A trip down memory lane in Chennai

Appa and I had a special bond especially when it came to all matters spiritual. Throughout his life I sensed a desire in him to be meditative and self aware. He came from a family of atheists and so did not observe any rituals associated with his faith. His dad and brother were lawyers, rationalists and intellectuals who lived a lot in their minds. However, they were all humanists. They treated people of all creeds with respect and, for the most part, women as equal partners.

Though gregarious and fun loving, my dad had a melancholic streak in him. I could relate well to this. From very early on I wondered if this was all there was to life! Later in my teen years my brother formally introduced me to Vedanta through “The message of the Upanishads” by Atmananda. But my first experience of the mystical happened in my early teens. My father took me to listen to lectures by one J.Krishnamurthy (JK) delivered under a banyan tree in the open air ambience of Vasant Vihar, the Chennai home of the Krishnamurthy Foundation. I was his chosen one, to go on these jaunts. .
The wonderful dad that he was, he must have sensed that I would need these talks more than most, to get me through my choppy 20s.

I cannot say I experientially understood anything JK said. However, I was drawn to the idea of shedding my conditioned existence. I was also fascinated by his ethereal quality, his apparition like frame, white hair neatly combed over to cover the frontal bald spot, pale skin and pristine white clothes, his reference to himself as “the speaker” and the impatient tone he used when he admonished his audience with “are you able to see the truth behind what the speaker is saying, sirs?” He was advanced in years, so he spoke with effort and his hands shook as he wiped the drool off the sides of his mouth with his handkerchief. But his earnestness in trying to make one see through the shallow ego state we called life touched a deep chord. Even then I could see he had no agenda other than to make everyone see the folly of living as automatons, in thought projections, and as creatures of habit.

I remember hanging on his every word, etching the experience in my memory even though he wanted me to do the exact opposite. He wanted me to undo my conditioning and told me that meditation had to be the whole of my life - in every thought, activity and feeling, what I now understand as “presence”. But the phrase that stuck and that would bring about the most profound transformation and growth in me, a few years later, when I experienced my lowest point, was “the thought is not the thing described”. So simple and yet so profound.

Over the years JK has been my guiding light. He has helped me see what true meditation is. It was therefore fitting that I paid homage
to him on his 125th anniversary. I found myself in India and found out through a dear friend about the exhibition and musical tribute on the grounds of Vasant Vihar. It was an enchanted evening of mystical music. And his speeches were projected from under the banyan tree with a sign that said “Voice”. When I closed my eyes, I had the eerie experience of being transported back in time. His message is still relevant today since we all ride the treadmill of a conditioned life, afraid to jump off.

JK did not identify with the body mind mechanism or the ego self. He would have been amused by this deification of his physical presence. So even though it was a magical evening, tremendously pleasing to my senses, the irony of this commemoration was not lost on me!

First morning in Chennai

I always feel completely at home in India. Chennai, with all its so called modernity still has old world peace and charm. It is a city that has arrived at the present era kicking and screaming. There is a quiet feeling of timelessness underneath the chaos of traffic, which is not even that awful. The sky is still a nice blue and there is greenery all around. The buildings are shabby, the people unremarkable, not exactly preoccupied with the fashion of the day. The streets are not clean by any stretch, with leaves and debris strewn all over. There are stray dogs everywhere and there is dust and grime even in the glossiest of glass covered exteriors. And yet, it has a healthy aspect to it what with the moist ocean air, the bright sun, the lush greenery and a silence only broken by sounds of cawing birds and, in the distance, traffic horns and ocean winds.

When I woke up early this morning and sat to meditate, aware that the ocean was 100 yards away and the crematorium 50 yards over on the other side and I heard the cawing of the crows, I had a strange sense of oneness with something deep and primeval. There was a timeless quality to my breath as an expression of consciousness, and the spirit of my father appeared to be just in another realm in the multiverse. Everyone and everything appeared to co-exist in a suspended state, with no beginning or end. Alas my consciousness was still in the realm of the uni-verse but something in me felt part of all those other forms of existence! This place gives me access to the deepest recesses of my soul and I have dreams that feel so real the emotions from them linger and the tangible reality lends a psychedelic quality to my sensations that burst over to the brim. On my morning walk, I witnessed the beautiful sunrise on the beach and once again found my individuality completely subsumed in the larger drama of the universe that goes through its motions, as witnessed through the lens of my mind conditioned by time and space, but which otherwise has nothing to be calibrated against, and so, just is.

Etihad experiences

Dec and Feb

Experience flying Etihad

Best to arrive at the airport early. There are no kiosks for boarding passes and baggage tags and so it is a long and endless line. There were two lines, one for check in and the other for baggage drop. When the latter did not move, we switched to the former which appeared to move a little faster. After that it was a cinch. The carry on had a 7 kg limit so I had to take some stuff out for Suku to bring with him.

Boarding was at C35 which was a trek. However the lounges were in C33 just above it. And there were both KLM AirFrance and Priority lounges (2 of them - one was closed and the end there bifurcated to Bus Class and First Class). I went to the PL and to the Bus Class side though no one was noticing really.

The flight was alright. 33C was only 7 rows behind Premium Economy. The seats had leg room. Dinner was served after we boarded at 10. (Bindi masala, paneer, rice, cheese and crackers, bread and butter, kitkat, chocolate mousse). Then there was a snack (cream cheese sandwich after 5 hours). They came around for coffee and tea. Then there was ice cream. Before landing, dinner again (daal makhni, Gobi masala, roti and rice with fruit, bread and butter). Again drinks - at all times with coffee, tea options. Water was constantly served,

The entertainment was awesome with a wide selection. I watched - documentaries- Jane, the 250 million dollar cure, the Netscape story; movie based on the story of Tolkien and TV shows called The Good Doctor and Big Little Lies.

When I got off, I had go through security to Terminal 3, 44, which was a trek. I passed the lounges in a Terminal headed straight to my gate. There was just enough time. I had an hour and a half by the time I boarded.

The flight to India was unremarkable. It was in an old plane with no in-flight entertainment. I slept, having eaten in the lounge. My bags arrived very fast and I was out within half hour of landing.

For the last leg of my journey to Toronto, I was invited to bid for a seat in Business Class. I put in the minimum bid of $1130 and won. It was meant as an experiment. Given the length of the flight, I am quite thrilled I won! I boarded the flight ✈️ n Terminal 3. Business Class is a different experience. They have a separate entrance, guys who will help you load your luggage on to a cart outside and whisk you in. There are a number of counters and so you are issued a baggage tag with no delay. There are liveried helpers, once again, to load your bags on to the scales. Then there are the E-gates and security goes by in a jiffy! Once again, the security channels are exclusive and things go by in bare minutes. From there, it’s a 10 minute walk to the business class lounge / which is humongous. Poor features, just four toilets for such a large lounge. Offering you all the indulgences of the East, there is a spa and several breakfast stations, besides breakfast on demand. It was all very overindulgent. I tried a little bit of almost everything- a lingering case of FOMO. Fresh cheese omelette, toast and butter, croissant and jam, pita with hummus, labneh, belcher granola. Then fruit and half of my second granola parfait. I noticed the coffee station guy serve the white woman her flat white, before he served me my latte even though I had gotten there first - still a colonial hangover?! Maybe! Or maybe flat whites are less elaborate than my floral topped latte!

Boarding was easy. There was champagne, hot towels, magazines and then before take off, orders for post take off drinks. I mistakenly and greedily took the champagne, which I returned since it was cold and I knew it would not suit my sore throat. I ordered a Morroccan mint tea and settled down to write this journal.

I watched a wonderful British 3 part true crime series (itv). Had the Asian vegetarian meal which was pretty crappy - beetroot mince, broccoli, coconut rice, Kala chAna made like a puli kozhambu, a potato patty, besides bread and butter. I had camomile tea before the meal and black tea after. A few hours later had a latte which was served with cookies and then at 8 pm dinner consisting of kale soup, masala dosa, Kancheepuram idli and Vada served with just gotsu. It was pretty bad - I ate the dosa, a little vada and a tiny portion of the chutney but ate all of the raspberry mousse dessert they served after. Drank about 4 bottles of water. Watched 7 episodes of Big little lies. Drank a glass of red wine and slept a total of 4 hours.

It’s a long flight and business class eases it greatly. However, meals are at your own whim, which means you have to ask for it. They are responsive but you don’t want to appear demanding or greedy and you wonder if they are gritting their teeth behind their forced smile for having been given the unfortunate task of serving you. And with my voice still hoarse my assertiveness flagged a little - how odd! So when I woke up from my sleep I could have ordered a coffee, but did not! Was business class worth it?! Maybe.


Feb 1, 2020
So this time it was marked with adventure. What with the corona virus looming large as a threat for global travellers. My flight was delayed by a day. The next day at 9 I received an email that the departure time had been fixed as 7:45 pm. The crowd at the airport was horrible with passengers from our flight and a later one trying to board. Etihad at the best of times is extremely disorganized at the boarding end (for economy passengers). The difference flying business starts right there, making it worthwhile! We stood 2 hours in the line up to drop bags off. I got boarding passes for both flights (unlike some others). It was eerily quiet in the rest of the airport. Security was a breeze and there were 5 people in the KLM lounge. The flight itself was alright - unremarkable- but ok. I ate some dinner and slept. Then watched a couple of movies, listened to my audiobook and the time went by. I ate my chutney sandwich and croissant with coffee (great idea) as well as the bowl of pomegranate. I had packed some Murrukku as well which I nibbled on. I passed up on all other offerings and stayed clear of the sweets. On arriving in AUH I made for security which was straight out of a sci-fi movie - vast masses transiting through, mainly getting out of the Far East for fear of contracting this new monster virus. I felt suffocated and a tad vulnerable. This is not a pleasant time if you look Chinese and are wearing a mask. They have a look which says “ please don’t blame me or hold me responsible”. Even I felt self conscious when coughing to ease an itchy throat. Strange times. I sought refuge in the Terminal 1 Al Dhabi lounge - there was lots to eat and drink and there were comfortable seats, besides plenty of bottled water. I dialed down feasting on spinach soup, fresh hummus shaped like a small crater which was filled to the brim with the choicest olive oil, delicious fatoush salad, a spoonful of vegetable biryani with cucumber mint raita and some pesto pasta with sun dried tomatoes. No alcohol, no sweets and lots of water. I toddled out at about 1, bought some candy at the duty free and got to the Gate at 2 pm just in time to board. My audio book kept me company. I tasted a small piece of masala dosa and some pongal gotsu on the plane, tucked away the croissant and yoghurt to give to Ezhil our driver who would pick me up and slept till landing time. The knees were feeling the strain of long hours of sitting. I called Ezhil’s phone and Amma picked up. They were making their way to the airport. I mistakenly stood in the foreign passports line instead of OCI and so was delayed a bit. My bags were already off the belt and waiting for me and an hour after landing I found myself winding my way along the path with crowds of awaiting relatives, flanking both sides to reach Amma and Ezhil.

The virus in our minds

I do my bit to contribute to the globe’s environmental pollution. I fly a lot. Every year, a few trips across the pond to see the offspring and at least two to India to see the moms and other aging relatives. Other than that business trips, as needed. This time I am on an unscheduled trip to India. But I picked a day when all airlines were in a tizzy with the spectre of the coronavirus looming large. A co-worker returned to Canada last night with vivid accounts of the mass exodus of travellers from China. He said people had bookings on multiple airlines to guarantee a safe extraction! On his flight, Air Marshals hovered over passengers to bark at them if their face masks came off, except while eating. So I could not have picked a more inopportune date for travel - what with airlines bailing out on flights to China precisely from January 31, 2020.

However, the real story is not the virus itself but the anxiety it has stoked in the populace at large. Last night our flight was grounded owing to a “technical snag” ( read - the domino effect of the “virus” resulting in overworked staff and overwhelmed airline). Today, we are flying but, other than the super resilient Indian crowd at the Etihad line, the airport is eerily empty. There was no one when I passed through security, the duty free shops looked like abandoned relics of a past era and the lounge I was in had 5 people in all. I was armed with masks, having bought in to the paranoia but decided not to wear one since I did not want to set off any alarmed looks.

Hollywood could not have dreamed up a more devious plot to entertain and sizzle. A virus from eating bats triggers a global health emergency - sounds oddly familiar?? Is this the case of the tail wagging the dog? Another distraction story perpetrated by the Americans? A ploy to destroy the Chinese economy or to boost real estate prices in Canada, as this will no doubt trigger some serious emigration out of China? All these are of course figments of my overactive and agitated mind. I am a product of my time, that lives off social media fodder. We have gone loopy. Our problems are more imagined than real. JK says it best even though he lived and died before whatsapp and facebook took over our lives!

https://www.instagram.com/p/B2Gqb3OnapU/?igshid=ei1jj26com49

Truck de India - a review

Rajat is a young IIT grad who chose not to be recruited by the Googles of the world. Instead he hitch- hiked on trucks throughout the length and breadth of of India to write his debut account. He took me along on an engrossing journey. I met truck drivers like Jora and Jagdish whose hearts are large and who fight private demons, bhukki (opiate) and loneliness, on long hauls. I learnt the jargon of police corruption, with the use of words like “mechanical” to charge penalties, and the power of the dalals (middlemen). I learnt about politics and distribution of power, state sanctioned communalism and discrimination based on religion and its manifestation in the poor infrastructure that folks in the targeted regions experienced. I ate dhaba food, witnessed sandstorms, suffered the heat and the excruciating long waits from bureaucratic delays.

Truck drivers emerge as heroes everywhere, but especially in India where they risk their lives everyday, working under impossible conditions hauling food, staples and cement in overloaded vehicles, so we can all indulge in all-season foods and live decadent lives with nary a thought or appreciation for how we get to live the way we do. He makes the point that truck drivers, who are vulnerable to abuse by many masters, disproportionately bear the burden for our indulgent lives! It’s a highly intelligent, thought provoking read with great insights about the fabric of Indian society woven from its feudal and colonial past to the entrenched unjust, social structures of today. The writing could be a bit more polished (sentence structures etc) but that does not take much away.

Chennai concert season - thoughts!

Only in Chennai can you sit in an air conditioned hall, in the heart of the city, and feel transported to another time and era as you listen to free classical music concerts. Most concert venues are located in and around Mylapore which still maintains its village like allure. Set back in time it is full of narrow alleys surrounding its most ancient temples and tank, street houses, age old saree and jewellery shops, restaurants serving traditional South Indian fare and concert venues with onsite catering, permanent and makeshift. It feels like a throwback to another time that is fast fading. A time when social media did not distract, and listening to concerts was the best you could do for entertainment. A time when devotion to craft for the sake of it was valued. However, before I wax prolific with romantic notions of times past, I must point out that it was a very caste conscious time and classical art forms were only available to a chosen elite of Tambrahms who formed the inner circle. There just was no ticket in, unless there was a patron promoting a prodigious talent as was the case with M.S. Subbulakshmi and a few others.

Today, there is an intentional effort afoot to make the coveted Chennai performance stages more accessible. Young people from here and abroad flock to make their mark in the Madras music scene at the December music festival which hosts over 3000 concerts in venues across the city from November through January. Technological advances have resulted in TV contests, videos of live concerts, online classes and various other immersive musical experiences that are geography agnostic. Hence the global spread and popularity of South Indian classical art forms. The audience in Chennai is the most discerning and therefore sets the bar high for artists. A live concert in this city is a challenge they must scale to make their mark pursuing complex, intricate, mathematically precise and yet infinitely creative art forms.

Speaking of access, sponsors such as saree magnates Chinnaswami Chetty of Nalli fame, continue to make most concerts available free of cost. However, as the population ages and streaming services catch on more and more, one wonders if this will continue to be the case? It is hard to tell. Are new artists serious enough to pursue these art forms as careers, to back-fill waning older artists, in sufficient numbers? One cannot really say. I do hope that the golden years of the Chennai December season are not a thing of the past and the musical extravaganza it presents continues to evolve, grow and thrive with the myriad technologies at our disposal. For eg, you can now buy tickets through apps, single and bundled, and you can watch concerts live-streamed for a price. There are music concerts bundled with buffet lunches. So you can have your pick! Since Carnatic music is all about improvisation, the connection with the audience is relevant and important for artists to feed off and offer the best experience - hence live concerts are imperative. I therefore hope the status quo of the December concert season proliferates to enchant and enthrall even more than before.

As for me, for some time to come, I hope to wear jasmine in my hair and join the many women elegantly dressed in colourful silk cotton sarees at concert venues. We will while away pleasant December evenings listening to heavenly music that evokes strong nostalgia of a simpler time when drinking coffee and eating tiffin between concerts at the Music Academy made for a wonderful Dec concert season.

The wonderful world of Apps

I was in Mumbai over the last three days attending a family wedding and thanks to wonderful apps had a grand old time that was seamless and perfect. Of course the airline tickets were booked through an app as well as our first night’s stay at a hotel with a gorgeous view of Marine Drive. Once at the airport we used the priority pass app to find a lounge and had a great breakfast before boarding the flight. We hired a car through a friend to go out on the first day, to our old haunts and residence in Colaba and Cuffe Parade, respectively. We reconnected with friends. We then took Uber everywhere and located restaurants to eat at, through apps. All these are pretty run of the mill and have become part of life in any metropolis now. So it’s not about these but about 2 special uses that I made of them that I want to talk about.

So after checking out of Marine Plaza in South Mumbai we headed to Powai close to where the wedding festivities were being held. It was at least an hour’s drive with low traffic volume. Meanwhile, the city’s pollution had aggravated my cough and I was struggling, and preoccupied with restoring my health to fully partake of the celebrations over the next two days. Naturally I forgot what I needed most, at the Marine Plaza. What else? My iPhone charger. But wait. I did not discover this till later that night! A lot happened before then, for which I made use of the first app worth mention.

So we arrived at the hotel where we had been booked by our relatives. We decided we needed to change to one closer to the venue and which was more spacious, with amenities and breakfast options. We arrived at the hotel where the Mehendi was being held, followed by lunch, and found out that the Sangeeth, later that night, was being held there. It was five star and pretty impressive so what better place, especially given my elderly mom and my persistent and annoying cough. A cousin who was already staying there vouched for the rooms, service and breakfast, so it appeared to be the logical choice. He had booked it through an app called Agoda. I had no clue how much the rooms would set me back by?! The hotel appeared quite fancy, and therefore would be, I thought, pretty pricey. I got on the Agoda app right away, and right there in the lobby of the hotel attempted to book two rooms for the first night. They were the last ones for that night, but were not available for another night. So I booked a second one, for three person occupancy for the next night, since one of our party of 4 was leaving that evening . Wonder of wonders the app gave me a 60% discounted rate, compared to if I had booked it there at the hotel, making it all very reasonable and affordable. All I had to do was pull up the app rate, and the hotel matched it, vitiating the need to go through Agoda to make the booking . Five star quality with amazing amenities and adjoining rooms with interconnecting doors and even special free upgrades, we smugly settled and rested before the Sangeeth. The air purifiers in the rooms, the luxurious hot showers, the bathrobes and slippers, an array of utility kits, coffee and tea, comfortable beds and pillows, helped restore me somewhat. I enjoyed the evening performances and dinner, in the company of family and friends.

Alas, when I got to the room and tried to plug in my phone, I discovered my charger was missing. I promptly got on Amazon and ordered a generic one to be delivered to our Chennai home on Monday. I went to bed wondering how I would get by the following day, since I needed my phone to take pictures, order Uber, make calls or do the million things I rely on my phone for. Early the next morning, my young genius nephew told me about Dunzo, a courier app. However, he found out that it was not available in Mumbai. But, he said, there was a substitute there, offering a similar service, called Wefast. He then asked for pick up and delivery of charger with cash to be paid on delivery. I had a courier pick up the charger from Marine Plaza and deliver it to Hotel Meluha Fern for less than the cost of travel to said destination one way! I was overjoyed. I promptly charged the phone and took pictures to my heart’s content. Life’s cinch with apps! Why not make the best use of them?!