Picasso Museum in Barcelona: The Father of Man

New art faces much initial resistance and then is finally accepted. Once accepted, new art becomes great art. Then it spawn imitators, and then it becomes a cliche that makes its way onto posters and coffee mugs. Newer art must come to take its place. That is essentially the motivation of every artist that aspires for greatness. To see the same things in a different and original way. The more interesting question for me has always been: how does it get to being there? Meaning, how does an artist go from an apprentice to a truly great one? How does the unique vision come about? What propels the shift in perspective?

In a sense, after the first few Cubist paintings, the whole idea ceased to be original; it became a genre. There is much to be done in a genre, but the truly original artist creates one. If there is an epitome of a great artist meant then there is none other than Pablo Ruiz Picasso (Peter Schjeldahl wrote that Matisse and Picasso are still tied in overtime for that titleNew Yorker, June 26) Picasso is at once symbolic for art and artists in the 20th century, and also for what baffles people about modernism or abstract art.

My own experience with Picasso's work has run backwards. I first saw some of his masterpieces at the National Art Gallery in Mumbai as part of traveling exhibition hosted by the French government. It was mostly his later work. The next time I saw a Picasso was in Musee Picasso in Paris. This museum that is housed in magnificent mansion in Marais quarter and is the most extensive collection. The paintings were 'acquired' by the French government from the Picasso estate for unpaid taxes. The size and extent of the collection makes one wonder about the actual income if these were just the taxes! This museum contains the most representative of Picasso's paintings and sculptures. Portraits of his mistresses and lovers - Marie-Terese and Dora Maar, the bulls and the guitars.

The Picasso Museum in Barcelona which I last visited is an entirely different story. Of all the museums that I have seen this is perhaps the most accessible. Picasso who was born in 1872, and in his teenage years lived in Barcelona where is father was a teacher at the local art school. Another fact that the guidebooks and other sources never fail to mention is where Picasso lost his virginity to some local prostitute.

The museum was initially created from the personal collected of his sister and contains all his early work up to 1902. After that 1902, Picasso made a final move to France and never returned to Spain. There was no question after Franco assumed power to even visit Spain. Picasso the artist of the Left vowed never to return to Spain till Franco was alive. Unfortunately for Picasso and the rest of Spain, Franco outlived Picasso by two years. Picasso died in 1973. It was Picasso's intention that a musuem should be established in his hometown Barcelona.

Picasso famously remarked that he never drew like a child. "It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child". I sometimes wondered if this was a boast. After visiting the museum, I know that it was not boast. The sketchbooks and paintings show that as teenager Picasso had mastered classical drawing and painting.

It was inevitable that he would quickly tire of the classic forms and move on to something new and different. He had nothing more to learn in terms of draftsmanship, or refine in terms of technique. If it wasn't Cubism, it would have been something else, that change was coming was inevitable.

Just like his contemporary Einstein, Picasso showed his genius early (before 1910) and then spent the rest of the next six decades refining that idea and chasing the idea of what art meant, what it represented, where it should go next. He went from highly stylized, imitative drawing to more basic forms in abstract geometry shapes, and then finally to drawing like a child. A few lines and dabs of color here and there.

The museum humanized Picasso. It shows the progression, the development, the wit, and the promise of great things yet to come. The creation of his later masterpieces - L'Demoiselles D'Avignon, Guernica, didn't just come about from thin air. Picasso the youth drew and sketched obsessively. He had more than 10,000 hours of practice drawing before he moved to Paris.

For all its fame and accessibility the Picasso Museum still come second for the title of the most visited museum in Barcelona. The most visited museum in Barcelona? F.C. Barcelona's museum in Camp Nou.

Yosemite

Some national parks have long waiting lists for camping reservations. When you have to wait a year to sleep next to a tree, something is wrong.
- George Carlin

(This post had been decaying in the drafts folder and I felt that I resuscitate it in memory of last May. My feet are itching for a hike.)

The green, rolling hills around San Francisco give way to the desert scrub of the Sonoran Desert. Then suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, magnificent mountains rise and you are at the edge of Yosemite. Yosemite is the oldest and the most famous of all national parks. Arriving at the edge you climb, and climb to end up at the Big Flat Oak entrance. Your first look at the Yosemite Valley takes you by surprise. The sheer size of monolithic granite walls stuns you. You can stare at all the photographs you want to of the valley, but you get a real sense of scale and appreciation for the grandeur when you are actually there.

The granite of Yosemite is the Mecca for rock climbers. If you are crazy enough, you can scale El Capitan which takes about 2-3 days. A climb during which you not only sleep on a ledge, but also eat and pee suspended thousands of feet above the ground. Climbers from all over the world come and often work for the park during the week so they can indulge in their passion for climbing on the weekend.

Our aims were less lofty, but still intense as we wanted to hike as much as possible and also do Half Dome. We managed to acquire the much-coveted overnight backcountry pass to Little Yosemite Valley. It is almost necessary to escape the Yosemite Valley because it gets overcrowded and resembles a zoo. Going there in the spring was a great idea. This the season when the waterfalls are full from the snow melt. School is still not out, and so the Valley is not yet overrun with visitors. Yet, you can get away if you really wish as most visitors rarely leave the valley and are mostly content looking at the waterfalls and the peaks from afar. John Muir and Ansel Adams would have lived in vain if this was all there was to the park.

Getting a back-country pass gives you a right to camp on the 'secret' backcountry camping ground. This is a rather well-kept secret and even the rangers give you a knowing wink. Set apart from the main Yosemite campgrounds by a footbridge and sheltered under the Three Sisters, it is far enough from the rather annoying trailers and buses. These monstrosities defeat the whole idea of camping and living in the wild. Why come here if you want to watch cable TV?

We settled in, got our rudimentary fire working. For the life of me, to this day, I have not figured out how you can really use two stones to create enough sparks to light a fire. I say this because I tried it in vain before I decided to walk on a paved path (how ironic) to the Yosemite supply store from our campsite. Why? I forgot to get a lighter. Where are the smokers when you need them? We stretched on our sleeping pads, read books, and snoozed.

Later in the evening, wanting to take advantage of the yello light I walked to Mirror Lake and got some wonderful reflections of Mt. Watkins and Half Dome before it started drizzling. Photography is as much about patience as it is about light. You have to wait for the right moment. What would I not give to get a month to live here? Ansel Adams whose photography defines Yosemite spent months on end here. Yet, some of his best photographs were taken when he had only one or two plates left. First you work hard to develop your craft, then you learn patience, so that when the time comes you are ready to seize the correct moment. Digital cameras give people flexibility to correct an exposure or composition instantly and retake the shot, but you still have to wait for the right moment. Some people have the tendency, which I call the 'Monte Carlo method of photography', which is to simply take a whole bunch of pictures without any thought and then hope that you will get a few that will really stick.



Our goal primary goal was to climb Half Dome. After having stared at pictures of the peak for years, now that it was in front of me, I wanted to go and grab it. From a distance the texture of Half Dome resembles elephant skin. Gray, tough to feel with grooves and striations. It's almost like it wasn't a mountain but a giant statue of a large, lumbering mammal that could come to life. A hike to Half Dome is a 17-mile roundtrip, and is done in a day (a long one). Since, we had the backcountry pass, our route was more leisurely (read long). We first went up to Glacier Point by bus and then hiked along the Panorama Trail to reach the Little Yosemite Valley.

The famous vertical face of Half Dome can be seen from most parts of the Valley and is only a few miles away. However, the recommended ascent is from the back which involves a circuitous route ending at the famous Saddle Point. From the Little Valley its only 4-5 miles to Half Dome and we got there early in morning before the crowd from the valley below even made it to the halfway point. To be on Half Dome before it starts resembling a circus and the cables to the ascent becomes a giant human caterpillar is a sheer joy!

Making our way back, we had to pack our tent and sleeping bags and make our way down. This time we would take the most direct route to the valley. If you thought that climbing up was hard with a large backpack, then wait till you have to start climbing down. Unlike people carrying water bottles who can skip their way down the switchbacks, we had to walk like pack animals in a zig-zag fashion, perhaps traversing eventually twice the distance. Nothing gets more attention from a fellow human beings than another fellow human being strapped like an animal. We did get a lot of brownie points for being 'hard-core' when it comes to hiking.


The trails have these rusted metal signpost with the destinations and distances. There is Clouds Rest, other lakes, and also signs for the 211 mile John Muir Trail which begins in the Yosemite Valley and continues to Mt. Whitney. It gets a lot hard-core than our baby steps. Someday, when I have three weeks to spare I will get on it too. But, these are passing thoughts. The more pressing thoughts are of food. At the end of the hike, we were dead tired and ready to eat a horse. There is only so much baked beans and Ramen can do for you.

We had no strength to even get on the bus that took us back to where our car was parked and where the restaurant was located. In the food-court we were probably the dirtiest pair. We had spent the last 3 days in the wild and we looked like it. As we ate we could see the sun setting and the glorious water from the Yosemite Falls gushing down.

Yosemite Photo Album

Half Dome

View of Half Dome from Glacier Point. At some point, I will process the rest of the images from Yosemite.

Agony is the Mother of Invention

This might sound familiar to all those, like me, who have to travel monkey-class on planes. There is waiting and more waiting. Waiting to get in the plane, waiting to get out of the plane, waiting to get your measly half-cup of orange juice. The worst undoubtedly is waiting for access to the toilet.
For the ten rows of business class, 6*2=12 people there were two toilets. The other two, at the back of the plane was shared by 30*6=180. One can make a fair assumption that the micturation needs of both classes are same, unless they are serving something very different up there (I have never had the opportunity to find out). Given this skewed ratio, the lines are much longer in monkey class.
Can this process be made more effective? These are areas, according to me, where market economics are not applied enough. Now even airline peanuts are not free. If every extra convenience is charged - like extra baggage, or meals on planes - they should also introduce an option to pay $10 extra to have a FAST PASS to the bathroom which gives you the right to skip over every other person in line who does not hold a similar FAST PASS. The airlines will not only make money this way, but will also save some as the really risk-averse and cheap will not drink anything and take the chance on dehydration than suffer the agony of waiting in line.

Till that is implemented a work around is to go is right after they have served drinks, when the lines are short or non-existent. If you wait for about half an hour, then you might have to really exercise some more self-control and wait even longer.

Shelter from the Storm

I've heard newborn babies wailin' like a mournin' dove
And old men with broken teeth stranded without love.
Do I understand your question, man, is it hopeless and forlorn?
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm."

- Bob Dylan

I was without internet access for most of the time that I have been in France. I am used being online constantly and have to urge this battle against the impulse to respond to every new email instantly. While rambling around Paris was rather exhausting, I must say that I was quite up to the task of spending a few more minutes online. For the first time, I had not left anything behind and yet I had this feeling that I had left something behind. I had, it was - free, constant and relentless access to the internet.

It wasn't that people would give me up for dead if I did not respond, but puzzling question of 'How would I find information that I needed and did not have?' Four, five days later and it strangely after a few days it does not matter as much. I had this idea that I would sit in some cafe in Paris and post my dispatch for the day.

A Taste of a Feast

More importantly, personally of course, is the fact that I have been in Paris since last Saturday. As recuperation from the day's mad rambles I have been reading Hemingway's A Moveable Feast - his memoir of Paris in the 20s, or more correctly, of his account of 1920s Paris as a young and struggling writer.

Before getting to France, I felt I needed to 'prepare' for the trip. (It is France after all.) 'Prepare', in my book, is defined as - to read as much as possible on the subject. I was intrigued by the fact that a memoir about an age in Paris long gone is still referenced in almost every general book or guide on Paris.

The books begins with a quote from a letter that Hemingway wrote to a friend:

If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.

That was arresting enough. Yet, I could not read it before I left since I had to do the stuff that pays the rent and which defrays the cost of getting to France. In retrospect it was infinitely better not to have read it before.

I am trying to figure out why this book appeals and enthralls me so much. Much of it appeal lies perhaps in the fact that the book is a sort of a mirror. Like Hemingway, I find myself in Paris, in my 20s, recently married, with wife, and with a rather thin wallet (done thinner by the weak greenback). When Hemingway writes that on a hungry stomach he appreciated the paintings in Luxembourg museum better, I not only understand it but also know it. Then there are times when the taste and sheer delight of my meal and the wine of the afternoon come alive as I read an account of his meal years ago.

The book is a wonderful dessert at the end of a marvelous feast that is Paris. It is one of the few books that one is lucky to have read at the right age, place and time.
What I have right now is simply a taste of Paris. On Paris, later. For now, I realise it's really important to first savor the taste.

Amsterdam

Well-known for its poke and toke tourists, Van Gogh and bikes. Amsterdam is the only major city in Europe not to have a major landmark. This is because the self-effacing Dutch believe not in ostentation but in practicality. The celebrated liberal attitudes of city are a result of the apathetic nature of the Dutch.

Two Poems by Wislawa Szymborska

On the lit blog:
Monologue Of A Dog by Wislawa Szymborska

In Search of the Deep Dish Pizza

Last night, my dear friend Javed arrived in Chicago, the heart of the "land of milk and honey". The Windy City, the hog-butcher of the world and the city of big shoulders is also the home of the deep-dish pizza. New Yorkers might think that their thin crust pizzas are rather elegant and stylish, but they look rather malnourished when placed next to their muscled Midwest cousins. So early in morning, skipping breakfast we drove deep into downtown in search of the deep-dish.

Since it was Javed's first day, the focus of the conversation was 'here vs. there'. It brought back memories of my own first few weeks in America and how comical 'Coming to America' can be. Like most of us he was well-stocked with:
a)bags filled with food and,
b)armed with some hilarious advice and suggestions from friends and relatives.

If all of us pool the various suggestions given to us we could write a book - A Beginner's Guide To Living, Studying and Working in America. The most confident and definitive advice is given by people, umm... who have never been here! When you confront them with it they defend it by saying that they learned it from someone who has. Since, these first-hand accounts were obtained from a close family friend or a relative you shouldn't have any doubts about their authenticity. (Miraculously, the gospel truth survives each retelling.) Also quite surprisingly, much of the advice given by people who have been here or lived here for years has proved to be even more useless. It does not matter if you are a motel clerk, or did not ever leave your university campus, or even if you got the "US-returned" stamp on a mere technicality (because you spent 2 hours in transit at JFK airport): the stamp makes you an expert on everything that has to do with America. The reputation of this expertise has somewhat suffered lately due to the profusion of 'experts' in India and has exposed its rather dubious nature, but even now an audience for a US-returned XYZ can be summoned quite instantly. I am always eager for information and I had lapped up all versions by first-hand and second-hand experts. I must atleast give these stories some credit for making my actual American experiences more engaging and vivid. In fact, I spend a lot of time seeking to confirm or disconfirm the various theories.

In addition, each person has his own personal idea of America. The skeptical quite naturally shy away from the Hollywood version but often cling to either the 'America: The Big Bully' version or a 'America: the Land of Freedom and Opportunity' version. Of course, there is some truth to the various versions but these truths are rather partial ones. People believe what they want to believe. Then you get here and face the reality of America. Nothing quite prepares you for that. At the same time, there is no such thing as the 'real thing' because we perceive the same thing so differently because each one of us has a different lens.

People deal with the reality in different ways: some rush headlong into America and consider it some wild adventure; then there are others who are in perpetual state-of-denial and are constantly trying to re-create or carve out an India within America. No one is disappointed, but then no-one is completely satisfied. You may get what you were looking for but might also end up with extras that you did not bargain for and that causes a shift in perception.

We walked block after block to find nothing open. Hunting for the traditional Chicago dish on Easter Sunday is not the greatest of ideas. The only food places that were open for business were the chain restaurants. Who drives 5 hours to Chicago to eat at a MacDonald's? The good Italian-Americans were in church repenting for their sins and we were out on the cold, windy streets paying for ours. It would have been some story if we had persisted walking for another couple of hours in our quest and then finally, found one place open before we starved to death. But, that's not how it turned out. We found a Panera and its lovely sandwiches were rather enticing and we walked in. Another day, another observation. On some days you might end up driving 5 hours to Chicago to eat at a chain. Reality is like shit. It happens!

China Blog III - Beijing

Since I am one of those travellers who are suckers for authenticity, I was glad to get away from Shanghai and its stifling syntheticness. For example: there was a bar in Shanghai which was recreated to be exactly like an open-air bar in New Orleans. My friends could not believe they were in Shanghai, if it were not for the Chinese waiters. Almost all the clients in the bar were expats with 'escorts' in tow (see previous). In search of a fast buck, Shanghai seems to have sold its soul. Despite the pipe dreams which appear in the Indian media, Bombay is still far from becoming a Shanghai, but it does come close in terms of attitude - "knowing how to grab an opportunity". Beijing offered a taste of real China, but at times felt too officious. It is not surprising that the two cities don't get along. I heard stories of politicians and bureaucrats coming down from Beijing and buying out, or making offers that successful businessmen in Shanghai could not refuse. That has not helped relations between the two cities.

You cannot go to India and not see the Taj Mahal and you cannot go to China and not see the Great Wall.
Great Wall is not great anymore in the sense, that a majority of the Great Wall is in ruins. Except for a few restored stretches, the rest of the wall is highly dangerous and you won't be able to go traipsing too far beyond the posted signs. But, the few restored parts of the wall are about 3-6 miles long and are long enough to ensure that before you depart the grandeur of what-the-Wall-might-have-been is well appreciated. Walking on the wall is no walk in the park. The gradient is often quite steep and even a robust guy like me was soon huffing and puffing up the stone steps. The snaking view of Great Wall has a hypnotic quality of which you will never tire. You can stop at any point on the wall and not fail to get a picture-postcard view in some direction.

If the singularity of the Great Wall is hypnotic then the variety of Tiananmen Square is endlessly fascinating. The Square was the reason I came to Beijing. As you stand in the middle of the massive square, in one direction you see the portrait of 'Big Brother' - Chairman Mao on Tiananmen Gate. In the other direction you look over to his tomb where his preserved body is on display to throngs of people who reverently buy flowers to place on his grave. (These flowers are promptly recycled by attendants to be sold to another batch!) The Square offers a spectrum of characters - soldiers who won't even flinch, beggars, trash pickers deeply interested in your empty water bottles, the usual hawkers of Rolex watches and postcards, art students wanting to practise their English and sell you their paintings, kite flyers, policemen who ask people like me not to take pictures of beggars and the riff-raff and more. Mao's tomb is not open all the time and entry is regulated by batches and you cannot linger much to gawk at his body. Quite ironically, the tour ends in a souvenir shop at the back where every effort is made to sell a piece of Chairman Mao. But, Mao is still far from being commodified like a Che poster. Whether he is revered or feared it was hard to tell. Most Chinese, like our driver, are uncomfortable about discussing Mao, his legacy and the legitimacy of his ideas. It is surprising, how even I could feel him in the air, especially around Tiananmen. And he has been dead for decades.



Biking in Beijing
Today, increased affluence among the Chinese has created an increased preference for cars, so Beijing no longer conforms to the image of hundreds of blue-shirted people on bicycles. Still, it is the most biker-friendly city I have seen and every bicycle I saw in China was fitted with a small basket. It is not hard to see why. People commute extensively by bike. I saw people in suits & nice dress-clothes peacefully peddling to work. Ironic as it may sound, there are very few bike rental places.

Acrobats and Dancing in the Streets: After seeing the fantastic Beijing acrobats in Tangqiao district, I knew that every other acrobat show I will ever see was going to be disappointing. This girl is unbelievable, isn't she? After seeing the most incredible acrobatic feats, we stepped outside to hear music in the Tanqiao square where hundreds of people were dancing to music being piped out of speakers. It wasn't a marriage, or some festival, or a religious occasion. I didn't see the most graceful steps, or much sense to the moves, but clearly there was great joy in these people as they danced for dance's sake. Not in my wildest dreams could I imagine seeing such a sight anywhere and I was really moved.

Epilogue
Despite language problems the Chinese are a really friendly and welcoming lot. Parts of the country, like ours, have benefitted from the opening of doors; in other parts there are reports of revolts among farmers and labour unrest. The fanatic pace of progress is coming at a price which future Chinese will have to pay. Thanks to the
Olympics China is cleaning up its Human Rights Record and also the quality of its public toilets. China is the third largest importer of steel, the largest importer of scrap metal and the world's graveyard for obsolete electronic parts at cost of increasing neglect of the environment. According to Jared Diamond, India and China attempting to reach First World standards of living is simply not ecologically sustainable. All the world's resources will not be able to meet the ecological footprints of 2+ billion people living at consumption levels of the West. Hopefully, the East will find better alternatives to the West.

And yes, internet access to sites is limited. It is true that democracy pages don't load on browsers. (See
The Great Firewall of China). While I was in China, I could not log on to my blogger account.

Pictures of Beijing I and II

China Blog II - Sex in the City

There are some sights and attractions your Lonely Planet guide will not mention. My reason why they don't - they are so obvious that they don't need to be pointed out.

One thing you cannot but notice in Shanghai is the ubiquitous PDA (Public Display of Affection). At all times of the day, in the most crowded of places I saw couples making out. While small children were flying kites, their older siblings were locked in loving embraces from which it seemed they would never emerge. Nothing to suggest that China is still a prudish country when it comes to matters of sex. A theory is that China is so overpopulated that people don't have private areas to make out and hence it has become culturally acceptable to make out in public. If this theory is true then recent political moves in India seem rather contrary. In the Sexual Freedom Dept. India is surely falling behind.

Another unmistakable sign in Shanghai is the amount of white/foreign men walking around with really pretty well-dressed Chinese women. Whether these were 'escorts' or regular, Chinese women looking for some fun (as this Time story suggests) it was hard to tell. At more than one place we were offered 'services' and from the boldness and the frankness of the 'agents' you could tell that such offers were fairly commonplace and were generally accepted by foreigners.

Like Starbucks dots every third block in any major American city, KTV or karaoke bars dot the urban landscape in China. Regular karoke is fun - most people are soon drunk on the Tsingtao beer, are singing off-key; others slightly less musically challenged think they are on stage in front of cheering millions. For those wanting a little more adventure, in most places you can hire singing companions endowed with talents other than just of song.

As we would soon find out, this is not always all fun and games. On the Shanghai-Beijing sleeper we were sharing the cabin with a Chinese couple with an irresistibly cute 3 yr old son. Since they spoke a little English, we could have a meaningful conversation. Soon the cultural exchange took a turn we least expected. The women opened up in a way we were not prepared. The purpose of the trip she told us was to get them away from Shanghai, a city she hated. She was her husband's second wife and they were no longer in love. The husband had been philandering with a KTV singer. He often took 'business' trips with his mistress, which the wife found out about and it did not go down too well with her. Naturally, she wanted to leave him but his parents had recently begged her to work things out. So they were taking this trip to get away from the evil charms of his mistress and spend some time together to work things out. While the wife opened her heart out to complete strangers of an all-too-familiar story, the husband had the strange calm of a man condemned for a crime he did commit.

Love, sex, prostitution and marital infidelity are all universal themes but the pace at which they hit us could only happen in China. China seems to have embraced the idea of the West far more quickly and with more enthusiasm than even the West itself.

China Blog I - Shanghai Surprise

I had promised long ago and I now seek refuge in the statement 'better late than never' - the posts on my China trip have finally been written.

Before I begin...
These are accounts of the 10 days that I spent in Shanghai and Beijing. China, like India is in the process of redefining itself and I could feel that nervous energy pulsating in the two cities that I visited. Of course, I wanted to know what makes China click and what can India do better? Is India with its completely beat-up but still functional democratic system still more likely to succeed than communist-capitalistic China in the long run? It was quite a trip. Despite my best intentions, I could not investigate human-rights violations, Chinese nuclear capabilities, repression of democracy, or Chinese Olympic training methods. Tongue in cheek, I mean that with a limited number of observations you cannot extrapolate a great deal. Like any first time traveller, I was extremely curious about the big questions and desperately seeked their answers. Reality, however does not pan out that way. What follows are my few observations, first impressions and speculative explanations for what I saw, so bear with me...

Surprisingly, after spending about 30+ hours in a plane flying in the wrong direction(courtesy: Air India for not rebooking my flight) from India to China - I faced no jet-lag. My theory is that by the time I landed at Pudong International Airport, my biological clock was so confused after being in Pune-Mumbai-Frankfurt-Ann Arbor-Tokyo-Shanghai in less than 40 hours, that it decided to completely give up. There were no troubles after that!
Pudong or New Shanghai, built across the Huangpu River, felt like some sort of urban fantasy-land. Skyscraper after skyscraper, broad but empty roads, spanking new facilities and housing projects. Needless to say that it was spanking clean. I know from years of living in India that views from the airport are often misleading. I half-expected, that apart from a few superficial differences, China would be very much like India, except it would be full of Chinese faces. There were a few surprises and my conclusion at the end of the trip was that China is like India's big brother. Everything in China was a few notches higher than everything that we have back home. A few notches more people, a few notches better transport, a few notches better pollution control and a few notches better planning and development.

Shanghai has had quite a chequered history. Pudong might have been marshy land less than 10 years ago and might have sprung up from nowhere, but Shanghai has always been around. It has been an international city since the early part of this century. For a number of years in the 1930s the city was home to the largest population of Europeans in Asia. There were more than a handful newspapers in European languages and people still remember some streets with their French and English names. Shanghaians are not only known for their tightfistedness and financial acumen, but also for being torchbearers for China. The Communist party was founded here and now, Shanghai is once again the epicentre for another kind of revolution that is sweeping China. The commercial and enterprising spirit of the city that was bottled-up for years has now been released. Given a second chance the city shows no signs of looking back. If you ask a Shanghaian where he wants to go, he will say, "Up!", and if you asked any other Chinese, he will say, "I want to go to Shanghai!".

Due to the conference(this was the 'supposed' purpose of the trip), we were booked at the magnificent Pudong Shangri-La Hotel. It really lived up to its name. My friend, Greg remarked looking at the toothpicks frosted with green mint at the ends, "Is there anything that they don't class up in this place?". It felt like the hotel depicted in the movie - Lost in Translation complete with a singer accompanied by a pianist in the main foyer in the evenings. Travelling with a bunch of Americans also makes travel abroad more interesting. They had quite a few culture shocks! The best among them was having to piss in what they called '... literally a hole in the ground'. It's time they knew how the rest of the world goes about its business. What surprised them the most was the amount of service personnel. There was 6' tall girl in a red dress with black stockings whose only job was to smile profusely and guide people to one of the six automatic elevators, that's it! I was not even about to tell them about how 3 people are needed to operate an automatic coffee machine in India. America welcome to the land of billionaires!

After two days, I was ready to leave the rarefied, synthetic atmosphere of the Shangri-La. So began the explorations with nothing but a printed card with directions in English and Chinese to places in Shanghai. If you are fussy about food, you won't get much of a chance in China. In most places, the menus are in Chinese and so it is a real blind test - you simply go 'eenny-minny-moe'. I really don't know what I ate, but I ordered hot-spicy 'Sichuan' stuff and I was happy. Till the buffet I was not aware that there are so many kinds of meat and so many ways to cook them.

The first question that may occur to most after a couple of days is: Why do the Chinese smile so much?. There are a few explanations. One, is that they are really friendly. Two, they have been 'ordered' by the government to do so. Three, smiling is generally a good substitute for not being able to speak any English. The most frustrating part of the trip was trying to conduct a simple conversation. I have yet to meet a rude Chinese; you could sense that they had a lot to say and would like to know a lot too, but in most cases I was reduced to the most rudimentary kind of sign language. In China, if you don't get a translator or speak Chinese be prepared for a lot of games of Pictionary and Dumb-Charades! I hate when I travel to a wonderful, new place and cannot conduct a meaningful conversation with people, except make really pathetic Mandarin sounds from my Pinyin phrasebook. All they did was smile and behave in an extremely friendly way, while drowning me in a barrage of Chinese.

Ingrid Newkirk has not been to to the Bird and Fish Market in Shanghai, because if she does she will instantly die of brain haemorrhage. All kinds of small animals were on sale - cricket, parrots, turtles and simply not as pets! In some countries humans have such few rights, what to say of the animals?. Curious onlookers stared at us as we walked about in the market. Then goaded by the excited audience, we participated in the local sport. Tim and I bought a pair of fierce fighting crickets and fought them. After a few bouts, we returned them to the astounded salesman and wife(pic on link below). Perhaps, we should have kept them and set them free. .

Being able to bargain is an absolutely essential skill for shopping. These guys were ridiculous with their prices! I felt completely at home: I simply knocked off the first digit of the price they quoted, they laughed, then I walked away, then they called me back, I came back looking hurt, the quoted new price, I said nothing looked dejected, then 'last price', more haggling, the the deal is sealed. The usual charade. By the end of the trip all my American friends acknowledged the potency of Gujju genes when it comes to bargaining! At one shop, I was actually banned from making the deals for them! I managed to avoid the charms of the tenacious 'Rolex' salesmen, but succumbed to the temptation of buying a whole lot of DVDs for 1$ after bargaining on a calculator. How can you not buy an entire box set of Stanley Kubrick for 15$?

Pictures from Shanghai

Mr. Parikh goes to Washington

I am now in the nation's capital Washington D.C., home to a certain George W. Bush and his pets. As my labmate John informs me, also the city that 8 years ago re-elected a cocaine addict as a mayor (after he was convicted).
I am here for Neuroscience 2005 the biggest annual conference on the Brain.
The Society for Neuroscience that organises the conference chose to invite the Dalai Lama as the keynote speaker. An odd choice but a good one. Those who went for the lecture were struck by his charisma. You could immediately feel that you were in presence of a person who is at ease with himself and the world. He seems rather open to science and wasn't the least bit dogmatic. He subtly hinted at a paradigm shift. I largely agree with what he said but he really hit the nail on the head with this sentence -

"I believe we want happiness, and the way to transform society is through education and by boosting among individuals, families and communities some of the useful emotions such as compassion or forgiveness."

Then he mentioned (what did not get reported in 90% of the papers) that humans can do without religion but not without affection. I was convinced that humans needed either love, money or respect, but upon closer examination I think he is right. The more I think of the word 'affection' and its meaning the more apt it seems to me. What a lovely word - affection. Imagine going up and saying to somebody and saying, "I don't want your love, money or your respect; what I really want is your affection." How true, isn't it?

For more on the Dalai Lama at SFN see: NDTV Story and from the Washington Post.
* * *
Other than that it has been hard-core science most of the time. Most conferences have their share of the schoomzers and snoozers and I would like to stay away from both. My labmate and I were talking about the possibility of a bomb explosion in the Convention Center. What would it mean? At a big meeting like this you would loose 75% of the world's top neuroscientists and it would be huge setback for science. Tim argued that a terrorist might want to do that to strike at the heart of progress and destroy the intellectual wealth of a society. It sure seems like a smart idea but terrorists aren't that smart to begin with, right? Also, the impact factor (intentional pun) would be quite small. Who cares about a bunch of scientists being blown to bits?
* * *
Went to a seminar on How to get published in Nature. That is really wishful thinking. I have made a pledge that if I ever got published in Nature, I would retire. It also interesting to know that Nature has got on the latest pop-technology bandwagon: a) they have a blog and
b) a podcast. There is something new and unusual to learn everyday.

New England Journal of Travel, Vol. 4

New England Journal of Travel, Vol. 4 - Saturday

It seemed liked the same grandparents, parents and toddlers in tow frolicking in Boston Commons the day before, had climbed on the New Haven - New York train that morning. This time, I did not have the most original travel plans. New Haven, home of the famous Yale University, was nothing much to speak of, except for the fact that it was the first place in the US after Chicago, that I saw a train station with more than one platform. Soon after we left I was gently rocked to sleep. When I woke up, I was in Harlem. Soon after that we went underground and I felt I was in the opening scene of In America. We arrived at the Grand Central Station and walked upto the crowded (nothing like V.T. or Churchgate) Great Hall. The US flag hung down, looking out of place with the figures and stars painted in gold on the immense green dome. It wanted to assert 'America - the Land of the Free, the Home of Brave'. For me, it epitomized the psyche of New York and country as a whole; the fear has subsided but not quite gone. The WTC site which went later, was still a mass of rubble but is treated like some shrine. The Americans had quite a reverential attitude appearing as if they were walking in some church. Contrastingly, foreigners gawked and took photographs, the fence and the rubble beyond it a famous background. They treated it one more stop on a cliched itinerary of the Statue of Liberty, Wall Street and Times Square.

Yesterday Boston was mrely comparable to Pune in some respects, New York was not comparable to Bombay but IT WAS Bombay. Not because they are both on a bunch of islands, or financial centres, or their countries most preeminent cities, or founded by European colonizers (Dutch, Portuguese resp.), or the tall buildings. It had the same vitality, vibrancy and always people trying to make it. Just outside the Staten Island Ferry pier, a Hispanic was swiftly selling pirated DVDs, 5$ a piece all spread on cloth. Though he was dwarfed by the skyscraper a hundred feet away, you could sense that each time he made a sale and money changed hands, he climbed up one step. One step of an imaginary skyscraper. The city is full of them, full of climbers from Latin America, Asia, Eastern Europe and Africa. Almost every subway-station newspaper stand was being run by Gujarati Patels. In a few years, it might not feel like Bombay, it might just become Bombay!
To me it seemed quite poignant that right across the place where George Washington first took the oath stands the NYSE. In God we Trust and Mammon we believe. Everywhere they were tourists and more cameras. Where were the New Yorkers among all these migrants, vendors and tourists? Maybe they did not have time for all this. It reminds me of a joke,
How do you define a New Yorker?
- Someone who has not been up the Statue of Liberty.

Seeing the sights of New York is to see nothing. Being my first time in New York , I like everybody else was checking off the locations like it was a shopping list. It useless everyone has seen New York of the attractions. I realised that to see the real New York you have to step underground and take the subway. That's where New York lives. Hear the musicians strum guitars for a few bucks. Hear evangelists talk about Christ the savior. Read, sleep.
We walked into a compartment and it was stinking. There was man huddled up, asleep (or dead?) on a seat.'Let's move to the next one', a man told us. After we reached the next compartment he said, 'I feel bad for that guy, but ...', he shrugged and started reading. A little later, a man with a bandage on his arm stepped in and made a impassioned speech,
'Excuse me, I have just been released from hospital diagnosed with AIDS. I have no food and no money, if any of you kind people could spare some ... '. He twitched continued and then stopped, looked for some sympathetic listeners. 'Thank you and may God bless you!', with that benediction he moved to the next compartment. The train tumbled along and I took photographs. From Wall Street, we went to Times Square. As I walked out through the turnstile, a woman caught my arm and asked me swipe my subway day-pass, so that she could get a free ride. In a landing, I saw lots of people taking photographs of a statue. As we walked closer we realised that this was ballerina painted white all over standing motionless in a pose. After a few minutes she bowed, the crowd cheered and dropped money in the hat in front of her.

I walked around Times Square, bought T-shirts made in El Salvador with 'New York' and 'I love New York' written on them from a Bangladeshi salesman who was operating in the front of a souvenir shop owned by a Chinese couple. A few weeks later, my brother would be wearing one of them and travelling the local trains of Mumbai. What a wonderful world.

Epilogue

The next day was as boring as boring can be. It was all driving through an endless Pennsylvania. We hit more rain and worse traffic backups. My travelling companion, Sumedha who started the trip nervous of the high speeds, who had to be reminded to switch on the headlights and not forget to buckle up had transformed into a seasoned veteran of the Interstate. Why so? She drove half of an arduous journey back to Ann Arbor and was not afraid to honk. A honk which is like a friendly greeting to others in Pune, is an extreme step from an American driving etiquette perspective. When she honked the third time, I knew she had arrived.


Photographs from the Trip

New England Journal of Travel, Vol. 3

New England Journal of Travel, Vol. 3 - Friday

I love Boston. It has an old-world feel about it, some say a European one. Can't comment on that since I have not been to Europe. It sure is quite different from any other place in America. It also feels very close to my home-town Pune in some respects. It shares the narrow streets in the city-centre and has totally crazy drivers and nasty traffic jams. Traffic jams as opposed to traffic snarls elsewhere. Perhaps one of the few cities that can truly claim be 'historic'. In America, any town that is pre-World War is classified as 'historic'. Boston like Pune is a University Town. Also, like Mumbai and Pune separated by a few hours, Boston has its evil neighbour- New York. The 'Culture' of the smaller, older city versus the 'Financial Might' of the bigger, brasher city. The uppity Boston Brahmins though not in the league of our Sadashiv Peth Konkanasthas, do maintain a feeling of cultural superiority to the rest of America. The attitude has not been better put than this little ditty.

I come from good old Boston,
The home of the bean and the cod,
Where Cabots speak only to Lowells,
And the Lowells speak only to God.
- Samuel Clarke Bushnell

As we drove into the city through the now almost completed white elephant of all road projects the Big Dig, I asked my cousin, Vivek about the famous Cape Cod area.
'It's quite a boring place and nothing remarkable. It's the type of people that hang out there that have made it famous AND thus expensive.'
Cape Cod - An expensive-but not-so-scenic-as-you-would-expect vacation spot. Hah!

It has been a big year for Boston. The Boston Red Sox beat the Yankees and also ended the most famous curse of sport. If you want a display of sport fundamentalism then you need to come to Boston in October. It's Red everywhere and more people watched the games than the Democratic National Convention which was also held in Boston. 2004 will remembered more for that than the failed Kerry-Edwards campaign.
At the JFK Memorial library on the waterfront I had a feeling of deja vu. It took some time to realise that, the architect, I.M. Pei seems to have reprised the idea for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland. The same imposing glass atrium on the waterfront supported by tall white pillars. Losing not the view and the light.
Light is everything, when it comes to taking good photographs and this time the elements cooperated and I managed to get some great shots of the Christian Science Centre, coincidentally another Pei structure but very different. A nasty wind kicked up later and threated to frost bite my fingers. Right before the Holocaust Memorial, my batteries decided to conk out which actually saved them. The Holocaust Memorial is simple but very powerful conceptually. A sequence of pillars made of glass panels with only numbers etched in white. Numbers that were once tatooed onto arms and smoke steaming up from the grate below. Powerful imagery.

Despite the cold weather, I was quite ironically buying a Red Sox baseball cap when I should have bought some ear-muffs. The whole city was out in the city's park - The Boston Commons (like most things in Boston much much smaller than you would expect), grandparents, parents and toddlers in tow. We survived a homicial taxi-driver overtaking which would give the best 6-seater rickshawalla in Pune a run for his money. An incident which strangely made me feel more at home.

View of the Big Dig bridge and the Christian Science Centre

New England Journal of Travel, Vol. 2

New England Journal of Travel, Vol. 2 - Thursday

After the crazy drive, I found myself pretty dead for the next day till about 11 am. Often, I have tried (especially on a Saturday) to try and stay in bed till noon. I have rarely succeeded. Somehow by 11 am I am up, regardless of how late I slept.
I got up and played with my 4-year old nephew. By 1 pm, I realised that there is something distinctly immoral about lounging about in my PJs so late in the day. I showered and changed into fresh clothes. Glancing into the mirror I saw, that I already had a stubble. Guys would share my irritation in having to shave AFTER having had a bath AND getting dressed! Humph! I have learned it the hard way - Never try to shave while wearing a shirt. As I castigated myself and applied generou amounts of foam to get ready for pogonotomy, my 4 year old nephew who I had abandoned a while ago walked in. He saw the foam told me that he wanted to shave too. I looked at him and laughed at his temerity. I brandished my Gilette MACH 3 razor at him in a effort to scare him off. It was in vain he reached over the sink and groped for what had looked to me like a can of cream with Disney characters. It was actually a can of shaving cream. Then he brought out a little shaving brush and a plastic toy razor (with no blade)! Toys seem to have come a long way in the past two decades!
Most part of the evening was spent in a vociferous debate over how the furniture should be arranged in the living room. Some wanted a cosier feel, others did not want to make the room look small. After two vigorous hours of debating and opinons being recorded on the camcorder an accord was reached. My vote for removing the chair was defeated.
The debate made everyone really hungry and everyone attacked the food. You can go to any restaurant you want, but no one can ever serve food that tastes like home(anybody's home). After having severely over eaten I settled to watch Choker Bali, but not before my nephew, Sohum had had his daily Diwali celebration of sparklers in the porch.

My Impressionistic view

New England Journal of Travel, Vol. 1

New England Journal of Travel, Vol. 1 - Wednesday

Yes, I was part of that mob, that throng, that mad melee bent on murder, on the Day Before Thanksgiving. I was one of the 38 million Americans that set out on foot, boat, plane and car to meet friends, family and partake some turkey and apple-pie. I attempted to drive in one evening from Cleveland to sleepy Glastonbury in CT across OH, PA and NY. Not a bad drive otherwise, but contending with a thousand others with the same opinion on the same day, did not turn out to be so much fun. It really became crowded when the elements - Relentless Pouring Rain, Roaring Thunder and the Nasty North Wind decided to take to the road to meet more of their own.

If you are smart you leave early, a whole day and a half early, like my boss. The next best alternative is to leave as early as you can. Smart as I am, I left early at 3pm and found a like-minded million others also on the road. We wanted to honk each other out of the interstate. Had it been 30 degrees warmer I could have set up a picnic table on the roof of my car and played cards. The traffic did not move. The usually ignored 'Minimum speed limit 40 mph' sign looked smugly at me. Boy! That really hurt! Finally we did move, not after taking an exit to a wrong highway. I am often gripped by the long distance driver's worst nightmare -
The right interstate, but the wrong direction. I turned to my travelling companion, Sumedha,
'Are we on the right road?'.
She studies the MapQuest directions and scans the AAA map of PA/NJ and answers nonchalantly,
'I am not sure, but at least we are somewhere in Pennsylvania.'
After 5 hours of driving in some direction, it wasn't a very helpful answer but it quite reassuring. At least, we had not misnavigated to Arizona given the circumstances. Driving circumstances that would lead to me to drink.
We stopped at a Subway which seemed to be held hostage taken by Indian folk. Without a doubt, it had been a very interesting night for Mr. Joe Schmoe in rural Penn. He might never ever again make so many Veggie Delights in one evening.
If it wasn't the traffic then it was the rain at the end of journey that I had to contend with. I felt I was in the belly of a huge washing machine that was in the 'rinse' part of the cycle. Finally at 2 am we made it, in one piece. Frazzled and comatose with bed sores, but we made it. At the end of this harrowing 9 hour after-work journey there would be 3 days of great Indian food ( sans the turkey or the apple pie). I was totally looking forward to the total laziness and lounging about. For that I was prepared to go great distances.
(to be continued)

Eastward Ho!
Thursday, 9th October
Tomorrow I begin my five day trip to New England. I shall be visiting my sister after five years. Elder sisters are great to have but not when they still think you are a kid brother.
Friday, 10th October
2:15 am
Anuj dropped me off at the airport. Being a night owl he did not mind. Seems like paranoia to be coming so early to the airport to make sure that i dont oversleep. NO it hasn't happened before but I am not too eager to start now.
3:30am
Finished reading the first two stories from BLind Love by V.S Pritchett. Excellent! Feel sleepy
3:55am
Trying to sleep. Wondered when I did this last. Slept in uncomfortable positions on chair.


Standing I surely decline
I rather sit; better recline

Strange thoughts come to you when you in this state of limbo. At this odd hour, in this odd Detroit terminal I remembered why I found factorials so interesting. It was because of the "!" sign to represent them. I liked the notation cause it reminds me of the exclamations in sentences. Aha!..Great!..Arrgh! ..3!
Perhaps I am crazy. Well since I am half asleep I am just half crazy now.
5:00 am
Waiting at the US Airways terminal which seems to have seen its share of history. The seats were ripped. Man I felt like this was like some S.T stand!
6:20 am
Aloft in the skies wondering if the ailing airlines would give its ailing passenger something to eat other than slightly larger than a tablespoon of orange juice. They say times are hard!
6:40 am
Dawn is breaking across the sky. Its cloudy and hence nothing spectacular.
6:50 am
I was wrong. It needed some time. The view was spectacular. There was the dark, river and in the distance through the fog was this flame of red like a fire in the darkness. Down below the cars rushed on the highway like tiny LEDs on a display
7:15 amBought a burrito at MacDonalds. Can't simply live on the two tablespoons of orange juice.
7:57 am
Got the middle seat which is the worst. Crammed between two All American Women ( read huge) I was trying to eat my burrito.
8:40 am
Woke up from a power nap. Seemed like a bad idea fall asleep again.
9:15 am
Continued reading the Pritchett book while I waited for my sister to come pick me up. Would have liked to wait outside. It was hill-station weather. Misty, cool not cold. The sky murky grey.
9:40 am
My nephew is surprised why this 'new uncle' and his mom are screaming. I met Sheetal didi after five years. Obviously. "Son, you were not even born then.". I am getting old enough to say such stuff. Sad!
10:10 am
Driving down the rural Connecticut countryside. Fall colors my sister says each year are just as beautiful. The gold, the reds, the oranges. We stop talking. Its almost sacrilege to talk.
11:40 am
Watched a train cartoon for the first time while the kid watched it for the millionth time probably. He still enjoyed it more. Wonder how many things when we grow older are still fun the hundreth time, the millionth time?
12:30 pm
Had Indian food after a long time. Great the next few days are gonna be fun.
2:20 pm Read two pages of the book and feel asleep on the swing.
5:00 pm Woke up in a bed. I moved in my half comatose state there. A nice nap feels great!
6:30 pm My sister thinks I have grown up and become mature. Quite a welcome condescension. Elder sisters! Atleast the kid brother image is being replaced.
10:00 pm Drive to Vivek's house in Manchester (MAN-chest-er, not the English man-CHEST-er. The American change pronunciations too!) after dinner and a lot of catching up on old times. I was really amazed by his GPS navigation system. I think that it should be made mandatory.
10:40 pm We are fiddling around with the computers. Three comps between the two of us. Later we are conference chatting with my brother in India and also chatting across the room. Height of craziness. He shows his Mac off and I am sold to the idea. NOTHING BEATS THE MAN IN OVERALL DESIGN. PERIOD. Awesome. I am sold by it by vivek. (Knowing the fact that one cannot get a level opinion from one who bought an ibook on the anniversary of his first Mac)
1:20 am We are still up playing around this time looking at the really cool movies that he made using iMovie. That software is fantastic man. It possible ot produce almost professional looking films with it.
? Dont know when I dozed off.

Saturday,11th October
Its a bright sunny day in New England. I awake from my slumber more than eager to seize the day and then again fall asleep. Ain't that perfect. Hell I am on a vacation. Finally wake up and to avoid destroying appetite for brunch we make some quick bhel. The temotation to eat more is always there. Brunches make sense when you wake up really late.
It was all really worth it cause Cafe on the Main in Manchester was a great place. An old world look to it. The unique thing was that each chair was different. Everyone got a different cup. I got the smallest mug. Wonder why. First time I have been given such benefit of doubt. The owner and the waiter were locked in a mutual, friendly slanging match for rooting for the Red Sox and the Yankees respectively. This rivalry would make more sense as the days went on and by the end of the trip I would be a Sox fan.
Golfing Golfing I thought was a fuddy duddy game and I never took to it. Today it was perfect day though for some practice on driving range. I was trying to hard in the beginning trying to almost kill the ball. Often to my extreme chagrin it landed a few feet away and MANY TIMES I swung and missed. Luckily not too many watching my baby steps at golf.
At the end of 1.5 buckets I was getting a couple to pop straight up and away. This came at the cost of one broken club. Gold clubs I am told dont break. Well I broke one on the first day. Such things are expected from me.
Apple yatra Well Vivek eager to Apple proselytize took me to the Apple store. Man if you have gone ever been there you would know that that was overkill. Amazing. All showrooms take cue from Apple. This is the way to present you stuff. Apple seems to be catching up on the selling aspect. For all that seems ironic that they have only 3% of the comp market.
Book shops We step into the Barnes and Noble store. Vivek and I can be easily left in a bookstore and we won't be bored for hours. Wish that instead of stools they had nice cushy armchairs. Perhaps they dont want to invite too many of my breed. Of late I get a sinking feeling that there are so many books that I would like to read and I am not getting any done.

Sunday, 12th October
What was possibly the rainiest day ever in Boston we decide to do exactly what should not be done. The all outdoors Freedom Trail and sightseeing. A really enthusiastic National Park Ranger made up for the bad weather. There was a T-shirt salesman who refused to sell a sweatshirt to Vivek cause he was not open yet. He needs some tips from guys down at Fashion Street, Churchgate and the 'boni ka time' concept. Maybe thats why he is still a T-shirt salesman and not Abercrombie and Fitch.
The Boston effect According to Vivek all sights in Boston have this unique 'Boston effect', which is that all things in Boston, like Boston are small. All the great and wonderful things that you hear about Boston are true but be prepared for the smallness of everything. America where the accent is always on Bigger, Grander Boston stands apart as the city built around cow paths. I don't know what a European feel is but surely Boston is different from the other cities I have seen. This is one city where Indian style rash driving, honking is not only accepted but an essential survival skill. I was impressed. Most Indians would feel at home.
The great temples of learning Afternoon,still in the pouring rain we cross the Charles River to Cambridge to see Harvard and MIT. It was nice to get a sense of history but again the Boston effect persisted. Both were smaller then imagined. They looked grand but not as I had expected. As usual we stepped in the bookstore. The Harvard Book Store is quite different from other stores. The selection of books is totally different and also I like the huge amount of staff recommended books. Most bookstores seem to just pay lip service to this fact.
Pani Puri Acceding to my request Sheetal made Pani-puri. The puris were from Cambridge. One would expect it easy to find an Indian store in Cambridge. It was great. Still nothing beats the pani-puri stall. Perhaps the lack of hygiene is a flavous that is missing from the bhel, vada pav, pani-puri, dabeli, sandwich made AT HOME.
...to be continued..