and beautiful activities and unlike in India the courier industry hasn’t invaded these so far. The mail boxes in front of each house is always full with many colourful pamphlets, nicely printed local weekly news letters, and of course even important white envelopes. Besides, Franklin was also a scientist whose inquisitive temperament gave way to a small collection of exhibits, which thank God was open to all. The clean planned city walks led us to its blue water and a long Benjamin Franklin bridge connecting the city with Camden and New Jersey. Thanks to Sunil’s prudence and discernment we walked a long way to an unaccustomed shipyard where two of the ancient war ships were cordially berthed for endless exploration. One was a submarine about which I have only read and heard. Here was  a God given opportunity to climb down steps underneath the water and relive the life of those adventurous sea farers. Narrow steps and walkways surrounded by incomprehensible machines and the smell of engine oil and the nearby sea renewed our unique experience. There wasn’t anyone to guide or enjoin us so that we sat on the Captain’s seat, tried the gear and steering rod. The warship Olympia was our next target. We walked through its wooden floor, ambled along the kitchen, dining rooms, engine room, deck and gratified ourselves with the Philadelphia flavor. We decided to crown our memorable visit with a lavish country lunch about which I had already penned elsewhere.

Fate of the American 't'

Fate of ‘t’

                Accent is regional. Having taught English all my life to my rustic students, I do my best to imitate the native speakers by not articulating the final ‘r’ and some peculiar vowels that pose difficulty to us. But now in America, I face a different problem. Nobody likes to enunciate the medial ‘t’. People love to glide over their ‘t’s and so I composed a short text to give practice to my students who like to talk like Americans. Here is it. Be careful not to give any force to the frequent ‘t’s.

                The water that the waiter pretended to handover to the tutor that afternoon, in reality, is some nutritious stuff with some butter floating on it to retain his executive mentality thirty times more.

American Trash

American trash

                Right from day one this thing has been ubiquitous.  Every home, restaurant, mall, restroom, car and bag, this has occupied an inevitable space. Just out of curiosity I googled it and satisfied myself that my conjecture does hold some weight. Several millions of tonnes are used and disposed throughout the USA. An averaage American uses 25kilograms of this every year.Well, there is nothing odd about it. But the volume and its widespread commonality and utility confound me. And some of them are finely textured, coloured and shaded that you think twice before disposing them. May be, this dust free country needs it to keep it more hygienic and aseptic. In India, this has invaded some homes and hotels but not to this measure. Already the municipal people are brainstorming about the readily available garbage. So let us wait for a few more years to take it to every kitchen and wash room.   

A Kaleidoscope

A  Kaleidoscope

                The city was a kaleidoscope falling into regular patterns when you move from corner to corner. The whole panorama was dappled with yellow and white spots, thousands of tiny ants moving in a slow motion, the network of arterials criss crossing each other without any jams, big and small blocks carefully arranged by builder boys far down below - we were birds perching on the glass walls of the American cultural icon, the Empire State building. The nearly half a kilometer tall tower has withstood the sun, snow and rain for 85 years, generating huge wealth to the state by way of expensive tickets. Once, the tallest in the world, it still attracts huge crowd in spite of weather and wallet. My second attempt to surpass the tallest sky scrapper was eventful and thrilling especially when the express elevator’s display flashes the number of floors as we sail past them. The climb down along the shopping square was fine too. It’s time to bid good bye to the  Empire State. Other visitors may outsmart me by telling tales of places not visited, excitement not experienced, visions not seen and sights not caught in the  camera. But, I think I have done enough justice to my short visit, savouring every second of my watch. Bye, Bye, Yorkers.

Pricey Pose,

Pricey Pose

After a ride through the tube train around the city, and a leisurely stroll in the Central Park, the location of which is quite ambitious in the busy commercial city, I was led into a crowded museum. I expected some antique exhibits, but the life like famous personalities all over the world of politics, movie world, sports

and music were frozen there to welcome the stray visitors and readily and obligingly available for any number of photographs. Sans security guards, sans the jostling fans, sans the swarm of media crowd and pressing photographers, Nelson Mandela, Einstein, Michael Johnson,  former American Presidents, and a host of Hollywood stars were close by. Since Bachan and Khan felt lonely there among the excited American mass, I gave them company. The museum was named Madame Tussauds, the history of which is yet to be researched. After being clicked with these readily accessible celebrities, we walked out poorer by Rs.1575/- per person. Of course, the price of the  ticket is justifiable when you send these precious photographs to your friends and sometimes answering their frantic, envious enquiries. The museum people try to pacify the customers by narrating their expensive tale of making a single wax figure with real hair, dress, spectacles, and other paraphernalia for around 22000 US dollars. Still, a little pricey , isn’t it

Sacred Art

Sacred Art

Deceived by the bright afternoon sun we happily landed in the US capital city only to protect ourselves with three layered outfit. The unceasing chill wind encouraged us to look for covered museums which abound in the city. But then we were stalled by the pleasant meeting with Sunil, who was walking towards us. Meeting him thousands of miles away from home was indeed very gratifying. Together we explored WDC within the limited hours at our disposal. Our priority was the White House, which ultimately was quite an anti-climax. We were led through a heavily cordoned avenue to a metal fence through which the one hundredth part of the official residence was visible. We had to pacify ourselves because of our worst experience in similar conditions in New Delhi. But before stumbling into this unwelcome site, we did spend some of our time in the National museum of space, history and art. The advantage of being a tourist in WDC is that you don’t have to empty your pocket to stroll around all these museums. In fact, these are places of greater interest, information and amusement. Some of them are mazes, so that in spite of walking along many galleries we arrived at the same spot again and again. So, willfully we walked away and reached the base of the mighty, 554 feet tall marble and granite Washington Monument. Fortunately it was thrown open to public because it had been closed due to a major repair caused by an earthquake. Weighing 45000 tons, the tall monument proclaimed the vision and strength of the first President of the USA. Since Britto was quite rightfully insistent about our visiting a church nearby, we hurried there only to realize how genuine his wish was. From the parking lot we looked puny and helpless and as we climbed the unending steps and stepped into the church, the awe-inspiring interior left us dumbfounded. Yes, believe it or not we were in the largest cathedral in the USA and in one of the ten most palatial basilicas in the world. Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception is the principal patroness of the USA.

          Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception had a long history. It was more an art gallery than a place of worship. Its unique architecture should be a text book to building engineers; the roof paintings are a visual feast. Hundreds of granite pillars supporting the grand doom roof, more than fifty chapels, seating facility for around 4000 people – no wonder it took 39 years to complete this saga of aesthetics and devotion. Our wide-mouthed ramble all of a sudden came to an abrupt halt when opening a door, a sweet anthem led us to the crypt. It was a miniature church where a regular mass was on its progress. The remaining hour was spent there thanking the Lord for the wonderful opportunity. Even Sunil, who had spent around 25 years in America, admitted that it was his first visit. The photographer in him never missed any of its beautiful spots. I was happy that on the pretext of sightseeing I was leading him to places so far hidden. I think I have succeeded in the mission of tourism, because I have seen more places than my kith, because my only vocation here is loitering.