Ever since I walked the earth I have travelled.
Wherever it was that I wanted to go, I walked. Sometimes I would run, to get someplace faster.
But no matter how much I tried I could never outrun many fleet-footed, hoofed animals.
To get the better of the situation I tamed animals which could go faster than me. It started with the goats and buffaloes, later it was asses, and finally I conquered speed when I saddled the horse.
Then one day I invented the wheel. And things began to go very fast indeed.
But I wasn’t satisfied. Because whenever I looked to the skies I could see birds flying. These creatures made a mockery of all my terrestrial speedsters. I now knew what I wanted most.
I wanted to fly.
One day a pair of my brothers found a way. And ever since, I have tried to fly as fast as possible.
And when I had flown all over the skies on my planet, I looked to Space.
There was no stopping me now. I have already stepped on the moon. The other celestial bodies and galaxies are just a few steps away.
But then there were those who could still travel faster than me. Sound was one, and of course, Light, the other.
I have already beaten Sound now. Sometime in this millennium I will master Light too.
Wouldn’t that be great?
Before that yonder star can twinkle, I would be on it. I think that is what God means when he says, ‘Think of me and you will find me’.
That would leave me with the one thing that would be faster than me and which has always preceded me from the beginning – Time!
From the moment I invented the wheel I have measured travel against time. How fast I could get from point A to point B has motivated me to invent vehicles which could take me from here to there in a jiffy.
Travelling involves Time, which mostly and usually governs the travel. Someday it could be the other way around. Geography has already become irrelevant to me, someday Astronomy would too.
Remember “Startrek” – “Beam me up Scotty” and ‘Warp speed’ of Captain Kirk. Or the Hyperspace jumps in “Star Wars”. A snap of my fingers, a push of a button, say the magic word – and time flies!
Even my fantasies have revolved around this – Hanuman leaping across seas, Superman flying around the earth, even Harry Potter had his broom, his portkey, his flue powder, and the best part - he could apparate!
All this for just one thing – conquer distances. And time.
Or simply put, ‘to be where I want, when I want’!
Time is the one foe that has always beaten me.
Every journey was being measured in time, and as time. Time always has been and is the benchmark for travel. I now live in an age where I measure distances relative to time.
Earlier, I would say, ‘My school is 2 kms away’ or ‘the market is just a stone’s throw away’ or ‘go straight as the crow flies’ – all indicating distances. Now I say, ‘My school is five minutes away’. My grandparents live an hour away. And London is just eight hours from my home. Life has become a measure of time.
My life too is a slave of Time.
Not long ago Childhood was playing with me on the streets. Then adolescence grew up with me a while later. A few years ago I was sharing a dorm with youth. Adulthood has matured with me now. And old age will catch up with me someday in the future.
There is no way I can capture Time.
In the timeless classic ‘Waqt’, Lala Kedarnath says, ‘Waqt hi sub kuch hai; Wahi banata hai, wahi bigadta hai; Wahi humse leta hai aur wahi sood samet lauta deta hai’! (Time is everything; it is the one who creates, it is the one who destroys; it takes from us and returns with rewards!)
What he is saying is ‘Do not tempt Time’.
But not unknown to it I have done so!
From the moment I invented the wheel, I have been pacing time, sparring with it.
Not literally. Not tangibly either. But in many other ways - Intellectually, spiritually - yes I have overtaken it. I am way ahead of time - in my thoughts and in my mind.
When it looks at me, it sees the horses which I rode when I should have been panting after them; it sees the wheel which I invented just a few millennia ago when I should have been only walking; it sees the vehicles I invented just a hundred years ago when I should have been only playing with wheels; and it sees the milestones I have crossed yesterday when I should have only seen them from far.
I am outrunning time faster than it ever imagined. I have travelled much further in the last fifty years of evolution than it has. And I shall do so even more. My travel has been exponential whereas Time has travelled more or less straight. Our paths will cross sooner than before.
I shall evolve, mutate and change as I have done before - from Primates, to Homo-erectus, and from thence to the new me, the 21st century Man. Maybe in the near future I shall be the ‘Avatar’ that James Cameron wants me to be.
And when I do so, I shall have beaten Time.
A great man with a frizzled mane once fathered the Theory of Relativity. He said one day Time and Space would not matter. Twist and Warp the fabric of Space, and I will find that Time bows to me.
And then there are Black Holes – places in the universe where Time and Space merge. Enter one, and I shall find Distances do not exist, neither does Time. I shall be lost among the two.
Great many philosophers have always advocated that Time and Space are only two sides of the same coin. How I look at them changes my perspective. My perspective does not change them. One cannot exist without the other. Indeed one exists because of the other!
And equally great Prophets have sermonized that Time and Space are just a figment of our mind. Far greater distances have been travelled by my thoughts. And my spirit has soared through the ages. Time flies when I am with loved ones. Distances vanish when I am in love. I may be closer to myself than I realize.
The truth is, I was born to travel - for my survival, for humanity, for the sake of mankind - I have travelled and I shall keep on doing so.
I cannot go back. I don’t want to go back. But if I look back I can honestly say, ‘I have come a long way baby’.
I am a Time traveller.
Up till now I have travelled in time, mostly through it and sometimes against it. Tomorrow, I shall travel with it.
And maybe, someday in the future, Time shall cease to be my foe. That day is not far, my dear. When you just have to think of me and I’ll be there.
I have sung this ode to myself for a very long time now….
Musafir hoon yaaron, na ghar hai na thikana, mujhe chalte jaana hai, bus chalte jaana.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Thursday, August 05, 2010
Some Final Voyages - part 1
The beginning of the end
After a couple of months spent at home, the traveller’s bug bit me again. The bite was no more a pinprick; it had lost its sting long ago, and I had long since stopped nursing the wound. But as the sailors say – you anchor at any one place for long and you will have barnacles growing on your bottom.
Somewhere in my heart I knew that my sails could no longer hold the wind anymore, my travels were coming to a slow halt, I could read the signs in every trip that I now made, every voyage that I now sailed.
But right now I had to leave.
And so it was that I found myself at the airport once again waiting to board another plane and eventually to board another ship.
Chennai ~ Mumbai:
I should have flown direct to Amsterdam from Chennai but my company had some important papers to hand over to me so I had to make a pit stop at Mumbai.
I was not pleased with the stopover arrangement as I dreaded the drudgery of dragging my luggage through the domestic terminal at Mumbai to the International terminal.
So after clearing the usual formalities of check-ins and customs at Chennai, I was loitering around the terminal when I thought of calling up a friend in Mumbai. After all I would be left with about three hours between flights at Mumbai. Rather than wait at the passenger lounge in the airport I thought it better to spend the time with a dear friend.
The flight itself was pretty boring. It was delayed in taking off and more so while landing. And I was keen not to keep my friend waiting at the airport. As it turned out he was delayed himself getting out of office.
Moments later we were nursing drinks while reminiscing the days gone by. Trying to act like mature adults, catching up on our activities and laughing over old jokes.
How quickly time flies when you want it to stretch!
He dropped me at the airport just in time for me to catch my next flight. As always, a thought quietly echoed within my head – when will I meet him again?
It is always the same isn’t it? No one leaves a place and its people without pondering at least once whether one shall be back. But then if Columbus had dwelt too much on that thought America might have been Atlantis, undiscovered, lost and probably would still belong to the Apaches, the Chinooks and other Native Indians of the first nation.
Mumbai ~ Amsterdam:
As usual this was a night flight.
Tossing and turning in my seat (in case you are wondering, this is a highly complex manoeuvre, one that is mastered by seasoned frequent fliers flying economy class), I tried my best to do the one thing which has evaded me on all my travels – sleep. So I did what sleepless souls on long flights do – I watched the in-flight movie. “Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince”. And believe you me; the book is so much better!
We landed in the frigid cold of Amsterdam amid the usual pleasantries of the stewardesses.
Amsterdam airport:
Once off the ramp I walked up to the woman holding the placard with my name on it. She took me to the immigration section where I handed over my passport and other papers. I assumed that the process would take a few minutes.
Ha! I might as well have taken a return flight to India.
At many international airports, if you observe closely you will find a few people clustered separately near the immigration desks. They seem despondent, haggard and look like lost pups (in most cases they are, not pups though), casting longing glances at the bustling and hurried crowd passing them by and wishing they could be one among them. Very obviously they look out of place.
These are “seamen” (or sailors, if you are the average Joe; or seafarers, for the politically correct, or mariners for the hoity-toity). These men are waiting for their temporary or transit permits to be issued. Till such time, they are rooted to their spot without being able to go anywhere. Indeed some countries forbid them from doing so.
Remember the scene in the movie “The Terminal” in which actor Tom Hanks is cordoned off inside the airport by the immigration officials because his country no longer officially exists. This is somewhat similar except that one can loiter around the airport but within sight of the immigration desk, which as you would imagine, is usually situated at the most uninteresting part of the airport. Whatever else you do while waiting, the one thing you don’t want is a worried immigration official when he calls out your name and finds you missing.
In the aftermath of 9/11, seafarers have got a very raw deal. Gone are the days of adventure. Nowadays it is a luxury if a sailor can step ashore in any port without him having to carry all sorts of identification papers, provided he is allowed to step ashore. Simply put, many sailors would prefer to stay on board a ship when she calls at any port rather than step ashore. Just as nowadays you would find many clean-shaven sailors when once naval superstitions considered cutting off facial hair as bad luck. Very few sailors now sport a beard, solely to be politically correct. Talk about changing traditions!
These sailors near the desk invariably have to join a ship in a nearby port for which they need special entry clearances and permits in spite of holding the country’s visa. “Blistering barnacles” old Captain Haddock would say. Why would you need another permit when you already have the visa? Ah! Now that is a question which only the babus of officialdom would be able to answer.
And if you have been a sailor as long as I have been, you might even bump into an old colleague at these waiting areas. Or maybe someone who might have sailed with you on some bucket of bolts, probably whose face you would have sworn never to see again, and you would have further sworn that you would push his head up his “you-know-where” if he ever came across your way.
These desks are poignant reminders that though the world is indeed getting smaller, ironically it is growing apart.
I happened to meet a ship’s Captain at the desk after waiting for a couple of hours. Strange as it may sound he was to join the same vessel as I was! Though we both flew on the same flight from Mumbai bound for the same destination and the same ship, it is not surprising that we had to meet at this desk.
Now that I had a companion, I found it easier to pass the rest of the few hours that we were made to wait.
Finally we got our papers. The reason for the delay, we found out was some clerical fault at their office for which we suffered the maddening wait.
Amsterdam ~ Rotterdam:
This would have been a pleasant and enjoyable drive had it not been for the chilling cold and the light but irritating drizzle of rain. Enroute we tried to catch up on our lost sleep. Yeah, Right!
We finally reached the port where once again we had to report to the Maritime immigration and customs office. After a short wait we finally made it to the ship and boarded the long gangway wearily.
This ship was a monster. She used to carry oil in her heydays, but was later converted as an ore carrier and was pushing well over 300,000 metric tonnes. This was a first for me. I could not help but be awed. She was one massive Mama.
Rotterdam ~ Pointe de Madeira:
The charms of sailing the seas wear down very quickly after you get to the brass-tacks. Nowadays life on board a merchant vessel is quite monotonous barring the occasional machinery breakdown. One follows the routine procedures, watches, stations and drills.
We stopped halfway to do a major overhaul to the main engine, and then proceeded as if nothing had ever happened, finally anchoring off the coast of Brazil for a number of days waiting for our turn at the port.
Pointe de Madeira is a port on the east coast of Brazil (the west coast is landlocked) where big ships call. And if you thought that a ship of this size would spend a long time filling her take of cargo, well you thought wrong. In just about a day and a half we were on our way to the next port. We barely stepped ashore.
Pointe de Madeira ~ Magishan:
This was a long passage. And I mean it.
Forty-five days long. It was the longest I have ever sailed on any ship. We would be crossing the Atlantic, rounding the Cape of Good Hope, taking in the entire breadth of the Indian Ocean, cutting through the Celebes sea, entering the Pacific, crossing the East China sea and finally into the Yellow sea. Try as you might, you would never find the borders separating these seas and oceans just as you would never see a line demarcating the equator.
Any sailor would have to be an inherent liar if he were to say that such a long voyage was uneventful. Sailors usually are. Well of course there were many events. But what stood out most was the debilitating injury to the Chief Officer days into the voyage. He had gone into a Ballast tank for doing routine inspection, had slipped, ended up with a deep gash in his leg.
All sailors are trained in basic First-Aid courses. We can very proficiently give you pills for the headache that you have in your stomach. We can administer effective laxatives such as the cook’s armpit. We can even stop nose-bleeds by tying a bowline knot around your ears. Why, we even hand out condoms to all the crew when they step ashore. Rashes and lesions are simply cured by dabbing generous amounts of spit (preferably your own). Most importantly we can prescribe salt tablets to tackle sea-sickness.
Barring the ship’s Captain who is permitted to give you scheduled drugs such as pain-killers (morphine, etc), the rest of the crew can collectively crowd around the injured man with so much compassion that would despair even the most optimistic patient and make him want to rethink his life. A sailor’s best suggestion for a lacerating wound, or for any injury for that matter, would be a bottle of his favourite drink and a senorita by his side. However, international laws forbid both these time-tested remedies on board ships nowadays. So the next best solution was the Radio Medical services whom you could call any time of the day or night and ask for correct medications for alleviating the pain and procedures to prevent the injury from getting worse.
The ship had to be diverted to the nearest port of refuge to off-land the Chief Mate who would have to be hospitalized. The nearest such port was Capetown.
Capetown:
Near the southern tip of the Republic of South Africa, Capetown when viewed from the sea is imposing, as the Table Mountains stand guard over the city.
A ship of our size could not possibly go near the port. The only and usual method was to use a helicopter to fetch a casualty who needed evacuation.
But getting a helicopter to land on a ship is easier said than done. Though we have seen it happen in so many movies, the dynamics behind the operation are never revealed.
The ship’s crew has to prepare well in advance for the helicopter. The landing spot is distinctly marked, the area is cleared of all loose objects, the ship is headed in the right direction to ease the approach of the whirly-bird, a wind-sock is hoisted to indicate the direction and intensity of the wind, a fire-fighting team is stationed near the marked helipad in their fireman’s suits and other paraphernalia, and most importantly, before the copter touches the ship’s metal surface a lead line is lowered to discharge the static on the ship’s hull, else one could witness a nasty fireball that would engulf the mechanical bird in the blink of an eye.
Anyway, we had a copter landing safely on the deck. The injured Chief Mate was strapped in a harness, into the copter. Sometimes, the copters have to winch the injured person if landing is not possible.
The helicopter pilot then circled the vessel, as is customary, and left for the city leaving us to rev our engines to Full Speed Ahead and continue with our interrupted voyage.
Sailing from one place to another is a big deal indeed.
On a map you could draw a straight line from one point to the other. But sailing is not as simple. One hears the phrase “as the crow flies” to indicate that your destination is right there under your nose if your nose weren’t twitching. But sailing, ah!
One of the many splendors of our planet earth is the fact that it is round. A straight line on a flat two-dimensional map would be the shortest distance between any two places but on a round earth the same straight line would curve! It is like wiping your arse after attending nature’s business. You know it is right down there but you still have to manoeuvre around the curvature of your bums. Sailing is somewhat similar. And that is why we have qualified, certified, trained and highly professional officers on board who plot the courses that the ship has to sail from one place to another. Imagine if you needed such a skill set for wiping your rear end. Further imagine if it were as big as Jupiter as some of us so have. Wouldn’t you rather not do it? – I mean, plot the course. The mind does boggle, does it not, as P.G.Wodehouse would have remarked.
We were sailing east from Brazil all the way to China. This way we would meet the sunrise earlier every day. Every longitude that is crossed adds or lessens the time of travel depending on the direction of travel. Time is lost when travelling west and gained when travelling east. So after travelling east the clock had to be reset back by the gained time. Over a period of 45 days we travelled through many time zones and ended up gaining about eleven hours.
Our plotted course from Pointe de Madeira in Brazil to Magishan, off the north eastern coast of China, was finally made in about 45 days. Another traveler could have covered the same passage in less than two days flying. But you cannot transport tonnes of cargo by an aeroplane. That is what a cargo ship is all about.
Magishan ~ Rizhao:
We spent a few days at the anchorage at Magishan before being called to berth. Magishan is a port on the small island of Sijiaoshan, one of the many islands south of the mouth of the river Chang Jiang in east China.
As expected, shore leave was denied to ship’s crew, so we stayed on board and did not step ashore. After 45 days out at sea, the least one could hope for was a night out in the port. However, that was not to be. So let’s not hear any more crap about having a wife in every port! Reduced manning, overload of work and stringent regulations have eliminated R&R which is just a notion nowadays on ships.
One could say that shipboard working arrangements are not designed for the weak-hearted. In any other job, one would expect to put in around 44 hours of work every week on an average. But on ships it is quite normal for people to work anywhere between 70 to 84 hours per week. If you thought that modern technology, automation, improved management techniques and ERP solutions would change sailor’s lives since the time Roman Galleys tramped the earth’s oceans, nothing could be further away from the truth.
Ships are nothing more than multi-million dollar trucks with monstrous machines running the show. Man can fly an unmanned spacecraft to the Moon or Mars, he can pilot supersonic fighter jets across the world’s skies sitting in his air-conditioned operations command center thousands of miles away, he can fly the world’s largest passenger airline by fly-by-wire technology, he can even remote control submersible vehicles for deep water operations and has computer guided automobiles to help him make it through the traffic grid-locks on his daily commute. But he still hasn’t found a reasonable way to ease a sailor’s life on board a Merchant ship.
In all forms of transport, man has been able to reduce human intervention to a minimum. Except on ships.
Anyway, after completing the cargo operations we sailed away for the next port with a hope that we could set foot on land.
Rizhao:
Another port further north in China. The city of Rizhao is not far away from the major city of Qingdao. We had to anchor here as well.
Ships are the same as cars. One drives to a place, a shopping mall, or someplace and looks for a parking spot. The best ones are usually taken. So we hang around waiting for a spot to open up to park our car. Ships do the same. We anchor till a berth in the port is vacated by another ship. And we anchor so that the tide does not drag us around. We stick around.
A huge ship stuck to one place with a puny little anchor tied by a wimp of a chain.
We ended up stuck in anchorage for a number of days because of the weather playing truant. Incessant howling winds gusting at more than 40 knots per hour, spraying fine droplets of water all over the ship; the ever-present cold adding to our miseries. Very soon a thin layer of sleet formed on all our decks. Temperatures inside our ship dropped, our accommodation heating systems were stretched to the limit. Hot water for bathing was being rationed now as the water distilling plant went on a blink. We were caught in one of the worst winters of this region.
Finally, after about a week, the wind gods were appeased and they spared us further discomfort.
Then the fog set in. A white flimsy shroud had gobbled up the atmosphere. Visibility was imaginary. Thankfully our RADAR was working well and we had a pair of electronic eyes compensating for our lack of natural vision.
Out in the open sea, nature displays all of its nuances, colours, and moods. They are varied, complex and awesome. It is no wonder then that the science of Meteorology is still probing the proverbial tip of the iceberg.
At last we were called into the port.
And the biggest disappointment for us all was the denial of shore-leave once again. This is getting to be the norm all over the world.
Young sailors now can no longer dream of telling their grand children about the places they saw and the adventures they had as a sailor because they hardly get to step ashore at any port. I remember, one of the motivating reasons for me being a sailor was the charm, the romance, the thrill of the unknown, and a devil-may-care life. Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! Believe you me; those reasons have long since gone the way of Davy Jones locker.
Now the cutlass has been replaced by the computer, the crow’s nest houses electronic gadgetry, the holds are devoid of Spanish gold and carry millions of dollars worth oil, the bilges are sparklingly clean and the man with an eye-patch and an iron hook for a hand is out of a job.
In Rizhao I was to get off the vessel and head for home. However, fate had planned otherwise. The Chief Engineer who was to relieve me boarded the ship. I was hoping to hand over the charge to him and step down. But it was the Chinese New Year (at least that was what we were told, it seems they were celebrating the harvest), and all of China went for a week long holiday. As a result I could not get my exit visa. The immigration department had closed down for seven days as if it were the end of the world.
I ended up staying on board, still in charge, with a promise of getting me off next port.
We departed from this port with a yearning desire to step ashore at the next one. But that wouldn’t be, cause we were heading for Singapore.
Rizhao ~ Singapore:
Having discharged all of our cargo at Rizhao and having taken on ballast for the voyage, the ship was considerably lighter. We were also being assisted by the wind and the current. So we did a reasonably good speed and reached Singapore with no incident.
Singapore – the mecca of ships. It is a beehive for ships. One has to see it to believe it.
Anyway, I had by now finished my tenure on this vessel and was eager to go home. Upon reaching anchorage I handed over charge to the new Chief Engineer and got off the ship. A small boat took me across the bay to the marine terminal where the seaport customs cleared me off and I boarded the waiting taxi that would take me to the Changi airport.
It is probably impossible not to let money slip through your fingers when you are inside the Changi airport. Everyone ends up buying something or the other at the duty-free shops. I lost my share of money too buying stuff for my family.
I eventually boarded the flight which would take me home.
As I looked back upon the entire travel-athon, I couldn’t help but sing the same song –
MUSAFIR HOON YAARON……….
After a couple of months spent at home, the traveller’s bug bit me again. The bite was no more a pinprick; it had lost its sting long ago, and I had long since stopped nursing the wound. But as the sailors say – you anchor at any one place for long and you will have barnacles growing on your bottom.
Somewhere in my heart I knew that my sails could no longer hold the wind anymore, my travels were coming to a slow halt, I could read the signs in every trip that I now made, every voyage that I now sailed.
But right now I had to leave.
And so it was that I found myself at the airport once again waiting to board another plane and eventually to board another ship.
Chennai ~ Mumbai:
I should have flown direct to Amsterdam from Chennai but my company had some important papers to hand over to me so I had to make a pit stop at Mumbai.
I was not pleased with the stopover arrangement as I dreaded the drudgery of dragging my luggage through the domestic terminal at Mumbai to the International terminal.
So after clearing the usual formalities of check-ins and customs at Chennai, I was loitering around the terminal when I thought of calling up a friend in Mumbai. After all I would be left with about three hours between flights at Mumbai. Rather than wait at the passenger lounge in the airport I thought it better to spend the time with a dear friend.
The flight itself was pretty boring. It was delayed in taking off and more so while landing. And I was keen not to keep my friend waiting at the airport. As it turned out he was delayed himself getting out of office.
Moments later we were nursing drinks while reminiscing the days gone by. Trying to act like mature adults, catching up on our activities and laughing over old jokes.
How quickly time flies when you want it to stretch!
He dropped me at the airport just in time for me to catch my next flight. As always, a thought quietly echoed within my head – when will I meet him again?
It is always the same isn’t it? No one leaves a place and its people without pondering at least once whether one shall be back. But then if Columbus had dwelt too much on that thought America might have been Atlantis, undiscovered, lost and probably would still belong to the Apaches, the Chinooks and other Native Indians of the first nation.
Mumbai ~ Amsterdam:
As usual this was a night flight.
Tossing and turning in my seat (in case you are wondering, this is a highly complex manoeuvre, one that is mastered by seasoned frequent fliers flying economy class), I tried my best to do the one thing which has evaded me on all my travels – sleep. So I did what sleepless souls on long flights do – I watched the in-flight movie. “Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince”. And believe you me; the book is so much better!
We landed in the frigid cold of Amsterdam amid the usual pleasantries of the stewardesses.
Amsterdam airport:
Once off the ramp I walked up to the woman holding the placard with my name on it. She took me to the immigration section where I handed over my passport and other papers. I assumed that the process would take a few minutes.
Ha! I might as well have taken a return flight to India.
At many international airports, if you observe closely you will find a few people clustered separately near the immigration desks. They seem despondent, haggard and look like lost pups (in most cases they are, not pups though), casting longing glances at the bustling and hurried crowd passing them by and wishing they could be one among them. Very obviously they look out of place.
These are “seamen” (or sailors, if you are the average Joe; or seafarers, for the politically correct, or mariners for the hoity-toity). These men are waiting for their temporary or transit permits to be issued. Till such time, they are rooted to their spot without being able to go anywhere. Indeed some countries forbid them from doing so.
Remember the scene in the movie “The Terminal” in which actor Tom Hanks is cordoned off inside the airport by the immigration officials because his country no longer officially exists. This is somewhat similar except that one can loiter around the airport but within sight of the immigration desk, which as you would imagine, is usually situated at the most uninteresting part of the airport. Whatever else you do while waiting, the one thing you don’t want is a worried immigration official when he calls out your name and finds you missing.
In the aftermath of 9/11, seafarers have got a very raw deal. Gone are the days of adventure. Nowadays it is a luxury if a sailor can step ashore in any port without him having to carry all sorts of identification papers, provided he is allowed to step ashore. Simply put, many sailors would prefer to stay on board a ship when she calls at any port rather than step ashore. Just as nowadays you would find many clean-shaven sailors when once naval superstitions considered cutting off facial hair as bad luck. Very few sailors now sport a beard, solely to be politically correct. Talk about changing traditions!
These sailors near the desk invariably have to join a ship in a nearby port for which they need special entry clearances and permits in spite of holding the country’s visa. “Blistering barnacles” old Captain Haddock would say. Why would you need another permit when you already have the visa? Ah! Now that is a question which only the babus of officialdom would be able to answer.
And if you have been a sailor as long as I have been, you might even bump into an old colleague at these waiting areas. Or maybe someone who might have sailed with you on some bucket of bolts, probably whose face you would have sworn never to see again, and you would have further sworn that you would push his head up his “you-know-where” if he ever came across your way.
These desks are poignant reminders that though the world is indeed getting smaller, ironically it is growing apart.
I happened to meet a ship’s Captain at the desk after waiting for a couple of hours. Strange as it may sound he was to join the same vessel as I was! Though we both flew on the same flight from Mumbai bound for the same destination and the same ship, it is not surprising that we had to meet at this desk.
Now that I had a companion, I found it easier to pass the rest of the few hours that we were made to wait.
Finally we got our papers. The reason for the delay, we found out was some clerical fault at their office for which we suffered the maddening wait.
Amsterdam ~ Rotterdam:
This would have been a pleasant and enjoyable drive had it not been for the chilling cold and the light but irritating drizzle of rain. Enroute we tried to catch up on our lost sleep. Yeah, Right!
We finally reached the port where once again we had to report to the Maritime immigration and customs office. After a short wait we finally made it to the ship and boarded the long gangway wearily.
This ship was a monster. She used to carry oil in her heydays, but was later converted as an ore carrier and was pushing well over 300,000 metric tonnes. This was a first for me. I could not help but be awed. She was one massive Mama.
Rotterdam ~ Pointe de Madeira:
The charms of sailing the seas wear down very quickly after you get to the brass-tacks. Nowadays life on board a merchant vessel is quite monotonous barring the occasional machinery breakdown. One follows the routine procedures, watches, stations and drills.
We stopped halfway to do a major overhaul to the main engine, and then proceeded as if nothing had ever happened, finally anchoring off the coast of Brazil for a number of days waiting for our turn at the port.
Pointe de Madeira is a port on the east coast of Brazil (the west coast is landlocked) where big ships call. And if you thought that a ship of this size would spend a long time filling her take of cargo, well you thought wrong. In just about a day and a half we were on our way to the next port. We barely stepped ashore.
Pointe de Madeira ~ Magishan:
This was a long passage. And I mean it.
Forty-five days long. It was the longest I have ever sailed on any ship. We would be crossing the Atlantic, rounding the Cape of Good Hope, taking in the entire breadth of the Indian Ocean, cutting through the Celebes sea, entering the Pacific, crossing the East China sea and finally into the Yellow sea. Try as you might, you would never find the borders separating these seas and oceans just as you would never see a line demarcating the equator.
Any sailor would have to be an inherent liar if he were to say that such a long voyage was uneventful. Sailors usually are. Well of course there were many events. But what stood out most was the debilitating injury to the Chief Officer days into the voyage. He had gone into a Ballast tank for doing routine inspection, had slipped, ended up with a deep gash in his leg.
All sailors are trained in basic First-Aid courses. We can very proficiently give you pills for the headache that you have in your stomach. We can administer effective laxatives such as the cook’s armpit. We can even stop nose-bleeds by tying a bowline knot around your ears. Why, we even hand out condoms to all the crew when they step ashore. Rashes and lesions are simply cured by dabbing generous amounts of spit (preferably your own). Most importantly we can prescribe salt tablets to tackle sea-sickness.
Barring the ship’s Captain who is permitted to give you scheduled drugs such as pain-killers (morphine, etc), the rest of the crew can collectively crowd around the injured man with so much compassion that would despair even the most optimistic patient and make him want to rethink his life. A sailor’s best suggestion for a lacerating wound, or for any injury for that matter, would be a bottle of his favourite drink and a senorita by his side. However, international laws forbid both these time-tested remedies on board ships nowadays. So the next best solution was the Radio Medical services whom you could call any time of the day or night and ask for correct medications for alleviating the pain and procedures to prevent the injury from getting worse.
The ship had to be diverted to the nearest port of refuge to off-land the Chief Mate who would have to be hospitalized. The nearest such port was Capetown.
Capetown:
Near the southern tip of the Republic of South Africa, Capetown when viewed from the sea is imposing, as the Table Mountains stand guard over the city.
A ship of our size could not possibly go near the port. The only and usual method was to use a helicopter to fetch a casualty who needed evacuation.
But getting a helicopter to land on a ship is easier said than done. Though we have seen it happen in so many movies, the dynamics behind the operation are never revealed.
The ship’s crew has to prepare well in advance for the helicopter. The landing spot is distinctly marked, the area is cleared of all loose objects, the ship is headed in the right direction to ease the approach of the whirly-bird, a wind-sock is hoisted to indicate the direction and intensity of the wind, a fire-fighting team is stationed near the marked helipad in their fireman’s suits and other paraphernalia, and most importantly, before the copter touches the ship’s metal surface a lead line is lowered to discharge the static on the ship’s hull, else one could witness a nasty fireball that would engulf the mechanical bird in the blink of an eye.
Anyway, we had a copter landing safely on the deck. The injured Chief Mate was strapped in a harness, into the copter. Sometimes, the copters have to winch the injured person if landing is not possible.
The helicopter pilot then circled the vessel, as is customary, and left for the city leaving us to rev our engines to Full Speed Ahead and continue with our interrupted voyage.
Sailing from one place to another is a big deal indeed.
On a map you could draw a straight line from one point to the other. But sailing is not as simple. One hears the phrase “as the crow flies” to indicate that your destination is right there under your nose if your nose weren’t twitching. But sailing, ah!
One of the many splendors of our planet earth is the fact that it is round. A straight line on a flat two-dimensional map would be the shortest distance between any two places but on a round earth the same straight line would curve! It is like wiping your arse after attending nature’s business. You know it is right down there but you still have to manoeuvre around the curvature of your bums. Sailing is somewhat similar. And that is why we have qualified, certified, trained and highly professional officers on board who plot the courses that the ship has to sail from one place to another. Imagine if you needed such a skill set for wiping your rear end. Further imagine if it were as big as Jupiter as some of us so have. Wouldn’t you rather not do it? – I mean, plot the course. The mind does boggle, does it not, as P.G.Wodehouse would have remarked.
We were sailing east from Brazil all the way to China. This way we would meet the sunrise earlier every day. Every longitude that is crossed adds or lessens the time of travel depending on the direction of travel. Time is lost when travelling west and gained when travelling east. So after travelling east the clock had to be reset back by the gained time. Over a period of 45 days we travelled through many time zones and ended up gaining about eleven hours.
Our plotted course from Pointe de Madeira in Brazil to Magishan, off the north eastern coast of China, was finally made in about 45 days. Another traveler could have covered the same passage in less than two days flying. But you cannot transport tonnes of cargo by an aeroplane. That is what a cargo ship is all about.
Magishan ~ Rizhao:
We spent a few days at the anchorage at Magishan before being called to berth. Magishan is a port on the small island of Sijiaoshan, one of the many islands south of the mouth of the river Chang Jiang in east China.
As expected, shore leave was denied to ship’s crew, so we stayed on board and did not step ashore. After 45 days out at sea, the least one could hope for was a night out in the port. However, that was not to be. So let’s not hear any more crap about having a wife in every port! Reduced manning, overload of work and stringent regulations have eliminated R&R which is just a notion nowadays on ships.
One could say that shipboard working arrangements are not designed for the weak-hearted. In any other job, one would expect to put in around 44 hours of work every week on an average. But on ships it is quite normal for people to work anywhere between 70 to 84 hours per week. If you thought that modern technology, automation, improved management techniques and ERP solutions would change sailor’s lives since the time Roman Galleys tramped the earth’s oceans, nothing could be further away from the truth.
Ships are nothing more than multi-million dollar trucks with monstrous machines running the show. Man can fly an unmanned spacecraft to the Moon or Mars, he can pilot supersonic fighter jets across the world’s skies sitting in his air-conditioned operations command center thousands of miles away, he can fly the world’s largest passenger airline by fly-by-wire technology, he can even remote control submersible vehicles for deep water operations and has computer guided automobiles to help him make it through the traffic grid-locks on his daily commute. But he still hasn’t found a reasonable way to ease a sailor’s life on board a Merchant ship.
In all forms of transport, man has been able to reduce human intervention to a minimum. Except on ships.
Anyway, after completing the cargo operations we sailed away for the next port with a hope that we could set foot on land.
Rizhao:
Another port further north in China. The city of Rizhao is not far away from the major city of Qingdao. We had to anchor here as well.
Ships are the same as cars. One drives to a place, a shopping mall, or someplace and looks for a parking spot. The best ones are usually taken. So we hang around waiting for a spot to open up to park our car. Ships do the same. We anchor till a berth in the port is vacated by another ship. And we anchor so that the tide does not drag us around. We stick around.
A huge ship stuck to one place with a puny little anchor tied by a wimp of a chain.
We ended up stuck in anchorage for a number of days because of the weather playing truant. Incessant howling winds gusting at more than 40 knots per hour, spraying fine droplets of water all over the ship; the ever-present cold adding to our miseries. Very soon a thin layer of sleet formed on all our decks. Temperatures inside our ship dropped, our accommodation heating systems were stretched to the limit. Hot water for bathing was being rationed now as the water distilling plant went on a blink. We were caught in one of the worst winters of this region.
Finally, after about a week, the wind gods were appeased and they spared us further discomfort.
Then the fog set in. A white flimsy shroud had gobbled up the atmosphere. Visibility was imaginary. Thankfully our RADAR was working well and we had a pair of electronic eyes compensating for our lack of natural vision.
Out in the open sea, nature displays all of its nuances, colours, and moods. They are varied, complex and awesome. It is no wonder then that the science of Meteorology is still probing the proverbial tip of the iceberg.
At last we were called into the port.
And the biggest disappointment for us all was the denial of shore-leave once again. This is getting to be the norm all over the world.
Young sailors now can no longer dream of telling their grand children about the places they saw and the adventures they had as a sailor because they hardly get to step ashore at any port. I remember, one of the motivating reasons for me being a sailor was the charm, the romance, the thrill of the unknown, and a devil-may-care life. Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! Believe you me; those reasons have long since gone the way of Davy Jones locker.
Now the cutlass has been replaced by the computer, the crow’s nest houses electronic gadgetry, the holds are devoid of Spanish gold and carry millions of dollars worth oil, the bilges are sparklingly clean and the man with an eye-patch and an iron hook for a hand is out of a job.
In Rizhao I was to get off the vessel and head for home. However, fate had planned otherwise. The Chief Engineer who was to relieve me boarded the ship. I was hoping to hand over the charge to him and step down. But it was the Chinese New Year (at least that was what we were told, it seems they were celebrating the harvest), and all of China went for a week long holiday. As a result I could not get my exit visa. The immigration department had closed down for seven days as if it were the end of the world.
I ended up staying on board, still in charge, with a promise of getting me off next port.
We departed from this port with a yearning desire to step ashore at the next one. But that wouldn’t be, cause we were heading for Singapore.
Rizhao ~ Singapore:
Having discharged all of our cargo at Rizhao and having taken on ballast for the voyage, the ship was considerably lighter. We were also being assisted by the wind and the current. So we did a reasonably good speed and reached Singapore with no incident.
Singapore – the mecca of ships. It is a beehive for ships. One has to see it to believe it.
Anyway, I had by now finished my tenure on this vessel and was eager to go home. Upon reaching anchorage I handed over charge to the new Chief Engineer and got off the ship. A small boat took me across the bay to the marine terminal where the seaport customs cleared me off and I boarded the waiting taxi that would take me to the Changi airport.
It is probably impossible not to let money slip through your fingers when you are inside the Changi airport. Everyone ends up buying something or the other at the duty-free shops. I lost my share of money too buying stuff for my family.
I eventually boarded the flight which would take me home.
As I looked back upon the entire travel-athon, I couldn’t help but sing the same song –
MUSAFIR HOON YAARON……….
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
My Further voyages – Another New Begining
My recent voyages as a Marine Engineer on board a bulk carrier.
Leg 1: Chennai ~ Singapore ~ Delhi ~ Bhuvaneshwar ~ Paradip
Travel!
For some its fun, for me, it’s a job. It is what I do for a living. And I have been doing it now for a long time.
This time I had been contracted on a ship trading in Asia. And I had to be briefed about my assignment at the company’s Singapore office before I joined the vessel. So I did what I, off late, was beginning to hate – Travel.
Chennai ~ Singapore:
The flight to Singapore was oddly enough, comfortable. Because I was flying Business Class. But the airline staff had no class themselves. I was woken up twice by the stewardess, once for the meals which they served, which I did not want, and again for the refreshments, which I did not want either. I wanted to relax. How can they be so insensitive to passenger needs (or in this case, no-needs)? Though comfortable, I spent a restless night. Add to that, my inherent shortcoming of not being able to sleep while traveling. And this time I did not have a book with me either.
Anyway, I landed in one of the world’s best airports – Singapore’s Changi airport.
Singapore:
One could live one’s entire life within this airport and not want a thing - Full marks to the airport, its management and its staff.
And I was prepared for what was coming next. I did not have a Singapore visa. My company had not arranged for it. They had misunderstood the technicalities of the issuance of a transit visa. However, the airport staff was most co-operative, courteous and went out of their way to assist me. I spent a good four hours in the immigration section without any regrets. My company finally managed to fax the required letter to the authorities and I walked through the gates with a visa stamped on my passport.
Singapore – what an amazing place - Small, efficient and a tourist’s paradise.
Touring was the last thing on my mind though. I reached my hotel around noon, had a quick lunch and headed to my office.
The remaining part of the day went by quickly consumed with meetings. I rushed back to the hotel, gathered my stuff and was on my way to airport in no time. I was getting late and I wanted to indulge in some duty-free shopping at the airport.
A short while thereafter I caught my flight to Delhi.
Singapore ~ Delhi:
I was tired by now. I had requested the airline to give me a seat with the widest berth and legroom and they had obliged. However, it was way off my expectations. After having flown in on Business Class I was hoping to make the best of the Economy Class, without much luck.
This flight was uneventful as it was somewhat like a Red-Eye. We landed in Delhi at two in the morning.
Delhi:
The Capital of India.
Always awake. Always busy. Noisy, and surprisingly cleaner than I had expected. Or maybe it was just the time of the night when everything looks serene and tidy.
My next flight to Bhuvaneshwar was ten hours later. I was to rest in a hotel till then. The person who was to receive me couldn’t make it on time as he was still trying to get a parking slot. Imagine that, not being able to find a parking slot in the wee hours of the night! Finally, I spotted him and he drove me all the way to the hotel.
I had a good night’s rest and in the morning the same driver picked me up and took me back to the airport.
I caught the plane to Bhuvaneshwar and continued my journey.
Delhi ~ Bhuvaneshwar:
After a long time I was flying in daylight. One can do quite a few things to kill time - read newspapers, chat-up with co-passengers, look outside through the windows with amazement at the skies, the clouds, and suddenly one finds that the plane has landed.
Bhuvaneshwar:
They also call it the Temple City. There is one in South India as well, more famous, Madurai.
The airport itself was small, very sparse with minimal facilities, but sufficient. Quite a few foreign tourists were clustered around the baggage carousel. I waited till the crowd diminished and was the last to pick up my bags. Suddenly there was a flurry of activity. A couple of SUV’s, cars and police jeeps all with their flashers on screeched to a halt outside. Some men in white ‘bund-gala’ kurtas and pyjamas, heavy gold bracelets on their wrists and mobile phones in their hands walked into the airport. From their looks it was not difficult to conclude that they were politicians.
Politicians are a species unto themselves. They walk the walk and talk the talk. God created only men and women. Politicians have simply evolved. They are mutants, like X-MEN. They look human but have powers which normal humans do not possess. And people have a general dislike for them. The one I saw in the airport was probably a Class V mutant. He had his small entourage, his security and the haughtiness that comes with the personality. But no matter what Dr.Charles X.Xavier says, Mutants, nonetheless, will never be fully accepted among normal people.
I was driven to a hotel for the night as I had to undertake a long road trip to Paradip the next day. The hotel stay stretched through another night as I was informed that some more people were scheduled to accompany me on the journey. But I wasn’t complaining. Right now traveling wasn’t very high on my ‘list of things to do before I die’.
Bhuvaneshwar ~ Paradip:
Two days after I had checked into the hotel I was ready to leave. By then everyone who was supposed to accompany me on my trip had arrived. We were bundled into two MUV’s – Toyota Innovas and our journey began.
Bhuvaneshwar which is in the Indian state of Orissa is not a big city. Nevertheless, one can see modern life having caught up with the locals. Pity though that the state is in the news for all the wrong political and social reasons.
Development was everywhere. Take the roads for instance.
One thing is for sure. In the past decade, the road network in India has improved tremendously. Some serious thought seems to have been given to this. Everywhere in India one can see roads being widened and re-laid. And they are not being made randomly. The roads are well planned, with markers, medians, service lanes, properly banked, lighting which actually work, signboards, cats-eyes, milestones, telephone booths, medical and police assistance, etc – you know the stuff that autobahns and expressways are made of. After fifty years of independence the people running the country have suddenly decided to provide proper transport infrastructure. Better late than never, I say.
The trip was quite nice. The car was comfortable, the music was good, and the sights were new. Rustic images of villages flitting by, green fields, the inlaid canals, the occasional bridge, and the countryside in its splendor. And some sights were the same old – cows squatting in the middle of the newly laid roads. This happens only in India!
We took a break somewhere halfway. The guys smoked, had tea and the driver grabbed a bite. Many of us wanted to pee but there was no toilet in sight nor was there any restaurant or hotel where one could find one. So we did what a large majority of people in India do when they want to pee. We watered the earth by the side of the road in full view of the public seated in the various shops and across the road. I hesitated initially, but when you have to go, you have to go.
I finally made it to Paradip in the afternoon in a much better shape than I usually am after a long trip.
Paradip:
Paradip is a well planned port town. I have come here before in my earlier travels and have liked the place mostly because I have enjoyed Oriya cuisine very much. A city rat however would call this a sewer. Life is quite laidback and lackluster. There are no Multiplexes and malls, hangouts which we take for granted in many places.
After completing the immigration and customs formalities we proceeded to board the ship. I did however try to meet a friend of mine who lived in this town, but he was not at home, probably was at work.
Leg 2: Paradip ~ Haldia ~ Paradip ~ Singapore ~ Beihai ~ Balikpapan ~ Koshichang ~ Balikpapan ~ Singapore ~ Paradip
Paradip ~ Haldia:
And so started my voyage.
Another one.
Oh god, how many more to go?
The ship sailed from Paradip to Haldia where we were to discharge the cargo and subsequently load too.
Haldia was the promised city, the alternative to Calcutta. But in reality it is far from the promise. The West Bengal culture is so prevalent that it leaves a lot to be desired. Don’t get me wrong here. The place is chock-a-block with industries. But the social amenities belong to another era. It is typically Bengal, cheap, dirty, lazy and lacking.
The East India Trading Company had made Calcutta a hub in the eastern parts of India a long time ago. Years of silting of the riverbed and lack of foresight by the powers that be in this Indian state made navigation up the river very difficult and the big vessels could not call at this once great port.
Hence Haldia. It would be the answer to Calcutta’s problems. Seems to me now, Haldia has got enough problems of its own. Anyway, after a long stay we finally made it out of there and headed for Singapore with a short halt at Paradip to load more cargo.
Singapore:
How many times have I been to Singapore? – by sea, by air, once even by road from Malaysia.
But this time we were not to call at the port but were to anchor outside in the harbour. We were calling for supplies, bunker fuel, provisions and an impending visit by our Technical Manager.
The stay was very short. We managed to complete our mission and by the time we sailed out we were all short of sleep. We were looking forward to some R&R but were vary of our next course which could rob us of our peace of mind.
The treacherous and fickle South China Sea, which invariably tests every sailor. It is among those areas in the world where a sailor proves his worth. I rate it up there along with the Bay of Biscay off France, the seas off the coasts of South Africa and the North Atlantic during winter and of course the Arabian sea during monsoons.
But she was very generous this time and benign. We made it without a fuss and headed for Beihai.
Beihai:
Where is it? It is in southern China. I had never been here before. And I never expected to see what I saw there.
I had heard that China was developing fast but I believed it when I saw the development in Beihai. The city has everything, right down to the neighbourhood KFC and McDonald outlets. People were zipping past in snazzy cars and electric scooters, the malls were full of them, the streets were overflowing but we were the only tourists. Or so it seemed. From behind a block two white tourists (pardon my language, for lack of identity I am using a term without malice) turned onto the road on which I was walking. Then I saw an African man walk past me. And wonder of wonders I bumped into a Sardar. Is there any place left on earth where these enterprising Indians have not set up shop?
Young energetic men and women smartly dressed walking busily on the roads – a sign of prosperity maybe?
We discharged our cargo and were scheduled to sail to Balikpapan. Now where is this?
Balikpapan:
This is a city on the east coast of Kalimantan, part of one of the larger islands that make up Indonesia. The upper part of the island is Sarawak which is part of Malaysia. Further up is the rich Kingdom of Brunei.
Balikpapan was a nice place. Our ship was anchored off the coast and we had to rent a speedboat to go ashore. The fishing community lives along the coast in wooden houses built on stilts that stretch well into the sea. Almost everyone seemed to have a speedboat and a motorbike.
We spent a few days here going ashore occasionally, shopping and having fun. The pubs are happening places here too. The food was good and the people were friendly.
After loading our cargo we set course for Kosichang, Thailand.
Kosichang:
Thailand – the very name conjures up mysticism, romance and fun.
And Bangkok, apart from the vulgar innuendo, is supposed to be the the vacationer’s mecca.
We anchored off Kosichang and starting discharging our cargo into barges moored alongside. But not before some ladies of questionable repute had come onboard to offer their services which were eagerly accepted by quite a few who seemed ecstatic about this sudden departure from the usual monotonous life on board the ship.
Others such as me rented a boat and headed for the famous tourist city of Pattaya.
Pattaya.
A place designed and developed to satisfy the basal desires of any man on earth. The city is teeming with tourists, mostly men, with a local beauty hanging on their arm. Bars and restaurants, Pubs and Massage parlours are lined along every road and every junction.
The Walking Street – so named because no vehicles are allowed here. The sights and sounds which greet you are simply out of this world. Pretty young things wearing anything, something and mostly nothing gyrate to ear shattering music at every pub. The wares offered are in front of your eyes and literally – in the flesh; I suppose one could call them leather goods. It’s a sailor’s paradise.
Old sea dogs such as me, however, skirted the sensual and erotic nectar and manna offerings and haunted the bylanes where shopping of the normal kind could be done – clothes, cosmetics, household items and other boring stuff.
The other interesting activity one can indulge in here is a Massage. Any and every type of massage is available – from the immensely relaxing foot massage, to the muscle kneading complete body massage. Then there is the Thai oil massage, Facial massage, Manicure, Pedicure – the works! For the more adventurous, massages of a different nature were also available such as ‘Sandwich massage’, ‘Powder massage’ and many more of the exotic variety.
However, these are not the only attractions in Pattaya. There is much more. There is the Underwater world, which houses a large aquarium with glass tunnels allowing the visitor to see the underbellies of great sharks, sting rays, and other fishes. Also there is the hindu temple which is completely made of wood. An elephant ride takes you around the temple and leaves you at the dolphin park where one can shake fins with the dolphin and even feed it. Then there are other places which I could not go to such as the Crocodile park and zoo, the beach, the museum, etc. we also could not see the ‘Ladyboy show’ which as the name implies is a theatrical show with the entire cast made of hermaphrodite ‘Ladyboys’ – whom I guess need no explaining as to how they acquired the name.
And of course, the coup-de-resistance, ‘The World’s Largest Gem Store’. This complex probably houses more diamonds and precious stones than any other place in the world. It all begins with a guided electric car tour showcasing the history of gem mining which is simply great. After the tour one is let loose inside the store. The dazzling and sparkling jewelry is right out of some Arabian night’s scene. Gems of every variety, size, color, weight and fancy were on display and on sale. Some of us had the courage and the money to buy a few ornaments.
But no amount of wealth could probably satisfy the desire to own such stones. Truly amazing! This is a place where no woman can ever be satisfied, nor should she be left alone. I can imagine my wife running amok among the counters, getting herself worked up and cursing her fate for having a husband who cannot buy her a couple of diamond necklaces worth a fortune and a few bits of sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and other quartzy stuff.
Strange, how women can become orgasmic about such little shiny rocks. Men will always see them as they are – rocks! But then, lets not talk about women – they are the most misunderstood and at the same time ‘difficult to understand’ creatures on earth.
Pattaya is a showcase of women, for men. Couple it with the gemstore, the shopping and other attractions – there you have it – the perfect vacationing spot. If you are a bachelor, this place can corrupt you. And if you are a married man, then too, it can corrupt you. Beware!
Balikpapan:
Back again - this time for loading more cargo. However, now nobody was so interested in going ashore. After having been to Pattaya, this place seemed so boring.
Singapore:
Once again we halted here briefly for picking up provisions, stores and bunker fuel.
And as we passed around the harbour we could see perhaps a million ships anchored off the coast. Exaggeration aside, there were so many ships here – some small, some big, some absolutely huge. From the seemingly puny Tugboats, the larger Supply vessels, the dirty and cluttered Fishing vessels, the lifeless barges, Cargo ships, the ubiquitous Bulk Carriers, the huge Container ships, the empty and otherwise deeply loaded Oil Tankers, the fancy, clean and nicely painted Gas carriers, the tall Ro-Ro ships, the strange looking High-Lift vessels, other special purpose ships, and even some Passenger ships and ferries.
This was truly a seafarer’s hangout. What a spectacular sight!
Sometimes I wonder, when Columbus set out for discovering America in his wooden boat, did he ever imagine one day there would be such steel monsters hulking near every port.
Ah! Ships.
A sign that man has conquered the sea. Or so it would seem.
For some they are workhorses, essential for trade and commerce. For some they are a means of livelihood. For others they are a mode of transport and travel. And for some they are a status symbol, imagine owning a 20-foot yatch with gleaming handrails and a white hull!
For people like me – aw! Forget it.
Ships.
Decades ago, one could have related them to adventure, bravery and fun. Nowadays, the ship is only a machine. Sailors were once thought to be mavericks, uncouth, drunkards, womanizers and carefree. How times have changed! Now they are professional, highly trained and competent workers.
We thought we would conquer the sea and control it. Quite the contrary! The sea has conquered us, controlled us and changed us.
Singapore ~ Paradip:
Leaving behind the bustling harbour, we set course for Paradip passing through the Malacca Straits due north-west along Indonesia and the Andaman and Nicobar Islands.
The next day, we received caution notices to keep a look-out for pirates and take appropriate measures.
Pirates? Did you just say Pirates? And in this age?
Suddenly one is thrown back into to the world of Capt.Jack Sparrow and his Black Pearl, the Flying Dutchman and Davy Jones locker!
But that was ages ago. What now?
Well, for the uninformed and innocent, here is a shocking truth – Pirates exist. Even today! In the Singapore straits, off the Indian coast, off the Indonesian waters, all along the West African coast, the Bangladesh waters, and lately the Somalian and east African coast.
What do they want? The same as always – money, valuables, goods, cargo, stores, supplies, etc. These savages come in their puny speedboats and overcome a gargantuan steel ship. More often than not they are armed. Off late they have taken to capturing the entire ship along with its crew and then demand ransom from the owners for the release of both. No one spares a thought to those hapless sailors who have been taken hostages by these pirates. Many have also died at their hands. But who cares?
Yeah! Welcome to the real world of shipping. The average John Doe does not read about the misfortunes affecting the sailors. He comes to know about the industry only when there is a catastrophic accident or an oil spill on the seas which is more often than not sensationalized by the media. It took a Titanic to make everyone think of safety on passenger ships. It took a major oil spill from a ship off the coast of U.K. to make the world work out guidelines for safe carriage of oil cargoes. Even then nothing was done to improve the working conditions or life for seafarers. On the contrary things become worse. More and more tighter rules were brought in. In the 90’s the ISO codes for maritime industry were implemented. This brought with it a plethora of paperwork, documentation and not to forget ‘stress’. And in the new millennium the aftermath of 9/11 introduced stringent security measures. All this has made life on board ships so much more rigorous. Gone are the days when you could see a swashbuckling, drunk and amorous sailor. Nowadays you get to see glorified clerks, yes-men and puppets dancing to tunes of their masters sitting in plush offices ashore. It is said that in the good old days, the ships were made of wood and the men were made of steel; nowadays the ships are made of steel and the men are made of wood!
Some would believe that to be so true.
Ah! Enough cribbing. Let’s move on.
We finally made it to the port of Paradip again. After the usual we headed for Haldia.
Haldia:
The highlight of my stay in this drab port was the coming on board of my family. The company had permitted my family to sail with me on the ship for a short while. After a lot of formalities they finally boarded the ship. Needless to say I was absolutely ecstatic. And so was my family.
We headed back to Paradip for loading some more cargo and then we were off on another voyage.
Leg 3: Paradip ~ Singapore ~ Beihai ~ Guangzhou ~ Taboneo ~ Singapore ~ Tuticorin ~ New Mangalore
After our usual stopover at Singapore for supplies we headed to the now familiar port of Beihai.
Beihai:
Whatever thoughts of sightseeing we had of this city were chucked out of the ship as soon as we came alongside the port. The first people to come on board were the health officials. They conducted a thorough check of all personnel onboard. Are you wondering why? – well for Swine flu, of course.
After having been affected by SARS some years ago, China has decidedly improved its health regulations and quarantine procedures for visitors.
Everyone tested negative and were cleared off. But we were not permitted to go ashore. That dampened our spirits more than anything else especially my family’s as they had hoped to see this Chinese city.
So we hung on at anchorage and waited to sail away to some better port.
Our next voyage would take us to the ship repair yard. The ship had been in service for about two and a half years and the mandatory visit to a service yard was coming up. So we headed to the city of Guangzhou where one of the yards with dry-docking facility was booked for us.
Guangzhou and Drydock:
Guangzhou, I am told is the third largest city in China. We sailed to this port city and headed up river to the yard berth. After a couple of days at anchorage we were towed into a floating drydock. The ship was tied to the dock and the water from the dock was pumped out. As the dock was drained, the ship gradually sat on blocks which were placed on the floor of the dock. After all the water had been taken out, the dock labourers and ship repair staff came on board.
A ship out of water is a strange sight indeed. A steel behemoth exposing its underbelly!
Men scurrying about painting its hull, attending to its every needs, fitting it with new stuff, trying to make it new again. A drydock is a beauty parlour for a ship – trimming, demucking, cleaning, waxing, painting, etc. After all the service she has put in she needs some due tender loving care which she gets before being put back into use.
A drydock is a busy place. Heavy machinery everywhere, the decks are cluttered, the accommodation is a mess, workers are moving around here and there, electric and welding cables snaking the length of the ship, fire hoses rigged at various points, steel plates and fixtures dotting the decks, the anchors and chains strung out on the dock floor, the ballast tanks manholes are uncovered and the tanks are being inspected, the hatches are open, the engine is getting overhauled, the boilers are being surveyed, the propeller is getting polished, the rudder is being checked, the hull is being blasted and painted and so much more.
In between the crew try and find time to get out of the rut and go ashore and do some R&R and also some shopping. Needless to say, I got to take my family ashore a few times and they loved it. Their experience of China would now be memorable. And they shopped without break. Street shopping in the nearby city of Wangpo was a tremendous outing for my family. The local cuisine was great too. We even tried out some Chinese muslim food. The shopping malls are chock-a-block with shoppers and stuff on display is amazing. One could buy anything and everything. No wonder the ‘Made-in-China’ tag is so ubiquitous nowadays. No one could speak nor understand English but then shopping speaks its own language – the language of money.
All around the drydock many ships were tied up to each other – ‘doublebanking’ as it is termed. Some were inside similar drydocks getting attended. This place teems with ship repair yards.
I also saw a very peculiar sight happening everyday on the river. Some people dressed in colourful costumes and finery were traveling in very long boats called dragon boats, which were also decorated with flags, rowing to the beats of drummers. These boats would go up the river in a convoy and then return back the same way. It seemed like some kind of ceremony being performed. When I asked the locals about this they told me that every year in this particular month and this particular week they would undertake such boat rides to honour the river god. He said one could see this happening on every river in China. All this was a novel experience for me and I felt fortunate to have witnessed it.
At last the departure day dawned and the water was pumped into the dock to float the ship again. Once afloat we were towed out of the dock and then we set sail on our own for the next port of call. After a flurry of activity in the drydock and many days of humans tampering with its innards and looks, it was time for the ship to dictate its terms again.
We now headed for the Indonesian port of Taboneo.
Taboneo:
This port is one of many such ports dotting the Indonesian coast. Indonesia is a country blessed with natural resources. Many mines have thus been set up there to exploit all that nature has to offer.
This port turned out to be a dampener too. We anchored outside the harbour and barges filled with coal came alongside. Our cranes were used to load the coal inside our cargo holds. As a result of this procedure we were unable to get to the port of Taboneo and hence were stuck on the ship once again.
We finally made it out of Taboneo and headed to Singapore for supplies. Thereafter we headed to the Indian port of Tuticorin.
Tuticorin:
Very close to the southern tip of India, facing the island country of Sri Lanka, is the port of Tuticorin on the Indian east coast. Being sheltered from the Arabian Sea this port is fast developing into a major port in India. And it could get busier once the ‘Sethusamudram’ project materializes. Ships could then come to Tuticorin via the ‘Adams Bridge’ or ‘Ram Sethu’ as it is called in India – the mythological bridge built by Lord Ram and his monkey brigade – the ‘Vanar sena’.
We sailed straight into the port and were tied up to one berth immediately.
We stayed here for a few days discharging our cargo of coal which we had brought from Indonesia. In the evenings, I went out with my family and visited the famous Infant Jesus church, and our Lady of the Snows. Later we had some sumptuous south Indian food.
Before we left the port, my family got off the ship. School holidays were over and their short adventure on this ship also came to an end. But I am sure they carried with them memories of time well spent, new places visited and novel experiences. They flew back home and I was left alone on the ship. How I wished to go home with them. But I still had to complete the duration of my contract on board. So I stayed.
Tuticorin ~ New Mangalore:
Our next port of call was New Mangalore on the west coast of India. After we left Tuticorin we rounded the Cape Comorin. This is an anglicized term for Kanyakumari – the southernmost tip of India. One could say that the Indian subcontinent ends here. This short turn took us from the Bay of Bengal thru the Indian Ocean and into the Arabian Sea within a day.
The Arabian Sea was in no mood to greet us. In fact she was in her foulest mood. The South-west monsoons were setting in. This is the worst time of the year to come into this sea. The strong winds and the heavy seas will humble and overwhelm even the biggest and largest ship. Our steel ship suddenly becomes a tin can, tossed around, pitched up and down and generally thrown about in every direction.
One can easily identify a born sailor. If you see him tottering around on the deck with the ship’s motions then he still has a long way to go. But look at those guys who walk on the tilting deck immune to the gyrations of the ship. They seemingly have a balance mechanism which is fine-tuned to the ship’s movements. No amount of pitching and rolling can shake them. Here, we can spare a thought for all those fishermen who go out to sea in puny little boats made of wood, who get tossed around with the spray but still manage to bring back a boatload of fish along with their life and limbs intact!
Anyway we finished our business in Mangalore and set sail for China once again.
A couple of ports later we made it to Kosichang in Thailand where I finally got off the ship. By now the traveler in me just wanted to find a place called home and rest.
As one great person once said, I too can truly say, “I saw more than I could remember; and I remember more than I could see”.
Travelling is man’s innate instinct. He was born to travel. Some have turned this desire into a vocation, some into a profession, many more have made it a way of life and some bear it grudgingly.
Musafir hoon yaaro, na ghar na thikaana.
Leg 1: Chennai ~ Singapore ~ Delhi ~ Bhuvaneshwar ~ Paradip
Travel!
For some its fun, for me, it’s a job. It is what I do for a living. And I have been doing it now for a long time.
This time I had been contracted on a ship trading in Asia. And I had to be briefed about my assignment at the company’s Singapore office before I joined the vessel. So I did what I, off late, was beginning to hate – Travel.
Chennai ~ Singapore:
The flight to Singapore was oddly enough, comfortable. Because I was flying Business Class. But the airline staff had no class themselves. I was woken up twice by the stewardess, once for the meals which they served, which I did not want, and again for the refreshments, which I did not want either. I wanted to relax. How can they be so insensitive to passenger needs (or in this case, no-needs)? Though comfortable, I spent a restless night. Add to that, my inherent shortcoming of not being able to sleep while traveling. And this time I did not have a book with me either.
Anyway, I landed in one of the world’s best airports – Singapore’s Changi airport.
Singapore:
One could live one’s entire life within this airport and not want a thing - Full marks to the airport, its management and its staff.
And I was prepared for what was coming next. I did not have a Singapore visa. My company had not arranged for it. They had misunderstood the technicalities of the issuance of a transit visa. However, the airport staff was most co-operative, courteous and went out of their way to assist me. I spent a good four hours in the immigration section without any regrets. My company finally managed to fax the required letter to the authorities and I walked through the gates with a visa stamped on my passport.
Singapore – what an amazing place - Small, efficient and a tourist’s paradise.
Touring was the last thing on my mind though. I reached my hotel around noon, had a quick lunch and headed to my office.
The remaining part of the day went by quickly consumed with meetings. I rushed back to the hotel, gathered my stuff and was on my way to airport in no time. I was getting late and I wanted to indulge in some duty-free shopping at the airport.
A short while thereafter I caught my flight to Delhi.
Singapore ~ Delhi:
I was tired by now. I had requested the airline to give me a seat with the widest berth and legroom and they had obliged. However, it was way off my expectations. After having flown in on Business Class I was hoping to make the best of the Economy Class, without much luck.
This flight was uneventful as it was somewhat like a Red-Eye. We landed in Delhi at two in the morning.
Delhi:
The Capital of India.
Always awake. Always busy. Noisy, and surprisingly cleaner than I had expected. Or maybe it was just the time of the night when everything looks serene and tidy.
My next flight to Bhuvaneshwar was ten hours later. I was to rest in a hotel till then. The person who was to receive me couldn’t make it on time as he was still trying to get a parking slot. Imagine that, not being able to find a parking slot in the wee hours of the night! Finally, I spotted him and he drove me all the way to the hotel.
I had a good night’s rest and in the morning the same driver picked me up and took me back to the airport.
I caught the plane to Bhuvaneshwar and continued my journey.
Delhi ~ Bhuvaneshwar:
After a long time I was flying in daylight. One can do quite a few things to kill time - read newspapers, chat-up with co-passengers, look outside through the windows with amazement at the skies, the clouds, and suddenly one finds that the plane has landed.
Bhuvaneshwar:
They also call it the Temple City. There is one in South India as well, more famous, Madurai.
The airport itself was small, very sparse with minimal facilities, but sufficient. Quite a few foreign tourists were clustered around the baggage carousel. I waited till the crowd diminished and was the last to pick up my bags. Suddenly there was a flurry of activity. A couple of SUV’s, cars and police jeeps all with their flashers on screeched to a halt outside. Some men in white ‘bund-gala’ kurtas and pyjamas, heavy gold bracelets on their wrists and mobile phones in their hands walked into the airport. From their looks it was not difficult to conclude that they were politicians.
Politicians are a species unto themselves. They walk the walk and talk the talk. God created only men and women. Politicians have simply evolved. They are mutants, like X-MEN. They look human but have powers which normal humans do not possess. And people have a general dislike for them. The one I saw in the airport was probably a Class V mutant. He had his small entourage, his security and the haughtiness that comes with the personality. But no matter what Dr.Charles X.Xavier says, Mutants, nonetheless, will never be fully accepted among normal people.
I was driven to a hotel for the night as I had to undertake a long road trip to Paradip the next day. The hotel stay stretched through another night as I was informed that some more people were scheduled to accompany me on the journey. But I wasn’t complaining. Right now traveling wasn’t very high on my ‘list of things to do before I die’.
Bhuvaneshwar ~ Paradip:
Two days after I had checked into the hotel I was ready to leave. By then everyone who was supposed to accompany me on my trip had arrived. We were bundled into two MUV’s – Toyota Innovas and our journey began.
Bhuvaneshwar which is in the Indian state of Orissa is not a big city. Nevertheless, one can see modern life having caught up with the locals. Pity though that the state is in the news for all the wrong political and social reasons.
Development was everywhere. Take the roads for instance.
One thing is for sure. In the past decade, the road network in India has improved tremendously. Some serious thought seems to have been given to this. Everywhere in India one can see roads being widened and re-laid. And they are not being made randomly. The roads are well planned, with markers, medians, service lanes, properly banked, lighting which actually work, signboards, cats-eyes, milestones, telephone booths, medical and police assistance, etc – you know the stuff that autobahns and expressways are made of. After fifty years of independence the people running the country have suddenly decided to provide proper transport infrastructure. Better late than never, I say.
The trip was quite nice. The car was comfortable, the music was good, and the sights were new. Rustic images of villages flitting by, green fields, the inlaid canals, the occasional bridge, and the countryside in its splendor. And some sights were the same old – cows squatting in the middle of the newly laid roads. This happens only in India!
We took a break somewhere halfway. The guys smoked, had tea and the driver grabbed a bite. Many of us wanted to pee but there was no toilet in sight nor was there any restaurant or hotel where one could find one. So we did what a large majority of people in India do when they want to pee. We watered the earth by the side of the road in full view of the public seated in the various shops and across the road. I hesitated initially, but when you have to go, you have to go.
I finally made it to Paradip in the afternoon in a much better shape than I usually am after a long trip.
Paradip:
Paradip is a well planned port town. I have come here before in my earlier travels and have liked the place mostly because I have enjoyed Oriya cuisine very much. A city rat however would call this a sewer. Life is quite laidback and lackluster. There are no Multiplexes and malls, hangouts which we take for granted in many places.
After completing the immigration and customs formalities we proceeded to board the ship. I did however try to meet a friend of mine who lived in this town, but he was not at home, probably was at work.
Leg 2: Paradip ~ Haldia ~ Paradip ~ Singapore ~ Beihai ~ Balikpapan ~ Koshichang ~ Balikpapan ~ Singapore ~ Paradip
Paradip ~ Haldia:
And so started my voyage.
Another one.
Oh god, how many more to go?
The ship sailed from Paradip to Haldia where we were to discharge the cargo and subsequently load too.
Haldia was the promised city, the alternative to Calcutta. But in reality it is far from the promise. The West Bengal culture is so prevalent that it leaves a lot to be desired. Don’t get me wrong here. The place is chock-a-block with industries. But the social amenities belong to another era. It is typically Bengal, cheap, dirty, lazy and lacking.
The East India Trading Company had made Calcutta a hub in the eastern parts of India a long time ago. Years of silting of the riverbed and lack of foresight by the powers that be in this Indian state made navigation up the river very difficult and the big vessels could not call at this once great port.
Hence Haldia. It would be the answer to Calcutta’s problems. Seems to me now, Haldia has got enough problems of its own. Anyway, after a long stay we finally made it out of there and headed for Singapore with a short halt at Paradip to load more cargo.
Singapore:
How many times have I been to Singapore? – by sea, by air, once even by road from Malaysia.
But this time we were not to call at the port but were to anchor outside in the harbour. We were calling for supplies, bunker fuel, provisions and an impending visit by our Technical Manager.
The stay was very short. We managed to complete our mission and by the time we sailed out we were all short of sleep. We were looking forward to some R&R but were vary of our next course which could rob us of our peace of mind.
The treacherous and fickle South China Sea, which invariably tests every sailor. It is among those areas in the world where a sailor proves his worth. I rate it up there along with the Bay of Biscay off France, the seas off the coasts of South Africa and the North Atlantic during winter and of course the Arabian sea during monsoons.
But she was very generous this time and benign. We made it without a fuss and headed for Beihai.
Beihai:
Where is it? It is in southern China. I had never been here before. And I never expected to see what I saw there.
I had heard that China was developing fast but I believed it when I saw the development in Beihai. The city has everything, right down to the neighbourhood KFC and McDonald outlets. People were zipping past in snazzy cars and electric scooters, the malls were full of them, the streets were overflowing but we were the only tourists. Or so it seemed. From behind a block two white tourists (pardon my language, for lack of identity I am using a term without malice) turned onto the road on which I was walking. Then I saw an African man walk past me. And wonder of wonders I bumped into a Sardar. Is there any place left on earth where these enterprising Indians have not set up shop?
Young energetic men and women smartly dressed walking busily on the roads – a sign of prosperity maybe?
We discharged our cargo and were scheduled to sail to Balikpapan. Now where is this?
Balikpapan:
This is a city on the east coast of Kalimantan, part of one of the larger islands that make up Indonesia. The upper part of the island is Sarawak which is part of Malaysia. Further up is the rich Kingdom of Brunei.
Balikpapan was a nice place. Our ship was anchored off the coast and we had to rent a speedboat to go ashore. The fishing community lives along the coast in wooden houses built on stilts that stretch well into the sea. Almost everyone seemed to have a speedboat and a motorbike.
We spent a few days here going ashore occasionally, shopping and having fun. The pubs are happening places here too. The food was good and the people were friendly.
After loading our cargo we set course for Kosichang, Thailand.
Kosichang:
Thailand – the very name conjures up mysticism, romance and fun.
And Bangkok, apart from the vulgar innuendo, is supposed to be the the vacationer’s mecca.
We anchored off Kosichang and starting discharging our cargo into barges moored alongside. But not before some ladies of questionable repute had come onboard to offer their services which were eagerly accepted by quite a few who seemed ecstatic about this sudden departure from the usual monotonous life on board the ship.
Others such as me rented a boat and headed for the famous tourist city of Pattaya.
Pattaya.
A place designed and developed to satisfy the basal desires of any man on earth. The city is teeming with tourists, mostly men, with a local beauty hanging on their arm. Bars and restaurants, Pubs and Massage parlours are lined along every road and every junction.
The Walking Street – so named because no vehicles are allowed here. The sights and sounds which greet you are simply out of this world. Pretty young things wearing anything, something and mostly nothing gyrate to ear shattering music at every pub. The wares offered are in front of your eyes and literally – in the flesh; I suppose one could call them leather goods. It’s a sailor’s paradise.
Old sea dogs such as me, however, skirted the sensual and erotic nectar and manna offerings and haunted the bylanes where shopping of the normal kind could be done – clothes, cosmetics, household items and other boring stuff.
The other interesting activity one can indulge in here is a Massage. Any and every type of massage is available – from the immensely relaxing foot massage, to the muscle kneading complete body massage. Then there is the Thai oil massage, Facial massage, Manicure, Pedicure – the works! For the more adventurous, massages of a different nature were also available such as ‘Sandwich massage’, ‘Powder massage’ and many more of the exotic variety.
However, these are not the only attractions in Pattaya. There is much more. There is the Underwater world, which houses a large aquarium with glass tunnels allowing the visitor to see the underbellies of great sharks, sting rays, and other fishes. Also there is the hindu temple which is completely made of wood. An elephant ride takes you around the temple and leaves you at the dolphin park where one can shake fins with the dolphin and even feed it. Then there are other places which I could not go to such as the Crocodile park and zoo, the beach, the museum, etc. we also could not see the ‘Ladyboy show’ which as the name implies is a theatrical show with the entire cast made of hermaphrodite ‘Ladyboys’ – whom I guess need no explaining as to how they acquired the name.
And of course, the coup-de-resistance, ‘The World’s Largest Gem Store’. This complex probably houses more diamonds and precious stones than any other place in the world. It all begins with a guided electric car tour showcasing the history of gem mining which is simply great. After the tour one is let loose inside the store. The dazzling and sparkling jewelry is right out of some Arabian night’s scene. Gems of every variety, size, color, weight and fancy were on display and on sale. Some of us had the courage and the money to buy a few ornaments.
But no amount of wealth could probably satisfy the desire to own such stones. Truly amazing! This is a place where no woman can ever be satisfied, nor should she be left alone. I can imagine my wife running amok among the counters, getting herself worked up and cursing her fate for having a husband who cannot buy her a couple of diamond necklaces worth a fortune and a few bits of sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and other quartzy stuff.
Strange, how women can become orgasmic about such little shiny rocks. Men will always see them as they are – rocks! But then, lets not talk about women – they are the most misunderstood and at the same time ‘difficult to understand’ creatures on earth.
Pattaya is a showcase of women, for men. Couple it with the gemstore, the shopping and other attractions – there you have it – the perfect vacationing spot. If you are a bachelor, this place can corrupt you. And if you are a married man, then too, it can corrupt you. Beware!
Balikpapan:
Back again - this time for loading more cargo. However, now nobody was so interested in going ashore. After having been to Pattaya, this place seemed so boring.
Singapore:
Once again we halted here briefly for picking up provisions, stores and bunker fuel.
And as we passed around the harbour we could see perhaps a million ships anchored off the coast. Exaggeration aside, there were so many ships here – some small, some big, some absolutely huge. From the seemingly puny Tugboats, the larger Supply vessels, the dirty and cluttered Fishing vessels, the lifeless barges, Cargo ships, the ubiquitous Bulk Carriers, the huge Container ships, the empty and otherwise deeply loaded Oil Tankers, the fancy, clean and nicely painted Gas carriers, the tall Ro-Ro ships, the strange looking High-Lift vessels, other special purpose ships, and even some Passenger ships and ferries.
This was truly a seafarer’s hangout. What a spectacular sight!
Sometimes I wonder, when Columbus set out for discovering America in his wooden boat, did he ever imagine one day there would be such steel monsters hulking near every port.
Ah! Ships.
A sign that man has conquered the sea. Or so it would seem.
For some they are workhorses, essential for trade and commerce. For some they are a means of livelihood. For others they are a mode of transport and travel. And for some they are a status symbol, imagine owning a 20-foot yatch with gleaming handrails and a white hull!
For people like me – aw! Forget it.
Ships.
Decades ago, one could have related them to adventure, bravery and fun. Nowadays, the ship is only a machine. Sailors were once thought to be mavericks, uncouth, drunkards, womanizers and carefree. How times have changed! Now they are professional, highly trained and competent workers.
We thought we would conquer the sea and control it. Quite the contrary! The sea has conquered us, controlled us and changed us.
Singapore ~ Paradip:
Leaving behind the bustling harbour, we set course for Paradip passing through the Malacca Straits due north-west along Indonesia and the Andaman and Nicobar Islands.
The next day, we received caution notices to keep a look-out for pirates and take appropriate measures.
Pirates? Did you just say Pirates? And in this age?
Suddenly one is thrown back into to the world of Capt.Jack Sparrow and his Black Pearl, the Flying Dutchman and Davy Jones locker!
But that was ages ago. What now?
Well, for the uninformed and innocent, here is a shocking truth – Pirates exist. Even today! In the Singapore straits, off the Indian coast, off the Indonesian waters, all along the West African coast, the Bangladesh waters, and lately the Somalian and east African coast.
What do they want? The same as always – money, valuables, goods, cargo, stores, supplies, etc. These savages come in their puny speedboats and overcome a gargantuan steel ship. More often than not they are armed. Off late they have taken to capturing the entire ship along with its crew and then demand ransom from the owners for the release of both. No one spares a thought to those hapless sailors who have been taken hostages by these pirates. Many have also died at their hands. But who cares?
Yeah! Welcome to the real world of shipping. The average John Doe does not read about the misfortunes affecting the sailors. He comes to know about the industry only when there is a catastrophic accident or an oil spill on the seas which is more often than not sensationalized by the media. It took a Titanic to make everyone think of safety on passenger ships. It took a major oil spill from a ship off the coast of U.K. to make the world work out guidelines for safe carriage of oil cargoes. Even then nothing was done to improve the working conditions or life for seafarers. On the contrary things become worse. More and more tighter rules were brought in. In the 90’s the ISO codes for maritime industry were implemented. This brought with it a plethora of paperwork, documentation and not to forget ‘stress’. And in the new millennium the aftermath of 9/11 introduced stringent security measures. All this has made life on board ships so much more rigorous. Gone are the days when you could see a swashbuckling, drunk and amorous sailor. Nowadays you get to see glorified clerks, yes-men and puppets dancing to tunes of their masters sitting in plush offices ashore. It is said that in the good old days, the ships were made of wood and the men were made of steel; nowadays the ships are made of steel and the men are made of wood!
Some would believe that to be so true.
Ah! Enough cribbing. Let’s move on.
We finally made it to the port of Paradip again. After the usual we headed for Haldia.
Haldia:
The highlight of my stay in this drab port was the coming on board of my family. The company had permitted my family to sail with me on the ship for a short while. After a lot of formalities they finally boarded the ship. Needless to say I was absolutely ecstatic. And so was my family.
We headed back to Paradip for loading some more cargo and then we were off on another voyage.
Leg 3: Paradip ~ Singapore ~ Beihai ~ Guangzhou ~ Taboneo ~ Singapore ~ Tuticorin ~ New Mangalore
After our usual stopover at Singapore for supplies we headed to the now familiar port of Beihai.
Beihai:
Whatever thoughts of sightseeing we had of this city were chucked out of the ship as soon as we came alongside the port. The first people to come on board were the health officials. They conducted a thorough check of all personnel onboard. Are you wondering why? – well for Swine flu, of course.
After having been affected by SARS some years ago, China has decidedly improved its health regulations and quarantine procedures for visitors.
Everyone tested negative and were cleared off. But we were not permitted to go ashore. That dampened our spirits more than anything else especially my family’s as they had hoped to see this Chinese city.
So we hung on at anchorage and waited to sail away to some better port.
Our next voyage would take us to the ship repair yard. The ship had been in service for about two and a half years and the mandatory visit to a service yard was coming up. So we headed to the city of Guangzhou where one of the yards with dry-docking facility was booked for us.
Guangzhou and Drydock:
Guangzhou, I am told is the third largest city in China. We sailed to this port city and headed up river to the yard berth. After a couple of days at anchorage we were towed into a floating drydock. The ship was tied to the dock and the water from the dock was pumped out. As the dock was drained, the ship gradually sat on blocks which were placed on the floor of the dock. After all the water had been taken out, the dock labourers and ship repair staff came on board.
A ship out of water is a strange sight indeed. A steel behemoth exposing its underbelly!
Men scurrying about painting its hull, attending to its every needs, fitting it with new stuff, trying to make it new again. A drydock is a beauty parlour for a ship – trimming, demucking, cleaning, waxing, painting, etc. After all the service she has put in she needs some due tender loving care which she gets before being put back into use.
A drydock is a busy place. Heavy machinery everywhere, the decks are cluttered, the accommodation is a mess, workers are moving around here and there, electric and welding cables snaking the length of the ship, fire hoses rigged at various points, steel plates and fixtures dotting the decks, the anchors and chains strung out on the dock floor, the ballast tanks manholes are uncovered and the tanks are being inspected, the hatches are open, the engine is getting overhauled, the boilers are being surveyed, the propeller is getting polished, the rudder is being checked, the hull is being blasted and painted and so much more.
In between the crew try and find time to get out of the rut and go ashore and do some R&R and also some shopping. Needless to say, I got to take my family ashore a few times and they loved it. Their experience of China would now be memorable. And they shopped without break. Street shopping in the nearby city of Wangpo was a tremendous outing for my family. The local cuisine was great too. We even tried out some Chinese muslim food. The shopping malls are chock-a-block with shoppers and stuff on display is amazing. One could buy anything and everything. No wonder the ‘Made-in-China’ tag is so ubiquitous nowadays. No one could speak nor understand English but then shopping speaks its own language – the language of money.
All around the drydock many ships were tied up to each other – ‘doublebanking’ as it is termed. Some were inside similar drydocks getting attended. This place teems with ship repair yards.
I also saw a very peculiar sight happening everyday on the river. Some people dressed in colourful costumes and finery were traveling in very long boats called dragon boats, which were also decorated with flags, rowing to the beats of drummers. These boats would go up the river in a convoy and then return back the same way. It seemed like some kind of ceremony being performed. When I asked the locals about this they told me that every year in this particular month and this particular week they would undertake such boat rides to honour the river god. He said one could see this happening on every river in China. All this was a novel experience for me and I felt fortunate to have witnessed it.
At last the departure day dawned and the water was pumped into the dock to float the ship again. Once afloat we were towed out of the dock and then we set sail on our own for the next port of call. After a flurry of activity in the drydock and many days of humans tampering with its innards and looks, it was time for the ship to dictate its terms again.
We now headed for the Indonesian port of Taboneo.
Taboneo:
This port is one of many such ports dotting the Indonesian coast. Indonesia is a country blessed with natural resources. Many mines have thus been set up there to exploit all that nature has to offer.
This port turned out to be a dampener too. We anchored outside the harbour and barges filled with coal came alongside. Our cranes were used to load the coal inside our cargo holds. As a result of this procedure we were unable to get to the port of Taboneo and hence were stuck on the ship once again.
We finally made it out of Taboneo and headed to Singapore for supplies. Thereafter we headed to the Indian port of Tuticorin.
Tuticorin:
Very close to the southern tip of India, facing the island country of Sri Lanka, is the port of Tuticorin on the Indian east coast. Being sheltered from the Arabian Sea this port is fast developing into a major port in India. And it could get busier once the ‘Sethusamudram’ project materializes. Ships could then come to Tuticorin via the ‘Adams Bridge’ or ‘Ram Sethu’ as it is called in India – the mythological bridge built by Lord Ram and his monkey brigade – the ‘Vanar sena’.
We sailed straight into the port and were tied up to one berth immediately.
We stayed here for a few days discharging our cargo of coal which we had brought from Indonesia. In the evenings, I went out with my family and visited the famous Infant Jesus church, and our Lady of the Snows. Later we had some sumptuous south Indian food.
Before we left the port, my family got off the ship. School holidays were over and their short adventure on this ship also came to an end. But I am sure they carried with them memories of time well spent, new places visited and novel experiences. They flew back home and I was left alone on the ship. How I wished to go home with them. But I still had to complete the duration of my contract on board. So I stayed.
Tuticorin ~ New Mangalore:
Our next port of call was New Mangalore on the west coast of India. After we left Tuticorin we rounded the Cape Comorin. This is an anglicized term for Kanyakumari – the southernmost tip of India. One could say that the Indian subcontinent ends here. This short turn took us from the Bay of Bengal thru the Indian Ocean and into the Arabian Sea within a day.
The Arabian Sea was in no mood to greet us. In fact she was in her foulest mood. The South-west monsoons were setting in. This is the worst time of the year to come into this sea. The strong winds and the heavy seas will humble and overwhelm even the biggest and largest ship. Our steel ship suddenly becomes a tin can, tossed around, pitched up and down and generally thrown about in every direction.
One can easily identify a born sailor. If you see him tottering around on the deck with the ship’s motions then he still has a long way to go. But look at those guys who walk on the tilting deck immune to the gyrations of the ship. They seemingly have a balance mechanism which is fine-tuned to the ship’s movements. No amount of pitching and rolling can shake them. Here, we can spare a thought for all those fishermen who go out to sea in puny little boats made of wood, who get tossed around with the spray but still manage to bring back a boatload of fish along with their life and limbs intact!
Anyway we finished our business in Mangalore and set sail for China once again.
A couple of ports later we made it to Kosichang in Thailand where I finally got off the ship. By now the traveler in me just wanted to find a place called home and rest.
As one great person once said, I too can truly say, “I saw more than I could remember; and I remember more than I could see”.
Travelling is man’s innate instinct. He was born to travel. Some have turned this desire into a vocation, some into a profession, many more have made it a way of life and some bear it grudgingly.
Musafir hoon yaaro, na ghar na thikaana.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
My Canada visit
My Canada visit – Return of the Reluctant
My last visit as a Superintendent.
Leg 1: Chennai ~ Frankfurt ~ Montreal ~ Quebec ~ Baie Comeau
Here I was at it again, doing what my heart didn’t want to – traveling, to far corners of the world, and in a variety of modes of transport.
However this was a visit which was not unplanned but rather delayed. I was very reluctant to do this as I had returned from my previous trip just last month. And I really did not look forward to this one especially since I had recently shifted my residence from Mumbai to Chennai, a task which had drained me completely – physically as well as mentally. I tried to put off this trip for as long as I could but I knew I had to undertake it someday. Better to get it done with, I thought.
If there was any solace then it was in the fact that this time I knew when I would be returning.
Amazing what that small bit of information can do to your morale. No matter how the trip turned out to be, I knew that I was coming back for sure. This was a great relief compared to my previous trip wherein I did not know at all when I would return home. Even my wife and daughter were not as worried either, because of the promise of my return.
Also this time it was a short trip, just for a few days.
Chennai ~ Frankfurt:
So it was that I found myself boarding the aircraft bound for Frankfurt from Chennai which was the first in a series of flights that would take me to my eventual destination.
The flight itself was unremarkable. Everyone was sleeping except a few lost souls such as me. It was two in the night and the flight was more than nine hours long. I tried to will myself to sleep – all in vain, as I can never sleep on a plane.
So what now?
But this time I was geared up for the long flights. I had with me a book, not just any ordinary book, but Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix!
I had discovered the charm, the romance, the adventure and the magnetic thrill of the Harry Potter series some months ago. It all started off when I walked into our neighborhood library along with my daughter and wife. We were selecting books to take home for reading. My wife had her ‘Good-Housekeeping’, ‘Health’, ‘Prevention’, etc., magazines section all for herself. My daughter was nose-deep in comics. And I was looking at the fiction/non-fiction books. And right there, in front of me, was an entire shelf full of Harry Potter books kept along with the ‘Lord of the Ring’ series, Eragon and other books of fantasy.
At first I dismissed them. They are a series of seven books in all, some of them thick enough to last many, many nights of reading. I did not fancy spending that much time, nor did I think I had that much patience to go through them all. More importantly, I did not want to leave any story unfinished either. Besides, I had seen the first three movies, which I had liked considerably. Since I knew the initial stories I thought there would not be any fun in reading them over again. Well, I would be proved wrong!
My wife saw me hesitantly eyeing the books and suggested that I try one. If I did not like it I could always return it. That’s what libraries are for, aren’t they? You take a book, read it and return it. Even if you do not read it, you have to return it.
Here I was, a grown-up man, finding myself holding ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ and glancing around sheepishly to see if anyone was looking. I took the book home and started reading; I could not put it down till I had finally finished it. What a story! I was captivated by the book. It was so much better than the movie! I found myself going back to the library again and getting the sequel. Very soon I had read four of the books in the series.
And here I was holding the fifth book. This one was big, more than seven hundred and fifty pages. But then I was hooked. And I had a long way to travel, (a small voice in my head was repeating Robert Frost’s poem ‘Miles to go before I sleep………’).
Lost in the adventures of Potter and his gang, I reached Frankfurt in the morning and went about looking for my next flight – to Montreal.
Frankfurt ~ Montreal:
I could not locate my Lufthansa flight on the display board. After a sleepless night the last thing I wanted was a flight cancellation or a missed flight. I kept looking from one board to another but no luck. Then I remembered that this airline was part of the Star Alliance group. With that in mind I looked again at the board and sure enough, this time I found an Air Canada flight going to Montreal at the same time which included the Lufthansa passengers as well.
Another long flight.
I was well into my novel by now. Harry Potter was getting tongue-tied expressing his feelings to Cho Chang. I was hoping that by the time I reached Montreal, Harry would confess his love to Cho. Aah!, but that was not to be. He would have to wait till my next flight.
Montreal ~ Quebec:
This was a commuter flight. Although it could accommodate about 20 ~ 25 passengers, we were only about eight of us. The stewardess made us sit four on either side of the aisle. She said that would balance the plane. I tried to imagine how a 10-ton plane could be balanced by a few people weighing under 100kgs each – didn’t work out. Neither were Harry’s plans working out. And Hagrid was missing too! And to top it Professor Umbridge was getting on my nerves as well!
Quebec ~ Baie Comeau:
As I got into the baggage claim section of Quebec airport, I looked around and saw that I was the only one who had checked-in luggage. So I had to wait till my bag rolled over the belt to collect it.
Meanwhile the person who was to pick me up at the airport was waiting right outside seeming very happy because I had waved to him indicating that I was the person whose name was written on the placard that he carried. I would have thought it very obvious as I was the only Indian coming out.
When I walked outside the doors of the lobby, the cold hit me hard. I rushed back inside and waited for the driver of the taxi to come over. As soon as it came closer to the entrance I ran to it and shut myself in.
The drive to Baie-Comeau would take about five hours, as if I needed another journey. I had by now traveled for almost thirty hours and I was ready to drop dead.
The driver tried his best to keep me awake by regaling his life stories but I dozed off and awoke only when we had come to a ferry station.
The ferry took us across the Saguenay River. I promptly fell into a disturbed asleep again and when we reached Baie Comeau I was having great difficulty keeping myself awake.
I got off the taxi. I had to wait at the agent’s office as the ship had not berthed yet. I had some sandwiches at the cafeteria and waited.
How many times in life does one have to wait?
People say ‘Life is a journey’. Well they are wrong!
‘Life is a long wait’.
For anything. For everything.
Before the moment we are born, till our death, and beyond. We wait.
Waiting to get fed, waiting to be attended upon, waiting for the journey to begin, waiting for life to happen, and waiting for the journey to end.
Sometimes we wait for death, in the middle of life. And invariably we wait for a glimmer of life when death is upon us.
Do we even know what we are waiting for?
Catherine-Zeta Jones asks Tom Hanks in the movie ‘The Terminal’, ‘What are you waiting for?’. With a look of a lost pup, he replies ‘For you’.
There was definitely no Zeta Jones waiting for me here on this cold night. I was waiting, miserably, for a ship to berth, so I could board it!
Which eventually she did, and I did. But I had to wait for the gangway to be laid across so I could board her.
It was one-thirty in the night when I finally sat in the ship’s office chatting with the Captain.
Leg 2: Baie Comeau ~ Quebec ~ Toronto ~ Frankfurt ~ Bangalore ~ Chennai
I left the ship in the morning as she was to depart. I had to be driven back to Quebec from where I would be starting my second leg of this whole trip. As my flight out of Quebec was booked for the next day I would have to stay in a hotel for the night.
So began a long and beautiful road trip through the Quebec province.
The countryside was strangely beautiful. The Maple trees had all shed their leaves waiting for the snow. Just a month ago I had seen them dazzling in color. Now only the Pines and Spruces still had their greenery on them. The stark beauty of the naked trees stood out in relief against the clear sky and pleasant weather, which was very welcome at this of the year.
And it was the same man who had driven me from Quebec to Baie Comeau. This time he did not miss his chance and started telling me his life’s story. What a colorful life he seems to have had! Doing what he pleased, going where he wanted. His ‘wish’, it seemed, was his ‘command’! Living life on one’s terms – Just Imagine!
The places we passed, the small towns we drove through were simply lovely. The houses made of timber were painted pink, green, and blue, yellow, red – they were so pretty. The road took us over the hills and at many places from the top we could see the St.Lawrence River.
It was a traveler’s dream come true. I felt as if I had entered a picture postcard, as if someone had stuck a stamp on me and posted me to a far, far away land. The undulating green meadows, the rolling hills, the sea on one side and we were driving through the middle of it all.
We stopped at a couple of places for refreshments and took on the road again. I was lost in admiring nature’s beauty and I don’t know when I dozed off because the next thing I knew we had reached Quebec city.
I checked into the hotel and refreshed myself. Later I went to the nearby eating joint – Sports Bar – had myself a Margarita and some great food amidst some splendid ambience.
Quebec ~ Toronto:
This flight was not very comfortable. I didn’t like the way the plane bucked up and down in the turbulence. And for the first time in my life I suddenly felt air-sick.
Motion sickness is a dreadful affliction for a traveler. I remember my mother suffering from it. Even a short bus trip would nauseate her. My daughter would get sick during long trips in our car. I have seen many sailors, the young as well the experienced succumb to sea sickness. Though I have been a sailor all my life I can truthfully say that I never really, really fell sea sick. The only time I feel sick is when I sit on a ‘Merry-go-round’! Now that makes my head spin. And it makes me violently sick too, though the merry-go-round doesn’t go anywhere! Talk about motion sickness.
And here I was feeling air-sick. Thankfully the passage was short and I reached Toronto in one piece, without throwing up.
Toronto:
When I reached the airport I called up my old friend who had settled down here. Luckily he was in town and we decided to meet up. I waited for him to pick me up at the airport and he drove me to his lovely house. His family was as thrilled to meet me just as I was to see them – after a very long time. The last time I had seen his daughter she was just a baby, now she was turning out to be a pretty young girl. And also, now there was a new addition to the family.
We spent some good moments reminiscing about our college days and the carefree life we had lived back then. We talked and talked, ate and talked, took some snaps and talked. And then we talked more. I wish I had had more time to spend with them. Ahh!.....wishes!
I bade them farewell with a very heavy heart not knowing when I would meet them again. Canada is far from India. They say distances have grown shorter in this age, but I disagree, for I am a weary traveler. What wouldn’t I give to have Scotty beam me up!
Toronto ~ Frankfurt:
For once in my life I did not notice the flying time or the time flying by as I was absorbed totally by Harry and his adventures. The book had gripped me. It was as if I had put on Harry’s Invisibility cloak and was wandering through the grounds of Hogwart’s along with Harry, Hermoine and Ron! J.K.Rowling had cast the ‘Imperio’ spell on me and I was bewitched and bedazzled by the book. I was in the midst of animaguses (or is it animagi?), the dementors, the death-eaters, the thestrals, the boggarts, witches and wizards.
I was literally spellbound.
Bangalore:
Or Bengaluru as it is called now.
As I was waiting for my next flight, I was convinced of three things – one, travelling had ceased to fascinate me; two, I hated Professor Umbridge; three, Bengaluru airport is boring.
I had finished reading the book. I could not wait to lay my hands on the next one. And here I was sitting in a newly built but otherwise dull airport in the middle of the night.
I looked around and some sights greeted me - Sights which I find are becoming very commonplace nowadays in any Indian airport – techies with their laptops, some catching up on some pending project; some indulging in chat and IM; and some simply showing off. Welcome to the new India!
There used to be a time when you would see many travelers bent over some book or the other. Nowadays it is usually a laptop and more often than not, a mobile phone. The latter has virtually taken over our lives. Nine out of ten people have a phone glued to their ear. Very often one sees people talking to themselves. Well, look again – they would be talking on a ‘hands-free’ mode phone.
As for me, I like my books. I looked around in vain for a bookshop in the airport. I wish airports had a circulating library system. You could borrow a book in any airport and return it at some other airport. Not free, of course not.
I have always loved books.
Back in my childhood, I was a regular at my local library. I would read every comic book that I could lay my hands on – starting with the Amar Chitra Katha’s – comics on Mythology, Indian freedom fighters, Spiritual leaders, Jataka tales, Tenali Raman stories, the Mughal emperors, etc. – ah the list was endless.
I even went through the Beetle Baileys, Beau peep and his capers in the French legion, Sad Sack, the comic duo Laurel and Hardy, Tarzan and his son Korak, the entire generations of the Phantom - the ghost who walks, Mandrake the magician and his friend Lothar, Flash Gordon, and many, many more.
And who can forget Tintin and his friends Capt.Haddock, Prof.Calculus, Tintin’s dog Snowy, Bianca Castafiore, Col.Alcazar, the twins Thomson and Thompson and the scheming Rastopopoulos.
Then there were the inimitable Gauls – Asterix, Obelix, Dogmatix, Vitalstatistix, (wow, there were so many of the ‘ix’ characters, I can’t remember them all).
Later on, I read books which had less of pictures and more of content – Chandamama, Target (I used to subscribe to this one and await every monthly issue eagerly).
This led me to the Enid Blyton series – The Famous Five, The Secret Seven, The Three Investigators, and so on.
Later in my teens, I grew up on the Hardy boys, Frank and his brother with their friend Chet. I also read every book of Nancy Drew and had a secret crush on her. What a girl! There were many nights when I had dreamt of being her boyfriend, and how I envied Ned.
I finally graduated to fiction books, running through the range of authors in mysteries, thrillers, detective stories, drama, etc.
And then I discovered P.G.Wodehouse – who changed my perspective on language. It was from his books that I learnt the subtleties of humour and the potential of language in sarcasm.
Here I must add that my reading habits were thoroughly encouraged by my family. In those days when the computer was just a contraption in Isaac Asimov novels and television programming was at very nascent stages, books were a great source of entertainment and knowledge. Later on the video parlours caught up with the young crowd. In the late 80’s cable TV took off and then the 90’s saw the computer obliterating every other form of past time indulged by kids.
And now it was the mobile phone.
Wonder what it will be next?
Bengaluru ~ Chennai:
I couldn’t believe I was in the final leg of my tireless journey, a seemingly never ending one. Thankfully this was a short one too. All my travails of the past travel were slowly forgotten to be replaced by only memories - memories of having seeing new places, meeting new people and old friends, experiencing adventures, some exciting, others not so.
Chennai:
Home sweet home. At last!
Epilogue:
Wanderlust!
The dictionary defines it as ‘a desire to travel’.
And I know it does not apply to me, not anymore. I lost it long ago. What does apply to me is a word that defines mindless traveling sans desire? - Whatever that is.
Travel of any kind is never boring, only tiring – and only if you want it to be. And I am tired of traveling.
Some are born travelers. Others learn to travel. I have been both.
Ah! If only I had a wizard’s broomstick I could zip through time and make my travel more comfortable. Of course I would have a business class seat fitted on the broom – by casting a spell, obviously! On second thoughts, I think I would prefer the flue powder or the portkey! They are faster.
But imagine, just imagine the thrill of driving Ron’s father’s enchanted car!
There you have it – the traveller’s bug. Once bitten never shy.
MUSAFIR HOON YAARON!
My last visit as a Superintendent.
Leg 1: Chennai ~ Frankfurt ~ Montreal ~ Quebec ~ Baie Comeau
Here I was at it again, doing what my heart didn’t want to – traveling, to far corners of the world, and in a variety of modes of transport.
However this was a visit which was not unplanned but rather delayed. I was very reluctant to do this as I had returned from my previous trip just last month. And I really did not look forward to this one especially since I had recently shifted my residence from Mumbai to Chennai, a task which had drained me completely – physically as well as mentally. I tried to put off this trip for as long as I could but I knew I had to undertake it someday. Better to get it done with, I thought.
If there was any solace then it was in the fact that this time I knew when I would be returning.
Amazing what that small bit of information can do to your morale. No matter how the trip turned out to be, I knew that I was coming back for sure. This was a great relief compared to my previous trip wherein I did not know at all when I would return home. Even my wife and daughter were not as worried either, because of the promise of my return.
Also this time it was a short trip, just for a few days.
Chennai ~ Frankfurt:
So it was that I found myself boarding the aircraft bound for Frankfurt from Chennai which was the first in a series of flights that would take me to my eventual destination.
The flight itself was unremarkable. Everyone was sleeping except a few lost souls such as me. It was two in the night and the flight was more than nine hours long. I tried to will myself to sleep – all in vain, as I can never sleep on a plane.
So what now?
But this time I was geared up for the long flights. I had with me a book, not just any ordinary book, but Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix!
I had discovered the charm, the romance, the adventure and the magnetic thrill of the Harry Potter series some months ago. It all started off when I walked into our neighborhood library along with my daughter and wife. We were selecting books to take home for reading. My wife had her ‘Good-Housekeeping’, ‘Health’, ‘Prevention’, etc., magazines section all for herself. My daughter was nose-deep in comics. And I was looking at the fiction/non-fiction books. And right there, in front of me, was an entire shelf full of Harry Potter books kept along with the ‘Lord of the Ring’ series, Eragon and other books of fantasy.
At first I dismissed them. They are a series of seven books in all, some of them thick enough to last many, many nights of reading. I did not fancy spending that much time, nor did I think I had that much patience to go through them all. More importantly, I did not want to leave any story unfinished either. Besides, I had seen the first three movies, which I had liked considerably. Since I knew the initial stories I thought there would not be any fun in reading them over again. Well, I would be proved wrong!
My wife saw me hesitantly eyeing the books and suggested that I try one. If I did not like it I could always return it. That’s what libraries are for, aren’t they? You take a book, read it and return it. Even if you do not read it, you have to return it.
Here I was, a grown-up man, finding myself holding ‘Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone’ and glancing around sheepishly to see if anyone was looking. I took the book home and started reading; I could not put it down till I had finally finished it. What a story! I was captivated by the book. It was so much better than the movie! I found myself going back to the library again and getting the sequel. Very soon I had read four of the books in the series.
And here I was holding the fifth book. This one was big, more than seven hundred and fifty pages. But then I was hooked. And I had a long way to travel, (a small voice in my head was repeating Robert Frost’s poem ‘Miles to go before I sleep………’).
Lost in the adventures of Potter and his gang, I reached Frankfurt in the morning and went about looking for my next flight – to Montreal.
Frankfurt ~ Montreal:
I could not locate my Lufthansa flight on the display board. After a sleepless night the last thing I wanted was a flight cancellation or a missed flight. I kept looking from one board to another but no luck. Then I remembered that this airline was part of the Star Alliance group. With that in mind I looked again at the board and sure enough, this time I found an Air Canada flight going to Montreal at the same time which included the Lufthansa passengers as well.
Another long flight.
I was well into my novel by now. Harry Potter was getting tongue-tied expressing his feelings to Cho Chang. I was hoping that by the time I reached Montreal, Harry would confess his love to Cho. Aah!, but that was not to be. He would have to wait till my next flight.
Montreal ~ Quebec:
This was a commuter flight. Although it could accommodate about 20 ~ 25 passengers, we were only about eight of us. The stewardess made us sit four on either side of the aisle. She said that would balance the plane. I tried to imagine how a 10-ton plane could be balanced by a few people weighing under 100kgs each – didn’t work out. Neither were Harry’s plans working out. And Hagrid was missing too! And to top it Professor Umbridge was getting on my nerves as well!
Quebec ~ Baie Comeau:
As I got into the baggage claim section of Quebec airport, I looked around and saw that I was the only one who had checked-in luggage. So I had to wait till my bag rolled over the belt to collect it.
Meanwhile the person who was to pick me up at the airport was waiting right outside seeming very happy because I had waved to him indicating that I was the person whose name was written on the placard that he carried. I would have thought it very obvious as I was the only Indian coming out.
When I walked outside the doors of the lobby, the cold hit me hard. I rushed back inside and waited for the driver of the taxi to come over. As soon as it came closer to the entrance I ran to it and shut myself in.
The drive to Baie-Comeau would take about five hours, as if I needed another journey. I had by now traveled for almost thirty hours and I was ready to drop dead.
The driver tried his best to keep me awake by regaling his life stories but I dozed off and awoke only when we had come to a ferry station.
The ferry took us across the Saguenay River. I promptly fell into a disturbed asleep again and when we reached Baie Comeau I was having great difficulty keeping myself awake.
I got off the taxi. I had to wait at the agent’s office as the ship had not berthed yet. I had some sandwiches at the cafeteria and waited.
How many times in life does one have to wait?
People say ‘Life is a journey’. Well they are wrong!
‘Life is a long wait’.
For anything. For everything.
Before the moment we are born, till our death, and beyond. We wait.
Waiting to get fed, waiting to be attended upon, waiting for the journey to begin, waiting for life to happen, and waiting for the journey to end.
Sometimes we wait for death, in the middle of life. And invariably we wait for a glimmer of life when death is upon us.
Do we even know what we are waiting for?
Catherine-Zeta Jones asks Tom Hanks in the movie ‘The Terminal’, ‘What are you waiting for?’. With a look of a lost pup, he replies ‘For you’.
There was definitely no Zeta Jones waiting for me here on this cold night. I was waiting, miserably, for a ship to berth, so I could board it!
Which eventually she did, and I did. But I had to wait for the gangway to be laid across so I could board her.
It was one-thirty in the night when I finally sat in the ship’s office chatting with the Captain.
Leg 2: Baie Comeau ~ Quebec ~ Toronto ~ Frankfurt ~ Bangalore ~ Chennai
I left the ship in the morning as she was to depart. I had to be driven back to Quebec from where I would be starting my second leg of this whole trip. As my flight out of Quebec was booked for the next day I would have to stay in a hotel for the night.
So began a long and beautiful road trip through the Quebec province.
The countryside was strangely beautiful. The Maple trees had all shed their leaves waiting for the snow. Just a month ago I had seen them dazzling in color. Now only the Pines and Spruces still had their greenery on them. The stark beauty of the naked trees stood out in relief against the clear sky and pleasant weather, which was very welcome at this of the year.
And it was the same man who had driven me from Quebec to Baie Comeau. This time he did not miss his chance and started telling me his life’s story. What a colorful life he seems to have had! Doing what he pleased, going where he wanted. His ‘wish’, it seemed, was his ‘command’! Living life on one’s terms – Just Imagine!
The places we passed, the small towns we drove through were simply lovely. The houses made of timber were painted pink, green, and blue, yellow, red – they were so pretty. The road took us over the hills and at many places from the top we could see the St.Lawrence River.
It was a traveler’s dream come true. I felt as if I had entered a picture postcard, as if someone had stuck a stamp on me and posted me to a far, far away land. The undulating green meadows, the rolling hills, the sea on one side and we were driving through the middle of it all.
We stopped at a couple of places for refreshments and took on the road again. I was lost in admiring nature’s beauty and I don’t know when I dozed off because the next thing I knew we had reached Quebec city.
I checked into the hotel and refreshed myself. Later I went to the nearby eating joint – Sports Bar – had myself a Margarita and some great food amidst some splendid ambience.
Quebec ~ Toronto:
This flight was not very comfortable. I didn’t like the way the plane bucked up and down in the turbulence. And for the first time in my life I suddenly felt air-sick.
Motion sickness is a dreadful affliction for a traveler. I remember my mother suffering from it. Even a short bus trip would nauseate her. My daughter would get sick during long trips in our car. I have seen many sailors, the young as well the experienced succumb to sea sickness. Though I have been a sailor all my life I can truthfully say that I never really, really fell sea sick. The only time I feel sick is when I sit on a ‘Merry-go-round’! Now that makes my head spin. And it makes me violently sick too, though the merry-go-round doesn’t go anywhere! Talk about motion sickness.
And here I was feeling air-sick. Thankfully the passage was short and I reached Toronto in one piece, without throwing up.
Toronto:
When I reached the airport I called up my old friend who had settled down here. Luckily he was in town and we decided to meet up. I waited for him to pick me up at the airport and he drove me to his lovely house. His family was as thrilled to meet me just as I was to see them – after a very long time. The last time I had seen his daughter she was just a baby, now she was turning out to be a pretty young girl. And also, now there was a new addition to the family.
We spent some good moments reminiscing about our college days and the carefree life we had lived back then. We talked and talked, ate and talked, took some snaps and talked. And then we talked more. I wish I had had more time to spend with them. Ahh!.....wishes!
I bade them farewell with a very heavy heart not knowing when I would meet them again. Canada is far from India. They say distances have grown shorter in this age, but I disagree, for I am a weary traveler. What wouldn’t I give to have Scotty beam me up!
Toronto ~ Frankfurt:
For once in my life I did not notice the flying time or the time flying by as I was absorbed totally by Harry and his adventures. The book had gripped me. It was as if I had put on Harry’s Invisibility cloak and was wandering through the grounds of Hogwart’s along with Harry, Hermoine and Ron! J.K.Rowling had cast the ‘Imperio’ spell on me and I was bewitched and bedazzled by the book. I was in the midst of animaguses (or is it animagi?), the dementors, the death-eaters, the thestrals, the boggarts, witches and wizards.
I was literally spellbound.
Bangalore:
Or Bengaluru as it is called now.
As I was waiting for my next flight, I was convinced of three things – one, travelling had ceased to fascinate me; two, I hated Professor Umbridge; three, Bengaluru airport is boring.
I had finished reading the book. I could not wait to lay my hands on the next one. And here I was sitting in a newly built but otherwise dull airport in the middle of the night.
I looked around and some sights greeted me - Sights which I find are becoming very commonplace nowadays in any Indian airport – techies with their laptops, some catching up on some pending project; some indulging in chat and IM; and some simply showing off. Welcome to the new India!
There used to be a time when you would see many travelers bent over some book or the other. Nowadays it is usually a laptop and more often than not, a mobile phone. The latter has virtually taken over our lives. Nine out of ten people have a phone glued to their ear. Very often one sees people talking to themselves. Well, look again – they would be talking on a ‘hands-free’ mode phone.
As for me, I like my books. I looked around in vain for a bookshop in the airport. I wish airports had a circulating library system. You could borrow a book in any airport and return it at some other airport. Not free, of course not.
I have always loved books.
Back in my childhood, I was a regular at my local library. I would read every comic book that I could lay my hands on – starting with the Amar Chitra Katha’s – comics on Mythology, Indian freedom fighters, Spiritual leaders, Jataka tales, Tenali Raman stories, the Mughal emperors, etc. – ah the list was endless.
I even went through the Beetle Baileys, Beau peep and his capers in the French legion, Sad Sack, the comic duo Laurel and Hardy, Tarzan and his son Korak, the entire generations of the Phantom - the ghost who walks, Mandrake the magician and his friend Lothar, Flash Gordon, and many, many more.
And who can forget Tintin and his friends Capt.Haddock, Prof.Calculus, Tintin’s dog Snowy, Bianca Castafiore, Col.Alcazar, the twins Thomson and Thompson and the scheming Rastopopoulos.
Then there were the inimitable Gauls – Asterix, Obelix, Dogmatix, Vitalstatistix, (wow, there were so many of the ‘ix’ characters, I can’t remember them all).
Later on, I read books which had less of pictures and more of content – Chandamama, Target (I used to subscribe to this one and await every monthly issue eagerly).
This led me to the Enid Blyton series – The Famous Five, The Secret Seven, The Three Investigators, and so on.
Later in my teens, I grew up on the Hardy boys, Frank and his brother with their friend Chet. I also read every book of Nancy Drew and had a secret crush on her. What a girl! There were many nights when I had dreamt of being her boyfriend, and how I envied Ned.
I finally graduated to fiction books, running through the range of authors in mysteries, thrillers, detective stories, drama, etc.
And then I discovered P.G.Wodehouse – who changed my perspective on language. It was from his books that I learnt the subtleties of humour and the potential of language in sarcasm.
Here I must add that my reading habits were thoroughly encouraged by my family. In those days when the computer was just a contraption in Isaac Asimov novels and television programming was at very nascent stages, books were a great source of entertainment and knowledge. Later on the video parlours caught up with the young crowd. In the late 80’s cable TV took off and then the 90’s saw the computer obliterating every other form of past time indulged by kids.
And now it was the mobile phone.
Wonder what it will be next?
Bengaluru ~ Chennai:
I couldn’t believe I was in the final leg of my tireless journey, a seemingly never ending one. Thankfully this was a short one too. All my travails of the past travel were slowly forgotten to be replaced by only memories - memories of having seeing new places, meeting new people and old friends, experiencing adventures, some exciting, others not so.
Chennai:
Home sweet home. At last!
Epilogue:
Wanderlust!
The dictionary defines it as ‘a desire to travel’.
And I know it does not apply to me, not anymore. I lost it long ago. What does apply to me is a word that defines mindless traveling sans desire? - Whatever that is.
Travel of any kind is never boring, only tiring – and only if you want it to be. And I am tired of traveling.
Some are born travelers. Others learn to travel. I have been both.
Ah! If only I had a wizard’s broomstick I could zip through time and make my travel more comfortable. Of course I would have a business class seat fitted on the broom – by casting a spell, obviously! On second thoughts, I think I would prefer the flue powder or the portkey! They are faster.
But imagine, just imagine the thrill of driving Ron’s father’s enchanted car!
There you have it – the traveller’s bug. Once bitten never shy.
MUSAFIR HOON YAARON!
Friday, November 28, 2008
My Hyderabad trip
This was a trip that I had wanted to do for a long time.
It happened last year when I was on leave. My daughter’s school was closed for about 12 days and wifey badly wanted a break from the usual. All in all it was the perfect time for a getaway from the madness.
But where?, when?, how? …… and the other questions that usually pop up when you are planning a trip for fun kept popping out of every door in the house. We had decided to go, so go on now.
Where? – was the first question.
September is not a very touristy time and we didn’t have a clue which place would be best suited for that time of the year. We had so far seen zilch within the country – not to mention the countless number of trips we made to Mysore, Bangalore, Pondicherry and other interior parts of Tamilnadu. We wanted to do north this time – anything above Chennai is north for us! We had heard that during Ramzan, Hyderabad has a lot to offer – so Hyderabad it finally was. Though we had considered other options such as Rajasthan, North-east and Kerala, we finally decided on the Nizam’s city.
Next question – How?
By car was fine because that’s how we always did it. But this time the wife and daughter didn’t want to go driving 750 kms up and 750 kms down, so it had to be by train. But before that we thought it wise to find a place to stay in Hyderabad first. So we booked ourselves a hotel via the net. Got a good deal for a week’s stay. Then booked us all on train journeys both ways – again via the net.
AND ALL THIS JUST A DAY BEFORE!!!!
And if anyone now tells me that India is not up there with the others in the net-age I can tell them about it. We were surprised that one could literally take off in the middle of the night without any preparations and plan a holiday into the middle of nowhere just within the blink of an eye.
Welcome to the new India!
The services of all the providers were very good – another surprise. The things one can do with the mobile phone and SMS is amazing. All the providers gave us constant updates of our trip and throughout the trip via SMS.
And then in Hyderabad, we booked ourselves a cab with the mobile phone. Again we found the SMS being put to good use.
We stayed in Hyderabad for a week and thoroughly enjoyed our stay.
Most of the time we just relaxed. We had cable TV, we had room service. And we didn’t have a care in the world.
And then we went places…………..
The Ramoji Film City is an absolute must-see! One whole day can be spent there. The various sets that are erected are too good to be fake.
(this is yours truly in his vintage car at Ramoji Film City)
(Madmoiselle Malaika bungee jumping)
The Nehru zoo is equally good. For the first time in my life I saw wolves, rhinoceros, white tigers and hippos from close quarters.
(most definitely not me, maybe someone I know)
(wolves belonging to Phantom – the ghost who walks)
(the guide said this is a cheetah, could have been a leopard or a jaguar, not that I knew the difference anyway)
(white tigers – they don’t look so dangerous, but believe me they stink and roar as loud as the normal yellow tigers)
The Salar Jung Museum is fantastic. The stuff that is on display is amazing. It requires a lot of patience and interest to see everything on display.
The Nizam’s museum was so-so. But his wardrobe and silverworks that are on display are definitely worth a dekko. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to photographs inside the museum.
(view of the Nizam’s museum from outside)
(this is where his famous wardrobe is kept)
However all the above are far more interesting to kids and it was worth the while for my daughter.
The Birla temple is similar to all such temples in India except that this one is on a hillock and the view of the city from the top is splendid. Again no snaps were allowed.
The Hussainsagar lake is a nice place to walk around in the evenings including the parks – Lumbini park, NTR park, Sanjeeviah park that surround the lake.
The other main attraction for people like us from the heart of the tropics is the SNOW WORLD! It is a huge building that has artificial snow inside everywhere. They also have snow sledges and ski slopes and snow falls. One entire wall is for mountain climbing having footholes and handholes. One hour spent there is total fun.
(Snow world takes you a world away)
The very next day of our trip was Ganesh Visarjan.
Every shop, every mall, every theatre and just about every public place was shut!!
We ended up seeing the Ganesh idols being taken everywhere in trucks, tempos and all other sorts of vehicles. The public was thoroughly immersed in celebrations. Men, women and children with orange coloured bandanas were packed in all manner of transports. The eventual destination was the lake. Here the administration had arranged for immersion of the idols at various spots with the help of huge cranes. There must have been at least a dozen such cranes.
What caught our eye was the level of security that was deployed. Police and other law enforcing agencies were out in full. Many roads were blocked. All public places had metal detectors – the door-like ones which one has to pass through. Also we could not carry cameras and mobile phones at many places. We had to deposit them at counters and later collect them. All bags were checked – some places they did not let ladies carry their handbags too. Yup, it was done in full swing – just a grim reminder of the aftermath of the bombing that took place some time ago in this beautiful city.
And lastly the Charminar.
The Charminar is best seen in postcards!
(no photographs taken deliberately)
Firstly, it is difficult to go near it by foot. The whole place is teeming with people and stalls and shops.
Secondly, the surroundings are worse than filthy.
And to top it, it rained the day we went to see it. And the whole place became a big mucky, gooey nightmare.
Finally, one cannot appreciate the beauty of the monument when the surroundings distract you so much.
And then there are the sounds and smells which are so typically hyderabadi! “kya hona bhai?”, “Sadiyaan dekhon baen” “ape pehenke to dekho, ekdum heroch lagenga, allah kasam”.
Then through the din and the stench, the waft of freshly fried “mirchhi ka bhajiyas” tickle your nostrils and taste buds.
It was Ramzan time. And at every corner one could see big stalls selling “Haleem”. They had erected big pots which were surrounded by brickwork all around in a 3 m by 3 m enclosure. Inside the pot was a mixture of wheat and meat. And all the while it was cooking, one man would be constantly pounding the mixture inside the pot with a huge, long mallet. The end result – a sticky, syrupy, dough-like stuff which would be served on a platter with ghee and crisp fried onions. The taste – mmmmmmmmmm!!!!!!!!!
We tried all the different versions, the mutton haleem, the chicken haleem and even the veg haleem!
To tell you the truth, this trip to Hyderabad was planned more for its gastronomical delights than for its historic legacy. We simply had to try out all it offered for our taste buds – the faloodas, the biryanis, the haleems, the bhajias, not to forget the paayaas, the nallis, etc.
We left the city thoroughly satisfied. Someday, we told ourselves, we would be back to get more soul food.
It happened last year when I was on leave. My daughter’s school was closed for about 12 days and wifey badly wanted a break from the usual. All in all it was the perfect time for a getaway from the madness.
But where?, when?, how? …… and the other questions that usually pop up when you are planning a trip for fun kept popping out of every door in the house. We had decided to go, so go on now.
Where? – was the first question.
September is not a very touristy time and we didn’t have a clue which place would be best suited for that time of the year. We had so far seen zilch within the country – not to mention the countless number of trips we made to Mysore, Bangalore, Pondicherry and other interior parts of Tamilnadu. We wanted to do north this time – anything above Chennai is north for us! We had heard that during Ramzan, Hyderabad has a lot to offer – so Hyderabad it finally was. Though we had considered other options such as Rajasthan, North-east and Kerala, we finally decided on the Nizam’s city.
Next question – How?
By car was fine because that’s how we always did it. But this time the wife and daughter didn’t want to go driving 750 kms up and 750 kms down, so it had to be by train. But before that we thought it wise to find a place to stay in Hyderabad first. So we booked ourselves a hotel via the net. Got a good deal for a week’s stay. Then booked us all on train journeys both ways – again via the net.
AND ALL THIS JUST A DAY BEFORE!!!!
And if anyone now tells me that India is not up there with the others in the net-age I can tell them about it. We were surprised that one could literally take off in the middle of the night without any preparations and plan a holiday into the middle of nowhere just within the blink of an eye.
Welcome to the new India!
The services of all the providers were very good – another surprise. The things one can do with the mobile phone and SMS is amazing. All the providers gave us constant updates of our trip and throughout the trip via SMS.
And then in Hyderabad, we booked ourselves a cab with the mobile phone. Again we found the SMS being put to good use.
We stayed in Hyderabad for a week and thoroughly enjoyed our stay.
Most of the time we just relaxed. We had cable TV, we had room service. And we didn’t have a care in the world.
And then we went places…………..
The Ramoji Film City is an absolute must-see! One whole day can be spent there. The various sets that are erected are too good to be fake.
(this is yours truly in his vintage car at Ramoji Film City)
(Madmoiselle Malaika bungee jumping)
The Nehru zoo is equally good. For the first time in my life I saw wolves, rhinoceros, white tigers and hippos from close quarters.
(most definitely not me, maybe someone I know)
(wolves belonging to Phantom – the ghost who walks)
(the guide said this is a cheetah, could have been a leopard or a jaguar, not that I knew the difference anyway)
(white tigers – they don’t look so dangerous, but believe me they stink and roar as loud as the normal yellow tigers)
The Salar Jung Museum is fantastic. The stuff that is on display is amazing. It requires a lot of patience and interest to see everything on display.
The Nizam’s museum was so-so. But his wardrobe and silverworks that are on display are definitely worth a dekko. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to photographs inside the museum.
(view of the Nizam’s museum from outside)
(this is where his famous wardrobe is kept)
However all the above are far more interesting to kids and it was worth the while for my daughter.
The Birla temple is similar to all such temples in India except that this one is on a hillock and the view of the city from the top is splendid. Again no snaps were allowed.
The Hussainsagar lake is a nice place to walk around in the evenings including the parks – Lumbini park, NTR park, Sanjeeviah park that surround the lake.
The other main attraction for people like us from the heart of the tropics is the SNOW WORLD! It is a huge building that has artificial snow inside everywhere. They also have snow sledges and ski slopes and snow falls. One entire wall is for mountain climbing having footholes and handholes. One hour spent there is total fun.
(Snow world takes you a world away)
The very next day of our trip was Ganesh Visarjan.
Every shop, every mall, every theatre and just about every public place was shut!!
We ended up seeing the Ganesh idols being taken everywhere in trucks, tempos and all other sorts of vehicles. The public was thoroughly immersed in celebrations. Men, women and children with orange coloured bandanas were packed in all manner of transports. The eventual destination was the lake. Here the administration had arranged for immersion of the idols at various spots with the help of huge cranes. There must have been at least a dozen such cranes.
What caught our eye was the level of security that was deployed. Police and other law enforcing agencies were out in full. Many roads were blocked. All public places had metal detectors – the door-like ones which one has to pass through. Also we could not carry cameras and mobile phones at many places. We had to deposit them at counters and later collect them. All bags were checked – some places they did not let ladies carry their handbags too. Yup, it was done in full swing – just a grim reminder of the aftermath of the bombing that took place some time ago in this beautiful city.
And lastly the Charminar.
The Charminar is best seen in postcards!
(no photographs taken deliberately)
Firstly, it is difficult to go near it by foot. The whole place is teeming with people and stalls and shops.
Secondly, the surroundings are worse than filthy.
And to top it, it rained the day we went to see it. And the whole place became a big mucky, gooey nightmare.
Finally, one cannot appreciate the beauty of the monument when the surroundings distract you so much.
And then there are the sounds and smells which are so typically hyderabadi! “kya hona bhai?”, “Sadiyaan dekhon baen” “ape pehenke to dekho, ekdum heroch lagenga, allah kasam”.
Then through the din and the stench, the waft of freshly fried “mirchhi ka bhajiyas” tickle your nostrils and taste buds.
It was Ramzan time. And at every corner one could see big stalls selling “Haleem”. They had erected big pots which were surrounded by brickwork all around in a 3 m by 3 m enclosure. Inside the pot was a mixture of wheat and meat. And all the while it was cooking, one man would be constantly pounding the mixture inside the pot with a huge, long mallet. The end result – a sticky, syrupy, dough-like stuff which would be served on a platter with ghee and crisp fried onions. The taste – mmmmmmmmmm!!!!!!!!!
We tried all the different versions, the mutton haleem, the chicken haleem and even the veg haleem!
To tell you the truth, this trip to Hyderabad was planned more for its gastronomical delights than for its historic legacy. We simply had to try out all it offered for our taste buds – the faloodas, the biryanis, the haleems, the bhajias, not to forget the paayaas, the nallis, etc.
We left the city thoroughly satisfied. Someday, we told ourselves, we would be back to get more soul food.
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