The Land of Nawabs and Kebabs

 

Lucknow, the land of nawabs and kebabs… of grace, courtesy and old world charm had been luring us since 2015, after we saw the cinematic rendition of Sandip Ray’s father’s story, Badshahi Angti, in a movie theatre in Calcutta. We saw the Bhul-bhulaiya for the first time on the silver screen as the modern version of Satyajit Ray’s famed detective, Feluda or Prodosh Mitter, wound his way through the dark passages of this labyrinth in the Bara Imambara armed with a mobile and a revolver. As he fought villains in the Residency and bit into delicious kebabs and savored biryanis, we imagined ourselves in this city of grace, charm and courtesy and firmly decided we would explore Lucknow during our next trip to India.

Meeting nawabs was not on our agenda as I had read the last one, Wajid Ali Shah, had danced Kathak and sung Babul Mora into the arms of the British East India Company conquistadors more than a century and half ago and eventually migrated to Calcutta. Still there was their palace, Chattar Manzil, on the banks of the river Gomti and the mysterious Bhul-bhulaiya built by the nawab who moved the capital from Faizabad to Lucknow in 1775, Asaf-ud-Daulah, that remained to be explored. The Bhul-bhulaiya is the only labyrinth of it’s kind in all of India. As for the kebabs, the thought of them made my mouth water…

When we landed in Lucknow, we were told courteously and gracefully that no cab could accommodate four adults and a child from the airport to the hotel. They only had small cars. While the negotiations were on, I was forced to make a minor diversion in quest of a washroom as our little party was taking turns at stomach ailments after landing in India. The airport had access to a sad bathroom as the others were being cleaned… all a part of the endemic charm of small towns in India, I thought as we got in to the cabs that would take us to the hotel. The two cab drivers we finally hired did not know the way as the hotel had opened a fortnight before our arrival in the newer part of Lucknow that was being developed. We, first timers to Lucknow, had to download google maps to guide the seasoned local cab drivers. The good thing was that the courteous drivers were willing to listen to us and took us to the right place.

The first morning greeted us in a mysterious shroud of a white, opaque fog. We could hear temple bells from somewhere in the mist.

We strained our eyes from the inside of our hotel rooms to locate the source of the sound. As the fog drifted and lost it’s opacity, we noticed one of the temples had cows grazing outside. As we ‘gazed– and gazed– but little thought’, we had a glimpse of a situation that would bring pleasure when we were in a ‘vacant or pensive’ mood, much like the daffodils did for Wordsworth in 1802, about fifty four years before Wajid Ali Shah succumbed to the poet’s countrymen. The sight we had from our rooms was that of a cow chase. As the cows ambled on the grounds, one of them strayed near the gate and looked philosophically out. The person who I would dub the cow caretaker decided to enter the premises at this precise juncture. The bovine mind decided to make a bid for freedom and took the opportunity to run out of the gate. The caretaker started to wave and shut the gate and chased his errant charge into the receding mists of Oudh… It was like an episode from a silent film as we could not hear either the caretaker or the cows’ voices. There was no way of knowing if the cows in the fold were doing a choral number pleading for the return of the cow on the run.

Breakfast brought us back to the reality of arranging a transport to take our party to Bara Imambara. We had called up a distant contact to help us book a “big” car the night before. He had said he would look into it. The next morning, however, he as well as the hotel staff both assured us that Ola was the best option, except we discovered that Ola taxis did not offer cars that could accommodate five people…four maybe, three yes, two … surely… but not five. We called up the airport taxi company. They promised us a transport in some time… when we checked after half an hour, they said as the big car was coming from Kanpur, we would have to wait a couple of hours! Mind you, all the while everybody, including the hotel staff, had been courteous, warm and welcoming!

But, we lacked patience… it was around noon. So, we went to the hotel concierge for help. We had a big car in half-an-hour and started our journey by the sides of the river Gomti, a tributary of the Ganges.

In Hindu mythology, Gomti is regarded as the daughter of Ganga and sage Vashisht. Bathing in the Gomti river on certain auspicious dates (Ekadashi) is said to absolve the bather of sins. However, 25 drains in Lucknow also pour untreated sewage into the river! Perhaps, the purity of the river dissolves the impurities generated by untreated sewage … I definitely would not want my sins absolved in this manner. The banks of the Gomti had gardens and fountains. It is known to house some magnificent structures, including the Chhattar Manzil. However, I was disappointed to see that we could only see the building from outside as from 1950 it housed the Central Drug Research Institute. Though the Wikipedia entry said that the government of Uttar Pradesh is renovating it to make a museum of it, the CDRI board still hung at the entrance. A bit confusing for a tourist I guess.

As we approached Bara Imambara, we were amazed at the number of people, vehicles, cows and dogs that infested the entrance. In the movie, the area had looked deserted and mysterious. But, we discovered that it was a haven for crowds. There were people outside, people inside and people all around!

At a distance we could see the Rumi Darwaza. Despite the crowds, as we entered through the majestic gates, the beauty and mystery of the structures overrode the sense of congestion. The Asfi mosque on the right hand side of the Imambara was exquisite. One could get a glimpse of the elegant Rumi Darwaza beyond the palms and the boundary walls of the mosque and Imambara. On the left hand side was the Bowli, a step well built by the nawab. The Bara Imambara with it’s Bhul-bhulaiya took the center stage. The whole atmosphere felt electrifying as the ancient edifices beckoned with past splendor.

But the fact was that there was a huge queue outside the Bhul-bhulaiya and we had to find a guide. As we approached the doorway of the main building, we were told to take off our shoes and enter to locate the guides. A square counter of shelves surrounded the shoe keepers, who seemed so busy that it was a task to get their attention and deposit the shoes.

As we padded into the Imambara in our socks, we were surrounded by official guides. They negotiated a fee with us. The ticket counter had given a hundred and fifty rupees as the fixed price. But the guides wanted more. They told us that price only covered the labyrinth. We needed to pay more if we wanted a guide for the whole complex. In the Chinese tradition, we had to pay before the guide took us on a journey of the complex at breakneck speed.

IMG_0016
Ceiling of the Imambara

We started by exploring the inside of the Imambara. The elegant black and white ceiling is fifteen metres high. Ornate tazias line a wall… tazias from the recent and past Muharrams, a festival that celebrates sorrow and death. And here also lies the simple grave of the Nawab Asaf- Ud- Daulah. In fact there is an interesting story story around how this Imambara was built. There was a huge famine in 1785. People had no jobs and no food. The nawab decided to generate jobs by having this Imambara built. Every day the workers would toil to build the walls. And every night, noblemen would tear down what had been built during the day. In this way the nawab and his noblemen generated jobs for the jobless. This process went on till 1791 when the whole edifice was completed. The nawab did not want to give out free doles to jobless workers. He believed that people needed to learn to earn a living and not depend on charity and avoid work. This approach has been dubbed Keynsian by some. The other unique thing about this Imambara is that the architect of the building is also buried here.

From the Imambara, we were rushed to the Bowli by the guide. The Bowli is a step well with running water. The nawab’s source of water was guarded by a special mechanism. The security guards could see the reflection of people who were entering the gate in the water with the help of skilled engineering. It was interesting to see.

From the Bowli, the guide literally ran to the labyrinth in the main building. Perhaps, I thought, he wants more clients.

The labyrinth had no sense of mystery at the entrance, as there was a huge queue of people outside. But once we squeezed ourselves behind the guide with crowds pressing on us from both sides on the ancient staircase, we reached the outside of the maze. There is a beautiful view of the main gate from the top, especially of the front entrance.

The labyrinth itself has 1024 passages and 489 doorways. Some of the passages are said to lead up to the river Gomti, Faizabad, Agra and even, Delhi. There are stories of people lost forever in the maze. Portions of the passages were crowded and portions were dark and empty. When the labyrinth came in view of the main hall, the crowds grew in strength. The guide left us at one end of the labyrinth above the main hall and went and lighted a match at the other end. The acoustics were that good that we heard him light the match despite the noise of the crowds.

The Bhul-bhulaiya was an experience that I would not fast forget, especially the steepness of the stairs and the sense of relief I had on reaching the open top… definitely not a climb for people suffering from claustrophobia. It was amazing to see the engineering feat of the nawab’s fleet, elegance laced with practicality. As we came out of the maze, the guide bid us adieu. I still wanted to see the Asfi mosque but the guide told us we could do it on our own. Getting our shoes back was another task…but we managed to be well shod again. The Asfi mosque was under repair and a sign said that as it was still used, only namaz readers would be allowed in. Perhaps, an understandable precaution for the devout… what little bit we saw of the façade of the mosque was beautiful.

IMG_0031
The Clocktower

Then amid beggars, flies and crowds, we found our way to the oasis of our car and did the rest of the tour of the area from within the vehicle. The Rumi Darwaza was exquisite. The clock tower adjacent to the Rumi Darwaza is 67 metres high. It was built in 1881 to mark the arrival of the first lieutenant governor of the United Provice of Avadh. The tower is also located opposite the Chota Imambara built in 1838 by the then nawab to serve as a mausoleum for his mother and himself.

Our next destination was the Residency. The hotel concierge had described it as a set of insignificant ruins but the buildings held so much history and the museum had a wealth of information about Lucknow. The Residency has the remains of homes, a palace of an English Begum, a mosque that is still functional, a church, a graveyard, mess hall for bachelors, canons, storages and so much more. The museum had photographs, paintings, maps, letters and etchings from the eighteen hundreds. It was constructed by the fifth Nawab of Awadh, Sadat Ali Khan II, between 1780 and 1800. It must have been a magnificent building in it’s hey days. Now, what remains are bombed towers and edifices, broken buildings with big holes. The Residency was almost completely destroyed in the revolt of 1857. This rebellion took place because the British altogether ignored the religious sentiments of the soldiers who battled for them against their own kind. The British greased cartridges with pig and cow fat. The Hindu and Islamic soldiers had to bite the cartridge open while loading the rifles. The cow is holy to some Hindus and therefore, inedible and the pig is unholy and dirty to Muslims, and therefore, inedible. To be forced to bite into holy and filthy things was too much for the sepoys and, therefore, they broke into a rebellion, which lasted almost a year in the Northern belt of India. People from both sides died. The Residency remains an ode to those who fell to the rebel guards.

Interestingly, there were still some indigenous soldiers loyal to the obtruding British during the rebellion. At the entrance to a hall is a plaque bearing the names of Indians who remained loyal to the British and fell as victims to the ‘rebels’, their own countrymen who felt their religion had been violated. There are two ways of viewing the rebellion … as the traditional Indian historians do it and as I see it. The traditionalists side with the rebels and talk of Jhansi and Bahadur Shah Zafar. I see it as a tryst to express the soldier’s indignation against the violation of their beliefs. Both sides lost men, women and children.

Violence is the last resort of the uneducated and that is what most of the troop was. The strange thing was that most of the nawabs and majority of the population had not noticed that in the name of trade, the British had taken over their country, perhaps more peacefully than the violent predecessors of the last Mughal , Bahadur Shah Zafar. The rebels crowned him emperor, though his ancestors have been labeled conquerors. Bahadur Shah, no one noticed, was the last vestige of the earlier conquerors, who built buildings that are still disputed (like the Babri Masjid).

The indigenous people had reacted to an act they felt would destroy their religious standing. Was that more important than the lives of humans, especially their own brethren who fought by the side of the British or against them? The handful of rulers who joined the rebellion probably felt violated as their crowns had been taken or shaken by the traders of the East India Company. How many of them really thought of an unified India? Did India exist as a unified whole before the advent of the British? The British introduced the concept of nationalism after industrialization so that, eventually, the cloth mills of Lancaster could have a market and raw materials. Jehangir never realized that he was playing into the British hands when he signed the document. So, what were the rebels really fighting for?

The Residency stands as a mute witness to the destruction generated by wars and differences. The sprawling lawns and graceful architecture is preserved but only to highlight what negative passions can do to the innocent, the beautiful and the helpless.

We were told not to stay within the precincts after dark. I wondered why as I strolled through a graveyard with graves of children and adults. There was uncooked rice strewn all over the buildings. Evidently, uncooked rice keeps out evil spirits. There are tales of cries of anguish and a white child asking to be taken home within the Residency after dark. However, I only saw squirrels and birds having a fiesta with the grains in the bright light of an afternoon sun.

The other thing we discovered in the Residency is that the bathrooms had no running water. They had beautiful pictures indicating men and women and all the fixtures but no running water for more than a year, according to the attendant. We were still using bathrooms frequently as our stomachs had not yet won the battle against the germs of India.

Actually, it was difficult to find decent bathrooms and clean restaurants in Lucknow outside of our hotel. The driver took us to a few recommended by friends and the concierge but they did not live up to our hygiene standards. One of the most sought after kebab and biryani joints had no running water in the bathroom and the kitchen but lot of dirty water running on the floor of the smelly yard…

We had a memorable trip to Lucknow, except we met no nawabs or their ghosts and had no kebabs or biryani

IMG_0078
Squirrels at the Lucknow Residency

 

Advertisements

Waiting for the revolution…

 

 

It was the year 1989, a month after the Tianamen Square protests rocked the world.

Moyna’s uncle was angry.

“Does your father know that you are going to a mafia infested area to do your report?” Boro Pishe asked.

“It is a newspaper report,” Moyna explained for the umpteenth time. “My father knows I am doing the report. The Socialist will pay for the car I hire to go to the coal workers’ settlement and all other costs. You don’t need to worry!”

The Socialist was a major national newspaper. Moyna worked in the Delhi office as a reporter. She was taking a break to visit her aunt and uncle in Dhanbad. When Shyam Nagra, the assistant editor, heard she was going to Dhanbad, he asked her to do a follow-up story on a documentary that had focused on how a Harijan coal slurry worker had overcome the corrupt security forces to help improve the remuneration given to them.

Moyna was excited about it. But her uncle was not.

Boro Pishe said, “Nothing doing young lady. I will go with you to meet B. L. Sen. I am responsible for your safety while you are in Dhanbad. There is a whole mafia around this area that can finish you up. I will come with you this evening.”

Moyna and Boro Pishe went to BL Sen’s office. BL Sen was the local Marxist MP. The office was crowded but BL Sen made room for them.

“You see, the film was made a few years ago. The situation has reverted,” BLSen said. “The workers have again been subdued by the security forces. Not just that the mafia has become stronger and now takes a larger part of their income. The security also takes a share. So, the miners are left with less than one third of their daily wages.”

Moyna asked, “Is it possible for me to visit the settlement?”

“We will take you to where the workers live and the trade Union office. But be warned young lady, you can visit them only once for an hour or two and never return there again. You must collect all the information you need within that time. You can never go back because once the mafia knows; they will finish you, your camera and tape recorder. Also you must dress simply to blend in,” concluded BL Sen. He arranged to have Moyna escorted by one of his men two days later. They arranged a lunch for her with the trade union leaders.

Boro Pishe was dissatisfied with the development. He said, “You will not hire a car. I will use a rickshaw that day to go to work and my driver will take you and BL Sen’s men to the site.”

Moyna had no choice. She went with Mukund, the driver, and BL Sen’s escort, Babulal.

Moyna got off at the settlement from the car. Both Mukund and Babulal came with her. Boro Pishe had instructed Mukund not to leave her side for a minute.

Moyna  stared spellbound at the diorama that unfolded before her eyes.

Everything was black with coal dust, even the puddles and ponds of water around. Mal-nourished children with potbellies and scanty, torn clothing seemed to solidify out of the coal dust. They stared at her as she approached the settlement. Moyna was wearing a simple cotton saree and rubber slippers. But she felt overdressed. People here were in tatters and rags of the indistinct color of poverty. There were no voices or sounds in the settlement, only the eerie silence of spineless, abject sub-human existence. People lived only to breath, and eat if fortunate…

Babulal allowed her to pause and take pictures of a man taking out coal slurry from a black pond. She looked at her surroundings. She had never in her life seen anything like this.

Everything was black and shades of black, coloured by the fine grains of coal from deep within the bowels of Earth. People had no houses. They lived in shelters made with tarpaulin stretched on sticks. There were not even thatched huts. Children stared at her, as did men and women.

“Is this how the workers live?”

“Yes. They come from a number of villages to work here.” responded Babulal.

“Do they have electricity and water?”

Babulal looked at her amused.

“No. They do not have water and electricity where they stay. They lead a hand to mouth existence.”

“Then what do they drink?”

“There is a tube well a little further on.”

“Do they not fall sick?”

“Yes, they do and they die also but they have no alternative.”

“What is their average life expectancy?”

“We have never done a survey… but most of them die before they turn thirty because of the coal dust they inhale. Come let us move forward to the trade union office.”

The three intruders moved ahead.

Moyna wanted to help but had no idea how and dared not ask. “My god, how lucky am I,” she thought. “And how sad that people had to live like this in the twentieth century! How can people tolerate others living like this?”

The trade union office was a shabby brick building. They sat on the floor and ate half cooked lamb with Moyna. She was the VIP visitor and they showered their warmth on her. Moyna was touched.

She interviewed the people identified by BLSen’s workers and recorded their statements. She had to leave within an hour and a half as Babulal pointed out that the mafia or security forces would soon be coming around.

As Moyna lay down in the air-conditioned comfort of her uncle’s guest room that night, she was thinking that today she had seen another world, a world perhaps that she would never had known existed…Her Boro Pishe had been very solicitous towards her welfare, she knew. But the reality remained that the India of the coal slurry workers was different from any other India she knew…

Their protest had been subdued. They had been quenched to become subservient commodities for their masters, thought Moyna ruefully. Their life expectancy continued at less than thirty years as opposed to India’s 57.47 years in 1989. And people just accepted it! Most of the workers were illiterate. Educated Indians spoke of the need for freedom of speech in her world and protested everything possible but in the settlement, where a revolution might have helped them survive decently, the workers’ voices had been silenced, their spines broken. Some of them did not even want to speak.

Perhaps, it was the year of quenched protests… Tianamen and then these coal workers,  Moyna cogitated as she turned off her bedside lamp. She wondered how many of these workers understood independence and freedom and had benefitted by it…yet they voted? Could they even think about freedom as they were driven to battle for survival on a daily basis? Was living like these workers better than dying? Why did the workers not protest? Why did people tolerate the mafia? Why did the government give in? Moyna slowly drifted off to sleep thinking on these issues.

It was 2017, the year when China had surged ahead. The Tianamen incident had been forgotten and forgiven. It had drifted to an insignificant corner of the past…

Moyna woke from her afternoon siesta and her housekeeper asked, “Tea, madam?”

Moyna nodded in affirmation.

Moyna lived in Singapore now. She was over fifty and had two children. Her sons had seen more of the rest of the world and less of India…

Her younger son came and said, “ Mamma do you have a spare earphone? I ripped mine again today.”

Moyna went inside to rummage her desk for an earphone. Her old portfolio got dislodged and fell out. The article on the coal mine workers fell to the floor. Moyna picked it up and looked at it. She showed it to her son. She told him how this article had won her kudos and a scholarship to a postgraduate course in a European university. The university had kept the article as part of their resource material in their library.

“Mamma why did the university keep it as their resource material?” asked her thirteen-year-old son.

Moyna said, “I don’t know… I wonder too.” She replaced the article in her portfolio. Her son wanted to read her old articles. She gave him her portfolio and walked to her balcony and sat down as her housekeeper brought in her tea. Moyna took a sip and started thinking of what had been.

She recalled how she had found it difficult to stomach the attitude of the professor at the European university. He insisted that their way was the best for third world countries to step out of poverty. Moyna had not agreed. Firstly, she hated the term third world. They were developing countries…there were so many differences she had… Moyna felt the best way to move forward was defined by the indigenous people themselves and their needs and not by the needs defined by other people. The need to move forward had to come from within. That could only come when the basic needs hunger, shelter and education were resolved…

Moyna had returned after she completed her course on Economic Development Studies and continued working for the newspaper till she fell in love, tied the knot with her husband and moved out of India.

Today as she stood watching the waves ripple across the water body in front of her home, she wondered, had she done the right thing submitting that report for her scholarship? Why did the university need a resource material like that…? She had never understood the reason…

She wondered did the settlement still exist? What were the worker’s living conditions? She googled the name of the settlement on  her mobile but drew a blank…

The needs of those workers were so different from hers. She remembered that

Moyna could not bear to look at beggars and poverty but what was she doing about it?

Moyna fell into a reverie.

Could she ever do anything for the poor? Could anyone do anything for them? Why did most people in India accept the state of things, including poverty and lack of education, as they were? Why is it all people did not still have access to housing, food, clean water, electricity and good roads?

What was this apathy?

Why were the basic needs so hard to meet for some countries and so easy for others?

Her husband’s voice jerked her back to the present reality. “A penny for your thoughts. What are you thinking?”

“I was thinking of the past… wondering what good did I do by going to the coal mines and writing about it…?” Moyna replied.

“The exposure taught you many things and you have brought up compassionate children… is that a small thing?”

“But I could do nothing to help improve their lot….”

“How do you know your article did not help the people who were trying to bring a positive change in the condition of the workers? At least it raised awareness about the plight of the workers among the readers…”

Moyna smiled. “You are trying to placate me. Come let us eat dinner.”

 

 

Cape Town Cruise

As I stood on top of the lighthouse in Cape Town and the wind ripped through my hair and face, I could see rain clouds drifting towards the landmass from all sides. I was filled with a sense of wonder and exhilaration. Those were the seas that Bartolomeu Dias must have sailed in 1488 when he landed after being tossed across the stormy waves on a landmass that he christened the Cape of Storms. And that is where I was standing! So, much had happened since then. The whole world had changed over this one discovery. It had drawn closer in quest of ‘Gold, God and Glory’.

The Cape was only renamed Cape of Good Hope by Dias’ monarch, the King of Portugal, King John. He called it Cape of Good Hope “ for the promise it gave of finding India, so desired and for so many years sought after”.

Vasco Da Gama was the one who, with the help of a pilot from Kenya, ultimately ‘found’ the sea route to India. He landed in the Keralite city of Khozikode (Calicut) in 1498, ten years after his predecessor had discovered the Cape of Good Hope. The Arabs had been trading with India from the seventh century. However, they did not need to use the Cape of Good Hope as they crossed only the Indian Ocean. The Arabs also made no attempt at blocking other traders. The Portuguese subsequently conquered land to try to monopolize the trade. The British, the Dutch and the French later beat them at their own game!

IMG_0211
Cape of good Hope

While driving through the park towards the Cape, we had seen distant crosses dot the landscape in memory of Dias and Da Gama…but the highlight was the view from the Cape with the sea stretching out and beating against the tall cliffs with the strong breeze

I could see the old lighthouse at a distance. There is a trekking route to that point too as there is to the beach.

The new lighthouse is above the ticket counter and restaurants. Tickets are only needed if you ride the trolley, which takes you part of the way to the lighthouse. The trolley does not go up to the top. You have to take the stairs built into the cliffs. There is a walking trail all the way up too. The view from the top with the sea beating on all sides is unparalleled. A sense of euphoria envelops ones being as the beauty of the wide expanse makes ones heart sing.

IMG_0215
The cow-sized goat

Below is the beach, unlittered, white and pristine.  The walk to the beach has breathtaking views all along. When we headed back to the visitor parking from the beach, we saw a huge goat grazing. It was almost the size of a cow!

Interestingly, Cape of Good Hope is not the Southern most point of Africa. The Southern most point is Cape of Agulhas about 150 km east-southeast of the point where I stood. That is where the Indian Ocean and Atlantic Ocean meet… but the history of mankind found the Cape of Good Hope and popularized it long before the factual misconception was revealed.

The restaurants are near the parking lot, midway between the beach and the lighthouse. In the outdoor seating area, there was a monkey chasing a lady with a pizza. He wanted a bite too! While one could merrily enjoy the plight of another chased by a monkey, it was difficult for me to empathize with the red wing starlings that I met at the Cape. The birds wanted a bite of my sandwich whenever I stepped into the outdoor picnic area. They swooped down so close to my hand that I could almost feel the beat of their wings. I was compelled to run and take shelter inside the self-service restaurant. I did not dare step out till I finished my sandwich!

As somebody told us, the birds in Cape Town are crazy… we saw an Egyptian goose knock at the window of a jewelry store in the Victoria and Albert Waterfront. It stood patiently and knocked but, unfortunately, no one answered. It waited and waddled but went back to knocking every now and then… a very persistent and patient bird one must say. We saw ducks roosting on their eggs along the edges of this historic area, named after the British monarch and the prince, who made a splash in this part of the world with his visit to Africa in 1860.

Seagulls were one of the most prominent occupants of the Waterfront. They screeched, they flew, they even occupied most of the outdoor picnic tables made for people. They had no fear of humans. They did not sleep at night! We were staying in a hotel in the Waterfront. Sometimes, the seagulls even knocked on our windowpanes late at night.

The Waterfront is of course dotted with shops and restaurants.

IMG_0285
Old Well at the Museum

The other interesting thing is the old battery that they dug up along the waterfront, the Chavoness Battery built in the early eighteenth century to protect Cape Town. This was excavated in the 1990s by students from the Cape Town University and now stands as a museum. The Chavoness Battery Museum had some interesting exhibits like guns, cannons, cannon balls, an old well and walls. It was an extension of the Castle of Good Hope. The Castle of Good Hope was built earlier in the 1660s by the Dutch. That is now located in the heart of Cape Town and houses the Castle Military Museum.

One of the things most visible from the Waterfront is the Table Mountain. It forms a backdrop to the whole of Cape Town and is one of the most popular tourist venues in South Africa. The cliffs at the Cape of Good Hope are an extension of the Table Mountain National Park. The Table Mountain is a flat plateau made of rocks dating back to 450 to 500 million years. It is home to one of the most iconic creatures we had never met before met, the dassie (hyrax). They belong to the same clan as elephants, Paenungulata. One would presume that relatives of elephants would be huge, like mammoths. But these were not huge. They were rodents, cute ones that liked to pose for the camera. They basked on the rocky surface of the Table Mountain absorbing the heat from the sun and attention from tourists.

Table Mountain has fabulous views and unique plants. You can see the whole of Cape Town stretching out to the sea. It glitters and glimmers like jewel in the sunshine. The sea changes colors as the waves splash against the rocks and white foamy waves create fluid borders that keep changing. One can see Robin Island, where the famous Nelson Mandela was imprisoned. The vastness and the sense of freedom one experiences at the top are unique as is the geographical structure of this National Park. These mountains form a natural amphitheater to the city bowl and the table bay. While queuing for almost a couple of hours to get to the top of the mountain in the cableway, the view is one of the things one can enjoy. From the top, the view is breathtaking as is the walk around.

Other than catching up with dassies, colorful sunbirds, red winged starlings and an agama lizard basking under a rock, we saw the unique flower called Protea, after which is named a hotel chain adopted by Marriot in South Africa. The branch in Cape Town has history. It is housed in an old prison built for white prisoners and showcases torture weapons!

IMG_0193
Red Bus

Behind the hotel, by the Waterfront and aquarium (which was under renovation) is theRed Bus Tour office. The Red Bus is a great way to experience this sunshiny town with fabulous beaches. You can sit on top of the open bus and take a tour of the whole city or get off where you want. We took a red bus to and from the Table Mountain and got to see not just the Tabletop, where we spent the day, but also fabulous beaches on the way back. We even thought we saw a whale at a far distance. The whale disappeared before we could photograph it.

Penguins are more open to photography we discovered at the Boulder Beach. The South African penguins are cute and funny to watch. They waddle when they walk and tumble and glide into the water.

Though the Boulder Beach, like the Cape of Good Hope, is a part of the Table Mountain National Park, it can not all be done on the same day. Distances are huge and to do the Park justice, you need at least three days to a week. On the way to Boulder Beach, we stopped at a port in Simon Town. This is a naval base and a good spot to buy souvenirs. I bought a few things from a local artisan who told me her name. Her name had a clicking sound in it and she said, it meant luck. This is one of the customs I found most appealing in South Africa. The locals tell you their names and the meaning of it before they sell you anything.

The sunsets, like in the rest of this beautiful country, are like molten colors rippling through the horizon.

IMG_0281
Tablecloth of mist starts over Tabletop

The other unique thing I found was the ‘ tablecloth’ that spread over the Table Mountains. When it rained or grew cloudy, a misty cover seemed to spread itself over the mountain and one could see it distinctly from the Waterfront! The tabletop disappeared in the mists! It was a strange sight and one could keep gazing at it… just like Wordsworth did at the daffodils…

I wonder what he would have written if he saw the views and the amazing landscapes in South Africa…

IMG_0212
Mist covers Tabletop

 

 

 

Where the Journey Begins…

The first thing you notice when you drive out of Johannesburg is the vastness of the landscape. It stretches in endless fields of grass that flow in the breeze like the lion’s mane. Patched with light gold and green against a vivid blue sky, it is a restful experience after the toils of the city.

The savannahs of Africa rolled out a welcome to us as we journeyed to check out a part of the continent where mankind originated… after all it was the original home of our ancestors and that is where we all belonged… between Ethiopia, where lived Lucy, and South Africa, where were unearthed more bones of our ancestors who lived there many thousands and millions of years ago. We only moved out to populate the world about a hundred thousand years ago….

IMG_0182
Museum at Maropeng

We went to Maropeng to familiarize ourselves with what is known as the Cradle of Humankind. Maropeng rose out of the landscape like the hills that dotted all of this area. It was covered with green grass and resembled a small hillock. Only, we went inside this hillock to a museum that exhibited the bones found in the Cradle of Humankind. The Cradle of Humankind are a series of underground limestone caves which stretch 47, 000 hectares 50 km to the south of Johannesburg. Prior to 2010, it hosted more than a third of hominid fossils dating back to 3.5 million years. Here they found the skull of Mrs Ples, a 2.3 million year old fossil dug up in 1947, little younger to the 3.2 million year old Lucy found in Ethiopia. The most remarkable thing about the museum was that it started by telling us we were all united!

IMG_0179
Bones of Homo Naledi

The skull is exhibited in the Maropeng visitor center and museum along with the latest bone findings of the Homo Naledi from the Rising Star Cave Systems. The Rising Star caves housed bones of 15 hominids belonging to a new species in the hominid genealogy, the Homo Naledi. While archaelogists argue whether we have a direct link to Homo Naledi, what I found most interesting in the Maropeng museum was it stated the obvious at the entrance, “We are one species”.

I loved the way the museum posters and write-ups said all mankind is united under the banner of the homo family.

Then we went to explore the Sterkfontien Cave where had rested the bones of Mrs Ples(a 2.3 million old Australopithecus Africanus dug up in 1947). We were welcomed to the ‘home of mankind’ by fellow human guides … only they looked different and spoke better English than what I am used to hearing in Singapore. They began the tour by welcoming us to our homeland! That was most marvelous… it was the first time we were in Africa and yet what a warm welcome!

The caves are actually not visible outside. They lie below the grasslands and hills. The caves are dimly lighted and a have constant temperature of 18degrees Celsius. We had to wear helmets with lights. It is not possible to go through these caves without guides, as people have been lost when they have wandered off on their own, I have heard.

IMG_0177
Here rested the bones of Mrs Ples

We saw the place where they found Mrs Ples, strange rock formations, stalactites and stalagmites. Sometimes, we needed to crawl because the roof was so low and, sometimes, we needed to slide down smooth rock formations. We could not see much. One of the most interesting things was an underground lake. It had very clear water but we were not allowed to touch it, as this is a protected world heritage site. The guide shone her torch into the water and showed us eyeless worms. They were squiggling near the edges! As we slid down the last rock slide, the guide turned off the light and the cave was plunged into frightening abysmal darkness. We could not see our own hands! Perhaps this is what Allain Quatermain and his friends experienced when they were trapped in the treasure caves of King Solomon’s Mines

I have never been caving but after the sweat, darkness, physical exertion and fear generated in my heart, I would still want to go back into more such caves. It was a cathartic experience. When we came out, I felt so fortunate to be alive and well! I experienced a sense of victory. I felt like an adventurer out of Indiana Jones, Laura Croft, Journey to the Centre of the Earth and King Solomon’s Mines. It gave me a sense of achievement to have survived what Mrs Ples or the less fortunate Homo Naledi could not survive. The guide told us that one of the possibilities was that these ancient creatures had fallen into sinkholes created by the large system of limestone caves in Africa! And in those days, there was no rescue and no lights inside the caves!

While, the Maropeng experience gave us a sense of being one species, the newly opened Apartheid Museum in Johannesburg, made clear how men drew borders and hurt his fellow creatures to have what they considered a comfortable life.

IMG_0178
At the Apartheid Museum

Sub-Saharan Africa had remained untouched by the outside world till the fifteenth century when Bartholomew Diaz found the Cape of Good Hope. After that ‘Gold, Glory and God’ found their way into different parts over the centuries. It was sad to see how the African hunter-gatherer culture was annihilated to a large extent by the colonizers who sought to raise the standards of the local population by cultural imposition. This must have been one of the bleakest periods in human history as with the help of technology and gunpowder the colonizers ‘tamed’ the colonized, worldwide. And it was only twenty years ago that South Africa was officially rid of apartheid. There were artifacts from the past and photographs documenting the plight mankind suffered.

Near the Apartheid Museum, is the Gold Reef City. This is an amusement park made out of an abandoned gold mine. It has good places to eat and it had rides for youngsters, preserved homes of European gold diggers and abandoned gold mines.

IMG_0176
Inside the abandoned gold mine

The abandoned gold mines were the most interesting to visit. We descended 75 meters into the bowels of the Earth in a miner’s lift. The mine was evidently 4 kms deep. However, it had to be abandoned as it started filling up with water faster than they could pump out. Again, here a guided tour was imperative. Our guide showed us how the miners and overseers worked, dynamite boxes and first aid kits. We could hear the water flow all the time underground and we even saw it seeping through the walls.

This cave or mine was an easy stroll and did not generate any feelings of terror, as did the cave of Mrs Ples. Of course, one has to be free of vertigo, claustrophobia and heart conditions to make this descent. The lift is open and you can see the walls of the mine as you go down. It is an interesting experience.

The homes of the miners were like European cottages with an occasional raucous cry of the hadeda renting the air. Hadedas are one of the most common birds in Johannesburg. You find them everywhere, in gardens, on trees by the roadside… and once they wake up, they make sure everyone wakes up as they keep calling out… On my first day in Johannesburg, I was shocked to hear their call!

IMG_0181
Hadedas

These creatures roamed the gardens of the miners and posed for pictures.

One of the quaint things we saw was a cup with a rim to hold up moustaches in one of the parlors! Unfortunately, we could not get a good picture of the cup due to it’s positioning. We had to look at the homes and objects through glass windows that restricted us only to the corridors of the homes. My younger son was fascinated by an ancient bathroom, a long drop!

Sandwiched between Johannesburg and Kruger Park is the scenic Panorama Drive. It passes through scenic Transvaal country. We stopped at a place called Dullstroom for lunch. This was a colonial settlement and looks like a little European town. Dullstroom is known for its trout. The place reminded me of a little town I had seen twenty years ago in USA called Helen of Georgia. It had the same old world charm with the addition of excellent trout that we had for lunch. The service was good and the bathrooms, like elsewhere in South Africa, very clean!

IMG_0168
The Old Transvaal Inn at Dullstroom

Along the Panorama Drive, we saw another abandoned gold farm, now called Bourke’s Luck Potholes for the strange holes hewn into the rocks. This is located a few hours drive from Johannesburg and very close to the Kruger National Park in an area called, Mpumalanga. The Potholes are named after the gold digger who bought this land to mine gold. It is at the junction of the Blyde River, the river of joy, and the Treur River, the river of mourning. The Treur is a tributary of Blyde but was named the river of mourning in 1844. A group of Voortrekkers under Hendrik Potgieter was thought to have been lost as they sailed down this river. Hence it was named Treur, mourning. However, when they returned from Mozambique along another part of the river, it was christened, Blyde, the river of joy.

The rocks at Potholes are hewn into formations like Swiss cheese or potholes. The colors of the rocks range from white and black to red and yellow. The currents are really strong. The ultimate beauty is the wide and high waterfall that gushes over these formations. Potholes, despite its strange nomenclature is one of the most beautiful spots in the world.

IMG_0171
Blyde river Canyon

A little further down north is the Blyde River Canyon. This is one of the largest canyons in the world (according to Wikipedia) and, surprisingly, very green. It is a remarkable sight!

Along the canyon are the three Rondavels, a curious mountain formation that looks like thatched huts or rondavels. These formations are a result of erosion. The three geological formations along with the flat-topped mountain were at one time referred to as ‘The Chief and his three wives’. The flat topped mountain was named Mapjaneng (the chief) after a legendary Bapedi chief who defeated the invading Swazis in a battle near here.

IMG_0172
The Three Rondavels or ‘The chief and his three wives’

The three peaks (from left to right) were named Magabolie, Mogoladikwe and Maseroto, after his three wives.

The Panorama Drive along the Blyde River transports one to unusual landscapes which haunt the senses with their uncanny and stunning colors and appearance.

IMG_0180
View from God’s Window

God’s window, another attraction along the drive, is supposed to be very scenic with a fabulous view. It is scenic but after Potholes and the Rondavels, you wonder why they call it God’s windows… It has a great view but to me the Potholes were the most amazing of all God’s creation.

The distances in South Africa are vast. And it is truly glorious to have the feeling of endlessness that stretches out through the laid back landscape and the open clear skies. Their sunsets and sunrises leave one amazed. The panorama of the colors range from purple, yellow, gold, orange, blue and it seems the horizon has been set aflame.

While motoring around the vastness and beauty of South Africa, one feels the stretch and the call of the infinite universe. One falls in love with the vastness and beauty of this unique creation we call our home, the Earth.

FullSizeRender 2
An African Sunset

Looking for lions

One sunny day, we went to look for lions in Kruger National Park in South Africa. We spotted zebras, giraffes, a leopard, a rhinoceros, elephants, hippopotamuses, baboons, impalas, kudus, a variety of birds and more fawns and monkeys and even, warthogs and crocodiles…but not the elusive king of beasts.

We heard four lions had escaped from Kruger during our sojourn. But did we meet any of them?

I think I heard them at midnight as I woke up to the sounds of roars in my hotel room at Kruger gate.

My elder son and our guide heard them too around six in the morning when they were queuing up for tickets to enter Kruger. We had to buy a permit every time we went into Kruger. As lions are supposed to be more likely to be visible in the small hours of the morning, we decided to enter as soon as the gates opened at 6.30 am. The rangers had said the lions were at the bridge in the hedges.

Screen Shot 2017-07-21 at 10.42.00 AM
Lioness stalking it’s prey
We saw a lioness stalking her meal of water bucks around mid-day. Unfortunately, the waterbucks had sixth sense and walked gracefully to the other side of the waterhole, leaving the lioness hungry and lonely. She ultimately disappeared into the bushes.

On our last day, we saw three lionesses basking in the sun on a sand bank mid-morning. We were so excited that we got off the car and stood on the bridge watching them! Getting out of the vehicle is not something one does in Kruger for one could frighten the animals or become a prey to them incase they are hungry and starved, though they are supposed to be rather averse to human meat.

IMG_0060
Male Impalas
Impalas are popular on the menu for predators. We spotted a leopard stalking a herd of impalas. A drongo let out a warning cry and alerted the impalas. The males stood alert looking out in all directions for the leopard. The leopard was cornered. Our guide told us a leopard is wary of the male impala’s antlers, which could well injure them, thus, retarding their ability to hunt. And if they were not able to hunt, they would starve and die. The leopard tried to go into hiding in the bushes but the impalas got the better of him. Four males with big antlers stood facing him as at least twenty to thirty female and young impalas walked gracefully away… There was no running, no chasing, no roaring… none of the excitement we had thought would be a part of our jungle adventure.

Though we did not see predators chase preys, we did see impalas and wildebeests chase each other in play and we did get chased by angry elephants a couple of times.

Animals by and large liked to cross roads that were made for men to drive on in Kruger. We saw zebras crossing, impalas crossing, monkeys crossing, kudus crossing, wildebeests  crossings rhino crossing… and, we thought, therefore, as a matter of course elephants crossing…

The first time the elephant that was headed for the road got angered when my thirteen-year-old shouted for excitement on seeing a bull come towards the road and the car. Our windows were open. His voice carried and the elephant headed for us and our guide started the car and headed for the far distant reaches…

IMG_0073
An angry elephant
The second time, we queued up with a number of cars to watch a herd cross the road. The big ones crossed. The little ones crossed. The medium ones crossed. But, the biggest one had yet to cross. We were all watching one young elephant that seemed to have turned berserk and rushed every now and then to the road and trumpeted. We wondered what was up? We also wondered what had happened to the biggest one till our guide saw a huge, angry elephant charging towards the car in his rear view mirror as the vehicle was in it’s path. The big bright red object was not an obstruction the giant elephant cared for and she would have it out of her way…Suddenly with a strange purr, the frightened red object ran off at full speed!

The elephant crossed the road and passing cars heaved a sigh of relief and congratulated us on our lucky escape!

Why this sole elephant decided to cross the road where we had parked is an issue on which we still need to ponder and wonder…

One of the best ways for spotting animals in Kruger is to stop where there is a crowd of cars. That is how we spotted our lions, the elephant herds, giraffes and zebras…and a number of other sightings. And our car started the crowding for the leopard that my husband had found stalking the impalas. Other cars followed to watch the drama. In Kruger, humans stay in car cages and view the animals that roam freely. Sometimes, the animals walk right by your car. Occasionally, they walk with your car. Birds hop by. Once a flock Guinea fowls crossing the road held up traffic! Sometimes, it is monkeys…I recall how vehicles containing humans drew to a halt when some baby monkeys decided to play a game of hopscotch in the middle of the road!

IMG_0191
Calf drinking milk
Another time, we paused as not only were elephants meandering all over but also a calf had decided to drink milk from his/her mamma in the middle of a jungle path. Cars waited patiently as the animal finished it’s feed and frisked off merrily behind his/her mother.

Though we spent two-and-a-half days looking for lions in Kruger, we saw very less of the park as it stretches over an area that could contain more than 27 Singapores, and beyond to Mozambique, Zimbabwe and the Limpopo river. We only saw the part around Sabi River and drove out ultimately through the South Gate, close to Nelspruit. The land rolled out for miles beckoning animal lovers. It was relaxing and entertaining to watch crocodiles with their mouth open, waiting for their dinner at the water holes, hippopotamuses stroll into a stream and giraffes munch leaves in the afternoon sun. We even caught two young hippos play and splash water at each other.

A variety of eagles, vultures and birds dotted the landscape. At lunch, we were surprised by a Cape glossy starling waiting for crumbs. At dinner, outside Kruger gate, we had a night visitor from the park, a bush baby. It created a stir among the tourists. It did a round of the Lapa barbecue area and we were all taking pictures of it. Cute would be the right word for this exhibitionist! The next day, we had a picnic breakfast at a hilltop in Kruger and had a yellow-billed hornbill visit us. It even posed for our cameras…

There are many lakes, waterholes and hills. The part that edges Mozambique is very scenic. We saw the Orpen Dam with its lush vegetation, the South African blue crane, Egyptian geese, hippos and crocodiles. We watched the animal and bird life through binoculars as they were unreachable and far…

But we had still not seen a lion. The land with its unique vegetation and animal life concealed the king from us.

I was also wondering if humans had ever inhabited this vast landscape or had it always been home of only animals? There were no clear answers till I googled …The land had earlier belonged to the Tsonga people, who were evicted by Paul Kruger, the president of the Transvaal Republic between 1883 and 1900 and other nature park lovers. The first cars drove into Kruger in 1926. Paul Kruger played a heroic role in the Boer wars and left the country when the Boers faced defeat in the hands of the British in the 1900s. He died in 1904 and was brought back to South Africa to be given a hero’s funeral and buried in Pretoria.

I wonder what happened to the Tsonga people…Perhaps the lions that evaded us through our entire sojourn in Kruger could tell us…

Maybe the lions in Kruger National Park avoided us because we had seen a lion behind a caging of electric wires in the Lion Safari in Johannesburg. That time, we had got off the car on the way to the Cradle of Humankind and the lion was fenced…We did not explore the park as we wanted to experience the wilds in Kruger…instead we went to see the goldmines and were taken around by a Tsonga guide. She told us that her name meant ‘to give’ in Tsonga!

IMG_0023
The caged lion

 

In Quest of a Home…

IMG_0190

My home is anywhere under the blue skies. I enjoy drifting like a cloud, exploring the world and in my thoughts the outer space. I see no boundaries… no limits in space or time…no barriers of cultures, language, religion or politics…

However, when recently a friend asked me why I was not contributing to develop my home…the place whose language I use as my mother tongue and where my ancestors had paused for a considerable period of time, I grew defensive instinctively. I tried to condense my life… Then, I started to say that I believe in mankind and not borders…and therefore lacked a need to belong or to be tied down to a region. I explained I try to help people in need wherever they are irrespective of borders. I see myself as a citizen of the world, a term coined by my fourteen-year-old more than half a decade ago…

The simple answer would have been do I consider the place my home…? I have never lived there. My great grandfather moved out… and none of his children returned to the region, leave alone his grand children… his ancestors had lived there for probably a little less than one and a half centuries. Before that, they were in an area that now belongs to another country…The first time I visited the city for a few days was when I was sixteen. Subsequently, I have visited the town a number of times because I really like the place. The issue now is that for the last twenty-five years, I have not even lived in the country I was born. For, more than the last couple of decades I have been roaming the world. I have lived in a number of countries, including China…

And yet stories are made and songs are sung to glorify Man’s homing instinct. John Denver’s song… Country road take me home to the place I belong…is a song I liked all along… but perhaps I like it for the ‘blue ridge mountains’ and the ‘… river’, for ‘the misty taste of moonshine’… I am not quite sure…

I love L. Frank Baum’s Wizard of Oz, again a story that centres on the protagonist Dorothy’s need to return home. I almost wept when Dorothy after her adventures in the land of Oz clicked her magic shoe clad feet and repeated, “There is no place like home. There is no place like home…” and she was magicked back to her home in Kansas…to the farm…and to aunty Em…Dorothy’s whole adventure took place because she wanted to return home from where she had been deposited by a swirling tornado, in the wonderful Land of Oz with it’s rainbow, Emerald Palace and magical creatures…

Analysing my tendencies, I would probably have continued in the Land of Oz like the wizard, who could not leave because the balloon did not take off…yet the story is about Dorothy and not the wizard…

There is something magical about visiting unexplored lands, a kind of promise that opens new horizons for the mind and heart. I loved reading the travels of Marco Polo, even though it may have had it’s biases. Tagore has a song that says  “kothao amar hariye java neyi mana, mone, mone…” ( “I can lose myself anywhere in my mind…”).

…And I do find myself getting lost in the mists of time when I read Marco Polo. Those days they wandered in search of trade through so many lands fraught with so many dangers. Then, at some point Marco returned home facing more adventures, weaving more fantasies (he talks of unicorns the size of elephants, cannibals and men with tails!). Despite his wonderful adventures he returned home, first to be imprisoned, then to become a merchant. But, what endears him to the world is the retelling of his marvelous adventures by his co-prisoner Rustichello da Pisa…

Sometimes, I wonder if all our ancestors had returned to their home, like Dorothy and Marco Polo, where would we all be? In the heart of Africa where mankind originated, where Lucy danced in the wilds? And how many people would the continent support? If we also retained our original culture and homes, what would we be like?

Perhaps, that is why this summer I am off to find answers to these questions in the rolling plains of Savannah grasslands that beckon me with the lure of endless mysteries… I am off to explore the part of the landmass where our ancestors originated…

The land that was first populated by man rolls out an invitation to explore why we all did not return home or why we developed other parts of the world which we spread out to populate over centuries and millenniums…and not our original home…

 

 

 

Book Review

Title: Me and I

(ISBN 978-93-5195-188-9)

Author: Nabendu Ghosh (written in Bengali in 2003)

Translator: Devottam Sengupta ( translated in 2017)

 

Me and I is a science fiction set in Calcutta, exploring the concept of Earth’s twin in the universe. It was written by Nabendu Ghosh for his two grandsons in Bengali, and then translated by one of them as part of his centenary celebrations. The translator, Devottam Ghosh, is a lawyer by profession.

I enjoyed the book. It is an ideal read from eight to eighty, a story well told. The protagonist Mukul has a twin in the planet that is Earth’s mirror image. His parallel is known as Lukum and Earth is spelt as Threa.

The explanation is given by an eccentric gentleman, Professor Noni Gopal Sinha,who is Mukul’s friend and mentor on Earth.

“They’re both, opposite yet identical. Mirror images, really. Just as there are a couple of hundred twins among a million people, similarly I’m sure you can find a twin — identical yet opposite — planets among the billions that exist out there.”

So, it is an inverse parallel universe which is dwelt on briefly as the story unfolds.

The story has multiple layers. On the surface, it is a story for children… a nineteen-year-old boy’s adventure with an alien in outer space. It has been woven very well into the fabric of Indian life. Perspectives on religion, science, society, countries and cultures are layered into the folds of the story. It explores the environment that leads to creativity and the environment that does not. An ideal needs to be somewhere in the middle… perhaps… a point for the reader to ponder…

The book has well-researched scientific facts… on different theories of the universe. Though the author, Nabendu Ghosh, says that he would like “to classify this flight of imagination as a ‘modern(or contemporary) fairy tale’”, it touches upon Einstien’s ideas on gravitational waves and theory of relativity. It dwells upon travel at the speed of light and it’s impact on humans.

A surprising novel from a writer of stories linked to social reforms…but then, one wonders at the end that has the author not made you think again of larger issues that are relevant even in the twenty first century…

Perhaps, because Nabendu Ghosh was into writing for films, this book is very visual and would make for an excellent movie. I can visualise the whole scenario as I read the book…

May we then expect a Tollywood(Bengali movie) version of Me and I in the near future?