Thunder Road

One of the things I enjoy while travelling is meeting and talking to people. The more people share their stories, the more I realize there are so many ways to live life and to approach things. 

During my trip to Mumbai, I have met some very interesting people. Travelers, people with family, religious people, people who wanted to just drink and be merry, people who smile a lot etc. 

One of the most intriguing people I met is Rob. Apart from his many talents, it is his intricate life and the messy beauty of it which intrigues me. His passion for his work and hobbies is overflowing. Yet, he is a tortured soul, an artist, who is perhaps lost in himself and contributes to the confusion around him. 

People meet and part ways. And then, nothing happens. 

Meeting Rob has made me think a lot about my life. 


Reflections. 


As he lives his life, I see in his story what I am missing in mine. I can see what I should and should not do from his stories. If cause and effect do correlate, then I hope that in my journey, clarity comes sooner than for Rob.  

That is the thing about some people. They remind us with their words and their way of life, about our own, the best of it and the worst of it. It is like listening to Thunder Road or Big Eyed Fish. Rob makes me think a lot, of late, of what I truly aspire to achieve in the next year or in the coming months. 

As with most strangers who cross paths, I wonder if I will ever see Rob again. In any case, one of his stories is the inspiration for my latest painting, The Smoking Man in Mumbai. And perhaps, his journey as was told to me, will continue to inspire me in ways I don't yet know.


We crossed paths. 

Mumbai, Second Time Around

A month after my first trip, I returned to Mumbai. This time around, circumstances were a little different. So here we go...some stories.

The weather was a lot cooler. This time I have brought enough clothes! In fact, in my attempt to slowly get rid of all the things in my apartment, I packed a full big suitcase of clothes to give away. The plan was to bring the suitcase to GOONJ which has a collection centre close to the Westin, where I was booked into again by AMEX.

So many things happened, so many people during those 10 days, I shall try to recapture the highlights. Firstly, I have to say, I didn't expect to enjoy what I was working on so much.

A CONVERT

From Mumbai episodes

View from My Hotel Room

The whole project of offshoring to India challenges me in a way that I like. On top of that, I have to admit that our team in Mumbai impresses me a lot. Throughout my trip, most people I talk to complain about their counterparts or vendors in India. My experience with my colleagues have been different. This trip has really made me see the potential India has. If I was sceptical about offshoring, I am now a convert, a believer.

PRIVILEGED AND HUMBLED

One of my colleagues whom I have the privilege to work closely with is V. One evening, V suggested that I join his wife and him for seafood in Juhu. Since I have also been invited by Hay to visit the school where he volunteers, we decided to combine the visit and dinner.

Hay volunteers at the St Dominic Savio Boys Home two to three times a week. I noticed he left early those days during my first visit. So he started telling me about the home and showed me videos. I know most people would hesitate donating money for sponsorship for fear of scams. I am one of those people. So this chance to meet someone whom I can trust who is also hands-on in teaching at the school, is golden.

 

V and I left before 6pm by rickshaw to the school. I enjoyed that ride a lot. We past some interesting streets with V giving me a local perspective of it.

When we arrived at St Dominic's, we were led into a music room by Hay. There they were, the boys aged from 6 to 16. It was rather funny that the boys were clearly excited to see "a girl", and a small Asian one at that!

I think I caught some of the teenage boys blush.

Night ride on the Trishaw

We sat in a corner and Hay introduced the boys one-by-one. I was to find out which of the boys I was going to sponsor when Hay calls out his name. He, in return, should not know about the sponsorship. This boy is 13 and looked very athletic. He is small framed but I was told, he is very talented in music and does well academically.

After the round of introduction, V and I were treated to some songs the boys have rehearsed for Christmas. When they finished, they asked if they could do more. Such enthusiasm! Hay asked me to sing a song for the boys. They were extremely delighted. So I obliged. But what can someone who listens to old jazz share with a bunch of wide-eyed young boys and in a religious school?

I never meant "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" more than I did before those boys that evening. As I looked into their youthful faces, full of hope, where in the background were old music instruments, I truly wish that "and the dreams that they dare to dream really will come true".

Leaving the school that night, I felt extremely privileged and humbled. Privileged that I am able to contribute, however insignificantly, to that little boy's life. Humbled, by the enthusiasm the boys and Hay had shown me. Sometimes we worry, we complain...and yet, we are not the ones with the most valid reasons to do so.

Seafood @ JUHU

On a lighter and spicier note, the seafood dinner that evening was fantastic. We arrived at the restaurant, Gazali, after being caught in traffic for a long long time. Friday nights in Mumbai and especially in a place like Juhu, are happening. V's wife was ever so sweet and patient. She ordered some really good food. I am not one who is shy about eating with my hands. If only my fingers are as dexterous when it comes to the piano! With seafood, I process them like a pro. :-)

After dinner, we drove around as the V and Hay wanted to show me the homes of famous Bollywood stars. We took a short stop at Naturale ice-cream. Here we were, in front of Naturale where many middle class local families have their ice-creams. In contrast, you see just outside on the same street, a group of people who live on the street.  

I simply could not eat anymore. So V bought me Paan instead. Now if there is anything that I would not ever eat again, it is Paan. For Peranakan people, this is literally eating Sireh!

Later in the evening, V, his wife and I took a rickshaw ride where they dropped me at the hotel. It was hillarious to hear the loud motor revving as we approached the hotel lobby entrance. The security guards reluctantly allowed us in as I was a familiar looking guest, drawing some attention from people within the hotel.

BLING BLING

I fell asleep immediately despite my stomach wanting to explode with all that seafood. It was a long enjoyable day.

The next morning, I had breakfast with some people at the restaurant. I did this as a change from the first trip. I simply had enough of eating alone. So I changed my approach and mingled with different people this time around. My stomach was not feeling very well as I tried to concentrate on the conversation about the holy land and the Haifa fires. My companions were from Israel. 

I went back to my room and tried to find a youtube video on how to wear a saree. Later that afternoon, I was to go downsouth to meet a lady friend who has invited me to a relative's wedding reception. At her suggestion, I was to wear a saree.

The day prior, I told my lady colleagues about the need for a presentable saree. The girls were very excited! I sat and listened as they debated about what sort of wedding I had been invited to. Now, if anyone ever doubted women's ability to rational conclusions, they should sit with these girls as they deduced what colour the saree should be from the surname of my lady friend.

The girls took me to a shop with a good variety of sarees. We had the Choli altered for me. As I was about to leave the shop, the girls told me that I was missing the most important element of the whole "do". It was the "bling bling"! In fact, if the type of wedding I was to attend is what they imagined, I would need a lot of bling bling. So we went to a counter with a very impressive selection of bangles, earrings and necklaces. Gold, red, purple, green, blue...I love the colours! We finally agreed on a set for DKK200. Beautiful...now if they only weigh less...

Back at the hotel on that Saturday morning, I was trying to put together my "ensemble". That was when I found out that the Choli did not fit at all! I was already feeling a mild gastric. After soaking in the hot tub, I went to the lobby and asked for some medication. Then I took a short walk to Oberoi Mall to find a new Choli. Due to the growing pain in my abdomen, I broke my own shopping record.

Twenty five minutes. That was the time I used to buy a choli and walked back to the hotel. I decided to get some help from the hotel staff. A sweet lady came to my room and made me really pretty. I was almost shocked to see myself in the mirror.  :-) Apart from the annoying pain I was trying to conceal, When we got to the lobby, we smiled at each other as the men stared.

I was hailed a taxi. I showed the taxi driver the address I was provided by email. He spoke only Hindi. So I held the piece of paper in front of him and read the address. He nodded and said "chowpatty" and then drove on.

Amidst the heavy Saturday traffic, I tried to distract myself from the pain by thinking about some interesting people I have been meeting there in Mumbai. About 45 minutes later, the driver stopped and signaled that we have arrived. To my horror, we were in front of Juhu beach. From my recollection of the maps, Juhu was nowhere near our intended destination. Obviously, we had a language problem. So I called my friend and asked if she could talk to the taxi driver. As it turned out, he blamed the hotel for telling him to drive me to Juhu.   

It occurred to me then that the driver could not read and that "chowpatty" means beach. So we drove for another hour. During that journey, I took more anti-acid pills and the driver got agitated. He stopped somewhere in traffic and turned around. He demanded double the amount of what we agreed. That much, I understood. Not knowing where I was and seeing that there was no way I could find another taxi, I kept quiet and politely asked him to drive on.

After much dispute, the angry driver drove off and dropped me in front of a hospital. As it turned out, my lady friend's family owns that hospital from which that street derives its name.

We were promptly driven to the Taj Mahal hotel. The security within the hotel was strict. It truly reminded me of a scene from colonial times. We sat by the window and watched a navy parade across the street by the Gate of Bombay. Shortly after, we were welcomed by the bride's mother. I was told that she is a royal princess of one of the states. The newly weds were very beautiful. The women wore sparkly jewelleries and the men spoke with great confidence. As it turned out, both families were from the elite. I observed that even the little children had a lot of practice as they order the waiters around. I had an interesting time talking to some of the guests. I suppose, people got curious.  

I had to leave together with my friend. It took me another hour to get back to the hotel.    

I WAS A SICK SICK WOMAN

Saree

Came Sunday morning, the pain was getting worse. I headed for the lobby and asked for more pills. The sound of the Sunday band playing from the hotel restaurant distracted me. So I decided to have lunch there and watch them play. Nothing fancy but some oldies from the 60s. The band recognized me from the last trip, as I sang with them. They asked me to join them but I was really not up to it. So I watched.

A couple of hours later, I found myself struggling with chest pains in my room. So I called for the doctor. Before you shower me with sympathy, let me say, had this not happened, I would have been deprived of a chance to witness kindness in Mumbai.

The hotel arranged for a doctor who was the most soft-spoken lady, and surprised me with her willingness to prescribe the many types of medication. After she left, the hotel sent someone to get me the prescribed medication. I was asked to go sit outdoor at the restaurant to get some fresh air. You would be surprised but there is fresh air in that area where the Arrey milk colony is. I was most touched when one of the waiters I know, came with some warm water and my medication. Fuzzy feeling.... :-)

Then, the service staff ordered me some food. Following this evening, everytime I call the service desk, the lady would ask if I was feeling better. Tell me if this is good customer service or compassion!

GRATITUDE LOST AND FOUND

Came Monday morning, I felt terrific and was heading to work when I discovered I have lost my cardholder. This meant I lost my credit cards and danish work visa ID. Being me, I sat down and drew a mindmap. 

I listed all the places where it could be, I listed the channels of communication and the back-up plans. 

After calling the office to delegate some tasks, I sat with my computer and work through my check list. The reception, the taxi from Saturday, the banks, the HR department, the danish embassy, Oberoi Mall. I worked my list only to increasingly write-off one avenue after another.

The danish embassy told me that I had to apply for a reentry permit that would cost DKK1600 and up to two weeks to process. I cannot deny I was quite upset. I pay taxes like a Dane for the last 7 years, I never got my education paid for like a Dane and when it comes to situation like this, I am no better than a foreigner who has never been to Denmark. Anyway, such is the danish government's take on foreigners. I had also to make a police report in order to kickstart this application.

As I was waiting at the reception, the hotel GM passed by and offered help in the form of the Security Manager, who was to escort me to the police station.  They took a short statement from me and then I was driven to the police station where I sat for two minutes. We left with a piece of template to file the report. Connections count, obviously. Later, this manager returned to me with a police report filed. This was the time when I saw the real meaning of "jugaad ho jayega". A concept that I, as an Asian, is familiar with.

Prayer Card from The Israeli friend

I was already very impressed by the hotel staff. The next day, as I was back at work, they surprised me further. The Security team had backtracked and called the taxi driver. They convinced him to bring his vehicle and they searched it. Back in the car boot, they found all my cards! Can you believe my luck? Can you believe the dedication of the people at the Westin Hotel?

Last week, I packed some danish cookies and chocolates and sent them to the Westin Hotel staff. Gratitude. That is what I have for these people.  

When some people think of Mumbai, they think pollution, noise, harassment and slums. I think all of that but more so, the care people have shown me. You may say that it was because I was a guest at a hotel. But truly, you as I have, must realise that the care shown to me need not had been. Yet, it was.  

Notes From Mumbai

18th October 2010

The Malaysian Airline flight touched down at 11:30pm at Mumbai's Chattrapathi Shivaji Airport. I had spent almost the entire flight in a conversation with an older Belgian businessman who lives in Malaysia. You can imagine that despite my tremendous interest in our topics of conversation, I was exhausted when I got off the plane.

The air was humid and there was this musty smell all over. I was working out in my head on how to get to the Westin Garden lest my batterries run flat. My luggage arrived promptly. That was a good start, I thought.

I loaded my luggage onto a trolley and walked hastingly through the crowd, careful to follow the "prepaid taxi" sign. I had read earlier in the day that that is the best way to reach your destination and to avoid being taken for an off-track ride. I passed a row of money changers who called out to me. I asked one of them where the ATM machines were and he said there was none. I had a suspicion that he was lying. This was proven right soon enough. The ATM machine was about 10m away from the money changing counters.

I paid for a taxi and was given directions to the exit. As I left the building through the exit, there was a big crowd of people lining the exit in a half circle. This was past midnight. I was taken by surprise by the thousand odd crowd. What were these locals doing here at this time?

Proud that I was street-smart enough to sign up for a prepaid taxi and avoided paying 30% commission to the money changer, I hopped into a taxi hopeful that within the hour, I will be lying on one of Westin's famed heavenly beds.

As it turned out, my elderly driver was unsure of where the hotel was. Ten minutes into our journey of muddy roads, he stopped to ask for directions. I was too tired to be scared or worried. So I kept my mind occupied by looking around, trying to soak in my first impressions of Mumbai. In fact, of India, as this was my first trip to this magnificent country.

There in the dark, I saw taxi drivers sitting and chatting. I watched many tuk-tuks drove by. I noticed that many had dents on their sides.

My taxi driver returned in a couple of minutes. He started the car and told me "no problem". Having no choice but to believe him, I kept quiet and smiled. I was sure he never saw that. Not that he needed assurance.

One can never missed the sound of honking on the streets of Mumbai. It starts the moment the first car gets on the road. I suspect even after the last car drives off the roads, echoes of honking can still be heard. It starts all over again the next day.

We drove for about 15 minutes on a highway before making a turn. It was during this that I was first exposed to the highway slums. At the turning was an open space with people living on it. There were women rocking their babies on make-shift bows using cloth tied to fences. The men were talking while sitting on empty oil drums. Children played with the garbage surrounding them. Some were sleeping on the floor next to dogs. I saw a few more of such squarters during the remaining of the ride. Although I was touched by their plight, I was not surprised. It was not hard to imagine that Malaysia, at some point in our recent past, still had squatters and slums.

It was only when we took a turn from the slums of the highway into the Westin's driveway that my first shock came. The contrast of two different worlds was astonishing. That night, I looked out the window from my 23rd floor room and saw a line in the darkness, which separates these two worlds. I went to bed wondering how this city looks in the daylight.

Returning to Istanbul

Back in 2005, I had an opportunity to work very briefly in Istanbul. I fell in love with this city and have, ever since then, wished to go back.

This year, a friend asked if I could play tour guide and show him Istanbul again. I seized the chance and revisited my favourite city between Europe and Asia. Here are some pictorial notes from our August trip. Should I get the time, I will update with more details. :-) 

V Day Escapade

If there is one word I have to use to describe this trip to Venice, it is "Serendipity".

I recall waking up in the middle of the night sometime in January. It was unusually cold, even for Coldpenhagen. There I was, sitting in the quiet of the night worrying about where to go. You see, that Valentine's weekend was when my then new ex-boyfriend was to move out. It was tough for us both.  

In a desperate attempt to avoid being around while he moved out, I chanced upon the Venice Carnival. It is amazing how efficient one can be at 2 in the morning. I booked the flight, the hotel and even bought a costume for the carnival. I didn't quite understand why I bought that costume. I acted base don instincts.

That weekend, I sat at Sing Tehus off the walking street in Copenhagen, reading about the carnival and staring at the costume. I thought about how ridiculous I would look. What will I do with my black hair? I even joined a Facebook group just so I have the option to meet up with some other travellers.

Came 12th February, I was enroute to venice, chatting with an American mother who was chaperoning her boys on their first trip to Europe. She told me about the insurance business in Connecticut. I was already planning my first trip to the USA in my head.

Upon arriving at the airport, I had my first experience of very "friendly and verbal" Italian men greetings. Harmless but a big change from their passive and quiet Danish counterparts.

I took the waterbus to the "island". The Casa alla Fenice was a charming little hotel close to the water and the main square. Breakfast was served in my room. There was a corner where I could sit and read a little in the morning. I rate them quite high as the receptionist helped me with my wardrobe malfunction and with printing my boarding pass.There is also a nice restaurant right opposite.

I agreed to meet up with B who formed the Facebook group I joined earlier. He spotted me by the dock where the water buses arrive and mask stalls line the esplanade. We had coffee together. It was quite clear to us both that we had picked the wrong cafe. I had to help B order his coffee and cake by speaking chinese to the waitress. That was the first time I had a glimpse into how peculiar and fussy B is about food. I remember being skinny like him when I was choosy about food.

I could not tell if B was aloof or arrogant. There was something about him which made me undecided about spending more time together. I decided to open my mind. I thought to myself that perhaps the dynamics would be different when we meet up with the rest of the group who signed up on the email list.

Had I not been saddened by the thought of Valentine's Day and my then recently broken relationship, I would have joined B for dinner. Instead, I went back to my hotel. I heard jazz from right outside my window. It was a small band playing at that restaurant opposite.


I popped by and chose a corner table. There were mainly locals from out of town eating there. The waiters smiled at me with sympathetic eyes as they passed. It must be a terrible ordeal to eat alone in Italy?? The food was good. I love the fresh ingredients.

Later that evening, while B was changing into his costume for a walkaround, I bought myself a venetian mask. I had no idea how this was supposed to work, so I was relieved that B seemed more experienced.
We spent the rest of the evening taking pictures with strangers. Some with costumes and others, who simply wanted pictures with B's venetician lion costume. His head piece turned heads.

Next morning, I enjoyed my breakfast. Inspired by B's costume the evening before, I put mine on. It was strangely liberating as I wandered onto the little alleys heading towards the main square. Going incognito was exactly what I needed. An escape from my environment and from myself. My costume proved to be very popular with young girls and teenage boys. I don't think I have ever been photographed so much.

As I was posing with scores of others outside Basilica San Marco,  I was approached by someone with a card inviting me to catwalk on the main stage at San Marco square at 4pm. I was both excited and nervous. Just then, B messaged me and asked if we should meet up again. I agreed.






At 4pm, I stood in a queue amongst those who would catwalk on the stage. I was intimidated by how fine and well thought the costumes were. There were spectators outside of the waiting area waiting for us "special" people to strike a pose for photos. A group of boys cheered me on. One said to me that he liked my costume best. "Sexy", he said. I blushed under my mask. My moment of glory came and went. I remember being nervous. I must have spent about 5 minutes on that stage. I wondered if B saw me.

We finally met in our respective full costumes. About a thrillion photographs later, we ended up back at San Marco square for the big parade and drag queen shows. We finally had a chance to chat a little. I felt B was finally warming up to me.

´That evening, I was about to attempt another dinner alone, B messaged to invite me to a masquerade dinner hosted by a German hostess at a historical venue. Among the lined-up items on the program of dinner and dance, are ballet and singing by a castrato. So off we went..passing the Rialto and further. We arrived early and were seated with a young Italian girl. B and I started an interesting conversation about gender roles. He was somewhat intrigued by my Asian background and interpretation of gender roles in Scandinavia. Later, our ability to keep ourselves entertained with each other's opinions proved invaluable. We were seated on a table with some rather uninteresting company.

Still we entertained each other, saw some good performances and ended up joining the Venetican court dance lessons.

I woke up early the next morning as I heard some chatting outside my door. I heard someone approaching my room and stopped. It was 8:55. I was about to drift back into slumber when there was a knock on my door. 9am sharp. That was my breakfast being delivered as I had requested. Ahh the little luxuries of life.
 
I had a feeling that V day could be an ordinarily pleasant day..especially when I could again be incognito.
 
My phone beeped. An SMS from B. An invitation to be his Valentine Day companion. A walkabout, a hot chocolate in costume event at a hotel in another island and dinner. I thought about it for a while. Hesitant. But then why not? So I accepted his invitation. He was waiting for me outside my hotel an hour later.
 
We made our way to the dock. The carnival was in full swing. What an atmosphere! Have you ever seen the Heath Ledger movie "Casanova"?
 
Later that afternoon, we took a little boat across to another island. There we met a nice lady from Brazil, Luci. The hotel was grand but extremely quiet. For a big price, we were served some chocolates and a cup of hot chocolate. Leave a Malaysian, an American and a Brazilian alone, you can be sure we will seek more fun. Coupled with a curious french lady across from us, B approached the DJ and requested some tunes. We started dancing and bringing life back to that hotel. Some conservative older guests were not pleased. Doing the macarena helped break the ice for the the few of us.
 
Later that evening, Luci left us. A friend was made.
 
While waiting for our table at a restaurant, B and I decided to do the most touristy thing i.e. take a gondola ride -in costume. nevertheless.  During dinner, more debates unsued. As it turned out, we had a lot more in common than expected. After dinner, we gate crashed the biggest masquerade ball at the Venetian grand theatre. B's ability to lobby us into parties and venues fascinated me. An interesting man indeed. We partied to the wee hours of the morning and found time to talk some more as we sat on one of the hundred bridges.
 
We said our Goodbyes and thanked each other. I left Venice the next day.
 
Despite being broken hearted, V day this year was pleasant and enjoyable. Thank B!

A Little Piece of Sweden

Next to Bolmen, a lake in Sweden, is a little town called Jönkoping. About two hours drive from Copenhagen, this little piece of Sweden makes a good weekend getaway. It is also a cheaper alternative to a full-fledge weekend away somewhere else in Europe. The ticket to cross the Øresund bridge is less than DKK300.

Summer houses are spread out along the lake and are available for rent. Naturally, they are a lot more popular in the summer when one can swim in the lake, barbeque on the lawn and canoeing.

With a car, driving to surrounding small towns to join the locals for the summer fest (small party) can also be enjoyable. The drive takes about 10-15 minutes through forests and farmlands. Usually there is barbeque and lots of beers at the parties. Unfortunately, they also come with local amateur bands. But hey, that's part of the charm!

Another specialty nearby in Småland is Tiraholm Fish. You can drive around the lake to Tidaholm or take your car on the ferry. Once there, you can pick and choose if you fancy the eel or the fresh fish from the lake.

Småland has an interesting history. The novels by Vilhelm Moberg, The Emigrants make interesting reading while taking it easy here in Småland. The novels follow the stories of a group of poor Swedes who immigrated to Minnesota for a better life in the mid 19th century.