Lucknow, with friends...

19/Apr/2018

Leaving Goa is becoming more and more difficult and it is not just because of the terrible airport. I usually try to focus on the return when I experience so much joy. This time, however, I was quite excited about the trip. I was on my way to Lucknow, a place I had not visited so far. I had worked with an organisation (many years ago), that had 14 offices in India (if I remember right). I had visited 13 of those offices - the one that I hadn’t was in Lucknow. From whatever I had read and heard, Lucknow was going to be quite an experience. I was slightly apprehensive that in the current political climate, maybe not all positive, but I was willing to put up with that.

The flight first took me to Delhi and then on to Lucknow. From polite Goa I was plunged into the heartland of aggression for an hour and then hopefully into the land of tehzeeb - the byword for politeness in India. 

In Goa, I live in a village called Pomburpa. On one side, I have only one house next to mine. On the other three sides, forest and fields. I have gotten used to a deep silence broken only by the owl hooting at night. And in the day by the oriental magpie robin. I kept telling myself that I was travelling to the most densely populated part of India. I should be prepared for the cacophony and chaos. That was true enough when I stepped out of the airport. Every car was honking and nobody was paying attention. The noise hit me along with the heat. I steeled myself for what was to come and got into my Ola taxi.

I was headed to the Cafe Frangipani which had received good reviews on AirBnB. Thanks to technology, I could relax while the phone propped up next to the driver showed the way. After some time I realised that something was wrong. I hadn’t seen any people in a while - sure there were a few other cars on the road, but not the jostling crowds I had expected. The map showed that we were on NH27. It appeared to be an elevated expressway that went around the city - so it was a long time before we took an exit and finally saw some people. 

There was a shamiana and some debris in front of the Cafe that indicated that I had just escaped a, probably, loud and raucous celebration. I walked in to find that a jazz concert with musicians from Brazil had just ended! And the surprises that Lucknow would throw at me continued. 

I had friends waiting for me there. And we were all hungry. Google maps showed us a promising place called “Desi Lounge” less than a kilometre away. As we walked slowly to the restaurant, I asked my friends, “Where are all the people?” And it struck them as well that the roads were very empty. As we walked, delicious food smells wafted out of the many houses. That could explain the empty roads! My friend suggested that we just walk into any house and ask to be fed; given how hospitable people are here, we would probably get a hearty meal. 

A little ahead we discovered the market; and the people; and then restaurants. We went into Desi Lounge and were stunned speechless. There was a birthday party in full swing for a screaming four-year old boy. The music system was on full volume wishing him a happy birthday through a Bollywood number. The cake was just about to be cut. On one side were a few women who were draped in gorgeous saris - heavy with zari work. On the other side a few men; I can’t seem to recall anything about them! Luckily, once the cake was cut and the song ended (after playing thrice at least), the group subsided around a table. Other than the piercing screams of the boy, we were not disturbed any more. 

The food when it came was superb; my mouth is watering as I type this the next morning. We had ordered Mutton Biriyani, Aloo dum Lucknowi (apparently the Banarsi is the spicier version!) and two chapatis. The waiter brought four instead. When I pointed that out, he smiled very sweetly and said, “They are hot, why don’t you enjoy them?” I fell in love with Lucknow at that point. I don’t know what I am going to find but this was a brilliant start. We ended the meal with gulab jamuns - they were so sweet and so delicious and so big, that we had to leave them unfinished. 

Coming back, we decided to take an electric vehicle home. The driver was clearly stoned and made for interesting conversation. The vehicle was apparently Chinese and could do 110 km after being charged for 3 hours. He pointed out that we Indians can’t do such innovations since we are so stuck in our family loops that we do no work. He told us that his hobby was “maarpeet” - violence. And when a dog barked insistently at the gate of Cafe Frangipani, asked us if he should eliminate it. We said a hurried no to him and went inside laughing. 

Our hosts had promised us an air cooler in the room and I was looking forward to some coolth finally. However, that was not to be. After asking a few more times the cooler was wheeled in, but it didn’t have any water in it. After asking a few more times, one of the staff brought a bucket, half full of water and painstakingly poured it into this massive water cooler through a tiny hole on top. Obviously that makes no difference, but I didn’t have the energy to do any more that night. 

The less I say about the room and my sleep, the better. And this morning I was given a really bad cup of coffee. It was made in a Madras filter and served in a davara tumbler, but was clearly just muck from the Gomti river. On AirBnB, one of the reviews said that Cafe Frangipani served the best coffee in Lucknow. 

Let me see what this day brings. 

20/Apr/2018 

After a restless night, I was up by 8, unable to put up with the mosquitos, hard bed and heat any longer. Right next to our room was the cafe. It was air-conditioned and cool. I sat there till about 10.30 working away since I had nothing else to do. Then I had breakfast - one large super aloo paratha. And worked away some more till my friends woke up at 11.30, shocked that they had slept so much. Clearly they were very tired - one of them had worked till 2.30 in the morning. 

Eventually we left the guest house at 3.30 and I was starving. I like to be fed every 4 hours - and we had passed 5!!! We hired an Ola cab for 4 hours 40 km. The taxi driver was a taciturn chap called Nafiz who spoke only when spoken to and then reluctantly, in monosyllables. My friend had put together all the suggestions received from his family and friends onto a word document and split it up day-wise, so that we now had an itinerary for each day. Today we were to explore Chowk - starting with, what else, food. 

Our first stop was Idrees Biriyani. When we got there, close to 4 pm, they were washing up the haandis. Ever optimistic, we asked them if there was even a little bit of biriyani left. No such luck. We then literally went around in circles before deciding to look for Tunday kababs - on the map it looked quite close, but the driver insisted it was a long walk. Finally he agreed to drop us off at the closest point. From there it was probably 200 m away. We confirmed on Google that this was the original one and walked in to some amazing smells. 

All they served was kababs and parathas and a lurid orange shirmal and heaps of chopped onions. My friend kindly asked on my behalf if they had anything vegetarian. Several heads turned in shock at that. The waiter, Dilawar, was quite flummoxed as well. I just shook my head in embarrassment and insisted it was ok. Dilawar lowered his voice and told us that the kababs were made of, you know, beef. We all shook our heads vigorously and agreed that we definitely wanted it. 

In a couple of minutes we were served with 3 plates of steaming hot beef kababs. I tentatively put a small piece in my mouth - I was astounded. Such a flavour of tastes burst onto my tongue, I was delighted. 

Normally I am a vegetarian. Many years ago, I had started eating meat - probably as an act of rebellion against my father. When I told him, he calmly asked me, “When there is so much else to eat, why should you kill animals?” That ended that bit of rebellion in me. Over the years, I have discovered that I still like the occasional beef and mutton. I find chicken quite tasteless. I am not able to eat pork and sea food of any type. I avoid eating meat for the most part, but when beef was banned, I had to start eating it again. And then I had decided that in Lucknow, I would taste everything. Excellent decision.

We had made good progress with the kababs before the parathas arrived. They were served hot and melted along with the kababs in the mouth. We then ordered a shirmal and I didn’t quite take to it. 

Sated, we stepped out and noticed that we were in the middle of a market selling clothes, perfumes and jewellery. Too happy to need to do shopping, we moved on to the Bada Imambara. On the way we stopped at the Rumi Darwaza - an imposing structure. My friend knew all about it and explained that Rumi here was not the quotable quotes guy, but it referred to Rome!!! Fascinating to listen to and think about how in 17something, there was a link between Istanbul and Lucknow and how they exchanged ideas, including that of architecture.

We were quite tired after we went around the Bada Imambara. So we just sat in the car and drove past the clock tower and the Chota Imambara, getting out to take some pictures and admire the structures. Both places need much more time - they were really exquisite structures.

We searched for Nazarana Chikan shop which had been highly recommended to us, but gave up amidst the hundreds of Chikan shops. Last stop was Sree Lassi corner where we downed rich lassis and packed up some choley bhature for dinner. 

I am still to see the kinds of crowds I had expected. Mall de Goa on a Sunday has more people!

We got back to the guest house to find that our hosts had done nothing to move us to the AC room that they had promised. I waited for over an hour before asking them when it would be done. Of course it would get done in ten or fifteen minutes. As time passed, I was getting increasingly tired and decided that before I lost my temper, I would book another hotel and move out. A friend had suggested Lebua. The booking was made in minutes. We ate dinner - and we all wished we were hungrier, so that we could appreciate it more, but even then it tasted so good! 

And I was off to Lebua. While I was going through the check-in formalities, something made me pull out my Travel Another India visiting card. I was promptly upgraded to a bigger room. I reached the room and fell asleep almost at once. What a relief to wake up in a quiet, clean room!

21/Apr/2018

Today we were to explore a lot more food. We realised that Sanatkada was on the way and decided to stop there. What a good decision! Sanatkada is a craft shop that has procured craft from around the country, mainly textile based; they have some beautiful fabric as well as home textiles and clothes. There are two women managing the store - Nagma and Nasreen. Both are very knowledgeable about craft and it was a pleasure to browse the shop and be able to understand what one is buying. 

My hotel, Lebua had blocks with beautiful designs displayed all over. The restaurant had a particularly superb collection displayed. The door handles at the main entrance were made of these blocks as well. I had assumed that these were used for printing as in Rajasthan or Gujarat. So I asked Nagma and she explained that these are used to print on the fabric before chikan embroidery is done. The dye used is washable; so once the work is done, the print disappears and all one is left with is the beautiful shadow work embroidery. 

The NGO arm of Sanatkada is the Sadhbhavna Trust. They work with women who have been through domestic violence. One of their team, Meena, came out to talk to us. She herself had had acid poured on her face. She was looking for financial support for women who are in jail - their family and friends have abandoned them and often they simply languish because they are forgotten by everyone and have no resources to seek help. Sanatkada also stocks some beautiful books about Lucknow and its culture. It includes a set of posters on feminists of Lucknow, a book of the same and a set of coasters. I had to get all three - I doubt I will put down a cup of coffee on Attia Hossain’s face, but I would love to display these prominently in my house. I could have spent a lot more time there, but then we had to move on in our quest for excellent food. Our destination was Aminabad. 

Our driver dropped us off at the entrance to an underground parking lot and told us to call him when we were done. The area was full of shops, covering much of the road - so it was a good idea to walk; if only it were not the second half of April and the temperature was not 40^oC! Google Maps showed Pandit Chaat to be about 650 m away. We followed the Map till we faced a row of shops where a street was supposed to be! Then we went back to the simple method of asking someone where Pandit Chaat was. We had overshot the place and so had to turn around. In doing that we realised that the shop we were standing at was simply called Laal Khamb - meaning Red Pillars - and sure enough the pillars were painted red. It was a haberdashery selling a bewildering range of laces and borders. Our tummies growled and we couldn’t browse there any longer. 

Pandit Chaat was just setting up for the day. So we went in search of Prakash Kulfi - the choices were simple - on a stick or in a plate or with sugarfree. I had half a kulfi on a plate while my friend had the same but with falooda. That was a bilious yellow noodly substance. 

We came out to quite happy, to a push-cart selling chikan work!!! I bought a kurta here at the same price I had bought a hankie in Sanatkada - but what a difference in quality of work! The push-cart owner opened out everything he had despite our pleas to stop. Finally we just walked away rudely while he kept up his spiel. 

Panditji was waiting for us - we started with golguppe. The flavour was light, tangy and tart altogether and we had several plates before ordering a plate of tikkis. I noticed that people had literally sprung up all around and the tikkis were vanishing fast. The surroundings were filthy with dozens of flies, but no one seemed to mind. We shared a plate of tikkis, licked out the leaf bowl it was served in and carried on. We were looking for Wahid’s Biriyani next. However, the heat got to us finally and in about 100m we decided to just go rest. I slept for 3 hours straight!

In the evening I went looking for Buttercup Bungalow and Tea Room. It sounded so quaint and lovely. I should have know better. I had some dry Red Velvet cake and a disgusting Kahwa tea before wandering out again. The owner was a young woman - I asked her if it was safe to walk around. She told me it was best to take a taxi even if it was close by. I noticed that the streets had no one walking. This was called Mall Avenue. There were a few people loitering around but they were all men. She pointed out to her house just 50 m away and said that when she goes home, her father sends a guard to walk with her - after all, this is Lucknow. The house opposite hers belonged to Mayawati. That explained things a bit more. I thought I would walk a bit, but I decided to be safe and called a rickshaw to go Ganjing. There is a street called, of course, MG Road, in Hazratganj. And loitering around there in the evening is called Ganjing. And it is THE thing to do in Lucknow. Apparently. The street reminded me of Brigade Road in Bangalore only about six times as wide. Unfortunately, the metro work was going on and the entire street was being dug up. 

For old time’s sake, I walked into the Khadi store - and met with supreme indifference. Again I noticed that there were no single women walking around. There were a few women walking in pairs, but for the most part there was at least one man in each group. I was a bit scared, but didn’t want to go back to the hotel. So I attached myself to random women through the rest of the evening. (My friends were visiting an uncle - I refused to go along.)

Maybe it was a false feeling of safety, but I did feel it. In this way, I went to Ram Asrey and had another plate of tikki - this was even better than Panditji’s. I think there was peas masala added to it. Walking back I got tempted into buying two pairs of jazzy slippers for Rs.300 each. Ah well. 

And I took the rickshaw back to my hotel - I met with a lot of stares and realised that actually there were not even many two-wheelers on the road. I got a bit stressed and was quite relieved to reach the hotel. I would really suggest that when you visit Lucknow, you have at least one other person with you. 

22/Apr/2018

The last day of my stay in Lucknow - I spent the morning working! On a Sunday! Anyway, work over, I took an e-vehicle to Ganj again. I wandered around window shopping - though it was immensely hot. I was waiting for my friends to join me. I finally gave up and went into Royal Cafe. We had this on our list to have basket chaat. I ordered one and sat back waiting and waiting. The chaat was massive and delicious. I think I need to use the thesaurus to find alternatives to delicious. And very filling! I hadn’t made much progress when I realised I couldn’t eat any more. So I read a magazine and offered the chaat to my friends to have when they reached. Between them, they couldn’t finish it either!

We were supposed to go buy itr or perfume, but the shop we had on our list was closed. Google Maps was again showing us roads that didn’t exist and the shops were marked in the wrong locations. It was just too hot to bother. Final stop was Moti Mahal for imarti and rabri. Imarti is what we call Jaangri in Madras. Did Jaangri come from Jahangiri? We ordered one plate - we were very full, but had to eat this. The waiter tried hard to convince us to order at least have a piece each since a plate would only have two pieces. I am glad we refused resolutely - the imartis were very large and very very sweet. The rabri took the edge off, but it was still too much. 

Next stop Sewa Chikan. The Self Employed Women’s Association in Lucknow is one of the oldest NGOs working with women, in India. So it was of interest to me whether I bought anything or not (ha ha!). The Map showed it in one place, the auto driver took us to another place. Neither was the original. After searching on Google a lot more, I found that the outlet would be closed on a Sunday. So we abandoned all hopes of shopping and went to see the Residency and its Museum. 

The Residency was built by the Nawab of Oudh in the 1700s and then given to the British. When the first war of independence took place in 1857, it suffered a lot and was destroyed. Around 3000 English people had gathered there for protection - not pleasant to think about what happened to them. So many of the buildings are in ruins - which adds to the beauty and poignancy of the place.

There is a Museum which has lithographs from the late 1800s which show a different Lucknow - very detailed etchings. They brought the era alive for me. I was comparing those etchings with the photographs I had taken - very interesting.

We sat for a while on one of the benches and watched the scene. We could imagine its splendour during its peak. And the sack that happened in 1857. In a way it reflects what happened to Lucknow itself. 

On our way back, the taxi driver took a few “wrong” turns and we got a rapid Lucknow tour. Parts of it are like Lutyen’s Delhi with wide avenues and graceful buildings. Even the newly constructed Government buildings blend in and are definitely not chrome and glass. The traffic is noisy with everyone honking, weaving in and out and trying to go first. There are very few people on two-wheelers or walking. I didn’t see too many public buses. There is a metro that everyone is proud of since it is seen as a sign of “development” and “progress”, not a waste of money for a city this size. Then there are cycle rickshaws, e-rickshaws, auto-rickshaws, and taxis through Ola and Uber. All the rickshaws rip you off since you are a tourist. I am yet to see the crowds I expected in Lucknow. I guess I just didn’t visit the right places.

At breakfast I saw a wide range of pickles laid out. I tried the raw jackfruit one - quite nice. And I finally got a good cup of coffee. But hey, who comes to Lucknow for its coffee? 

The End.

First Impressions and Los Palos

Dili – Finally. A small town sandwiched between mountains and the sea. Small and dignified. Not exactly charming, but with character. The beachfront looks like any colonial town. There is no beach really till you leave the town. And then it is white sand, a little coarse. The mountains (hills, really!) curve and touch the sea beyond the beaches and there is a statue of Jesus Christ a la Rio. Facing the sea and beckoning to the world. There are two shops close to shore – now converted into hotels. I am yet to explore their history. The Government offices are the centre of town, facing the sea. Right now they are a gleaming white with huge colonnades and tiled roofs – typically Timorese shaped. Something like the roof of a Chinese temple but less curved and higher. Made from thatch or tile. Some old buildings continue to function, but most are getting a new look. The militia damaged 70% of the buildings in 1999 as they left. Didn’t raze them, but removed the roofs and the windows, the plumbing and the wiring and rendering them useless. Slowly they are being built back. What were two-storied buildings have the ground floor operational – and that looks a bit bizarre. The ground floor fully lived in, well furnished while the broken remains are on top.

The people are forever grim – breaking out into a smile to say bon dia or bon tarde depending on the time of day. They are very shy but stare openly at you. The greeting is followed by “India?” and more smiles and snatches of songs from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. Those who don’t sing say kuch kuch and burst out laughing. Hindi films are a big hit here – they are subtitled in Bahasa Indonesia and followed avidly. One young lady asked me who the stars of ‘Yeh Mohabbat Hai’ are. I misheard it as Mohabattein and she was quick to correct me – no, that had Shah Rukh Khan and Aishwarya Rai – this one they are new actors!!! But if their opinion of me is based on these hindi movies, then they must really think that I am one dumb chick.

What do the people look like? Honestly, this tiny strip of land seems to be the melting pot of the world. They look like Americans & Africans & Europeans & South Asians & East Asians & West Asians &, whom have I left out? Each person looks very distinct from the next and they must be an anthropologist’s delight.

As you leave Dili and on to the road to Lospalos, you have to cross the surrounding hills. A very steep climb and then a rapid descent – the view is of two small churches, a narrow strip of valley and the blue blue sky. Through that journey I am struck by the shades of blue. When I first travelled in Kerala, I understood the meaning of the colour green. Here in Timor, in addition to green, I have understood the colour blue. The sea has so many shades of it. And almost all the way upto Lospalos, you drive by the sea. And I have understood another colour, turquoise. If you are like mon pere, I suggest that you come here and find out what this new colour is. It is usually found near the shore and is a brilliant colour. Further out the sea is of a darker tone, like an unending sapphire. Especially when there is no breeze, the surface is like glass and you are quite convinced that you can walk across. Adding to the romance, is the outline of an island in the distance, a three-hour boat ride away. Part of Timor, its name is Atauro. 

The journey continues through a number of landscapes. Sometimes serpentine hills, where you are not sure what is around the corner, with a drop to the sea on one side. Sometimes serene paddy fields with buffaloes wallowing in the mud, with the sea bordering this picture. Sometimes houses on either side of the road with their stalls of excess to sell, with the sea just beyond. But always there is something to look out of the window for. You go through the towns of Metinaro and Manatuto before reaching Baucau. This is the most beautiful place en route. Perched high on a hill with all the landscapes at one place. Paddy fields, terraced fields, the sea, the works. 

Beyond this you are in Rural Timor. Laivai, Laga and then Lautem – where you finally turn in from the coast. Just before Lautem, there is a river with at least two crocodiles in it – I have seen both of them. They look like a log at first (you have heard that before) and then they start to move, it is like magic. And a wee bit scary. I have always thought of crocs as riverine reptiles, but apparently here they are found in the sea as well. And they are sacred animals here. Timor is supposed to be a crocodile that became an island of plenty in return for the kindness of a young boy. Yes, this land is also full of myths and tales.

And you pass through many more hills and curving roads. Quite good roads really. There are many familiar trees – coconut, mango, tapioca, palm, bamboo, jack fruit, bread fruit, oil palm, teak, papaya, tamarind – sounds familiar? A lot like Kerala? (I will reserve all other comments for now.) Varieties of acacia, prosopis juliflora has started showing up, calatropis, gooseberry, bougainvillea – many shades of it, frangipani, hibiscus. Those are all the names that I know. But there are many more that I have seen in my wanderings in India that are here as well.

And all along the people stare at you and then break out into a wide smile if you wave to them.

At last you reach Lospalos. But of that, next month. Okay?

2/August/2002

Los Palos

I must start by saying that I am the only Indian in Lospalos. This is not even possible on the moon. So there.

The name Lospalos, is a Portuguese corruption of the Fataluku “La Pala” meaning “flat farms”. As you enter Lospalos after the curving roads from the coast, the flatness is what strikes you. Optimistically there is a sign that an airfield is going to be built as you enter La Pala. You drive in through its majestic meadows. There are cows and horses and you could be on farmland anywhere – the Downs of Sussex maybe!  All the animals are frightened by the sound of a vehicle. While the horses try to run away, the cows stand and watch you with fear in their huge eyes. You really wish you could turn down the volume on the engine. And then you enter the town. On either side are the ruins of the Indonesian offices. A sombre welcome that belies the true spirit of the town. And the school, still being rebuilt. The market that comes alive on Saturdays. Finally the centre of the town. A traditional house has been built in what was to have been a cultural centre. It now remains for the malays – foreigners – to exclaim about. Further down to the right, the hospital, which has the only doctor in the district. A little beyond and to the left is the main church, a traditional structure again. On Sundays the open space is packed with believers.

The roads are not in good condition, but the streets are wide. Now we take a left turn to downtown Lospalos. At the roundabout is a smaller model of the traditional house. This street even has a cemented medium. On the left, all the houses have a verandah facing the street making for a continuous corridor to walk through. This corridor is usually occupied by betel leaf chewing women selling vegetables. They smile red smiles at you. There are no weighing scales. The veggies are piled in little heaps and all cost the same – tomatoes, onions, potatoes, ginger, turmeric, chillies. You can’t take less than a heap – not even if you offer to pay for the whole heap. Further down the corridor are the three shops that sell EVERYTHING. You wont get the variety in brands of a supermarket, but all the stuff is there – paint, whether for your nails or for the walls, bread, flour, an oven, soap, utensils, notebooks, toys, EVERYTHING – from the oft quoted “diamond to the pin”. The last stop on this street is a hotel with a restaurant. They sell the most delicious cakes in this part of the world. Here the street breaks off into five smaller ones. And there is a statue of a boy with a torch standing in the centre of the roundabout. Take a right there and you reach the police station – an impressive structure set far back, with both the East Timor and the UN flags flying in front. Right opposite is the house that I live in. Couldn’t get safer than that.

The town is well spread out and is much larger than one thinks initially. Houses are not large and magnificent, neither are they small and crumbly – no slums or cramped quarters here. And they are surrounded by trees both flowering and fruit bearing. The concept of a fence or a wall does not exist. So people walk through your land to the house behind. Open and friendly. Every house seems to have a couple of dogs attached to it. They wont allow you to pet them, but they will eat any scraps that you feed them. (Yes, even my cooking.) What they don’t like and will not eat is papaya. My neighbour’s dogs keep watch on me and if I come home after ten at night, set up a cacophony that is picked up be all the dogs of Lospalos. Or so it sounds.

Lospalos is the capital of Lautem district and occupies the snout of the crocodile shaped island. There is even a big lake approximately where the eye should be. The population of the district is around 60,000 people and that of the capital around 5000 people. Baytu, tehsil headquarters in the desert district of Barmer probably has more people. And all 5000 of them seem to have seen Kuch Kuch Hota Hai. At least the songs are part of any festivities in town.

There are many routes to my office. All a five-minute walk – through the police station and the district office, the route on the left that goes past the old bungalows, through downtown or through a small lane in between. I usually take the last. It is the most scenic five-minute route ever. As you enter the lane, on the left there is a Hindu temple! With high walls and the statues of two little demons at the entrance. I haven’t yet had the courage to go in – it looks like it says, “keep off”. It is full of bougainvillea of a most brilliant pink peach colour. Opposite that is a childcare centre and all the children shout to greet you as you walk past. Further ahead a horse is grazing in the backyard of one of the large bungalows. More bougainvillea, hens, a magnificent rooster, dogs, some more children and you reach a main street again. Take the left and there is the office – on the right is a small, small park with the sculpture of a crocodile sunning on a rock with its snout open and facing upwards.

Another working day starts at 8 in the morning. What is that work you may ask? Well, it involves travelling in paradise, meeting people, mostly women, a lot of sign language, much more laughter and home by five in the evening. Five days a week. Days six and seven are given over to sleep and the seaside.

More next month. Tata. Ok, they are the other Indians in this place. Tata Sumos. But they are not human, are they? And I am supposedly!

15/Sep/2002

Ethiopia

Honestly, I never expected to actually be here. I decided to come to Addis in the week that was Dusshera – not for the Ethiopians, but for us. So the embassy was closed for half the week and the courier service would not be as efficient, but I needed to leave on Saturday. And I was totally relaxed. If it happened, it did, else, here I come, Goa! The Goans were spared.

Ethiopian Airlines was a great way to enter the country. No alcohol served on board meant that there were no drunken Indians lurching around. Actually there were not too many Indians on board anyway.  I was seated next to a Nigerian who had boarded the plane at Bangkok and had much more to travel and was not in a good mood. I left him alone, and he did the same. I couldn’t watch the movie playing since I was too short. So I concentrated on the inflight magazine and the food. Which was quite good – upma and vadai!!! (Wish some of our airlines would learn from that.)

We landed at Addis at the right time – morning 1030 hours. Bright sunshine outside. The immigration formalities were quickly cleared through and I was out. Addis Ababa (the way it is pronounced by the locals is musical), takes you back a couple of decades. It is not like many of the national capitals I have seen. All spit and polish and fast cars and high rises. There are pot holes on the roads, the cars amble along, there are many many people walking, no tall buildings around – I like this place.

I had the advantage that I was received by two friends from India, and so could ease into the place slowly. Aster, the woman Friday of the household was part of the family without intruding. She took care of EVERYTHING like a magic genie. Every room in the house had a bell. Press it and there would be Aster smiling, asking what you wanted. Heaven. I thought it was a colonial hangover, till I was told that Ethiopia had never been colonised. No wonder there was so much pride in themselves.

First day in a new place and I was taken off to taste the local food, wine and dance. Now, the Ethiopians are beautiful people, externally and internally. So if they dance, you watch spell bound without understanding any of it. Unlike in most places, the men here are handsome as well – so there is something for us ladies as well! We went into this restaurant cum dance floor. Everyone was seated on stools around coffee tables and the place was packed. We found a place in a corner, where the view of the dances was not the best, but the atmosphere was just as real and authentic. Thej – that is the local brew – made of honey and something, no one is sure what! But the taste is perfect. Imagine drinking honey and getting high on it? That is thej. It was served in nice tall glasses. And I lost count of how much I had. Not that it mattered! The food was a little more difficult since I am vegetarian. We had a “native” with us to order the food and more importantly, to ensure that we didn’t make fools of ourselves. Much like in India, we washed our hands in a bowl carried by one of the waiters. He poured warm water from a very oriental jug. And I really felt pampered – could imagine that this was the way the Queen of Sheba felt!

Dinner was a huge dosa – called enjera – at least two feet in diameter spread out on a plate. On this, various chutneys, vegetables and sauces were put. We were then given more enjera rolled like a swiss roll, and the meal started. The dancing continued and Hana told us that we need not applaud the performance since we were eating!! That didn’t hold me back since I was totally fascinated by the dances and also the singing that interspersed them. And suddenly language was no constraint. Almost instinctively, we knew that she was singing of love. I guess that for some things there really are no barriers – music and love certainly. The Ethiopians also have this wonderful habit of feeding each other. So Hana would tear of a piece of enjera, pick up one chutney, roll it a bit, pick up another and so on and then place it in your mouth. The combination of tastes was really exotic. Give me food, and as long as I think that it is vegetarian, I love it!

The music was beginning to get into my feet. The drum beat had my heart echoing. The thej was making my head swim. And I was all set to get up and set the dance floor on fire (wishful thinking is allowed), when it was time for us to leave. Back to drop Hana and then home. The roads are much like at home – more pot holes than road. What was different was the beautiful ladies who came out at that time to get on with their work. I guess that this is another universal phenomenon.

Sunday being the day of the Lord, I rested. Also because I am lazy. And we went out only in the evening. The outskirts of Addis is dotted with restaurants that offer a beautiful view. They also are places where wedding photographs are taken. So after the wedding, the whole party moves there, just to take photographs! There is also live music in these places. So we stopped for some strong black coffee before driving out of the city. 

The guide book said that Addis was one big market and I could now see that. On either side of the road were people sitting and selling – potatoes, onions, oranges, chicken, belts…. Once we were out of the city, the landscape revealed itself to be undulating and open. There is an area in Hosur district called Little England – this was very similar, only more open, more stark. We stopped at a church – it reminded me of a Kerala temple. The roof was corrugated tin sheets, but from a distance it looked like tiles since it was painted red. And inside it is like a temple. Everyone removes their footwear outside. There is a sanctum sanctorum where only the priest is allowed. The others wait outside. Prayers are said, offerings are made, ‘sambrani’ waved around, and people leave. Not like my idea of a church where mass is said and everyone enters and leaves together.

Driving back, we stopped at a small town, and had “shai” – chai, tea. The shop was really really small – and there were two small boys in there before us, having shai and bread. We sat on small benches that reminded me of school. The radio was playing some nice music – I am sure the song was about love, though I couldn’t understand a word! Two young girls came out and we repeated shai several times till they got the idea. There was much smiling and some conversation. They would talk and we would smile widely and nod our heads. I don’t think we nodded wrong, because this went on for some time. The shai was delicious – sweet, with many other flavours chasing each other. They also offered me biscuits that were totally symmetrically square. And then back to Addis.

Merkato – that was my next big experience. I guess you cant beat Indians for shopping and markets, and I am no exception. Size does not matter. And this one is a classic. It is said that one can get ANYTHING here, and I believe that. We first walked into a swank super market. And then on to the real Merkato. It is a series of streets running parallel and perpendicular to each other and like in India, each lane specialises in something. The one we entered had clothes. There were also two covered buildings – one specialised in modern wear while the other was more authentic. Both were paradise for me! The traditional clothes are white with a bright woven border. The women wear a dupatta like white cloth around their heads and it  serves to accentuate their beauty. After buying a couple of the scarves for friends back home, we were out of there and in pursuit of a pot and cups for a coffee ceremony. This lane took me right back home. There were sacks filled with spices, rice, dhal, pasta, turmeric, chilli powder outside each little shop. 

We bought a jug/pot for the coffee – it is baked out of mud and Aster was very sure that the taste in this is different from that of a steel pot. We also bought some sambrani and cups and coffee beans. The Ethiopians roast their own coffee beans before grinding it and boiling it in water.  It is then served in small cups, without handles, with lots of sugar. All the while, the smell of sambrani is wafting through the air. Aster told me that they eat popcorn during the ceremony. It is also the practice to call everyone in the vicinity to share a cup of coffee. The same coffee powder is used thrice before the end of the ceremony. Everyone drinks coffee till the jug/pot is empty.  A nice relaxing ceremony – I was only left wishing that I knew Amharic to understand what was happening around me. 

Lallibela – the number of stories and myths about the place are comparable to our own. We flew in from Addis on a Fokker 50. the plane was flying fairly low and so I could see the landscape totally. Much of it was cultivated – I was surprised to see. And from up above it was like many rectangles of green of different shades. And all these patches swept out from some central groups of houses. The whole effect was very wind swept and collage like. Does God like collages? In this part of the world, yes. The Rift Valley, mountains, rivers, gorges… and then we landed. In the midst of mountains in a tiny airport. I stepped out of the plane to air that was fresh and chill, a sky that was bluer than blue and absolute silence. Silence, in an airport? While we waited for the bus that was to take us to the hotel, it was the silence that I savoured. It was a silence where you could hear – somewhere a cock crowing, a goat, a bird, a shout. Maybe it was more of a stillness than a silence really. And then the conveyor belt to bring in the baggage started. 

Have you ever danced with a prostitute? Oops – commercial sex worker? Lady of the street? I am asking you women out there. Well, I did – for the first time, last night. We are in Bahir Dar (pronounced Baardaar) on the banks of Lake Tana which is the source of the River Blue Nile. The town is a University town – one nice main road with palm trees and hibiscus of every hue and bougainvillea and the rest of the roads are normal – all pothole, some road. We walked through some of the lanes. There are small bars at almost every door in the street. Loud music and bright colours and brighter lights. We went into a couple of them, but we were too early. Barmaids abounded. They didn’t seem too happy to see me, but my companion was received with wide smiles. We walked into a coffee shop. This Ethiopian coffee has made me even more of a coffee addict. Conversation is limited because of the language. But the smile works in most places. I ordered a cake and a juice. The waitress asked me “Mixed” with an emphasis on the `ed’ and I nodded. What I got was a beer glass with three layers of fruit pulp in the colours of the national flag – yellow green and pink/red – papaya, avacado and guava. If I were British, I would have said “Interesting” – being Indian, I slurped it down. Yes, the paragraph started differently and that is what probably caught your interest. I am coming to that.

We walked around some more and then entered what I had been hearing about the whole evening – John’s bar. It was fairly unimpressive. Some eight or ten women sitting around on bar stools in a dimly lit room. Bottles of Gordon Gin, Bailey’s and White Horse lined up in the bar (I realised later that most were empty – the real stuff was stocked in the fridge!). Music. In one corner two men were seated. We walked in and I felt really awkward. All these girls were slim, well dressed and beautiful. I was (am) fat, wearing keds and shy. It took me some time to ease into the place. Roza came up and spoke to us. She knew my companion from a previous visit. She kissed both of us Ethiopian style – twice on each cheek, told us to enjoy ourselves and went off to dance with one of the men. She dances beautifully – very sinuous. Her bright face was pleasantly made up, nice gold jewellery and a touch of Christian Dior’s Poison – very subtle. And then she led him away – business had started.

She came back after some time, looking just as fresh and wonderful. And asked me to dance with her. The music was anyway making my feet itch and I was finding it difficult to sit still on the high bar stool. So I joined her. And when the music stopped, there was a round of applause. I hadn’t realised that everyone in there was watching – if I had, I would have probably stopped pronto! We complimented each other on how well we dance, sat down for a while and then stood up again. What was interesting was to move to some Arabian tunes. She was totally with the music. It flowed in her and through her and she looked like she was enjoying herself. The walls of the bar were covered with mirrors and she looked at herself constantly. Preening. Ensuring that the make up was in place. Looking to see who was looking at her. Checking that she danced well. Maybe it was her, or the music or the place, but I found myself totally relaxed and enjoying myself. The music was beginning to flow through me as well. And suddenly the thought flowed through me – hey, I would like to do this for a living! But no, not what follows – I wouldn’t enjoy having to go with every guy who paid me. But the performing was nice. I liked being watched and applauded. Maybe I should head for the stage. Maybe pigs will fly!

The rest of my visit in Ethiopia went in similar fashion – lazing around and being pampered. And then the usual adieus. I was planning to end this trip with a week to myself in Goa, but somehow, couldn’t bring myself to do that. This was perfect in itself. I wanted to savour the taste of Ethiopia in itself – not mix it up with another place. The end.

October 2001