Singapore's sixth sense

“Please sit to be waited”.
The writing was on the menu. What else did you expect? “Please wait to be seated”?
Actually, that is exactly what I expected and the sudden turn of words caught my attention. I looked around to see what it was.
The Insanity Restaurant.
Ah! That felt like home. It was by the riverside (or rather canalside) in Clark Quay, a throbbing drinking/eating joint where the music never stops and the beer flows like water.
On an earlier trip to Singapore, I had noticed a syringe in the public loo at Clark Quay and was determined to find more interesting things. In Singapore, drub peddling is punishable by death. Everything else is punishable by a debilitating fine. Pressing the emergency button in a train without an emergency attracts a fine of $5000 (Singapore). That’s roughly Rs 1.6 lakh. I guess that’s why there's no nuisance in Singapore. There is an amazing amount of freedom that the government allows provided people behave. You could buy a six-pack of beer from 7/11 (which is open 24 hours in Singapore. Somehow defeats the 7 am-11 pm concept the stores are named after) and park yourself on the retaining wall of the river (oops, canal). As long as you don’t bother anybody, nobody bothers you.
So there I was. Trying to find things more interesting than syringes in Clark Quay while music was blaring from all sorts of pubs/restaurants. (There’s one called The Clinic. Wheelchairs double up as chairs. Operating tables serve as, well, tables.) It so happened that an Indian fellow talking loudly on his cell (as most Indians do) was walking ahead of me. There was this girl standing in a corner, dressed very casually. The moment she saw this loud Indian, her arms arched back and she was trying to tie her hair into a bun. Well, that wasn’t her primary intention but I don’t want to be too graphic. She asked the loud Indian something, he refused and she looked sullen. She turned to me and, I must admit, I turned red. She was a fairly attractive girl who looked more Indian than a Singaporean. She asked me if there was something she could do for me.
“I’m looking for a taxi,” I said.
Her eyes brightened.
“I’m going home,” I said. Actually, it sounded more like “Mama, I’m coming home” to me but I guess she got the point. She quickly turned and started talking to another man who was headed that way.
I hurried back towards the Insanity Restaurant. Just as I turned a corner, there was a heavily made-up girl.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi! How are you?” I asked.
“Where would like to go tonight?”
The girl was pretty blunt, I must admit. But it sounded too much like Bill Gates’ “where would you like to go today?”
“Home?” I asked of her, sheepishly.
She didn’t even bother to respond.
I had my two pints of beer and while I was heading towards the taxi stand, I saw both the girls standing together, still looking for customers.
Today, I realize why Singapore is much ahead of us. Those guys knew then (in August) that a major downturn was coming (no pun intended!).

Laidback life in Laccadives

Read this amzing piece in the Daily Telegraph about travel in Lakshadweep, earlier known as Laccadives. The clutch of islands are located of the coast of Kerala, India and have been left untouched by commercialisation (which is just a wee bit sad). The capital Kavaratti is out of bounds for foreigners (I didn't know that!). Read it here and drop me a line at ravijos@gmail.com. I will tell you of a place which is not of bounds for foreigners, is pretty close to the mainland and is yet way out there. Enjoy the piece on Laccadives called Islands of innocence

Mahabalipuram rocks!

If you manage to turn a blind eye to the busloads of fussing Indian tourists, the occasional lecher who thinks earth girls are easy -- and those from the West doubly so – and the scores of salesmen trying to gyp you and even offering their services as an escort, Mahabalipuram is a nice place to be in for a day or two.
I rate it as one of my favourite short-haul destinations (but way below the ones I liked when I was in Delhi). Not just because it is close to Chennai (just about 55 km) and the drive is beautiful (the Bay of Bengal on your right hand side and palm groves on your left) or because it is a haven for the foreign tourist (from backpackers to the well-heeled). But because it stands testimony to what man can achieve.
History is engraved into the rocks in Mahabalipuram. In fact the whole town looks like it has emerged out of stone.
And what beautiful structures they are. Be it Krishna's Butter Ball (picture below) which gives you the creeps if you stand under it (it looks like the ‘ball’ can slip any time) or the Shore Temple which is one of the seven (or was it nine?) temples built in this ancient town. You can still get a glimpse of the ones submerged in the sea but you have to be a daredevil to do that. Here's how:

Hire a fisherman's catamaran for about Rs 500 ($13, roughly) to take you into the sea. If you are a foreigner, be prepared to be asked for something like Rs 2,000 ($50, approx). Don't forget to ask him for life jackets and a rope. About one nautical mile into the sea you will see bubbles coming out of the water. At first I thought it was a whale or something (that was my first time in the sea, you see) but the fishermen were wiser. This is the place the temples were built and now the sea has engulfed them.
And from that spot, you see the Shore Temple, the lighthouse behind it and a faint glimpse of all the other structures carved out of rock. The structures are monolithic, mind you, which makes you wonder about our predecessors’s skills even more.
Coming back to the overcharging foreigners are subjected to, there is this Five Rathas temple in Mahabalipuram (see pictures of the complex belolw).

The entry to this temple for Indians is Rs 10 (25 pence, roughly). But for foreigners it is Rs 250 ($6, approx). No additional facilities are provided to the foreigner though which I find not only strange but also unfair. I am an Indian but I am ashamed of this mentality of our government.
The other problem I have with the government is the way it maintains our heritage. There are no signboards to tell you the history of the place, there are very few toilets around… the list could go on forever.
But once you visit the temples in Mahabalipuram all those rants just fade away. All the monolithic structures here are about 5 minutes walk (at best) from each other. You could even hire a bullock cart to go from spot to the other and relive the village way of life.
It should not take you more than a couple of hours to see all the structures, even after extracting information about them from the local guides. So then what do you do in Mahabalipuram?
This is what you can do.
There is the sea so you could lie on the beach all day, if you don’t mind a bunch of fishermen or tourists staring at you. Or you could get into the shacks on the beach and try some fresh seafood and wash it down with a mug of beer. (Most hotels/restaurants in Mahabalipuram only stock beer. If you are looking for a shot of vodka or a glass of wine, head to GRT Temple Bay or Fortune Beach Resort.)
Or you could sit in Nautilus Café or Moonraker and watch the world go by in slow motion. These cafes are not too far from the beach (about 400 metres, say) and many like them also have hammocks where you could just let your hair down, catch a book and let the beer flow.
Or you could book yourself a room in Ideal Beach Resort, some 5 km from Mahabalipuram. The resort is beautifully done, has a private beach, has all the facilities like Internet, Ayurveda massage etc. You can even rent bicycles here to take a leisurely ride into Mahabalipuram and explore it at your own pace.
Or you could try out the kinkier stuff. If you’ve ever been to India you will realize there is no dearth of such activities in places frequented by foreign tourists.
Or you could do what I do in Mahabalipuram. After strolling on the beach all day, I head to GRT Temple Bay and have their buffet. It’s a lovely hotel with a private beach, a café right by the sea, a great swimming pool and fantastic service. After dinner, I zoom back to Chennai and think about the day well spent.
Try it sometime. Take it from me, you won’t be disappointed.

Next week's post: Weekend in Pondicherry

Why you should drink only wine

The wine lobby is pushing its products hard. They tell us that wine fights cancer, stems ageing, keeps your teeth white etc etc. Sample some of the stories:

Researchers have found that resveratrol, a compound present in the skin of red grapes used to make wine, curbs the effects of ageing. The natural compound is already known to having anti-cancer as well as anti-inflammatory properties. Read the full story here


A new research conducted by scientists at the University of Virginia Health System has revealed that a compound found in Red wine called resveratrol starves cancer cells by inhibiting the action of a key protein that feeds them.
Read the full story here
Researchers have revealed that components found in red wine can help in preventing and treating inflammatory periodontal diseases.
Recent studies have also shown that red wine, and particularly grape seeds, possesses anti-inflammatory and anti-tumor activities and prevent heart disease. Mechanisms by which these phenolic compounds exert their protective effects include their anti-oxidant properties. Read the full story here

All that is very nice. The only question I have is: Won’t you get the same benefits if you eat grapes.
But then, getting wasted is soooo heavenly.

Never take things for granted (a cool video)

Terrible, terrible tragedies

First the cyclone in Myanmar. Then the massive quake in China. And now the blasts in Jaipur.
Looking for pictures to print in the paper is becoming an increasingly tough task these days. I've seen a lot of deaths -- both in person and through the tragedies we journalists have to cover.
But the past few days have been unbearable. To give you an idea of what we look at day in and day out and try to bring the most telling, the most moving picture:

This woman's knees gave way the moment she identified her child's body.


Parents grieve over graves of children who died when a shool building collapsed after the quake. These people had been forced to adopt the one-child policy. Now they have nothing to live for.


And just to give you a sense of how powerful the China quake was:

This boulder, nay a hillock, came crashing down because of the quake.


And then there are images from Myanmar. I selected one of a woman who gave birth two days after the cyclone struck. Don't have the picture now, but essentially her story was this: She can't lactate because there is no food. And the baby is being fed contaminated water from a drain as there is nothing else there.
And the fucking junta is not letting in aid. Of course the fucking world wants to send in aid and take fucking control, that's why the junta is so fucking scared. But what the hell. Is this what children are supposed to eat. Is this how they are supposed to live?


The only saving grace is that we still have people like them who work for others' welfare till they drop:

Let the Games begin, with a coup

At a concert in Shanghai on March 4 this year, Icelandic singer Bjork ended her performance by shouting “Tibet! Tibet!” People attending the concert felt very uneasy when the shouts came after the singer’s passionate performance of her song “Declare independence”. They did not boo, but left the Shanghai International Gymnastic Center hurriedly.
Bjork had effectively set the tone for the protests that were to follow during the Olympic torch relay.
Spirited efforts were made by Tibetan protesters and their supporters all over the world to attract attention to the China’s 58-year rule over the formerly independent region.
But nothing proved more devastating for China as an incident a few days back.
A factory in China’s Guangdong province, which neighbours Hong Kong, was found to be producing flags for the Tibetan government-in-exile. The order has been placed abroad, possibly by Tibetan protesters. Thousands of flags had been made and packed off to Hong Kong, where the red, blue and yellow mast with two lions is not banned.
The factory was raided on April 20 after some workers found the flag familiar. They looked up television footage of the protests and checked on the Internet and their worst fears came true – they had been helping their arch-enemies in their protests around the world and in Hong Kong where the torch arrived on Wednesday.
For the Tibetan who considers the Dalai Lama to be his true leader, this meant a coup d’ etat of sorts.
For the staunch Chinese, it was a slap on the face with only one saving grace – that the Chinese government’s propaganda and crackdown had ensured that the average Joe does not even know what the Tibetan flag looks like.
For the intelligent journalist, it was a Page One story.
Francis Ford Copolla’s Kundun, Heinrich Harrer’s Seven Years in Tibet, and Bjork’s support for Tibet at the Shanghai concert pushed support for the region several notches higher. But the average Delhiite is already sold on the cause – most decision-makers in the corridors of power today were fed on a staple diet of chhang (rice beer), momos and dirt-cheap apparel in Majnu Ka Tila, the Tibetan homeland in Delhi.
So it was no surprise that the Tibetans had their hopes pinned high on Delhi, which has the highest number of Tibetans – and supporters of their cause – outside of Tibet. The Indian government allowed them to take out a parallel torch relay, something no other government did or could do. But the protesters were hopeful of a stronger, more symbolic protest.
Word on the street was that they had roped in at least one of the participants of the torch relay to run with the flame in hand and a “Free Tibet” banner on his chest. But the elaborate security arrangements and the truncated run ensured that no such thing happened.

A hair-raising experience

Going for a haircut is one of my favourite pastimes in Chennai. The salon owner promptly switches on the AC and the TV playing a Tamil movie – or better still -- Sun TV-type sexy siren songs – as I slouch into the chair and let him have a go at my mane.
Despite the general calm I experience sitting on that chair, I have, at least thrice, noticed that my instructions to the hair-dresser go unnoticed, unheeded. I like to wear my hair really short – especially the sides and the back -- and I tell him that before I slouch into the chair and he switches on the AC and the TV playing the sexy siren songs. But everytime I come out of the salon looking like a baboon.
He keeps the hair long from the sides and back, crops it short from the top and leaves a tuft of hair that curls up like Dev Anand’s.
So this time I wanted to make sure that I got a haircut the way I wanted it – so I mustered up enough courage to tell him how to do it. (As an aside, you have to be really careful not to anger your barber… you know the kind of ‘mistakes’ they can make)
So I started off in English.
“Short from the sides and back, short from top so that I don’t need to use a comb.”
“Wokay”. Just like he says everytime I tell him that.
“No. Listen. Do you know Hindi?”
I knew I had pissed him off. H stared at me for exactly three seconds.
“Maloom. Maloom. Bolo.” (I know, I know. Speak up) and then he exhaled, just like someone does when too much adrenaline wells up in your body. And that happens just before you hit out.
So I repeated the instructions in Hindi.
“Wokay.”
And he started off.
Within five minutes he was done.
And I was again looking like a baboon. My hair long from the sides and back, short from top and a tuft curling up like Dev Anand’s.
“Wokay?” he asked as he showed me a mirror.
“No short from the sides and back. Short from the top like I told you so.” I said all that in Hindi.
He started off again. Finished in five minutes. I was still looking a baboon. And you know the rest about how my hair looked.
“Short from the back and sides,” I said.
No wokay this time. He sighed and called his partner. They mumbled something to each other and my barber then nodded his head.
I can bet my life it was something nasty that they discussed because my barber took out his razor.
“Not with a razor, I don’t want it that short.”
So the two partners conferred some more and my barber took out what we call a “zero machine”. It’s used to give you a haircut like Aamir Khan’s these days.
“No. With a scissor.”
If this scene were playing out in the The Godfather, this was the time my barber would have pulled out a string and garroted me – just like Peter Clemenza did to Carlo Rizzi in the movie.
Thankfully, I was in a salon in Chennai with no Sicilian connections whatsoever. I doubt very much if my barber has seen The Godfather, however film-crazy this state is.
So I walked out content that I had stood my ground despite the threats and got the haircut just like the way I had wanted it.
Back home I found that my barber had had the last laugh. He cut one of my sideburns short despite express instructions not to touch them.
Well, every barber has his day.