Archive | February 2009

A Canterbury Tale

Feb15

Sunday, February 15, 2009
Canterbury

Following in the footsteps of Geoffrey’s Chaucer’s medieval pilgrims, Stephanie and I decided to “wenden on a pilgrimage/ to Caunterbury with ful devout corage”. I arrived at her place at Wimbledon at 9 am and using the GPS, we found a rather circuitous route into Kent. It was with some frustration that Stephanie asked me, “What’s with this country that it is ALWAYS cloudy on a Sunday?” I had no explanation but I couldn’t help sharing her longing for a day trip that the two of us will actually do in bright cheerful sunshine. Still, if we have to wait for such a day to come along in England, we might well be waiting forever. I am convinced that the English are so relieved when they find a dry day that they have stopped caring about clouds!

The miles flew by as we caught up on our week. Stephanie already feels like an old friend and when we get together, we gab non-stop. I had carried a pile of travel books with me and en route to our destination, I read aloud chunks of relevant information to fill us in on the history of the venue.

I had visited Canterbury 22 years ago when the lines of Chaucer’s Prologue to the Canterbury Tales were still fresh enough in my mind that I could actually recite the opening lines by heart. I remember how thrilled I was to be following on the route taken at least a thousand years ago by pilgrims from the Dark Ages and how enthralled I was to be visiting the sacred site on which Thomas a Beckett was murdered. If Chaucer’s Tales were on my mind then, so was T.S. Eliot’s play Murder in the Cathedral as was David Lean’s unforgettable film Beckett starring Richard Burton in the title role with Peter O’Toole playing Henry II. Who can ever think of Beckett and Canterbury without calling to mind that chilling line uttered by a resentful monarch, “Who will rid me of this meddlesome priest?”–a line that led to one of the most brutal murders in medieval history.

Arriving at Canterbury, Stephanie and I found parking in a public car park not too far from the famous Cathedral. The city’s Roman walls were visible long before we parked our car–walls that were begun by the Romans and fortified in the Middle Ages by such illustrious kings as Ethelbert who welcomed St. Augustine who arrived in England in 597 A.D. in accordance with the wishes of Pope Gregory III to convert the Anglo-Saxons to the Christian faith.It was Ethelbert’s wife, the Frankish Queen Bertha, who took the teachings of Augustine to her heart, provided him with a hospitable environment in which to preach and influenced her husband to convert as well. A pair of sculptures that recalls the contribution of this royal couple to the religious history of the city is seen on Lady Wooton’s Green where they appear resplendent in their courtly robes.

It was St. Augustine’s zeal that led to the creation of the first Christian house of worship in Canterbury, a space that evolved under the orders of Bishop Lanfranc into the majestic cathedral that stands today. The ingenuity of medieval stone masons, carvers and craftsmen is plainly evident on the exterior and interior of this monumental building where intricate lace-like work decorates every surface. Twin spires rise up tall, accompanied by Bell Harry Tower, a square tower whose interior is covered with the most magnificent fan vaulting at a height of 128 feet. The nave of the church is the longest in England and the choir stalls are superb examples of medieval wood carving.

None of this architectural splendour would have catapulted this cathedral to fame were it not for the notorious murder of then Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Beckett in 1170. On that fateful day, four knights broke into the cathedral and murdered the prelate in cold blood. Henry II, himself devastated by the death of his one-time close friend, ended up doing penance for what he considered to be his part in the murder. He walked barefooted around the streets of Canterbury while being flogged by monks carrying branches of trees. These gestures only served to increase reverence for the good priest and devotion to him grew steadily until news of a number of miracles began to surface. Within three years, Beckett was canonized a saint by the Catholic church and the pilgrimages of which Chaucer wrote less than a hundred years later began. Soon, Canterbury was the most popular place of pilgrimage in Europe and pilgrims came by the thousand from far and wide to seek healing.

The devotion to St. Thomas continued until 1538 when Henry VIII ordered the Dissolution of the Monasteries. St. Augustine’s Abbey, which is located just a few meters away from the cathedral, was saved for a few years, but, finally, it too fell to the merciless designs of Cardinal Wolsey who ordered the physical destruction of the monastery buildings themselves and the confiscation of all church property which came under the possession of the Crown. The Shrine of St. Thomas which had been built in 1220 was destroyed by order of Henry VIII who wished to erase his memory from English religious history–perhaps the story of Beckett’s defiance of the orders of his king (Henry II) was too close to comfort for Henry VIII who needed the loyalty of his prelates to be able to carry out his own vision of Protestant Reformation in England. At any rate, with Beckett’s shrine destroyed, all vestiges of the saint’s existence were wiped out for a long while. In due course, this devotion was revived and today there is a perpetual candle that burns on the spot in Trinity Chapel where the shrine of St. Thomas once stood.

We entered the Cathedral the way generations of pilgrims before us had done–through the marvelous West Gate that is covered with detailed sculpture. It was here that I had a minor set back–dropping my camera on the cobbled stone street. To my huge dismay, the camera suffered some damage and I was no longer able to use it. Resolving not to let this damage my spirits, I put it out of my mind and with Stephanie promising to send me the pictures she took, I decided to find out tomorrow from a camera repair store if it can be fixed or must simply be written off. At the entrance, we discovered that the church was closed until 12. 30 and we figured we might as well get ourselves a spot of lunch. At a small tea room, I opted for a cream tea (scones with clotted cream and strawberry jan and a pot of peppermint tea which really hit the spot as it was chilly outside and we both felt grateful to be able to warm up indoors).

Once we paid our 7 pounds apiece and entered the Cathedral, we found that the inside contains minutely designed stained glass windows that tell the stories of the miracles attributed to St. Thomas while the spot at which Thomas fell is marked with a plaque bearing his name and a very evocative sculpture on the wall that contains three drawn swords–The Altar of the Swords–signifying those carried by his three murderers (Thomas had struck one down in self defence when they attacked him). This part of the cathedral is near the crypt, itself an enormously interesting part of the structure and not just for the details of medieval architecture that one can study within. Treasures of the crypt in the form of silver and gold altar pieces are also on display here. It is also in the crypt that the original 12th century frescoes can be found–albeit in rather poor state.

It was while walking around the exterior of the cathedral, however, that Stephanie and I were bowled over. The accompanying stone buildings that flank the Cathedral itself are so well-preserved and so evocative of England that we were enchanted and took many pictures. The stroll took us into the serene cloisters that overlook an emerald green courtyard that lay within the shadow of Bell Harry Tower. The cloister ceilings are covered with the heraldic shields of the many knights who were once deeply devoted to their religious calling. Stephanie and I were completely enchanted by this space and wished we could have lingered there forever.

But it was cold and we needed to move on and our next port of call was the War Memorial Gardens. At this point, since we were both tired, we returned to the Cathedral to rest our feet and a little later set out on our next expedition–the discovery of St. Augustine’s Abbey. We followed directions, crossing the War Memorial Gardens and the city walls and arriving at the King’s School and then the ruins of the abbey that was founded by St. Augustine himself. I was really tired by this point and while Stephanie used her English Heritage membership to tour the grounds, I viewed the excellent exhibition that retold the history of the abbey from medieval to modern times as well as showed a vast number of archeological remnants of its past vigorous life.
Canterbury was marvelous and Stephanie and I, latter-day pilgrims, found ourselves very edified by our visit. Though we did not stay for Evensong which was scheduled to begin at 3.15 pm, we did receive a fine sense of the ambiance of the service from the rehearsals that were on while we were visiting. I was pleased to have found a priest who paused to point out some of the most interesting bits and pieces of the Cathedral’s history and architecture to me such as the red marble flooring near the altar that was worn into a hollow from the number of pilgrim knees that had crawled to the altar in their thousands during the heyday of Beckett devotion. Had he not drawn my attention to this deeply moving feature, I would have missed it altogether.

Then, it was time for us to return to our car before our parking permit expired and to start the drive back home. We were caught it awful traffic on the South Circular Road which still has me believing that there was a better way to get to Canterbury and back from Wimbledon. But then we came upon an Underground station that turned out to be Tooting Bec and within a half hour, I was home (as opposed to the one hour it would have taken me to get home from Wimbledon).

Back home, I consulted my neighbor Tim on the best place to get my camera looked at. He suggested Jessops on New Oxford Street and I shall try to get there after teaching my classes tomorrow. I then downloaded the pictures on my camera so as not to lose them, edited and captioned and backed them up on CDs and decided to stop to have some dinner and one of my Alternate Baths. While I was in the middle of my dinner, Llew called me for a half hour chat. We caught up and by 10 pm, I decided to get ready for bed and spend a while blogging in bed.

St. Val’s Day! Antiquing on Portobello Road, More V&A and Chinatown

Feb14

February 14, 2009
London

London was made for Lovers! And more so on Valentine’s Day. All the world loves a lover and they were out in droves today–with their red-attired beaus, the gals were all dolled up in the miniest of mini skirts and impossibly high stillettos, their scruffier boyfriends tagging alongside in unhemmed jeans and sneakers! Why do the girls kill themselves so when their guys are so nonchalant about this most romantic of holidays?

I awoke and read Harry Potter for an hour, then worked on my email correspondence. Soon after breakfast, my soaks and exercises and a shower, I left my flat and decided to go antiquing on Portobello Road. I can’t believe that five months have passed since I came to live in London and I haven’t yet been to my favorite hunting ground. But when I arrived the dollar was so weak that everything was out of my reach. Now that the dollar has skyrocketed, I can finally start to look at purchasing some antiques and today, with the rain at bay and the sun making occasional attempts to peak out, I thought it would be a good day to find out what was available.

So, off I went by bus (8 to Tottenham Court Road, then the 390 to Notting Hill Gate) and a short ten minute walk later, there I was amidst the stalls selling vintage jewelery and bric-a-brac and the serious antiques dealers with their sterling silver, Royal Douton china and signed designer jewelry. It is always a mystery to me where time goes when I have my nose pressed to the show cases that display the items that most take my fancy. While painted porcelain has always been my passion, I am no longer in the market for cups and saucers as I simply have no place to store them. My collection already numbers about 250 and I now only make a purchase when the pair is really rare or very reasonably priced.

At different times, on Portobello Road over the years, I have looked very specifically for a certain item. One year it was an umbrella stand (I ended up snagging a rare Japanese Imari for next to no money). On another occasion, it was a cut-crystal cruet set (I did not find it on Portobello Road but we did find a rather rare complete set in a very special antiques shop in the Cotswolds). This time, I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but I did end up buying an antique type face–a giant A (for Almeida) which I can use with a stamp pad to personalize Thank You cards, Place cards and the like.

It was almost 1. 00 and I was already tired when I hopped on to the first bus I spied and rode it towards Kensington. I decided to go to the Victoria and Albert Museum to see the Scultpure Gallery and the collection of Rodins that I really had no energy to study the last time I was there. I found myself a seat indoors and ate my home-made tongue and gammon sandwich and feeling fortified for more art inspection, I spent a while among some of Rodin’s most recognizable work such as the study for the Gates of Hell, St. John the Baptist, etc.Having also left the paintings gallery unfinished the last time, I climbed the stairs to complete it and ended up browsing once again in the upper story of the jewelry section where I became particularly fascinated by the 18th and 19th jewelry items called chatelains–a sort of carry-all that included the tiniest implements that a lady might need such as a pair of tweezers, a pen knife, a pair of scissors, a bottle for her perfume, a tiny spoon to dig the wax out of her ears (!) and a lot of other odds and ends that might otherwise be misplaced! They were just too cute!

It was still bright and not yet biting cold when I got on the bus again and made my way towards Chinatown. As part of the course I am teaching this semester, my students have been assigned the exploration of a different ethnic London neighborhood each week. This is designed to teach them about the global environment in which they dwell in one of the world’s most diverse cities. I figured that I might as well explore the neighborshoods at the same time and since one of my students will be making a Powerpoint presentation on Chinese London on Monday, I decided to get off at Shafestbury Avenue and poke around Chinatown myself.

London’s Chinatown is located on Gerard Street right behind Shaftesbury Avenue. There is a giant gateway designed in Oriental fashion that marks the entrance to this neighborhood. A couple of weeks ago, this area was seen at its festive best with scarlet lanterns strung all over the facades of the stores in celebration of Chinese New Year. Most of them have been removed but a few remain, red being the color of good luck and prosperity. Though I have passed through this part of Shaftesbury Avenue several times on the bus, I had never really entered the shops, studied the menus in the main restaurants or poked my head into the supermarkets.

The entire experience was heady and fascinating indeed. In the Loong Fung Supermarket, for instance, I decided to buy myself some Oriental fruit as I had eaten these in Thailand a few years ago and had quite enjoyed them. So I filled my basket with lychees, rambutans and mangosteens but when I came to the check out counters and saw the lines stretching for miles, I decided I simply did not have the energy to join them. I left my fruity purchases right there and resolved to vist the area on a weekday.

Many restaurants offered Peking Duck that hung from large hooks at the entrance. Many served Dim Sum all day and as I love Chinese dim sum, I wished very much that I could have tried some of their offerings. But I do not enjoy eating alone in a restaurant, so I shall wait until I can find some company to check one of these places out. I was quite taken by the Chinese bakeries where all sorts of exotic pastries beckoned–red bean pastry, sesame pastry, almond cookies, melon and kiwi mousse cakes, green tea mochi, etc. Food apart, I also saw Chinese hair dressers and Chinese acupunturists and Chinese herbalists all plying a brisk trade in this area. Hundreds of tourists strolled along the shop fronts looking for a suitable place to eat their evening meal. It was a very interesting evening indeed and I ended up feeling as if I had just taken a detour into Hongkong via Singapore!

Since I was very close to Kingsway, I then walked for another 15 minutes for the 6 pm mass at St. Anselm’s Church. Stephanie and I will be out for the day on one of our weekend trips–we’re going to Canterbury tomorrow a la Chaucer’s pilgrims–and since I would be missing Sunday mass, I did want to go to Church today. It is after all Valentine’s Day and I did miss Llew and Chriselle very much indeed. The mass was fairly well attended but, when it ended, my wait for the bus was most frustrating as even 20 minutes later, the bus did not make an appearance. In disgust, I walked a few yards to another bus stop from which I could get 3 buses and in less than ten minutes I was home!

I arrived at the door of my flat to find a huge parcel on my door–the delivery of flowers and a gift for me from my Valentine across the seas! I was so excited and so delighted that despite the fact that I was not home all day and there was no concierge on duty, the delivery had been made. When I opened the parcel, I found a dozen long stemmed red roses, a bottle of champagne and a darling little Teddy Bear–and of course, a very touching message from my beau! I called Llew immediately and thanked him for the very loving thoughts and, of course, then I missed him more than ever. This is the very first time in our lives together that we have been away from each other on Valentine’s Day and so it is the first time I have received a long-distance gift from him. The thought was very sweet indeed.

I spent the next few minutes arranging my red roses in a vase and getting together my Meal for One–lovely pecan and raisin bread with Smoked Cheddar for a starter, Chicken Curry with Rice and Tiramisu for dessert washed down with ice-cold cider. I watched the Food Network do all sorts of programs that had focussed on the Foods of Love and the UK’s favorite dinners (would you believe the Number One favorite is Spaghetti Bolognese?) and then it was time to end this lovely Valentine’s Day by calling Chriselle and Chris in the US and wishing them a happy Valentine’s Day as an engaged couple before I got ready for bed.

London’s Seedier Side: Two Walking Tours of the East End

Feb13

Friday, February 13, 2009
London

The Prisoner of Azkaban is marching along nicely. One hour long reading sessions at dawn and at bedtime will, I think, get me through the tomes (which grow in size with each volume) before I am gone from here.

Alternate Soaks, phone calls to Bombay, email correspondence, proofreading blog entries–all of that kept me busy through the morning. But the thing that ate most of my time and got me most frustrated was trying to find reasonably priced airfares for our proposed flight from Rome to Istanbul just before Easter. After trying every possibility, I came to the crazy conclusion that it might be best to use the budget airlines to return to London from Rome, then take another flight from London to Istanbul! Llew green lighted the scheme as most financially feasible and tomorrow, I shall try to make our bookings.

In the midst of all the internet research I did to try to find some fun things that Llew and I can do on Easter Sunday (as we will be spending it together here–yyesss!!!), I finally did something I had been meaning to do for weeks–book a ticket to the Royal Horticultural Society’s Chelsea Flower Show, In fact, this was on my list of things to do before I leave London! I have been reading about this legendary flower show–perhaps the world’s best–for so many years in the Home and Garden magazines to which I subscribe in the States. So, I was determined to buy myself a ticket.

When I finally got down to it this morning, I discovered that it is scheduled the very week (May 19-23) I will be in Lyon, France, with my French pen pal of 37 years, Genevieve Tougne-Ducote. Genevieve and I have not seen each other since 1989 and I was so looking forward to meeting her and her family–husband and two sons. Fortunately, the day I return from France is also the last day of the show and since my flight arrives at Stanstead at 10.30 am, I will certainly be able to catch the last three to four hours of the show–which will be ample, I think.

Then, for technical reasons (they need my credit card registered to a UK address)my online purchase would not go through and in desperation, I called my friend Rosemary and asked her to make the purchase for me with her credit card. She readily obliged and I will reimburse her in cash. Delighted, just delighted, that I did get tickets to the show and will actually be able to make it, despite my travel plans, I decided to go outdoors and enjoy what had shaped into a lovely day with robin’s egg blue skies and a cheerful winter sun. I showered, decided to do the Jack the Ripper Walk from my book–24 Great Walks in London–and left my flat.

The reason I chose this macabre walk was because I had scheduled a walking tour of Spitalfields with a Blue Badge Guide for my students of Global Cultures at 5pm. I knew that Brick Lane is located in this general area and since my students are studying Monica Ali’s Brick Lane for my South Asian Studies class, I thought it would make sense to take them there to explore the area and see it for themselves. We were scheduled to meet at Liverpool Street Station at 5 pm, so it made sense to do another walking tour of the same area in the afternoon with a good long break in-between in a coffee shop to rest my legs.

The Jack the Ripper Tour began at Aldgate Underground Station and took me past such interesting sights as the following:

1. The Church of “St. Botolph Without Aldgate” (so-called because it lay beyond, outside, or without, the gates of Aldgate). Also known as the Prostitutes’ Church as most of the street walkers of the area worshipped here.

2. Various locations in which the six women that Jack the Ripper killed were found or were last seen. These included a few pubs in the area around Whitechapel.

3. Petticoat Lane (so-called because 18th century under-jackets called petticoats, worn by men, were sold on this street). Today, it is a thriving street market, mostly frequented on Sundays by tourists. I found it very disappointing and totally lacking in atmosphere.

4. Old Spitalfields Market: A Victorian indoor market (similar to Old Covent Garden Market or Smithfield Market). Both this place and Petticoat Lane were on my list of places to see before I left London–so I guess I can say, Been There, Done That.

5. The Jame Masjid at Fournier Street, just off Brick Lane. Interesting because it was once a Huguenot Chapel, then a synagogue and is now a mosque.

6. Rows and rows of row houses (attached houses), many of which were destroyed during World War II (remember all the TV footage we have seen so often of the late Queen Mother touring the ravaged East End after the London Blitz?). These once housed the Huguenot silk weavers and giant wooden bobbins are now hung outside these homes. This is especially true of Wilkes Street and Puma Court. This was the most atmospheric part of the walk and appealed to me the most.

7. Christ Church, Spitalfields, built by Nicholas Hawksmoor (pupil of Sir Christopher Wren) in the early 1700s. An imposing Baroque structure, its spire rises tall into the sky and its four columns in the front flank a semi-circular pediment that gives it a very distinctive look. Inside, after restoration, it exudes peace and serenity and has fine stained glass windows.

This walk took me to some of the seediest parts of London I have seen so far. There was garbage in the gutters, houses and neighborhoods that looked badly in need of refurbishment or at least a lick of paint, rather ratty looking shops and Mom and Pop businesses. Now I understand why they say the East End is one of the most neglected parts of the city and why they hope the coming Olympics in 2012 will rejuvenate the area.

However, it is also one of the most diverse parts of the city and I saw a variety of races living in harmony together and a number of global cultures coalescesing quite effortlessly. Amazingly, just a few blocks past the rather run down streets were the towering glass and concrete structures around Liverpool Street Station where the large corporations have set up shop–RBS, for instance. Just a few yards ahead is Bank, so-called because the Bank of England (aka the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street) is located here and one day, when the weather gets better, I shall explore these old solid 18th station buildings and the warren of streets that unite them, on foot.

I arrived at Liverpool Street Station at the end of this walk and found myself a quiet spot in a Burger King where I rested for over an hour and read the free local eveninger–“the london paper”! At 5 pm, I made my way to the Upper Concourse to the meeting point outside McDonald’s where my students and I were supposed to meet Rachel Kolsky, our guide. We were all very punctual indeed and our walk began with Rachel pointing out many interesting features of the area, such as:

1. Kindertransport Sculpture: This sculpture by Frederick Meissler depicts the Kindertransport children. She told us the moving story of the 10,000 European children who were brought to England in 1939 just before the outbreak of World War I and were placed in English homes. I had never heard of this aspect of War history before and was fascinated and moved to tears by Rachel’s retelling of the scheme and the impact it had on the children who are scattered, today, all over the world.

2. Dennis Severs House: Built by an American expatriate in the East End who took an old Huguenot house and converted it into a ‘museum’ of sorts to recreate the era of the old silk weavers. It is a must-see, I think, and I will definitely carve out some time to see it though visiting hours are rather erratic.

3. Homes on Hansbury Street, deliberately kept in a decrepit state, because they are used today as movie sets for period films and TV series. The insides were also true to those bygone eras and were fascinating to peer into.

4. The synagogue on Hansbury Street and the many stories associated with it. This taught me about the arrival of the Jews into the East End (they lived on the outskirts of the City as they were not permitted within the City reaches), their persecution and expulsion under Edward I, their return to England under the more hospitable Oliver Cromwell, their persecution again in the Victorian Age and their move out of the East End to the Western suburbs such as Golders Green, Hendon and Edgeware in the 1970s to be replaced by Bangaldeshi immigrants.

5. Brick Lane: This stop told us about the arrival of the Bangla or Bengali immigrants into the UK from the time of the lascars (Muslim ship hands) who, in the late 1800s, jumped ship in England and made their home in the East End to those who arrived at the end of World War II to provide labor during the era of acute labor shortage in England and then the most recent ones who came during the Civil War in 1971. We touched on Monica Ali’s novel as we surveyed the endless chain of Bangladeshi restaurants, sweetmeat shops, sari emporiums, video stores, etc.

The appetizing aromas of spices assailed our nostrils and made me long for a curry stop except that it was freezing by the time we finished our walk about two hours later and all that my students and I could think of was getting back home to our warm dwellings and hunkering down for the evening.

The walk taught me why you can find really excellent bagels in Brick Lane (the Jewish run bakeries still stay open 24 hours of the day and make really authentic, delicious, boiled bagels on the premises). I can’t wait to try one with lox (smoked salmon) and cream cheese, capers, lenon juice and chopped onion. It is one of my favorite things to eat and I frequently fix myself this treat for breakfast at home in the States.

It is true that having done two walks in one day, I was very tired when I got home. I made myself comfortable on the couch while eating my dinner (I picked up canneloni stuffed with spinach and ricotta cheese from M&S, what my neighbor Tim refers to as his “larder”) while doing my Alternate Soaks (if ever I needed them, it was this evening!) then checked my email and got ready for bed.

Lunch with Rosemary and Tuning in to Turner at the Tate

Feb13

Thursday, February 12, 2009
London

I had an unusually listless kind of evening, so I’m glad I packed so much into my morning. Awoke and read my Prisoner of Azkaban for a bit, then got on with breakfast, Alternate Soaking, exercises, etc.

I don’t want to jinx anything, but if there is one thing that seems to be working really well for my feet, it is these Alternate Soaks. They are a heck of a messy form of hydrotherapy and have been doing a number on my beautiful hard wood floors. I guess it might be best to do them in the bathroom, but I watch TV as I do them, so it makes sense to do it in the living room.

At any rate, the very first time I plunge my feet into the basin of ice cold water, the shock to my system is so intense that I can feel my chest heave (and there is a medical reason for it–your heart tends to beat suddenly more rapidly to pump more blood down to your feet). The next plunge in the near-boiling water is no less traumatic. But it is these hot-cold, hot-cold contrasts that enhance the heart’s pumping capacity that sends blood rushing to the inflamed tendons and thus repairs the soft tissue and ‘cures’ the condition. I have no idea how long I will need to continue to do this, but my homeopath told me that if I continue with her medication, I shall feel better in another three weeks and I believe that if I continue these Alternate Soaks for the same length of time, I should find myself feeling much better overall. So, I am not giving up–at least not just yet.

I then sat down to transcribe my interview with Roger MacNair and this took me all of two hours. Between email correspondence and proofreading this report, time flew and before I knew it, it was time to go in for a shower and leave my flat. I had made plans to meet Rosemary for lunch close to her place of work. She suggested the Bay Leaf Cafe on Tottenham Street, just off Tottenham Court Road, next door to the Goodge Street Tube Station. In no time, I was there and Rosemary joined me in a few minutes.

The cafe is tiny (though there is more seating downstairs). It does a selection of eclectic fare from rissoles (which Rosemary ate–they are potato cakes) to a Vegetable Lasagne (which I ate–and which was fabulous!). Both our entrees came with a salad and needless to say, we were stuffed at the end of our meal.Rosemary walked back to work at 2. 45 and I took the bus from Gower Street and made my way to the Tate Britain.

My American neighbor in Bombay, Roberta Skaggs Naik, an art historian and artist herself, had mentioned to me when I visited her, a few weeks ago at her cottage in Bombay, that her favorite part of the Tate Britain was the collection of Turners. Now I wondered why I hadn’t seen them when I was there a few weeks ago. Was I blind? How come I missed them? I decided that the first chance I found a couple of hours at my disposal, I would rush there to see them.

And that’s what I did. Though it was a cloudy day, it was dry with not a raindrop on the radar. On the other two nights that I had been to the Tate, it had been coming down in buckets. Well, I found the Clore Center soon enough, but was informed by the Receptionist that most of the Turner Collection is traveling as a fund-raising effort at the moment. They are expected to return to London by April (when, fortunately, I will still be here).

The few canvasses that are on display (about thirty) spanned his life’s work as an artist, showing his full evolution from a painter who presented realistic scenes of the earth and the ocean to an artist who, influenced by French landscape painters like Claude Lorraine, began to experiment with light, brush strokes and background to create more and more abstract representations of reality. Having seen Turner’s major works at the National Gallery, I was pleased to come upon a few of the studies of his more famous paintings in this collection and I really do look forward to the day when the entire collection that was bequeathed by Turner himself to the nation will be available for my perusal.

It was still daylight when I got back on the bus and found my way home. Then, a feeling of inexplicable listlessness came over me and I felt so lazy. I simply did not want to get out of bed. Feeling guilty abut wasting time, I sat in bed and finished grading two batches of Writing assignments and then decided to get up and find myself some dinner. I also had laundry to do and these chores finally got me going again!

I made myself a dinner plate with pasta and soup with tiramisu for dessert and sat back eagerly to watch Mansfield Park that Love Films had mailed me, only to be bitterly disappointed. The DVDs they sent were not in order and while I received Parts 2, 3, 4, 5, there was no Part 1! How annoying! I decided to put the whole lot back in the mail and watched James Martin on Saturday Kitchen instead featuring Raymond Blanc whose legendary restaurant Le Manoir des Quatres Saisons in Oxfordshire is one place I would dearly love to try!

Still feeling rather listless and after another Alternate Soak, I went to bed at 9. 30 pm after losing myself in some more Prisoner of Azkaban!

Antiquing in Rochester with Janie and a Curry with Roger

Feb11

Wednesday, February 11. 2009
Rochester, Kent and London

I left my flat early–so did not have the chance today to do my Contrast Soaking or my exercises. Gulped down my breakfast–cereal and milk–had a shower and left at 7. 30 am for my ride to North Dulwich Station to meet Janie Yang, my friend who sportingly agreed to drive me to Rochester, Kent, to pick up the vintage weighing scale I had spotted a couple of weeks ago. I changed two buses but arrived at our appointed spot at 8. 35 am–we’d agreed to meet at 8.45 right after Janie dropped her son Sky off to school. It was a very frosty morning indeed and within ten minutes of waiting outdoors, my toes began to ache despite two pairs of socks.

Janie arrived at 8.50 am and we were off. It was so great to see her again. I haven’t seen her since October when we spent a day at Syon House with her Dad–who then, sadly, passed away a few weeks later. Between my travels to the US and India and her Dad’s passing and repeated trips to Yorkshire to help her mother deal with his loss, Janie has had her hands full. I was deeply grateful, therefore, that she set time aside today to help me run this errand.

We had rather hideous traffic getting out of South London, but once we hit the A2, we rolled along at a very brisk pace. Janie and I had so much to catch up with that there was never a second’s lull in our conversation. We arrived at Memories, the antiques’ stores on Rochester’s High Street at 10. 30 am and because I believed that Janie was in a hurry to get home, I thought we would load the car with my purchase and drive straight back home.

Except that the sun made a guest appearance just as we pulled up to the store and Janie was so enchanted by her very first glimpses of Rochester that she decided to park the car in the public parking lot and spend an hour or two exploring the town. I was thrilled, as it made me feel as if her drive had been worthwhile. She had never been to this historic Medway town of William the Norman Conqueror and Charles Dickens and when I told her that there was much to see, especially along the charming untouched High Street, she was sold on the idea of a little sightseeing.

Our first stop was at Restoration House which Stephanie and I had not seen on our last visit to Rochester a couple of weekends ago. The rain and the fact that everything was closed that Sunday had deterred us from going out in search of it. Coming upon it as suddenly as Janie and I did, within a few minutes walk off the High Street, was a lovely surprise. The House was built in 1570 and was called Restoration House because it is believed that Charles II spent one night in it the day he was restored to the throne of England in 1660 after the reign of the Puritans led by Oliver Cromwell.

This fabulous solid Tudor brick structure, designed in the form of a capital E so fascinated Dickens (who spent a great deal of time in Rochester and owned a home on nearby Gad’s Hill) that it became the model for what he called Satis House in his novel Great Expectations. This is the home that Pip is told to visit and where he meets the ill-fated Miss Haversham. Both Janie and I were so taken by this structure that we spent a great deal of time studying the architectural details. We were amazed to find that the house is now in private possession and is open to he public only on Thursdays and Fridays from June to September. Janie, who loves architecture, was deeply struck by the building and following her lead, I strolled into the churchyard that abuts the property. There, behind high walls, we got a sense of the grandeur of the gardens that lie concealed behind.

We returned to the High Street, and began walking down towards more antiques shops that were wide open today. They were closed on the Sunday that I had last visited. Janie also loved the solidity of the Cathedral and we decided to stop there for a coffee. In the Cathedral’s lovely little Tea Room with its bevy of ladies in navy blue aprons serving home-baked goodies, I ordered us two lattes, a peanut butter cookie for Janie and a soft-as-a-cloud cheese scone for me, while Janie went off to explore the Cathedral’s interior. I delight in her great joy in European period architecture. I learn so much in her company as she points out technical elements that I would ordinarily have missed. Her rambles had also taken her as far as the 11th century Norman castle and she caught a glimpse of it from the outside.

Back on the High Street after another long and very interesting conversation over our lattes, we popped our heads into a few other antiques stores. Janie was looking for a mirror that she could make the focal point of her living room but was unable to find anything substantial enough. Then, quite by chance, in the Oxfam store, I spotted a lovely Victorian tea set for two and because the decoration was so lavish (loads of gold all over and a beautiful hand painted design of pink and gold roses), I decided to find out how it was priced. Just thirty pounds, said the saleswoman, and before I knew it, I was leaving the store with a tea pot, sugar, creamer, one cup, two saucers and one small dessert plate. The set is missing a cup and a dessert plate and I have decided to make it my quest to find them on the internet through the Replacement China outfits that have been flourishing in recent years. Needless to say, I was delighted with my weighing scale which came complete with a set of weights and since all of it is in such good condition, I can easily see myself using these for many years to come.

With one last stop in an old-fashioned candy store where Janie bought some scrumptious lemon drops and I bought her a bar of Lindt coffee chocolate, we began our drive back to London. We crossed the Medway on the beautiful iron bridge–a fine example of Victorian engineering–and, before long, arrived in the city where Janie dropped me off at my bus stop just as we saw a bus sailing by.

Being the sweetheart she is, Janie decided to follow the bus route to a couple of stops ahead so that I could catch it and that was exactly what she did. Grabbing my bags out of the trunk of her car, I did manage to get the bus two stops ahead and arrived at my flat about an hour later. I decided to catch up with email and take some rest because I had another appointment in the evening. I called my parents in Bombay, caught up with them and then at 5 pm, I left the house for my next appointment.

I had made plans to meet Roger McNair, a second-generation Anglo-Indian in the UK at 6. 30 pm at Finchley Road Tube Station. The journey was long drawn out and involved the changing of two buses but I am never disappointed as I love to watch London pass me by and these drives take me into neighborhoods I would never otherwise have visited. I discovered, this evening, for instance, that Primrose Hill can be reached by bus from my place and since it is a neighborhood I have been keen to explore, I shall do so sometime soon.

I arrived at our appointed spot at 6. 40 pm and found Roger looking for me. At his suggestion, we went to the O2, a snazzy mall on Finchley Road where at a pub called Wetherspoons Roger bought me a half pint of sweet Strongbow draught cider and a pint of Fosters lager for himself. We found ourselves one of the quietest spots in the bar and began our conversation. Roger is a very soft spoken gentleman and oftentimes I found myself straining above the background noise to catch everything he said. He spoke freely and articulately and it was a pleasure to listen to his very thoughtful responses to my questions. Though born in India, Roger came with his parents to the UK when he was three and was raised for the first ten years of his life in London and then in Yorkshire. His story made fascinating listening and before we knew it, it was 8. 30 pm and time to get a bite to eat. The pub grub sent out appetizing aromas our way and I had thought we would eat right there; but Roger asked if I did not mind “going out for a curry”. I told him I was fine with whatever he chose to eat and in a little while, we were out on the main road looking for an Indian restaurant.

Of course, as everyone knows, in London, you can throw a stone and wherever it falls, you can be sure to find an Indian restaurant. So, it was at A Passage to India on Finchley Road that he chose a Chicken Kashmiri with Pulao while I went for a Chicken Saag with a Naan. I was amazed at the small portion sizes and realized that food, indeed eating out in general, is so much cheaper in the United States. However, the service was very good and both dishes were superbly cooked and Roger insisted on making it his treat. Roger told me that Indian is his favorite cuisine and if there is one thing that the Anglo-Indian diaspora has not abandoned in the United Kingdom it is their devotion to rice and curry!

And so the evening passed very companionably indeed. I truly enjoyed meeting and chatting with Roger and at the end of the evening , he invited me to a jazz concert on Friday. I would very much like to join him and his group of friends, but I have a walking tour of Spitalfields including Brick Lane scheduled with my students that evening and might have to take a rain check. Still, it was a treat getting to know him and I am sure that we will meet again as Roger is keen to meet other second-generation Anglo-Indians and I have promised to link him up with few.

I took the Tube back, a journey of no more than 25 minutes and was home, warmly ensconced in my bed and writing this blog before 11 pm at which point I decided to shut up shop for the night!

Interviewing Anglo-Indians in Lewisham

Feb10

Tuesday, February 10, 2009
London

It is absurd that I should feel so pleased with myself whenever I sleep later than 7 am! But that was exactly how I felt when I awoke at ten minutes to seven (and not at 5.00 or 5. 30 or 6. 00 am). I finished reading the last few pages of my Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets and not a day too soon as my books were due at the Holborn Public Library today. I then made a call to my nephew Arav, proofread my blog entry of last night, checked and responded to email and got out of bed only at 9. 45am! Where does the time go?

By the time I had my breakfast (cereal with yogurt) while having myself a Contrast Bath, took a shower, did my foot exercises, dressed and got out of the house it was 11. 15 am. I went first to the library, returned my books and was delighted to note that the fourth book in the series, The Goblet of Fire was available in paperback. This means that I now have all seven of them in my possession. I shall start reading the third one, The Prisoner of Azkaban and then get on with the Goblet of Fire. I really have entered into the spirit of fantasy of these books and am quite enjoying them, though I have to say I am not a devotee–not yet.

I returned to my flat to drop off my book, then took the Number 17 bus from Gray’s Inn Road to London Bridge. I have just made the discovery that the 17 goes eastwards towards London Bridge and the 371 goes towards Waterloo Bridge via The Strand! This means that I no longer have to walk along Chancery Lane to get to the Strand anymore! Truly, I am learning a bit more about the bus system daily and the manner in which the system is unfolding itself to me is just fascinating.

A few minutes later, I was at London Bridge changing buses. You see, I was headed to Lewisham for a 2 .00 pm appointment with an Anglo-Indian couple, Cecil and Mary Wilson, who had agreed to speak with me about their immigrant lives in Great Britain. It was blowing on London Bridge something nasty, but in a few minutes, my bus arrived. I boarded it (upper deck, front row seats) and was off.

I arrived at Lewisham High Street sooner than I expected which gave me the chance to browse in the shops for a bit. I began at T.K. Maxx (the equivalent of T.J. Maxx in the States) and was delighted to find myself a Bodum Cafetiere for my morning coffee (as the one provided in my flat has worn out and the coffee grounds remain unfiltered, much to my annoyance). In the Oxfam store, I found two vintage pressed glass jelly moulds which at a pound and a pound and a half were hard to pass up. It really is odd but all of the purchases I have made here in the U.K. have been vintage or antique items and my collection is growing. Tomorrow, if the weather is good, I will be driving to Rochester with my friend Janie Yang to an antiques store called Memories on the High Street to pick up a vintage weighing scale from the 1940s complete with a set of weights.

When I had finished shopping, I stepped into the cafe of the British Home Stores to enjoy a cup of peppermint tea and I called the Wilsons from there to find out exactly how I should get to their place from the High Street. When I mentioned that I was just about to have a bite at the BHS cafe, they very warmly invited me to join them for lunch. Since there had been no mention of a lunch invitation prior to this point, I had assumed that they would finish their own lunch and then welcome me to their place. It turns out that they expected me to take it for granted than our 2 pm appointment would include lunch!

Well, Cecil came and picked me up and walked me to his lovely little cottage (that’s what they call ‘row houses’ here) that was just a few minutes’ walk from the shops. Lewisham is a rather old community that was first settled by the Irish. It has an old clock tower, a Catholic church on the High Street and all the shops that one could desire. Within minutes, I was being welcomed indoors by his wife and we sat down to a delicious home-cooked meal of pullao, chicken curry, dal and coleslaw. Every single item was scrumptious and I actually took a second helping. Our meal had been preceded by a glass of Harvey’s Bristol Cream Sherry–a most civilized English custom. I declined the ice-cream that was offered for dessert as I was just too full and, within minutes, we got down to business.

As with the other Anglo-Indians I have been meeting, I found this couple fascinating. What was particularly impressive about this gentleman is the manner in which he has maintained his personal and family records. Priceless documents dating back to the 19th century are carefully preserved in plastic slipcovers in separate files. He showed me photo albums, scrap books and his own collection of books on Anglo-Indian history and literature–all of which make him very proud and very happy. It was a joy indeed to handle this gold mine of documentation and I was most touched by his devotion to his community and to his family members. The pity was that neither one of his two children is at all interested in their heritage and seem to be determined to erase the Indian part of their parents’ roots. This couple has never visited India and though the gentleman hangs on to the fond dream of making this ‘sentimental journey’, his wife is uninterested in going back and, at any rate, can no longer do so for medical reasons.

They are also so proud of their home and their lovely garden and gave me a nice tour of their dwelling. I was repeatedly moved by their innate simplicity and their sincerity which managed to contrast with their pride in their accomplishments. Like so many of the Anglo-Indians I have met, they are articulate and eager to share their experiences.

I took the buses back home, stopping off at the Tesco Extra at Surrey Quays to buy myself some Muesli (I really do like Tesco’s Finest Fruit and Nut Muesli for breakfast and have introduced Llew to it too). By the time I reached home, it was almost 7 pm. I spent the evening dealing with my email correspondence. I have a trip to Rochester tomorrow and since I am meeting Janie at North Dulwich station, I needed to figure out how to get there by bus. When that was done, I had dinner and called it a day.

Seeing Imelda Staunton on Stage!

Feb9

Monday, February 9, 2009
London

It was Black Monday–literally! The skies were leaden and rain came down in sheets! It is unusual to get such heavy rain here in London–most times it is just an annoying drizzle. By the evening, the streets were actually flowing and I was afraid of slipping as I don’t think my shoes are equipped to handle muddy ones. It was funny but when Mark, our concierge at NYU, was leaving the building and I asked him if he had forgotten to carry an umbrella, he replied, “I have one. I just can’t be bothered”. To carry it, he meant, and I thought that was a very English way of putting it indeed.

I taught my two Writing II classes–odd, but it seems as if my classes are only just beginning. What with my hoarse throat and the snow of a week ago, this was a first real class. I had to sort out items on the syllabus to bring us back to speed, discuss the change in plans–no field trip to Cornwall for my Writing II (B) class. We’re going instead to Suffolk (Constable Country). I also handed out field excursion assignments to London’s ethnic quarters–which I must try to cover myself! The classes went well–we’ve started our discussions on Anthony Appiah’s Cosmopolitanism–and my students seem to be engaging with it rather enthusiastically.

After classes, I went up to Yvonne Hunkin’s office to pay my electricity and media bills, but she was in a meeting and I only met Ruth Tucker. Back in my office, I graded one batch of homework before I set out for my evening at the theater. I was excited as I would be seeing Imelda Staunton in Entertaining Mr. Sloane at Trafalgar Studios.

The streets were flowing copiously by the time I left NYU. It had rained all day and the mood was dismal. I actually used the Thomsons’ birthday present to me for the first time today–a Nautica Umbrella For Two–it was massive! Our English friends in Fairfield, Connecticut, Jonathan and Diana Thomson, had gifted it to me in July when they got to know I’d been posted to London. Diana had written in the card: “This is the thing you’re going to need most in Blighty–a really good brolly!” And how right she was! The umbrella was like a huge walking canopy around me and sheltered me completely on this day made for ducks! Thanks, Di!

I nipped into the Tesco Express at the corner of The Strand on Trafalgar Square for just a second and re-emerged with two packs of Prawn Mayonnaise sandwiches, It had been a long time since I had eaten my rather frugal lunch of a tongue sandwich and a cup of creamed asparagus soup at my desk during office hours. I knew that Rosemary had a ticket for the same show but since we hadn’t made any plans for dinner, I figured I better get a bite to eat or else my stomach would rumble throughout the show! Unfortunately, I did not see Rosemary anywhere during the show though I looked for her frantically before it began, during the interval and at the end. We must make more definite plans next time!

Trafalgar Studios is a very modern space, unlike the ornate 18th and 19th century theaters I have been frequenting. Though I had the cheapest seats on the very last row, the slope was so steep that I had a completely unrestricted view of the stage. Large black and white posters of English actors such as Judi Dench, Maggie Smith, Edward Fox and John Gielgud, decorated the stairwells–each taken between the 1960s and 1980s! It was fun to see what these thespians once looked like and, in the case of many, such pictures are a revelation about the years, no decades, one needs to slog before international fame can finally come one’s way in this very uncertain acting business.

As for the show, it was such a surprise to me. I thought it would be a comedy–that was what the blurb said, but gosh, it was a classic example of a Dark Comedy. It started funnily enough with Kath, a landlady in the early 1960s, taking in a lodger (I finally understood what the term ‘lodger’ means–a paying guest–and what the term ‘lodgings’ means–a rented room in a house) named Mr, Sloane. Kath is 42, single, desperately lonely, bullied, belittled and browbeaten by her obnoxious brother Ed, and completely taken in by the handsome, sexy, young Mr. Sloane.

Kath was played superbly by Imelda Staunton (I bought tickets for the play only to see her as I had been completely blown by her performance as Vera Drake in the film of the same name for which she won the BAFTA for Best Actress in 2005), Mr. Sloane was played by Mathew Horne and Ed was played by Shakespearean actor Simon Paisley Day who supported Staunton brilliantly.

The range of emotions Staunton had to exhibit in the course of the play was stunning. In turn, she was a lecherous seductress, a harassed daughter, a caring landlady, a pleading sister, a heartbroken lover. The inimitable Staunton slipped into each one of these guises effortlessly and kept the play moving along brilliantly. What I did not expect was the harshness with which she was treated–as a woman and as a sister, her treatment was deplorable and in our day and age of politically correctness, very difficult to watch. Her father (“Dada” played very competently by Richard Bremmer) was pushed around by both his children, then assaulted by Sloane who could have brought much more menace to his role.

The two other great bits of the production were the set that captured succinctly the “hideousness” (as one reviewer put it) of working class domestic interiors of the era (horrid busy wallpaper, stained flowered rugs, a lumpy old velvet upholstered sofa, late-50’s kitschy knick-knacks) and the brilliant use of a Jim Reeves track, “Welcome to my World”. Another ingenious touch was the playing of pop hits from the early 1960s before the play began and during the intermission. It put us beautifully into the mood, the milieu and the moment and evoked the desperation of suburban families and of the brother and sister duo whose need for self esteem allows them to overlook the murder of their father by the unscrupulous lodger.

The other brilliant thing about this play was the writing itself by the late Joe Orton. Glancing rapidly at the Playbill during the interval (which costs 3 pounds and which I, therefore, never buy but invariably borrow!), I saw that he was killed by his gay partner in the 1960s, being snatched away in the prime of his writing career. A dramatist of no less a stature than Harold Pinter spoke at his funeral calling him a marvelous writer.

Orton brought a great deal of his own working class background into the plays he wrote (particularly in this one). His attempts to transcend it through the procurement of an education and his own struggle with his sexuality were grist to his creative mill–like Mr. Sloane, Orton was apparently bisexual. Because this was a classic Black Comedy, I found it odd when the audience laughed at lines and scenes that were not even remotely funny–in fact, they verged on the tragic–but then, the scenes and the characters’ actions and reactions were so unpredictable and surprising when they occurred that the audience quite lost sight of what would be the appropriate mode in which to react. It was a very good night at the theater, made memorable by Staunton.

It was still pouring when I made my way out of the theater and caught the buses back home. For some reason, I felt quite worn out but then I remembered that I had awoken this morning at 5.30 am and I was no longer surprised.

A Sunday at the V&A with Stephanie

Feb8

Sunday, February 8, 2009
London

7. 15 ! I actually had to stare at my watch for a whole half minute because I simply couldn’t believe that I woke up at 7. 15! I was thrilled! It has been a long long time since I have awoken before 6 am. and the fact that I slept for a whole night was a matter of great joy to me. I went online immediately to try and find out the timings of the masses at the Brompton Oratory where I thought Stephanie would enjoy a visit. It turned out that there was a Latin mass at 9 am and when Stephanie awoke (after what she said was a very good night’s sleep), we decided to shower, eat breakfast really quickly and head out for the 9 am Mass.

And that was exactly what we did. We did reach the church a little after Mass had begun (but we did have to change 2 buses). The streets were deserted when we got to the church. The exterior is an 18th century edifice in the finest Neo-Classical tradition complete with an imposing columned entrance, a magnificent dome and a great many decorative touches. These were intensified in the interior which is a smaller version of St. Paul’s Cathedral–only this one is a Catholic Church. It is a superb example of the Baroque style with layer upon layer of decoration–Corinthian columns, gilded molding, paintings, lavish sculpture, old wooden carvings, marble pillars, a grand cupola–you name it, the church contains it. It was difficult to focus on the Mass as my eye was drawn to a new detail everywhere I looked.

Besides, the Mass was in Latin–so unless you listened very carefully it was hard to tell exactly where we were in the service. It was a good time for quiet prayer and intense contemplation. Both Stephanie and I went to Communion and after Mass, spent a little while admiring the grandeur of the church. It was close to 10 am, when we left the church to walk next door into the Victoria and Albert Museum where we decided to spend the morning.

Interestingly, today, Stephanie was the first person inside the museum! After we had deposited our coats, we split up. Stephanie decided to take an Introductory Tour (though it wasn’t for another half hour which gave me a chance to show her a couple of the Museum’s Highlights) while I went off to the gallery that contains the studies in oil by John Constable that were bequeathed to the museum by his daughter Isabel. This was a wonderful opportunity for me to get to know a little bit more about Suffolk and the landscape that Constable adored and attempted to transfer to canvas repeatedly. His base in the town of Dedham where has father owned a mill called Flatford on the banks of the River Stour, provided him with endless rural vistas to paint in various lights and at different times of the day. I will be taking my students on a field trip to Suffolk into Constable Country so that they can see for themselves the natural environment that gave rise to some of the most beloved English paintings of the 19th century. Then, I shall be bringing them to these galleries so that they can see for themselves how Constable’s works evolved from pencil sketches that he put into a pocket notebook (there is charming a reproduction of one in the gallery) to small ‘studies’ to larger rough first attempts to the final work in the finished state. I was held spell bound.

In the next couple of galleries, I saw other works by Constable’s contemporaries as well as works by the Pre-Raphaelites. Then it was time to go downstairs to meet Stephanie who said that she enjoyed her Highlights Tour even though it lasted only 45 minutes. Since it was time to rest my feet, we headed to the Cafe and over a pot of English Breakfast Tea and a fruit scone that we shared, we talked about what we had just seen. Then, Stephanie and I looked at the Plaster Cast Court and a few other items that I did not want her to miss.

At 12. 30 pm, she left to keep her brunch appointment with a friend while I stayed on at the Museum and decided to see the Morris, Gamble and Poynter Rooms which are also some of the Museum’s Highlights. I was surprised to discover that the ornate dining room in which we had sipped our tea was the Gamble Room–a magnificent confection of ceramic artistry on walls, grand pillars, a superb marble mantle and huge lighted orbs that formed modern chandeliers.

Just adjoining these two rooms are the Morris Room (named, of course, after William Morris, of the English Arts and Crafts Movement) and the Poynter Room. The former was decorated with the motifs for which the Movement became well known–a fine tracery of fems, leaves and small fruit on the walls in plaster, stained glass windows designed by Edward Burne-Jones (a close friend of Morris and his classmate at Oxford’s Exeter College), a very stylized gilded ceiling and chandeliers of distinct design. The latter room was made up essentially of ceramic tiles that formed vignettes on the wall. It was just splendid and I do wish that Stephanie had seen them too. In fact, these rooms were so unique, that I returned to the Cloak Room to retrieve my camera from my bag and took some pictures of these interiors.

It was a beautiful day–very cold but dry and wonderfully sunny. Golden light filled the quadrangle of the museum and I was able to get some good pictures. After resting for a bit, I started my discovery of the Sculpture Gallery that houses works from the Middle Ages to Contemporary times. I saw funerary works, busts for grand estates, garden statuary (mostly English but with some Italian works by Canova, Bernini and Giambologna thrown in, for good measure) and came, ultimately, to the Contemporary section where a vast number of works by Auguste Rodin were the main attraction.

By this point, however, my legs were very fatigued and I wanted to study the Rodins very carefully. So I decided to leave the museum and return on another day. I took the bus to Harrod’s and spent some time at the Jo Malone counter sampling some of their skin care products. Back on the bus, I stopped briefly at Sainsburys for some groceries, then got back home and spent a while reading up on Contrast Bathing on the internet in order to find out how to do it properly. I did receive a great deal of information and then it was time for me sit down and get some dinner.

I looked forward to settling down in front of the telly to watch the BAFTA 2009 Awards on BBC 1–the British Academy Film and Television Awards which are the equivalent of the American Oscars. Though I have not seen any of the movies except Slum Dog Millionaire (which I did not like very much but which is expected to garner a whole slew of prizes), I am looking forward to the evening very much.

Mozart’s Magic Flute at the Coliseum

Feb7

Saturday, February 7, 2009
London

The days are flying too fast for my liking. I cannot believe that the first week of February has passed already. This semester is galloping ahead and I don’t feel as if I am accomplishing anything substantial.

I woke up too early yet again–before 5 am. Turning to Harry Potter, I covered large chunks of the Chamber of Secrets before I tried to fall asleep again. Somehow, I did not succeed. My mind is cluttered now with too many thoughts that no longer have the serenity of a few months ago.

About 10 am, after I had spoken to my parents in Bombay and my cousin Blossom in Madras, I finally got out of bed and had some breakfast–cereal and milk. Since Stephanie would be arriving later in the day, I decided to do a thorough cleaning of my flat. I started with the kitchen, then worked my way through my bedroom and the hallway and the bathroom. It took enormous amounts of time during which I tried to keep the radio on so I could listen to some music–I really have developed a liking for a station called Magic 104.5. But then, I pressed a wrong button on the remote, and bang, just like that, I lost signal. I requested Tim or a Barbara to take a look and Tim arrived a few minutes later and with his magic IT touch, he got it all sorted out in minutes. I am so blessed to have such helpful neighbors.

Most of my cleaning was done by then and I was starving and it seemed a good time to take a lunch break–more Broccoli Cheddar Soup (I really did make a ton of it that snowy day), Spaghetti Bolognese (store-bought) and Saag Alloo (also store-bought) and watched Market Kitchen while I munched.

It was about 2. 30 by this point and Llew called and we had a chat for almost an hour. I expected Stephanie to call anytime and she did send me an email telling me that she had finished looking at flats in Richmond for the day and would soon be headed out to my place on the Tube. Only she simply did not arrive! While waiting for her, I had a shower, reviewed a student essay that might bring upon him a plagiarism charge and continued reading Harry Potter. Still no sign of Steph! It was time to call and find out what had happened.

Well, it turned out that on her way back home to Wimbledon, she decided to see two more flats and that held her up considerably. She would be with me in an hour, she said. This gave me a chance to make a few more phone calls (as my land line calls are free throughout the weekend) to my friend Bina in Harrow–we had a long chinwag–and to a couple of Anglo-Indians respondents for my research project.

At about 5.30 pm, Steph finally arrived and we had a cup of coffee and biscuits as she got her breath back. Like most people who have visited my London flat, she was so envious of my location and loved my place overall. About 6. 30 pm, we set out, took the bus to Covent Garden and The Bear and Staff Pub on Shaftesbury Avenue which had a special–2 meals for 10 pounds. It was such a good deal that we decided we just had to try it. Steph chose the Burger while I went for the Gammon Steak with Scrambled Eggs and Chips–it was scrumptious and Steph loved her burger! I had always wanted to taste a true British gammon steak and it was juicy and just bursting with flavor. English chips are also far better than the ‘fries’ we get in the US which are usually limp and rather soggy. To wash it down, Steph had a Diet Coke while I opted for half a pint of cider. This has become very much my drink of choice and I realize that I love English cider very much indeed.

Much as we would have liked to savor our meal, we had to rush as we had a curtain call at 7.30 pm for Mozart’s The Magic Flute, a production of the English National Opera at the Coliseum. We had Balcony tickets; but luckily there was a lift. It took us ten minutes to walk there briskly from the pub and just in time, we found our (cheap) seats and settled down. The house was almost full–but for a few scattered seats that I saw way down in the Orchestra section, every single one was taken. And no wonder too!

The opera was just delightful. Not only was Mozart’s music charming and even catchy (if one can say that about classical music), but the sets and costumes, the lights and sound effects and, above all, the singing was so marvelous that we were enthralled. The guy who played Papageno was superb and we had an understudy playing Pamina for our performance and yet she was amazing. Steph, who is a huge opera lover and has seen far more operas than I have (for I have only recently got into them) was thrilled. I am looking forward now to seeing La Boheme next month at the same venue.

We didn’t waste too much time getting home on the buses as it had been a long day and I was tired and sleepy. Back home in just 20 minutes, I made up a bed with sheets, a pillow and my down comforter for Steph on the pull out sofa bed in my living room and she settled down to look at our Scotland album before we called it a night.

We have plans to go to Mass to the Brompton Oratory tomorrow followed by a visit to the Victoria and Albert Museum which is just next door. Steph has brunch plans with a friend right after that and I might continue to hang out at the museum for the rest of the afternoon.

It is so great to have her spending the weekend with me–it is a pity that she arrived so late, but once she has found a flat for herself in Richmond and makes the move from Wimbledon, I am sure she will hang out here much more.

An Odd Sorta Day!

Feb6

Friday, February 6, 2009
London

It was an odd sorta day because I broke completely from routine–which makes me realize that I have developed a routine of sorts here in London.

Awoke at 6. 30 (yyeesss!!!)–finally awaking at a decent hour and not when the rest of the world is still snoring! Read my Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets for an hour, then at 7. 30 am began to check email and catch up with correspondence. This always takes longer than I expect, but by 8. 45 am, I finally got out to bed to have my breakfast. You see, it’s become part of my routine to eat my breakfast when I am home while watching As Time Goes By on Gold–I caught the series at the very beginning and am now watching it in sequence (after all these years of seeing it in dribs and drabs and completely out of order).

Watching it also gives me a chance to do the Contrast Bathing Therapy–actually Contrast Soaking is more like it, so that’s what I will re-christen it–the alternate foot soaks in hot and cold water. I also do my exercises at the time and massage the arches of my feet.

Today, after breakfast was done, I went back to my PC and did more work mainly by way of trying to sort out my schedule for the next two months. February is already chocobloc with interviews and travel–though I had one disappointment this morning when one of the folks I was supposed to meet this evening cancelled at the very last minute. In fact, I believe that she forgot she was supposed to see me and when I called to confirm our meeting, she said she wasn’t able to see me because the snow had disrupted her plans. What snow??? It’s all disappeared already–at least here in London. The snow seems to be providing the kind of excuse that Londoners have not had in two decades–so it’s as good a time as any, I guess, to take advantage of the freaky weather and cancel undesirable commitments!

Since I had a fairly free morning, I decided to watch Under the Greenwood Tree based on the novel by Thomas Hardy, but I was sorely disappointed to find that my DVD (sent to me by Lovefilms.com) was defective and half way through the movie, it simply stopped working–so frustrating! Now I will have to read the rest of the synopsis online somewhere. This brought me up almost to lunchtime when I decided to make myself open toasted sandwiches–one smoked salmon, the other cold tongue (both delicious and with the new tasty multi-seed bread that has just been introduced by M&S).

Then, it was time to shower, and get dressed and go off to school–but I caught Chriselle online and so we chatted for about an hour. Right after, I went in for a shower, then left my flat, took the bus to school and spent over two hours at my desk making phone calls to the various Anglo-Indian contacts I have recently made to request interviews. I was able to schedule about five of them, most of which will be done late this month or in March. I am hoping that the couple of people for whom I left messages will get back to me and that I will have at least ten more respondents by the end of next month. I really do want to spend the month of April in the British Library but I do not want to start examining documents until I have finished the bulk of the interviews.

When I had completed my work at my desk, I took the bus to Kensington to the V&A. I had a completely odd character come and take the seat at the side of me in the very front of the upper deck. Barney started a conversation and told me that he was a paranoid schizophrenic. “Most people think I am mad”, he informed me, “but I’m not mad. I’m just under a lot of drugs. My wife is a paranoid schizophrenic too”, he said.

My heart bled for the poor man. He couldn’t stop talking. He voiced this endless monologue while drinking coffee in great big gulps out of a paper cup. He asked where I was headed and when I said, “The Museum”, he said, “Which one? The Science Museum?”

I replied, “No, the V&A”, to which he said, “Oh, that one’s too high brow for me”.

“What are you?” he asked. “A secretary?”

“No”, I responded. “I am a professor”.

“Oh”, he said, and started to shake my hand vigorously. “I have never met a professor. What do you teach? Sociology?”

Now why did he pick Sociology, I wondered. ” No”, I said. “Literature”.

“Ah, Literature. Do you write well? I have great penmanship. Everyone says I write very well”, he said.

And so it went on. He pulled out a glass phial from his pocket and showed it to me. “I need to take these as injections on my bottom”, he said. “But these allow me to feel normal. They really work”.

Another Close Encounter of the Anglo Kind for me to write about and put into my proposed book. How pitiable was his condition! I truly hope that the combination of drugs he is taking will work for him and bring him healing; for truly, I have never come across anyone quite so distressing in a long while.

Then, I was in the V&A at 7 pm as the museum has late evening hours on Fridays and stays open until 10 pm. My feet felt better with all the massaging and exercises of the morning and I was determnined not to make them worse. I decided, therefore, to stay for no longer than an hour and a half. With this time frame in mind, I headed straight for the Nehru Gallery of South Asian Art on the ground level and then spent the most fascinating hour inspecting a great many jaw-dropping treaures from the Indian sub-continent from the Buddhist era to the Victorian Age of the British Raj.

I saw, for instance, a magnificent set of clothing of the Begum of Oudh. There was also the controversial sword of Tipu Sultan about which there was much brouhaha a few years ago in India. Vijay Mallya had bought it at auction and taken it back to India, if I remember correctly, but I need to read up a little more about it. At any rate, Tipu seemed to have possessed more than one sword for there is still one in the V&A that apparently bears his signature just below the handle.

The throne of Maharana Ranjit Singh was on display as was the signet ring of Moghul Emperor Shah Jehan and the wine cup of Jehangir. I saw spectacular turban ornaments that were presented by Nawab Siraj-u-Daulah after his defeat in the Battle of Plassey in 1757 to the British officials of the East India Company–seriously, the emeralds and rubies were as large as small eggs.

The gallery is stuffed with Moghul and Rajasthani miniature paintings, rare and antiquated Indian textiles–cottons, silks and woolens–that were fashioned into Western and Indian clothing of the time, furniture in ivory, sterling silver household articles, a number of amazing glass utensils, and an array of items that were acquried by British officials during the Raj as presents from Indian rulers–all of which were brought to England from where they made their way into the V&A through donations from the families into whose possession they entered. This section is a must-see for my students of South Asian Civilization and I will surely bring them to these galleries and conduct a lecture in the next few weeks.

Next, I went to the Fashion Gallery next door where I saw a number of interesting exhibits from dresses by leading couture houses over the 20th century to shoes in a variety of styles spanning several centuries and bridal dresses that covered about two centuries. This section always presents an ecletic mixture of items from the ridiculous to the sublime. I mean there were clothes in which I couldn’t see anyone dead and then there were exquisite gowns by Karl Lagerfeld for Chanel and Valentino, among others. There was a lovely outfit in ivory silk covered with seed pearls and sequins that was worn by Princess Diana on a state visit to Hongkong. This was auctioned off to raise money for her charities and was donated to the museum by the folks who bought the gown. The V&A is able to display only a very limited number of items from its vast repertoire at any given time; but it was fun perusing the cases. Certainly, there was nothing in this section that anyone could call remotely “high brow” so I would have to disagree with Barney here.

By 8. 30 pm, my feet had started protesting and I had promsied myself that I would stay for no more than an hour and a half, so I left the museum and took the bus straight home. I settled comfortably in front of the telly to watch Jamie Oliver while tucking into my Broccoli Cheddar Soup (possibly one of the most delicious things I make) and the Steak Pie I purchased from M&S for a pound. It was superb for the price–lovely crusty puff pastry concealed a hearty Beef Stew beneath. It was crammed with very tender pieces of steak and the gravy was finger-lickin’ good.

So on that rather satisfied note, I ended an odd sorta day and look forward to a more normal one tomorrow.