I am adding what my dad wrote after reading my blog. This is as is in his words...clearly there are numerous memories across generations associated with the Grand Dome.
Taj Colaba has lots of nostalgic memories. Joining IBM in 1968 my travels to Bombay (now Mumbai) began. Frequency increased and in 1975,76 and 77 it at times became twice a week. Oberoi had started Oberoi Sheraton (later knwn as Oberoi Towers and now it is Trident) in early 1970s only. 90 to 95% of my stay was in the Taj It was at the old wing only till 1975 or so, as it was only then that the new wing took shape.
The old wing Taj had its entrance from the back side (not the sea front). Taxis/Cars came in via the lane and entered. There was a swimming pool at the ground floor level (I think it's still there). The lobby was there. There was an entrance facing the sea but it was used mainly by frequent visitors who came to the Sea Lounge. Formal lobby for check in had its entrance from the rear. I think Rudyard Kipling said Taj was a hotel which had its front at its back or something like that referring to this feature.
I have stayed in all floors but mostly in the second or third. Sixth floor rooms had lower roof height .
Apart from this there were occasions when Amma with Padma and little Nanu were on vacation at ESI House in Colaba Causeway facing Kailash Parbat chatwala shop. I had official visits and on a few occasions stayed at the Taj when Raji and kids were at ESI House. Little Nanu standing in the balcony of the fourth floor flat at ESI House and used to point out to the Taj dome (clearly seen from the house) saying "Taj Ottal--Appa is there"!
We had occasional eating out at the Sea Lounge and trip up the spiral staircase.
I have stayed at Oberoi when it was still under construction. They completed up-to six floors and started occcupancy. Same when new wing in the Taj was allotted on some trips with only first ten floors were ready.
All these flashed back when boring Barkha and loud Arnab and Rahul were pointing fingers at the grand old edifice.
It will take a year or more when one can visit the Taj again.
Compared to Taj Colaba Taj land's end has to go a long way to acquire character and depth.
One day when Aadi grows up I will narrate this and take him for ice cream and cakes at the Taj Colaba (at Sea Lounge perhaps).
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Tears for the Taj
I feel attacked. I feel disturbed. I haven’t slept enough the past 3 days. I am in far away Singapore, a safe haven in today’s anytime-terror world; yet I feel as if I’m still in Mumbai, India.
I have many thoughts to dwell on - the attack, the perpetrators, the sheer insanity of it. But there is one that hovers in my mind, almost like a background to my whirling thoughts these past 3 days - The Taj.
To a lot of foreigners, outside those who’ve actually stayed there, it may sound like just another hotel. They don’t realise what the Taj means to me & I’m sure, to so many others in India & in Mumbai specifically.
The Taj at Colaba is in my mind, the first & foremost Indian architectural wonder. Unlike all the British raj built structures like the Rashtrapati Bhavan, VT, India Gate, Victoria Memorial or the many splendid buildings that were passed onto us, this one was built by an Indian to (kind of) show the bird to the Brits.
The interesting thing is that I don’t recall reading this or learning about it from anywhere. When I grew up, it was a different era; India went from self-imposed autarky to suspiciously sniffing liberalisation. Further, I went to school in Delhi, steeped in babu-dom & the shadows of government buildings everywhere. I learnt of another big city called Bombay, a place that my father went away to for half the week on work. A place that didn’t have winters, where it rained a lot, where people went to work on trains & relaxed at the beach on weekends, where they had a hotel called the Taj.
Appa always stayed at the Taj or the Oberoi. Though he liked both, the clear favorite was the Taj. Once, after eagerly browsing through the splendid photographs of the Taj magazine he brought back, I remember being completely awed by its architecture, the domes, the spires, the jutting-out windows with perches for kabootars. It didn’t feel like as if anyone actually stayed there - it looked like a splendid cross between a musuem & the Rashtrapathi Bhavan (ok ok so one person stays there, but that’s not much!). To partly confirm this & to partly show off my new found knowledge I asked - ‘Appa, do you stay at the old Taj?’
He stopped what he was doing, gave me a broad grin & said ‘No, not every time. I go on business trips every week, the old Taj is meant for a luxury vacation’.
‘But have you ever been inside’, I asked, slightly disappointed.
‘Of course. I’ve even stayed there a couple of times, but its very expensive’
Cut to many years later, I started working & was to make my first trip to Bombay (yes it was still called that then, & yes I’m that old!) & got to know I was to stay at the Taj. Being fresh plankton in the corporate food chain, I was doubling up with someone in a room in the ‘new’ wing. It was pretty snazzy, mind you & I did walk to the old wing & gazed at the wide staircases, smelled the old wood, chandeliers & the carpets. But I always felt as if I’d missed something in life by not staying there.
Over the years, I never got to stay at the Taj as a guest. I moved to Mumbai & have been to the Taj on numerous occasions. I’ve been to the restaurants, the disco, the coffee shop, the various banquet facilities attending company conferences, even the business centre. I have a particularly fond memory of a birthday celebration at the Sea Lounge. But I’ve never stayed in the old heritage wing.
Until twenty days ago.
Being now based in Singapore, I needed to stay in a hotel on my most recent visit to Mumbai. In the intervening years since my one & only stay at the Taj new wing, 2 small events had happened; Bombay became Mumbai & I had struggled up the corporate ladder to become a respectable vertebrate.
Alas, the Taj was yet unreachable for me to stay in. However this time I was accompanying a ‘blue-whale’ of my company & since he got to stay at the Taj, so did I. But again, it seemed, at the new wing.
But being the accompanying fish to a blue-whale has its advantages; I was upgraded to the heritage wing 2nd floor. And that too a harbour-facing room. You should have seen me - I was grinning from ear-to-ear & excitedly messaged the wife & a few of my friends.
I still recollect vividly walking along the wide central staircase, into my side of the corridor, looking down & up the strange but elegant ‘well’ that separated it from the row of rooms opposite. My room - 246 I think - was magnificent; a four poster bed, mirrors encased in white, a tiny enclosed balcony that jutted out for a stunning view of the harbour. Next morning I awoke to a surprise - sunrise in Mumbai! Having always stayed in the western suburbs, I have only seen sunsets & always assumed that one never could see a sunrise in Mumbai. I felt blessed.
Breakfast was at the Sea Lounge, bringing back memories of the day not-so-long-ago when I sat in celebration with my wife, on the very table in fact.
Writing this, I suddenly realise so many odd things that happened on that visit that I never remembered until now. For dinner, I wasn’t sure what Jim (the big man I was accompanying) would like to eat. So I got a list of all the restaurants at the hotel - the Zodiac Grill, Shamiana, Golden Dragon, Wasabi & Masala Craft. Earlier, charged by the sunrise, I took a walk along the Gateway promenade, down to Radio club, turned towards causeway, passed Leo, Mondy’s, Regal & back. Over the last 2 days, I feel as if I’ve done this route in a dizzying mix of blurred camera images, satellite maps in news reports, & heard these very restaurants as sound bytes, pictures & news reports. Ironically, despite all the excitement around this trip, I didn’t carry a camera.
And to top it all, on that very trip, I got to know of my new role that would mean no more trips to Mumbai for now; it was as if the grand old hotel was telling me ‘I let you in once, young man, but its not going to happen again too soon’. I’m grateful. Many years from now, when my son asks me if I have stayed at the heritage wing of the Taj, I too can say ‘yes I did son’.
Where do we go from here?
To say that the Taj is ‘iconic’ is too small & mild; it means far more than that & somehow the term does not do justice to it. In my profession, its the fashion to term anything & everything as an iconic brand, therefore diminishing the stature of some things by associating the same term to them. eg, would we call the (other) Taj as just iconic? Similarly with the the Taj at Colaba. Its got a certain aura about it, an aura of contrasting textures; grand, awe-inspiring yet comforting, solid. It seems to say, ‘I have stood long before you came here, & don’t worry, will be here long after you have gone’. Its a legacy. Mine, yours, ours. A legacy & a symbol of the society we want to live in. The terrorists have struck at this, our legacy. It has trembled, crumbled in some places, groaned but has stayed on its feet, keeping its promise of being there for us.
Now its up to us. We need to stay sane. We need to stay calm & think objectively, with clarity. We need to make sure that never again do we have someone mock & threaten our legacy in this or any other manner.
I have many thoughts to dwell on - the attack, the perpetrators, the sheer insanity of it. But there is one that hovers in my mind, almost like a background to my whirling thoughts these past 3 days - The Taj.
To a lot of foreigners, outside those who’ve actually stayed there, it may sound like just another hotel. They don’t realise what the Taj means to me & I’m sure, to so many others in India & in Mumbai specifically.
The Taj at Colaba is in my mind, the first & foremost Indian architectural wonder. Unlike all the British raj built structures like the Rashtrapati Bhavan, VT, India Gate, Victoria Memorial or the many splendid buildings that were passed onto us, this one was built by an Indian to (kind of) show the bird to the Brits.
The interesting thing is that I don’t recall reading this or learning about it from anywhere. When I grew up, it was a different era; India went from self-imposed autarky to suspiciously sniffing liberalisation. Further, I went to school in Delhi, steeped in babu-dom & the shadows of government buildings everywhere. I learnt of another big city called Bombay, a place that my father went away to for half the week on work. A place that didn’t have winters, where it rained a lot, where people went to work on trains & relaxed at the beach on weekends, where they had a hotel called the Taj.
Appa always stayed at the Taj or the Oberoi. Though he liked both, the clear favorite was the Taj. Once, after eagerly browsing through the splendid photographs of the Taj magazine he brought back, I remember being completely awed by its architecture, the domes, the spires, the jutting-out windows with perches for kabootars. It didn’t feel like as if anyone actually stayed there - it looked like a splendid cross between a musuem & the Rashtrapathi Bhavan (ok ok so one person stays there, but that’s not much!). To partly confirm this & to partly show off my new found knowledge I asked - ‘Appa, do you stay at the old Taj?’
He stopped what he was doing, gave me a broad grin & said ‘No, not every time. I go on business trips every week, the old Taj is meant for a luxury vacation’.
‘But have you ever been inside’, I asked, slightly disappointed.
‘Of course. I’ve even stayed there a couple of times, but its very expensive’
Cut to many years later, I started working & was to make my first trip to Bombay (yes it was still called that then, & yes I’m that old!) & got to know I was to stay at the Taj. Being fresh plankton in the corporate food chain, I was doubling up with someone in a room in the ‘new’ wing. It was pretty snazzy, mind you & I did walk to the old wing & gazed at the wide staircases, smelled the old wood, chandeliers & the carpets. But I always felt as if I’d missed something in life by not staying there.
Over the years, I never got to stay at the Taj as a guest. I moved to Mumbai & have been to the Taj on numerous occasions. I’ve been to the restaurants, the disco, the coffee shop, the various banquet facilities attending company conferences, even the business centre. I have a particularly fond memory of a birthday celebration at the Sea Lounge. But I’ve never stayed in the old heritage wing.
Until twenty days ago.
Being now based in Singapore, I needed to stay in a hotel on my most recent visit to Mumbai. In the intervening years since my one & only stay at the Taj new wing, 2 small events had happened; Bombay became Mumbai & I had struggled up the corporate ladder to become a respectable vertebrate.
Alas, the Taj was yet unreachable for me to stay in. However this time I was accompanying a ‘blue-whale’ of my company & since he got to stay at the Taj, so did I. But again, it seemed, at the new wing.
But being the accompanying fish to a blue-whale has its advantages; I was upgraded to the heritage wing 2nd floor. And that too a harbour-facing room. You should have seen me - I was grinning from ear-to-ear & excitedly messaged the wife & a few of my friends.
I still recollect vividly walking along the wide central staircase, into my side of the corridor, looking down & up the strange but elegant ‘well’ that separated it from the row of rooms opposite. My room - 246 I think - was magnificent; a four poster bed, mirrors encased in white, a tiny enclosed balcony that jutted out for a stunning view of the harbour. Next morning I awoke to a surprise - sunrise in Mumbai! Having always stayed in the western suburbs, I have only seen sunsets & always assumed that one never could see a sunrise in Mumbai. I felt blessed.
Breakfast was at the Sea Lounge, bringing back memories of the day not-so-long-ago when I sat in celebration with my wife, on the very table in fact.
Writing this, I suddenly realise so many odd things that happened on that visit that I never remembered until now. For dinner, I wasn’t sure what Jim (the big man I was accompanying) would like to eat. So I got a list of all the restaurants at the hotel - the Zodiac Grill, Shamiana, Golden Dragon, Wasabi & Masala Craft. Earlier, charged by the sunrise, I took a walk along the Gateway promenade, down to Radio club, turned towards causeway, passed Leo, Mondy’s, Regal & back. Over the last 2 days, I feel as if I’ve done this route in a dizzying mix of blurred camera images, satellite maps in news reports, & heard these very restaurants as sound bytes, pictures & news reports. Ironically, despite all the excitement around this trip, I didn’t carry a camera.
And to top it all, on that very trip, I got to know of my new role that would mean no more trips to Mumbai for now; it was as if the grand old hotel was telling me ‘I let you in once, young man, but its not going to happen again too soon’. I’m grateful. Many years from now, when my son asks me if I have stayed at the heritage wing of the Taj, I too can say ‘yes I did son’.
Where do we go from here?
To say that the Taj is ‘iconic’ is too small & mild; it means far more than that & somehow the term does not do justice to it. In my profession, its the fashion to term anything & everything as an iconic brand, therefore diminishing the stature of some things by associating the same term to them. eg, would we call the (other) Taj as just iconic? Similarly with the the Taj at Colaba. Its got a certain aura about it, an aura of contrasting textures; grand, awe-inspiring yet comforting, solid. It seems to say, ‘I have stood long before you came here, & don’t worry, will be here long after you have gone’. Its a legacy. Mine, yours, ours. A legacy & a symbol of the society we want to live in. The terrorists have struck at this, our legacy. It has trembled, crumbled in some places, groaned but has stayed on its feet, keeping its promise of being there for us.
Now its up to us. We need to stay sane. We need to stay calm & think objectively, with clarity. We need to make sure that never again do we have someone mock & threaten our legacy in this or any other manner.
Monday, October 20, 2008
Singapore Queries-la!
A few things that I wonder about in Singapore:
a)How are the trains from different lines synchronised at MRT interchange stations to arrive in a manner that you get out off one to immediately walk into another?
b)How come the trees are all to a uniform trim & how come you don’t see them being trimmed?
c)How come a place so close to the equator manages to remain pest-free?
d)Precisely when in history did the national religion evolve to being shopping?
e)What did Orchard road look like before the malls were invented?
f)How come all sense of Singapore discipline breaks down the minute you enter Little India?
g)How does Mustapha do it – keep so many things under one roof at such prices?
h)When did the ‘can-la’ patois actually start?
i)Why did they build high rise condo’s with re-inforced concrete bomb shelters in each of the apartments? Further, in the eventuality of their actual use, how did they intend to get the people cooped up inside, down from the 40th floor, assuming that everything else got wiped out?
j)Why do they bother to publish such a thick newspaper?
k)How come there aren’t so many DVD rental places?
l)Do they seriously need to publish everything in 4 languages?
a)How are the trains from different lines synchronised at MRT interchange stations to arrive in a manner that you get out off one to immediately walk into another?
b)How come the trees are all to a uniform trim & how come you don’t see them being trimmed?
c)How come a place so close to the equator manages to remain pest-free?
d)Precisely when in history did the national religion evolve to being shopping?
e)What did Orchard road look like before the malls were invented?
f)How come all sense of Singapore discipline breaks down the minute you enter Little India?
g)How does Mustapha do it – keep so many things under one roof at such prices?
h)When did the ‘can-la’ patois actually start?
i)Why did they build high rise condo’s with re-inforced concrete bomb shelters in each of the apartments? Further, in the eventuality of their actual use, how did they intend to get the people cooped up inside, down from the 40th floor, assuming that everything else got wiped out?
j)Why do they bother to publish such a thick newspaper?
k)How come there aren’t so many DVD rental places?
l)Do they seriously need to publish everything in 4 languages?
A trip down a 20 year old memory lane
I’m sure all of us have a memory lane. In fact, I think you end up collecting lanes as you grow older. Sometimes you get the opportunity to re-visit one of them. I had one such opportunity recently.
Two decades ago, my dad was posted to an assignment in Tokyo. I was 16 at that time & my sister was 19. This was the pre-liberalization times India. We were in school, and it was considered precarious for us to shift education systems. So, my parents decided to maintain 2 bases – one in Delhi & one in Tokyo. My mom would shuffle between the two places while we kids would be under the guardianship of my grand-parents. This was, I now realise, a very tough decision; nuances like being away from family & what it meant to my dad, how my mom must have felt thinking of two homes to manage (one remotely at any given time) – these were not apparent to me at that time.
As things panned out, my memories of Tokyo are made up from the 3 vacation visits I made at that time – 2 in summer & 1 in winter.
The first thing that I recall was the ‘Limuzine busu Narita’. My parents had already gone there & when I went I remember the precise instructions on where to find the Limo etc. Obviously I was deaf to a few minor details; I envisioned a stretch limo of some sorts, where all 3 of us would pile in & travel in western society luxury. I guess a steady diet of Richie-Rich comics aided this vision. We got out of the aircraft bleary eyed & joined a long queue at the futuristic looking Narita airport, all things steel & shiny under the white-light, clean lines, no dust anywhere. Finally I saw the limo – it was a big fat bus into which about 30 of us piled in after indicating our luggage which went into the belly of the bus. What a come down!
The disappointment was short-lived though. The bus moved faster than any privately owned vehicle back in India - we were one of the ‘privileged’ owners of an Amby Mark III, the fastest thing on 4 wheels in New Delhi; cross 60 kmph in it & you were guaranteed a cautionary command to slow down from the parents in the back seat; 70 & you got a pit-in-the-stomach feeling from the high probability that the car would fall apart any moment.
‘The Limu had 6 gears man’, I was to gush to my friends in school once I got back. We pulled out on to the highway & it was like being in a sci-fi movie; criss-crossing highways at several levels, smooth roads, many lanes, no honking, no cutting lanes, cars zipping past our ‘limuzine’ with ease. It took my breath away.
After 90 minutes we reached TCAT – Tokyo City Air Terminal, where we got off & got onto a cab with all our luggage for the ride home. Home was Homat Viscount – a 6 storeyed apartment complex in the Akasaka area. It was close to my dad’s office – he walked 20 minutes past the American embassy to it every day. On the other side was the newly built ANA hotel – 40 storey’s of glass, chrome & concrete – nothing like anything I had seen. It had escalators! The only other one I remember going up on till then was the one installed at the Taj Palace hotel; even that one was closely guarded by hotel minders to prevent us rustic Delhi-ites from joyously going up & down it repeatedly!
Homat was condominium living before they invented the term I think. It had central air-con, wall-to-wall carpeting, a huge fridge (which came in useful as mom packed it in with frozen idlis, rice, chapattis, sambhar, rasam on her trips), a washing machine & drier & a dish-washer. It overlooked office buildings on one side & a foliage covered hill on the other side. It was in the middle of the city yet completely quiet.
We didn’t have a car, so we walked about quite a bit, took the train. The standard landmarks to watch out for were (next to nothing in Tokyo was in English) the ANA hotel, the American embassy & the soba noodle joint, depending on which directions you were coming from. These were markers that guided us whenever we went out & ensured that we didn’t get lost coming home.
Well, 21 years later, I plan my trip to Tokyo again. I am advised by Tokyo office to take the airport ‘limu’ to the Westin hotel. I inquire, since I am new & uncertain, whether it would be better to take a cab instead for a couple of reasons; one I vaguely equated the ‘limu’ to non-business travel & two because I was wary of the red-eye flight I was taking. They got back indicating that the ‘limu’ would be 3000¥ & a taxi ride would be 70,000¥! End of argument!
So I board the A380 from Changi to Narita. That’s an adventure itself – I was really curious about the super-jumbo. As it turned out, it looked like a pregnant 747, took off a couple of hours late as the pilot tried - & I quote ‘re-booting the system’ - just before take-off to make sure that everything worked fine. It felt like any other aircraft I’d been in, though a bit quieter in my view.
We land at Narita & as I walk through the terminal I feel the sense of déjà vu growing inside me. Before I reach the ‘Limu’ counter I decide to visit the rest room.
Now, the toilets in Japan can be, to put it mildly, over-engineered. And to top it, you can’t read any of the instructions. I found myself in one of them. From the outside, it seemed like the place to go. Once I was inside, I found myself in a pretty large space, in what seemed to be a toilet for the handicapped (I wouldn’t really know because I’ve never been inside one – I still don’t mind you; this is hypothetical). There were all these handles on the side of the commode, which itself looked like as if it was a marvel of engineering. I was seized with a sense of panic – what if there were a line of wheel chair bound folks waiting outside who REALLY had to go? I would be depriving them & in some way be torturing them beyond belief. So I quickly used the facilities & cautiously opened the door with some nervousness; there wasn’t a soul & I exited quickly to much relief beyond the obvious!
The Limu counter was uneventful; got my ticket & waited outside at the appropriate stop. I was greeted with respectful bows & handed receipts for my luggage. When the Limu arrived I could almost bet that it was the same from 21 years ago! You see Japanese build things to last. It’s evident as you spend time in the place.
The Limu duly speeded off & once again I was on the maze of highways I remembered from long ago. Except that I wasn’t as goggle-eyed as before; over the years India has built its own wonders – expressways, bridges & fly-overs. But I did notice the little things; rust lines on some of the bridges, structures that could have done with a new coat of paint; all pointing to the economic stagnation that had gripped Japan the last 20 years I had read about. Mind you, nothing was crumbling; on the contrary, by India standards & even Singapore ones the infrastructure was great.
The Limu made its way to central Tokyo, through the huge urban sprawl that made up the mega-city. I could see that huge apartment blocks had come up here & there. Soon we snaked our way through parts of down-town Tokyo & I noticed again the small houses that stood on narrow streets – they were tiny but immaculate in the way they were at ease with the surroundings. Trees, neatly trimmed lined the roads. I realised that this was the city that Mumbai needs to emulate. ‘Send policy makers here rather than visit Singapore (a culturally sterile city) or Shanghai (not been there, but seems a different model) to see how to blend & develop existing residential areas with commercial areas’, I thought.
Finally reached the Westin & from my 16th floor window I had a wonderful view of downtown. And what’s more, I wasn’t too far away from memory lane either!
I made sure that I finished my work by 3.30 pm so as to make time for the visit. From the hotel I took a cab to the ANA hotel. Not only was the route feeling familiar, with its 3 level traffic, but even the cabs felt as if I had been in them before. And ANA was the same! I walked along the side of the building in the general direction of home, from memory. Strangely I didn’t have any of the uncertainty I normally felt in a new city. I’ve been settling into Singapore & I can tell you I felt uncertain whenever I ventured into a new street, for at least the first 2 weeks; but not here as I walked down this memory lane.
After about a 5 minute walk, I sensed that ‘home’ was close by. And there stood another marker – the soba noodle bar! I can’t be sure it was the same one, but in my eyes it sure did look the same. ‘Turn right here & home is up ahead’, my brain urged me. I walked on, excited, passing a couple of executives on a smoke break in front of pretty bushes. But Homat Viscount wasn’t there.
I called dad & mom & I could feel the excitement in their voices as I told them where I was; but alas no Homat.
I hung up & decided to go off to visit other places. But hey, having come so far I decided to investigate & have a look around. I found another place called Homat Viscountess, which seemed to have been a younger sister that came up after our time. At the corner of the street stood a huge 20 storey snazzy building, pretty eye-catching & definitely not there in my memory lane. Curious, I investigated & found a sign on the side that I recognised – it said Homat Viscount! It was in fact the same sign from 20 years ago. It seems the old small apartment block had been torn down & this new avatar had sprung up. Later I learnt from a web search that it ‘was the finest address for expat living in the heart of Tokyo’. As appa told me as I called him back excitedly, ‘finest then, finest even now’.
What next? I followed old instincts; ‘take a right at the end of the lane to go towards the embassy’. Yes, there it was. Only, a reflection of our times, instead of the discrete few Tokyo cops then, this time I was approaching a fortress with a platoon standing by.
I was signalled to walk across the streets & probably video-taped as I slowly walked by, crossed over & walked on towards another memory marker.
Again, it didn’t feel alien; I had walked these steps before. All the places from then flashed pass – Roppongi, the video rental store (would it now be a DVD store?), Tokyo tower, Akhihabara, Shinjuku station – which one should I seek out next? Getting on in the evening, I ruled out another taxi ride & settled on continuing my wanderings & decided to go to Tokyo tower. Instinctively I took the right’s & left’s, guided by memory, almost feeling my sister by my side as I strolled on, as we did all those years back. Reached Tokyo tower, went up the 2 observation decks, took photos on my N73 (no camera given the relocation packing).
Got back down & it was dark. I was tired & the travel, the time difference, the previous night’s sake top up was taking its toll & I decided to call it a day.
As I reflect back on my 2 day trip, there were a few more things that stood out about this fascinating city & its culture. Clearly a lot of things had remained constant over the years. Like the limited use of English in everyday life; like the TV, that showed American shows dubbed in Japanese; like the sumo channel; like the newpapers which were wider in the old fashioned way.
The Japanese are obsessed with quality. You can feel it as you move around Tokyo, in the way their city is built, in the variety that the super-markets stock. You can sense their fierce pride in their brands, silent but expressed everywhere; you will only find Japanese cars on the road, only Sony, Panasonic, Hitachi TV’s & electronic gizmos. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that in most household categories, the dominant players weren’t the usual MNC culprits (Unilever, P&G) but Japanese brands on account of their ‘superior technology, quality’ & (I suspect) cultural connect. Notable exceptions to this rule were Coke, Adams (the company that makes Clorets gum), Marlboro & more recently Apple (with only the Ipod) & Starbucks, with varying degrees of dominance.
What’s more I also learnt that the Japanese built & ran their business on the basis of what seemed to me their cultural identity imprinted all over their business philosophy. For example, Japanese companies hate losing market share. I know all companies hate to do so; but in my experience Western & Indian companies will not obsess about it to the point of bleeding money. But my colleagues in our business there told me that it’s a matter of prestige & loss of honour for a company to be seen losing share. So they react in crazy ways. Like our competitor there who has decided to reverse its declining share trend by giving more product at the same price! Btw, we are talking about a food category that has seen serious input cost inflation – it’s a suicidal move for the bottom-line. But maybe that’s precisely the point – our rival may be taking the honourable route & in a twisted way of thinking, its management is ‘atoning’ for the share loss in this way.
Another crazy thing – Japanese companies HATE to take up prices. Again, the fear of share loss looms large. So what do they do? They collaborate with their suppliers & together these guys tighten costs across the board helping to maintain prices. They figure out how to run their machines beyond their life-span, put off capital investments, focus instead on building scale to bring down unit costs. And when all else fails, accept a lower profit margin. Unthinkable in all the places I’ve worked in.
Japanese work culture is very hierarchical. Seniority matters more than anything else; I met guys much older than me who were still Brand Managers! And it was an acceptable career progression. Not many women in senior management, our MD their being the exception. What’s more, these guys work like crazy, 8 to 8, Monday to Saturday. Japanese men are so obsessed with work that it seems many of them face failing marriages AFTER retirement because they can’t handle being at home all day & being in the company of their wives, so habituated are they to going to office.
Two brands that are all the rage now are the Ipod & Starbucks. I asked my Japanese colleague what were the reasons for this? He said both were ‘aspirational’. Now, that can be a marketing euphemism for meaning ‘I really don’t know, but it’s all the rage now among consumers’. So I probed some more.
Apple emphasise on making break-throughs that focus on design. They try & succeed very well in the process, to make things very intuitive & always present you with something you haven’t experienced before but when you do, you are hooked. I think their aesthetic simplicity & intuitiveness appeals to the Japanese. Sure there are me-too’s, some pretty good one’s like Sony, but as long as Apple stays focused on design I think they are on a good wicket in Japan.
Starbucks – well, I think is a bit of a fad in Japan. I came across a coffee chain whose colours, façade, fonts all screamed Starbucks. Hell, their coffee beans were probably better! And they were popular because they had a smoking section inside the café.
As elsewhere, Starbucks has made the coffee bar into a kind of must-go hang-out joint, where a visit gives you instant membership into some kind of club that assures you that you are somehow doing the ‘cool’, ‘contemporary’ thing. The problem with is that sometimes, the first-mover often takes the high ground (pardon the pun) & puts up barriers to competition.
Which is why Starbucks nowadays has started pushing so many other ‘aspirational’ things in their shops – music, eats, home kits (which are rip-offs really – why on earth should I purchase a percolator or a press at 3 times the price I can get it elsewhere & what’s more, even then it won’t guarantee a great cup!). The one thing that could make a difference that others may struggle to emulate is organic. Though in Japan, even that is doubtful; Japanese have focused on pure & natural ingredients in their cuisine longer than anyone I guess so should be masters at it. I forecast a pretty bleak future for Starbucks in Japan, unless of course, they take over their competition!
As I rounded up this trip, I was struck by how life comes full circle. Now I was faced with dealing with some of the painful nuances that my parents dealt with all those years back – being away from family even for a few weeks & months is painful; the feeling of being away from home & missing the familiarity of friends, relatives, even domestic help. And mind you, nowadays you aren’t too far away from seeing an Indian face or removed from Indian culture pretty much anywhere you go.
Still, I enjoyed my trip down memory lane. I think of the many more lanes I have to re-visit at some point in time – Delhi, Mumbai, Bangalore, Kolkatta, even Kolhapur & Pondicherry, where some part of me has been shaped through some experiences & instances, sometimes alone & sometimes in the company of friends & family.
I look forward to them eagerly, because I know I won’t feel lost & will be guided to take all the right turns along the way.
Two decades ago, my dad was posted to an assignment in Tokyo. I was 16 at that time & my sister was 19. This was the pre-liberalization times India. We were in school, and it was considered precarious for us to shift education systems. So, my parents decided to maintain 2 bases – one in Delhi & one in Tokyo. My mom would shuffle between the two places while we kids would be under the guardianship of my grand-parents. This was, I now realise, a very tough decision; nuances like being away from family & what it meant to my dad, how my mom must have felt thinking of two homes to manage (one remotely at any given time) – these were not apparent to me at that time.
As things panned out, my memories of Tokyo are made up from the 3 vacation visits I made at that time – 2 in summer & 1 in winter.
The first thing that I recall was the ‘Limuzine busu Narita’. My parents had already gone there & when I went I remember the precise instructions on where to find the Limo etc. Obviously I was deaf to a few minor details; I envisioned a stretch limo of some sorts, where all 3 of us would pile in & travel in western society luxury. I guess a steady diet of Richie-Rich comics aided this vision. We got out of the aircraft bleary eyed & joined a long queue at the futuristic looking Narita airport, all things steel & shiny under the white-light, clean lines, no dust anywhere. Finally I saw the limo – it was a big fat bus into which about 30 of us piled in after indicating our luggage which went into the belly of the bus. What a come down!
The disappointment was short-lived though. The bus moved faster than any privately owned vehicle back in India - we were one of the ‘privileged’ owners of an Amby Mark III, the fastest thing on 4 wheels in New Delhi; cross 60 kmph in it & you were guaranteed a cautionary command to slow down from the parents in the back seat; 70 & you got a pit-in-the-stomach feeling from the high probability that the car would fall apart any moment.
‘The Limu had 6 gears man’, I was to gush to my friends in school once I got back. We pulled out on to the highway & it was like being in a sci-fi movie; criss-crossing highways at several levels, smooth roads, many lanes, no honking, no cutting lanes, cars zipping past our ‘limuzine’ with ease. It took my breath away.
After 90 minutes we reached TCAT – Tokyo City Air Terminal, where we got off & got onto a cab with all our luggage for the ride home. Home was Homat Viscount – a 6 storeyed apartment complex in the Akasaka area. It was close to my dad’s office – he walked 20 minutes past the American embassy to it every day. On the other side was the newly built ANA hotel – 40 storey’s of glass, chrome & concrete – nothing like anything I had seen. It had escalators! The only other one I remember going up on till then was the one installed at the Taj Palace hotel; even that one was closely guarded by hotel minders to prevent us rustic Delhi-ites from joyously going up & down it repeatedly!
Homat was condominium living before they invented the term I think. It had central air-con, wall-to-wall carpeting, a huge fridge (which came in useful as mom packed it in with frozen idlis, rice, chapattis, sambhar, rasam on her trips), a washing machine & drier & a dish-washer. It overlooked office buildings on one side & a foliage covered hill on the other side. It was in the middle of the city yet completely quiet.
We didn’t have a car, so we walked about quite a bit, took the train. The standard landmarks to watch out for were (next to nothing in Tokyo was in English) the ANA hotel, the American embassy & the soba noodle joint, depending on which directions you were coming from. These were markers that guided us whenever we went out & ensured that we didn’t get lost coming home.
Well, 21 years later, I plan my trip to Tokyo again. I am advised by Tokyo office to take the airport ‘limu’ to the Westin hotel. I inquire, since I am new & uncertain, whether it would be better to take a cab instead for a couple of reasons; one I vaguely equated the ‘limu’ to non-business travel & two because I was wary of the red-eye flight I was taking. They got back indicating that the ‘limu’ would be 3000¥ & a taxi ride would be 70,000¥! End of argument!
So I board the A380 from Changi to Narita. That’s an adventure itself – I was really curious about the super-jumbo. As it turned out, it looked like a pregnant 747, took off a couple of hours late as the pilot tried - & I quote ‘re-booting the system’ - just before take-off to make sure that everything worked fine. It felt like any other aircraft I’d been in, though a bit quieter in my view.
We land at Narita & as I walk through the terminal I feel the sense of déjà vu growing inside me. Before I reach the ‘Limu’ counter I decide to visit the rest room.
Now, the toilets in Japan can be, to put it mildly, over-engineered. And to top it, you can’t read any of the instructions. I found myself in one of them. From the outside, it seemed like the place to go. Once I was inside, I found myself in a pretty large space, in what seemed to be a toilet for the handicapped (I wouldn’t really know because I’ve never been inside one – I still don’t mind you; this is hypothetical). There were all these handles on the side of the commode, which itself looked like as if it was a marvel of engineering. I was seized with a sense of panic – what if there were a line of wheel chair bound folks waiting outside who REALLY had to go? I would be depriving them & in some way be torturing them beyond belief. So I quickly used the facilities & cautiously opened the door with some nervousness; there wasn’t a soul & I exited quickly to much relief beyond the obvious!
The Limu counter was uneventful; got my ticket & waited outside at the appropriate stop. I was greeted with respectful bows & handed receipts for my luggage. When the Limu arrived I could almost bet that it was the same from 21 years ago! You see Japanese build things to last. It’s evident as you spend time in the place.
The Limu duly speeded off & once again I was on the maze of highways I remembered from long ago. Except that I wasn’t as goggle-eyed as before; over the years India has built its own wonders – expressways, bridges & fly-overs. But I did notice the little things; rust lines on some of the bridges, structures that could have done with a new coat of paint; all pointing to the economic stagnation that had gripped Japan the last 20 years I had read about. Mind you, nothing was crumbling; on the contrary, by India standards & even Singapore ones the infrastructure was great.
The Limu made its way to central Tokyo, through the huge urban sprawl that made up the mega-city. I could see that huge apartment blocks had come up here & there. Soon we snaked our way through parts of down-town Tokyo & I noticed again the small houses that stood on narrow streets – they were tiny but immaculate in the way they were at ease with the surroundings. Trees, neatly trimmed lined the roads. I realised that this was the city that Mumbai needs to emulate. ‘Send policy makers here rather than visit Singapore (a culturally sterile city) or Shanghai (not been there, but seems a different model) to see how to blend & develop existing residential areas with commercial areas’, I thought.
Finally reached the Westin & from my 16th floor window I had a wonderful view of downtown. And what’s more, I wasn’t too far away from memory lane either!
I made sure that I finished my work by 3.30 pm so as to make time for the visit. From the hotel I took a cab to the ANA hotel. Not only was the route feeling familiar, with its 3 level traffic, but even the cabs felt as if I had been in them before. And ANA was the same! I walked along the side of the building in the general direction of home, from memory. Strangely I didn’t have any of the uncertainty I normally felt in a new city. I’ve been settling into Singapore & I can tell you I felt uncertain whenever I ventured into a new street, for at least the first 2 weeks; but not here as I walked down this memory lane.
After about a 5 minute walk, I sensed that ‘home’ was close by. And there stood another marker – the soba noodle bar! I can’t be sure it was the same one, but in my eyes it sure did look the same. ‘Turn right here & home is up ahead’, my brain urged me. I walked on, excited, passing a couple of executives on a smoke break in front of pretty bushes. But Homat Viscount wasn’t there.
I called dad & mom & I could feel the excitement in their voices as I told them where I was; but alas no Homat.
I hung up & decided to go off to visit other places. But hey, having come so far I decided to investigate & have a look around. I found another place called Homat Viscountess, which seemed to have been a younger sister that came up after our time. At the corner of the street stood a huge 20 storey snazzy building, pretty eye-catching & definitely not there in my memory lane. Curious, I investigated & found a sign on the side that I recognised – it said Homat Viscount! It was in fact the same sign from 20 years ago. It seems the old small apartment block had been torn down & this new avatar had sprung up. Later I learnt from a web search that it ‘was the finest address for expat living in the heart of Tokyo’. As appa told me as I called him back excitedly, ‘finest then, finest even now’.
What next? I followed old instincts; ‘take a right at the end of the lane to go towards the embassy’. Yes, there it was. Only, a reflection of our times, instead of the discrete few Tokyo cops then, this time I was approaching a fortress with a platoon standing by.
I was signalled to walk across the streets & probably video-taped as I slowly walked by, crossed over & walked on towards another memory marker.
Again, it didn’t feel alien; I had walked these steps before. All the places from then flashed pass – Roppongi, the video rental store (would it now be a DVD store?), Tokyo tower, Akhihabara, Shinjuku station – which one should I seek out next? Getting on in the evening, I ruled out another taxi ride & settled on continuing my wanderings & decided to go to Tokyo tower. Instinctively I took the right’s & left’s, guided by memory, almost feeling my sister by my side as I strolled on, as we did all those years back. Reached Tokyo tower, went up the 2 observation decks, took photos on my N73 (no camera given the relocation packing).
Got back down & it was dark. I was tired & the travel, the time difference, the previous night’s sake top up was taking its toll & I decided to call it a day.
As I reflect back on my 2 day trip, there were a few more things that stood out about this fascinating city & its culture. Clearly a lot of things had remained constant over the years. Like the limited use of English in everyday life; like the TV, that showed American shows dubbed in Japanese; like the sumo channel; like the newpapers which were wider in the old fashioned way.
The Japanese are obsessed with quality. You can feel it as you move around Tokyo, in the way their city is built, in the variety that the super-markets stock. You can sense their fierce pride in their brands, silent but expressed everywhere; you will only find Japanese cars on the road, only Sony, Panasonic, Hitachi TV’s & electronic gizmos. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that in most household categories, the dominant players weren’t the usual MNC culprits (Unilever, P&G) but Japanese brands on account of their ‘superior technology, quality’ & (I suspect) cultural connect. Notable exceptions to this rule were Coke, Adams (the company that makes Clorets gum), Marlboro & more recently Apple (with only the Ipod) & Starbucks, with varying degrees of dominance.
What’s more I also learnt that the Japanese built & ran their business on the basis of what seemed to me their cultural identity imprinted all over their business philosophy. For example, Japanese companies hate losing market share. I know all companies hate to do so; but in my experience Western & Indian companies will not obsess about it to the point of bleeding money. But my colleagues in our business there told me that it’s a matter of prestige & loss of honour for a company to be seen losing share. So they react in crazy ways. Like our competitor there who has decided to reverse its declining share trend by giving more product at the same price! Btw, we are talking about a food category that has seen serious input cost inflation – it’s a suicidal move for the bottom-line. But maybe that’s precisely the point – our rival may be taking the honourable route & in a twisted way of thinking, its management is ‘atoning’ for the share loss in this way.
Another crazy thing – Japanese companies HATE to take up prices. Again, the fear of share loss looms large. So what do they do? They collaborate with their suppliers & together these guys tighten costs across the board helping to maintain prices. They figure out how to run their machines beyond their life-span, put off capital investments, focus instead on building scale to bring down unit costs. And when all else fails, accept a lower profit margin. Unthinkable in all the places I’ve worked in.
Japanese work culture is very hierarchical. Seniority matters more than anything else; I met guys much older than me who were still Brand Managers! And it was an acceptable career progression. Not many women in senior management, our MD their being the exception. What’s more, these guys work like crazy, 8 to 8, Monday to Saturday. Japanese men are so obsessed with work that it seems many of them face failing marriages AFTER retirement because they can’t handle being at home all day & being in the company of their wives, so habituated are they to going to office.
Two brands that are all the rage now are the Ipod & Starbucks. I asked my Japanese colleague what were the reasons for this? He said both were ‘aspirational’. Now, that can be a marketing euphemism for meaning ‘I really don’t know, but it’s all the rage now among consumers’. So I probed some more.
Apple emphasise on making break-throughs that focus on design. They try & succeed very well in the process, to make things very intuitive & always present you with something you haven’t experienced before but when you do, you are hooked. I think their aesthetic simplicity & intuitiveness appeals to the Japanese. Sure there are me-too’s, some pretty good one’s like Sony, but as long as Apple stays focused on design I think they are on a good wicket in Japan.
Starbucks – well, I think is a bit of a fad in Japan. I came across a coffee chain whose colours, façade, fonts all screamed Starbucks. Hell, their coffee beans were probably better! And they were popular because they had a smoking section inside the café.
As elsewhere, Starbucks has made the coffee bar into a kind of must-go hang-out joint, where a visit gives you instant membership into some kind of club that assures you that you are somehow doing the ‘cool’, ‘contemporary’ thing. The problem with is that sometimes, the first-mover often takes the high ground (pardon the pun) & puts up barriers to competition.
Which is why Starbucks nowadays has started pushing so many other ‘aspirational’ things in their shops – music, eats, home kits (which are rip-offs really – why on earth should I purchase a percolator or a press at 3 times the price I can get it elsewhere & what’s more, even then it won’t guarantee a great cup!). The one thing that could make a difference that others may struggle to emulate is organic. Though in Japan, even that is doubtful; Japanese have focused on pure & natural ingredients in their cuisine longer than anyone I guess so should be masters at it. I forecast a pretty bleak future for Starbucks in Japan, unless of course, they take over their competition!
As I rounded up this trip, I was struck by how life comes full circle. Now I was faced with dealing with some of the painful nuances that my parents dealt with all those years back – being away from family even for a few weeks & months is painful; the feeling of being away from home & missing the familiarity of friends, relatives, even domestic help. And mind you, nowadays you aren’t too far away from seeing an Indian face or removed from Indian culture pretty much anywhere you go.
Still, I enjoyed my trip down memory lane. I think of the many more lanes I have to re-visit at some point in time – Delhi, Mumbai, Bangalore, Kolkatta, even Kolhapur & Pondicherry, where some part of me has been shaped through some experiences & instances, sometimes alone & sometimes in the company of friends & family.
I look forward to them eagerly, because I know I won’t feel lost & will be guided to take all the right turns along the way.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
The Big B's Boring Blog Balderdash
Arey boss, this big B fellow has been brandishing his bloody blog all over the bloody place man.
I read about it in various papers for the first time last week. There were references to it in various context's, which was what caught my attention. Earlier blogs by film stars (like Aamir's) were all about his latest film & cinema.
But T3B (thats 'The Big B's Blog' henceforth)seemed to cover a wider brief. eg. he used it to respond to a critic's criticism on his latest film Bhootnath (another B! this blog is going to set a record for maximum use of B it looks like).
Interesting, thought I. And just a while back visited it.
I am pretty disappointed. For one, T3B is clearly a commercial venture, in the sense that the hosts are surely paying a bucketful of cash to him for featuring his blog. I guess there are no real issues with that - its a free country. And a pretty neat marketing idea. But blogs are kind of personal. Think about it, if you want to put down some personal thoughts on the net, wouldn't you choose the popular & time-tested places like blogger? Why Bigadda? Unless you are being compensated for it (for the record, am opens to overtures...hint hint). So its personal thoughts that have been monetised. Hmmmm!!
I didn't like the big photo of his that jumps out at you. Blogs are supposed to be about the written word; its not a website that needs to have arresting visuals to engage (which is apprently on its way featuring all 4 of the famous B family, excluding the B who is now an N & including the R who is now a B).
I didn't like the format where each post has a title that says 'Day X'. Sort of cold & impersonal. Seems like the blogger is doing it in a forced manner. Sample Day 27; its been written when the man has a flight to Nice to catch. When I'm due to catch a flight, the only thing I'm writing are reminders to take my tooth brush, my comb (i forgot that on my last trip to london & had to buy a bloody brush from Tesco's for a humongous 400 bucks!), my ticket & extra inner wear. But the man writes A's to Q's. Badhaiyaan & bravo (I warned you about the B's).
I didn't like the fact that there is no easy way to leave a comment. I would have liked to have said all of this over there but I couldn't figure how. And if you browse through them you'll find they are all the gush gush variety. Though the man himself claims that 'there has been the good the bad the ugly the abusive. There has been dissent and criticism and anger and harsh words.' Arey mamu, par kahan hai all this emotional spectrum ke comments?
Finally, the blogger will try & engage his audience, so that the few minutes that someone spends will be worth her while. T3B sounds like any of the man's diplomatic, verbose interviews given in a deadpan delivery. It's basically any of his banal inetrviews of late in verse. Which is worse (pun intended) I'm not sure; but it makes for boring reading. And I won't be going back to check it out a second time.
The Big B needs to lighten up. A lot. Else its a bucketful of baloney all the way!
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Old Codger
I was sitting at the bar reading my email, checking the latest on the IPL, sipping my pint & generally winding down after a day spent bhatko-ing around London boroughs.
There was this old fart who came in & over the course of the next hour or so held forth to whoever would listen to his life story. Not very aggressively, mind you. Very conversationally!!
I write all this because I think I got a whiff of the famed pub culture over here.
He shuffled in, dressed in a purple 'cardigan', corduroys & 'loafers'. Proceeded to the bar & started chatting up with Franco (an old Italian fellow who mans the bar at the hotel). After sometime Franco peeled away to fulfil his duties. Old fart looked around & sat down. Soon struck up a conversation with another couple at the next table. Now this couple revealed that they were visiting London from the 'country' as their 24 - year old son was in the hospital (why they were drinking at the bar & weren't at the hospital is beyond me, but I guess its cultural).
OF (Old Fart) inquires whether their son was a drunk. 'Lots of kids take to drink you know', he said knowingly. The mother kind of said no indignantly & the father said no his son didn't drink at all. OF observed (sharply) that they (parents) were drinking, as if to suggest that the son was drinking on the sly whenever the parents did.
'Oh no, i drink only champagne & that too only when I win at the 'horses' said dad.
'Oh right, and I'm sure you finish off a couple of bottles then don't you?', said OF.
With this grand opening he moved in to sit with them & finish his booze. 'I was over at the continent you know, sent over by Roosevelt to set things right after the war' he began. 'oh really, how interesting', cooed the mom.
He then proceeded to hold forth on various ills the world was currently fighting with and how he would deal with them. He even claimed to know Jacques Chirac personally. His tales got weirder & weirder. He told the other two that since he had spent 'his entire life' in France, he was an expert on Champagne. He called Franco to show him the restaurant list & proceeded to dismiss them all as 'cheap 4th division stuff'.
Then there was this hilarious conversation where the couple were throwing brand names at him & OF was dismissing them as '4th division', 'never heard of it', '3rd division' etc etc. Dad then politely inquired whether in OF's opinion, when he said 4th division, it went up to 1st and then whether there was then another level like the Premiership!! OF went 'what, what' a couple of times, cos he obviously didn't follow soccer.
I almost died trying to suppress my laughter.
Obviously OF gauged I was laughing; he called the manager & moaned (in an undertone) that 'this is the bar, how can you have people working on computers?'. The manager (a desi) politely told him that I was a guest & I was free to do as I pleased. 'But surely its not on, ol' chap, you must have rules otherwise where will we end up'?
On his way out the manager winked at me & said 'koi baat nahi, budhha sathiya gaya hai, aap beer piyo aram sey'.
Cheers to that! And to the old codger!
There was this old fart who came in & over the course of the next hour or so held forth to whoever would listen to his life story. Not very aggressively, mind you. Very conversationally!!
I write all this because I think I got a whiff of the famed pub culture over here.
He shuffled in, dressed in a purple 'cardigan', corduroys & 'loafers'. Proceeded to the bar & started chatting up with Franco (an old Italian fellow who mans the bar at the hotel). After sometime Franco peeled away to fulfil his duties. Old fart looked around & sat down. Soon struck up a conversation with another couple at the next table. Now this couple revealed that they were visiting London from the 'country' as their 24 - year old son was in the hospital (why they were drinking at the bar & weren't at the hospital is beyond me, but I guess its cultural).
OF (Old Fart) inquires whether their son was a drunk. 'Lots of kids take to drink you know', he said knowingly. The mother kind of said no indignantly & the father said no his son didn't drink at all. OF observed (sharply) that they (parents) were drinking, as if to suggest that the son was drinking on the sly whenever the parents did.
'Oh no, i drink only champagne & that too only when I win at the 'horses' said dad.
'Oh right, and I'm sure you finish off a couple of bottles then don't you?', said OF.
With this grand opening he moved in to sit with them & finish his booze. 'I was over at the continent you know, sent over by Roosevelt to set things right after the war' he began. 'oh really, how interesting', cooed the mom.
He then proceeded to hold forth on various ills the world was currently fighting with and how he would deal with them. He even claimed to know Jacques Chirac personally. His tales got weirder & weirder. He told the other two that since he had spent 'his entire life' in France, he was an expert on Champagne. He called Franco to show him the restaurant list & proceeded to dismiss them all as 'cheap 4th division stuff'.
Then there was this hilarious conversation where the couple were throwing brand names at him & OF was dismissing them as '4th division', 'never heard of it', '3rd division' etc etc. Dad then politely inquired whether in OF's opinion, when he said 4th division, it went up to 1st and then whether there was then another level like the Premiership!! OF went 'what, what' a couple of times, cos he obviously didn't follow soccer.
I almost died trying to suppress my laughter.
Obviously OF gauged I was laughing; he called the manager & moaned (in an undertone) that 'this is the bar, how can you have people working on computers?'. The manager (a desi) politely told him that I was a guest & I was free to do as I pleased. 'But surely its not on, ol' chap, you must have rules otherwise where will we end up'?
On his way out the manager winked at me & said 'koi baat nahi, budhha sathiya gaya hai, aap beer piyo aram sey'.
Cheers to that! And to the old codger!
Updates from Oh-Blimey land
The brits love to hear someone talk. Just listen to the Beeb or the radio. They just go on & on inanely in their clipped accent. Here is a sampler of the top issues on the airways :
a. John Prescott confesses he secretly suffered from bulimia. Thank you sir! Now we have to suffer daily updates on where you ate, how you ate, why you ate. In a fine piece of investigative journalism, we also got to see that chinese restaurant where you allegedly ‘ran through the menu’; though the staff had a different version of you running through a set lunch menu. Now that is a revelation – he’s no better than many of us who diligently run through a set menu.
b. Today I heard a noon talk show on whether prisoners deserve good conditions while they are incarcerated. Good meaning whether they should be allowed to watch TV in their cells. One caller, claiming to have a vague military background felt that this was rich given that ‘our lads are on the frontline, with orders to kill & they don’t get to see TV, so why should prisoners’. Then there was a policeman who confessed that ‘hearing this debate, I don’t think I’ll go for a career in the prison service’! Yeah now that’s a major career downer for him – what a brave sacrifice to make!
c. Mayor of London – Elections are around the corner. There are 3 dudes in the race –the incumbent Kenny boy, the rabble rouser Boris & the lightweight whats-his-name? Mr lightweight is there to make up the numbers & is apparently openly gay & a liberal democrat (unclear which is the bigger disqualification). Everyone seems to be pretty cheesed off with Kenny boy because he keeps accusing everyone of being racist when they question some of his pals on how they spend their tax monies. Boris is – literally – the joker in the pack. Sample this – on a debate he was asked hwo he could stand for office when he had zero experience in public office & in running a tight organisation of any sorts. His aggressive response with just the right touch of indignation was that ‘it was downright untrue; he has hands-on experience in cost-cutting having sacked 20 people personally!’ I’m running scared man!
a. John Prescott confesses he secretly suffered from bulimia. Thank you sir! Now we have to suffer daily updates on where you ate, how you ate, why you ate. In a fine piece of investigative journalism, we also got to see that chinese restaurant where you allegedly ‘ran through the menu’; though the staff had a different version of you running through a set lunch menu. Now that is a revelation – he’s no better than many of us who diligently run through a set menu.
b. Today I heard a noon talk show on whether prisoners deserve good conditions while they are incarcerated. Good meaning whether they should be allowed to watch TV in their cells. One caller, claiming to have a vague military background felt that this was rich given that ‘our lads are on the frontline, with orders to kill & they don’t get to see TV, so why should prisoners’. Then there was a policeman who confessed that ‘hearing this debate, I don’t think I’ll go for a career in the prison service’! Yeah now that’s a major career downer for him – what a brave sacrifice to make!
c. Mayor of London – Elections are around the corner. There are 3 dudes in the race –the incumbent Kenny boy, the rabble rouser Boris & the lightweight whats-his-name? Mr lightweight is there to make up the numbers & is apparently openly gay & a liberal democrat (unclear which is the bigger disqualification). Everyone seems to be pretty cheesed off with Kenny boy because he keeps accusing everyone of being racist when they question some of his pals on how they spend their tax monies. Boris is – literally – the joker in the pack. Sample this – on a debate he was asked hwo he could stand for office when he had zero experience in public office & in running a tight organisation of any sorts. His aggressive response with just the right touch of indignation was that ‘it was downright untrue; he has hands-on experience in cost-cutting having sacked 20 people personally!’ I’m running scared man!
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