Balmoral Hotel: View from my hotel window
Queen Margaret's Chapel window
Fly, the terrier
The famous Glenkinchie copper stills
The whisky tasting chamber
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Saturday, April 04, 2009
Scotch & Sailboats : 5th day in Scotland
Day 5
August 23rd
This was to be the day of the pilgrimage, the day we were all waiting for, the day we would go to visit the motherlode. A visit to the scotch whisky distillery. Every person's brain had just 2 words flashing in big neon lettering: FREE TASTING!
An hour's bus journey through grassy fields and small villages brought us to the Glenkinchie distillery at about 10am. The distillery itself seemed somewhat small to me. It was just a couple of buildings close to each other. Not much bigger than a couple of large barns stuck together. Not what you would expect of a multimillion, multinational business.
But then, midway through the factory tour, one realises that all that is needed for a whisky distillery is a couple of giant fermenting vats which can be housed in, you guessed it, a couple of big barns. That, and the right water, the right soil, the right climate etc.
How whisky is actually made is quite simple: Soak a lot of barley in water and let it germinate. Then dry it out with smoke. Mash the lot and dump it in huge vats (tuns) filled with warm water and let it all ferment & turn to warm smelly mush. Cool and then distil in copper vats. Keep distilling continuously till the whole liquid becomes highly concentrated. Fill in oak casks and then store it cool dry place for maturing. The maturing period determines the quality of the final whisky. Different aged whiskies are then mixed together to get blended scotch. Alternatively, a whisky from a single batch or a single distillery can be bottled straighaway & sold, as a Single Malt.
The fumes inside the tun chamber were so strong that one of the guys (the same person who was relieved at not having won the whsky bottle) was overcome by them, and had to retire outdoors to get some fresh air. As for the rest of us, we though we were in beer heaven! The smell was exactly like that.
After checking out the shiny copper stills, and me having asked a couple of intelligent (!) questions, we came out into the whisky tasting room! At long last! There was an entire wall of different whiskies which were there to be served and enjoyed. I tried out a couple of unusual ones, asking the master for advice. Don't really recall which ones I tasted. One of them was a rare Caol Ila, I remember.
Later, it was time to shop in Glenkinchie's dutyfree whisky shop. I picked up 4 bottles of various Single Malts, and only stopped at the thought of my overweight baggage which I would be having to carry to Leicester on a local flight before returning to Dubai.
Back to the hotel, we advised everyone for get a bit of rest after lunch so as to be fresh for the evening's gala dinner. It was to be the grand finale of the trip. And what a finale!
At 7pm sharp, a bus came to fetch our entire group and take us to the docks. As we got down from the bus, the group could see a red carpet laid out, leading towards the steps of the HMY Britannia. There was a huge mustachioed royal piper in full regalia playing by the side of the boat.
At the top of the steps, we were met by the blonde tour guide, Shelley Ryan. At the sight of her, suddenly every guy's tummy got sucked in and they got taller by at least 2 inches! Amazing scientific phenomenon, this.
A purser come across to greet us, since our group was being given a personalised tour of the boat. He led us to the Queen's drawing room which had a grand fireplace and an equally grand piano. We draped ourselves over various settees & sofas while drinks were served. As expected, every person had their cameras out and was busy clicking away.
After 15 minutes of posing every which way, we were led all along the boat to have a look at the living chambers of various royal personalities, including the Queen, the Duke, The Prince etc. Their quarters were sealed off and preserved in an everyday kind of scenario. The queen had a rather small single bed along one side of the room, and a desk at right angles to it. The quarters were rather small, but they would have had to be, on board a ship.
We slowly made out way through the captain's quarters, the officers' mess room and the huge dining room. There were pictures of the royal family on the corridor walls. It was funny to see all the princes as they were decades ago.
Four different Royal couples have had their honeymoons on board this yacht. Princess Margaret and Anthony Armstrong-Jones were the first to get the Britannia treatment when, in 1960, it took them on a 6,000 mile voyage to the Caribbean. Princess Anne and Captain Mark Phillips were next, cruising the West Indies in 1973. In 1981 Charles & Diana boarded in Gibraltar at the start of their 16-day honeymoon voyage in the Mediterranean. Finally, in 1986 Britannia hosted her final honeymoon for the Duke and Duchess of York who spent five days aboard the Yacht cruising around the Azores.
See the pattern? None of the marriages survived! :-)
Out on the deck, it was getting to be dark, and the lights of the city were coming on one by one. The guide expolained to us that the Queen used to sail to various countries on the yacht on official visits, and when they arrived at the destination, the yacht would drop anchor off the coast, the royal Rolls Royce that was also on the boat, would be carried to the shore, the Queen would then get onto a smaller motorboat to get ashore, and then with full pomp and show, the Rolls would carry her to the official ceremonies.
The Rolls is now permanently stationed in a glass-sided garage on the deck, and is still always kept in full working condition.
We continued our deck tour, and checked out the badminton court as well as a huge bell with the yacht name and "1953" the year of its commissioning engraved on it.
I made a quick detour here to go to the gift shop and pick up a couple of mementoes, including a commemorative Wedgewood. The shop was doing brisk business and the queues at the counter were really long. The place seems to be very popular with tourists.
We proceeded to the stateroom where a massive table had been laid out for us, with placeholders indicating our seating places. Each placeholder had an embossed royal insignia along with our names, making it an instant collectible. It was the same with the menus, which were individually designed, with the same embossed insignia, the individual's name inside and their specific diets taken into account in the individually customised menus. The Royal treatment!
After dinner was over and the plates had been cleared, I got up to thank the group for their performance, and then handed out the certificates to the winners, accompanied with a lot of applause and popping flashbulbs. Finally we made our way out of the boat, happy and sated.
This was the final event in the tour itinerary, and we would be making our way home from the next morning onwards. I would not accompany the group which would be taking a direct flight home, but would take a short local flight from Edinburgh to Leicester.
The next 2 days, including the weekend were spent happily in the company of the "golden haired" Maami'ma, the English cousins, boisterous kids running amok, toy trains laid out in the guest room (with their precise running schedules scrawled in spidery writing & pasted on various doors), visits to the local botanical garden (where I saw a Venus flytrap for the 1st time!), icecreams in the back garden in nice cool sunny weather. Oh, and not to forget, kitchen table discussions with a Shakespearean drama critic named Janet Jackson! (DISCLAIMER: No wardrobe malfunctions occurred during the course of such discussions). A good time was had by all.
Highland Games: 4th day in Scotland
Day 4
August 22th
Today was the day for the team-building activity at Mavis Hall park. We had arranged for some highland games to be played between teams comprising our group members, though I had no idea what these games were. After a 45 minute drive, we arrived at the farm.
It was a grey morning, and it had been drizzling all through our journey. We squelched our way through muddy paths into a warm cozy barn where coffee was being served. I think a few of our guys wouldn't have minded a tot of something stronger, even that early in the morning! Fly, the terrier, was running around, darting between everyone's legs and then disappearing under the serving tables. On our way in, we have seen a few hens clucking about, and then everyone had stopped to click away. It was really funny to see the mother hen pecking away at the ground, and her brood of tiny chicks following her, stopping every now and then to peck away on their own. I joked that catching the hen was one of the highland games we would be playing.
We ambled through leafy woods to the vast clearing which was to be the scene of the intense competition between the 4 "clans". There were to be 4 separate competitions:
Tossing the Caber: You have to lift a caber (a large pole) so that it is perpendicular to your body with one end pointing to the sky. The pole is then tossed forward in the air to rotate (at least once!) and fall over to lie in the 12 o’clock position, or as near that as possible.
Weight over Bar: This involves (obviously!) swinging a wooden block over a bar which somewhat resembles the rugby goalposts. The bar is behind you and you swing the block with the help of strong ropes tied around it, over your head , letting it go at the critical moment.
Highland Dancing: Teams watch a short demo of highland dancing by pretty girls in flouncy long skirts to the tune of bagpipes before they have to dance the very same intricate steps themselves.
Welly Boot Hurling: Team members have to throw a large wellie boot towards big tyre hoping to land it plumb inside, but it’s not as easy as it sounds, especially if you are under intense pressure to score points for your team!
As one can imagine, the teams were really charged up for the competitions, and the resulting antics were rather funny to watch! Especially when pot-bellied not-so-young guys huffed and puffed while trying to lift the oh-so-heavy cabers and balance them precariously over their shoulders. Funnier still was the spectacle of leadfooted guys in wellingtons trying to match the nimble-footed steps of the young girls doing the highland jig! As for me, I stuck to the only few steps I know, the bhangra steps made famous in all his movies by Dharmendra!
After the fun and games were over and the team totals added up, there was one more little game to be played: Haggis Malt Challenge. A bottle of malt whisky was placed on the uneven grassy field, and every person had to try throwing Scotland’s national dish (or a wooden skittle as a representation) as close to Scotland’s favourite drink as they could. The person who would get closest to the bottle would win the Challenge and the bottle! Our guide, Stuart, talked us through this game, and then proceeded to give us a quick demo with the wooden skittle which to everyone's amazement (and probably his own too!) went on to bounce a coule of times on the uneven ground and hit that bottle smack on target!
Of course, none of us proved to be that accurate (or lucky?). There was a bit of a tension at the very end, when the very last person to throw the skittle inched ahead to the bootle, and was declared the winner. Later. much later, I got to know that the person who ended up losing in the end was the most relieved person. It seems that he was not too keen to handle a whisky bottle, owing to the compulsions of his sectarian beliefs. Well, it's not too often that a contest ends up making not one but two people equally happy!
A happily tired, slightly wet & bedraggled lot finally made their way to the bus, to be taken directly to the lunch venue, The Living Room, that I have written about earlier. Afterwards, it was a quiet stroll along the streets back to the hotel, for some rest & recuperation.
Read more!
Friday, September 12, 2008
The Castle & the Fire: 3rd day in Scotland
Day 3
August 21st
Picture this: You are in the middle of the jungle in a forest lodge, the South African veldt is all around you, it is the middle of the night, you can hear the quiet noise of the wild outside, the whisper of the wind, the distant growl of the lion, you are preparing to retire for the night in your comfy cottage, as the rest of your group tiredly trudges to their respective ones. And then a female voice says to you, "I can't sleep alone at night!"
Banish all prurient thoughts from your head right now. This was serious. This grown up woman of ... well whatever age, had lived all her life in a big joint family, and would always be surrounded by lots of people, boisterous kids running underfoot, and generally be surrounded by a lot of noise. When she found herself in silent surroundings in a cottage all to herself in the middle of the African jungle, she obviously got the jitters very badly. Hmmmm.
We had to come up with a serious solution to this seemingly frivolous probem, since this woman was very much part of our group and we were responsible for their welfare.
The 2 other women in our group immediately whispered urgently into my unoccupied ear that they would *not* share their cottages with anyone. Mind you, one of these women was our event organiser and the other was a colleague from my company! But compulsions of privacy ranked way beyond the call of duty, and I couldn't really blame them for that.
Finally, after a lot of options had been examined and discarded, a solution was proposed by our little tale's protagonist herself. It was bizarre and yet it worked for her.
She spent the night on the sofa in the reception of our jungle lodge. All through the night, people kept coming on to rearrange the furniture, sweep the floor or to check out of the lodge. All that noise was enough for her to drift off into a peaceful sleep.
OK, apart from the fact that I had referred to this episode casually in my last blog entry, what does this have to do with our current Scotland trip, ? Well, nothing as yet. But will any member of our current group come up with some request like this? Keep reading.
Edinburgh is not a very large spreadout city. We could see the ramparts of the Edinburgh Castle from our hotel. The bus journey took not more than 15 minutes, through narrow uphill streets. The bus parked on what I later discovered was the Esplanade. Unfortunately the Edinburgh Military Tattoo had finished just the previous day, so the entire area was rather desolate and forelorn. The sky was grey and overcast, which gave the castle a very Scottish look.
The Esplanade area is surrounded on all sides by stadium-style seatings. I don't know whether this is a permanent arrangement or was rigged especially for the Tattoo. A quick explanation of what the Tattoo is. It is a kind of annual military parade given by British Armed Forces, Commonwealth and International military bands and display teams in Edinburgh every August as part of the Edinburgh Festival. So why is it called a tattoo, if there is no tattooing to be done?
The word "tattoo" originally dates from the eighteenth century, when British Army units were stationed in Flanders. Drummers from the garrison were sent out into the towns each evening to Beat Retreat, summoning the soldiers to return to barracks for the night. The process was known as "tap toe" and encouraged the inn keepers to stop serving beer and send the soldiers back for the night. That devolved into the word tattoo. So now you know!
As we trooped over the drawbridge into the castle, we noticed a dry moat below us, and statues of Robert the Bruce and William "Braveheart" Wallace on either side of the main gate. By the time we had crossed inside, it had started to drizzle. Most of our own brave hearts had obviously come without any umbrella or cover. So we were scrambling over stoney cobbled paths to reach the nearest stone building. The castle itself is arranged more or less like the Tower of London; there is a large vacant square in the middle, surrounded by stone structures on all sides. These structures house various rooms or chambers, including the royalty's rooms, the throne room, the Crown Jewels collection etc. Then there are steps leading underground to dungeons, to chambers where World War 1 prisoners were kept etc.
The very first structure we entered had a tourist shop, which stocked blue colored ponchos. When I pointed this out to a few of my semi-soaked group members, there was a rush on them, and soon after I could see the entire group wearing them. As for me, I was prepared for the inclement weather with an all-purpose rainproof & windproof jacket. I always carry such a raiment whenever I travel abroad to colder climes. It has proven to be a great all-in-one jacket that has kept me warm and (mostly) dry in places like Jo'burg (in August), Switzerland (in December), St. Petersburg (in March) and numerous trips in Germany in the winters.
The tourist shop also gave me the opportunity to buy a few knick knacks for the family. That serious business conducted, I settled down to take in the rest of the tour. We ambled through the various structures that included these:
- The Royal Palace (apartments of the royalty dating from the 15th century, including Mary Queen of Scots. She gave birth here to King James VI of Scotland, later James I of England)
- The Crown Room: This houses the Scottish Crown Jewels and Regalia. They include the Crown of Scotland, sceptre and sword of state. The crown dates from 1540, is made of Scottish gold and is set with pearls, diamonds and other gemstones. The Sceptre is also made of gold, and topped with a large quartz crystal. The most treasured possession of Scotland is the Stone of Destiny, upon which the monarchs of Scotland are traditionally crowned.
- St. Margaret's Chapel: It's the oldest surviving building in Edinburgh Castle and the oldest building in Edinburgh. Legend had it that St. Margaret worshipped in this small chapel, but research indicates that it was built at the beginning of the 12th century by her fourth son who became King David. This is a small irregular stone building. The rectangular structure with an internal width of about 10 ft has an entrance door at one side near the back of the nave which is about 16 ft long, then there's a round arch on columns leading into a sanctuary. A very quaint peaceful place despite the hordes of tourists pouring in through the narrow entrance. Since there was room for one person to either enter or exit through the only entrance, and since everyone stood aside in deference to the other tourists in typically polite British style, there was a gaggle of people inside and a long queue of people outside just dying to rush in.
By the time I came out of the chapel onto the upper ramparts of the castle where the cannons were kept, the sun had come out and there were large crowds of families with children enjoying the view of Edinburgh city spread out far below us. It was almost time to return to the bus.
Our lunch venue was The Dome on St. George's Street. This restaurant used to be a bank earlier, which is pretty apparent once you stand in front of its imposing facade of huge Roman-style pillars. The main doors lead to a plush lobby which wouldn't be out of place in any grand clubs or colonial buildings frequenting Bombay or Calcutta. This lobby in turn opens into a huge dining area completely overwhelmed by a huge glass-covered dome (what else?). There are ceiling-length pillars and potted plants scattered throughout the Grill Room. Overall impression? Elegant and cool.
During lunch, we had the same old problems about individual persons' dietary requirements. Some people didn't want to have meat because of halal issues, some wanted seafood, some had requested for just vegetarian cuisine and one person wanted raw fruits and vegetables, in other words, a Jain meal. To each his own.
Once lunch was finished, our group had free time to itself. People were told to make their own way on foot back to the hotel, if they so pleased. Else they could just wander about and discover the city, so to say. St. George's Street is not too far from the hotel, and the weather was pleasant too. So our group of 4-5 persons decided to stroll back to the hotel, taking in the sights.
The Edinburgh Fringe Festival had taken over the city and High Street, right next to our hotel, was jammed with street performers as well as the crowds thronging around them. The pavements were packed tight, and it really was some effort to actually move through the crowd, since the street sloped gently uphill. In addition to the interesting performers, who apart from being skilled at their art were glib talkers as well, I was drawn to the couple of specialist whisky shops on the street. The more authentic looking one was Royal Mile Whiskeys, at the junction of High Street and St. Giles Street. I ventured in with my troop of curious onlookers. The entire shop was crammed with single malt whiskeys, not surprisingly. The bottles were neatly standing against wall cabinets, clearly labelled and marked with prices, ranging from 20 pounds to 300 pounds. On the shop floor were cane baskets filled with miniature whiskey bottles for a pound to 5 pounds each. There was a shelf in the middle of the shop that had confectionary made from malt whiskey. Something for everyone. More importantly, the sales persons were very knowledgeable and happy to help. I caught snatches of conversation between some of them and the customers who were animatedly discussed obscure varieties of whiskey. It was a lovely atmosphere to absorb in. I didn't buy anything right then, but returned later on another day and bought a bottle each of 16 yo Lagavulin, 10 yo Tamdhu and 12 yo Glendronach, and also an assortment of miniatures to gift friends. Oh, and I couldn't resist getting a small box of whiskey fudge for my family! It was back to the hotel after the long walk, and get some rest for the evening ahead.
In the evening, we all trooped back to High Street where we were met by a theatrical guy dressed all in black, either a clergyman or a judge. He led us through back alleys and pathways all the while talking about various dark episodes in the city's history that had happened there. I thought the entire walking tour could have been much better, but then maybe he didn't talk about the best bits. We ended up at an entrance to an underground tunnel, in a light drizzle. The tunnel smelt rather musty, and was the start of an entire mesh of interconnecting rooms and passages under the city, dated back to 1540, as we were told. These underground cellars had a bloodthirsty history which I won't go into details here, but all this can be read on their website.
Finally, we ended up in a large cavern where we were served dinner. It was a weird feeling, having dinner underground beneath a bridge.
When we came out of the cavern, it was in the foyer of a nice modern restaurant! The drizzle outside had turned into full fledged rain, and I was thankful I had on my trusted all-in-one wind- and rain-proof jacket. The hotel was within walking distance (of course!) and we proceeded towards it.
When we reached there and tried to get in, we were met by a couple of firemen who told us not to enter, and to stay out on the main street. A couple of hotel guests were being shepherded out as well. One elderly woman was clad in just a bathrobe and hotel slippers, having been hurriedly summoned out of her room, and was shivering at just the thought of going out in the rain. But the firemen were adamant, and had been joined by the hotel staff. The explanation for this was that there was a fire alarm and they were checking out the entire hotel.
So then our entire group members trudged out slowly on the street, where a fire brigade truck had arrived. Soon, two other trucks joined it and the entire hotel area was cordoned off. A long-legged blonde rushed out of the hotel and identifying herself as a hotel employee, asked us all to go off to the Carlton Hotel across the street rather than stand on the road. It took a lot of imploring the entire contingent to actually accomplish this, because by then the guests were feeling the effect of the late night and the tiredness of a full day. Shortly thereafter, the other hotel's lobby was completely taken over by tired sleepy guests sprawled all over every available seat in the vast lobby. The helpful staff of the Carlton even arranged for some refreshments for the hungry ones. It was past 1 am already with no further news from the firemen.
I kept going out into the street and standing across from the Scotsman to check out what was happening. It was almost fun to be out there in the rain. About 2am, we were finally told that there had been a fire alarm in one of the guest bathrooms due to some "malfunction", and now it was safe to again go in.
The bed was lovely, soft and deep, and I had just seconds to ponder before I slept.
Mirrors
Suppose you are standing in front of your bathroom mirror, looking at your own face. What would be the size of your face on the mirror surface? And if you were to back away slowly, what would happen to that face size on the surface?
Check out the answers & the reasoning in this fascinating article by Natalie Angier:
Read more!
Friday, August 29, 2008
The Scottish farm: 2nd day in Scotland
Day 2
Enid Blyton's descriptions of English farms came alive as I looked upon the barn with clucking hens pecking away merrily and a little cocker spaniel (named Buster maybe? No, Buster was a Scottish Terrier and anyway that would have been asking for too much!) panted and gazed expectantly with sad eyes at us, as if willing us to throw a wooden stick for him to catch.
We had just alighted from our car after a 45 minutes journey from Edinburgh, to check out Mavis Hall Park, the venue for the outdoors activity we had planned for our group. The drive was again very pleasant, passing through small villages with quaint names and with green hillocks on both sides. It was drizzling lightly when we started and got steadily stronger as the journey progressed. But then that's the charm of English (sorry, Scottish!) weather!
A charming and pleasantly smiling lady named Fiona met us on arrival and ushered the three of us into her room. This was a converted shed on the farm, and was very cosy inside though cluttered all over just like a regular office space. There was another connected chamber which was occupied by some mysterious female voice that materialised just once to hand us some tea and then was never seen again (I mean, by us during our visit!).
The aforementioned spaniel, Fly was busy running between our legs and trying to introduce himself. Our hostess meanwhile had asked for some hot tea from that disembodied voice and there were some pieces of Scottish shortbread on the table. While Kirstie, our local contact and Shady, our event coordinator were busy sorting out the program details with the hostess, I was looking around the room. It was somewhat disconcerting to find a PC in these surroundings with windows of emails and Word documents open on the monitor. There was a small fax somewhere too. There were stacks of neatly labelled files on the floor. Visiting cards were put up on corkboard. Various Scottish-themed knickknacks like clan badges were scattered all over.
Having gone through the program details, we then pulled on some Wellingtons and clomped our way into the barn behind the office. This would be where the guests would be welcomed with a hot cup of tea or coffee (nothing stronger!). We came out of the barn, crossed the road and walked along a muddy path winding through the woods. We were closely surrounded with trees and shrubs on both sides of the ath. I could also hear the gurgling sound of a brook up ahead. Soon enough, we saw the brook somewhat below us to our right. The scene was absolutely enchanting.
After a few minutes of walking, we came across a vast clearing of grass that had a charming little loch at the far end. This was where our group would be playing traditional Scottish highland games. I could also see a medium sized castle to my left which presumably belonged to the landlord. The entire area was surrounded by mountains on three sides which gave it a very charming air.
We came back to the hotel by noon, and I retired to my room for a bit of rest and also to catch up on my email. I ordered a club sandwich from room service, which was an adventure by itself, since this hotel is not one of those conventional touristy hotels but is a character by itself. Anyway, I rested a while and waited for the group to arrive by 2pm. Their flight got delayed and they finally arrived by around 5pm or so.
Most people in the group were already familiar to me from previous trips but there were a few new faces as well, including a female. Hmm, the last time we had had a female in our trip had been a couple of years back in South Africa and that had turned out to be a rather interesting experience! But more on that later.
We had kept a light schedule for the group for the day of their arrival; just a spot of dinner followed by bed or the more adventurous ones could go out to explore the nightlife.
Over the light dinner, I welcomed the group to the event and congratulated them for being the high achievers that they were. I outlined the coming 3 days' program and explained a few helpful facts, including the contents of haggis, the Scots national dish. They were gratifyingly revolted. Read more!
Enid Blyton's descriptions of English farms came alive as I looked upon the barn with clucking hens pecking away merrily and a little cocker spaniel (named Buster maybe? No, Buster was a Scottish Terrier and anyway that would have been asking for too much!) panted and gazed expectantly with sad eyes at us, as if willing us to throw a wooden stick for him to catch.
We had just alighted from our car after a 45 minutes journey from Edinburgh, to check out Mavis Hall Park, the venue for the outdoors activity we had planned for our group. The drive was again very pleasant, passing through small villages with quaint names and with green hillocks on both sides. It was drizzling lightly when we started and got steadily stronger as the journey progressed. But then that's the charm of English (sorry, Scottish!) weather!
A charming and pleasantly smiling lady named Fiona met us on arrival and ushered the three of us into her room. This was a converted shed on the farm, and was very cosy inside though cluttered all over just like a regular office space. There was another connected chamber which was occupied by some mysterious female voice that materialised just once to hand us some tea and then was never seen again (I mean, by us during our visit!).
The aforementioned spaniel, Fly was busy running between our legs and trying to introduce himself. Our hostess meanwhile had asked for some hot tea from that disembodied voice and there were some pieces of Scottish shortbread on the table. While Kirstie, our local contact and Shady, our event coordinator were busy sorting out the program details with the hostess, I was looking around the room. It was somewhat disconcerting to find a PC in these surroundings with windows of emails and Word documents open on the monitor. There was a small fax somewhere too. There were stacks of neatly labelled files on the floor. Visiting cards were put up on corkboard. Various Scottish-themed knickknacks like clan badges were scattered all over.
Having gone through the program details, we then pulled on some Wellingtons and clomped our way into the barn behind the office. This would be where the guests would be welcomed with a hot cup of tea or coffee (nothing stronger!). We came out of the barn, crossed the road and walked along a muddy path winding through the woods. We were closely surrounded with trees and shrubs on both sides of the ath. I could also hear the gurgling sound of a brook up ahead. Soon enough, we saw the brook somewhat below us to our right. The scene was absolutely enchanting.
After a few minutes of walking, we came across a vast clearing of grass that had a charming little loch at the far end. This was where our group would be playing traditional Scottish highland games. I could also see a medium sized castle to my left which presumably belonged to the landlord. The entire area was surrounded by mountains on three sides which gave it a very charming air.
We came back to the hotel by noon, and I retired to my room for a bit of rest and also to catch up on my email. I ordered a club sandwich from room service, which was an adventure by itself, since this hotel is not one of those conventional touristy hotels but is a character by itself. Anyway, I rested a while and waited for the group to arrive by 2pm. Their flight got delayed and they finally arrived by around 5pm or so.
Most people in the group were already familiar to me from previous trips but there were a few new faces as well, including a female. Hmm, the last time we had had a female in our trip had been a couple of years back in South Africa and that had turned out to be a rather interesting experience! But more on that later.
We had kept a light schedule for the group for the day of their arrival; just a spot of dinner followed by bed or the more adventurous ones could go out to explore the nightlife.
Over the light dinner, I welcomed the group to the event and congratulated them for being the high achievers that they were. I outlined the coming 3 days' program and explained a few helpful facts, including the contents of haggis, the Scots national dish. They were gratifyingly revolted. Read more!
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Stranger in a strange land: Memories of Scotland
Day 1
"Ajfxrtr jrrr uwg fgnkrng?" The girl at the immigration asked me. I looked uncomprehendingly at her.
She tried again, "Fheryjf sf krhg gtekjgfa sdtjhyg?" I gaped at her like a country bumpkin.
Then she tried it slower and louder, at this mentally retarded person.
"Do you speak English?"
The indignation was dripping from my voice as I answered, "Of course I do!"
And that was my introduction to Glasgow English.
I had a taste of more of the same when our driver who was driving us to Edinburgh tried to explain some of the scenery to us, and we would just try to read his lips and nod away smiling, because for the life of us, we could not figure out what he was saying. He kept asking me about some collar and I kept trying to figure out where that fitted into our conversation, because we had been discussing neither shirts nor dogs. Then it dawned on me that he was asking me if we found Glasgow cooler!
It is a rather humbling experience when after a lifetime of speaking and writing English fluently, you run into the wall of regional dialects and are made to appear a fool or a retard.
The flight from Dubai had been very comfortable though a bit long. Thankfully I had been bumped up to business class, so it was okay. I spent the long flight watching movies ("I Could Never Be Your Woman", "Charlie Bartlett"). We actually landed a couple of minutes before schedule (12:30pm), and the pilot announced this fact as if expecting an applause!
So after we had cleared immigration & customs, and collected out baggage which didn't take very long since I had just 1 small case, we ventured out and were met by the aforementioned driver who ushered us into a large sleek Merc. Hmmm!
We stopped just outside the airport to check out a hotel called Glynhill for lunch arrangements for the large group that would be following us tomorrow in the same flight. Nice hotel, but a tad expensive. We didn't think the group would be sufficiently hungry for a full-fledged 3 course meal. So then we went on to check other places, like a roadside service station which had a nice convenience store serving big sandwiches, juices and coffee.
After that, we continued onwards to Edinburgh. On both sides of the road were undulating green valleys full of bales of hay and sheep. Not many cows though. The weather was pretty good, with overcast skies and quite a bit of sunshine.
We reached Edinburgh at around 3pm. The Scotsman where we were staying is a very different kind of a hotel. First of all, it was never built to be one. It was the headquarters of The Scotsman newspaper, and was later converted into a hotel. So the entire design of this place is bewildering. The rooms are very comfortable and impressive though they were obviously some poor editor's office once upon a time. The Editor's suite where I was put up is a grand old place with wooden panelling all over the rooms, and small knobs indicating where there is a cupboard built cleverly into the wooden panel. There is even a secret hatch through which one can slide out the room service plates once one is finished with the meals, or put out one's shoes to be polished in the evening. The bedroom window looks out over the railway station a couple of stories below us, and one can gaze upon the stately structure of The Balmoral, another hotel nearby.
All this was not discovered by me immediately, since we had to rush out by 4pm to examine a venue for the Grand Dinner to be held on the last night of the event. And what a venue it turned out to be!
The Royal Yacht Britannia is a decommissioned Royal Yacht previously belonging to the Queen. It was decommissioned in 1997, and as the story goes, the Queen shed a tear when it was finally docked at its berth in Edinburgh port.
We were met by a lovely blonde (no, it's not relevant to the story, but still!) girl who took us around the boat and showed us the arrangements for the Grand Dinner. I will not go into details now, but let this be said, the plans were really Grand!
While discussing all the details over a cup of tea served in a monogrammed tea set (but of course!), I espied some mementos in the wall shelves, and asked the tour guide if there was a tourist shop on the boat. Of course there was. But since it wouldn't be open during our dinner time on Friday, I asked to be taken to it afterward so as to do some "impromptu" shopping. Having done that, we left the boat.
In the evening, we went off to The Living Room, a restaurant which would be hosting our group later this week. A nice cozy place, with live music. I had a grilled salmon washed down with 1664 beer, and then had a shot of 10 year old Macallan. Lovely! Read more!
"Ajfxrtr jrrr uwg fgnkrng?" The girl at the immigration asked me. I looked uncomprehendingly at her.
She tried again, "Fheryjf sf krhg gtekjgfa sdtjhyg?" I gaped at her like a country bumpkin.
Then she tried it slower and louder, at this mentally retarded person.
"Do you speak English?"
The indignation was dripping from my voice as I answered, "Of course I do!"
And that was my introduction to Glasgow English.
I had a taste of more of the same when our driver who was driving us to Edinburgh tried to explain some of the scenery to us, and we would just try to read his lips and nod away smiling, because for the life of us, we could not figure out what he was saying. He kept asking me about some collar and I kept trying to figure out where that fitted into our conversation, because we had been discussing neither shirts nor dogs. Then it dawned on me that he was asking me if we found Glasgow cooler!
It is a rather humbling experience when after a lifetime of speaking and writing English fluently, you run into the wall of regional dialects and are made to appear a fool or a retard.
The flight from Dubai had been very comfortable though a bit long. Thankfully I had been bumped up to business class, so it was okay. I spent the long flight watching movies ("I Could Never Be Your Woman", "Charlie Bartlett"). We actually landed a couple of minutes before schedule (12:30pm), and the pilot announced this fact as if expecting an applause!
So after we had cleared immigration & customs, and collected out baggage which didn't take very long since I had just 1 small case, we ventured out and were met by the aforementioned driver who ushered us into a large sleek Merc. Hmmm!
We stopped just outside the airport to check out a hotel called Glynhill for lunch arrangements for the large group that would be following us tomorrow in the same flight. Nice hotel, but a tad expensive. We didn't think the group would be sufficiently hungry for a full-fledged 3 course meal. So then we went on to check other places, like a roadside service station which had a nice convenience store serving big sandwiches, juices and coffee.
After that, we continued onwards to Edinburgh. On both sides of the road were undulating green valleys full of bales of hay and sheep. Not many cows though. The weather was pretty good, with overcast skies and quite a bit of sunshine.
We reached Edinburgh at around 3pm. The Scotsman where we were staying is a very different kind of a hotel. First of all, it was never built to be one. It was the headquarters of The Scotsman newspaper, and was later converted into a hotel. So the entire design of this place is bewildering. The rooms are very comfortable and impressive though they were obviously some poor editor's office once upon a time. The Editor's suite where I was put up is a grand old place with wooden panelling all over the rooms, and small knobs indicating where there is a cupboard built cleverly into the wooden panel. There is even a secret hatch through which one can slide out the room service plates once one is finished with the meals, or put out one's shoes to be polished in the evening. The bedroom window looks out over the railway station a couple of stories below us, and one can gaze upon the stately structure of The Balmoral, another hotel nearby.
All this was not discovered by me immediately, since we had to rush out by 4pm to examine a venue for the Grand Dinner to be held on the last night of the event. And what a venue it turned out to be!
The Royal Yacht Britannia is a decommissioned Royal Yacht previously belonging to the Queen. It was decommissioned in 1997, and as the story goes, the Queen shed a tear when it was finally docked at its berth in Edinburgh port.
We were met by a lovely blonde (no, it's not relevant to the story, but still!) girl who took us around the boat and showed us the arrangements for the Grand Dinner. I will not go into details now, but let this be said, the plans were really Grand!
While discussing all the details over a cup of tea served in a monogrammed tea set (but of course!), I espied some mementos in the wall shelves, and asked the tour guide if there was a tourist shop on the boat. Of course there was. But since it wouldn't be open during our dinner time on Friday, I asked to be taken to it afterward so as to do some "impromptu" shopping. Having done that, we left the boat.
In the evening, we went off to The Living Room, a restaurant which would be hosting our group later this week. A nice cozy place, with live music. I had a grilled salmon washed down with 1664 beer, and then had a shot of 10 year old Macallan. Lovely! Read more!
Saturday, August 16, 2008
It takes a village
A few minutes back, I see a little girl of 3 or 4 stepping off the curb at the traffic light, and there's no adult in sight. So instinctively I wag a finger at her, sternly telling her to stay on the pavement. She obeys immediately, with a guilty look on her face.
So then I am thinking to myself while walking the rest of the way home that these days you don't really see any children being admonished or told off by some unrelated grown up, when the kids are seen making some wrong move in public. We all want to be seen as politically correct. Even when parents are present and don't lift a finger to quieten a screaming child in a restaurant or to shake their head at a kid busily exploring the inside of her nose while being introduced to people in public, other adults will sit there, beaming beatifically at the "little angel". Their attitude seems to be either that this is none of their business or a quiet feeling of heartwarming schadenfreude.
In either case, kids get to feel that whatever they do is perfectly all right, and that they are generally free to create any ruckus anywhere anytime. If this was all there was to it, I could still console myself that the world will just have to adjust itself to several more ill-behaved grownups 20 years later. But serious implications can happen if such acquiescence continues to be extended towards antisocial or even reckless tendencies. Consider the example I started off my blog with. A kid that steps off the curb unattended and survives will be encouraged to do the same thing again and again. Oh, maybe that sort of behaviour does explain jaywalkers in Calcutta!
Previous generations would never have stood for this sort of mollycoddling. A firm whack on the side of the head was due to any kid that dared raise his voice in public, even if the administerer was someone not directly related. Horror of horrors, the parents would never take the side of the kid, as & when they got to know of it. It would be the principle that mattered, not the individuals involved or their relationship to the parents.
It does take an entire village to bring up a child. Read more!
So then I am thinking to myself while walking the rest of the way home that these days you don't really see any children being admonished or told off by some unrelated grown up, when the kids are seen making some wrong move in public. We all want to be seen as politically correct. Even when parents are present and don't lift a finger to quieten a screaming child in a restaurant or to shake their head at a kid busily exploring the inside of her nose while being introduced to people in public, other adults will sit there, beaming beatifically at the "little angel". Their attitude seems to be either that this is none of their business or a quiet feeling of heartwarming schadenfreude.
In either case, kids get to feel that whatever they do is perfectly all right, and that they are generally free to create any ruckus anywhere anytime. If this was all there was to it, I could still console myself that the world will just have to adjust itself to several more ill-behaved grownups 20 years later. But serious implications can happen if such acquiescence continues to be extended towards antisocial or even reckless tendencies. Consider the example I started off my blog with. A kid that steps off the curb unattended and survives will be encouraged to do the same thing again and again. Oh, maybe that sort of behaviour does explain jaywalkers in Calcutta!
Previous generations would never have stood for this sort of mollycoddling. A firm whack on the side of the head was due to any kid that dared raise his voice in public, even if the administerer was someone not directly related. Horror of horrors, the parents would never take the side of the kid, as & when they got to know of it. It would be the principle that mattered, not the individuals involved or their relationship to the parents.
It does take an entire village to bring up a child. Read more!
Actions and consequences
So this woman in my office comes over to me and starts making small talk. I am obviously a bit wary, frantically thinking ahead about what she wants out of me. You see, she belongs to a religious "cult" or movement where the followers are led to believe Sri Krishna is the One & Only God, their "Ain True Love". Well, imagine that! What is the use of being a Hindu if you have to believe in just one god, when there are so many millions more! I mean, the entire point is Choice, isn't it?
The last time this woman had approached me was to request me to print out a .jpg image as a big color poster, which she said she needed for some religious meeting. The best I could do for her was an A3 size poster, and she said that was fine. So she mailed me this file, which I duly printed out. So what was that image? Some happily smiling benign deity, colored indigo blue, playing among cows and frolicking with Gopikas? I wish it was as mundane as that!
The picture showed a man with his mouth wide open, screaming. Why? Well, you would be screaming too, if your innards were on display, and you were being eaten alive by a mound of termites. The picture was so garishly colored and revolting that I couldn't bear to look at it more than a second. It was more horrifying than Aaron Eckhardt's Two-face in The Gotham Knight.
Apparently this was what would happen to you if you were a nasty person that didn't believe in Sri Krishna being the only and only. I hoped that their religious meetings precluded any children attending, otherwise there is going to be this entire generation of Hindu children growing up with psychedelic nightmares of agonised screaming faces being eaten alive by crawling insects. Whatever happened to the concepts of love, truth and peace?
So this had been my previous encounter with this lovely lady. Now I was wondering what in the name of god she wanted from me now.
So after the inital inane pleasantries are over, she asks me if I can give her a few of those portable backup hard drives that are stacked in the storage room under my name. I ask why she needs more than one. She says she wants to distribute them to her religious congregation. I tell her that they are not mine to give away since they have been purchased as giveaways to customers, and are company property.
Later she send me a couple of emails, and I quote exactly from them below:
"I don’t mind taking all of the drives, I can distribute it to people within my satsang (religious gathering), I think its ok for them..."
"Could you kindly ask _____ on my behalf or shall I send him a message? I don’t know his proper name and email, send it to me please and also he doesn’t know me very well and may say no to me...so I request you to ask him if that’s ok. Otherwise I will ask him, no probs, then whatever he say, "Hari Iccha"."
"What I usually do is send to Vrindavan (...) temple where is a need for these things...See if you can manage otherwise forget the whole thing..."
"Pls. try, it’s a donation to the temple..Krsna will bless you yaar..."
My reply to her? "Krishna may bless me, the company auditors won't!"
I know that Lord Krishna said:
कर्मण्ये वाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचनः
मा कर्मः फलः हेतुर भुर्मतेय संगोस्त्व अकर्मणि
You have a right to perform your prescribed action,but you are not entitled to the fruits of your action.
Never consider yourself the cause of the results your activities,and never be associated to not doing your duty.
But this question puzzles me: If you want to do some good, especially among your religious congregation, how can you in good faith give them things which you know were not acquired in the right way or were not yours to give away in the first place? And if so, you are not just committing a sin, but also compounding it by having others acquiesce in your act by accepting such gifts.
The last time this woman had approached me was to request me to print out a .jpg image as a big color poster, which she said she needed for some religious meeting. The best I could do for her was an A3 size poster, and she said that was fine. So she mailed me this file, which I duly printed out. So what was that image? Some happily smiling benign deity, colored indigo blue, playing among cows and frolicking with Gopikas? I wish it was as mundane as that!
The picture showed a man with his mouth wide open, screaming. Why? Well, you would be screaming too, if your innards were on display, and you were being eaten alive by a mound of termites. The picture was so garishly colored and revolting that I couldn't bear to look at it more than a second. It was more horrifying than Aaron Eckhardt's Two-face in The Gotham Knight.
Apparently this was what would happen to you if you were a nasty person that didn't believe in Sri Krishna being the only and only. I hoped that their religious meetings precluded any children attending, otherwise there is going to be this entire generation of Hindu children growing up with psychedelic nightmares of agonised screaming faces being eaten alive by crawling insects. Whatever happened to the concepts of love, truth and peace?
So this had been my previous encounter with this lovely lady. Now I was wondering what in the name of god she wanted from me now.
So after the inital inane pleasantries are over, she asks me if I can give her a few of those portable backup hard drives that are stacked in the storage room under my name. I ask why she needs more than one. She says she wants to distribute them to her religious congregation. I tell her that they are not mine to give away since they have been purchased as giveaways to customers, and are company property.
Later she send me a couple of emails, and I quote exactly from them below:
"I don’t mind taking all of the drives, I can distribute it to people within my satsang (religious gathering), I think its ok for them..."
"Could you kindly ask _____ on my behalf or shall I send him a message? I don’t know his proper name and email, send it to me please and also he doesn’t know me very well and may say no to me...so I request you to ask him if that’s ok. Otherwise I will ask him, no probs, then whatever he say, "Hari Iccha"."
"What I usually do is send to Vrindavan (...) temple where is a need for these things...See if you can manage otherwise forget the whole thing..."
"Pls. try, it’s a donation to the temple..Krsna will bless you yaar..."
My reply to her? "Krishna may bless me, the company auditors won't!"
I know that Lord Krishna said:
कर्मण्ये वाधिकारस्ते मा फलेषु कदाचनः
मा कर्मः फलः हेतुर भुर्मतेय संगोस्त्व अकर्मणि
You have a right to perform your prescribed action,but you are not entitled to the fruits of your action.
Never consider yourself the cause of the results your activities,and never be associated to not doing your duty.
But this question puzzles me: If you want to do some good, especially among your religious congregation, how can you in good faith give them things which you know were not acquired in the right way or were not yours to give away in the first place? And if so, you are not just committing a sin, but also compounding it by having others acquiesce in your act by accepting such gifts.
Read more!
Friday, November 23, 2007
The Golden Whip
Okay, so we've heard of the Palm d'Or at the Cannes, the Golden Bear at the Berlin Filmfest, and our own practical shawl & Rs. 1 lakh, but this one is deliciously ironic and wickedly funny!
http://allafrica.com/stories/200711210423.html
Bloggers Plan Parallel Film Festival on Police Torture
Reporters sans Frontières (Paris)
PRESS RELEASE
21 November 2007
Posted to the web 21 November 2007
How I wish our own Indian blogging community, though so technologically savvy, had embraced video blogs in a similar way! After all, when it comes to torture and official brutality, our national motto is:
___ में अपनी दम नहीं
पर हम कीसीसे कम नहीं Read more!
http://allafrica.com/stories/200711210423.html
Bloggers Plan Parallel Film Festival on Police Torture
Reporters sans Frontières (Paris)
PRESS RELEASE
21 November 2007
Posted to the web 21 November 2007
Egyptian bloggers have announced that, while the Cairo film festival is taking place from 27 November to 7 December, they will hold a parallel festival in which a "Golden Whip" will be awarded to the best video showing "controversial acts of torture allegedly committed by the security authorities."
How I wish our own Indian blogging community, though so technologically savvy, had embraced video blogs in a similar way! After all, when it comes to torture and official brutality, our national motto is:
___ में अपनी दम नहीं
पर हम कीसीसे कम नहीं Read more!
Friday, November 16, 2007
Crashing the disk
My external hard disk crashed last week. It had more than 200 downloaded movies, lots of music and a ton of scanned pix on it. Devastating, right? But I didn't lose my cool. I was sorely tempted to rave and rant about it. But all that I really wished I could have saved were the pictures.
It took me almost a year's worth of weekend scanning of endless old b&w negatives, many of them over 50 years old, and then carefully processing them to get visible images of the past. All that toil and trouble gone to waste!
Of course I still have the negatives, and if need be I will do the work all over again. But you know how it feels like.
I am trying to see if the hard disk can be salvaged, by taking it to professionals next week. Let's see what happens. Read more!
It took me almost a year's worth of weekend scanning of endless old b&w negatives, many of them over 50 years old, and then carefully processing them to get visible images of the past. All that toil and trouble gone to waste!
Of course I still have the negatives, and if need be I will do the work all over again. But you know how it feels like.
I am trying to see if the hard disk can be salvaged, by taking it to professionals next week. Let's see what happens. Read more!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
K.I.S.S.
At a recent computer expo, Bill Gates reportedly compared the computer industry with the auto industry and stated: "If GM had kept up with technology like the computer industry has, we would all be driving twenty-five dollar cars that got 1000 mile to the gallon."
In response to Bill's comments, General Motors issued a press release stating, "If GM had developed technology like Microsoft, we would all be driving cars with the following characteristics:
• For no reason whatsoever your car would crash twice a day.
• Every time they repainted the lines on the road you would have to buy a new car.
• Occasionally your car would die on the freeway for no reason, and you would just accept this, restart and drive on.
• Occasionally, executing a maneuver such as a left turn would cause your car to shut down and refuse to restart. In which case you would have to reinstall the engine.
• Only one person at a time could use the car, unless you bought "CarXP" or "CarNT." But then you would have to buy more seats.
• Macintosh would make a car that was powered by the sun, reliable, five times as fast, and twice as easy to drive, but would only run on five percent of the roads.
• The oil, water temperature, and alternator warning lights would be replaced by a single "general car fault" warning light.
• New seats would force everyone to have the same size body.The airbag system would say "Are you sure?" before going off.
• Occasionally for no reason whatsoever, your car would lock you out and refuse to let you in until you simultaneously lifted the door handle, turned the key, and grabbed hold of the radio antenna.
• GM would require all car buyers to also purchase a deluxe set of Rand McNally road maps (now a GM subsidiary), even though they neither need them nor want them.
• Every time GM introduced a new model car, buyers would have to learn how to drive all over again because none of the controls would operate in the same manner as the old car.
• You'd press the "Start" button to shut off the engine.
But seriously, why should computers be so cumbersome to use? When you switch on the PC, it doesn't just come on. First you see some messages on screen about Windows booting up followed by a blank screen. Then the Windows logo shows up. After that, the "user-friendly" desktop come on, and icons start to show up one by one. There is a spate of programs starting up, while you watch all this impatiently. And finally, the wait is over, you can open up your email program, see that there's nothing but junk email in your inbox (the thought "Nobody loves me!" flashes through your mind), then you go through the same process in reverse order to shut down the PC.
We have gotten so used to the above steps that we now take it for granted. WHY? Why should PCs not be as easy to start up as a common TV? Just switch it on, it starts instantly, taking you to the channel you were watching last night. You want to switch to another channel, just press a button on the remote. You get bored, you click the red button and the TV is off.
Oh, so the PC companies are now launching "Media PCs" which will allow us to control multimedia content we watch at home, directly from our PCs? Wow. So now while the kid is wailing in the other room, we are going to be busy fiddling about with the mp3 streamed content on our wireless networked PC in the living room, so that the "Lullaby" playlist on our iPods can stream onto the surround speakers in the kid's room!
PCs should be even simpler to use than they are at present. This comes from the person who started his PC experience with DOS 3.3 which had a command-line interface with a blinking cursor! If you didn't remember the correct command, you couldn't do anything with the machine. It was akin to having to learn a child's baby language to communicate with it, instead of teaching it yours!
The OLPC (One Laptop Per Child) project should be something to watch out for. A $100 laptop for every child! Check out the prototype pictures here: http://olpc.com/pictures.html
I like the look of those green machines! Don't you? Read more!
Monday, May 14, 2007
It's not the bike!
A few months back, I needed to have some formal pictures of myself taken for an official press release. Naturally, I was told this just a day before the pictures were actually needed. Now these pictures needed an official corporate setting as the background, so what I thought of was to have someone skilled enough to handle a camera to click a few pix in the office.
So I brought along my semi-professional camera to the office, and asked a colleague to click my pictures, with the official company banner providing a suitable background. Now this guy has been proclaiming himself to be a professional photographer, and in fact, has been handing his visiting card around which has his name in a fancy font and duly gives his designation as "Photographer". Apparently he has been getting commissions on clicking portraits, covering weddings etc.
So one might assume that I was in safe hands, as far as getting a nice clear pic was concerned.
I don't want to turn this into a suspense thriller, so let me say right now that the pix did come out okay.
No, what gave me some food for thought was when during this photoshoot, I asked him if he could take a few pix with me in the foreground in sharp relief against a slightly unfocused company logo in the background.
So what does this skilled photographer say? "Well, my own professional SLR camera does have a switch which creates this effect, but since your camera doesn't have that switch, I can't do it."
Say what?
I, with my admittedly elementary knowledge of photography, had made it a point to read up as much as I could on the basics of photography, once I bought my camera last year. I visited various sites on the net, studied all the technical terms, even though not everything made sense immediately, but I persevered. And one of the first few things I learnt was F-stops which is essentially the aperture (or the hole through which the image is captured). The larger this aperture value, the smaller the opening through which light passes into the camera, and the sharper the background.
So to get a slightly hazy background, all you need to do is use a smaller F-stop value on the camera.
I felt like quoting the title of Lance Armstrong's autobiography to this guy, "It's Not About The Bike!"
But more than that, this incident made me think about why we perceive someone as experts in their field. Just because they themselves said so?
I find myself constantly downplaying my own skills and/or knowledge, because I (and most Indians) have been brought up and socially indoctrinated to feel that humility and a self-effacing attitude are what makes a person. Being a show-off and blowing one's own trumpet were always frowned upon as being boorish and undesirable.
Social mores seem to have changed though, even in the home country. A me-first attitude seems to have taken over. Which is not necessarily a bad thing.
Nonetheless, I still believe in this adage,"A truly knowledgeable person knows that he doesn't know anything."
To add a twist to that, here's Mrs. Golda Meir to a diplomat,"Don't be so humble. You are not that great." Read more!
So I brought along my semi-professional camera to the office, and asked a colleague to click my pictures, with the official company banner providing a suitable background. Now this guy has been proclaiming himself to be a professional photographer, and in fact, has been handing his visiting card around which has his name in a fancy font and duly gives his designation as "Photographer". Apparently he has been getting commissions on clicking portraits, covering weddings etc.
So one might assume that I was in safe hands, as far as getting a nice clear pic was concerned.
I don't want to turn this into a suspense thriller, so let me say right now that the pix did come out okay.
No, what gave me some food for thought was when during this photoshoot, I asked him if he could take a few pix with me in the foreground in sharp relief against a slightly unfocused company logo in the background.
So what does this skilled photographer say? "Well, my own professional SLR camera does have a switch which creates this effect, but since your camera doesn't have that switch, I can't do it."
Say what?
I, with my admittedly elementary knowledge of photography, had made it a point to read up as much as I could on the basics of photography, once I bought my camera last year. I visited various sites on the net, studied all the technical terms, even though not everything made sense immediately, but I persevered. And one of the first few things I learnt was F-stops which is essentially the aperture (or the hole through which the image is captured). The larger this aperture value, the smaller the opening through which light passes into the camera, and the sharper the background.
So to get a slightly hazy background, all you need to do is use a smaller F-stop value on the camera.
I felt like quoting the title of Lance Armstrong's autobiography to this guy, "It's Not About The Bike!"
But more than that, this incident made me think about why we perceive someone as experts in their field. Just because they themselves said so?
I find myself constantly downplaying my own skills and/or knowledge, because I (and most Indians) have been brought up and socially indoctrinated to feel that humility and a self-effacing attitude are what makes a person. Being a show-off and blowing one's own trumpet were always frowned upon as being boorish and undesirable.
Social mores seem to have changed though, even in the home country. A me-first attitude seems to have taken over. Which is not necessarily a bad thing.
Nonetheless, I still believe in this adage,"A truly knowledgeable person knows that he doesn't know anything."
To add a twist to that, here's Mrs. Golda Meir to a diplomat,"Don't be so humble. You are not that great." Read more!
Monkeys and Superheroes
Is it possible to believe simultaneously in Darwin's theory as well as in the existence of Hanumaan (the Monkey God, for the uninitiated)?
Can religious faith and scientific curiosity coexist in the same human mind?
Read on for my unique theory! :-)
I recently finished reading Richard Dawkins' "The God Delusion". It's a heavy read, not because of the size of the book, but more so because of the gravity of the ideas he keeps springing up. They take some time to assimilate. The book is mainly aimed at proponents of monotheistic religions, especially the religious right in US. I realised by reading this book and by discussing it some western friends that even in this day & age, the hardliners in the US deny the Darwin Theory and in fact are virulently against teaching the Evolution theory to their children in schools. There are regular protests and banning of Darwin's opus "On the Origin of Species". I think it's still banned in the US.
The main thing is that following one school of thought apparently precludes believing in the other. It's as if the other camp is the enemy, never to be understood.
Dawkins however doesn't specifically mention Hinduism or Buddhism as being against the evolution theory. And that got me thinking. I haven't heard of any Hindu religious sentiments being specifically focused against scientific thought etc. We are much more preoccupied with the depiction (or rather non-depiction!) of nudity in modern art, you see! Think M F Husain, think the young student, Chandra Mohan, in the prestigious Arts College who has been jailed for 5 days without trial in Baroda, Gujarat. But I digress.
So how are we Indians able to simultaneously believe in our ancient gods and goddesses, as well as believe in modern scientific thought?
The answer came to me when I was watching "The Jungle Book" last week. It is of course a thoroughly enjoyable tale, and children of all ages love it. Especially Baloo the bear, Bagheera the panther and of course King Louis, the monkey king!
However, if kids come across these animals in real life, they are not really likely to run over and hug them, are they? The line between fantasy (or rather, a willing suspension of disbelief) while watching movies and between the actual hard reality of the world is very clearly understood by even little children.
What sets us Indians apart from the rest of the world in this matter is Bollywood! Anyone brought up on a steady diet of fantastic movies about superheroes bashing up 20 baddies, heroines with the with the body of a sexbomb and still retaining a virginal aura (Mumtaz comes to mind here), villains with a heart of coal and a laugh to match, will know what I'm talking about.
But when we come out of the movie hall, we switch off the gullibility switch in our brain, and when we see a girl being accosted by 10 baddies in a dark lane, we do what any sensible right thinking person would do; we run the other way! :-)
So my theory is that the reason we Indians are more prepared than most to deal with ambiguities and paradoxes in real life is because we have been trained from the very childhood to believe in and rationalise a lot of conflicting and mutually contradicting thoughts and opinions.
More on that in a later post maybe. Read more!
Can religious faith and scientific curiosity coexist in the same human mind?
Read on for my unique theory! :-)
I recently finished reading Richard Dawkins' "The God Delusion". It's a heavy read, not because of the size of the book, but more so because of the gravity of the ideas he keeps springing up. They take some time to assimilate. The book is mainly aimed at proponents of monotheistic religions, especially the religious right in US. I realised by reading this book and by discussing it some western friends that even in this day & age, the hardliners in the US deny the Darwin Theory and in fact are virulently against teaching the Evolution theory to their children in schools. There are regular protests and banning of Darwin's opus "On the Origin of Species". I think it's still banned in the US.
The main thing is that following one school of thought apparently precludes believing in the other. It's as if the other camp is the enemy, never to be understood.
Dawkins however doesn't specifically mention Hinduism or Buddhism as being against the evolution theory. And that got me thinking. I haven't heard of any Hindu religious sentiments being specifically focused against scientific thought etc. We are much more preoccupied with the depiction (or rather non-depiction!) of nudity in modern art, you see! Think M F Husain, think the young student, Chandra Mohan, in the prestigious Arts College who has been jailed for 5 days without trial in Baroda, Gujarat. But I digress.
So how are we Indians able to simultaneously believe in our ancient gods and goddesses, as well as believe in modern scientific thought?
The answer came to me when I was watching "The Jungle Book" last week. It is of course a thoroughly enjoyable tale, and children of all ages love it. Especially Baloo the bear, Bagheera the panther and of course King Louis, the monkey king!
However, if kids come across these animals in real life, they are not really likely to run over and hug them, are they? The line between fantasy (or rather, a willing suspension of disbelief) while watching movies and between the actual hard reality of the world is very clearly understood by even little children.
What sets us Indians apart from the rest of the world in this matter is Bollywood! Anyone brought up on a steady diet of fantastic movies about superheroes bashing up 20 baddies, heroines with the with the body of a sexbomb and still retaining a virginal aura (Mumtaz comes to mind here), villains with a heart of coal and a laugh to match, will know what I'm talking about.
But when we come out of the movie hall, we switch off the gullibility switch in our brain, and when we see a girl being accosted by 10 baddies in a dark lane, we do what any sensible right thinking person would do; we run the other way! :-)
So my theory is that the reason we Indians are more prepared than most to deal with ambiguities and paradoxes in real life is because we have been trained from the very childhood to believe in and rationalise a lot of conflicting and mutually contradicting thoughts and opinions.
More on that in a later post maybe. Read more!
Sunday, May 13, 2007
Guys' day out
Last week I happened to have lunch at the Iranian Club with a couple of friends and friends' friends. I was invited there by a colleague, and when I asked him who else would be there, he was rather vague about it, saying that he would bring along a couple of his friends.
Well, when I arrived at the club, I saw a huge buffet, with tables literally groaning (in Farsi, of course) with food. The starters table alone was enough to make up for the price of the entry. Unfortunately, since all the labels were in Farsi, I could make neither head nor tail of what the names of the dishes were. But not to worry, their food is somewhat like Indian food. Actually Indian, especially North Indian frontier cuisine, owes a lot to Irani and Turkish food, no doubt because all the marauders in ancient times who would have designs on India would be homesick and would make sure they got their supply of their home cooked food. Their recipes would then have percolated down to the locals, ie our ancestors.
Both our cuisines use a lot of yoghurt, mint raitas, mashed aubergines, different kinds of fragrant rices and kebabs.
But more than all the food, what I enjoyed was the wacky conversation at our table. My friend arrived with his brother and another friend in tow. This friend-of-my-friend, Max was a really funny guy. He kept us in splits throughout with weird imitations and crazy jokes. Some highlights:
- I learnt that every boyband has a member who's designated the "confirmer". He's the guy who is told, "Okay, you there! You do nothing, but repeat the last phrase of the previous guy... only in a lower tone!" So when the boy band is mouthing their inane lyrics, something like "Baby I would never lie to you!", the "confirmer" goes,"...lie to youuuuuuu...". You get the picture.
- The eccentric uncle who would always spell out the wrong word in front of kids. "Hey guys, let's go out to the C-A-R......and smoke some pot!"
Max was elaborating on how it is better to be a small fry in the world of movies than be a big star with all the trappings that come along with it. He asked us whether we remembered a rather tough-looking pockmarked huge Mexican guy with a drooping moustache who appeared in lots of movies but always in bit roles. We all nodded. Then he asked whether any of us knew his name. I think he meant it as a purely rhetorical question, and therefore didn't expect Mr. Know-it-all (aka me!) to blurt out, "Yes, I know! Danny Trejo!".
There was dead silence around the table, as you can guess. :-) As Max put it, there were probably 6 people in the world who could offhand name this guy based on a verbal description, not counting the guy's parents. Ah well. I felt slightly embarrassed at having topped Max's tale with a bit of the old show-off. Anyways.
We parted company 90 minutes later, with full stomachs and light hearts. Did I mention the dessert, which was traditional Irani Falooda? It's quite unlike the India version. This one is thin stiff vermicelli in lots of ice and with rosewater and lemon juice liberally sprinkled on top.
I realised later how much fun I had had, just shooting the bull with these strangers. I think guys too need such outings on a regular basis to unwind and relax, just talking about inane stuff. Oprah would concur. Read more!
Well, when I arrived at the club, I saw a huge buffet, with tables literally groaning (in Farsi, of course) with food. The starters table alone was enough to make up for the price of the entry. Unfortunately, since all the labels were in Farsi, I could make neither head nor tail of what the names of the dishes were. But not to worry, their food is somewhat like Indian food. Actually Indian, especially North Indian frontier cuisine, owes a lot to Irani and Turkish food, no doubt because all the marauders in ancient times who would have designs on India would be homesick and would make sure they got their supply of their home cooked food. Their recipes would then have percolated down to the locals, ie our ancestors.
Both our cuisines use a lot of yoghurt, mint raitas, mashed aubergines, different kinds of fragrant rices and kebabs.
But more than all the food, what I enjoyed was the wacky conversation at our table. My friend arrived with his brother and another friend in tow. This friend-of-my-friend, Max was a really funny guy. He kept us in splits throughout with weird imitations and crazy jokes. Some highlights:
- I learnt that every boyband has a member who's designated the "confirmer". He's the guy who is told, "Okay, you there! You do nothing, but repeat the last phrase of the previous guy... only in a lower tone!" So when the boy band is mouthing their inane lyrics, something like "Baby I would never lie to you!", the "confirmer" goes,"...lie to youuuuuuu...". You get the picture.
- The eccentric uncle who would always spell out the wrong word in front of kids. "Hey guys, let's go out to the C-A-R......and smoke some pot!"
Max was elaborating on how it is better to be a small fry in the world of movies than be a big star with all the trappings that come along with it. He asked us whether we remembered a rather tough-looking pockmarked huge Mexican guy with a drooping moustache who appeared in lots of movies but always in bit roles. We all nodded. Then he asked whether any of us knew his name. I think he meant it as a purely rhetorical question, and therefore didn't expect Mr. Know-it-all (aka me!) to blurt out, "Yes, I know! Danny Trejo!".
There was dead silence around the table, as you can guess. :-) As Max put it, there were probably 6 people in the world who could offhand name this guy based on a verbal description, not counting the guy's parents. Ah well. I felt slightly embarrassed at having topped Max's tale with a bit of the old show-off. Anyways.
We parted company 90 minutes later, with full stomachs and light hearts. Did I mention the dessert, which was traditional Irani Falooda? It's quite unlike the India version. This one is thin stiff vermicelli in lots of ice and with rosewater and lemon juice liberally sprinkled on top.
I realised later how much fun I had had, just shooting the bull with these strangers. I think guys too need such outings on a regular basis to unwind and relax, just talking about inane stuff. Oprah would concur. Read more!
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
DON"T ask for more
"To have little is to possess. To have plenty is to be perplexed."
-Lao Tse
Okay, you are an exception, Oliver Twist!
In a short story "How Much Land Does a Man Need?", Tolstoy writes about Pahom, a greedy Russian who hears that the Bashkirs, a minority race in Russia, are giving away their land for almost nothing. He goes to them and they offer him as much land as he wants, provided he can walk its perimeter in one day. Pahom agrees and goes out on his walk, but when the sun starts going down, he finds he has walked a little too far. Running back, Pahom collapses at the point where he had started just as the sun disappears behind the horizon. The Bashkirs try to congratulate him, only to find him dead. In answer to the question posed in the story's title, the Bashkirs bury him in a hole six feet long by two feet wide.
I am thinking about the above since yesterday when I read about the Hindu "godmen" who have been caught in a sting operation, offering to convert black money to white through shady transactions involving their charitable trusts. And I ask myself, what do these old men with long white beards and ash-smeared foreheads want in life, or rather want from life? Especially at this age! I mean, what difference would it make to them individually how many more crores they would make through these rackets? Yes, the amounts being talked about were 10%-25% of upto Rs. 5 crore!
http://www.hindustantimes.com/storypage/storypage.aspx?id=81ec3d61-8f10-4887-b316-c13d3cfc9fdb&&Headline=Sting+exposes+Godmen%2c+VHP+calls+it+campaign
Isn't there a big difference between what you want and what you need? Has this been forgotten conveniently by everyone except maverick musicians and bemused bloggers?
"I do not want what I do not have" - Sinead O'Connor Read more!
-Lao Tse
Okay, you are an exception, Oliver Twist!
In a short story "How Much Land Does a Man Need?", Tolstoy writes about Pahom, a greedy Russian who hears that the Bashkirs, a minority race in Russia, are giving away their land for almost nothing. He goes to them and they offer him as much land as he wants, provided he can walk its perimeter in one day. Pahom agrees and goes out on his walk, but when the sun starts going down, he finds he has walked a little too far. Running back, Pahom collapses at the point where he had started just as the sun disappears behind the horizon. The Bashkirs try to congratulate him, only to find him dead. In answer to the question posed in the story's title, the Bashkirs bury him in a hole six feet long by two feet wide.
I am thinking about the above since yesterday when I read about the Hindu "godmen" who have been caught in a sting operation, offering to convert black money to white through shady transactions involving their charitable trusts. And I ask myself, what do these old men with long white beards and ash-smeared foreheads want in life, or rather want from life? Especially at this age! I mean, what difference would it make to them individually how many more crores they would make through these rackets? Yes, the amounts being talked about were 10%-25% of upto Rs. 5 crore!
http://www.hindustantimes.com/storypage/storypage.aspx?id=81ec3d61-8f10-4887-b316-c13d3cfc9fdb&&Headline=Sting+exposes+Godmen%2c+VHP+calls+it+campaign
Isn't there a big difference between what you want and what you need? Has this been forgotten conveniently by everyone except maverick musicians and bemused bloggers?
"I do not want what I do not have" - Sinead O'Connor Read more!
Sunday, May 06, 2007
After the Kiss
My previous post had the story/pix of 3 kisses. But what happened afterwards?
Kiss no 1
Kiss no 1
Nilofer Bakhtiar has either quit her post of Tourism Minister or been told to resign, depending on whose version you want to believe.
http://www.hindu.com/2007/05/03/stories/2007050303701400.htm
Kiss no 2
An Indian local court in Jaipur has issued arrest warrants for both the kisser and the kissee in this well-publicised case.
Kiss no 3
अब तेरा क्या होगा, कालिया ?
Sorry, I meant Ahmadinejad! But hey, I forget the fact that he's a man, and the world we are living in! :-)
So the proper question to ask should be what happens to his 70 year old female 1st grade teacher, who must have "forcibly" given him a kiss and an embrace!
:-)
Let's wait and see.
Incidentally, I am very impressed by this article I read about the blogging community among the Iranian clerics. They seem to be much more progressive and willing to embrace change in this everchanging world.
http://archive.gulfnews.com/articles/07/05/03/10122643.html
Thursday, May 03, 2007
XOXOXOXOXO
This is the saga of 3 recent controversies, all involving alleged "indecent kissing/hugging" in public.
No. 1
A group of radical clerics issued a religious decree against Pakistan's tourism minister, Nilofer Bakhtiar, after some local newspapers printed photographs showing her holding onto a man after landing from a parachute jump in France.
Read more!
No. 1
A group of radical clerics issued a religious decree against Pakistan's tourism minister, Nilofer Bakhtiar, after some local newspapers printed photographs showing her holding onto a man after landing from a parachute jump in France.
No. 2
This one is too famous anyway, without me having to add anything.
No. 3
Now this is really something. During a meeting of Iranian teachers with Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, Mrs. Najmeh Gholi Pour, Ahmadinejad's first grade teacher, appeared and a moved Ahmadinejad kissed her hand. This was enough to set off a controversy about indecency in the press. Indecently..... errrr, sorry...... Incidentally, the lady is over 70 years old.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Fond Mothers & the "Others"
Today's paper reports a Qatari man is to be executed for raping his daughter. Heinous crime, no doubt, and what's also disturbing is this statement from the judge:
"Cases of rape......are becoming more frequent. I believe this is due to the fact that the traditional society is suffering from a cultural shock, mainly due to the growing presence of immigrants. Values and habits are rapidly changing and violence in [sic] increasing."
So blame even this on them, eh? :-) The "furriners".
अपने गिरेबान में भी झाँक कर पहले देखो एक बार ....
Reminds me of that fond mother who while watching her soldier son on parade said," Look! The entire platoon is marching out of step! Only my son is marching correctly!"
http://www.gulfnews.com/region/Qatar/10122228.html Read more!
"Cases of rape......are becoming more frequent. I believe this is due to the fact that the traditional society is suffering from a cultural shock, mainly due to the growing presence of immigrants. Values and habits are rapidly changing and violence in [sic] increasing."
So blame even this on them, eh? :-) The "furriners".
अपने गिरेबान में भी झाँक कर पहले देखो एक बार ....
Reminds me of that fond mother who while watching her soldier son on parade said," Look! The entire platoon is marching out of step! Only my son is marching correctly!"
http://www.gulfnews.com/region/Qatar/10122228.html Read more!
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Sudden Death
http://www.stuff.co.nz/stuff/sundaystartimes/auckland/4043617a6468.html
Jailed China judge dies of 'adult sudden death syndrome'
Reuters Tuesday, 1 May 2007
BEIJING: A Chinese judge charged with corruption died in his cell from "adult sudden death syndrome", Xinhua news agency said on Monday. Investigators said Li Chaoyang, 38, had been uncooperative while in detention .... "Cuts on his face and other injuries" had been caused by a fall during an escape attempt, they said.
I love the jargon these officials come up with! :-) Although to be fair, there is supposed to be a Sudden Adult Death Syndrome (SADS for the acronymically minded), as corresponding to SIDS (Figure that one out yourselves!). But an uncooperative judge showing signs of injury in jail dying of ASDS (per the Chinese news agency) is a bit much!
And how are you judged to be uncooperative? That too, in a Chinese jail?
In another (slightly related) news, Chinese authorities are asking public officials to pay less attention to their mistresses and more to their own parents.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/asia/article1728755.ece
Apparently they have found a direct correlation between the quantity (and quality) of mistresses kept by public officials and their proclivity for corruption! Hmmm, that's rather surprising, no? ;-)
Paul Wolfowitz must be thanking his stars he's not Chinese! Read more!
Jailed China judge dies of 'adult sudden death syndrome'
Reuters Tuesday, 1 May 2007
BEIJING: A Chinese judge charged with corruption died in his cell from "adult sudden death syndrome", Xinhua news agency said on Monday. Investigators said Li Chaoyang, 38, had been uncooperative while in detention .... "Cuts on his face and other injuries" had been caused by a fall during an escape attempt, they said.
I love the jargon these officials come up with! :-) Although to be fair, there is supposed to be a Sudden Adult Death Syndrome (SADS for the acronymically minded), as corresponding to SIDS (Figure that one out yourselves!). But an uncooperative judge showing signs of injury in jail dying of ASDS (per the Chinese news agency) is a bit much!
And how are you judged to be uncooperative? That too, in a Chinese jail?
In another (slightly related) news, Chinese authorities are asking public officials to pay less attention to their mistresses and more to their own parents.
http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/asia/article1728755.ece
Apparently they have found a direct correlation between the quantity (and quality) of mistresses kept by public officials and their proclivity for corruption! Hmmm, that's rather surprising, no? ;-)
Paul Wolfowitz must be thanking his stars he's not Chinese! Read more!
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