Archive | April 2009

A Visit to Primrose Hill and the Cittie of Yorke Pub

Apr30

Thursday, April 30, 2009
London

I did not do anything very exciting today which, I suppose, is just as well as I had so much work pending. I awoke at 7.00 am which pleases me no end, but at the same time, I am no longer able to get done all the writing I used to when I awoke at 5 am! So I am now losing two productive hours of work!!!

I spent the entire morning transcribing an interview I did with one of my subjects last week. I started at 10.00 am and by the time I finished with it and was able to send it off to my work email address to be printed, it was almost 2 pm at which point I stopped for lunch.

The drizzle which had wet the place this morning had stopped by the afternoon and with the skies bright again, I could not resist the thought of getting out and about for a bit–I had, after all, been chained to my PC for the entire morning. So I had a shower and hopped on to a bus from Holborn and took a drive and then a long walk in Primrose Hill, a part of London of which I had heard so much and wanted very much to explore.

Primrose Hill is just north of Regent’s Park. I wasn’t exactly sure how to get there, so I hopped off at Camden Market and walked all along the periphery of Regent’s Park. This brought me to the very pretty Regent’s Park Tow Path along the Regent’s Canal–a lovely space filled with houseboats on the water. I took a few pictures and continued my walk, asking for directions as I went along. Finally, about 45 minutes later, after going by the entrance to London Zoo, I arrived at Primrose Hill. This area is mainly residential and has become very upscale in recent years what with a few English celebrities having moved here. I thought I would find some nice stores in which I could window shop, but all I saw were a few coffee chops and a large number of estate agent’s offices. There were some interior decorating stores that I browsed in, but apart from that, well, nothing much and I was disappointed.

Back home, I was getting ready for my meeting with a friend named John with whom I would be visiting the Cittie of Yorke pub that is in my very building and boasts the largest bar in all of London–in fact, it is so large that one book describes it as being “more of a baronial hall than a pub”. It also proudly states that it serves beer from Yorkshire’s oldest brewery.

But just as I was getting ready to meet up with John, Chriselle called me about a change in her dates for her visit to London and now as things stand everything is still up in the air. Since her time here will now overlap my proposed dates for a visit to Paris, I am trying to see if I can get her a Eurostar ticket to join me in Paris on the Chunnel train. This is assuming the folks in France can also accommodate her at their Paris apartment in addition to me.

Oh well… I guess we will all have to take these changes in our stride. I am happy for her as the reason for the change in her plans is that she has rather suddenly landed the part in an important commercial in the States and is looking forward to her role in it. I am really glad for her and I am now keeping my fingers crossed that everything will fall into place and that we will spend quality time together no matter where it might be.

John did ring my doorbell on schedule and we did spend a very pleasant evening together talking about my research and our mutual interests. Over a glass of white wine, he gave me many ideas and suggestions for more places to explore in the vicinity of London and I am looking forward to covering all of them.

I reached home an hour later and spent most of the evening trying to resolve the issue of dates and flight timings and that sort of thing. I was quite wrung out mentally by 10. 30 and fell asleep after brushing and flossing my teeth.

Visiting Ham House and an Afternoon with Stephen Tomkinson

Apr29

Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Richmond, Surrey

It seems as if I am sleeping longer as the days are getting longer. This morning, I awoke at 7 am–not too bad at all and a far cry from 5 am. which had been my usual wake-up time for months! It left me enough time to write my blog, read 40 pages of The Order of the Phoenix and catch up with email.

I got out of bed after 10 am, showered, had my breakfast and left the house for my long bus ride to Richmond. I ran two quick errands before I boarded the bus–I had to return a battery I had bought from Maplin for a refund and I had to hand in a refund form to London Underground–I had bought a Day Travelcard on the day I traveled to Norwood and not knowing that it was also valid on the bus network, I had spent 4 pounds buying two separate bus tickets for which, I was told, I was entitled to a refund–which the clerk told me would take 21 working days! Don’t you just marvel at the way British bureaucracy works??!!

Well, I used the time aboard the bus to grade papers on what was another fabulous day. Warm sunshine and the slightest hint of a breeze made it particularly lovely. I made swift and easy connections and arrived at Richmond Tube Station at 12. 15 pm at which point I connected with another bus (the 371) that took me to Ham Street. On the bus I entered into friendly and enlightening conversation with a lovely lady from Winston-Salem, North Carolina, who has lived in London for 35 years. She told me of other places to nearby visit but I simple did not have the time.

My idea was to try and squeeze in a quick visit to Ham House, also in Richmond, that is run by the National Trust. Since I have a membership to the Royal Oak Foundation (the American equivalent), I get free entrance to all National Trust-run properties which have only recently re-opened for the season. Since Richmond’s Ham House is one of these, I figured I would see it today.

It was a 10 minute hike from the bus stop to the gate of Ham House which looks far less impressive on the outside than it is within. It also has extensive formal gardens but since I had only an hour in which to check it out, I made straight for the house. Two very helpful female volunteers provided me with the brochures that would make my visit more enjoyable and suggested I go to “the Dairy” to watch the 10 minute film that gives a brief history of the house. This was exactly what I did and 15 minutes later, I made my way to the upper floor past a very small chapel, having acquired a good background about the house and its former inhabitants.

The wooden staircase is richly carved and very impressive indeed and on the upstairs landing, you are greeted by a number of 17th and 18th century members of aristocracy who gaze at you from the gilded frames of several oil portraits. The same large number of oil portraits, many by Peter Lely, are to be found in the Long Gallery, as also a large number of cabinets in ivory, Japanese lacquer and marqueted wood. The grand rooms on the ground floor speak of the wealth of the house’s inhabitants, prime among them being Elizabeth Murray whose parents originally owned the house. She married well (I forget the name of her first husband) and her husband’s wealth helped her maintain the grand home.

But Civil War broke out and very shortly, she was widowed. During Cromwell’s reign, she acted as a spy for the supporters of Charles II in exile in France (placing her life in jeopardy) and was richly rewarded for her loyalty to him when he returned to the throne in 1660 to make her a Countess. This led to her second married to the Duke of Lauderdale which furthered her power, prestige and wealth and allowed her to extend Ham House adding the opulent rooms that we see today. However, she died in poverty, easily and quickly forgotten by the royal circle within which she had revolved. Her descendants approached the National Trust, a few years ago, to maintain the house for them and visitors today are led into the intrigue and prestige of the 17th century in the rooms that were created for the visits of Queen Catherine of Braganza and her entourage.

I would dearly love to return to Ham House and Gardens and perhaps shall do so when I spend a night with Stephanie at her place in Richmond. The banks of the Thames outside London are strewn with such grand estates (Syon House is one other) and now that the weather is changing and I am free of teaching duties, perhaps I can try to see the National Trust ones.

But I had other plans for the afternoon, so by 1.45, I made my way outside, back to the bus-stop and arrived in Richmond in time for my 2. 30 pm show of Tim Firth’s Sign of the Times that starred only two actors–Stephen Tomkinson (whom I was delighted to see in the flesh after having seen him on TV in Ballykissangel) and Tom Ward. They played each other off very well in a gently amusing comedy in which Tomkinson showed his versatility by playing a character that was very different from his role in Ballykissangel where he played Fr. Peter Clifford. I munched on an apple and a peach and some pistachios in the theater–my lunch–until I bought myself a Scotch Egg at Tescos after the show and had myself a very nice afternoon at the theater.

Then, I was on the bus again headed for the city–using the drive to continue grading my papers and getting a neat batch done. But when the bus passed through Kensington High Street, I could not resist the temptation to alight and on impulse I entered Holland Park to take some pictures of the Kyoto Garden and the Orangery as I had my camera with me. I spent the next hour in these lovely environs, surrounded by flowers and twittering birds and the fragrance of wisteria and lilacs in every possible shade of purple. The Kyoto Garden has become one of my very favorite parts of London and with the azaleas in bloom in shades from soft pink to hot magenta, I was enchanted. I took my pictures, then sat on a bench overlooking the small waterfall and graded more papers as I enjoyed the perfect temperature of this gorgeous day. I had waited all winter long for days like these and now that they are here with us, I want to enjoy as much of them as I can out-of-doors.

By 7. 30 pm, I was back home, chatting with Llew on the phone and proofreading a bunch of travelogues I had written before I mail them off to my friends with my April newsletter.

Croydon Anglo-Indians and an Evening with Andrea Levy

Apr28

Tuesday, April 28, 2009
London

I awoke at 7. 30 this morning–YYYEESS!!! It is the latest I have woken up since I came to live in London. I felt enormously rested and very much wanted to stay in bed for a lazy lie-in…but I had too much to do before I left for my long journey to Croydon to interview more Anglo-Indians. I had spent a good part of the morning trying to figure out the best way to get there by using Journey Planner.

Shower and breakfast done, I took Bus 341 from Gray’s Inn Road to Waterloo Bridge from where I connected to the 176 to Penge. I got off at Penge High Street and the Pawlyne Arms (a pub) and connected to the 75 that took me to the Norwood Junction Clock Tower from where Dulcie Jacob of the South Norwood Anglo-Indian Association picked me up in her car and took me over to her place. The whole jouney took me about an hour and a half during which I graded one lot of student papers–no doubt, it would have taken me an hour had I used the interline train. The day was bright and warm and filled me with a tremendous sense of optimism.

In about ten minutes, I was seated in Dulcie’s living-room having met the other three respondents–her husband Ashley, and their friends: Florence Daly and John Stringer. It was the first time I was interviewing four people at the same time and I was extremely nervous and doubtful about my ability to do that effectively enough. Still, I tried as best I could and after introductions were made, and Dulcie served a welcome round of coffee, I began with my questions.

Needless to say, I found all four of them very interesting indeed. It is amazing how divergently people think despite that the fact that their core experiences in the UK have remained similar–they are all first-generation mixed race immigrants from India who ‘came out’ in the 50s and 60s. As always, it is their graciousness that most charms me–where have these old-world manners and customs gone? It is in my close association with these people that I realize what a fine job our Indian educators did in raising a generation of people who might not have a string of degrees behind their names but are informed, articulate, polished, socially graceful and open-minded. Maybe I have been extraordinarily fortunate in having made contact only with people who possess such admirable qualities, but I have rarely felt disappointment after an interview. Despite the fact that the interview went on for hours–I was, after all, speaking to four people at the same time and juggling four interviews simultaneously–they were respectful of my work, remarkably patient and often humorous in their responses–yes, they do also have a huge sense of humor–it is probably this that saw them through their roughest years in this country.

We took a break at lunch time when Dulcie brought out a few typically Anglo-Indian items of food–marvelous ‘patties’ (something I have only seen in India–ground meat parcelled in rectangles of crispy puff pastry) and fruit cake studded, rather unsually but deliciously, I thought, with candied stem ginger. Another round of coffee followed. Despite the fact that I am on a low-carb diet, I managed to find sustenance in the patties though I declined the cake. I was amused to notice that a bottle of hot sauce made the rounds and accompanied the patties–some habits die hard, I suppose, including a fondness for the fiery cuisine of India. It explains why the one thing to which the Anglo-Indians have stuck resolutely in this country is their need for daily rice and curry!

I resumed the interview after these snacks and things went along swimmingly with a lot of laughter and cheeky comments occasionally thrown in. These folks are old friends who are fully comfortable with each other and have found the kind of camaraderie that fills their retired days with the happiest of moments. It felt great to be in their company, to absorb some of their massive love of life and to be conscious of their achievements. I believe that while there is an upside to interviewing four people at the same time–it saved me time and the trouble of going out to Croydon more than once–though it did take away, I think, from the quality of the interviews I ended with as I do think that I did not get the kind of in-depth responses I have received from people whom I have met as individuals or in pairs. Still, I also got some startling new information from these folks of which I was unaware and for that I was very grateful.

Dulcie dropped me to the Bus terminus which allowed me to make my bus connections back to town–but going to the terminus lost me valuable time–over 45 mintues–and I was not able to get home as I had expected to change before my evening’s appointment into something more presentable than jeans and sneakers. However, when I realized that I no longer had the time for a change of clothes, I switched plans and got off at Tottenham Court Road from where I walked directly to the Congress House on Great Russel Street to attend an NYU organized event–an evening with novelist Andrea Levy, author of Small Island.

Andrea Levy is one of the most notable names among Black British writers today. She is the author of several books but it was Small Island that won her huge fame and kudos. A second-generation immigrant from Jamaica, her parents arrived in England on The Windrush, the famous ship that carried the first lot of Caribbean immigrants to England in 1948. Her novels have been systematic attempts to understand the motivations that drew these folks to England, to articulate their early experiences with racism and difference, to document their struggles and their triumphs and to comment on the changes that have occured within their community in over half a century–her work, in fact, is–you guessed in–very similar to my current research project, except that I am dealing with mixed-race Indian immigrants and am an outsider; (i.e. not an immigrant in the UK but from the USA; and not a member of the Anglo-Indian community at all) while Levy has emerged from amidst this community and can, therefore, write about it based not just on observations and interviews but shared experience. Still, in trying to write about Collective Memory, our objectives are identical and I was eager to find out what she had to say.

So, it was with rising excitement that I listened to Levy read from her novel. She chose the voices of four of her characters and dramatized them beautifully as she changed her accent and intonation to suit each voice. Not only were we entertained by the comedic aspects of her ‘performance’, but we were given an additional insight into how these folks might have sounded when they first arrived in Great Britain. Despite the attempts of the fairer-skinned ones to ‘pass’ as English, it was these accents that gave them away–similar to the Anglo-Indians I’ve been meeting who told me that though some of them were pale enough to be mistaken for native Britons, the moment they opened their mouths to speak, they gave themselves away.

I was pleased to be able to chat with Levy for a few minutes after the reading and to take a picture with her. I found her a remarkable speaker who answered questions very competently and very thoroughly and brought her characterisitic sense of humor into her responses. The evening’s questions were moderated by Ulrich Baer who arrived from New York where he is in-charge of multi-cutlural programs at NYU. As a specialist in Comparative Literature himself, he was really the best person to moderate the evening and he did a splendid job.

Then, we all adjourned to our Bedford Square campus for the reception. I was heartened to see how well attended the talk had been and how many students had turned up to hear Levy despite the fact that this is the last week before classes end and they are up to their eyes in homework commitments. The table was laden with the most appetizing finger food–grilled prawns, salmon goujons, chicken satay, smoked salmon bruschetta, among other things while on the other side were drinks. I was disapppointed not to find a diet Coke and had to make do with a glass of white wine but there was enough choice of food for me to have a mini-dinner before the evening was through. I did have the chance finally to speak to Prof. Javed Majeed who is my counterpart here in London in that he teaches Post-Colonial Literature to our students here–similar to the courses I teach in New York. We have made plans to meet later in June. Over all, it was a wonderful evening but a rather tiring day and when I left campus at about 9 pm, I arrived home quite wrung out.

I managed to draft my April newsletter before I looked at plans for the rest of the week and switched off my bedside lamp at 11. 30 pm. Tomorrow, I am off to Richmond again to see a play Sign of the Times at Richmond Theater, but the long drives are now providing me with time to grade papers, so they are rather productive on the whole.

Boo Hoo–Last Classes, Last Faculty Meeting at NYU-London

Apr27

Monday, April 27, 2009
London

So, it dawned–faster than I could ever have imagined–my last two classes at NYU-London. And with that, the academic year has come to an end, for me at least. Since I only teach on Mondays, I am done for the year as next Monday is a Bank Holiday and I am off work. My colleagues will keep teaching all of next week, but for me, I collected some more essays to grade over the next few days and closed shop. Though I was really sorry to say goodbye to my students, I took consolation in the fact that I will see several of them next academic year (i.e. in September) in New York as they have signed up for my course on South Asian Studies. So it was Au Revoir, not Goodbye.

It occurs to me that I have to start to clear out my office and ship back my books and files home to Connecticut–so I guess this is really the beginning of the end of my stint in London. Despite the fact that I will remain in the UK at least until the end of July, my teaching responsibilities have come to a close and I can now focus on my research and writing. I am still looking for Anglo-Indians to interview with the aim of completing at least 50 interview. With 30 of them done, I am hoping that the months of May, June and July will provide me with 20 more interviews. Fingers crossed.

Right after my classes, I had a short meeting with Yvonne to sort out my utility bills and then I hurried straight to our faculty meeting–another last one–the last one of the semester and academic year. It is always preceded by a light dinner–which, I realize in the UK usually means tea sandwiches and tray bakes for dessert. Since I am still on my low-carb lunch (I had a scotch egg and a cup of soup for lunch), I took the fillings out of a few of the sandwiches and ate them for dinner with a Diet Coke.

This last meeting gave me the opportunity to speak on behalf of my colleague Karen and thank the Director of our program here David as well as the administrative staff and my faculty colleagues for all the support they provided us over the past two semesters. It has been an unforgettable professional opportunity and I know that this year will remain forever etched in my memory as one of the happiest I have ever known. I am aware of the fact that in another three months, this entire year will seem like a dream to me as I get caught up in the routine of my regular domestic life in Connecticut and my professional life in New York. But for the moment, I am trying hard to live entirely in the moment and savor each second.

A few of my colleagues actually came up to say goodbye and wish me well and said they hoped they would see me back in London sometime. Then, I said my own goodbyes all around and hurried off home, went straight to my ‘larder’ (M&S Simply Food) and bought a few items (eggs, bacon, sausages, chicken) as I need to cook for this week. This low-carb diet means that I am pretty restricted in what I can eat and I need to cook more than I have done in all these months.

Then, I did something I have been putting off so too long–the reconciliation of my accounts and the filing of all my credit card slips for almost two months. This took me an hour (as I had expected it would) and left me only with enough time to find out, using Journey Planner, how to get by bus tomorrow to Norwood Junction where I shall be meeting some more Anglo-Indians.

Being too tired to do anything more productive, I read a little bit of The Order of the Phoenix and went straight to bed.

Celebrating Shakespeare’s Birthday–in Stratford and Warwick

Apr26

Sunday, April 26, 2099
Stratford-on-Avon and Warwick

Though I switched off my bedside lamp at 1.30 am last night, I did not fall asleep for at least an hour. Awful tossing and turning and vain efforts to count sheep left me deeply frustrated. Yet, I awoke at about 7. 00. So it is little wonder that I was yawning loudly and frequently in Stephanie’s car on our way back from Warwick this evening. We’d spent the day in Warwickshire (visiting his birth place of Stratford-on-Avon–for the third time, in my case– which is the second most popular tourist town in the country after London) in celebration of Shakespeare’s birthday. Can you believe that he was born and died on the same day–April 23!!! Stephanie couldn’t. ” How weird is that?” she kept asking for she simply had never heard of anyone coming into this world and leaving it forever on the same day.

Now that Stephanie lives in Richmond and I have a bus pass again (and the Tube fare to get there and back is a whopping 7 pounds), I thought I would try to figure out the way to get there by bus. And using Journey Planner, I discovered that it wasn’t difficult at all, especially on a Sunday morning when there is barely any traffic and the bus flies. I was there in about an hour and a half and that’s just because I wasn’t sure where to make bus connections. On the way back it took me just an hour and ten minutes–on the Tube it takes an hour–so it felt really great to find the way without having to spend a bomb on the Tube ride.

Stratford-on-Avon–Shakeapeare’s Beautiful Birthplace:
Stephanie and I first made our way to Stratford-on-Avon (which, I finally found out, is pronounced exactly like the name of the cosmetics company). It took us about an hour and a half to get there which meant that we were parking at the Stratford Leisure Center a little after 12 noon. Stratford was swarming with visitors–not just because this is The Bard’s birthday weekend but because the Stratford Triathlon was also held today (the same day as the London Marathon) and hundreds of people had arrived on what was a splendid day indeed.

As usual, we were famished by the time we reached the town and headed straight for food. Only since my low-carb diet lays strict restrictions, I could only eat the fried fish part of a fish and chips platter that I found at a place called The Golden Bee–certainly not the best fish and chips I have eaten. It was soggy and greasy and over-fried and quite disastrous. Stephanie had gone off to see Shakespeare’s birthplace (I have seen it before, so did not go inside). When we did hook up again, we walked through an antiques fair where I was delighted to find a watch at a rock bottom price. It felt so good to have a wrist watch again!

Our next port of call was Trinity Church with its beautiful grave yard and moss-covered grave stones. This is the church in which Shakespeare was baptised and then buried. Inside, I made the discovery that visitors are required to pay 1. 50 pounds to visit Shakespeare’s grave as it is badly in need of funds and figures it could make some money this way. On the two occasions in the past when I have visited this church–once, 22 years ago, when I was a student at Oxford and then about 10 years ago when I had returned with Llew and Chriselle during our tour of the Cotswolds–we had seen the grave without paying any money. While Stephanie went up to the altar to take a look, I used the opportunity to say a few prayers in the church before we walked out again on to the sun-flooded banks of the River Avon where boats plied on the swan-filled waters.

En route, we had seen the other important Tudor and Elizabethan buildings for which the town is known such as Nash’s House and Hall’s Croft. Since this is the week on which Shakespeare’s birthday is celebrated, there were yellow flags lining the streets and arrangements in the garden that created his portrait in fresh flowers–a rather unusual touch. Poetry readings and a literary festival were a part of the week-long celebrations but both Stephanie and I lacked the enthusiasm to do much more than stroll around at leisure.

Everyone felt suitably festive in the bracing spring air. For me, one of the best parts of England in the spring is the opportunity to admire the incredible chestnut tress with their profuse large candle-like white flowers that we do not see at all in the United States. Also putting on a showy display of lavender blooms all over the stone walls of aged houses are wisteria vines. It is impossible to pass them by without stopping to examine their complicated construction–they hang in heavy bunches, looking for all the world, like grapes. Flower-beds in all the public gardens are blooming luxuriously with flowers in a shocking variety of colors and I have been taking pictures galore. Oh, it sure feels good to enjoy England in the spring time!

It was just 3 pm when we were done strolling around Stratford. We were both disappointed the The Royal Shakespeare Company’s Swan Theater is undergoing massive renovations and has been closed down temporarily. All shows are being performed in the nearby Courtauld Theatre which we visited briefly. Stephanie was not interested in seeing the home of Shakespeare’s wife–Anne Hattaway’s Cottage in nearby Shottery–even though I told her that it is one of England’s prettiest thatched cottages with a delightful cottage garden. She was more keen on seeing Warwick Castle which is only an 8-mile ride away.

Arrival in the Town of Warwick:
I thought it was a a capital idea and into the car we went. Just fifteen minutes later, we arrived in the medieval town of Warwick which I had never seen before. We headed straight for the castle but by then it was already 3.45 pm and we discovered that entry fee was almost 17 pounds. Neither one of us thought it worthwhile to spend so much money on a ticket that we’d only be able to use for a couple of hours. We skirted the periphery of the Castle property spying some showy peacocks in the Elizabethan Knot Garden before we decided to discover the town on foot as we had already spent money on the parking meter.

Warwick is one of England’s most intact medieval towns. It has all the ingredients that make a town a tourist attraction and we had a chance to sample some of those: the River Avon flows gently through it (as it does at Stratford) and we were able to see a few oarsmen rowing their boats in the water. There is the beautiful stone Church of St. Mary with its blue-faced clock staring benignly upon the bylanes of the town that are lined with listed houses. Then, there is, of course, the massive 13th century castle which until very recently was inhabited by a family of Dukes. There was several medieval buildings with exposed beams and stucco walls including the stunning Lord Leycester’s Hospital which is a misnomer as it was never a hospital at all. It was once the guildhall of the town and then a chantry and a chapel and, ultimately, on being purchased by Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex (and supposedly the only man that Queen Elizabeth I ever really loved), it was turned into homes for former military men –a function it still fulfils. We took some charming pictures of this lovely gabled building before we strolled for a bit in the public gardens that were a riot of colors as flower-beds had sprouted to life bringing tall and stately tulips in their wake.

It was at about 5 pm that we started our drive back home and it was at 8. 30 that I arrived home, tired and very eager to have myself a nice shower and a light dinner, to write this blog and get straight to bed.

Out and About with Loreen and Dinner Next Door

Apr25

Saturday, April 25, 2009
London

When the day dawned all grey and dreary, I thought, Oh no….that’s it, the end of the glorious week we had. But then, just an hour later, the sky cleared up miraculously, those clouds parted and the sun shone full upon our curve of the globe.

Not that I intended to get anywhere during the morning. I was too tied up transcribing the interview I did with Susan Lynn last week. Needless to say, it took hours and went into 11 pages! My friend Loreen called to find out when I could hook up with her as it is her last day in London (she returns tomorrow to Connecticut). I excused myself pleading work and told her to carry on to the Shakespeare Globe Theater with her daughter Alicia to see Romeo and Juliet as I intended to see it when Chriselle arrived here. I did tell her to come over to my flat for a cup of tea after the show. This left me time to complete my work, proofread it and email it to my office to be printed out.

But less than an hour later, they called again to tell me that the Globe was House Full and they could not so much as get their small toes in! Well, we had no option but to alter our plans. I grabbed myself a light lunch and ran in for a shower and, a half hour later, I was opening my door to them.

It was while we were enjoying a cup of tea that my doorbell rang–it was Tim, my next-door neighbor, whom I invited to join us for a cuppa. He did just that and we spent almost an hour chatting together. Tim had come in bearing an invitation to his place for dinner in the evening as he was fixing Spaghetti Bolognese. Well, I told him that while I would be there in a heartbeat, I was on a low-carb diet and would have to skip the spaghetti and eat only the bolognese sauce. Or, he suggested, as an alternative, I could eat a very small portion of spaghetti–which I agreed I would do.

Then, Loreen, Alicia and I left for a long ramble in Holborn intending to visit the Inns of Court at Chancery. Only most of them were closed (because it was a Saturday?). We were glad we were able to see Gray’s Inn. We did arrive at Fleet Street where we decided to visit the Church of St. Clement Danes on The Strand. The bells of the church seemed to have crazy–the famous bells from the poem, that is: “Oranges and Lemons, Say the Bells of St. Clement’s”. The reason for the carillon was that a wedding had just ended and being the romantics we are, we stood on the sidewalk and watched as the bridal couple received warm wishes and hugs and kisses from their guests.

Interestingly, all of the ladies were wearing Phillip Treacy hats–I wonder if the bride had stipulated this–“You can only attend my wedding if you wear a Phillip Treacy hat!” She herself, dressed in a lovely cream lace gown, was a vision in the midst of so many gentlemen in top hats and tail coats–this is one aspect of English culture that I do wish had crossed the pond–the wearing of hats for ladies and top hats and tail coats for men at formal weddings, I mean. No matter how beautifully American women dress for weddings, none of them ever wears a hat. Pity, methinks!

The wedding party soon left the church ‘yard’ or what little is left of it in the middle of The Strand and filed into the two old Routemaster red buses hired for the occasion from London Transport to take them, presumably, to the next venue for the party! I watched all this, delighted to note that I had experienced an English wedding too while in London. Surely these folks could not have prayed for a better day. I mean there was not a cloud in the sky and the temperature was just perfect!

When the bridal party left, we trooped into the church so Loreen could check it out and take some pictures (I had seen this church previously on one of my self-guided walks) and then, because Alicia informed me that her mother had not yet seen Covent Garden, we walked there and spent the next hour watching buskers perform, listening to a string orchestra and taking in the tourist energy all around us. Yes, with the weather having changed, London is fast filling with tourists and I can’t help but feel pleased that I explored so many parts of the country and indeed Europe at a time when I had most of these sites entirely to myself.

Then, we were piling into a bus with the intention of getting to Holland Park so I could photograph some of the tulips I saw there before they have quite disappeared. But we were tempted on two occasion to alight: once by the crowds at Trafalgar Square where Mayor Boris Johnson was holding a free concert to celebrate St. George’s Day (though the temptation was strong, we resisted alighting from the bus at that point and elected to stay on board) and once at Piccadilly where we did get off to explore Fortnum and Mason as we were all starving by this point.

In the food court, we bought ourselves Scotch Eggs and quiche (for Alicia), then settled down on a bench at St. James’ Church Square and munched on our extempore snack as the craft vendors closed shop for the day. By then it was almost 6. 45 pm and time for me to return for my dinner with Tim and Barbara next door.

And what a delightful evening that was! Tim, of course, not only produced one of the superb meals I have grown to expect from him, but ever so thoughtfully had changed the menu completely in keeping with the dictates of my low-carb diet! To my enormous surprise, he eliminated the spaghetti and while he retained the Bolognese Sauce, he served it with sauteed mushrooms, glazed carrots and steamed beans–all of which combined to make a truly delicious meal and a most colorful plate! For dessert, I had taken along a Belgian Chocolate Cheesecake from “our larder” (as they like to call the M&S Simply Foods across our building) and together with coffee, it made another wonderful course which we enjoyed as we watched golf on TV, listened to extracts from a revue from the 1960s by Flanders and Swann, watched a portion of Top Gear, a BBC TV show of which I had never heard and generally talked about a lot of things! Time always flies when I am in their company and before I knew it was it was past 10. 30 pm and time for me to thank them and return home–all the way next-door!

I told Llew all about my day before I fell asleep but not before I wrote this blog.

Tomorrow I am off to Stratford-on-Avon with Stephanie to celebrate Shakespeare’s birthday in his own hometown!

Classes En Plein-Air and Seeing James McAvoy on Stage

Apr25

Friday, April 24, 2009
London

It is unusual for my students to have classes on a Friday…so their faces were as long as a month of Sundays today. NYU-London had scheduled Make-Up classes today for the ones we will miss on Bank Holiday May 4 (Don’t know what the Bank Holiday’s for…but I will find out soon–my British cultural ignorance surfacing again).

With The Order of the Phoenix coming along nicely, I showered, breakfasted (yes, I am losing weight but slower than I had hoped) and made my way to campus by bus–I have purchased a 2-week bus pass again. Another fabulous day meant that the sun was shining brightly, the temperature was so comfortable I actually walked out of my building without a coat and it felt good to be alive.

While sorting out the many student essays (drafts and final papers) that I had graded this past week, I discovered that I had left a few graded ones at home. I groaned to myself. It meant that I would have to return home during my lunch break to pick them up. Still, I didn’t feel too badly about it as the weather was bracing and it would be great to take a walk at lunch-time.

Classes held in plein-air, i.e. in the Gardens of Bedford Square to which we, the NYU Community, have a personal key, meant that I marched my students across Bloomsbury Street, sat them down on the grass and taught in the full glorious sunshine of a golden spring morning. Can there be more unexpected pleasure than this sort of treat affords?

At lunchtime, I zoomed off home, picked up the papers I had left behind and returned to teach my second class whose faces grew even longer after they received grades on their essays and my comments. A few of them gave oral presentations using Powerpoint on Irish London, South Asian London, Vietnamese London and African London–all of which were fascinating and made me want to hop on a bus to go out and discover these quarters (Kilburn, the East End, Old Street, etc.) When we did not require the use of audio-visual equipment any more, I marched them out into the gardens as well–at least that seemed to raise their spirits–where a lovely graduation party was under way with scores of people sipping wine and nibbling on finger food and “things on sticks” as Hyacinth Bucket would say (Keeping Up Appearances). It did not deter us from finding a quiet corner and carrying on with class. I have to say that I have already begun to feel withdrawal symptoms at the thought that my teaching year at NYU-London is coming to a quick close. God alone knows how I will get through the actual departure–not, I am sure, without loads of Kleenex!

I got on to the bus then and hopped off at Shaftesbury Avenue (after I had done some printing at my desk and tweaked our proposed itinerary for Chriselle’s visit to London) and arrived at the Apollo Theater to see Three Days of Rain, a play by Richard Greenberg starring James McAvoy, Nigel Harman and Lynsey Marshal. Needless to say, I booked tickets for this one to see McAvoy–not that I particularly like him. I saw him in Becoming Jane (and did not like him at all but then I did not like the movie either) and then in Atonement (where I think he was terrific) and in The Last King of Scotland (where I thought he did equally well), but because I know in my bones that he will shape into one of the great actors of our time.

The play is a finely written, tension-filled family drama. Three young folks (a brother and sister duo and a friend, Walker, Nan and Pip) meet to hear the reading of a will upon the death of their architect fathers who happened to be business partners (Ned and Theo). Tension mounts when Walker makes the discovery that Nan was once intimate with Pip whom he had always thought of as his best friend. The scene them swings back forty years to the 1960s when the three actors on stage play their own parents. That’s when several parallel discoveries (including one of sexual intimacy) are revealed echoing those of the previous half of the play. This sort of clever crafting of plot through flashback makes for first-class drama and requires actors of the highest calibre. The selected three, in my opinion, did not disappoint. The two German ladies sitting besides me with whom I entered into conversation (0ne happened to be a Professor of Art History in Munich) informed me that they had seen the same play at the Donmar Warehouse, ten years ago, with Colin Firth playing McAvoy’s role.

What fired the production for me was the fine acting. The play is set in Manhattan which meant that they used New York accents–McAvoy’s was particularly impressive considering that in real life he has a broad Glaswegian one having been raised in Scotland. Lynsey Marshal was just as good though there were shades of Vivienne Liegh’s Blanche Dubois in her portrayal of the giddy Southern belle Lina. The sets were sparse and the effects, particularly the rain which one critic described as “pure theatrical Niagara”, were very good indeed. The theater is one of the smallest in the West End and though I had the very last seat in the house on the ground floor, it made very good viewing indeed.

My student Meg who is currently taking a course on Contemporary British Drama had seen the play last week. She told me, during our morning class, that the actors emerge at the end of the show to meet fans. Armed with my Playbill, I hastened to the back of the theater to the Apollo Theater Stage Door and waited– feeling for all the world like a groupie!–until the actors showed their faces. I thought that Nigel Harman has all the makings of a future star and I was delighted when he signed my program. Ditto for Marshal who impersonally and indifferently scribbled her name in several programs (including mine) while showing more interest in some people, presumably of importance, who chose to enter the theater through the stage door at precisely that point. When, eventually McAvoy emerged–there must be a strategy here…save the best for last kind of thing–there was a bit of a frenzy, but McAvoy was gracious and smiled warmly for the cameras as he autographed programmes (mine included). I have to say that this too was a first time experience for me. I mean imagine me standing there alone at a stage door to get my Playbill autographed by the actors I have just seen on stage. I have never done this before–not after any of the scores of plays I have seen in my lifetime in Bombay, Broadway or the West End. Still, I have to say that it was an exciting experience and one more thing to write home about. I actually saw something interesting–a number of what looked like ‘dealers’–guys whose trade lies in haunting stage doors with Playbills in their hands to obtain the signatures of the cast. The Playbills, I imagine, will appear on e-bay tomorrow!!!

Back on the bus, I braved the awful traffic of the West End at the end of show time and returned to my flat a little after 11 pm when I chatted with Llew and went to bed.

.

Celebrating St. George’s Day and the Bard’s Birthday with Loreen.

Apr23

Thursday, April 23, 2009
London

London awoke to another spectacular National Day–for April 23, St George’s Day, is the closest the British come to having a National Day–St. George, who killed the dragon, is the patron saint of England!

My day began with a hefty installment of Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix that I am finding rather absorbing. In-between grading more student papers (when they rain in on me, they pour!) and working on an itinerary for Chriselle’s stay with me in early May, I managed to make a call to my parents in Bombay and rushed in for a shower.

For I had an 11.30 am appointment with my friend Loreen at St. James’ Park Tube Station and it is always a production connecting at Bank station where not only is there a name change (Bank becomes Monument), but you are required to get out of the Underground, walk overground for a couple of blocks and go back underground again. This delayed me by 15 minutes but we made contact at 11. 45 and started our walk–yes, another one from my Frommer’s book 24 Great Walks in London. This one is entitled “A Brush with Royalty”.

Loreen could not have lucked out more with the weather for she has had an unbelievable week. I can only hope that Chrissie will have half as decent a week when she gets here. Our walk took us through Royal London–past Buckingham Palace and St. James Palace (which I had never seen before). It was at the Queen’s Chapel (attached to the Court of St. James–don’t you just love the sound of that phrase?) that we realized it was St. George’s Day. There was a Holy Communion service on in the private chapel that is designed by Inigo Jones. Both Loreen and I wanted to get in for a peek but the bobby who stood at the door told us that it had been locked from the inside. We asked if the Queen was in, by any chance. “Can’t be, can she?” he responded. “She’s in Scotland, she is”. A few more affable words were exchanged before we said bye to him and made our way into Marlborough House, Headquarters of the Commonwealth, and approached by a private courtyard one wall of which was covered with fragrant flowering lavender wisteria that just took our breath away. Both Loreen and I are avid gardeners in Connecticut and we exclaimed long and longingly at all the spring flower beds we saw at St. James’ Park where the tulips are currently crying out for attention with their marvelous colors.

Then we were at the chapel in which Princess Diana’s body lay in state–we only caught exterior glimpses of its stained glass windows before we found our way into St. James Square Gardens, a delightful place whose lawns were simply strewn with seated human beings munching on their lunch-time sandwiches. Soft pink petals had carpetted the flower beds from the cherry trees that encircle the focal point of the garden–a sculpture of King William III who died after falling from his horse who reared suddenly when he tripped over a molehill. This brought us to Waterloo Place and the tall column of the Duke of York who gazes benignly over Pall Mall (all festive with dozens of Union Jacks lining it–another sign that St. George was being remember) just across from the entrance to St. James’ Park where we ate our picnic lunch while seated on a bench. We had earlier in the day savored the pleasure of occupying one of the striped green lawn chairs in the same park.

Lunch consumed, we walked across the Horse Guards Parade, wandered through Admiralty Arch and arrived at Whitehall just opposite Inigo Jones’ famous Banqueting House which I suggested to Loreen she should seen. Always game to see something interesting, Loreen agreed. Inside, we watched a film together on the history of the building and its special association with the execution of Charles I while Loreen nipped upstairs to study Peter Paul Reubens’ ceiling painting, I sat and graded a few more papers.

When she reappeared, we looked at the sculpture of poor Charles I on horseback at the end of Whitehall and the beginning of Trafalgar Square, then walked down Northumberland Road to the Embankment Tube Station. We crossed the criss-crossing Hungerford Bridge on foot (a first time for me) to arrive at the South Bank where at the Royal Festival Hall, Loreen’s daughter, Alicia hooked up with us. A short rest later, we walked the length of the South Bank past the Tate Modern and the Globe with the intention of visiting Borough Market which is open on Thursdays. En route, we stopped at the OXO Building (another first time for me), took the elevator to its rooftop restaurant and got some stirring glimpses of the city on a remarkably clear day before we resumed our walk.

We soon arrived at Southwark passing by the Clink Prison, the replica of Sir Francis Drake’s Golden Hinde and Southwark Cathedral before we entered the market only to find it closing for the day. There were none of the crowds or the variety of foods to be found when business is in full swing. Still, they got a taste (literally!) of the place, for the vendors were still dishing out a few samplers.

Then, because we all craved a cup of tea, I led them to The George Inn, London’s only “galleried” inn where Pandemonium reigned. Indeed, we saw young men dressed as knights, sporting the red and white colors of the flag of St. George and downing pints faster than you could say “By George”. Celebrations had begun in earnest and the ale was flowing. We ordered ourselves three pots of tea and a platter of cheese and nibbled and sipped as we watched the antics of the crowd that got rowdier with every passing half hour!

It was not long before we decided to move towards “Wobbly” Bridge where I had planned to part company with them. It was then that we realized that April 23 is also supposedly the Brithday of the Bard, a day that heralded the opening of a new Season at the Globe Theater. A quartet of Elizabethan musicians guarding the gates stuck up their instruments as a couple of girls went around making balloon animals for the kids. Yes, Romeo and Juliet will see its first performance tonight–a play I hope to see soon.

We stood around and took in the fun for a while before I bid Loreen and Alicia goodbye–they were headed to a program of Mendelsohn at the Royal Festival Hall. Wobbly Bridge teemed with tourists as I arrived at St. Paul’s Cathedral from where I walked back home. It was time for me to finish up the last bits of grading and while I ate a few scotch eggs, I continued with that task.

Then, it was time to look at my email, write this blog and transcribe some of the interviews that I have taped over the past week.

Seeing Judi Dench on Stage, Another Interview and Springtime In London’s Parks

Apr22

Wednesday, April 22, 2009
London

Another glorious day in the city made me understand why the English tolerate their notoriously dull and dreary winters–it’s for days like this, that appear like the light at the end of a seemingly endless tunnel. Being outdoors in Spring makes all those ghastly weeks worthwhile. I heard a giddy teenager, this morning, say, “Summer’s here, isn’t it?” Well, it certainly seemed like summer had arrived with a vengeance. I wore a T-shirt for the first time this year, if that can be any indication of a season’s change.

My day began in Notting Hill where I had an appointment to interview Susan Lynn, an Englishwoman who preceded me in having spent a great deal of time interviewing Anglo-Indians in Great Britain about fifteen years ago. While her focus was on the lives of the Anglo-Indians in India before World War II, mine, of course, is on the lives of Anglo-Indians in Great Britain since the War. Still, I felt as if she would be able to offer me a fund of information and anecdotes and, indeed, she did not disappoint.

First of all, her home which is in the basement of a terraced building in Kensington, one of London’s poshest residential neighborhoods, is the kind of English home I have inhabited in my fondest fantasies. You reach her front door by descending down a spiral wrought iron staircase and arrive at a landing filled with potted plants. Inside, there are all the props of the typical English home: countless photographs, loads of delicate china and porcelain ornaments, furniture that looks as if it has seen a happy lifetime in the service of image-unconscious owners, books–hardbound, old, well-thumbed.

Susan settled me down with a mug of coffee and biscuits (which I declined, tempting though they were) and we began our conversation. Though she was not “country-born”, her father was a member of the old Indian Civil Service and she spent long periods intermittently in India, a country she remembers with the sweetest nostalgia and to which she returned recently with the deepest affection. Her own research, documented on audio tapes, has been donated to the Empire and Commonwealth Museum and I know that they will make fascinating listening.

We spent almost two hours together, at the end of which we discovered that we had one more thing in common–we are both avid gardeners and when she gave me a tour of the lovely gardens that she helps maintain in the high-class neighborhood in which she lives, I was charmed. We realized that our mutual love of gardens and gardening ought to have led us outdoors to do the interview. Pity neither of us had thought about it. Still, I enjoyed sitting in her very ‘homey’ living room talking to this wonderfully articulate woman who is one of the Last Children of the Raj.

Then, because it was such a gorgeous day, I decided to do something I have been waiting for a long while to do: explore London’s Parks. Since Holland Park was so close to Susan’s place, that’s where I headed. I had carried a pile of student essays to mark and I decided to make real another one of the fantasies I have long entertained: sitting in the parks and grading them. In less than ten minutes, I was entering Holland Park, a place that became known to me through the TV series As Time Goes By, for Lionel Hardcastle and Jean Pargiter (played by Geoffrey Palmer and Judi Dench), the show’s protagonists, own one of these sought-after terraced houses in Holland Park. I haven’t yet been able to find the exact location of the street on which their house stands, but before I leave London perhaps I shall. The garrulous Web makes all such trivia so easily accessible now, doesn’t it?

And then I saw signs pointing me towards The Kyoto Garden. One of my students had made a presentation in class on ‘Japanese London’ and had mentioned the existence of this Japanese Garden in the heart of London. Well, here it was. I began to follow the signposts directing me to the garden when, lo and behold, a magnificent peacock strutted right past me! I couldn’t believe my eyes! Peacocks in a London garden!!! It walked right by me, tame as ever, crossed a pathway and went over to join its buddies on the other side–a half dozen of them! You could have struck me down with a feather. I was so annoyed with myself for not having recharged my camera last night. Here I was in the midst of a glorious London spring garden in which peacocks paraded nonchalantly by and I wasn’t able to capture the images! It frustrated me no end.

And then I found it–the lovely Zen calmness and serenity of the Kyoto Garden. Landscaped around a pond in which huge golden koi swam lazily and a short waterfall tumbled in a swirl of soapy foam, the garden curved around sweeping lawns, vivid magenta azaleas and coppery maples. It was a miniature Paradise and I was pleased as Punch when I found a vacant bench. It was not long before I whipped out my students’ papers and began marking them. Soon I started to feel hunger pangs tugging at my insides and I pulled out my packet lunch (containing my chicken salads) which I ate contentedly as squirrels scrambled around and birds chirped in the bushes. Truly, spring is good for the soul and I am so blessed to be able to enjoy this season so early in the year in this country.

At 1. 20 pm, I reluctantly left this idyllic spot to go out in search of the nearest Tube station. Passing by the cafe, my heart leapt with joy for there in front of me was the brick red structure that is featured in As Time Goes By as the spot where Lionel and Jean first met as a young soldier and trainee nurse respectively. He had asked her the way to Curzon Street and the rest became their personal history! Again, I rued the fact that I could not take pictures and decided that I simply would return again before all the scarlet tulips have disappeared. I know I shall never look upon that scene in the TV show again without seeing myself walking through the same boxwood pathways of that formal garden.

Then, I was in the Tube headed to Leicester Square to arrive at the Donmar Wyndam Theater where I had matinees show tickets to see Judi Dench (yes, what a coincidence that I had been to Holland Park in the morning where her huge TV hit show had been shot) in Yukio Mishima’s play Madame de Sade. I had been to this theater just a month ago to see Derek Jacobi play Malvolio in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, but I was still taken by its fabulous interior. I had fairly good seats and gave myself entirely to the beauty of the production. For that’s exactly what it was–beautiful, no exquisite, in terms of set design and costumes which were the best parts of the shows. Christopher Outram outdid himself in creating a color palate that was monochromatic from one scene to the next and blended perfectly with the set design. Set during the years preceding the French Revolution, the recreation of the period must be a costume designer’s dream–what with those enormous silk skirts, towering hair-dos and fluttering fans. All the satorial grandeur of the period was spread out before our eyes in the most delectable colors that matched those of the walls. How ingenious a set design was that???

As for the performances, it was a pleasure I have waited long to experience: the opportunity to see Judi Dench, one of my favorite actors or all time, in the flesh, on the stage, emoting live, projecting her lines. Only, oh dear, because this legendary actress is also human, she did forget a line and for a very noticeable ten seconds at least, paused then got right back in her stride without so much as batting an eyelid. Still, the performances were exceptional, Dench’s stage presence alone giving her tons of marks. And then there was Madame de Sade (Rosamunde Pike) who was extraordinary and Frances Barber who, in my opinion, just stole the show getting better and better with each scene that she completely whisked away from right beneath Dame Judi’s nose! Mishima is verbose at the best of times and this play was no exception (many many moons ago I had actually acted in a play by Yukio Mishima called TheLady Aawee under the direction of Hima Devi in Bombay); but at least his lines are more poetic than prosaic and make magical listening especially when enunciated as expertly as these actors have been trained to do.
The play was only an hour and 45 minutes long which actually left me enough time to get back home to catch up with email and compose two quizzes for a gathering that my Dad is organizing in Bombay. Then, I was off again, headed to the same venue at Charing Cross to meet my friend Loreen and her daughter Alicia who were going to the 7.30 performance of the same play. We met in Chinatown at a restaurant on Little Newport Street where I nibbled on some greens and sipped green tea and caught up with them. Loreen has arrived in London for a week from Westport, Connecticut, to spend time with Alicia who is also posted in London for work. I took my leave of them about an hour later and headed back on the Tube to explore yet another park: Regent’s Park.

It was a long hike from the Regent’s Park Tube station to the Queen’s Garden where the roses in the summer are supposedly spectacular. While it was too early in the year for roses, tulips were everywhere in brilliant colors and the trees were in full bloom–pink, mauve, white. I saw a rhododendron so tall it was like a full-grown tree with the most startling magenta blossoms. Babies enjoyed their evening out in their prams, dogs appeared wild as they darted about energetically, Muslim women in headscarves and long skirts played badminton and kids rolled with abandon in the grass. It felt so good to be alive.

I did some more grading on a park bench before I took the Tube back home. It was almost 9 pm and darkness had fallen by the time I reached home to eat my dinner, watch a bit of TV, write this blog and get to bed on what had been a very productive yet very relaxing day for me.

An Anglo-Indian Interview in Southall and Dinner with Friends

Apr21

Tuesday, April 21, 2009
London

My day began at 6 am when I awoke and continued reading The Order of the Phoenix. Then the emailing began and I was kept busy attending to that while also juggling the grading of a batch of draft essays I received from my students. Breakfast followed–a high protein affair (as I am trying to lose some weight) with my frittata and bacon and sausages with decaff coffee. A quick shower and I was out of the house by 12 noon taking the Tube to Northolt and a bus to Southall to arrive at the home of Johnny Bartels who had agreed to become part of my inquiry into Anglo-Indians in the UK.

It turned out to be a very interesting afternoon as Johnny was full of marvelous stories that made me laugh out loud on occasion. It is amazing but having interviewed close to thirty members of the community, I find that no two stories are alike and each person provides me with life stories that are startlingly different. I am having such a great time doing these interviews that while I will be relieved, I will also be sorry when they are completed.

As in the case of most of the Anglo-Indians I have met in the UK, Johnny was warm and outgoing and hospitable. His wife was away but she had made sure there were enough ‘snacks’ for me–samosas and pakoras with chutney, cheese and ham sandwiches and cake all served with coffee! How very kind and generous! Unfortunately, I had to tell Johnny that I had started a low-carb diet and could not eat many of the things he spread out before me. He told me that had I given him more notice (I had made the appointment with him more than two months ago and had confirmed a few days ago!), his wife would have cooked me “a proper Anglo-Indian lunch which you do not get in any of the restaurants”, he said. Well, I appreciated the thought, but it is obvious to me that these folks make appointments with me and promptly forget about them!!!

Back home on the Tube, I got off at Holborn–one station earlier than my stop at Chancery Lane–so I could get a Lebara Top-Up for my cell phone and walk to Lincoln Inn’s Field where I sat for an hour and graded papers as the day was just gorgeous. The cherry trees were in full bloom and their soft petals had already begun to paint the lawns a soft pink. While I was at it, my cell phone rang. It was my high school classmate Charmaine, visiting London for a few weeks, inviting me to join her at a friend’s place for dinner. It was all very informal she said and her friend said that I was most welcome.

Well, I accepted the impromptu invitation and walked home to freshen up. Charmaine arrived at my door about a half hour later and we continued chatting nineteen to the dozen as we were meeting after 35 years and had so much distance to bridge. But then it was time for us to walk to Theobald’s Road, just 5 minutes away, where we arrived at Sushil’s home. Within no time at all, we were deep in conversation. Sushil served us some wine, then attended to the dinner that he had fixed himself–meat curry and rice with dal and raita. I declined the rice but ate everything else and enjoyed the home-cooked Indian meal.

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, Sushil invited me to join Charmaine and him in Paris for four days this coming weekend. He was driving there, he said, and all I had to do was pack an overnight bag and be at his place by 9 am on Thursday. We would drive to Folkeston from where the car would board the ferry that would take us to Calais from where we’d drive to Paris where he owns an apartment at Montmartre! Now how on earth would it be possible for me to turn down such an invitation? I told them that they did not need to twist my arm too tightly–I would be there in a heartbeat provided I had nothing on my calendar that demanded my presence here. They simply would not take No for an answer. I did remember vaguely that I have tickets to see Three Days of Rain with James McEvoy on Friday…but I figured I could easily sell that ticket…

Dinner done, Charmaine showed me some video of her home and family members in Australia where she has lived for several years. Then, at 11 pm, she got up to leave and we thanked Sushil for his hospitality. His friend Gareth had joined us at the very end and we bade him goodbye too.

As soon as I got home, I took a look at my calendar and discovered that in addition to the play, I actually do have to teach 2 classes this coming Friday. These are make-up classes for the Bank Holiday classes we will be missing on Monday, May 4. I was devastated. I guess it was simply not meant to be.

But soon I did not feel too badly about it. I am scheduled to go to Paris next month anyway, so I will just postpone the pleasure for a little while. I emailed Charmaine and Sushil immediately and bowed out.

I am ready now for bed…pleased also that the mix-up with the Oxford Lecture dates have been resolved and I am now scheduled to give a lecture on Post-Colonial Literature from the Indian Sub-Continent at Exeter College on Wednesday, July 22. I have now to start working on this assignment. I am very excited indeed but very nervous as well.