I got published on the Boston Globe website!

http://www.boston.com/news/world/blog/2009/07/bangalores_grow.html

Gettin' (Bus)y with it

Ami and I decided to investigate the bus routes a few days ago. Since the new international airport has opened, several shiny new red Volvo buses have been deployed to help weary passengers commute the almost 30-kilometer distance from downtown. Joining the new fleet are pretty grey and pink "Suvarna" buses, green and yellow "Big 10" buses and and attractive Orange and Blue line buses that aesthetically cruise down a fixed city route. Why live in the city and not take advatange of greater connectivity that the government is trying to provide in addition to the upcoming Metro?

Our adventure began when we stood at the bus stop just outside our house, located in the suburbs, 20 minutes away by car from the city center. Although we had intended to begin our bus trip at 7 a.m. that morning, we were officially at the bus stop only at 11:40 a.m., give or take a little. Blame it on the roadtrip we had taken the day before that forced us to oversleep.

Semi-crowded bus after bus momentarily halted in front of us, seemingly mocking our discomfort in the heat, seemingly dangling a mode of transport before us that it knew we couldn't take as much as we wanted to. Perhaps that's a stretch of my imagination. But whoever said that wasn't allowed?

All of three route options continually passed by us: Marathalli, Silk Board and Hebbal. Finally exhausted, Ami and I took the most logical of the three options: Hebbal. Ten minutes later, we reached our destination, crossed over railway tracks and waited for Bus No. 2.

More six-wheeled monsters passed by, some Volvos and an ocassional Blue and Orange line one. Again, only three routes: Jakkur, Kempegowda Bus Stand and another one that escapes my memory at the moment. None seemed befitting, so we took one to the Kempegowda Bus Stand.

At this point you should know that our original destination at 11:40 a.m. had been the Shivajinagar bus station. From there, we had intended to use our combined navigational prowess to take a connecting bus to Richmond Circle. The circumstances were that the sibling had recently enrolled in a college at Richmond Circle and we were attempting to create a more mobile Ami.

At this point, those not familar with the terms should aslo know that Shivajinagar and Kemepegowda bus stands are the two main bus terminuses in Bangalore. Get to either one and there's a good, though not guaranteed, chance you will find a bus to any part of the city.

When Ami and I got off at KBS, we were tired beyond belief, dried like prunes under the Bangalore summer sun and aching for lunch. We headed to KFC. Thank God for small poultry mercies.

Between zinger burgers and sips of iced tea and Aquafina, we regained focus in our vision. And thought too. Out in the sun again, this time we took the underground walkway and returned unscathed by traffic to the terminus. Earlier, we had swung our legs over slimy road railings to get to the other side. Apparently, there was no other more "civilized" way to cross the road.

Before entering the walkway, we saw a sign outside that read something to the effect of "Speshul Chickan Biryanee." In the words of my wise sister, "You know there is something seriously wrong with the fare served at a restaurant where every word of the dish is mispelled."

The walkway itself was a whole different story - burgundy betel leaf juice unflatteringly sprayed on the walls when some moron lacking civic sense thought it would be a good idea to immortalize his saliva. Dirty floors, more than one hundred bodies in the underground space at a time. And a vendor trying to sell three handkerchiefs for ten rupees to a passing crowd. His marketing strategy...thrust the product into the face of the closest passerby. When forced to examine the cloth from such proximity, there's a chance they'll consider it. At least he would have got them to look at it. He didn't seem to be having much success with the tactic.

Back at KBS, Ami decided the sanest thing to do after our little sojourn would be to park herself on the platform that hosted the most comfortable buses - air conditioned, one seat per person, no "standers" - and go to whichever part of the city these dream machines traveled to.

"M.G. Road!" screamed a bus conductor in a white uniform. My eyes lit up and soon filled with tears of joy. Music to my ears - the name of familiar territory. Ami shared my sentiment. We boarded the red beauty. To confirm our fortune, we asked the bus conductor again if the bus went to M.G Road. "Yes maam," he said, blankly typing away at the ticketing device that hung around his neck. "Garuda Mall, Lifestyle...," he continued in the monotone. Ami and I tried to suppress a giggle and ignore the insult to our intelligence. Evidently, there was no escaping our blondedness.

We reached M.G. Road as promised and eventually made it to Shivajinagar Bus Stand. An autorickshaw from there took us to Jaymahal, to our grandmother's house, where clean water and warm food greeted us. Aah, to be home after a day on public transport.

Did I mention that we didn't make it to Richmond Circle? But the day was filled with giggles and good food. Memories that we'll look back on and giggle some more while we share more good food. Paul Dunn did say," Happiness is a journey, not a destination."

Take me by the hand

A late night conversation with mom and dad turned into an aha moment for Ami and I. They began explaing the background of a long-standing family property dispute during which cropped up names and details of decesed family members. Our great-great grandfather and who he was. Our great grandfather and his eventful life before he succumbed to an early typhoid-induced death at 32. He was survived by my 26-year old widowed great-grandmother and six young chidlren. One of them would grow up to be my Baba.

Turns out, my family has had a long realtionship with the Indian railways and their roots are traced back to a tiny village, if all it can be called that, named Tayalur in Karnataka.

Ami and I were already too curious. This past Sunday, the four of us took a roadtrip to Tayalur and nearby, Bangarpet. It was wonderful, to put it mildly. While the dust and surroundings were reminiscent of my taluk trip at IIJNM, the bigger reason behind the journey made it extra special. We walked through the railway station, which by the way has been really well-maintained, both the old and new part, that was inagurated only in June 2008.

Although we only left home at around 10 a.m., all of us were promptly hungry at 2 p.m., so we stopped for a sumptious lunch at a roadside resaturant. The vegetable thali with puris* and aloo** was perfect.

Next stop was Tayalur, the tiniest vilage I have set eyes on, tucked away on a road that offshoots from the Mulbagal road sign on National Highway 4. It has just one tiny 'main street' with cubby-sized stores that sell beedis*** and peanut candy. The rest of the village extends behind this road, into a series of maze-like houses and sructures, packed in close proximity. Chickens and dogs roam the muddy tracts, freely.

Ami and I now know where we come from. Tiny villages in Karnataka, a few kilometers from Bangalore. Our ancestors have worked hard over the years to provide future generations with a standard of living greater than one they lived through. We're proud of our lineage and more at ease in our own skin.

Next stop, the inner boroughs of Chennai, that trace the lineage on our father's side.

*Puris -Fluffy fried Indian bread

**Aloo-The Indian name for potatoes

***Beedis-Indian cigarettes

Below are some pictures of the trip.

A dog takes a nap in the waiting room of the Bangarpet Railway Station. Also seen in the picture is a wheelchair(?!). Before the days of chairs on wheels, the elderly and passengers who needed assistance moving around were carried in chairs with long poles extending from the frame that people would use to carry the seat.


The winding railroad tracks.

Huge boulders on the Old Madras Road. It's amazing how insignifcant one of these rocks can make you feel. When surrounded by them, you realize that you're just another person, passing these huge stones, your tiny car just a metal toy that it could crush instantly.

View from the top of the station.

Nieman 2009

The three-day 2009 Nieman Conference on Narrative Journalism ended yesterday. One of the most invigortaing three days.

I had no idea what I was in for when I signed up to volunteer. But to say that "it blew me away," would be an understatement.

From the moment Connie Schultz, Pulitzer-prize winning columnist began speaking at the keynote address, I knew I was in the right place. The Grand Ballroom at The Sheraton in Boston was filled with journalists and writers from The Chicago Tribune, The New York Times, Columbia University and The Poynter Institute. It would be hard to find a larger gathering of like-minded people who made a living from telling stories.

In the next 72 hours, I was swept away with Schultz speaking candidly about her family and how her personal ties affect her writing career. It was lively and upbeat, an uplifting talk. I heard Mara Schiavocampo, digital correspondent for NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams, talk about telling a story through video while making it sound so simple. And I heard Amy O'Leary, multimedia producer for The New York Times talk about doing the same through audio.

There was a "networking" lunch on Saturday afternoon where I munched on a turkey sandwich while in conversation with a travel writer for The Chicago Tribune. Did I mention that lunch was delicious, that came packed in a pretty cardboard box, complete with pasta salad and brownie? The writer was super nice too.

I had a chance to meet health editor for The Times of India, Kalpana Jain, who is a 2009 Nieman Fellow and such a lovely person.

I listened with wide-eyed fascination, wrote feverishly until the white pages of my notebook were covered in black squiggles and then sat back and smiled, partially happy about the fantastic event and partially to digest the four varieties of cheese and strawberries I had eaten during refreshments.

I can't wait until Nieman is back again next year.

On another note, Ying and I went running yesterday despite the temperature being all of 1 degree celcius, according to Indian standards. Bundled in sweatshirts and tracks, we pounded away at the pavement before we ready to call it a night. We headed back to my place, shared a dinner of palak paneer and naan (yeah, yeah, who's counting the calories anyway?) and then kicked back with ice-cream sandwiches to watch the latest episode of Desperate Housewives. Sigh...the simple joys of life.

On an entirely different note, I also made it all the way out to Gardner, Mass. and back all on my own today. That would be the equivalent of going between Bangalore and Mysore and returning. Sure, it's no major feat, but when the whole thing is planned on google maps using public transport, I think it accounts for something. Reason for going out to the industrial town was to interview the president of a federal credit union who was extremely warm and coopertative. Since we had to cut short the interview because of a "webinar" (I love that word) which she had to tend to, there's a possibility I may be Skyping with her in the future. Yes, I may succeed in convincing the president of a federal credit union to Skype with me to finish the interview.

I love the creative freedom(s) journalism allows.

In Transition

While walking through dowtown Boston the other day, the answer finally hit me.

I love this new city which I've spent the last few months in. The public transport is great, the people are friendly and in many ways it's like my hometown of Bangalore. There are no rigid rules, no one cares if you wear trousers or tracks to class, there are plenty of interesting places to eat if you only know where to look for them. So what was has prevented me from falling hopelessly in love with the place, apart from the fact that it's not home?

I miss the chaos! I miss the unruly traffic and blaring horns. I miss the pulse of a Southern Indian city gasping for breath everyday as hordes make it home, IT capital and more. I like to belive it actually enjoys it, all the attention. I miss the buzz at the local supermarket as opposed to the polite chatter at Trader Joe's (although I looove Trader Joe's!). Pedestrains actually have a pavement to walk on here and the right of way! Who would've thought such a think exists?! And the taxis actually take you exactly where you want to go without the question of "one and a half meter, madam." I must be dreaming.

All of the above used to drive me insane in Bangalore. And the newly-developed Metro, that is still under construction, meant that a slew of trees on M.G. Road had to be slayed. That hit a raw nerve. I was irritable and short-tempered because of all this confusion which I thought was completely unecessary. But somehow, strangely, I miss it now. I never thought I'd find myself saying that. I guess I need that madness albeit in small doses. A theory I will still firmly stand by.

In Boston, everthing is neatly divided - the financial district, the business district, south Boston, the harbor area. It's so orderly. I miss setting out two hours to get from Jayamahal to Jayanagar. And getting caught on the flyover when I thought I'd take a "short-cut" on the Koramangala Ring Road. Sigh, come to think of it, it's probably easier to miss these things when the exhaust pipe of the BMTC bus in front of you is not causing mild asphixiation. And the luna sandwiched between the manic Cititaxi and your car decided he would achieve world notriety by proving he could fit his narrow vehicle in all of three inches of space. Which he did, but then he knocked the sideview mirror of your car. And while you were busy muttering curses to his ancestry under your breath, he was already busy trying a similar feat with two other behicles further up in the traffic mess.

I miss you Bangalore and I like you Boston.

Above is Brigade Road, Bangalore all dressed up for Christmas and New Year - an annual, much-loved schindig.


Above is a picture of dowtown Boston by night.

Between two worlds

I just bid another goodbye to my homecity after a month-long vacation. I'm not complaining. It was a wonderful 30 days spent with family and friends. I got to visit all the places I missed so much in the past four months, eat a wider range of food as compared to a pretty much staple diet that I have as a graduate student and enjoyed endless late-moring snoozes and late-night conversations that lasted until 6 a.m. Two of my cousins got engaged which meant that I was right in the middle of all the action of zardosi clothes, trips to the beauty parlour, heaps of biryani and all the fanfare that goes into the the big fat Indian wedding. Or the pre-wedding celebrations in this case. After the lazy sabbatical, the verdict:

UB City gets two thumbs up. It's unlike any building/destination in the city. I love it for the oppportunity and feel it gives Bangalore. It gets extra points for the way it looks at night, lit up in soft yellow. Vijay Mallya is undoubtedly a maverick. And not in the way you-know-who says it! Nearby property shaped like the Burj in Dubai which belongs to Siddarth Hegde also looks interesting. Next time, I'll have to check out the Coffee Day Lounge on the ground floor.

There's so much fluff floating around in Bollywood. I diligently fed myself a number of Hindi movies that I don't have as much access to as I would like in a foreign country. Ghajini was alright, worth a watch, but definitely not worth the hype it generated. Honestly, after Taare Zameen Par, it's a disaapointment. It's an unfair standard, but an audience expects Aamir Khan to shine radinatly in every performance. Dostana was okay if you wanted to see Miami. But we all know that whoever liked it did so for very different reasons - Priyanka Chopra who was covered only for the sake of decency and getting past the censor board with the same applying to John Abraham. Was Abhishek Bachchan even in the film? The highlight: the song Bounce baby bounce with Shilpa Shetty. Corny yes, but an addictive tune. Don't even get me started on Chandini Chowk to China. Why oh why did I decide to advance book and subject myslef to three hours of pure agony? Some answers will eternally evade me. Singh is King which I managed to catch in between alternating bouts of slumber on the flight back, much better. Upcoming Delhi 6 looks interesting. I will publicly admit I'm waiting for Billo Barber, although the title makes it sound like a B grade flick about the local tress tamer, complete with sleazy men with thickly gelled back hair, combs in their back pokets, goggles covering their eye sockets and upturned collars in jazzy hues. It's hard to quash the die-hard Shah Rukh Khan fan in me.

The traffic doesn't seem as bad somehow. Either plenty of people were away during the holidays or they suddenly decided to be more courteous on the road. But it's still plain havoc when the police decide to get emperimental, turn the signals off and take matters into their own hands, quite literally. When will they understand it's a failing proposition?

Bangalore doesn't disappoint on the culinary front. In keeping with it's trend of new restraunts opening every couple of days, there's plenty for the foodie to sink their teeth into. One place in need of a serious fixer-upper- Frescoes. The place looks just the same, but the new menu is dismal. The harsh reaction could stem from the fact that they've removed my all time fave Spanish omelette from the offerings. Nah, that's just banter. Almost everything is fried, oily and tasteless. Service is sordid too. It was only the company that saved the trip from turning into a complete disaster. Infintea continues to be wonderful. Give me Kashmiri almond chai, steamed chicken momos and the delicious mozarella fritters that I mooched off of my friend's plate any day!

Bangalore hasn't changed drastically. Perhaps it was my naivete to think that it would in four moths. I didn't get teary eyed when I drove past MG Road, I could still drive my black hatchback on all the roads and knew all the directions. I even remebered the one ways. I could actually cross Cunningham Road too :) I guess that's what makes a place home. You're never a stranger. It's like it's been waiting for you, to welcome you.

Back on foreign soil, winter has firmly set in and snow covers everything for miles. It's been years since I saw actual snow. I'm reminded of when I last saw it as a ten-year old, skiing down a gentle Californian slopes and being thrilled beyond belief after being flung off a man-made hill on a tyre. The wind in my hair, the snowflakes on my eyelashes. This morning, I stepped out of my apartment and ran my finger along snow that had collected outside. It felt wonderful. There's so much snow everywhere, untouched. Looks almost good enough to eat! And the moment you touch it, it's like it was never there at all. Fascinating.

I'm told this is the coldest it gets. Not too bad for what I imagined. I think I'll survive my first New England winter.

Hello Spring '09! Bye bye Bangalore until we meet again, real soon.

Rajasthan and Rome now at home

Hubba Hubba! This phrase can be used in two ways in relation to what will be the topic of this blog. That is, either in the conventional sense which is the process of the heart being sent into flutter, usually after seeing a particularly gorgeous member of the opposite sex or as the Kannada word to describe a celebration. However, while there's a good chance that the heart is likely to be set aflutter with what I am about to describe, the reason is not a boy or girl. But there is no doubt that nonetheless, it all comes together as a fantastic celebration.

Hum dil de chuke sanam....

...to the dining experience called Rajdhani.

UB City opened its doors to the public earlier this year and hasn't stopped surprising Bangalore. One of its highlights I recently discovered was the Indian open-air retaurant, Rajdhani, Ek Khaandani Paprampara. True to every word, Rajdhani is the kind of place you should visit on an empty stomach. Turst me, you'll need the space.

*Dholi taaro dhol baje dhol baje dhol baje dhol o dhum dhum baaje dhol!

Rajdhani is a non-stop gourmandizing indulgence with a wide range of foods making a steady beeline for the steel thali in front of you. Don't be fooled by the tiny portion of each sabzi - they're actually the perfect size which ensure that you're full without being stuffed, while still getting a chance to try all of them.

*Dheel de de re de de re bhaiyya, is patang ko dheel de!

My only complaint may be that it was an all-vegetarian menu. But that's juts the sworn carnivore in me speaking. Besides, I understand the necessity to keep it that way. Meat may distract from the rest of the colorful, delectable food served here.

I won't spoil the magic for you by giving you all the details. At Rs. 200+, it warrants a definite visit. Take your tastebuds on a ride called the Rajdhani.

**Yeh hai India meri jaan!

You could stop here. But why would you? Avarice as a vice is so overrated. Go back the following day like I did (yes, "following", with no break in between) and head to Toscano, just next to Rajdhani. Refreshingly, it's not a place for pretentious food in miniscule portions coupled with prices that could induce cardiac arrest. Quite the contrary, it serves delicious Italian food, in well-sized portions with whom the prices are in sound accordance. The menu is limited, inclined toward the vegetarian connosieur. But nothing a little perusing can't take care of. I recommend the pizza Toscano.

Soft lighting, wooden floors and comfortable chairs of mock-wrought iron made for comfortable outdoort seating on a cool December evening in the city. Hushed conversation and a dainty gloden candle in the center of the table had me believe that I wasn't far from Italy. Service was efficient and so friendly. Our waiter smiled the entire evening. Call me a sucker, but that made such a difference.

This is the Risotto Al Funghi I ate. Creamy cheese blended with rice, served with plump mushrooms and green beans with slivers of cheese on the side. As the placemats at the restaurant read, Buon Appetito!

*Lyrics from songs which appear in the Indian blockbuster, Hum dil de chuke sanam, whose story is based in the Indian state of Rajasthan.

** Lyrics from an old Hindi movie (which I improvised) which translate to, "This is India, my love."

Mmm mmm good at F&B!

Second time round to F&B and I love it even more.

The restaurant on St.Mark's Road is anyone's guess of what it could be classified as. Is it a cafe or an elegant dining room in someone's tastefully decorated home? It's beauty proabably lies in its lack of definition, the lines being blurred between restaurant and rest haunt, much like the friendly outdoors that blend effortlessly with the bright interiors, the union made possible by large glass windows which are the only thing standing between the two. The transparent panes are great for a view of the green plants that sit pretty just outside too.

The food is the real focus. Who knew that the Indian offerings would be as good as their Pan Asian fare? I tried these noodles with peanuts the last time and they were delicious till the last bite. This time I tried the chilli cheese naan with laal maas and prawn biryani. So filling, so good!

The naan was fluffy and delicately spiced. The laal maas was spicier but the biryani toned down it's effect. Wash it all down with a tall glass of chilled cranberry juice and it's hard to make the evening much better. That's if you're not counting the great company, of course.