Tall Stories

The skyline of Kuala Lumpur as seen by an ant, while walking along the rain-water drain near KL Towers. Sometimes its useful to see the viewpoint of your fellow creatures of the planet too !

A Prayer for Peace

வெள்ளை பூக்கள் உலகம் எங்கும் மலர்கவே
விடியும் பூமி அமைதிக்காக விடியவே

மண்மேல் மஞ்சள் வெளிச்சம் விழுகவே
மலரே சோம்பல் முறித்து எழுகவே...

- கவிஞர் வைரமுத்து (Poet Vairamuthu)


Let pure white flowers fill our world
And humanity wake up free of strife

Let the hues of dawn grace the land
And the blossoms spring to new life.

கலைமகள் மாலை.. அரங்கேற்ற வேளை..

The Naatya Arengetram of Ms.Jayanthi at Nafa, Singapore on 26 Mar 2006, which was rightly applauded as more of a full fledged performance than Arengetram.
The musicians performing that evening included my flute Guru Mr. Ghanavenothan Retnam, and some amazing performers from Nritralaya.

Relaxing for Eternity

Spy goggles

A Strange Loneliness

Each of us longing for a warm hug

Curves inspire

Writer's Missiles

Frozen Kiss

A tale from the life of Marudhu Pandiyar

I heard this touching story from my friendly Aasiriyar- David Ayya. I cannot help but recording it online and sharing it with all.
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The Maradhu Pandiyar brothers were the rulers of SivaGanga, who fought the British and declared independence long before Rest of India even planned the First war of Independence(1857) ! Click for a short history of Maruthu Pandiyar

The brothers didnt exactly hail from aristocratic family lines, but were normal people. By virtue of their bravery and skills, they rose among the ranks and occupied top ranks of Defence ministers, and Commanders of the armyin the court of the then Queen Velu Naachiyaar. After her period, they took over the reins of the kingdom, and were generally loved and accepted by their subjects as their legitimate rulers.

The story relates to an incident that happened under their reign. They built a temple to Siva (Kaalaiyar Koil)during that period and held the consecration ceremony. A huge chariot (ratham) was built to carry the Lord's idol in a procession, and all preparation were done to start the procession , in this brand new chariot, pulled by thousands of devotees.

But the twist in the story starts when, the chariot refused to budge an inch from its original position, despite the best efforts of young, strong devotees. That was a surprise since the chariot itself looked constructed correct to the specifications, and nobody could find the reason for the physical stubbornity of the chariot.

The embarassed Maruthu Pandiyar , were very keen to see the procession moving, and summoned the skilled constructor of the chariot(Achaari), to help them in this tight situation. The carpenter suggested that the chariots refuse to move, since its constructor has not been paid for his services. The ruler-brothers offered reasonable amounts or precious articles worthy of his work and actually apologised for their negligence in prompt payment.

But the adamant carpenter had other plans, and calmly refused all these costly gifts. He demanded to be the king of the country for just one day, and on the very same day. The crowd was certainly shocked at this request, and heaped curses on this man, for his opportunism and unreasonable greed for holding high position. But Marudhu Pandiyar were true devotees, and were only too ready to give up anything for the religious event to be successful. They accepted his demands and crowned him King for that day. This also meant that the carpenter occupied a seat near the God's statue on the chariot thats actually reserved for the King himself.

The rally continued, and while the Maruthu Pandiyars walked alongwith the crowd, the chariot and its occupants rode high above, passing over undulating terrain on the way to the temple. This required a large effort by the pulling crowd, when they had to pull it up the slope, and also when they had to control the pace when the chariot went down-hill too.

One particular downward slope was particularly demanding, and all of a sudden the harnesses gave way and the chariot raced downhill threatening to crush some devotees on its path. After a major struggle, the able men took control of the run-away chariot, after it had come to a stop due to a casuality that occured. A man was trapped in between the wheels, and that apparently stopped the chariot, but after inflicting mortal wounds to the poor devotee. And this was none other than the carpenter king who had lost his balance in the commotion and had fallen to the brink of death, bleeding profusely having been badly injured by his own work of craftmanship.

In his dying moments he held out a piece of papyrus manuscript, which appeared to be some kind of ancient poetry. It was deciphered , and the complete picture reached the people who had cursed the One-day king. He was found to be a firm believer of Naadi astrology and the manuscript had the predictions for the day. It contained the statement that the King of the country would have to die an unfortunate death, at the end of the chariot procession !

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I heard this story right after watching the movie Rang de Basanti which has the main characters killing the corrupt Defence Minister of their own country !

என் சுவாசக்காற்றே

கரங்கள் இரண்டில் மென்மையாய் பற்றி
என்னருகே உன்னை அணைத்து இருக்கி
என் சுவாசக்காற்றினை உன்னுள் ஊற்றி
மூங்கில் தோள்களை உடையவள் பெயர் சூட்டி
நித்தமும் உன்னையே முத்தமிட்டு இசைப்பேன்
மூங்கிலால் இறைவனே படைத்தறுளிய - என் குழலே !

Yesudas enthralls..

The man with a golden voice was here yesterday(21 Feb), in connection with the consecration ceremony of Arulmigu Velmurugan Gnanamuneeswar Temple in Sengkang, Singapore. I was a bit sad that I had to miss music class, to attend this one, but it was a pretty good lesson in music by itself.

Attended a whole lot of Indians and locals, more than half of them standing, the President of S'pore SR Nathan was one more fan of Yesudas' musical evening. He sang mostly devotional songs, but included wise quotes, tips and light humour to make it a pleasant combo.

Some memories :
Yesudas took efforts to explain the raaga, and the special significance of the song lyrics and ofcourse the actual rendering of the song. All this was appealing a lot to a beginner in classical music like me.

He explained a raga, whose name I forget, which differs from Hamsadhwani by only the rishabam, and clearly sang and highlighted the beauty of the jeevaswara of that raaga. I understood the true importance of jeevaswara only then.

He quotes while offering his gratitude to his Gurus, there are no separate Gurus in any field of study or art. Its the force of the supreme Guru - God himself, who manifests his power of knowledge in the form of the worldly teachers, gurus and masters who in turn impart the skill to us.

He also did a amazing demo, saying that he was trained by his father to be able to sing with or without the mic/amplifier. This was in contrast to, he said ,to the younger generation of singers who preferred to sing in husky voices hoping to sound sexy.
Then he slowly moved the mic away, switched it off, and sang a few verses. I was standing quite far away , and the crowd was probably more than a 1000 strong. As the the people were keen and silent, even the last person could hear him singing, even the gamaham were clearly audible to me. Wow !

After a few enjoyable songs, he was winding up with the Mangalam dedicated to Lord Ayyappa, stopped suddenly and said "Lord says, sing praises to my brother before you sing in praise of me". He had apparently forgotten to sing a beautiful song dedicated to Lord Murugan, which was written by a Muslim author, music composed by a Hindu, and ultimately sang by a Christian(himself)!

I have never heard any of the singers like SPB, KJY in person, and this experience was quite an unforgettable one for me.

A date with Bugs Bunny

Shot in Ooty, India in Nov 2005 near market at Ooty Lake
Speed: 1/80s,Focal length f/6.3, ISO 200

A kind of Chain Smoker

Shot in Clarke Quay,Singapore on 31st Dec 2005,
Shutter speed (1/250sec), Aperture f/13.0, Focal length=78mm equiv, ISO 1600

Meddling at Manukan Island

With one more day to kill after climbing down the stairs to heaven, our tired limbs allowed us to enjoy a trip to a tropical island near the city Kota Kinabalu, Sabah.



After a while I got just too tired for snapping any more pictures and decided to snorkell near the coral reefs. I shall delibrately avoid to qualitatively describe with formidable adjectives, on how incredibly fascinating it is, to swim with the brilliantly coloured fish, deceptively beautiful corals and slimy sea-cucumbers in their own naturally suited habitat !

The Descent of ulabaniK

I have always believed, that if the return journey is as exciting as the onward, only then a trip seems fulfilling. A strange rock which resembled a 'thumbs up' sign served to reinforce the point :)


In this case, it was actually better on the way down the mountain , since the sun was up, and we could see the impressive rock structures, going on and on for miles. The first shock came as we saw the steep climbs for the first time in daylight, and found it hard to believe that we actually climbed up the same way in complete darkness !




Here again its impossible to bring about the massiveness of the many peaks and my already wet camera system further gave poor results. Anyway most of it has been captured streaming video my own memory cells, and am waiting for somebody to develop an interface to download the stuff!

Sunrise at the Summit (4096m)

Easy Goal :
Wake up at 2am, and start climbing to reach the top of Mt.Kinabalu- Low's peak at 6am to view sunrise

Operating conditions :
Complete darkness except for star-studded sky(pretty obvious at 3am?),
Temperature 10 degree C, to a minimum of 5 degrees at peak,
Steep uphill climb over sheer rocky surface with just a rope for guidance
Rapid chilly winds, with light rain for some "cool effects"
Rarified air causing shortness of breath, demanding frequent stops

Physical conditions:
Headache (not a hangover:), body pain, and mild fever from prev night, dry cough from previous week, violent shivering due to rain,wind and insufficient warm clothing(insanity in hindsight!), Nausea and slight giddiness due to high-altitude.

Mental conditions :
"This is craziest thing you have ever done. Why the hell are you doing this ? What are you going to gain in 'real terms'? You dont want to fall dreadfully sick up there. Its better to stop now, that return in a stretcher. Its time to QUIT ! Now !"
the above running in an infinite loop in the head, on top of the headache.

Results:
Exhilaration on reaching the peak in good time, wait in biting cold conditions.
Realise at 6.30am, that its too cloudy to see any decent Sunrise :(
Climb down hastily, not because there is nothing to see, but it had started to rain, and rocks would soon be slippery.

The most difficult part was to capture the faint sunrise, and "We were here" pics, because a shivering hand , and some wet lens dont produce a razor-sharp image !




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Nothing , really nothing else could justify all the pain, than the unique feeling of achievement that grasps the sinews of your heart in such moments. All this also makes me realise the greatness of all the mountaineers, who have battled and some conquered mightier peaks, snow-clad peaks that are more than double the height of this one, belittling my ascent.. The difficulties in their efforts is presently unimaginable to me, but their joy certainly is.

I finally stop at this last thought : Nothing on earth except Mother Nature, is stronger than the power of the human will.

A Night at Laban Rata

At the end of this ascend was our over-night stopover at Laban rata, at a surprising well equipped dorm-style lodge. A few guys were playing a kindof leg-volleyball(i forget the name of the game), but most people were enjoying a well-deserved rest sipping hot chocolate or tea and viewing the sunset.

Apart from the rest, the stop was also to get used to the high-altitude sickness/effects which were beginning to show, in terms of thinning air, headaches, and feverishness.

The number of nationalities of men and women at this place was staggering, and it was nice to see all of them focussed on to one common goal. Labanrata is situated above the level of the low-clouds, and the view was very similar to being seated in an airplane.

Upto here it can be termed as a climb of moderate difficulty, but with some basic fitness and regular rests, most could make it to this level. But the attempt to the summit of Kinabalu - Low's Peak(4096m), making it the tallest peak in SE Asia, is better avoided by the faint at heart(and body), very young or very old people.

Middle Earth at Mt.Kinabalu (2500m-3200m)

The whole experience from here on was completely new to me - the vegetation, the landscapes, the very look of the place and ofcourse the feeling. I found myself taking more pictures here, but barely capture the desolate beauty of this place.

The dense forest thinned down, and so did the air. They were replaced by wind-battered trees and logs, shrubs and hardy flowers and the image of the clouds amidst the blue skies. As the mist started to descend on us, the cool moist air caused the full-shirts to be put on. Most people were awe-struck too, and the usable adjectives thinned down like the air.

I hope the photos give "a better picture", but if you want a better idea, go there yourself !

At lower altitudes of Mt Kinabalu(1500m - 2500m)

Its time to move on the experiences and visions we saw on the way to the top. The initial phase of the climb was in high spirits, as you can see in the pics where my friends Praveen and Ananth have all the energy to 'pose' for a shot(actually stealing some rest). The small, lithe man is Mollonius Tinggal, who was our mountain guide and impressed me with the effortless ease with with he seemed to conquer the mountain(thrice a week)- his simple method- "do it one careful step at a time" ;-)

The forests were dense, with vegetation everywhere and the temperature and humidity quite high. Most interesting were the smaller plants, wild orchids ,ferns and mosses which gave a impression of a green sari woven over the mountain (pachai pattaadai porthaal pola- Bharathidasan on seeing SriLankan Kandy mountains). The climb was well organised by the authorities, and there were small huts with basic amenities at every km of the 6km trek.

There were quite a few climbers that weekend due to Chinese New Year holidays in SE Asia. While the fittest were cruising up, most others were trudging along, taking ample rest wherever they felt like. Dont ask me how I fared, since I dont like to boast nor try to be modest, I prefer to be hopelessly uninformative on such personal matters :)

"A Lesson in Botany" by Alfred Hitchcock

One the way up the mountain, we trekked thru tropical lowland rainforests, and was packed with flora and invisible fauna. One particular species that caught our attention (with some help from the guide ofcourse) is the pitcher plant. And we also managed to catch the picture of one adventurous bug like us, who decided to checkout what it feels like being in the depths of hell. There were some specimens sized upto a 2Litre capacity, but none were (fortunately) six feet high..!

Waking up one morning

After a sound sound-less sleep at Rose Cabin, we woke up and peered outside the balcony door to get a first look at what we were supposed to confront in the following days- Mt.Kinabalu. The prev evening it was hiding behind clouds, and the first look was impressive, and we were a bit scared at the prospect of climbing outof bed, and having to climb it.

A Rose at the Rose Cabin

Probably the most photographed species in the world..! Okay..Okay..second only to the female version of Homo Sapiens.

Kinabalu Park Headquarters

Anybody attempting to climb Mount Kinabalu, cannot miss the Park Headquarters(Brown-red hut). They help organise the climbs, provide the useful facilities, arrange for the mountain guides, and even provide a summit completion certificate..in short make an inconvinience into a memorable adventure.

We were blessed to get acco in a place called Rose Cabin, (oft misspelt Heaven) and was one of the most scenic low-cost hotels I have lived in. Except for a small mishap where they added some curled-up prawns to a Vegetarian fried rice dish, our stay was very pleasant there !

Klicking at KLIA

This was my first visit to Kuala Lumpur International Airport, and we reached there "early morning !" at 0330hrs. We were to catch the flight to Kota Kinabalu and had 5hrs to kill. While my friends decided its completely natural to grab a nap,I decided to wake up the camera, and (wake them up to pose for a few pics). And here are the results.

Val de l'Arc

At around dusk on a late summer evening,
by the dark woods on the banks of the river Arc ,

Sitting under the shade of a climber covered tree,
Watching geese and ducks return to the river,

Accompanied by the sounds of flowing water
I took my flute lessons in Nature's own theatre..

...till an army of angry red ants decided to give
some stinging criticism to end the cacophony..!

Lingering memories

Having written verbiose descriptions of my experiences, I still feel like missing out on a few really strange incidents,nice people, weird thoughts..
I will devote no more than a few sentences for each, but each of them have created a lasting impression on me.

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The skydive :
The onward journey from Singapore to Paris took me right over Southern India, over Madurai and other towns. It was so difficult to control this crazy thought, to pick up a parachute and eject myelf outta the plane, to take a short holiday in India.
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Kavithai in CDG
The 5 hour transit time in Charles de Gaulle Airport,Paris saw me bring out the only tamil poetry book I managed to take along - Vairamuthu Kavithaigal. In addition to being captivated by the imaginative similes, I also briefly attempted describing the same in English to my colleague. I dont know how much of the meaning was lost in translation !
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Lonely planet
Solitude during weekends sometimes became unbearable, and made me prefer weekdays spent in office instead. This drove me out of the hotel, and I was travelling alone to nearby places by bus,train and even boats. This was possible due the companionship of such inanimate objects like my camera, the music player and of course a Lonely Planet guide.
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Notre Dame
After trudging uphill the mountain atop which is the Notre Dame Basilica of Marseilles, I paused to regain my breath. I was greeted by the toothless but warm smile of this frail old woman, who started to mutter what sounded like an essay to me in French. She understood very little English, but that did not prevent her from taking me along to the drinking water tap, and show me the utilities in the church. I observed that she seemed to suffer from a nervous problem, which made her extremely restless -moving and gesturing with strange swift movements. Her unexpected kindness made me stay a bit longer, and attend the Sunday evening mass, though I could'nt follow a word of the sermon--only the phrase "Anbae Sivam" ( Love is God) ringed thru my mind all the while..
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Happy Pizzas - happy to be eaten by you.
This is how I was welcomed to the shop of this amazing Goan gentleman- Fred Vaz. Hours were spent discussing every perceivable topic, in the aroma of pizzas in the making. Fred's shop in Aix, was possibly the only place to get a Tandoori chicken pizza in France. With such nice conversations, warm pizzas, and irresistable discounts for NRIs it was my most preferred hangout in the evenings. Eventually we became good friends and was even introduced to his lovely family,some of whom became fine critics of my blog and photos, receivers of 1hr crash courses on sambar-making and SLR photography.
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Sacre Coeur
On a visit to this church in a place called Montmarte in Paris, my friend Praveen decided to stay a bit longer than others, lost in a silent prayer. I just sat with him without exchanging many words. What made this event extraordinary was that, he had returned to church after 'years' of being a non-believer. There were no confessions to be made, but for me the moment was heavily inundated with thoughts on faith, prayer, and spirituality.
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Shuttle service
One big reason to goto office, was to be able to play badminton in the evening after work , with the perfectly matched team I ever played with - a group of interns Said, Eva and Eric. Each had his/her own style and everybody else knew their weakness too. Sports has its own way to bringing together people from diverse backgrounds, and forging some excellant friendships over a competitive match or a point conceded out of fairplay.
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Samba(r) beats
I was really starved of Indian food, either self-cooked or outside for nearly 3 months. I had no motivation to cook good traditional dishes just for myself. But right in the last week of my stay in France, I got to make and share sambar and other south-indian vegetarian dishes in 2 different occasions. Cooked with minimum oil, and less spice than normal, it became a lot more palatable to the French tongues. It gives such great pleasure to prepare and present ones native dishes and seeing being emptied in before you take the second helping..!
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Aliases
Whenever I had the courage to try out some new untried foodstuff, the ones which resembled in taste and appearance to typical Indian dishes were the most loved. For instance Spanish Payela - to Hyderabadi Biriyani, Moroccan Tagine to Kaarakuzhambu, Lebanese Felafel to Keerai Vadai , Algerian Cous Cous to Upma, or Bretagne's Crepes to the crispy Dosais..the list is endless.
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Persistence
Having typed all of the above online, and after clicking "Post", losing all of the text due to internet problem- thus relearning the lesson to use a text-editor to create posts for the umteenth time of my life. And reliving and retyping all of the above memories one more time..

Unarnthu ezhudhiyadhu

Edhai thanimai enalaam ?

Thaayum thanthaiyum illamaiyaa ?
illai..illai...
Thambi thamakkai illamaiya ?
illai..illai...
Thozhano thozhiyo illamaiya ?
adhuvum illai...

Thamizh ingu illamai thaan,
Tha.......ni.....mai enakku !

Scaling Saint Victoire

Anybody who happens to come to Aix en Provence or the nearby villages of Trets, Rousset, Tholonet cannot miss the imposing presence of this majestic and grey-white mountain Saint Victoire. Almost everyday of my stay here, I have been enjoying the different views of this mountain during sunny, cloudy or rainy weather.
After the first weeks of stay, even before the idea strikes your mind people start to ask the question “Have you climbed the Saint Victoire?” Its not a towering peak, and not a part of the mighty Alps, and stands at just over 1010 metres above MSL. It does not sound like an impossible challenge, but I was not able to find somebody to accompany me to the top. To make it too hot to handle for me, there was warning of forest fires, and the whole area had restricted access during the summer months. Whoever wants to be a half burnt hot dog on an adventure trip?

Two months and a dozen friends later, the chances improved, and a group of 3 friendly interns Said, Cedric and Virginie agreed to pull me along on an assault on the mount. We went ahead like pro rock-climbers and did not actually heed the weather reports and predictions for the day. We went on a long drive and somewhere near Puyloubier found a track to the Saint-Victoire. After snapping a few start-of-trek photos, the expedition begun. We proceeded along a route marked with black dashes, with no idea of the colour coding conventions of mountain tracks, if there were any.

A few hundred metres later the inclination of the climb started to increase considerably. Very soon we started to stare blankly and near-vertical walls of rock, with a small crevice here and there for a toe hold or a few fingers. The amateur dare-devils decided to go ahead and managed to scale a few challenging rocks. Soon, exhaustion started to peek into the affairs, and all of a sudden a referendum was held to decide whether we should continue or not. Surprisingly 75% of the population decided to continue further. But a few steps ahead and we heard a clap of thunder emerging from the dangerous looking clouds we were ignoring all the while.

The prospect of facing a storm midway up a shelter-less mountain was not an interesting idea. Amidst a drizzle that slowly graduated to a steady rain, we came thundering down the slopes, slipping and sliding at places. That’s when I hoped very badly that spectacles had some wipers on them! Just after we reached the reassuring interiors of the car, a hail storm started to clutter!

For the next one week, it’s difficult to describe the feelings every time I saw the mountain. It seemed to personify an unfinished challenge. I also learnt that we had unknowingly taken the toughest route, meant for rock climbers with the right gear.
The next weekend I teamed up with another pal Arnaud, (nicknamed Puma, for his extreme agility in the badminton court). He had seen the top of the mountain twice and knew the route to some extent.

This time we took a combination of red and blue tracks and the climb was easier and the weather not bad. There were quite a few breath taking views to be seen, once we reached the higher reaches of the mountain. Almost near the top was a small, church with a small group of people who had reached there earlier. We met a 78-year old man who said he climbs the mountain every week, and volunteers for the upkeep of the church and the surroundings! Further up, at the peak there is this huge Cross which is the visible target for the people who climb the mountain. Destination reached, landscape photos taken, what better way to celebrate it than with a bar of chocolate and chilled water?

Fungus in your cheese ...

This happened in a small party in Singapore. One guy with a terrible cold and blocked nose took it and found nothing strange, one food loving chap took it with some initial surprise and difficulty but eventually finished it and the third could even swallow the first tiny mouthful of …….
The Blue Cheese of Roquefort(no points for guessing the food loving guy here..)

This is a special variety of strong smelling and tasting cheese, which can mean paradise for most French tongues and the paralysis of unsuspecting palettes from other countries. It’s not so difficult to understand such a reaction, if you can visibly see some grey-blue colonies of the fungi Penicillium Roqueforti eating through the insides of the cheese, in addition to the smell and strong taste. The earliest mention of this type of cheese was in 76AD loved by the Romans, and Casanova is said to have associated Roquefort cheese with Chambertin wine to seduce women! But since I have a special affinity to fatty food stuff of all kinds, this fromage (cheese) triggered my curiosity.

I visited the origin of this strange cheese, in a place called Roquefort, and in the insides of a set of natural caves owned by Société, on the top of a mountain, formed by geological perturbances. The conditions inside the caves are said to be a biological heaven for the fungi, with the precise temperature and humidity in which they thrive. There were certain windows in the rock structures called fluerines, through which the cold air blew inside the caves and circulated the volume of air inside.

But the ambience was certainly not for humans- outside the cave, at the time we went, it must have been about 25° C, and inside if fell sharply, bringing out the need for warm clothing, to 8° C ! So I had to endure the long lecture in French about the legend of Roquefort cheese (by a plump guy who seemed to feed exclusively on it) in hunger, darkness and continuous shivering. But fortunately at the end of the tour we were invited to taste samples of 3 varieties of the cheese, of increasing strength; I was not tasting it, but feasting on it. The souvenir that I bought from the place was completely edible- a portion of Société, Cave des Templiers, and Caves Baragnaudes kinds of cheeses.

But there was something with this species of fungi which delivered me an unexpected surprise later on. I enjoyed a pack of Roquefort cheese and kept it in the refrigerator. During the time, they were quietly getting used the ambience inside my fridge, and found it quite hospitable; and well stocked too! Anything else that was left uncovered in the fridge was seen as important stockpiles of calories to be inherited by the future generations of the fungi through their off-spring spores. So anybody who wants to develop a good immunity, just need to take a whiff from the grey-bluish green internals of my ice box!

Classic Calanques

The south-eastern coast of France to the east of Marseille is blessed with warm waters, sand and pebble beaches close to some amazing and massive rock structures bordering the sea, called Calanques. Scenic that these things are, the tourists just love them.

One of the weekends a colleague of mine, Christophe invited me over to his parents place in a village called Saint Cyr and I was only too glad to join him, to escape from the suffocating boredom of the hotel. Tophe, along with his wife Valerie, son Bastien and lovely little Amandine took me through a circuitous route driving up, and stopped in the middle to show me a cliff. Looking below the dizzying heights of the cliff, we saw stunning views of the sea, the town of La Ciatat and calanques of Cassis. It was nearly impossible to capture the depth of the cliff in a photo, even with wide-angled shots.

Tophe’s parents were a warm and friendly couple, with his mother being the Goddess of Home-made Desserts for a sweet-toothed disciple like me. After a sumptuous dinner and walk along the beach, I went to sleep without any expectations of the adventure filled weekend to follow.

Next morning saw us go on a long trek along the hilly coast, through some bushy forest area. Tophe and Valerie were quite athletic, and I was lagging behind them while seeing my well preserved calories being burnt away. Despite the desolate beauty of the place, it was a bit frustrating to see how some people had cleared some restricted forest area to have an unobstructed view of the sea from their sea-side homes. At end of the walk, we arrived at a beach where we were to meet the rest of the family.

Tophe handed me a pair of goggles and mouth pipe, and for the first time in my life I went for diving in the beach. For a poor swimmer who had marveled at the vibrant diversity of marine life only in TV channels like the Discovery or National Geographic, it was an ‘eye-opening’ experience. In the 2 days I dived a few times, saw some interesting fish and marine plants and gained in confidence. This inspires me greatly to explore the tropical waters in SE Asia.
After having tea made the Indian way (with milk, lottsa sugar and froth), the evening was ‘petanqued’ up, along with some more friends from ST. Late in the evening, we visited an ancient village Le Castellet with its houses of stone, and had dinner at with Crepes of Brittany- the French version of wheat dosai with topping.

On Sunday morning, I woke up at (an unearthly hour of) 6am, to accompany Christophe on a ‘hunt’ as an apprentice. He happens to be a serious diver with all the right gear, costume and harpoon to carry out fishing under water. On the way to his hunting waters we had to climb down a small cliff. I found that while Tophe we carrying his heavy equipment and walked like other homo-sapiens do; I was on all-fours for most of the descent! When he went into aqua-mode, I had all the time in the world to take quite a few abstract photos about joys of an amphibian existence. But I don’t remember the subtle meanings behind the images, when I see them in the computer now!

That afternoon, I was entrusted with the responsibility of at least 10 lives, by being asked to cook some Indian dish for lunch. The famous Indian spices company MTR, came to my rescue again, and I made some Puliodharai(tamarind rice) of varying spice levels, and the natives improvised by adding some coconut milk to the mix, to get a less pungent sauce for the kids.

In Love with the Louvre

Most people, who have read the novel “Da Vinci Code” for the first time, would probably feel an irresistible urge to visit the actual site of the events in the story- namely the famous museum in Paris- the Louvre. I too had similar interests but by the time I got a chance to visit the place, it was so overwhelming that I forgot the incidents in the novel altogether.

The general flow of events that could happen to a first time visitor like me is:
Great initial interest in the museum and careful observation of the first 20 or 30 works of art. Spend decreasing amounts of time with each exhibit like skimming the pages of a book.
By the time fatigue creeps in, discover that one has just reached the beginning of the best section.
After about half the galleries are seen, succumb to the sensory overload and return with streaming illusions of contrasting images, sculptures.

Its quite easy to take good looking photos here, since many of the exhibits are awesome and all you have to do is take photos. But that’s exactly what everybody else has in mind too; the biggest challenge is to take pictures without being dominated by the images of the countless tourists. The worst was the gallery which housed the Mona Lisa, was simply overcrowded with digital camera wielding paparazzi photographing it, while she seems to smile with a tinge of sarcasm at the admiring crowd.

But after this anti climax, we went around the art gallery containing medium size to HUGE paintings, and the play of lights and shades by the artists, and the emotions and expressions of the subjects gave most of them a photo like quality. We could have gone taking more photos as much as our cameras allowed, but the memory capacity in our brains were overloaded with the incredible images. it was time to move on, not to the next collections, but to other inspirations that Paris had to offer.

Operation Saint Michel

Take the evening train to Lyon from Aix by the TGV, disguised as a weekend traveler.

To confuse anybody following you, wonder about Lyon train station and take the train to Gare de Lyon (station) of Paris instead.

On arrival at 11pm, do not ask directions from people, and do not take out the Lonely planet guide, for this will reveal the fact that you have arrived in Paris for the first time.

Follow the maps, and walk with the air of a Parisien, going home after long day at work.

Take the train to the metro station Saint Michel.

Its in the heart of the most vibrant student quarter, but ignore other pedestrians.

Wedged in between 2 shops,is 39,Boulevard Saint Michel guarded by a heavy dark green door.

Key in the code 421X7(all names and numbers in this post have been changed since this is a public post) at the keypad, and the door will open to a narrow dark corridor. Close the door on entering.

On your left,there would be plenty of mail boxes. You will grope in the dark and find an envelope on the top of the mail boxes with the name Paul BASCIGNARD written on it.

You can open it, and you will find the key of the mail box of the flat,
which is the one with the name ROUSSEAU on it, in which you will find the key
of the flat inside.

Since there is no light in the corridor, you are allowed to use your cellphone as a torch to find the envelopes, mailbox and keyholes.

You can use the plastic access key to open the door at the end of the
corridor.

Climb the flight of creaky wooden stairs without unnecessary pauses, which can cause suspicion.

The flat is at the first floor on the left, use the second steel key to open it.

To reach your room, you need to cross the entrance hall, the dining room with the big table on the right and the room is on your right.

Now switch on the table lamp, near the bed, and you will find a letter addressed to you, confirming your approach. If not .... ?

-----------------------------------------
This is not the first page of my botched attempt to write a spy novel. Its EXACTLY what I did to reach the apartment of my friend Olivier in Paris. The part of the operation starting from entering the apartment, was actually designed by his friend who had worked as a military officer.

With a beginning like this, my weekend to Paris had all the makings of an unforgettable adventure. When I demostrated the same procedure the following night to my classmate Praveen, he exclaimed " If it had been me, I would given up and taken a room in some hotel !"

But how many times have you lived through an experience like this ??

Running after one's bus..

For all those who have declared that weight-loss does not exist in my dictionary and that plumpness runs in the family-
For all those who measured my body mass index and put me in the 'mildly obese' category-
For all those who assumed that my weight is a monotonically increasing function of time -
And for my mom, who used to feel extremely happy of my achievement, whenever I said "I have NOT piled on any more weight" -

I weighed 70.2 kilos as on 04th September 2005, measured at around 2pm. That’s a solid 5 kilos lesser than previously set personal record of 75.6K when I was in S’pore.

It would be too easy to assume that this is due to the decreased intake of unfamiliar food in a foreign country. But I have been feasting on the vegetarian delicacies that French food has to offer, especially the liberal helpings of various types of fromage(cheese) and desserts.

Dieting is always out of question for a life-long glutton like me.

Even the attempts to move my mass around in the badminton court twice a week, cannot explain this effect well enough.

It has to be my new found passion in running to catch the bus!

‘Late-comerosis’ has been my disease all these years, and I unwilling supported the notion that “Punctuality is the art of waiting for others, who are late”. But today, it has led me to the discovery of a new sport which has all qualities of speed, endurance, thrill, strategic time management, humour and of course weight-loss.

It started in my first week in France, when I missed a bus to office, without knowing that it’s the last bus in the morning. After a series of misadventures, I reached office during lunchtime, 3.5 hours after starting from the hotel, alerting a number of my colleagues who took great efforts to get in touch with my hotel.

I tried to change. But since I could not wake up any earlier, I had to run faster, and for a longer distance to catch the bus. This was also the case in the evening, as my office is situated a good 435 running steps away from the bus stop.

Eventually I grew to like this jog-a-run to the bus, and didn’t mind spending some extra minutes at home or office than any sane person should. I could be seen Forrest Gumping my way to the bus stop, quite predictably on most of the days.

My friends traveling with me from Aix, often laughed when they found me sprinting towards the bus, and stagger into the bus puffing and panting. One even suffered a minor heart attack, when he found me WAITING for the bus one day! I may not be able to beat an athlete in terms of speed. But if the choice is between catching the last bus, and spending the night in office, I can easily surprise a few slow minds.

Having tried unsuccessfully the more dangerous sports of 'foot-board-traveler' , and 'jumping-on-and-off' moving buses in India, I suggest this game to all procrastinating souls, as a safe and exciting way to a healthy lifestyle.

Soccer mania

Aug 23 , 2005
I found myself inching towards the entrance of the Vélodrome Statium in Marseille, wading across a sea of blue-tshirts. ALL of them were fans of the local football team- Olympique de Marseille waiting to gain entry to the finals of the UEFA Intertito Cup to be played versus the Spaniards La Corogne- Deportivo.

I have never watched a cricket match or for that matter ANY match from a stadium in India. And here I was going to a soccer match in Marseille, to see 2 teams playing, either of which I did not know.

But my neutrality did not last long. Something in my appearance, made the security guy describe the security procedure in Spanish to me, instead of French. Anybody would guess, that it isnt a fantastic idea to look like a fan of the foreign team, sitting beside a horde of atleast 30000 supporters. I bought a official OM cap, which was to be a life-saver and souvenir at the same time...

The home team was 2 down in the first encounter with Deportivo, and had to score a lead of atleast 3 goals to win the cup. Thats already too much to ask to a pretty average team playing against a stronger team, and losing their strong defender to injury.

My main objective was to soak in the frenzied atmosphere, and witness the peoples emotions and crowd behaviour. The energy in the stands for so high and the sight of people jumping and singing in the stands was great. As always I forgot to bring my camera in the most crucial moment. Besides the stadium is like a university for learning the juiciest foul language that French has to offer, during missed goals, opponents fouls, referees mistakes and other unfavourable situations.

There is a critical difference in how they expressed their discouragement for the rival team, and for support for home team. Clapping hands, and crying "Allez Allez!" is counted as expressions of support, but whistling loud with the fingers in the mouth is to disapprove the opponents gains and goals- which is just the opposite in India- whistling aloud is the strongest (and eardrum piercing) way to express your approval. So I had to check myself not to whistle when the home team scored !

And there were lots of such emotional outbursts to follow: OM scored in the first 4 minutes, and conceded one before the celebration for the first goal were over ! This meant they had to score 3 more to win the match. Except a few missed goals and yellow cards, nothing seemed to happen till the last 15 minutes of the second half.

While I was losing hope, my friend Eric who is a passionate supporter of OM seemed to need some moral support for himself. So given the critical stage of the match, I offered that by saying, I too would support OM for 1 year if they lead by 1, 2 years if they lead by 2, and lifelong supporter if they won with 3 lead. I let out some long vocal chants of "Om!", to invoke some divine support from the heavens.

And OM won the match 5-1 !

I leave it to your imagination the sights and sounds of the stadium, after such a result by the home team, which stood no chances to win before the match began....

Petanque pretensions..

Right from the first week I landed in France, I was introduced to this hitherto unheard game called petanque. Now I wonder why did the French keep it to themselves, unlike the English who went about pitching 3 stumps and playing cricket in whichever corner of the world they went .

The best part of the game is that anybody with functioning semi-circular canals in their ears (balance organs), and a reasonable grasp of the simple notions of 3 dimensional space around them, relative velocity, law of conservation of linear momentum, the variation of accelaration due to gravity with respect to altitude, and the coefficient of friction of surfaces can pick up the game in no time. ( whew !!)

To describe the same in English, you need to throw boulles (balls) made of solid metal very close to a tiny plastic ball called cochonnet ( pig ball:)
--now it sounds like my kinda game !

Readers are not to confuse this with the ancient Indian strategy games of gilli and goli.

Then come the specific roles of pointers and shooters in the team roughly doing the jobs of arranging and deranging the boulles. But however careful and calculated you are in your launches, the little stones in the mud track, and the slope of the field, and grass if any can alter the best throws. This adds an element of uncertainty for good players, and a ray of hope for bad players!!

The game is to be played with gentlemanly spirit, and all conflicts related to deciding whose boulle is closer to the cochonnet are to be resolved with peaceful measuring devices like dried grass, strings drawn from your opponents t-shirt, or vernier callipers. The players are strongly discouraged from using the metal balls as ballistic objects during an argument or practicing shotput at the opponent teams best pointer.

One can easily imagine a setting where Asterix and Obelisk playing this game in ancient Gaul. So the French guys seem to have petanque in their blood. But people who spent their childhood playing underarm bowling while playing cricket in the extremely confined spaces (bedroom, corridor etc) have a good advantage to start with. Those who love bowling in alleys may not like the mud, dirt that accumulates in the special shoes they use.

To know more about the game, do not expect me to add some useful links, but please go ahead and search it out in google !

Le Moulin de Len - THE weekend

Reached David's mill, just about the time the gang returned from their trek. I was the only Indian in the party of about 30 people and while I struggled with my French, some others struggled with their Anglais to get ourselves introduced. I discovered quite a few people I had never met, but had one or more links to people I know in India or Singapore.

Very soon we got down to business - eating our dinner and dancing around the fire. Included in menu was a particular snack which looked exactly like a sweet brownie with almonds, but want infact turned out to be salted dish made very skillfully from pork blood ! The main dish was aligot -a speciality of Aveyron region (fortunately for a herbivore like me) made out of potatoes and cheese..

I had brought along some packets of instant South Indian dish- Upma, the only ones I had brought from S'pore that remained with me. I had David's wife Marylene as my brand ambassador, who gracefully introduced the dish in French to the guests and made them taste it. The responses varied from -- "C èst bon !" with a thankful hug- from those who loved spicy food, but missed it in France -----to a muted scream and scramble to the nearest source of ice water/ cold beer by those who are not used to being "spiced up".

Some of them exacted revenge by offering me to taste a lil bit of nice home-made wine, asking me to appreciate the fruity taste of the wine. I gulped down the the colourless stuff like water, and burst out with a cough just like those who have their first puff of cigarette- the wine was revealed to be 5 years older than me (1976) and had an alcohol content of 40-45% !! I heard some chuckles in a whizzing and twirling background....

The music began with some songs from the 70's and 80's to which the children below 6 and above 60 began to dance, and were showing us some nice simple steps, and everybody joined in too. As the pace quickened and the kids tired out, the 20 or 30 somethings stepped up the tempo.

Then I was given an opportunity add some Indian twist to the dance.. Thanks to ARRahman's Boys album and my classmate Ashwin's impatient dance coaching -- managed to evoke a decent response from the crowd for the kind of dance that they see in Bollywood movies. The party went on till 5am, and the folks retired after the long workout.

The next day, the main activity was fishing in a pond near the mill, with some trout in it. I discovered the art and science of being an angler. I was taught how to make a fishing rod from a long slender tree branch, carving a notch, adding the string, the plumbs, the hook, and finally the sport of catching some grasshoppers for the bait ! Though I knew I would never eat the only fish I managed to catch, I wanted to learn the skill after watching Tom Hanks struggle to learn it in the movie "Cast Away".. Hope I never end up as a Robinson Crusoe to test those skills....

In the evening there was some time for petanque, a different ball game native to France, which the French never bothered to spread it to their colonies, unlike the British who sowed the seeds of cricket craze in their colonies. I shall devote a separate blog for the joys of playing petanque.

This night was relatively peaceful, with some simple food, friendly chat and some pleasant music, and none of the head banging excitement of the previous night. But it wasnt to be a tame end : we played a game called werewolves and the villagers, was supposed a game of strategy and logical reasoning, but with my limited understanding of French and the game rules, I found it funny and chaotic. I was smiling too much, aroused the suspicion of al players, and was exterminated in quick time.

The next morning was to undo all the party destruction we had caused, and pack up all the preparations. And then we proceeded to Roquefort caves, and Coivourturage..

I realised this was the only weekend I did not feel like being away from home, with all the human company and friends to talk and share.

The way to Saint Affrique..

" Enjoy the paths and pleasures of the journey, as much as the final destination"

The destination was a mill near the countryside in a village called Saint Affrique, near the town Millau, in the Aveyron region somewhere in south central part of France. I would be surprised if you can find this place in Google Earth..

One of my friends working in Singapore, David had returned to France to spend his vacations, and for the third year he was organising a party for his friends in here. The concept is pretty simple: eat, drink, dance and loaf around in the rural settings, without the distractions of TV, internet etc..

I managed to cling onto other friends' car (Stephane and Albanne), for the ride to Len, and we passed thru some beautiful and varied landscape -

starting from dry sunny burnt out Provence which endured some recent forest fires,

delta plains of the Grand Rhone river- Camargue with wild horses and bulls as permanent residents,

steep mountains on the way to Millau offering scenic views,

a plateau with blonde grass and green shrubs for miles without a single tree in sight,

rustic agrarian villages by the hillside....

I would not have reached the destination if I wanted to stop to take pictures at every interesting place..

Since we could not join our hosts in time for a trek, we went around the town Millau (pronounced something like Meeyouw). We walked along the narrow streets, and climbing a 12th century tower. I guess people who lived then did not mind climbing spiralling stairs, with the width just enough for one person, and without much ventilation or windows to improve the claustrophobic confines of the tower.

But atop the tower we could clearly see the pride of Millau - a newly built, massively tall bridge carrying the highway. It is positioned between 2 mountains to take the aeriel route avoiding the valley in which Millau rests. To get an idea of the height of the thing, few of the pillars supporting the pont (bridge in French) are said to be taller than the Eiffel tower ! Later we passed under the bridge and marvelled at the engineering effort needed to construct it.

On the way to our final destination, Stephane suddenly exclaimed " Ah !! the wonderful smell of country", and rolled down the car windows.. While I was expecting the fragrance of some orchids typical to that region or some smell from the fields of some crop.. I was hit by the earthy odour of fresh fuming bovine excreta (commonly referred to as bull shit). I need not have come all the way from Mambalam, Chennai with all the slow moving cows-on-the-street to experience this sample of gobar-gas!!

We reached the Moulin(mill) by evening and the fun was yet to begin...