PORTSMOUTH: A JOURNEY BACK TO PERSONAL AND HISTORICAL PASTS

 

A MINI HOLIDAY UNDER THE SHADOW OF COVID19

Sunny and warm days were forecast for the whole week following a fortnight of miserable, cold and wet weather snap. We felt that we must take advantage of this dry break and take a holiday. The menacing pandemic is still simmering, the possibility of another lockdown, though small is always there. This threat of impending prohibition made the desire to enjoy this opportune freedom rather compulsive.

The complexities of choosing a safe holiday destination did not dampen the desire. Going abroad even to a nearby European destination needs a lot of organising and is riddled with uncertainties so we decided to stay in the country.

After considering a few places we finally chose the historic naval city of Portsmouth. It evoked a nostalgic feeling. I did my first job* there in in 1977 when I came to UK and have not been there since.

It is a relatively quieter city and the incidence of covid 19 in this part of the country is relatively low. It is only about two to three hours journey by car so we would avoid travelling by public transport.

To keep the risks down we chose to stay in a small countryside bed and breakfast which catered for only a few guests at a time.

I was excited and enthusiastic as we reached the city, kept on reminiscing to Bibha about my stay there.  In the city I went near the area where I had stayed. I did not recognise anything around St Mary’s Hospital where I worked all that time ago. It has changed so much. The hospital is now a community hospital instead of a busy district hospital of my memory’s past.  It is irrational but I felt let down. 

 To be honest I was there only for two and a half weeks and my whole attention was to overcome the anxiety of being in an alien place and at the same time trying to impress my colleagues with my work, and bed-manners  at the hospital. I don’t think I paid much attention to the surroundings and forty years have passed since. My memories were probably more a product of my brain’s imagination and editing over time as it always happens with long term memories.

When we went to the waterfront at the harbour it was the same story, everything was different. There were now many multi-storey buildings with gleaming glass fronts. It looked highly commercialised. One can not even enter the historic harbour area without buying a ticket let alone see the famous ships. I had bought the tickets online to avoid queuing. Strolling in the harbour we came to the most elegant ship there, HMS Victory made famous by its participation as the flag ship of Lord Nelson in the Battle of Trafalgar more than 200 years ago. My only sightseeing in Portsmouth in 1977 was a visit to HMS Victory!  I and Bibha went abode the ship. 

Once inside the ship I suddenly felt a strange sense of being there, seeing and touching various artefacts and hearing the description. I did not remember or recognise these things in the usual sense. I had only seen them for a few minutes 44 years ago! But I felt an odd familiarity, not nostalgic but a kind of Déjà vu-ish. In one of the lower decks, in spite of all the warning notices I hit my head on a beam on the low ceiling. I remembered that I did this in 1977 too!

Ship surgeon's table and tools

For next two days we visited many famous sites in the town and strolled on a few beaches, did a bit of shopping in the large new mall (Gunwharf Quays) and went up the 170m tall Spinnaker Tower for a spectacular view of the bay from 150 meters up.

We drove back home, luckily traffic was not bad. We both were tired but strangely felt happier and fresh. That’s what a holiday is for. Isn’t it?

Where else can one sit on a torpedo but at a naval base.

*Actually, it was my “attachment”. It was a mandatory paid assessment period where an overseas doctor was attached to a hospital unit for up to four weeks. Only on its successful completion one could get a training doctor job in the National Health Service.

 

View of the harbour from the top of Spinnaker Tower

NO F IN FLYING ANY MORE

No F in flying any more. Yes, there is no fun at all.  Journey, I always felt, was if not more, equally important reason for a holiday.
More often the overall experience of a holiday abroad is totally and truly eclipsed by the aeroplane journey.

You report to the airport one to three hours before the departure time for the said purpose of check-in and security but most of this time is spent loitering in the waiting areas till they announce the gate number.

All this time you are their prisoner. You are made to walk through rows and rows of gift shops. They tell you encouragingly “it is TAX FREE, Sir.” Though you know pretty well that it is five times more costly than in a high street shop or ten times costlier than in online shops!

You buy not because you need that shiny watch or that Eau de Perfume in the black and gold bottle with sparkling crystal top, but because you are bored to death and you will do anything to escape it, law permitting. Even if you muster all your will power and shun that temptation you end up sitting in a cafe or a bar gorging on masses of sugary and fatty treats and guzzling  tons of  drinks laden with either depressants (alcohol) or stimulants (coffee) or both, oblivious of the eye-watering, exorbitant  prices.

Finally the gate is announced, you run to the gate which is at least a miles from the waiting area. But the waiting does not end there; you wait again in a miniscule enclosure and may be an hour later, go through the privilege of another mini check at the final gate!

Once inside the plane, you immediately remember the photograph showing the Guinness record of maximum number of humans fitting inside a Mini. It takes all athletic prowess to negotiate your way through the ever narrowing isle to the seat and push in your hand bag in the overhead locker. You have to suck in your tummy and squeeze in the slimmest of seats you had ever sat. “DESIGNED FOR YOUR COMFORT AND SAFETY” said the billboard!

At the other end it can again take up to three hours before you get through the immigration, collect your luggage and pass through the custom. Out of the airport and you have to go through another journey to reach your hotel. God forbid if you have flown with a cheaper, no frill airline, they will drop you at an airport which is in an uninhabited desert or a forest, always a few light years away from your destination!

You reach your hotel/resort tired and depressed with no energy or will to experience and explore the delights of the holiday.

And do not forget, you still have to fly back!

I am seriously planning not to include any flying in my holidays any more and I am not alone. If the airlines do not bring the F back they are doomed.

And maybe it is for the best with the Damocles’ sword of global warming hanging over all of us.  There is a silver lining after all!

It is better to travel well than to arrive

                                                                a saying attributed to Buddha

TEA BY THE ROAD IN INDIA: A REFLEXION ON SOCIO-ECONOMIC ANTHROPOLOGY

  

TEA BY THE ROAD IN INDIA: A REFLEXION ON SOCIO-ECONOMIC ANTHROPOLOGY

Last month I was in India. From Patna We went to Ara, a small district town, by car. The distance by road is about 60 km; part of the road is in a very bad state with big pot holes.  My driver said it would take about two hours provided there were no problems at Koilwar Bridge. The double-decker bridge on the river Sone is just over a kilometer long. This

magnificent, rickety bridge was built in 1868 and is still a vital link for the National highway and Indian Railway. It frequently gets clogged by the shear density of the traffic and not infrequently by the motorcades of a politician or a senior bureaucrat.  When we reached there, traffic was at a standstill. The driver found out that we would have to wait for about an hour. “Not bad” he appended cheerfully.

We decided to have tea from the roadside tea stall nearby. Not that I really needed a cup of tea but just felt the nostalgia of having garam chai (hot tea) from a roadside café. The tea is made here in a very large pan containing a mixture of milk, water, tea granules and sugar. After the first boil it is left

constantly simmering on a coal fire.  It used to be served in kiln fired earthen tumblers called kulhar or chukkar.  The pot imparted a sort of smoky, earthy test to the tea.

 Today, instead of chukkars the driver brought some plastic cups. He asked me to hold one while he poured the tea from a jug. As more of tea poured in the cup, it got progressively heavier and I had to grip it with more force to prevent it from slipping through my fingers. The plastic cup started collapsing under the squeeze of my fingers and thumb.  And suddenly the hot milky tea almost spilled over. I had to let it slip through to avoid burning my hand.  It fell on the ground with a thump.

I felt irritated and ashamed at the same time. The driver poured another cup, this time holding the cup himself and gave it to me. I held it gingerly, finely tuning the squeeze force of my fingers, just enough to counteract the pull of gravity and a bit less than the force required to collapse the thin wall of the plastic cup. It was a difficult task; I did not enjoy the tea that much. Not the same taste.

Whoever initially decided to serve boiling hot tea in a flimsy, incredibly thin walled plastic cups must have a sadistic temperament. The manufacturer also must be incredibly greedy. I am sure there are health and safety laws in India and the businessman must have agreed to them to get a license!

“Anyway why did we change from the chukkars?”

 “The plastic cup costs much less” said the driver. The whole cottage industry associated with earthenware has died over the last few years for the lack of demand except in a few designer shops and restaurants in large cities.

How did a common, everyday utensil changed into an expensive object of luxury? Answer seems perplexing but is very simple. It is a result of the economics of greed and mass consumerism. The ever onward march of socio-economic progress!

WHY BOLOGNA?

 This year, summer was good in England, not too hot, not too cold, sunny days outnumbering the cloudy ones. It did not feel sensible to go abroad and miss the expansive greenery and the exuberant kaleidoscopic blossom  here. But as the autumn started putting its foot in the door, it became suddenly cold and grey. My desire to catch a few more days of sunshine and warmth became intense like an alcoholic at the closing down time at the pub.  It seemed right to get away from our routine and familiar surroundings for a few days and charge our batteries in preparation to the coming winter.

Choosing the place to go was difficult when there were so many places to choose from. Bibha and I discussed for a few days to decide what we wanted. “Discussed” is a much milder version of what we actually did!

Anyway, we finally decided on what we wanted.

·       Short holiday, 4 to 7 days…. Bibha

·       Away from well-trodden tourist spots…. Prem

·       Warm but not too hot….Bibha

·       Not too far: within 3 hrs flight at most… Prem

·       Relaxing with sightseeing i.e. not a beach holiday but not a big city either... Bibha

·       Served by British airways so that we can use our Avios points (Air Miles).... Prem

It seemed like asking for too much.  But, thanks to the internet and a numerous cups of coffee I came up with two places, Porto and Bologna. Bologna felt much more exiting and less touristy. One other factor was in its favour; availability of good vegetarian food. I am a carnivore but Bibha is an unadulterated vegetarian. Therefore, Bologna it was.

It did not disappoint us. This little town is gem of a city. Bologna is described as la rossa, la grassa, la dotta : the red, the fat and the learned. 

The red, because most of the buildings have typical red tiled roofs and also  for the city's connection with leftist politics. 

The fat, because the city is culinary capital of Italy. The most famous Italian sauce that comes from Bologna is Ragu sauce. It is the life of Spaghetti Bolognese. Bologna is also famous for its meat filled Tortellini and vegetarian Tortelloni.

  

 The learned, because it has the oldest university in the western world, established in 1028 and still running. One of the famous names from Bologna University is Luigi Galvani (1737-1798), every doctor in the world who has ever dissected a frog knows his name.

 The weather in late October is great 16⁰C to 23⁰C, mostly sunny.

 What more does one want from a city!

We went by train to two nearby cities Parma and Modena. From the former come Parmesan cheese and Parma Ham. From the later comes Balsamic Vinegar. Modena is also the home town of Lamborghini and Ferrari

 One of the peculiarity of Bologna is its  porticos. These are 

  veranda like structures running all over the town almost 40 kilometres all together. The longest continuous one is 3.5 kilometres long! They were built in middle ages to enable students and their teachers to walk unhindered everywhere in all weathers. We just walked in the porticos for hours on end. In different areas, they have different architecture and different building materials. They are so fascinating.

We would love to go there again but there are so many other places where we have not yet been!

PRESERVING OUR PRESENT: SANS CEREBRE SNAPPING

  

Last month we were in China for about two weeks. We visited Beijing, Xian, Guilin and Shanghai. Tons of sightseeing, some amazing and awe-inspiringly beautiful scenes and some not so good. We met many people, some became good friends.

We took a lot of photos. I really mean lots. I had a 32 gigabyte memory card in the camera which we nearly filled with about 4000 photos, 400 a day. I used my phone camera as well, adding another 200 photos. It seems we spent more time seeing the country through the lens of the camera than without. It was not just us, everyone was doing the same.

Not so Forbidden now

In past before the days of digital camera We were constrained with number of snaps available on the film loaded in the camera and the cost of developing the photos. We used to take time, first in deciding whether something is worth photographing and then in composing the picture as best as possible. Now, because it is virtually free, we just take snaps of anything and everything. Instead of spending time in composing, we just rely on taking multiple snaps and hoping one of them would be good.

With the ubiquitousness of the smart phones and digital cameras, this decade has become the most photographed period in human history. Our children and grandchildren have more photographs in a year than what a box office Hollywood star had in his or her entire lifetime before the age of digital cameras.

Preserving memory of Mao and Me

Why do we take photos? I think it is because we earnestly wish to pause the present. Time is relentlessly moving; present immediately becomes past and moves away in oblivion. We try to overcome our fear of getting lost in this great void by trying to preserve the present. Our memory is the earliest tool we developed to do this. The digital camera is just an extension of our memory. We hope that our present will thus be here when we are a thing of past. You might ask “How long for?” The answer is literally and truly in the clouds.

That is where I back up my photos, on the cloud storage. It will be there even if I lose my desktop. One can see the photos anywhere, on any computer, anytime as long as there is an internet connection. At the moment Google and Microsoft provide free and unlimited storage for the pictures but I am sure soon they will say “enough is enough”. Until then we continue our happy sans cerebre snapping.