Had an interesting weekend.
With the little one's 4th birthday fast approaching, we had loads to do for a proper celebration.
Friends have been alerted, but a venue wasn't finalised and the cakes hadn't been ordered. Yes, the use of 'cakes' is intentional. The little one will have two celebrations - one at the playschool and another one for family and their friends.
After ordering one of the cakes on Sunday morning, we headed off to Lajpat Nagar in south Delhi to buy return gifts for the family celebration. These days, return gifts aren't an alien concept to traditional shop-keepers and they stock everything - balloons, party masks, party hats, party crackers, tissues, paper plates, little toys, photo frames, merchandise from Ben10, Hannah Montana and Disney, t-shirts and scarves of prominent English Premier League Clubs etc etc.
So, we stocked up on all the things we needed and set off to one of our friends - who stays locally.
The friend had a surprise for us. While welcoming us in, he spotted a man walking about with his harmonium in the locality. Like most indigenous instruments, the harmonium is gradually disappearing from the musical scene in India - replaced by the mighty synthesiser. And even rarer is the sight of a musician trawling the streets of a well-heeled locality.
Our curious friend invited the musician over and requested an impromptu performance.
The musician, Deep Chand, comes from India's western state of Rajasthan.
He moved to Delhi when he was young and learned singing by listening to cassettes of famous musicians. He may not know all the words - especially some complex Urdu words - correctly, but sang rather well.
As the friend remarked, he didn't have the false enthusiasm and high-decibel delivery of musicians who sing at religious functions. It was a pleasure listening to him.
He said he doesn't get regular work - only once or twice a week - so supplements it by taking his art to the residential localities of south Delhi.
During the performance, he handed a visiting card and put in a pitch for his son - who is learning dholak (drums), but is also good at putting henna on people's hands. The mobile number is on the business card, if you need to get in touch.
25 January 2010
21 January 2010
Travels in the south of India - concluding part
Despite our numerous pleadings, the hotel in Yercaud asked us and our friends to check out at 10.30 am on 1 January 2010.
That certainly wasn't our plan. Our train wasn't due until 8.15 in the evening and Salem isn't a city where you can easily spend time. Growing up, we knew it only as a steel city. But it is also home to traditional silver jewellery and textile, automotive and poultry industries. The city has a lot of cinema halls too, including some big multiplexes like Big Cinemas and ARRS.
The friends suggested we go to Salem and watch a film there, but it didn't seem too appealing with a heavy piece of luggage and an energetic three-year-old. So, we requested them to head off to Bangalore while we spent the day at the hotel. "It has a clean toilet, ready access to food and an area for the little one to play" we reasoned.
By the time we got to Salem, both our tickets on the Trivandrum Express were confirmed. We quickly had our dinner and waited for the train to arrive. It was only 15 minutes late, and once we got on - we went straight to sleep.
The train was already at Trivandrum Junction when we woke up. A representative of the travel agency - we had engaged for the Kerala leg - was at the platform. He had booked us at a guest-house in Kovalam, which was a quick 10-minute walk to the Samudra Beach. Kovalam, Hawa and Lighthouse beaches weren't too far either.
The only problem was that the guest-house didn't offer breakfast. "There is a country club, just round the corner," the representative said. "They serve good breakfast and allow outsiders to eat there".
The day seemed too hot, so we hired a parasol and deck-chairs as soon as we got to the Samudra Beach. It must have been probably the first day we actually lounged about. All our previous excursions to the sea had been to just walk on the beach or splash about. This day, it was only the little one who was splashing about.
The sea-front at Kovalam comes alive after sunset. Restaurants put on display different kinds of fishes, prawns and lobsters for patrons, who can then choose and get their preferred sea creature cooked.
We chose half a kilo of Tiger Prawns to be cooked in south India curry. With a couple of bottles of beer and some rice, the bill came to about 1,200 INR (£15).
The country club turned out to be pleasant surprise. The manager insisted on offering us food on the house. He even refused to charge us for dinner in the evening. I have spoken to the people at our Spa. You can go and have a free treatment if you want. And if the little one wants to splash about in our pool, she can do that too.
The next destination was Alleppey, a picturesque town known for its backwaters. We were picked up from the guest-house by a driver, who was to be with us for the rest of our trip. The journey from Kovalam to Alleppey was about four hours and the house-boat was ready when we got there.
It was a two-roomed boat, an upper deck and a cook exclusively at our service. Even though we had heard so much about Kerala backwaters, we were struck by its beauty. Totally awesome.
The journey started at 12. After floating in water for an hour or so, we docked to have lunch - which had just been cooked. Fish, rice, sambar, mix vegetables and fried beans. Nudged by the house-boat driver, the little one wanted ice-cream too. The ice-cream vendor suggested we buy prawns too, but we politely declined.
After a little while, we were back floating in the water. Despite being home to almost 600 houseboats, the backwaters have huge stretches with no other houseboat around. The driver would hand over the controls to our little one on these stretches. Needless to add, her excitement knew no bounds.
We docked again at 5.30 pm to see the sunset. It seemed a bit early and the other houseboats were still in water. "Fishermen ply these waters after six and the houseboats are not allowed to move in the waters" the driver told us.
It was definitely a great spot to watch the sun set, but after that we realised that we were the only ones there. All the other boats were nearly a kilometre from us.
After dinner, which included chicken, daal, okra and beetroot-and-potato, we retired to our room for the night.
When we woke up, the houseboats were back floating in the water, but our's was still stationary. The cook was busy preparing breakfast but the driver and his flunky were taking it easy - swimming in the water. Eager to get a bit more for our money, I insisted that they take the boat back in the water. It worked. With a sudden sense of urgency, the staff got ready and took the boat away from the bank.
We were back at the jetty by 10.00 am and in our taxi straightaway, to head towards Kochi (Cochin). The company had booked us in Hotel Killians in the Fort Kochi area - which counts amongst its attractions Chinese fishing nets, the oldest Jewish Synagogue in the Commonwealth nations and an Indo-Portuguese Museum. These attract tourists from all over the world, which means that the restaurants are jumping over each other to attract their custom. Some to such a worrying extent that they totally ignore visitors from within India.
On our only night there, one of the restaurants could not spare even one of its six-or-so waiting staff to take our order for almost 20 minutes. The other hurriedly brought out Reserved signs to put on a few vacant tables as we were waiting to be seated!!
Given the relaxing pace of our excursions in the south, it only seemed fitting that we reached airport just 35 minutes before the flight was due to take off. The driver was totally lost and only asked for directions when there was just an hour left for the flight.
Thankfully, Kochi Airport isn't a very busy airport and we were able to get the baggage x-rayed, check-in, go through the security and board the aircraft within 20 minutes.
That certainly wasn't our plan. Our train wasn't due until 8.15 in the evening and Salem isn't a city where you can easily spend time. Growing up, we knew it only as a steel city. But it is also home to traditional silver jewellery and textile, automotive and poultry industries. The city has a lot of cinema halls too, including some big multiplexes like Big Cinemas and ARRS.
The friends suggested we go to Salem and watch a film there, but it didn't seem too appealing with a heavy piece of luggage and an energetic three-year-old. So, we requested them to head off to Bangalore while we spent the day at the hotel. "It has a clean toilet, ready access to food and an area for the little one to play" we reasoned.
By the time we got to Salem, both our tickets on the Trivandrum Express were confirmed. We quickly had our dinner and waited for the train to arrive. It was only 15 minutes late, and once we got on - we went straight to sleep.
The train was already at Trivandrum Junction when we woke up. A representative of the travel agency - we had engaged for the Kerala leg - was at the platform. He had booked us at a guest-house in Kovalam, which was a quick 10-minute walk to the Samudra Beach. Kovalam, Hawa and Lighthouse beaches weren't too far either.
The only problem was that the guest-house didn't offer breakfast. "There is a country club, just round the corner," the representative said. "They serve good breakfast and allow outsiders to eat there".
The day seemed too hot, so we hired a parasol and deck-chairs as soon as we got to the Samudra Beach. It must have been probably the first day we actually lounged about. All our previous excursions to the sea had been to just walk on the beach or splash about. This day, it was only the little one who was splashing about.
The sea-front at Kovalam comes alive after sunset. Restaurants put on display different kinds of fishes, prawns and lobsters for patrons, who can then choose and get their preferred sea creature cooked.
We chose half a kilo of Tiger Prawns to be cooked in south India curry. With a couple of bottles of beer and some rice, the bill came to about 1,200 INR (£15).
The country club turned out to be pleasant surprise. The manager insisted on offering us food on the house. He even refused to charge us for dinner in the evening. I have spoken to the people at our Spa. You can go and have a free treatment if you want. And if the little one wants to splash about in our pool, she can do that too.
The next destination was Alleppey, a picturesque town known for its backwaters. We were picked up from the guest-house by a driver, who was to be with us for the rest of our trip. The journey from Kovalam to Alleppey was about four hours and the house-boat was ready when we got there.
It was a two-roomed boat, an upper deck and a cook exclusively at our service. Even though we had heard so much about Kerala backwaters, we were struck by its beauty. Totally awesome.
The journey started at 12. After floating in water for an hour or so, we docked to have lunch - which had just been cooked. Fish, rice, sambar, mix vegetables and fried beans. Nudged by the house-boat driver, the little one wanted ice-cream too. The ice-cream vendor suggested we buy prawns too, but we politely declined.
After a little while, we were back floating in the water. Despite being home to almost 600 houseboats, the backwaters have huge stretches with no other houseboat around. The driver would hand over the controls to our little one on these stretches. Needless to add, her excitement knew no bounds.
We docked again at 5.30 pm to see the sunset. It seemed a bit early and the other houseboats were still in water. "Fishermen ply these waters after six and the houseboats are not allowed to move in the waters" the driver told us.
It was definitely a great spot to watch the sun set, but after that we realised that we were the only ones there. All the other boats were nearly a kilometre from us.
After dinner, which included chicken, daal, okra and beetroot-and-potato, we retired to our room for the night.
When we woke up, the houseboats were back floating in the water, but our's was still stationary. The cook was busy preparing breakfast but the driver and his flunky were taking it easy - swimming in the water. Eager to get a bit more for our money, I insisted that they take the boat back in the water. It worked. With a sudden sense of urgency, the staff got ready and took the boat away from the bank.
We were back at the jetty by 10.00 am and in our taxi straightaway, to head towards Kochi (Cochin). The company had booked us in Hotel Killians in the Fort Kochi area - which counts amongst its attractions Chinese fishing nets, the oldest Jewish Synagogue in the Commonwealth nations and an Indo-Portuguese Museum. These attract tourists from all over the world, which means that the restaurants are jumping over each other to attract their custom. Some to such a worrying extent that they totally ignore visitors from within India.
On our only night there, one of the restaurants could not spare even one of its six-or-so waiting staff to take our order for almost 20 minutes. The other hurriedly brought out Reserved signs to put on a few vacant tables as we were waiting to be seated!!
Given the relaxing pace of our excursions in the south, it only seemed fitting that we reached airport just 35 minutes before the flight was due to take off. The driver was totally lost and only asked for directions when there was just an hour left for the flight.
Thankfully, Kochi Airport isn't a very busy airport and we were able to get the baggage x-rayed, check-in, go through the security and board the aircraft within 20 minutes.
19 January 2010
Visit to South India - continued
Apologies the promised update about the Yercaud visit took a week rather than a day, but here I go.
Yercaud is about 230 kilometres from Pondicherry and there are two ways of getting there. The first is taking a State Transport Corporation bus to Salem and then another bus up the hill to Yercaud. The other is to do the entire journey in a taxi. You have probably guessed which option I chosen.
The taxi was supposed to pick us up at 0700 in the morning and we got up around 0615 or so, packed our bag and stepped out of our room in Residence Shalimar to have breakfast.
This morning, there was another guest waiting at the table. An Iranian-American, she has been coming to Pondicherry for many years to discover spirituality and yoga. The lady is obviously fascinated by such deep faith in India and got talking to us about spirituality.
I knew this was going to be a long discussion, so I slipped away to check up on the taxi. Sir, the driver who was supposed to take you to Yercaud returned late last night. He will be with you by 0800. So why wasn't I informed? I tried your number at 10.30 last night but it was switched off. There, another one chides me for switching my mobile phone off after 09.00 pm.
After my lame attempt with "people have so much faith in God because there is little to believe in - as Government, Police, Bureaucracy and Society have all failed them" my better half did a better job articulating the ancient culture and the belief of its people in that Lord Almighty. Maybe I was distracted by the Starbucks coffee bag that the Iranian-American was carrying. She loved the yoga and spirituality of India, but the coffee will have to be American.
The taxi arrived at 0800. It was nice and spacious Ambassador, which is still the best car to negotiate India's motorways with. It is tough and rarely breaks down. The driver apologised for the delay. He had been on a six-day visit to Goa and Karnataka and got back in late.
The journey to Salem takes one through the NH-45 (or National Highway 45), one of those toll roads built under the 'build-operate-transfer' scheme by private operators. Such roads are well-maintained and have cut the travel time to major cities by hours.
Unfortunately, Salem requires a detour through NH-68, a motorway still being developed. Some stretches are good, but others are pretty bad. Traffic from both sides flows on just one side of the road and the regulars - like our driver - drive cautiously.
Somewhere along the road, an elephant came along. In return for some coins, he put his trunk in through one of the windows to bless our little girl. She was too excited by this and wanted us to give some more coins. But we decided to push ahead with our journey.
It took over five hours to get to the top of the hill and to our hotel, Grand Palace. The hotel had lovely views of the valley, a nice play-area for younger kids, another play area for older children with table-tennis, chess and computer games. For adults, there was a spa advertised through a woman lying in a jacuzzi with loads of rose petals.
This was 30 December and many other guests - with similar plans of welcoming 2010 in Yercaud - had started coming in. The fliers around the hotel promised 'Fun-filled party with party-games, mind-blowing music and a buffet of 50 international and national dishes'. The Cloud 9 pub at the hotel went a step ahead, promise a third drink 'absaloutly free' if you bought two small drinks.
Our friends from London, we were supposed to meet, were headed to Yercaud from Bangalore. Even though the road is much better (NH-7), it took them much longer to get there. A famous Kannada actor died that morning and his fans were out on the streets to mourn the death and to break or set fire to a few vehicles. Then, their luxury Volvo bus broke down in the middle of the motorway and a replacement bus had to come from Bangalore to bring them to Salem. It was nearly 11 in the night when they got there.
On new year's eve, we hired a cab to take us to the local attractions. Like any hill station, Yercaud had many good viewing points, an old temple, an old business in natural essences, a lake with paddling boats and loads of monkeys - including some really fond of drinking Mirinda.
We spent a fair bit of time in the local botanical garden, which had many varieties of orchids and plants, including a fly-eater - kept away from people in a cage. As with other monuments or places of public interest, the botanical garden also had a mark of some visitors - scratched on a leaf.
By the time we returned to the hotel, there were cops all over. It seemed to be the usual security check, unless one of them mentioned that a threat had been received about blowing the hotel up. All rooms were being checked to ensure that such a nefarious plan didn't succeed.
A further dampener for us was the main function, which was some party-games followed by extremely loud - and very often, bad, music. Of the 50-dish buffet too, the only things edible were roomali roti, daal, chicken biryani and some desserts.
After trying to watch a film in our room for a little while, we came out. It seemed too boring a way to welcome the new year. Thankfully, the hotel had arranged a bonfire outside and we sat around it until the clock struck 12.
Then, it was time to sleep and prepare for the next day. Our friends were returning to Bangalore and we were going to Salem - to catch an overnight train to Trivandrum.
Yercaud is about 230 kilometres from Pondicherry and there are two ways of getting there. The first is taking a State Transport Corporation bus to Salem and then another bus up the hill to Yercaud. The other is to do the entire journey in a taxi. You have probably guessed which option I chosen.
The taxi was supposed to pick us up at 0700 in the morning and we got up around 0615 or so, packed our bag and stepped out of our room in Residence Shalimar to have breakfast.
This morning, there was another guest waiting at the table. An Iranian-American, she has been coming to Pondicherry for many years to discover spirituality and yoga. The lady is obviously fascinated by such deep faith in India and got talking to us about spirituality.
I knew this was going to be a long discussion, so I slipped away to check up on the taxi. Sir, the driver who was supposed to take you to Yercaud returned late last night. He will be with you by 0800. So why wasn't I informed? I tried your number at 10.30 last night but it was switched off. There, another one chides me for switching my mobile phone off after 09.00 pm.
After my lame attempt with "people have so much faith in God because there is little to believe in - as Government, Police, Bureaucracy and Society have all failed them" my better half did a better job articulating the ancient culture and the belief of its people in that Lord Almighty. Maybe I was distracted by the Starbucks coffee bag that the Iranian-American was carrying. She loved the yoga and spirituality of India, but the coffee will have to be American.
The taxi arrived at 0800. It was nice and spacious Ambassador, which is still the best car to negotiate India's motorways with. It is tough and rarely breaks down. The driver apologised for the delay. He had been on a six-day visit to Goa and Karnataka and got back in late.
The journey to Salem takes one through the NH-45 (or National Highway 45), one of those toll roads built under the 'build-operate-transfer' scheme by private operators. Such roads are well-maintained and have cut the travel time to major cities by hours.
Unfortunately, Salem requires a detour through NH-68, a motorway still being developed. Some stretches are good, but others are pretty bad. Traffic from both sides flows on just one side of the road and the regulars - like our driver - drive cautiously.
Somewhere along the road, an elephant came along. In return for some coins, he put his trunk in through one of the windows to bless our little girl. She was too excited by this and wanted us to give some more coins. But we decided to push ahead with our journey.
It took over five hours to get to the top of the hill and to our hotel, Grand Palace. The hotel had lovely views of the valley, a nice play-area for younger kids, another play area for older children with table-tennis, chess and computer games. For adults, there was a spa advertised through a woman lying in a jacuzzi with loads of rose petals.
This was 30 December and many other guests - with similar plans of welcoming 2010 in Yercaud - had started coming in. The fliers around the hotel promised 'Fun-filled party with party-games, mind-blowing music and a buffet of 50 international and national dishes'. The Cloud 9 pub at the hotel went a step ahead, promise a third drink 'absaloutly free' if you bought two small drinks.
Our friends from London, we were supposed to meet, were headed to Yercaud from Bangalore. Even though the road is much better (NH-7), it took them much longer to get there. A famous Kannada actor died that morning and his fans were out on the streets to mourn the death and to break or set fire to a few vehicles. Then, their luxury Volvo bus broke down in the middle of the motorway and a replacement bus had to come from Bangalore to bring them to Salem. It was nearly 11 in the night when they got there.
On new year's eve, we hired a cab to take us to the local attractions. Like any hill station, Yercaud had many good viewing points, an old temple, an old business in natural essences, a lake with paddling boats and loads of monkeys - including some really fond of drinking Mirinda.
We spent a fair bit of time in the local botanical garden, which had many varieties of orchids and plants, including a fly-eater - kept away from people in a cage. As with other monuments or places of public interest, the botanical garden also had a mark of some visitors - scratched on a leaf.
By the time we returned to the hotel, there were cops all over. It seemed to be the usual security check, unless one of them mentioned that a threat had been received about blowing the hotel up. All rooms were being checked to ensure that such a nefarious plan didn't succeed.
A further dampener for us was the main function, which was some party-games followed by extremely loud - and very often, bad, music. Of the 50-dish buffet too, the only things edible were roomali roti, daal, chicken biryani and some desserts.
After trying to watch a film in our room for a little while, we came out. It seemed too boring a way to welcome the new year. Thankfully, the hotel had arranged a bonfire outside and we sat around it until the clock struck 12.
Then, it was time to sleep and prepare for the next day. Our friends were returning to Bangalore and we were going to Salem - to catch an overnight train to Trivandrum.
18 January 2010
Interactive school and dishonest godmen
Had an interesting weekend.
On Saturday, we were invited to an Interactive Session at one of the schools we have applied for the admission of the little one.
Along with the other parents scheduled for this 11.00 pm interactivity, we were taken to the school's auditorium.
The auditorium had chairs arranged in six semi-circles. Based on some magic formula (which I couldn't crack, obviously), we were made to sit in one of those semi-circles.
In front of us was the big stage and I was worried they may ask the parents to debate Modern parents and schooling or How schools shape societies or some such topic. I have always been crap at debating, but a failure here could affect the future of my child.
But then again, they could ask parents to sing or dance or come up with an interesting or convincing act. You know, a show like This Dad's Got Talent or Mum's X Factor.
Fortunately neither happened. The parents were taken to different rooms (based on the semi-circle they were sitting in) with tiny chairs and tables.
The task was answering the following questions. What do you think about reading to children and why? What value would you like the child to learn at school? What do you do at home to teach child responsibility? List your child's hobbies. What made you choose School X for your child?
There was no time-frame, but you clearly had 30 minutes or so - considering that the interactivity sessions were scheduled every hour and it would take 10 minutes either side of a session. So I got to it straightaway.
Soon, we were joined by a young Ma'am who had the responsibility to verify our documents. It didn't matter that she didn't know the difference between an original and the photocopy. She was the one holding an important document and the pen to mark on it. A few ticks on a sheet and she was off.
Another Ma'am joined soonafter, this time to find out about our little one. A quick pitch and some pleasant smiles later, she had moved too. All around us, we could hear parents talking about their child being "musical" or "creative" or "talented". No one was saying "my child watches TV the whole time and I would be glad to have him out of the house as soon as possible". Or that "I hope you are impressed with my answers. I am a bit nervous about that look".
Anyway, that was too much of distraction. I focused on the task at hand - writing a tome about a creative and talented child, who loves reading and is taught responsibility through small tasks and would benefit if the school taught her the virtues of hard work and empathy.
I didn't have any more original thoughts to share, so handed over my worksheet and walked out of the school - hoping and praying that I hadn't let down my little one.
On Sunday, we had planned to take a friend to see Old Delhi and Jama Masjid. The friend was visiting from London and we wanted her to see as much of Delhi as possible.
Though the day was grim - foggy, grey and cold (like winter in South-East England) - we decide to stick to the plan.
With Delhi preparing for the Republic Day, there were too many cops on the road. Something I hadn't noticed during my auto-rickshaw rides during weekdays, but was quite conscious of while driving myself. Most roads leading to the President's House to India Gate stretch were closed too for the practice of Republic Day parade.
Thankfully, the roads were empty and we were in Rajiv Chowk (known better as Connaught Place) soon. A trip in Delhi Metro was also part of the plan, and it is always a more sensible (and less stressful) way to get to Old Delhi.
Even though it was almost midday, Old Delhi hadn't woken up. Most shops had their shutters down. Some people were getting groomed or having a bath by the street-side. Some were burning plastic bags or papers to keep themselves warm. Some others were waiting outside food stalls to eat freshly-prepared poori-subzi.
Jama Masjid had closed for prayers by the time we reached it. So, a decision was taken to go to Karim's and have our lunch first. For those who don't know, Karim's is nearly a century old in existence and many centuries old in terms of the cuisine it offers. Time magazine has even rated it as among the top restaurants of Asia.
We ordered Chicken Burra, Mutton Korma, Chicken Jehagiri, Seekh Kabab and three different types of breads - Sheermal, Naan and Roomali Roti. All of it was yummy and we probably overate ;-)
Jama Masjid was, as usual, majestic. We have been there countless times and it never ceases to impress me. Its three domes and two minarets are beautiful and the courtyard can hold up to 25,000 worshippers. On a regular day like Sunday, though, the only permanent occupants of the courtyard are hundreds of pigeons.
The only thing that stood out was foreigners clad in strange, multi-coloured and ill-fitting gowns. It dawned later that the people manning a particular gate use it as an easy way of making money. Even though the women tourists are covered appropriately, they are told it is mandatory to wear the gowns before entering the mosque. The charge of "borrowing" one is 200 INR (£3) or more.
I walked up to one of those guys to protest that this wasn't right. You are making a fool of someone who is respecting your culture and sentiments. The mute guy was very angry with me, threatening to cut off my neck and asking me to leave the mosque. I knew he had no right to do, but it didn't sensible to pick up a fight.
The cops of duty down the stairs seem aware of this racket. They are the Imam's (Grand Priest) men. Have you seen the mosque? You can go in through one of the other gates.
On Saturday, we were invited to an Interactive Session at one of the schools we have applied for the admission of the little one.
Along with the other parents scheduled for this 11.00 pm interactivity, we were taken to the school's auditorium.
The auditorium had chairs arranged in six semi-circles. Based on some magic formula (which I couldn't crack, obviously), we were made to sit in one of those semi-circles.
In front of us was the big stage and I was worried they may ask the parents to debate Modern parents and schooling or How schools shape societies or some such topic. I have always been crap at debating, but a failure here could affect the future of my child.
But then again, they could ask parents to sing or dance or come up with an interesting or convincing act. You know, a show like This Dad's Got Talent or Mum's X Factor.
Fortunately neither happened. The parents were taken to different rooms (based on the semi-circle they were sitting in) with tiny chairs and tables.
The task was answering the following questions. What do you think about reading to children and why? What value would you like the child to learn at school? What do you do at home to teach child responsibility? List your child's hobbies. What made you choose School X for your child?
There was no time-frame, but you clearly had 30 minutes or so - considering that the interactivity sessions were scheduled every hour and it would take 10 minutes either side of a session. So I got to it straightaway.
Soon, we were joined by a young Ma'am who had the responsibility to verify our documents. It didn't matter that she didn't know the difference between an original and the photocopy. She was the one holding an important document and the pen to mark on it. A few ticks on a sheet and she was off.
Another Ma'am joined soonafter, this time to find out about our little one. A quick pitch and some pleasant smiles later, she had moved too. All around us, we could hear parents talking about their child being "musical" or "creative" or "talented". No one was saying "my child watches TV the whole time and I would be glad to have him out of the house as soon as possible". Or that "I hope you are impressed with my answers. I am a bit nervous about that look".
Anyway, that was too much of distraction. I focused on the task at hand - writing a tome about a creative and talented child, who loves reading and is taught responsibility through small tasks and would benefit if the school taught her the virtues of hard work and empathy.
I didn't have any more original thoughts to share, so handed over my worksheet and walked out of the school - hoping and praying that I hadn't let down my little one.
On Sunday, we had planned to take a friend to see Old Delhi and Jama Masjid. The friend was visiting from London and we wanted her to see as much of Delhi as possible.
Though the day was grim - foggy, grey and cold (like winter in South-East England) - we decide to stick to the plan.
With Delhi preparing for the Republic Day, there were too many cops on the road. Something I hadn't noticed during my auto-rickshaw rides during weekdays, but was quite conscious of while driving myself. Most roads leading to the President's House to India Gate stretch were closed too for the practice of Republic Day parade.
Thankfully, the roads were empty and we were in Rajiv Chowk (known better as Connaught Place) soon. A trip in Delhi Metro was also part of the plan, and it is always a more sensible (and less stressful) way to get to Old Delhi.
Even though it was almost midday, Old Delhi hadn't woken up. Most shops had their shutters down. Some people were getting groomed or having a bath by the street-side. Some were burning plastic bags or papers to keep themselves warm. Some others were waiting outside food stalls to eat freshly-prepared poori-subzi.
Jama Masjid had closed for prayers by the time we reached it. So, a decision was taken to go to Karim's and have our lunch first. For those who don't know, Karim's is nearly a century old in existence and many centuries old in terms of the cuisine it offers. Time magazine has even rated it as among the top restaurants of Asia.
We ordered Chicken Burra, Mutton Korma, Chicken Jehagiri, Seekh Kabab and three different types of breads - Sheermal, Naan and Roomali Roti. All of it was yummy and we probably overate ;-)
Jama Masjid was, as usual, majestic. We have been there countless times and it never ceases to impress me. Its three domes and two minarets are beautiful and the courtyard can hold up to 25,000 worshippers. On a regular day like Sunday, though, the only permanent occupants of the courtyard are hundreds of pigeons.
The only thing that stood out was foreigners clad in strange, multi-coloured and ill-fitting gowns. It dawned later that the people manning a particular gate use it as an easy way of making money. Even though the women tourists are covered appropriately, they are told it is mandatory to wear the gowns before entering the mosque. The charge of "borrowing" one is 200 INR (£3) or more.
I walked up to one of those guys to protest that this wasn't right. You are making a fool of someone who is respecting your culture and sentiments. The mute guy was very angry with me, threatening to cut off my neck and asking me to leave the mosque. I knew he had no right to do, but it didn't sensible to pick up a fight.
The cops of duty down the stairs seem aware of this racket. They are the Imam's (Grand Priest) men. Have you seen the mosque? You can go in through one of the other gates.
15 January 2010
Getting the first-born certified
As you would have guessed, I was busy with school admissions and rectifying the mistake on my telephone bill on Thursday.
While all the Online Forms had been submitted before we went on leave, the paper-forms were awaiting our attention once we were back. It was only on Wednesday that I was able to give this attention.
One of the forms insisted on a Magistrate's Affidavit for the First-born to be submitted along with the other documents.
At first, I was confused. How would a Magistrate know who my first-born was, when the only person likely to have that information is me? Did the government insert a secret chip in me, when I was born, which was monitoring my activities all this while? Or something more sinister and secretive?
But it was nothing of the sort. Seems like the schools want to put the fear of God in parents. If you lie under oath to a Magistrate, the consequences would not be pleasant. So better tell the truth!
It worked. Suddenly, those memories of standing outside the Principal's room on a hot summer day came alive. You are meant to wear white shoes on Friday. Your shoes don't look anything like that. They are more the colour of soil. Stand outside the Principal's room till lunch-time. And we will give you a letter that your father has to sign.
So, I went to the Patiala House Courts - near the office - to find a Notary Public. The place is full of lawyers and if you have money, they have the right affidavit. I walked into a lawyer's office, who quoted 200 INR for a Magistrate's Affidavit. If you want a personal affidavit for residence proof, that will be 80 INR.
I needed two of each and asked for some rebate. You are already getting a rebate because you have a girl. It is difficult to catch a Magistrate and get them to sign a document. Plus this guy has to go towards East Delhi and get the signature.
I asked if a Magistrate at the local court was available. They are too busy hearing the cases. We will get a Magistrate's signature for you. But you will only get it tomorrow morning. I paid the money and the lawyer sent off his sidekick to get the 10 INR Non-Judicial Stamp-paper.
It was only when the Magistrate's Affidavit was being printed that I realised how sure a footing this all had. The stamp-paper was signed for in my wife's name, by the side-kick. The actual affidavit was in her name as well and I had to sign for her. And the Magistrate would see neither me nor my wife, but confirm that the contents of the Affidavit were true. Just put the money there, please!
Anyway, what is important is that I got what I wanted, the school got what it wanted and the lawyer got what he wanted. My contribution to the mountain of paperwork, that the school admission forms are, was duly accepted this morning without as much as a glance at it.
As for rectifying the mistake on the telephone bill, it is still in the works. After two calls and a visit, my file was finally traced. The form and all the supporting documents had my name spelt correctly.
So where did the mistake happen? The data-entry guy must have made it. When is it likely to be sorted out? You can see that I have traced the file. This will now be put up to the Assistant General Manager for his approval, who is not in today. Once he approves the change, it will go to the relevant department for the correction to be made. Any idea how long this will take? Four or five days. Can it be done any earlier? Here's your file. Take it and get it done earlier if you want.
So until next week, I will let him be. Then, another phone call and possibly, another visit.
While all the Online Forms had been submitted before we went on leave, the paper-forms were awaiting our attention once we were back. It was only on Wednesday that I was able to give this attention.
One of the forms insisted on a Magistrate's Affidavit for the First-born to be submitted along with the other documents.
At first, I was confused. How would a Magistrate know who my first-born was, when the only person likely to have that information is me? Did the government insert a secret chip in me, when I was born, which was monitoring my activities all this while? Or something more sinister and secretive?
But it was nothing of the sort. Seems like the schools want to put the fear of God in parents. If you lie under oath to a Magistrate, the consequences would not be pleasant. So better tell the truth!
It worked. Suddenly, those memories of standing outside the Principal's room on a hot summer day came alive. You are meant to wear white shoes on Friday. Your shoes don't look anything like that. They are more the colour of soil. Stand outside the Principal's room till lunch-time. And we will give you a letter that your father has to sign.
So, I went to the Patiala House Courts - near the office - to find a Notary Public. The place is full of lawyers and if you have money, they have the right affidavit. I walked into a lawyer's office, who quoted 200 INR for a Magistrate's Affidavit. If you want a personal affidavit for residence proof, that will be 80 INR.
I needed two of each and asked for some rebate. You are already getting a rebate because you have a girl. It is difficult to catch a Magistrate and get them to sign a document. Plus this guy has to go towards East Delhi and get the signature.
I asked if a Magistrate at the local court was available. They are too busy hearing the cases. We will get a Magistrate's signature for you. But you will only get it tomorrow morning. I paid the money and the lawyer sent off his sidekick to get the 10 INR Non-Judicial Stamp-paper.
It was only when the Magistrate's Affidavit was being printed that I realised how sure a footing this all had. The stamp-paper was signed for in my wife's name, by the side-kick. The actual affidavit was in her name as well and I had to sign for her. And the Magistrate would see neither me nor my wife, but confirm that the contents of the Affidavit were true. Just put the money there, please!
Anyway, what is important is that I got what I wanted, the school got what it wanted and the lawyer got what he wanted. My contribution to the mountain of paperwork, that the school admission forms are, was duly accepted this morning without as much as a glance at it.
As for rectifying the mistake on the telephone bill, it is still in the works. After two calls and a visit, my file was finally traced. The form and all the supporting documents had my name spelt correctly.
So where did the mistake happen? The data-entry guy must have made it. When is it likely to be sorted out? You can see that I have traced the file. This will now be put up to the Assistant General Manager for his approval, who is not in today. Once he approves the change, it will go to the relevant department for the correction to be made. Any idea how long this will take? Four or five days. Can it be done any earlier? Here's your file. Take it and get it done earlier if you want.
So until next week, I will let him be. Then, another phone call and possibly, another visit.
13 January 2010
That's my identity you are rolling!
Details of the journey to Yercaud will have to wait another day.
For the past couple of days I have been busy with my efforts to re-establish (or create) an identity in India. But before I tell you more, a word of advice. If any of you is contemplating a return after a prolonged stay abroad, open an account with the public-sector State Bank of India and get a phone from public-sector Mahanagar Telephone Nigam Limited as soon as you can.
You may not like the services either of these offer, but they still hold the magical key to getting an identity in India.
An MTNL phone is still seen as a valid proof of residence as is an SBI bank passbook/statement. If you have any of these, it will be relatively less hassle acquiring a Permanent Account Number (PAN) Card and a Driving License - which then gives you a proper official identity.
In my case, it is also an important part of the jigsaw to secure school admission for my daughter.
On Monday, I went to the local Transport Office in south Delhi to update my driving licence. The licence still has the address it was issued to, about 17 years ago. In that time, my parents have moved three homes and all my sisters and I have moved out and have our families and homes.
Part of the reason it didn't get updated was that I have been away. Part of it is the process is quite scary. None of the tens of forms that the Enquiry Office issues relates to the change of address on a driving licence. What one has to use instead is Duplicate/Lost Licence form.
On filling this up, I realised the importance of SBI and MTNL. A proof of residence was needed and if you didn't have an Indian Passport, Voter's Identity Card, Ration Card or a Registered Tenancy Agreement, these two would still be good.
Unfortunately, I am working to a tight timescale and don't have time to open an SBI account and wait for it to be operational. So, I went to the MTNL office near my home and got a duplicate copy of my phone bill.
Another visit and about half-an-hour in the queue and the form was deposited. Since I had an old licence, physical records had to be checked and verified before they did anything. That would take at least a week and after that it could be another week (if all goes well) for the licence to start making its way to me.
Fortunately, I bumped into a Transport official known to me through my Dad. Needless to add, the wonders of having friends in high places was suddenly obvious. Two-week process was now a couple of hours' worth of effort as I sipped a hot cuppa in the office of my acquaintance.
The licence could be on its way to me had a crucial piece of kit not gone for some kind of "recharging". Which means that I won't have it handy for the "Document Verification" that some schools have called us for this week.
I still had the MTNL bill, I thought. But that confidence was short lived. When I got home in the evening, the monthly bill from the telephone utility had arrived with a different surname. This despite a couple of documents and a hand-filled form with the name and surname written in capital letters!!
So, this morning I went to get the mistake rectified. The drill was something I was well acquainted with but had forgotten in the last 10 years. Sorry it can't be done at this office. You will have to go to the office that booked the phone for you. You may need to write an application. They will then check your records and make the changes in our different systems.
An auto-rickshaw ride and 30 minutes later, I was in the office that booked my phone. It was nearly 10.30 am and none of the senior officials had arrived for the 10.00 am start. One of the officers appeared around 10.40 and said You can write a letter saying 'Dear Sir, I had booked my phone in such and such name and the bill has come with such and such name. Can the mistake be please rectified at the earliest'?
I asked where the form had to be deposited. You have to go three floors below to our Commercial Section. I had been there and explained the situation but the clerks there wouldn't help. This is the best I can offer. You can maybe request them to provide you a letter saying that a correction has been made.
The clerk downstairs asked for a copy of the PAN card to be attached to the letter. I asked where the photocopier was. You will have to go outside and look for one in the market. We don't have a photocopying machine here. I must mention that this is one of India's biggest telecoms companies we are talking about.
Then one of the other guys had mercy and said the copy of PAN is not needed. It would be in the original application. OK, then. Leave your number and I'll give you a call once this is done said the guy as he rolled my letter in his hands.
A part of me wanted to scream - Be careful with that, Mister. That's my identity that you are rolling in your hands. But as any of you who have dealt with lower-level government staff in India would know, they can definitely mess your situation even if they cannot solve it.
For the past couple of days I have been busy with my efforts to re-establish (or create) an identity in India. But before I tell you more, a word of advice. If any of you is contemplating a return after a prolonged stay abroad, open an account with the public-sector State Bank of India and get a phone from public-sector Mahanagar Telephone Nigam Limited as soon as you can.
You may not like the services either of these offer, but they still hold the magical key to getting an identity in India.
An MTNL phone is still seen as a valid proof of residence as is an SBI bank passbook/statement. If you have any of these, it will be relatively less hassle acquiring a Permanent Account Number (PAN) Card and a Driving License - which then gives you a proper official identity.
In my case, it is also an important part of the jigsaw to secure school admission for my daughter.
On Monday, I went to the local Transport Office in south Delhi to update my driving licence. The licence still has the address it was issued to, about 17 years ago. In that time, my parents have moved three homes and all my sisters and I have moved out and have our families and homes.
Part of the reason it didn't get updated was that I have been away. Part of it is the process is quite scary. None of the tens of forms that the Enquiry Office issues relates to the change of address on a driving licence. What one has to use instead is Duplicate/Lost Licence form.
On filling this up, I realised the importance of SBI and MTNL. A proof of residence was needed and if you didn't have an Indian Passport, Voter's Identity Card, Ration Card or a Registered Tenancy Agreement, these two would still be good.
Unfortunately, I am working to a tight timescale and don't have time to open an SBI account and wait for it to be operational. So, I went to the MTNL office near my home and got a duplicate copy of my phone bill.
Another visit and about half-an-hour in the queue and the form was deposited. Since I had an old licence, physical records had to be checked and verified before they did anything. That would take at least a week and after that it could be another week (if all goes well) for the licence to start making its way to me.
Fortunately, I bumped into a Transport official known to me through my Dad. Needless to add, the wonders of having friends in high places was suddenly obvious. Two-week process was now a couple of hours' worth of effort as I sipped a hot cuppa in the office of my acquaintance.
The licence could be on its way to me had a crucial piece of kit not gone for some kind of "recharging". Which means that I won't have it handy for the "Document Verification" that some schools have called us for this week.
I still had the MTNL bill, I thought. But that confidence was short lived. When I got home in the evening, the monthly bill from the telephone utility had arrived with a different surname. This despite a couple of documents and a hand-filled form with the name and surname written in capital letters!!
So, this morning I went to get the mistake rectified. The drill was something I was well acquainted with but had forgotten in the last 10 years. Sorry it can't be done at this office. You will have to go to the office that booked the phone for you. You may need to write an application. They will then check your records and make the changes in our different systems.
An auto-rickshaw ride and 30 minutes later, I was in the office that booked my phone. It was nearly 10.30 am and none of the senior officials had arrived for the 10.00 am start. One of the officers appeared around 10.40 and said You can write a letter saying 'Dear Sir, I had booked my phone in such and such name and the bill has come with such and such name. Can the mistake be please rectified at the earliest'?
I asked where the form had to be deposited. You have to go three floors below to our Commercial Section. I had been there and explained the situation but the clerks there wouldn't help. This is the best I can offer. You can maybe request them to provide you a letter saying that a correction has been made.
The clerk downstairs asked for a copy of the PAN card to be attached to the letter. I asked where the photocopier was. You will have to go outside and look for one in the market. We don't have a photocopying machine here. I must mention that this is one of India's biggest telecoms companies we are talking about.
Then one of the other guys had mercy and said the copy of PAN is not needed. It would be in the original application. OK, then. Leave your number and I'll give you a call once this is done said the guy as he rolled my letter in his hands.
A part of me wanted to scream - Be careful with that, Mister. That's my identity that you are rolling in your hands. But as any of you who have dealt with lower-level government staff in India would know, they can definitely mess your situation even if they cannot solve it.
12 January 2010
Back from the break
Apologies for the prolonged absence from this blog, but I was busy fulfilling a resolution from 2009.
My better half and I had planned to see more of India while we are here, but hadn't done much about it until the last week of December. As you are aware, getting the house furnished, fixing the leaking taps, waiting for our stuff to arrive from London and sorting out a playschool for the little one had taken most of our time.
A nudge from one of our friends from London resulted in a plan to meet up and welcome 2010 in Yercaud, a hill station in the southern state of Tamil Nadu. After spending some time on Google Maps, we decided to visit Mamallapuram and Pondicherry on the way to Yercaud.
If we are travelling all the way to Tamil Nadu, why not go to Kerala as well? reasoned my better half. It sounded like a good idea and we did a bit more research. A friend helpfully planned a rough itinerary from Kochi (Cochin) to Trivandrum and passed it on to a travel agent to provide a quote.
The question was how to get from Yercaud to Kochi? Both taxis and air journeys were too costly, and no trains ply between Salem (the station closest to Yercaud) and Kochi. Salem does have a good rail connection with Trivandrum, but the trains were all booked out because of the tourist season. After much dilly-dallying, we picked up a confirmed return air-ticket from Kochi to Delhi and a waiting list train ticket from Salem to Trivandrum.
When we boarded the aircraft from Delhi to Chennai (Madras) on 24 December, the only confirmed things we had was the hotel in Yercaud and the return flight from Kochi.
Mamallapuram is about an hour's drive from Chennai, on the East Coast Road. Like most well-maintained motorways, this one is a tolled road. It runs along the Tamil Nadu coast goes all the way to Pondicherry and beyond.
I had been to the city nearly 12 years ago, while visiting Chennai for the wedding of a close friend's brother. Back then, Mamallapuram was a dusty little town with a lovely beach.
All that has changed now. The East Coast Road is now dotted with resorts. My friend suggested checking into one of these resorts, but we booked ourselves in this quaint little place called Hotel Mahabs. It turned out to be a nice clean hotel, with a swimming pool, rooms with balcony and its own collection of exotic birds. The beach and the historic temples were all within walking distance.
As luck would have it, Mamallapuram's month-long Indian Dance Festival also opened the same day we reached there. With Arjuna's Penance, a 7th century temple, as the background and under the neon-lit gaze of the Tamil Nadu's Chief Minister and his deputy and son, dancers from different parts of the country displayed their skills.
With the temperature in the 30s, we chose to spend the afternoons by the swimming pool and mornings and evenings visiting the beach the temples.
During a day-time visit to Arjuna's Penance, I had an interesting experience. A woman came by with a thin stick in her hand. She offered some fortune-telling, which I refused. Have some mercy in the house of God, she said, showing her eczema-affected feet. Within minutes the pleading had turned into a threat to see me destroyed. And she had been talking for barely five minutes.
Another interesting change in Mamallapuram was the availability of good south India food. A lot more restaurants now sell tandoori and Chinese food than those selling dosas (rice pancakes) and idlis (rice cakes). This Indian & Chinese food is cooked the south Indian way - involving curry leaves, other local condiments and coconut. However, the cooks only occasionally get the preparation right.
While in Mamallapuram, we were told that Pondicherry is well-connected by bus. So, on 27 December, we checked out of the hotel and walked to the East Coast Road. We boarded the first bus that came along, and it turned out to be a State Transport Corporation bus. There was no room to sit and the little one was suddenly feeling sleepy. Thankfully, some people got off soon and we had seats.
As the bus meandered through the really green countryside, the success of Indian telecom sector was obvious. Apart from the ATMs of India's biggest public-sector bank, the only other common signs along the route were billboards of mobile phone companies Airtel, Aircel, Vodafone, Tata Docomo and MTS.
It took about two hours and a total of 83 Indian Rupees (about £1) to reach Pondicherry - a former French colony.
Our accommodation in Pondicherry (booked from Mamallapuram) was a guest-house run by a French woman and a Kashmiri man. The website promised an interesting confluence of French cuisine and Kashmiri Wazwan, but on reaching there we found out that the only thing on offer there was toast and tea/coffee in the morning.
The French woman had been in India for nearly 15 years. She had travelled to different parts before making Pondicherry her home. Most of the time, she would stay behind thick iron grills accompanied by her three dogs. The only time the grills opened was for the advance to be paid for the room.
The Kashmiri husband was charged with serving breakfast, cleaning the rooms and making conversations with the guests.
For lunch or dinner, one had to go to the restaurants along the Auroville road. Pondicherry town itself had many more restaurant options, but was almost six kilometres away from the guest-house.
Don't know whether it was this or something else, but I wasn't too excited about Pondicherry. It seemed like a good place to spend a day or two, but we probably spent a day more.
Tomorrow, the journey to Yercaud.
My better half and I had planned to see more of India while we are here, but hadn't done much about it until the last week of December. As you are aware, getting the house furnished, fixing the leaking taps, waiting for our stuff to arrive from London and sorting out a playschool for the little one had taken most of our time.
A nudge from one of our friends from London resulted in a plan to meet up and welcome 2010 in Yercaud, a hill station in the southern state of Tamil Nadu. After spending some time on Google Maps, we decided to visit Mamallapuram and Pondicherry on the way to Yercaud.
If we are travelling all the way to Tamil Nadu, why not go to Kerala as well? reasoned my better half. It sounded like a good idea and we did a bit more research. A friend helpfully planned a rough itinerary from Kochi (Cochin) to Trivandrum and passed it on to a travel agent to provide a quote.
The question was how to get from Yercaud to Kochi? Both taxis and air journeys were too costly, and no trains ply between Salem (the station closest to Yercaud) and Kochi. Salem does have a good rail connection with Trivandrum, but the trains were all booked out because of the tourist season. After much dilly-dallying, we picked up a confirmed return air-ticket from Kochi to Delhi and a waiting list train ticket from Salem to Trivandrum.
When we boarded the aircraft from Delhi to Chennai (Madras) on 24 December, the only confirmed things we had was the hotel in Yercaud and the return flight from Kochi.
Mamallapuram is about an hour's drive from Chennai, on the East Coast Road. Like most well-maintained motorways, this one is a tolled road. It runs along the Tamil Nadu coast goes all the way to Pondicherry and beyond.
I had been to the city nearly 12 years ago, while visiting Chennai for the wedding of a close friend's brother. Back then, Mamallapuram was a dusty little town with a lovely beach.
All that has changed now. The East Coast Road is now dotted with resorts. My friend suggested checking into one of these resorts, but we booked ourselves in this quaint little place called Hotel Mahabs. It turned out to be a nice clean hotel, with a swimming pool, rooms with balcony and its own collection of exotic birds. The beach and the historic temples were all within walking distance.
As luck would have it, Mamallapuram's month-long Indian Dance Festival also opened the same day we reached there. With Arjuna's Penance, a 7th century temple, as the background and under the neon-lit gaze of the Tamil Nadu's Chief Minister and his deputy and son, dancers from different parts of the country displayed their skills.
With the temperature in the 30s, we chose to spend the afternoons by the swimming pool and mornings and evenings visiting the beach the temples.
During a day-time visit to Arjuna's Penance, I had an interesting experience. A woman came by with a thin stick in her hand. She offered some fortune-telling, which I refused. Have some mercy in the house of God, she said, showing her eczema-affected feet. Within minutes the pleading had turned into a threat to see me destroyed. And she had been talking for barely five minutes.
Another interesting change in Mamallapuram was the availability of good south India food. A lot more restaurants now sell tandoori and Chinese food than those selling dosas (rice pancakes) and idlis (rice cakes). This Indian & Chinese food is cooked the south Indian way - involving curry leaves, other local condiments and coconut. However, the cooks only occasionally get the preparation right.
While in Mamallapuram, we were told that Pondicherry is well-connected by bus. So, on 27 December, we checked out of the hotel and walked to the East Coast Road. We boarded the first bus that came along, and it turned out to be a State Transport Corporation bus. There was no room to sit and the little one was suddenly feeling sleepy. Thankfully, some people got off soon and we had seats.
As the bus meandered through the really green countryside, the success of Indian telecom sector was obvious. Apart from the ATMs of India's biggest public-sector bank, the only other common signs along the route were billboards of mobile phone companies Airtel, Aircel, Vodafone, Tata Docomo and MTS.
It took about two hours and a total of 83 Indian Rupees (about £1) to reach Pondicherry - a former French colony.
Our accommodation in Pondicherry (booked from Mamallapuram) was a guest-house run by a French woman and a Kashmiri man. The website promised an interesting confluence of French cuisine and Kashmiri Wazwan, but on reaching there we found out that the only thing on offer there was toast and tea/coffee in the morning.
The French woman had been in India for nearly 15 years. She had travelled to different parts before making Pondicherry her home. Most of the time, she would stay behind thick iron grills accompanied by her three dogs. The only time the grills opened was for the advance to be paid for the room.
The Kashmiri husband was charged with serving breakfast, cleaning the rooms and making conversations with the guests.
For lunch or dinner, one had to go to the restaurants along the Auroville road. Pondicherry town itself had many more restaurant options, but was almost six kilometres away from the guest-house.
Don't know whether it was this or something else, but I wasn't too excited about Pondicherry. It seemed like a good place to spend a day or two, but we probably spent a day more.
Tomorrow, the journey to Yercaud.
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