00:54 A.M, Bangalore, 2nd July 2009
Exactly a score and nine years ago to the date, she was born to a militant Tam-bram family in a Chennai hospital. But, of course, it was Madras then. Her parents named her after a famous symmetric raaga in Carnatic music. For all practical purposes, she was called Ammu at home. After toying with various names he had settled on Ammu as well. He was too lazy to think of something that sounded cool, imaginative and Tam-bram. Now, thinking back he knew it wasn’t the laziness. Cool, imaginative and Tam-bram was actually impossible. She had settled down in London. Like most years when he wasn’t around, he called to wish her. Like most of the time when her phone wasn’t around, he hit her voice mail. He decided to send her a text message. Inspired by friends who had brainwashed him on the virtues of predictive texting he decided to try it. He had just started to get the hang of it after an intensive one-on-one session with the guru of predictive texting. In his eyes there was no bigger guru. No better guru. He typed “Ammu” frantically. It came on as something else in English. He wanted to spell the word to add it to the predictive texting list. He hit the send button.
20:24 P.M, London, 1st July 2009 (Daylight Savings Time)
She had just done her groceries at a nearby Tesco’s. She was at home sorting the stuff when she heard a beep on her phone. He was an old friend. As old as the hills. She opened the text message. It was a very short message. In fact, it had just one single word. “Boot”.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Us and Them ...
24th June 2009 16:02 P.M
Me: hey girl! are you on Facebook?
Her: uhum … yes why?
Me: wanted to add you. I talk to you pretty much every day so it doesn't really matter ... but...
Her: added you
Me: how you doing?
Her: well … my brains being fried since the weekend
Me: but why?
Her: Have you ever had Brain Fry before? Like fried goat’s brain?
Me: I think I did ... found it rather rich and complex
Her: It’s like... mushy cheesy globules. I'm trying to get things organised and set up for incorporating soon
...
24th June 16:19 P.M
Me: hey R
Him: hey! Where are you now? Are you in Bangalore?
Me: Hyderabad
Him: okay. I got your card
Me: have you ever had brain fry?
Him: bheja fry?
Me: yes?
Him: what is this?
Me: Bheja fry? Have u ever eaten bheja fry?
Him: ille pa (No dude). Why? What happened? May be I have had it when I was really small, but I can hardly recollect. Not sure. What is this about?
Me: How do you think it tastes? Or how do you think it should taste?
Him: Maybe like molten meat. Slimy. But should taste pretty much the same.
Me: Same as what?
Him: Meat ... Mutton …
...
June 24th 2009 16:28 P.M
Me: Saala. kahaan hai tu aaj kal ? (dude … where’ve you been of late ?)
Him: Same ol' place bhaai
Me: London ya Delhi?
Him: Delhi. How is it going with u boss? Making loads of money I assume?
Me: not loads ... but profitable...
Him: Where these days?
Me: Hyderabad. Was in your Office in Bangalore the day before
Him: Political consulting or more services?
Me: I had come to Bangalore on some work. Political consulting and Govt. consulting only
Me: Ever had bheja fry ?
Him: Why don't you sell some services of the old company as well? Yes I have ... a few times
Me: How does it taste?
Him: Pretty awesome!!!
Me: Can be sold, but aap log ka cost bahut hai (you guys cost too much). Abbe saale, bolo ki kaise taste karta hai, describe it.
Him: value derived is worth the cost
Me: Hello! Not in this field. Here, value derived is not value till it is derived at 1/10th the cost
Him: Quite like Keema but with a very specific aroma and flavour
…
June 24th 16:45 PM
Me: Boy. I was in Bangalore but couldn't meet you. Maybe the next time, which is, on Friday
Him: Bad dosth. Alright come home. You know my place anyways. How are things otherwise?
Me: Going good... You ever had brain fry?
Him: illa (No) … Where did you have that?
Me: Why not?
Him: Never got a chance
Me: 'coz u a sissy who wants to have Chicken Biryani wherever you go...
Him: Where did you stay when you came to Bangalore?
Me: How do you think brain fry tastes? Or how do you think it should taste?
Him: Why are you behind the brain fry...depends on whose brain it is…
Me: I mean the ones in restaurants. How do you think it will taste?
Him: Hopefully good
Me: Arrey dosth!
Him: never tasted dude
Me: Thoda imagination lagaaa ... (use your imagination...). How do you think it will taste?
Him: You are not leaving this topic is it? It will taste yuck (disgusting)
Me: Okie. Married life is good?
…
25th June 2009 00:19 A.M
Me: Hi ra...
Him: Hi don
Me: Have you ever eaten brain fry?
Him: ya
Me: Yeppudu? (When?)
Him: Nuthan's brain is tasty. Suri doesn’t have a brain at all
Me: Serious ga cheppu …(Tell me seriously)
Him: Nope. Nenu NV neee tinanu (I don't eat meat)
Me: I know you are a veggie ra. How do you think brain fry should taste?
Him: How do I know?
Me: that's why I am asking how you think it should taste
Him: Nee yenkamma (No translation exists)
Me: Cheppu ra (Come on tell me dude)
Him: hmmm… Something like Vankay Koora (Brinjal Curry) … Kammaga koddiga kaaram ga (Buttery …. A little spicy)
Afterword: This is for her. We've known each other for 12 years after meeting in a sleepy, dusty, university desert town. We've "known" each other ever since we met at one of my Best Friend's wedding
Me: hey girl! are you on Facebook?
Her: uhum … yes why?
Me: wanted to add you. I talk to you pretty much every day so it doesn't really matter ... but...
Her: added you
Me: how you doing?
Her: well … my brains being fried since the weekend
Me: but why?
Her: Have you ever had Brain Fry before? Like fried goat’s brain?
Me: I think I did ... found it rather rich and complex
Her: It’s like... mushy cheesy globules. I'm trying to get things organised and set up for incorporating soon
...
24th June 16:19 P.M
Me: hey R
Him: hey! Where are you now? Are you in Bangalore?
Me: Hyderabad
Him: okay. I got your card
Me: have you ever had brain fry?
Him: bheja fry?
Me: yes?
Him: what is this?
Me: Bheja fry? Have u ever eaten bheja fry?
Him: ille pa (No dude). Why? What happened? May be I have had it when I was really small, but I can hardly recollect. Not sure. What is this about?
Me: How do you think it tastes? Or how do you think it should taste?
Him: Maybe like molten meat. Slimy. But should taste pretty much the same.
Me: Same as what?
Him: Meat ... Mutton …
...
June 24th 2009 16:28 P.M
Me: Saala. kahaan hai tu aaj kal ? (dude … where’ve you been of late ?)
Him: Same ol' place bhaai
Me: London ya Delhi?
Him: Delhi. How is it going with u boss? Making loads of money I assume?
Me: not loads ... but profitable...
Him: Where these days?
Me: Hyderabad. Was in your Office in Bangalore the day before
Him: Political consulting or more services?
Me: I had come to Bangalore on some work. Political consulting and Govt. consulting only
Me: Ever had bheja fry ?
Him: Why don't you sell some services of the old company as well? Yes I have ... a few times
Me: How does it taste?
Him: Pretty awesome!!!
Me: Can be sold, but aap log ka cost bahut hai (you guys cost too much). Abbe saale, bolo ki kaise taste karta hai, describe it.
Him: value derived is worth the cost
Me: Hello! Not in this field. Here, value derived is not value till it is derived at 1/10th the cost
Him: Quite like Keema but with a very specific aroma and flavour
…
June 24th 16:45 PM
Me: Boy. I was in Bangalore but couldn't meet you. Maybe the next time, which is, on Friday
Him: Bad dosth. Alright come home. You know my place anyways. How are things otherwise?
Me: Going good... You ever had brain fry?
Him: illa (No) … Where did you have that?
Me: Why not?
Him: Never got a chance
Me: 'coz u a sissy who wants to have Chicken Biryani wherever you go...
Him: Where did you stay when you came to Bangalore?
Me: How do you think brain fry tastes? Or how do you think it should taste?
Him: Why are you behind the brain fry...depends on whose brain it is…
Me: I mean the ones in restaurants. How do you think it will taste?
Him: Hopefully good
Me: Arrey dosth!
Him: never tasted dude
Me: Thoda imagination lagaaa ... (use your imagination...). How do you think it will taste?
Him: You are not leaving this topic is it? It will taste yuck (disgusting)
Me: Okie. Married life is good?
…
25th June 2009 00:19 A.M
Me: Hi ra...
Him: Hi don
Me: Have you ever eaten brain fry?
Him: ya
Me: Yeppudu? (When?)
Him: Nuthan's brain is tasty. Suri doesn’t have a brain at all
Me: Serious ga cheppu …(Tell me seriously)
Him: Nope. Nenu NV neee tinanu (I don't eat meat)
Me: I know you are a veggie ra. How do you think brain fry should taste?
Him: How do I know?
Me: that's why I am asking how you think it should taste
Him: Nee yenkamma (No translation exists)
Me: Cheppu ra (Come on tell me dude)
Him: hmmm… Something like Vankay Koora (Brinjal Curry) … Kammaga koddiga kaaram ga (Buttery …. A little spicy)
Afterword: This is for her. We've known each other for 12 years after meeting in a sleepy, dusty, university desert town. We've "known" each other ever since we met at one of my Best Friend's wedding
Sunday, June 21, 2009
The Wonder Years
It was the summer of 1999. He was returning to university to start his third year. As he got onto the train and said goodbye to his folks he realized the enormity of the task that lay ahead. The 3rd year was a make-or-break year. One delved into course work that one would end up majoring in. His mind, however, was occupied with something of far greater import. He was running to become the University President. He had to win. Having alternated between being a complete a$$h0!e and a total recluse for the better part of the first 2 years, he had his task cut out. But, he was a fighter and he fancied his chances. It didn’t matter that most people thought he was a headstrong moron. He trusted his team. He had a great team of friends and they were a great team of strategists. His head was racing. Manifesto. Votes. Campaign debates. Speeches. Waking up in the wee hours of the morning as he reached Hazrat Nizamuddin Station, he realized that the luggage which had his best clothes was stolen. Things could have been worse. His other bag with his semester pocket money, his footwear and innerwear was still there. It wasn’t chained to the lower seat like the stolen piece had been. There must be a silver lining to this he reasoned. Maybe it was divine intervention. The Gods had decided he needed a new wardrobe. He had to look Presidential. An FIR later, he was shopping at Karol Bagh and he bought his first branded Khaki trousers. It was Olive Green. Spiritus from Louise Philippe read the label just above the right butt pocket.
It was 2009. It was not yet summer. It felt like summer though. He was returning home from Visakhapatnam. His state was going to the assembly polls in a few months time. His country was going into a General Election simultaneously. He wasn’t a candidate and it wasn’t University. It was better this time. He knew he was a great strategist and his client was going to win. His client had been building a solid foundation for the past 2 years. Medical Camps. Drinking water projects. Cricket Tournaments for the youth. His client was in this even before he chose to become a strategist. How unlike him in University, he thought. He got off at Annavaram, to get a pulse from the locals. It was one of his client’s weakest spots. He needed to eat first and still needed to figure out a way to get back home. Amma must be waiting he thought. He ate at the dhaba where the bus had stopped and tossed a coin in his head. He turned right at the main road. His search for an auto-rickshaw had begun. He loved auto-drivers in smaller towns. The driver’s name was Sreenu. Sreenu advised him against going to the Bus Station. There should be a train to home in 30 minutes. The Train station is farther but you’ll reach home faster, Sreenu reasoned. He instinctively trusted Sreenu. He also trusted his instincts. They discussed about the Assembly elections. It wasn’t good for his candidate he thought. They need to limit the damage here. Sreenu dropped him at the station. He took a photo of Sreenu and his auto and promised to give him a copy should he return.
They hugged. They shook hands. They parted. He went to buy a ticket at the counter. The counter wasn’t even open. The train was to arrive in another 45 minutes. There was another auto-rickshaw at the entrance and he decided to sit in it for a while. As he sat in the back-seat he heard something ripping apart. He didn’t bother. These seats he thought. He hung around till the counter opened. He bought his ticket. Unreserved. It was just a 30 minute journey and he could easily manage. The train’s arrival had been announced in the Public Announcement System. They said it in 3 languages. Telugu, English, Hindi. Even in Annavaram? Maybe yes, he reasoned. It was a temple town and a famous one. He looked down to pick up his luggage. His luggage was intact. Nothing had been stolen. Something caught his eye on his trousers. Just below his zipper, on the right side of his trousers there was a long tear. It was more than 6 inches long. Maybe more. That was the ripping sound he had heard earlier he thought. He didn’t care to change. He had enough time but he didn’t want to change. He got onto the train. It was overcrowded. There was no place to sit. Hardly any place to stand. He perched himself near the wash basin and strained himself to look at the label just above his right butt pocket. Spiritus from Louise Philippe read the label on the Olive Green Khaki Trousers.
It was 2009. It was not yet summer. It felt like summer though. He was returning home from Visakhapatnam. His state was going to the assembly polls in a few months time. His country was going into a General Election simultaneously. He wasn’t a candidate and it wasn’t University. It was better this time. He knew he was a great strategist and his client was going to win. His client had been building a solid foundation for the past 2 years. Medical Camps. Drinking water projects. Cricket Tournaments for the youth. His client was in this even before he chose to become a strategist. How unlike him in University, he thought. He got off at Annavaram, to get a pulse from the locals. It was one of his client’s weakest spots. He needed to eat first and still needed to figure out a way to get back home. Amma must be waiting he thought. He ate at the dhaba where the bus had stopped and tossed a coin in his head. He turned right at the main road. His search for an auto-rickshaw had begun. He loved auto-drivers in smaller towns. The driver’s name was Sreenu. Sreenu advised him against going to the Bus Station. There should be a train to home in 30 minutes. The Train station is farther but you’ll reach home faster, Sreenu reasoned. He instinctively trusted Sreenu. He also trusted his instincts. They discussed about the Assembly elections. It wasn’t good for his candidate he thought. They need to limit the damage here. Sreenu dropped him at the station. He took a photo of Sreenu and his auto and promised to give him a copy should he return.
They hugged. They shook hands. They parted. He went to buy a ticket at the counter. The counter wasn’t even open. The train was to arrive in another 45 minutes. There was another auto-rickshaw at the entrance and he decided to sit in it for a while. As he sat in the back-seat he heard something ripping apart. He didn’t bother. These seats he thought. He hung around till the counter opened. He bought his ticket. Unreserved. It was just a 30 minute journey and he could easily manage. The train’s arrival had been announced in the Public Announcement System. They said it in 3 languages. Telugu, English, Hindi. Even in Annavaram? Maybe yes, he reasoned. It was a temple town and a famous one. He looked down to pick up his luggage. His luggage was intact. Nothing had been stolen. Something caught his eye on his trousers. Just below his zipper, on the right side of his trousers there was a long tear. It was more than 6 inches long. Maybe more. That was the ripping sound he had heard earlier he thought. He didn’t care to change. He had enough time but he didn’t want to change. He got onto the train. It was overcrowded. There was no place to sit. Hardly any place to stand. He perched himself near the wash basin and strained himself to look at the label just above his right butt pocket. Spiritus from Louise Philippe read the label on the Olive Green Khaki Trousers.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
The London Underground Blues ...
Heard on the Public Announcement System at London Bridge Tube Station: May the lady with the child not rush down the escalator please.
My conversation with the London Underground Security Staff, while trying to get from Bank to Monument Tube Station via the platform: My dear Good fella, as of Friday the 14th of November, you can not transit from Monument to Bank, due to escalator works. You need to continue your journey overground, but if you do wish to try this route then you must come back in 2 years.
And ofcourse today's random poem from the TFL web site
Western wind when wilt thou blow
the small rain down can rain
Christ if my love were in my arms
and I in my bed again
My conversation with the London Underground Security Staff, while trying to get from Bank to Monument Tube Station via the platform: My dear Good fella, as of Friday the 14th of November, you can not transit from Monument to Bank, due to escalator works. You need to continue your journey overground, but if you do wish to try this route then you must come back in 2 years.
And ofcourse today's random poem from the TFL web site
Western wind when wilt thou blow
the small rain down can rain
Christ if my love were in my arms
and I in my bed again
Monday, November 17, 2008
Being hit by a Thunderbolt ...
Dissolve To: Sicilian countryside. Young village girls pick flowers and sing. Unaware of Michael, Fabrizio and Calo watching them. One of the girls, Apollonia, is startled when she sees Michael. After an exchange of looks, Apollonia turns and walks away, saying something in Italian.
Fabrizio [In Italian]: Mama mia what a beauty
Apollonia [Something in Sicilian]
Fabrizio (to Michael, who can't keep his eyes off Apollonia): Oh -- I think you got hit by the thunderbolt
Calo (poking Michael's shoulder)[In Italian]: Michele -- In Sicily, women are more dangerous than shotguns (Apollonia turns to look at Michael)
Dissolve To: A small village cafe. We hear "Sicilian Pastorale." The owner, Vitelli, after yelling something into the kitchen, welcomes the guests, who are seating themselves at a table.
Vitelli [In Italian]: Did you have a good hunt?
Fabrizio [In Italian]: You know all the girls around here? We saw some real beauties ... (then, after Vitelli smiles) ... One of them struck our friend like a thunderbolt
Fabrizio [In Italian]: She would tempt the devil himself
Calo [In Italian]: ... tempt the devil ...
Vitelli (gesturing "put together" with his fingers) [Something like, in Italian]: Ah, I understand -- really put together...
Fabrizio [In Italian]: Really put together, eh Calo?
Calo [In Italian]: ...together
Vitelli (gesturing an ideal female form with his hands)
Fabrizio [In Italian]: Such hair -- such mouth!
Calo: A bocca...
Vitelli [In Italian]: Ah, the girls around here are beautiful -- but virtuous, ah?
Fabrizio [In Italian]: This one had a purple dress -- and a purple ribbon in her hair
Calo [In Italian]: ... a purple ribbon ...
Fabrizio [In Italian]: ... a type more Greek than Italian
Calo: Piu Greca d'Italiana
Fabrizio [In Italian]: Do you know her?
Vitelli (curtly)[In Italian]: No! -- There's no girl like that in this town! (Vitelli turns and enters the cafe, yelling)
Fabrizio (gets up to look into cafe) [In Italian]: My God, I understand!
Michael (to Calo) [In Italian]: What's wrong?
Fabrizio (returns, after Calo shrugs, to collect his things) [In Italian]: Let's go -- it's his daughter
Have any of you been hit by a thunderbolt ? Tell me your story ...
Fabrizio [In Italian]: Mama mia what a beauty
Apollonia [Something in Sicilian]
Fabrizio (to Michael, who can't keep his eyes off Apollonia): Oh -- I think you got hit by the thunderbolt
Calo (poking Michael's shoulder)[In Italian]: Michele -- In Sicily, women are more dangerous than shotguns (Apollonia turns to look at Michael)
Dissolve To: A small village cafe. We hear "Sicilian Pastorale." The owner, Vitelli, after yelling something into the kitchen, welcomes the guests, who are seating themselves at a table.
Vitelli [In Italian]: Did you have a good hunt?
Fabrizio [In Italian]: You know all the girls around here? We saw some real beauties ... (then, after Vitelli smiles) ... One of them struck our friend like a thunderbolt
Fabrizio [In Italian]: She would tempt the devil himself
Calo [In Italian]: ... tempt the devil ...
Vitelli (gesturing "put together" with his fingers) [Something like, in Italian]: Ah, I understand -- really put together...
Fabrizio [In Italian]: Really put together, eh Calo?
Calo [In Italian]: ...together
Vitelli (gesturing an ideal female form with his hands)
Fabrizio [In Italian]: Such hair -- such mouth!
Calo: A bocca...
Vitelli [In Italian]: Ah, the girls around here are beautiful -- but virtuous, ah?
Fabrizio [In Italian]: This one had a purple dress -- and a purple ribbon in her hair
Calo [In Italian]: ... a purple ribbon ...
Fabrizio [In Italian]: ... a type more Greek than Italian
Calo: Piu Greca d'Italiana
Fabrizio [In Italian]: Do you know her?
Vitelli (curtly)[In Italian]: No! -- There's no girl like that in this town! (Vitelli turns and enters the cafe, yelling)
Fabrizio (gets up to look into cafe) [In Italian]: My God, I understand!
Michael (to Calo) [In Italian]: What's wrong?
Fabrizio (returns, after Calo shrugs, to collect his things) [In Italian]: Let's go -- it's his daughter
Have any of you been hit by a thunderbolt ? Tell me your story ...
Sunday, June 29, 2008
I failed the Tebbit Test ...
"A large proportion of Britain's Asian population fail to pass the cricket test. Which side do they cheer for? It's an interesting test. Are you still harking back to where you came from or where you are?"
A worried Norman Tebbit, a Conservative British MP, in an interview with the Los Angeles Times in April 1990 made this comment as he felt immigrants and their children from Asia (Pakistan, India, Srilanka and Bangladesh) could not show loyalty to Britain and hence would fail to assimilate with the mainstream until they supported the England team at Cricket.
In 2008, in the Euro Football final a bunch of Indians in Dusseldorf faced a similar dilemma. All of us wanted Spain to win because of the wonderful brand of football that they played and their total domination on the event by remaining unbeaten throughout the tournament.
The problem was that Spain was playing against Germany, a country that we were living in at that point of time. My heart wanted Spain to win and my mind was rooting for Germany. More than the loyalty that arose from the comfortable home and the great job that I had over the past two years, I wanted Germany to win because I wanted to revel in the all night celebrations that would have seized Dusseldorf after a German victory.The best Team did win and I failed the easiest form of the Tebbit Test, considering that India wasn't even in the equation.
A worried Norman Tebbit, a Conservative British MP, in an interview with the Los Angeles Times in April 1990 made this comment as he felt immigrants and their children from Asia (Pakistan, India, Srilanka and Bangladesh) could not show loyalty to Britain and hence would fail to assimilate with the mainstream until they supported the England team at Cricket.
In 2008, in the Euro Football final a bunch of Indians in Dusseldorf faced a similar dilemma. All of us wanted Spain to win because of the wonderful brand of football that they played and their total domination on the event by remaining unbeaten throughout the tournament.
The problem was that Spain was playing against Germany, a country that we were living in at that point of time. My heart wanted Spain to win and my mind was rooting for Germany. More than the loyalty that arose from the comfortable home and the great job that I had over the past two years, I wanted Germany to win because I wanted to revel in the all night celebrations that would have seized Dusseldorf after a German victory.The best Team did win and I failed the easiest form of the Tebbit Test, considering that India wasn't even in the equation.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
The borough of Eden
Readers are warned that this is my own spin on the etymology of Edinburgh and for the original etymology, one must refer to Edinburgh . Anyway here goes:
Edin: Eden; from the Garden of Eden where Adam and Eve were created. Eden is hebrew for delight.
burgh: borough; area, fortress, walled area
And hence the title of the blog. Understated and a city very much at peace with itself, it's complex too, like blended whisky, a place where the distant sound of those haunting bag pipes can so easily fade into the screeching sound of police sirens. Most people talk about Edinburgh during Hogamanay, the last day of the Year and the Scottish tradition of celebrating this day - a time of the year when Edinburgh becomes a wild party place. Obviously, the city has more to offer than that and it is with this conviction that I decided to write about the charms of this city.
Defining Moment # 1: The McCondom
"Scotland ... No English ... Ireland .. No English ... England ... English"
I overheard this at Jenny Ha's Tavern, on the Royal mile, at the table next to mine. I was drinking a glass of single malt (think it was Ardbeg) and couldn't help but smile when this young, cute au pair from Turin was trying to give the man who was trying to chat her up her take on who in the United Kingdom spoke the real English.
Jenny Ha's was also the place where I came across the McCondom. Condoms in vending machines of toilets is commonplace across Europe, but the McCondom was special. It was the first whisky flavoured condom that I came across and as I tried to understand the enigma of those blessed Scots, I couldn't help but raise my arms in exasperation at their cheek.
Defining Moment #2: Holyrood Park
Holyrood is not a badly spelt scottish version of wannabe mainstream cinema but an anglicisation of the Scottish Gaelic words Haly Ruid (Holy Cross). The Holyrood Park is bang in the centre of town and gives you the best views of the city.
The Hyde Park in the centre of London may be bigger and the English Gardens in Munich may be more aesthetic but to find such an amazing piece of highland landscape, unspoilt, right in the middle of the city makes me wonder at the amazing odds. The highest peak in Holyrood Park is Arthur's Seat, named after the legend of King Arthur, though, I think it is one of those urban legends that the Scots invented to keep this place untouched. As I climbed and watched the sun set on the city I couldn't help but wonder if there was a better seat to be perched on while watching the day dissolve into night.
Defining Moment #3: Graffiti and Shortbread
When you have 3 defining moments to choose in such a wonderful city, you end up cheating by clubbing moments. Edinburgh by far has the most charming Pubs and the graffiti in the pubs are equally charming. Picture this at the Blind Poet which quotes Churchill's I've taken more from alcohol than alcohol has taken from me or the Irish Love Ballad The greatest love above all other loves is the tender, passionate love of one drunken slob to another. As I hopped from one pub to another I couldn't help but writing more and more of such one liners and wondered how I had never seen one repeated even across pubs. Fascinating indeed !!!
I always thought Amma made the best home made biscuits in the world. Every summer holidays as she baked biscuits I'd come running into the kitchen waiting for her to get them out of the oven so that I could lay my hands on them. I wouldn't stop and Amma never tried to stop me. I would end up having far more than I could eat and would invariably end up skipping dinner. That day when I ate Scottish shortbreads for the first time, I was very much convinced that Amma came from an old Scottish clan that had settled in coastal Andhra Pradesh. The shortbreads came very close to Amma's biscuits ...
Edin: Eden; from the Garden of Eden where Adam and Eve were created. Eden is hebrew for delight.
burgh: borough; area, fortress, walled area
And hence the title of the blog. Understated and a city very much at peace with itself, it's complex too, like blended whisky, a place where the distant sound of those haunting bag pipes can so easily fade into the screeching sound of police sirens. Most people talk about Edinburgh during Hogamanay, the last day of the Year and the Scottish tradition of celebrating this day - a time of the year when Edinburgh becomes a wild party place. Obviously, the city has more to offer than that and it is with this conviction that I decided to write about the charms of this city.
Defining Moment # 1: The McCondom
"Scotland ... No English ... Ireland .. No English ... England ... English"
I overheard this at Jenny Ha's Tavern, on the Royal mile, at the table next to mine. I was drinking a glass of single malt (think it was Ardbeg) and couldn't help but smile when this young, cute au pair from Turin was trying to give the man who was trying to chat her up her take on who in the United Kingdom spoke the real English.
Jenny Ha's was also the place where I came across the McCondom. Condoms in vending machines of toilets is commonplace across Europe, but the McCondom was special. It was the first whisky flavoured condom that I came across and as I tried to understand the enigma of those blessed Scots, I couldn't help but raise my arms in exasperation at their cheek.
Defining Moment #2: Holyrood Park
Holyrood is not a badly spelt scottish version of wannabe mainstream cinema but an anglicisation of the Scottish Gaelic words Haly Ruid (Holy Cross). The Holyrood Park is bang in the centre of town and gives you the best views of the city.
The Hyde Park in the centre of London may be bigger and the English Gardens in Munich may be more aesthetic but to find such an amazing piece of highland landscape, unspoilt, right in the middle of the city makes me wonder at the amazing odds. The highest peak in Holyrood Park is Arthur's Seat, named after the legend of King Arthur, though, I think it is one of those urban legends that the Scots invented to keep this place untouched. As I climbed and watched the sun set on the city I couldn't help but wonder if there was a better seat to be perched on while watching the day dissolve into night.
Defining Moment #3: Graffiti and Shortbread
When you have 3 defining moments to choose in such a wonderful city, you end up cheating by clubbing moments. Edinburgh by far has the most charming Pubs and the graffiti in the pubs are equally charming. Picture this at the Blind Poet which quotes Churchill's I've taken more from alcohol than alcohol has taken from me or the Irish Love Ballad The greatest love above all other loves is the tender, passionate love of one drunken slob to another. As I hopped from one pub to another I couldn't help but writing more and more of such one liners and wondered how I had never seen one repeated even across pubs. Fascinating indeed !!!
I always thought Amma made the best home made biscuits in the world. Every summer holidays as she baked biscuits I'd come running into the kitchen waiting for her to get them out of the oven so that I could lay my hands on them. I wouldn't stop and Amma never tried to stop me. I would end up having far more than I could eat and would invariably end up skipping dinner. That day when I ate Scottish shortbreads for the first time, I was very much convinced that Amma came from an old Scottish clan that had settled in coastal Andhra Pradesh. The shortbreads came very close to Amma's biscuits ...
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