Home away from home
I just returned from a long holiday on the other side of the world - Brazil. I didn't know what to expect and it didn't matter - I would be safely ensconced in my parents' home there, catching up with the family I hadn't seen in over a year. Indeed, this trip was more about family than anything else - traveling across the world from far flung destinations to congregate in South America for one month of bliss.
I have made this journey often - not necessarily to Brazil but to wherever my parents have called 'home' in the past five years. We made these journeys together when I was younger. The first of them was to Vienna, Austria, when I had just turned nine. I remember my sister attempting to explain the circumstances of the Second World War to me while improvising gory stories on the Neo Nazis [to addle my overactive imagination]. Three years later, we found ourselves bursting into tears as our plane heaved itself off the runway in Vienna, wondering what the future held for us in Sri Lanka.
Being the daughter of a diplomat, I have become accustomed to these arrivals and departures. I find myself growing restless at the prospect of a long holiday - the wanderlust is still there. I sometimes wonder if I will ever be able to fully 'settle down' in one place - there are so many places to see, so many possibilities to choose from.
But perhaps the truth lies in the moment I see my dad waiting outside the sliding doors of an airport.
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Back to Blogging
Hello all! I'm back after a two month hiatus, during which I wondered (amongst other things) how and when to resume my bloggerly ways. And then, eureka - I found it! LudaKrishna and Vikram MC - the sweetest thing to hit the stage since mango chutney! I'm glad its attracted some bloggers (including the notorious HFP).
I've moved to the US and have been trying to adjust to the move ever since. In some ways, its great to be here - after all, I am living in the city they call the Paris of the USA. It really is a gorgeous city - quaint, colorful houses, undulating streets which make for sudden spectacular views of the bay...and it has the best second-hand bookshop I've ever been to. By the time I leave here, I'll have an enviable book collection...
The people here are easy on the eye too. Most of them look like they've stepped out of some glossy magazine. Seriously, if you walk down Fillmore (one of the swankier neighborhoods in town), you'll start to wonder how on earth anyone came up with the notion that Americans have weight problems. At practically any time of the day, you'll come across at least three people jogging up or down a street. It doesn't sound like much, but think about it - its pretty weird.
What I love about this city is that the streets sparkle. Not all the streets - just the sidewalks downtown. They're mixed with these little glittery chips that reflect the light and so they look all sparkly and twinkly. What a simple way to beautify concrete.
What do I not like about being here? Well...I'll spare you for today and talk about that some other time. For now, I'll walk down a glittering path to the glittering bay.
Hello all! I'm back after a two month hiatus, during which I wondered (amongst other things) how and when to resume my bloggerly ways. And then, eureka - I found it! LudaKrishna and Vikram MC - the sweetest thing to hit the stage since mango chutney! I'm glad its attracted some bloggers (including the notorious HFP).
I've moved to the US and have been trying to adjust to the move ever since. In some ways, its great to be here - after all, I am living in the city they call the Paris of the USA. It really is a gorgeous city - quaint, colorful houses, undulating streets which make for sudden spectacular views of the bay...and it has the best second-hand bookshop I've ever been to. By the time I leave here, I'll have an enviable book collection...
The people here are easy on the eye too. Most of them look like they've stepped out of some glossy magazine. Seriously, if you walk down Fillmore (one of the swankier neighborhoods in town), you'll start to wonder how on earth anyone came up with the notion that Americans have weight problems. At practically any time of the day, you'll come across at least three people jogging up or down a street. It doesn't sound like much, but think about it - its pretty weird.
What I love about this city is that the streets sparkle. Not all the streets - just the sidewalks downtown. They're mixed with these little glittery chips that reflect the light and so they look all sparkly and twinkly. What a simple way to beautify concrete.
What do I not like about being here? Well...I'll spare you for today and talk about that some other time. For now, I'll walk down a glittering path to the glittering bay.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
The revenge of the toilet-paper snatchers
Eight years ago, my father was posted to a country in East Africa, renowned for its natural beauty and relative political stability.
Although I was living in the 'heart of darkness', there was little to engage and mystify me in the 'dark continent' - people are just people anywhere in the world. Except for one odd couple who visited us during our stay.
Hailing from good ol' England, this couple was as English as you can get. The woman, a quintessential horsey Brit, looked strikingly similar to her Majesty the Queen (to whom she was distantly related), while the husband looked like any typical artistocratic fop, with his ruddy cheeks, limp brown hair and slightly cock-eyed, inebriated look. What with their royal lineage and Oxbridge education, you would hardly expect them to be anything other than the perfect (if ever so slightly condescending) guests.
Alas, it was not to be. Although the couple were perfectly charming during dinner and tea, they were hiding from us a dirty secret, which we would have never known had it not been for our Sri Lankan maid, Darshani, who was put in charge of cleaning their room. Darshani, I must add, was the very antithesis of our guests - she was loud, her English was a thing of her own invention, and she was undiplomatic to the core. She was pretty much the queen of faux-pas.
The first faux-pas occured while we were all sitting around the living room after dinner on the second night of their stay, sipping on coffee and liqueur like perfectly civilized people. Darshani strode in to clear the cups, her silver anklets tinkling noisily.
"Oh Dur-shi-nie", the horsey woman spoke up, "Could we have another roll of toilet paper in our bathroom?"
"But I am putting already!" Darshani exclaimed, adding "You are already using?". The woman's thin crimson lips twitched uncomfortably, and my mother quickly intervened, instructing Darshani to add another roll of toilet paper immediately. Darshani turned away, muttering something we could not comprehend.
The next afternoon, our lovable lady drew Darshani aside and asked for another roll of toilet paper. Darshani knew better than to say anything to her, although she couldn't resist mentioning this to my mother, who was surprised by her friend's request. "Another one!?" she asked rhetorically, then worrying that their stomachs were upset. "Maybe the spices in my food irritated their bowels", she mused disconsolately, deciding to cook something blander for the evening.
My mother needn't have worried - no one could have conceivably consumed as much toilet paper as they did over the 8 days of their stay with us. We calculated that they must have used about one and a half rolls every day. And my mom's food ain't that spicy. Poor Darshani struggled to contain herself.
When they finally left, we all wandered into their room in curiosity, trying to figure out where all that toilet paper went. Had they been creating some massive papier-mache sculpture to surprise us with? Were they trying to wall-paper the room?
The room bore few answers, as did the bin. Indeed, when the trash was taken out, there was no trace even of those cardboard rollers on which the toilet paper is hung!
The case of the toilet-paper snatchers has remained intriguing and unsolved. We have tried, over the past years, to figure out what happened. How on earth could someone consume so much toilet-paper? Where did it go? What was it used for? The only thing we can come up with is that maybe they just really (and I mean REALLY) liked the quality of the paper. If only we had paid more attention to the shape of their bags when they were leaving, looking out for certain cylindrical shapes or curious grooves. As of now, I don't know what happened....its an enduring mystery.
What do you think?*
* [the most creative answer will get special mention on my blog, apart from satisfying my curiosity].
Eight years ago, my father was posted to a country in East Africa, renowned for its natural beauty and relative political stability.Although I was living in the 'heart of darkness', there was little to engage and mystify me in the 'dark continent' - people are just people anywhere in the world. Except for one odd couple who visited us during our stay.
Hailing from good ol' England, this couple was as English as you can get. The woman, a quintessential horsey Brit, looked strikingly similar to her Majesty the Queen (to whom she was distantly related), while the husband looked like any typical artistocratic fop, with his ruddy cheeks, limp brown hair and slightly cock-eyed, inebriated look. What with their royal lineage and Oxbridge education, you would hardly expect them to be anything other than the perfect (if ever so slightly condescending) guests.
Alas, it was not to be. Although the couple were perfectly charming during dinner and tea, they were hiding from us a dirty secret, which we would have never known had it not been for our Sri Lankan maid, Darshani, who was put in charge of cleaning their room. Darshani, I must add, was the very antithesis of our guests - she was loud, her English was a thing of her own invention, and she was undiplomatic to the core. She was pretty much the queen of faux-pas.
The first faux-pas occured while we were all sitting around the living room after dinner on the second night of their stay, sipping on coffee and liqueur like perfectly civilized people. Darshani strode in to clear the cups, her silver anklets tinkling noisily.
"Oh Dur-shi-nie", the horsey woman spoke up, "Could we have another roll of toilet paper in our bathroom?"
"But I am putting already!" Darshani exclaimed, adding "You are already using?". The woman's thin crimson lips twitched uncomfortably, and my mother quickly intervened, instructing Darshani to add another roll of toilet paper immediately. Darshani turned away, muttering something we could not comprehend.
The next afternoon, our lovable lady drew Darshani aside and asked for another roll of toilet paper. Darshani knew better than to say anything to her, although she couldn't resist mentioning this to my mother, who was surprised by her friend's request. "Another one!?" she asked rhetorically, then worrying that their stomachs were upset. "Maybe the spices in my food irritated their bowels", she mused disconsolately, deciding to cook something blander for the evening.
My mother needn't have worried - no one could have conceivably consumed as much toilet paper as they did over the 8 days of their stay with us. We calculated that they must have used about one and a half rolls every day. And my mom's food ain't that spicy. Poor Darshani struggled to contain herself.
When they finally left, we all wandered into their room in curiosity, trying to figure out where all that toilet paper went. Had they been creating some massive papier-mache sculpture to surprise us with? Were they trying to wall-paper the room?
The room bore few answers, as did the bin. Indeed, when the trash was taken out, there was no trace even of those cardboard rollers on which the toilet paper is hung!
The case of the toilet-paper snatchers has remained intriguing and unsolved. We have tried, over the past years, to figure out what happened. How on earth could someone consume so much toilet-paper? Where did it go? What was it used for? The only thing we can come up with is that maybe they just really (and I mean REALLY) liked the quality of the paper. If only we had paid more attention to the shape of their bags when they were leaving, looking out for certain cylindrical shapes or curious grooves. As of now, I don't know what happened....its an enduring mystery.
What do you think?*
* [the most creative answer will get special mention on my blog, apart from satisfying my curiosity].
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Going to America
Exactly one month from today, I am going to go to the country everyone hates to love (or loves to hate) - The United States of America. Yes, I am going to be one of those Indians.
Over the past couple of years, I have seen many close friends and family (my sister, Kitty Kate) go off to the States, ostensibly to study but really, to start a whole new life there. Before they all left (weirdly enough, they all left the same year, within a few months of each other), I recall one evening when KK (my sister) and a friend (Mr. Prissy Pants) were hanging out in our apartment, talking about what it was that we were looking forward to about the States. All of us came to one unanimous subject - the food.
Now, I know this sounds odd. After all, we all know that American food is hardly of the Cordon bleu variety. When I told Veronica about this, she wrinkled up her pert little nose and said "My country has the shittiest food in the world - everyone knows American food sucks!"
I suppose our fascination with American food comes more from Hollywood than from actual experience. I always wondered, for example, how it would feel to casually eat out of those oh-so-hip Chinese take-out boxes. Hollywood stars always handle their chopsticks with such panache.
The other thing me and my friends ached to do, was to eat one of those "floppy pizzas" (as we termed them). You know the kind - the ones that are so huge and thin that they flop over when you pick them up (think Joey in Friends). And we had to do the bucket-of-ice-cream-in-front-of-the-TV-thing. I love how these svelte, gorgeous women casually open their gigantic freezers and take out a generous bucket of ice-cream (they would never scoop it out, oh no), settle into a couch and eat it with an absent-minded, languorous air (spoon poised tantalizingly mid-air). Sheer heaven (and envy)!
The final thing-to-do on our agenda, was to buy a hot-dog from a hot-dog stand. This was the only thing I didn't do last summer (when I visited my sis). But hey - there's always this summer. Which brings me back to the start. Summer. Ice-cream. Hot-dogs. Floppy pizzas. And its all only a month away.
Exactly one month from today, I am going to go to the country everyone hates to love (or loves to hate) - The United States of America. Yes, I am going to be one of those Indians.
Over the past couple of years, I have seen many close friends and family (my sister, Kitty Kate) go off to the States, ostensibly to study but really, to start a whole new life there. Before they all left (weirdly enough, they all left the same year, within a few months of each other), I recall one evening when KK (my sister) and a friend (Mr. Prissy Pants) were hanging out in our apartment, talking about what it was that we were looking forward to about the States. All of us came to one unanimous subject - the food.
Now, I know this sounds odd. After all, we all know that American food is hardly of the Cordon bleu variety. When I told Veronica about this, she wrinkled up her pert little nose and said "My country has the shittiest food in the world - everyone knows American food sucks!"
I suppose our fascination with American food comes more from Hollywood than from actual experience. I always wondered, for example, how it would feel to casually eat out of those oh-so-hip Chinese take-out boxes. Hollywood stars always handle their chopsticks with such panache.
The other thing me and my friends ached to do, was to eat one of those "floppy pizzas" (as we termed them). You know the kind - the ones that are so huge and thin that they flop over when you pick them up (think Joey in Friends). And we had to do the bucket-of-ice-cream-in-front-of-the-TV-thing. I love how these svelte, gorgeous women casually open their gigantic freezers and take out a generous bucket of ice-cream (they would never scoop it out, oh no), settle into a couch and eat it with an absent-minded, languorous air (spoon poised tantalizingly mid-air). Sheer heaven (and envy)!
The final thing-to-do on our agenda, was to buy a hot-dog from a hot-dog stand. This was the only thing I didn't do last summer (when I visited my sis). But hey - there's always this summer. Which brings me back to the start. Summer. Ice-cream. Hot-dogs. Floppy pizzas. And its all only a month away.
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